A quick trip through some desert extremes.

Palm Springs. We are having breakfast at an outdoor cafe on Indian Canyon. Seeking breakfast leftovers, blackbirds accost a fellow diner..a recent emigre from Cleveland. "I feel like Tippi Hedren, although I'd rather be Rod Taylor," he announces to all who will listen.

Palm Springs loves its movie stars. Nancy's Aunt Bell, who has lived there for over 35 years, piles us into her commodious Lincoln and drives us around to see homes of the rich and famous: High on a bluff, perched like a newly-landed starship, is Bob Hope's house; nestled below a cliff, behind a huge rock, is Sonny Bono's salmon-colored villa; and here, in the old part of town, behind walls of stucco and bouganvilla, is Liberace's place, complete with candelabra.

Amboy

Along old route 66, on the north end of of a salt-encrusted dry lake, not much remains of Amboy, except for Roy's drive in and motel, which is periodically open. Last time I ate there I had a hamburger that had all the authenticity of a Taiwan-made moccasin. We camped there, tucked in among the black rock lava flow that brought a bit of Hawaiian ambience a thousand years ago. We head up towards the Mojave Preserve. There are now two robust shoe trees alongside the road to Essex.

Mojave Preserve

A large chunk of Mojave Desert east of Barstow is now more protected than ever before. The transition has brought the end of cross-desert motorcycle races, shooting at varmints, and even ATV's, much to the ire of some locals. Not that I have anything against ATV's. Actually, I think all automobiles in the L.A. Basin ought to be replaced by ATV's. the Freeways would be fun to drive on again...just like Disneyland's Autopia. We camp for the last night, at least 35 miles from any town. The sky is black and filled with stars. A pack of coyotes calls in the distance. Leaving the next morning, we drive through a forest of Joshua trees along the Mojave Road.