Colin and Ian in front of Salvation Mountain
Tale by Trevor Downs
Photos by Brent Murphy (except two wide shots...off the net.)
There’s a world of quirkiness and adventure amidst the desert expanse of Southern California; where you can find a modern day bard sitting on a torn out, ripped to shreds church pew, where words of hope and encouragement spew forth from the mouth of a pessimistic hermit, and where a message from God is proclaimed from a mountain of clay.
I don’t know what it is about my weekends with my high-school buddy, Brent, but they always seem to be memorable; what we like to call, “Classic.” And last weekend, when my son Colin and I, set off on our bi-annual trek to the Palm Springs area for skateboarding with Brent and his son Ian, it proved to be no exception.
Our plan was to make a return trip to the famed Salton Sea, a surreal mass of inland salt water surrounded by dust bowls, red canyons, immigrants, rare white pelicans, and of course run down hotels with skate able swimming pools.
It is also home to people who’ve made the choice (or had society make it for them) to live for something other than the break-neck, stress inducing, life shortening pace that the masses partake in to earn the all mighty buck.
The Salton Sea is a treasure, which sadly may soon go the way of many once hidden gems. Like the Eagle’s song says, “Call it Paradise, and kiss it good-bye…” Plans are in the works to clean up the fifty-mile stretch of salt water, splitting it in half, creating two “cleaned-up” smaller lakes. For those that live along its waters, it will be the end of an era.
The Sea stretches fifty miles in length, at some points it is fifteen miles wide, and at its deepest it is a mere 40 feet deep. It is the result of a break in a Colorado River dike, 101 years ago as of this writing, and the rivers waters filled the old Indian salt mines, creating saltine content 25% higher than the oceans.
The beginning of our session started per the norm, we cleaned up the pool behind the old yacht club, “The Aces and Spades”. The “Aces and Spades”, was once frequented by Frank Sinatra, John Wayne and other legends of that time, but is now a rundown heap. From inside the dung covered club, eerie sounds are a constant. It would be easy to let the imagination run wild, especially on a night visit, and credit the noises to the super natural, but it is only the music of hundreds of pigeons that serenade the desert.
The swimming pool is the best I’ve ever skated, a perfect bowl with nice transitions; it has been the backdrop for several skate videos.
It’s fun to imagine John Wayne doing a cannonball into the same deep end that we are now carving on our boards, fifty years later. The edge of the pool sits a mere 20 feet from the Salton Sea, rare white pelicans glide across the waters, and the distant mountains stand tall across the bay as a perfect backdrop to a skate session.
After cleaning the pool, we went across the street to another abandoned building, an old Hotel, now boarded up, with it’s own small swimming pool. This pool is tougher to skate, but still fun, and our time there allows the bottom of the “Aces and Spades” bowl to dry. We’ve been kicked out of this swimming pool before, but today we skated without threat of arrest.
Back at the “Aces and Spades”, some of the kids that lived out in this wasteland were skating; it’s always fun to gain some local knowledge while skating. These kids were daredevils, snagging coping off the oververt deep end, and pulling ollies off staircases into two feet of cement and a gravel landing strip.
Seeing the kids enjoy the freedom of living in the open desert, going where they please, and living large, reminded me of my child hood days in the far outskirts of Mesa Arizona, back when dirt roads, orange groves and canals were our playgrounds. Now, those same acres are jammed full of houses and strip malls; I fear one day these young kids’ playgrounds will be the same.
A couple of San Diego skaters were there as well and it was a fantastic skate fest. My son Colin took it next level this trip, carving higher and faster than ever before, the Salton Sea brought out his best.
And Brent’s son, Ian, despite taking a hard fall, kept charging.
Up till this point, the trip had gone as planned, but when a young lady from Los Angeles, wearing a white dress, asked if she could take our picture, new adventures opened up. She told us about Salvation Mountain, Slab City and that it was the biggest night of the year on the desert…Prom Night—we knew we had to check it out.
Before we hit the road in search of these infamous desert hideaways, we had to find a bathroom. Pulling into the RV campsite at the end of the cul-de-sac, we figured we’d find some stalls. Before the wheels stopped moving, we were greeted by a grouchy, bearded, middle-aged man, who stalked toward us, barking out in very aggressive tones, “This ain’t no public restroom. Says right on the sign, not for public use.”
Brent and I exchanged glances; amused at the over the top display the man was demonstrating. I’m sure, Brent, like myself, was tempted to give back what he received, something along the lines of, “Don’t be jerk!” But, he didn’t, he just said, calmly, “I know, I saw the sign, but I thought I’d ask, my son needs to use a bathroom.”
The man continued on, somewhat irrationally. “It’s not a public restroom…yep, hmmm…people come in hear, not even asking…mmmm…yep...messing the place up…not asking…hmmm, yep...”
Brent and I exchanged a smile, like, this guy is nuts. Then Brent said again, “Well that’s why were asking.”
The man kept mumbling and babbling about something, but said, “It’ll cost you a dollar…mmmm, yeah...give me a dollar.”
Brent said fine, and gave him the dollar, all the while staying pleasant. I got out of the car, and said something about it being a beautiful place. Next thing you know, this man who seemed ready to chase us away with a shotgun, turned into Mr. Hospitality. Soon he was telling us fishing stories, giving us the history of the Sea, directions to Salvation Mountain (painted mountain he called it), and actually going into his house to get us a free post card. With a few, “Mmmmm...yeps...”, thrown in of course.
As it was, he and his father had run that RV Park for over 14 years, and he gave us the history of some of the people who’d lived there over 50 years. He informed us that in three months, the place would be bulldozed, and his beachfront property and life of pleasant isolation from the worries of civilization were about to expire. He said they’d be fine, and they already had an RV park to run across the sea, but it was busier over on the other side, with an Indian Casino already in the works. But he seemed optimistic, and pleasant at this point, and all right with this life’s turn of events.
It turned out to be our first unexpected, but classic exchange of the trip, and a great reminder, that when faced with anger and rage, sometimes a gentle and kind word can turn the tide, as Brent and I said to one another on departure, “Perfect example of Stay Positive, Stay Motivated!”
So we were off on the longer than expected drive to unknown lands, hoping we were not wasting our time on something boring. Ian and Colin were not thrilled with the extended drive, and made sure Brent and I were well informed of their boredom.
But soon enough, we were taking a left in the middle of the tiny town Of Niland, heading toward Salvation Mountain, which we could soon see in the distance.
Being a Christian, and well aware of my sinful nature, I have a strong understanding of the need for salvation at the core of my being, so I loved the name of the mountain from the start, but you just never really know what you’ll find till you get there.
As we pulled in, and I saw the scriptures painstakingly painted across the adobe mountain, and the God is Love boldly proclaimed beneath the wooden cross, my excitement grew.
Getting out of the car, the boys quickly began to explore the phantasmagorical mountain, and Brent and I followed. Down the yellow brick road, over the ocean and up through the waterfall we went, to the top of the three story labor of love. The top provided great views, and Colin and Ian were stoked to find a dog napping in the shade of the cross, shouting down about five times, “Dad, there’s a dog up here!”
Soon they were exploring the inside caverns of the mountain; domes decorated with old car glass, pillars of painted scrap and trees made of hay, adobe and sticks.
Making our way back down, we met the architect and builder of Salvation Mountain, Leonard Knight.
The bible says if no one proclaims the Glory of the Lord, then the rocks will cry out. Well, out there in the desert, the Rocks do cry out the Love of God, but if they didn’t, Leonard would. Leonard is one of the sweetest men I’ve ever met, with a very gentle spirit, and a passion for sharing the love of God.
Leonard told us the story of how he found himself in this desert over twenty-four years ago, with a malfunctioning hot-air balloon, and a broken down dump truck. Leonard decided to stay the week, and build a small eight foot adobe dome to declare the love of God…twenty-four years later, thousands of gallons of paint, untold hours of labor, he’s still at work. Now, at seventy-four years young, he works for three hours in the morning, and then spends the rest of the day giving tours. He gave us the video, and puzzles for the boys, and never even asked for a donation.
For a fun video tour, send him a letter to the P.O. box on the link; I’m sure he’d be glad to send you a copy. If you do, after you watch it, make sure to drop it off at a retirement home, that’s why he did the video tour, for those who could not make the trip. I was blessed by my brief meeting with Leonard, and we said, if we didn’t meet again, we’d see each other in heaven.
From the top of Salvation Mountain, we saw our next destination, Slab City.
Across the shrub filled desert landscape, there were scattered a kaleidoscope of recreational vehicles, trailers and hodgepodge campsites. As we pulled in to the haphazard display of campsites, we felt we were entering Mad Max’ territory.
Homemade signs pointed to different locals, camouflage netting sprung up from brush to create shaded areas, a few high dollar RV’s sat amidst the ancient trailers and campers, and soon we pulled up to an elaborate stage; the home of Saturday night’s talent show, and on this particular night, Prom Night.
During WWII, a military base was created on the acreage where Slab City exists today; when it was deconstructed, all that remained were the cement slabs, hence the name. Those slabs made perfect resting spots for motor homes and trailers, and soon a desert city of sorts was born. In the summer months the 100-150 hard-core with nowhere else to go, stay through the brutal heat; but in the winter months, snowbirds increase the masses to upwards of 3000. There is definitely an allure to the free spirited lifestyle these people live and we felt right at home.
Pulling up to the homemade amphitheater, we were greeted with smiles. “You guys’ here for the talent show?” One of the ringleaders said as he prepared the stage. “It’s Prom Night you know?’
“Oh yeah, we know.” We replied, “We heard it’s a big night.”
“Yep, might get 150 people here.”
As the preparations continued, and the sun fell in the distance, a few people began to show, Budweiser in one hand, a smoke in the other. We sat with Mike for a few minutes, and he shared with us stories of the desert, and said, “I’m kind of the MC, I do a few jokes, and once a year on Prom Night, I recite, “Casey at Bat”, all 54 lines of it.”
Soon a young guitar player was warming up, and a banjo was in another mans hand, in between riffs, jokes were told, and the performers loosened up.
One man, showed up in sport coat and corduroys, ready for the night. As Brent and I talked with the different people, we mentioned we were out skate boarding, and Mike said, “Well there’s an Olympic sized pool, right over there.”
This was music to our ears, our drive had already been well worth the while, and Brent and I had already started making plans for a return trip, but to hear of a new pool to skate was golden.
We made our way over to the swimming pool, telling the gang at the Talent Show, we probably wouldn’t make it for Prom Night, but we’d return another day.
Around the corner and down the bend, we came upon Frank’s trailer, and the Olympic sized pool. Although the best section was far too full of water from recent rains to skate, we still had fun, playing with Frank’s puppy Bandit, and hearing more tales from the desert from Frank. “I drank fourteen beers last night,” he said in a slow drawl, eyes glazed, “And boy did I have a hangover this morning.” He paused, taking a drag from his cigarette, “I don’t like to do that. You don’t have a beer do you?”
Frank was a classic; he lived in a $2000 trailer he was still paying off, and said he enjoyed it when people skated his pool, because it got lonely out there. He said he preferred “Johnny’s Place”, instead of the Talent Show. Johnny’s was another makeshift concert hall just down the dusty road from Frank’s trailer, Johnny and his band play every Friday and Saturday night. Frank said he planned on staying through the summer, “I like the heat”, he said. Seeing Colin walk near a bush, heading toward the truck, he slurred out, “Watch out around them bushes, lots of rattle snakes and scorpions out here.” Frank might live a life on the outskirts of humanities norm, but he is one heck of a nice person, and it was a pleasure to meet him.
A little while later, after we sadly departed “Slab City”, and made our way home, taking a break along the Salton Sea, Brent and I sat on a cement jetty covered in salt. We watched the sun go down, our boys were skipping rocks across the glassy surface of the waters, and white pelicans soared in perfect harmony passed us; Brent mused, “This place is amazing, too bad it’ll soon be gone.”
“Yeah,” I said, “A shame, maybe all their plans will fall through, like before?”
Murph chuckled, “Stay Positive, Stay Motivated.”
