Via a train and a couple of buses, Amtrak took me to Palm Springs yesterday in a surprisingly comfortable, 12-hour trip.
An ancient, funny conductor on the San Joaquin train from Oakland to Bakersfield announced each stop over the loudspeaker. "We are journeying into the land of HOT. Fresno is 106 degrees right now. Then we will be stopping in Bakersfield where it is HOT, HOTTER, HOTTEST." He wasn't kidding.
3 comments:
I have been looking forward to some Palm Springs photos. I am going to Burning Man on Sunday so I guess HOT is in our short term futures.
I'll gather some fog in a zip-lock bag and express it to you.
You have my full sympathy. Our first summer living in Palm Springs came with a broken air conditioner and melting asphalt streets. But we did learn to hop pools from motel to motel along Palm Canyon Drive and my father told us that, while playing golf, he watched Red Skelton, clad in shorts and a clear plastic raincoat, go walkabouts through the sprinklers to keep cool, a idea we soon took up (now it's just an odd memory from the days when we thought water was inexhaustible. )
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