Car, Pool: 6 Nights and 5 Days at the Coral Sands Inn

The coral siding and turquoise pool give
the desert sunset a run for it’s money

I don’t think of myself as the type that is satisfied to stay pool side all day. I consider myself a museum goer, road food lover, rock stealer, path hiker, map reader, secret seeker, a dawn to dusk doer. I’m the one who comes back from vacations more tired than when I left. I tend to believe that resting is better done when there’s nothing else to do.

I did try to stay active, when I was at the Palm Springs home of Ruby Montana I was often found at 3 in the morning sitting at the formica table in her kitchen solving the world’s problems. But while the sun shined, especially at high noon when the Bubble-Up thermometer read 120℉, you’d find me floating like a redwood log in the calm healing waters of her pool, even when there was a wedding to be planned.

On Wednesday, September 3rd, our Element of Stylelessness pulled up just in time for cocktails at the Coral Sands Inn. Unlike the British TV star, Nick Knowles, who, reportedly, jumped into the pool directly from his motorcycle in full leather, I first drank Rube’s icy beer and THEN jumped in, suited appropriately in drip dry trunks. Immediately, I was enchanted by the healing waters. For 5 days I never ventured far except for sustenance, legal matters, kitchen cabinet meetings and, regrettably, sleep.

I discovered that if you stay in the pool long enough, miraculous apparitions begin to appear. Younger men will come into your life and ask you to marry them. Visions of sleek taupe colored animals will lounge on pool chairs. And buff pool grrls will float by, instructing you to seek enlightenment by performing the holy rites of water crunches. And I swear, in the glowing light of another desert evening I was whispered to by furry sirens who hovered just out of reach.

Ruby, you had better get out the skimmer, I think I have left part of my soul in your pool.


- - - David

Route 66 Part Five: The Finale S T R E T C H

All of Route 66 was memorable,
but if I had to pick just one stretch not to miss . . .

If you’ve never been to the Grand Canyon, no words I could conjure would begin to describe it. If you have been, you know that all the pictures you take look dull and flat compared to what the eye takes in. Our short 5 hour tour of the south rim was memorable, I get the feeling that a 5 day tour wouldn’t be long enough. We went, we saw and once again I vowed to return for a real visit, one with burros and a stone lodge.

After the canyon we made out way back down to Williams and on to Seligman, and some authentic Route 66 travel. Seligman is a gateway to an arch of 2 lane pavement that heads up towards western Grand Canyon, leads through small towns and then comes back down to Kingman. After Kingman the real adventure begins. The way to the “ghost town” of Oatman, is a roller coaster, hairpin, Black Mountain joy with deserted desert 2 lane stomach dropping cliffside no guardrail views. My kind of ride. After Oatman things settle down a bit but scenic is still the word as you go downhill into Topock.

Before we left Michigan, doing research on Route 66, I saw a lot of photos from the road. At home, they all seemed so far away, so remote, so different from the views I had from my windows in Adrian. At home I tried hard to imagine what it was going to be like to be on that road and here I was. I was actually there, taking my own photos, the road was real and I could smell the air. I still can, I hope that sense of being there doesn’t fade.

From Topock we jumped on I-40 long enough to cross the Colorado River into California and got off again to drive 66 into Needles. We had a quick lunch at Burger Hut, some excellent tacos, and headed into the Mojave. The desert was whiter, flater, drier and even more desolate. We drove 66 for miles until we reached Najah's Sahara Oasis, in Fenner. Gas was suddenly a dollar more, but there were palm trees and jets of water coming out of a algae green pool.

After Fenner it was only 50 miles to our turn off at Amboy. It was hot and dry and our few stops were quick, jumping back into the air conditioning. There were the ruins of an old rest stop who’s plaque asked you to listen to the silence and imagine crossing the mojave in the 1920’s. There were a few ruins of road stops like the Road Runner, modern flintstone graffit that spread across the berms for miles and at Amboy, Roy’s Diner, Gas and Motel, being renovated by Albert Okura, who owns the Juan Pollo restaurant chain.

Roy’s old owner used to own the town of Amboy, which isn’t much more than Roy’s and now Okura does too. The renovation had been going on for awhile and there’s no end in sight just yet, I hope that there will be a there there someday.

We turned off Route 66 at Roy’s in Amboy, but we weren’t “home” yet. We drove across the dry lake beds, through the Sheep Hole Mountains and into Twentynine Palms. From there we took the road past the orgy of windmills and into the Coachella Valley. Then it wasn’t far to the Coral Sands Inn and the welcoming arms of our minister, motelier and friend, Ruby Z. Montana.

Now that was an oasis we could be happy to see. No mirage, no high gas prices, a cool deep pool with no algae and the beers were cold and waiting.

Ruby, in red, scurried to meet us at the gate of the Coral Sands Inn

blogger users: click on the photos to see them BIG!

Happy Trails, Louie

photo: LaCoppola+Meier

There once was a Chihuahua name Louis L’Amour.

He did not merely possess that jene sais quoi eminence of the breed, he defined it.

We met, years ago, when he lived on a park like street in Seattle and managed the infamous store called the Pinto Pony. He was the constant companion, body guard, and carry-on of our near and dear duo, Ruby and Calyn. For the past 8 years he has run that corral of a resort in Palm Springs, California, The Coral Sands.

Louis ruled all that he surveyed. He alpha’ed Sophie, of course, though he only came up to her wrist, but even Aniol, tough NYC grrl, gave him his due. This power did not corrupt him, he wore it like a ten gallon Stetson. He was a chivalrous defender of those he loved, but he magnanimously accepted adoration from all.

On Sunday morning, we were informed by a weeping angel that Louie had left us. He was gone in a flash, as if not to trouble us with long goodbyes. I wouldn’t have minded, Louie, not for a second.

With tears in our eyes and an ache in our hearts, we wish this legend Happy Trails . . . until we meet again.

- - - David

Ruby's tribute, "Adieu My Captain, Farewell My Love",

say's it all. Link to it here.

. . . and here's a very sweet one from Rebecca.