WestNorthEast: Hotel California II

I was really excited to get into the desert - again. The sight of the endless fierce nature environment two years ago left in me a deep desire to return into the waste land, to stop there and just feel it. Armed with a Lonely Planet, the California Street Map, Tommy, our GPS and a rented Dodge Caliber, we left Los Angeles on the 26th of December, passed the San Gabriel Mountains and got into the Mojave on the I14. First Joshua trees, the desert, finally. The frenzy of the big city was left behind, there were just us and the dusk to pace our journey...
We aimed to see the museum at the Edwards Air Force Base, even if we knew, that the possibilities to get inside would be low, got even worse after that September that clinched the world into a perpetual state of paranoia. It is a military base, and all the foreigners should apply for the visit at least one month in advance. We didn't know where we would be, one month before. A couple of weeks before I finished reading the biography of Chuck Yeager, the first pilot breaking the sound barrier. And he did it here, on this very salt lake bed we were standing at, just in front of the Edwards AFB. Feels strange and special at the same time to stay in places that have made human history. As expected, we could not get into the base. Sadly. So also the visit to the NASA complex was not possible. One more reason to come back some day.
We passed Mojave, leaving the cars with skiers heading for Sierra Nevada, which stood white and majestic on our left. Driving on the 58 you pass North Edwards, get off the main road and into Boron. A small town with the Saxon Aerospace Museum filled with some memorabilia, plaquettes and information tables, from the Apollo mission to the history of the Edwards AFB. And there is the Domingo's Mexican & Seafood Restaurant, with odd personnel and a funny owner - Domingo. The tacos tasted almost as those in Mexico, they had the Bohemia and for the end, sotol anejo. Domingo looked at me, if I really wanted Kristian to taste the sotol, a tequila produced in the Chihuahua state, stronger than the usual tequila. He obviously had never tried some home made grappa... He showed us all the pictures of the pilots, which have eaten at his place. Among them an Italian pilot, and he was really eager to let us know who he was. This restaurant is listed as a pilots' restaurant, since it is very near the AFB. But none was present at the time and I think LP sometimes exaggerates, just for the sake of it.
We continued on the 58 through Barstow, and since it was not that late, we stretched another 65 miles on the I 15 to Baker. A town in the middle of nowhere in this part of the world is usually made of a few gas stations along the road, some motels, half of them closed or opening at 1 a.m., some fast food dining and perhaps some houses inhabited by lost souls. Pragmatic and simple, Baker was no exception. A place where a tired trucker can find food and a bed, perhaps some night company. The Willis Fargo Motel was.... correct. Clean, simple and basic. A decent place to spend a night on the road to Death Valley.