Pongo and I spent the last two days touring some of my old stomping grounds out around Palm Springs. I needed to get away from things and focus on some of my issues, and Pongo’s tail was wagging for a roadtrip, even to a desert that makes his african birthplace’s weather look downright temperate. Many old memories came bubbling to the surface for me.

I’ve been visiting Palm Springs off and on since I was 16 (1980 for those of you who didn’t read my bio page). That was the first summer that I worked for a Girl Scout summer camp (Camp Joe Scherman) in the nearby San Jacinto mountains. I visited the desert oasis a lot during those five summers, and every few years or so since then.

One of the things I enjoy about the city is that it doesn’t change much and always seems familiar. Sure, the restaurants come and go, and nearby Palm Desert’s suburban sprawl seems to continue without limits, but downtown Palm Springs doesn’t change that much. The biggest change I’ve noticed over the years is the addition of the Agua Caliente tribe’s casino into the downtown, but from the perspective of the occasional tourist it didn’t change the town much at all.

We drove up there yesterday after lunch with my parents and stayed at Motel 6, our nationwide chain of choice due to their non-discriminatory policies toward African-American dogs (and other dogs as well). I am one of those travelers who travels with his dog. I can’t bear to board him, and despite his attitude, he’s cute enough to be a great conversation starter. It can be rough traveling with him, and over the years several major chains have earned my perpetual disgust for either being unwilling to let him in or charging outrageous fees to do so. On the last trip we made without making motel reservations we had to visit six representatives of the “hospitality” industry in one particular town before we could get anyone to offer to rent us a room, and even then the surcharge was highway robbery. Word seems to have gotten out about Motel 6′s four-legged friendly policies though; there were at least four other dogs and one cat at the same motel last night.

After getting settled and turning on Animal Planet for the little one’s enjoyment (puppy porn), I went down to the pool for a few very short laps and a little reading in the sun. I had brought Jim Carroll’s The Basketball Diaries with me. I’ve read the book before, but don’t think I’ve looked at it since I started blogging. Great book. Admittedly he had the advantage of editing his diary entries ten years after the original writing to create the book, but still a great model for anyone writing one of these things to aspire to.

Later in the evening I made it over to the casino and made redress for any wrongs my ancestors may have committed against the Agua Caliente by donating ten dollars in quarters to their video poker machine. Had some fun times watching the crowd too, but even that was a little sparse on a Tuesday night in the (justifiably so) off-season.

Around 3:00 a.m. a desert thunderstorm rolled through town, washing down the dust, shaking a few windows, and waking little Pongo just in time for him to come over and cuddle during of my anxiety moments. Pongo’s healing powers are amazing. I used to think they required licks for full potency, but in his old age it appears his mere presence is enough for a curative effect.

After more sleep, a good walk, some breakfast and some more pool time, it was time to load up the truck and head out. Rhetorical question: wouldn’t it be better business to put the cute and flirty desk clerk on duty at check-ins, not check-outs? Maybe they figure that once you’re at the desk you’ve been hooked for this visit; cute and flirty is just to help with repeat traffic. Not certain I agree with the philosophy. Cute and flirty at check-in might have gotten a second night out of me.

Originally we headed out to the reservation to see the Agua Caliente Indian Canyons, but they were closed today, and besides, from their sign, they would have tried to discriminate against my little diversity dog. Tsk, tsk…A Native American tribe should know better. Guess it was a sign that it was time to go home, so we followed the signs.

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