You might remember that, having obtained his rental car, Jerome was off on his own, staying the night with friends who lived at the beach.  Here, I will repeat for emphasis something I just mentioned that I'd left out of the last post -- he rented a convertible.  A convertible, people!  For a desert road trip!  

So not only were all my fears about the sun/heat/outdoors bubbling up, but they were being given depth and texture -- didn't Jerome know that convertibles in the desert carried connotations?  Had he never read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas?  Had he never seen Thelma and Louise?  

We were going to be driving through Mojave!  

I thought he was supposed to be the sensible one?  Did he have a death wish?  Was he expecting me to over-inflate the tires and fill the trunk with drugs?  Was he going to try to goad me into driving off a cliff into an arroyo?  I already know his feelings about the American Dream -- did he see this as a savage journey?

So the first hint I had that Jerome does indeed have survival instincts, is that he called right before his bedtime and suggested we not have an early start.  I was taken aback.  Suspicious, I ask his definition of 'not early.'  Turns out it's reasonable.  Surprisingly pleasant even.  He thinks we should hit the road around 11.

So I get a good night's sleep and Jerome rolls up to the house in the late morning as promised.  He's all relaxed and has had a nice time with his friends.  I'd even managed to pack before he got there!  And I'd had enough coffee!  And cigarettes!  

Brimming with goodwill and generosity, I don't even ASK who was driving and docilely buckle myself into the passenger's seat.  There's some minor quibbling over whether the top will or will not be down, but I'm merely going through the expected motions -- my heart's not in it.  Let him have his fun -- we'll soon be entering a clime where top-down driving is impossible.  And with my summer buzz-cut, it's not like I have to worry about my hair.  

Plus, we live in the northeast corner of the city, so for once, I'm not worrying about traffic and perhaps having some passenger-related PTSD incident.  There's not much between where we are and open desert, except a train or two...

(this was actually way out in the desert, but I thought it made a good spot for the obligatory ET train blogging)

Not much, that is, except about an hour and a half of more city.  I'd sort of forgotten any of this was even out here.  It was like visiting my city's attic, like, "so THAT'S where the trailer parks went!!" and "oh, look!  I haven't thought about Yucaipa in ages! "

Jerome didn't seem to mind, though, and started to get really happy when we went through this wind farm outside of San Bernardino -- I think it's San Gorgonio Pass.

(I don't even know wtf this sign means -- I asked J if he thought it meant the recession would be over quickly, or that the convicted would be in jail for ages, or that no one would be convicted.  He took the dimmest view...)

Adding to J's happiness was the fact that I hadn't said a peep about the route, leaving it all up to him and his iPhone.  I mean, what did I care how we got to Vegas?  We'd get there.

And, honestly, how much of a tour guide could I be?  I had zero interest in this part of the journey -- I hate the desert.  As far as I'm concerned, the whole thing is just some vast nothing-to-see-here-move-along obstacle between my city and other cities.  I'd have opinions when we got back to L.A.

Plus, I'd heard that some people, especially Europeans, love the desert.  I had trouble believing this.  I mean, when I first proposed a Vegas road trip, lo these many years ago, I was joking!  Obviously.  Clearly, my descriptions of desert delights were dripping with sarcasm -- I included a photo of an egg frying on a rock!  How much clearer did I need to be?

But in the comments of that very thread, Migeru was already talking up Amboy Crater.  And now, for weeks, he'd been enthusing all over my IM about the Mojave in general and Joshua Tree in particular.

So when Jerome and his iPhone mapped out a route through all this, I had no objections.  And I'm so glad we went!  Watching a Parisian see the desert is a sight to behold!  Look how happy he is!

Plus, even he knew I couldn't hike on those rocks with my cane, so there was no arguing!  And I'm pretty sure he had a good time running up and down the rocks:

And, while the Amboy Crater didn't really do anything for me, I was delighted by the googie motel and the post office:

It was truly a lovely day.  We didn't fight at all.  Well, except for that one time when I said it was time to put the car top up and he kept sailing past stops, delaying it.  But we even agreed on the music in the car!  He vetoed The Damned ("I do not care for thees </oblig. French reminder>) and I drew the line at The Cocteau Twins (so inappropriate for a road trip), but we happily listened to Depeche Mode and The Stranglers!  And he was even sorta singing along to Social Distortion!

And so what I started the trip as a pale redhead and ended it as a sunburnt blonde?    My visitor was finally happy:

As the sun set, we made our way to the bright lights of Vegas -- the convention awaits....

(stay tuned for part 3 - The Show Down!)