Slab City, California-The Journey is the Reward-What a Lesson!

If you’ve never heard of Slab City, please take a few minutes to look up Youtube videos on it.  Here is a link to just one video-there are many.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FSkPLDKTWgQ. 

Mike and I had watched several videos on the place and I really wanted to check out the culture.  It sounded so simple and yet delightful.  A group of people living the best the can, helping one another via barter and making useful, beautiful things from materials other discard-so poetic. 

I believe that I am an unjudgmental, all inclusive person.  I felt that in Zihua.  It was beautiful in areas and not so beautiful in areas but I didn’t hold that against them.  I volunteered at the nursing home and helped them learn how to do better by their residents and brought them supplies they couldn’t get on their own.  Slab City could be like that, I thought.  I couldn’t wait to get there!

We arrived late afternoon and it was starting to rain.  Salvation Mountain greeted us and it was just like all the videos and pictures I had seen.  We drove past the “Trade Circle” and saw campers in run down trailers, homemade shacks, and tents.  Several waved as we passed by. 

I couldn’t help but notice all the garbage that just seemed to get heavier the deeper in we went.  We turned a corner and saw Mojo’s camp, another icon we had heard about.  We drove further and ended up going down quite a steep dip rather unexpectedly.  Crunch! Our back end had hit!   Mike got out to check-the back- left panel by the engine cover had hit hard and was loose with a small crack up at the top.  Darn it. He got it put back together loosely so we could get turned around.   It’s getting darker at this point and still raining. 

Mike found a spot not far off the main road across from Mojo’s camp-they have a dump site (not sure how- and water-again not sure how-and honey holes are “ok”? according to the FB page) that was pretty level and we parked for the night.  I couldn’t help but notice the garbage smell and see the filth in the sage brush.  We were pretty close to some full timers and I was worried that parking there would piss the wrong people off maybe.  Mike was of course, relaxed.  “This is BLM.  There are no campsites.  We can park here.” 

We always try to park the Yeep in front of the RV so we can see it from the windshield.  I was up three time throughout the night checking the Yeep while Mike slept peacefully.  I wasn’t concerned for our safety.  My husband may prefer to avoid confrontation now, but I know he wouldn’t hesitate to protect me and himself should something happen. He may be old AF (lol) now, but he still has a bad man inside of him that I am certain could be summoned should the need arise.  I was more anxious about vandalism or theft.  The kayak is strapped to the roof of the Yeep.  Someone could make off with that, or do something to our rig.  Our new tires cost thousands!  I did not sleep well at all. 

The next morning, I got up and made coffee and took the dogs out to potty per usual.  It was going to rain today-most of the day. There was no way Mike could work on the back of Reva Mae today.  It would have to wait another day.  The sites and smells around me got to me.  I couldn’t stand it.  It wasn’t that it was an extremely horrid odor-more slightly sickening sweet- I think my own mind had gotten to me.  I also think it may have been the scent of sage brush in bloom more than trash. (I smelled the same familiar odor at our next state park campground-full of sage brush)  But, this place got into my head and not in a good way.  My anxiety was at a “10”. 

The only antenna television we could get to come in was in Spanish, but we had great streaming so I escaped into Netflix movies on the computer and tried to think about planning dinner.  Mike took care of toileting the dogs throughout the day and ended up meeting the neighbors-a couple who’s names I never learned and a guy named Karl.  He visited with them several times and introduced our dogs to theirs while I sunk further into depression and anxiety, hating this place more by the second. 

He hung out with them for awhile around the campfire that second night and was hospitable sharing some of our goodies from the RV. I just couldn’t bring myself to go outside.   I cooked a nice dinner and I felt a little better knowing that at least these people accepted him and maybe our things would be safe.  I slept a bit better. 

Throughout our stay there were many vehicles driving through, taking pictures and recording video as they drove by.  It really is quite a tourist attraction.  Another Phaeton, a bit older, even pulled into Mojo’s to camp during our stay.  I just couldn’t accept this place.  All I saw was garbage.  It was in my mind that we were camping in a landfill almost and I couldn’t relax or let myself experience it. 

Mike was able to work on the back end our second morning and got it all fixed up within a couple of hours.  A bolt had ripped out of the thin fiberglass of the panel covering the engine back there when we hit.  There’s a small crack in the top back left that we’ll want to get fixed when we can but it’s hardly noticeable.  They say it’s not if, but when that you’re going to do some damage driving an RV.  I’m grateful this was our initial blunder.  I see many who hit poles when getting fuel and do some major damage.  We can definitely live with this until we get a few minutes to arrange a repair. 

I broke down that morning while he was doing the repairs.  Lying in our bed with all of the shades closed I cried my eyes out, the damn thoughts of being in a landfill-esque area was freaking me out.  I had calmed down a bit once Mike came in around 11:00 but I wanted out!  He pointed out we needed to look at roads and plan our stops and we couldn’t just take off.  It wasn’t the best time of day to head out, especially without a plan.  He assured me we would leave first thing in the morning. 

He was upset with me and my actions and feelings.  He had been out there, met people, and it wasn’t that bad.  It didn’t smell that bad (again I think sage brush was more of what I was smelling now that I’ve been other places with same smell).  It was dirty but not horrid and the people were all right.  (He’s not a super consoling man, especially with irrational displays of emotion-something he could work on but…I know this about him, he can’t be everything)

I dove into my computer finding us our next stop (Borrego Palm Canyon Campground) and looking at maps and planning our trip to Dana Point. This (Slab City) was temporary for us.  We were the fortunate ones who got to leave.  I planned a good dinner and tried my best to pull my crazy ass together. 

I tried to think about why I was feeling this way.  I’m ashamed of myself really.  Like I mentioned earlier, I was okay with the trash on the streets in areas of Zihuatanejo (don’t get me wrong, Zihua is beautiful and I cannot wait to go back, but there are poor areas with stuff piled up) and while I didn’t like the conditions at the nursing home there, I jumped in to help in any way I could during the time I visited.  I didn’t expect as much from them.  I was not judgmental.  I embraced them and tried to help. 

  I expected more from these Americans living in this place.  I expected them to keep the land clean and to pick up and try to be as sanitary as possible.  Why did I expect more from people just because of their nationality?  Why couldn’t I find it in my heart to just help?  I had trash bags and gloves.  I could have helped improve their lives just a little, like I had in Zihua.  Instead I was appalled, grossed out, and utterly miserable.  Do these feelings mean I’m really prejudice after all?  I expect white Americans to be better than this.   Why?  People are people.  Just because they are Americans or white doesn’t mean they don’t need help or that they know how to make their conditions more sanitary. 

There is no hatred in my heart for anyone, but maybe, somehow, I still think white Americans are better, or should be better, than everyone else?  I really do not want to believe that this could be true of me.  I have worked along side countless nationalities and I love to learn about their cultures, their beliefs, and especially their food! Yum!  I have seen intelligence, talent, and brilliance in all nationalities.  While I know myself enough to know and take pride in the fact that I will help, love, and accept all easily; it upsets me that there must be a part of me that thinks Americans-white Americans-are or should be better. I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on myself considering I was raised in an area of the US that holds generations of deep prejudice.

Mike thanked our neighbors for their hospitality, wished them well, and shared a few goodies we still had onboard. 

As we drove away, I got out my camera and snapped pictures.  Approaching the entrance, everything looked cleaner.  There was not as much trash in the sage brush.  People with fires burning outside their tents waved as we passed by.  There were nicer rigs and lots of tourists snapping pictures of Salvation Mountain.  People were setting up jewelry at the Trade Circle.  The sun was out. 

Silent tears ran down my cheeks again.  Tears of regret and shame for my behavior and my feelings.  I wish I had processed all of this faster.  I wish I would have forced myself out of the RV and to walk down the road to this area.  I wish I would have met one person.  I wish I would have picked up the trash I saw instead of just crying about it. My best friends gave me a necklace with a charm that says The Journey is the Reward.  While painful, I got a lot out of this stop.   I’m so sorry Slab City.  And I thank you for helping me to do some very deep self-reflection.  I spent 3 days here in utter misery wishing I could leave.  Driving away, I’m hoping we get a chance to come again and do it right next time.