A promise kept.
It’s been a while since we’ve done any laundry. A really long time. Despite having all the time in the world, we tend to fall behind on this seemingly facile chore, (perhaps our only chore) deciding to go off adventures with blatant disregard for our own personal hygiene (I’m sure Indiana jones and Bear Grylls have clocked up a few weeks in the Himalayas with their underpants turned inside out). Eventually the stink becomes too much and we break a ten dollar note at reception for washing machine change. The harem of Gorilla lady receptionists retain their signature surl throughout the transaction.
“Ook ook”.
Head Gorrilady hands over the change with a begrudging soft leathery palm.
On the wall of the laundry room is a colourful poster for Escape camper vans. We planned to hire a camper van to travel the west coast of America taking in the Big Sur, Yosemite, Lake Tahoe and Las Vegas before taking a flight to meet up with Glen and Jen Parkes in Denver to spend a very merry Christmas in anticipation of their new wee sprogg.
We get a quote from the onsite Jucy camper vans who we barter with to throw in a Western America lonely planet guide to sweeten the deal. They agree but we decide to try escape camper vans just in case we can get a better price.
We take a walk down West Century Boulevard to the Escape camper van premises to find the coolest, most bad ass looking fleet of vans, campers and micro-campers this side of Banksy’s graffiti’d consciousness. The vans have custom paint jobs and an individual style that makes us want to rent them all. Inside what would be the boot are gas hobs, refrigerators (for beers, obviously…) a large water tank for cooking and cleaning, a sink, and multiple DC cigarette lighter style power sockets for charging our gadgets. The base of a bed folds out in the main section and is large enough for us both to sleep comfortably there. It is a miracle of customisation and toil of passionate campers creating the ultimate road trip vehicle. A road warrior. A fortress for camping.
Shaun and his Aussie business partner (Ed?) bend over backwards to get our business, offering to throw in a cornucopia of extras including local maps, guides of the west coast of America and highway one, an extra gas canister, a camping table and chairs, a Garmin sat nav, an extra duvet and a solar shower which we never use.
We are ultimately sold on the height of the van being lower than the rival company Jucy’s “penthouse” roof box, a real problem for the low height clearance required for parking garages, inner city. The penthouse is simply a roof container which has been converted for sleeping in. In full height mode it looks a bit like a spazzy space saving tent. Us being a two party and not a four party, we deem this surplus to our requirements. I still resist, wanting to have the inbuilt DVD player that the Jucy company vans come with.
Escape really want our business and it gives us some power to successfully haggle the price down (A rare thing in North America). Lucy tells a couple of fibs about the price of the Jucy camper vans and we manage to haggle a price we are very happy with. Shaun completely sells us on the journey back to the tradewinds in the van we eventually hire. The van named Treehouse.
The van has an incredibly detailed paintjob. Both sides of the van are unique, representing a sunset and a sunny blue day, spray painted with a woodland/campfire scene. As we drive around we get jealous looks from passers by and compliments when we stop in gas stations and supermarkets.
“Dude, nice paint job”
“Thanks!” We say!
We pull out of the Escape parking lot and avert near disaster when we soon realise the boot of the Dodge Caravan treehouse has flown open, narrowly escaping our load of pots and pans flying down the interstate. We quickly stop by the side of the road to lockdown the boot. A seated toothless lady congratulates us on the paintwork.
“Nissshhe chvan” she mumbles.
“Thank you!” we reply as we cram our gear back into the boot.
Our first destination is to make good on a promise I made to Lucy in our first month of meeting, ten years ago. I promised her that one day we would go and drink a strawberry Daiquiri in Palm Springs, south of LA. I had got the idea based upon an old song called The Springs by a band called “A”. The song talks about the singer “moving out for a moment in the springs” and finally we took the road trip to make it happen. We pick our bar, order a strawberry Daiquiri each and toast:
“To a promise kept…”
Palm Springs is largely a retirement destination that has begun to attract a new generation of hipsters. Believe it or not, the place is dense with Palm trees (we couldn’t find the springs – mattress or hot varieties). The grey dollar flows strongly here and most of the entertainment is geared towards a dreamy, perpetual autumn haze of electronic samba rhythms, performed by duos of keyboardists and bass players. “When marimba rhythm starts to play…”
We stay at the Happy Travellers RV park which has an insane amount of guest facilities. The large pool and hot tub areas are open twenty four hours and I make it a priority to crack open an ice cold beer from the Treehouse refrigerator and drink it in the hot bubbling water of the jacuzzi. Lucy chooses to satiate with a cold cider.
The Happy travellers is filled with American RV behemoths, some as big as modest houses. White picket fences surrounding the campers denote the static behaviour of some of the semi-permanent residents. The majority of the clientele are in their older years and it sometimes feels like being in the film Cocoon or perhaps Cocoon 2 (the one in which the gang come back from Anterea). I channel a cheeky Steve Guttenberg character charmfully wisecracking my way around the place whilst the residents do backflips and triple cork twists into the swimming pool with the submerged alien pod.
A giant LCD screen mounted to the exterior of one of the RVs impresses as we walk through the parking lot – a couple are watching the side of their Recreational Vehicle for televisual entertainment. Electric hook ups, cable and fresh water feeds connect the mega campers intravenously. A sweet setup for those with money and time to burn.
The next morning we clock up the miles, leaving Palm Springs and heading in the direction of Joshua tree state park. The park is huge, serene and silent, low season in full effect. Nobody is here in the dramatic sparse landscape of the Mojave desert. The temperature starts to creep upwards as road signs keep reminding us to check our temperature gauges to prevent an overheated engine.
The native Teddy Bear cactus appear supremely fluffy but are actually extremely sharp attempting to leave their dry spikes in all that come too close. Despite the warnings I can’t resist a poke of the cactus. True to form, the needles embed themselves in my skin.
Satisfyingly we reach a site called Camp Ryan (ooh matron, how apt!). The many camp sites inside Joshua tree are minimal but busy with the majority of designated pitches occupied. We take a drive to Skull rock (how very death metal) and at Arches rock we go off the beaten path as we hop rock to rock on a picnic mission, overlooking the spectacularly formed rock formations there. The naturally sculpted architecture and oversized rock shapes make us feel as if we are in an episode of the flintstones, flitting between boulders and brontosaurus ribcages.
We cook a light dinner in the back of Treehouse and sit in our camping chairs watching the sunset fall behind the mammoth Mojave rocks. We crack open two cold ciders and watch until the moon comes up. Despite being in the desert, Treehouse keeps us warm until morning.