Tuesday, 7th July 2009 – Libraries, Railways, and the Road to Las Vegas

When I enquired at San Bernardino City Library about consulting their records on place names, it was suggested that I come back today to see the 'California Room'.  It turns out that Tuesdays are when the doyens of the San Bernardino Historical Society hang out upstairs in the Library.  There is the odd gentleman, but these are almost all seriously grown up ladies.

I tell them what I'm after, and in no time at all I have a table and a pile of book.  I spend a happy and profitable two hours skimming.  Almost everything concrete points at the railroads.  In this case, it's the San Pedro, Los Angeles, and Salt Lake Railroad.  There are lots of maps with Glasgow on them.  There is one map which almost certainly has Glasgow on it, but none of us can read it: even with a substantial magnifying glass.

 

But I have to be in Baker tonight, so I bid the nice ladies goodbye, and fetch myself of onto the Las Vegas road.

This is an 'Interstate'.  Nothing interesting ever happens on interstates, except pile-ups.  There were no pile-ups.  But just as I was whistling past Barstow, I spotted a sign saying "Mojave National Preserve Headquarters".  So I go whistling off, accompanied by a lot of motor car swearing.

Did you know there's a place called Zzyzx in the Mojave?  Not a native word, just someone trying to do the opposite of "AAA Minicabs", and get to be the last word in the dictionary/guide.  Look it up, it's fascinating.

Anyway, turns out I'm going to need a four-wheel drive, for sure.  They think I will probably have to go to Las Vegas to rent off-road vehicles and guides.  They even mention one with "Pink" in its title, which apparently use pink jeeps.  I murmur something about the colour not mattering – this is, after all, California – but I don't mean it: Pink!  Fat chance!

They are rather disparaging about the facilities at Baker.  I think I'd better stock up.  I am surprised to discover that the cheap supermarket in Barstow stocks Belgian-style beer brewed in Fort Collins, Colorado.  (Fort Collins is where my watch goes to at night to put itself right)

So, equipped for the worst of circumstances, I head off to Baker.

I spot two motels straightaway: one is called "Wills Fargo", which is amusing, and the other is called "Bun Boy", which isn't.  One shouldn't judge anything by its name, but, just in case, I head for Will's Fargo.

Which is well-appointed, and has Internet access.  It also has an outdoor pool, but since the huge thermometer in the middle of town is telling me it's 105 degrees, I guess the pool will feel like the inside of a cooking pot.

 

Later that night, the very nice grown-up lady who runs the motel tells me there are several places I could go and drink beer.  None of them are bars.  There are no longer any bars.  She gives me an ethnic explanation as to why that is.  She professes to be a non-drinker, but is quite clear which cafe I should go to. 

When I emerge from the cafe, the temperature has plummeted: it is now 97; probably because there is now a considerable wind blowing.  It's like being in a hair drier.