Destination Unknown – Borrego Springs

On the road to Borrego Springs

Traveling without a destination is thrilling and stressful. The possibilities are wide open, but I often spend hours peering at campsite apps on my phone, trying to find a place to stay for the next night, wondering what it will be like when I get there.

Will the electricity be good? (This is a real concern in an RV.)

Will the place be a little paradise, or a run-down junkyard with rutted roads and RVs parked 2 feet from one another? Will the sites be level? Will I be paying for something that looks suspiciously like a parking lot with a fence around it?

And the real question which must be answered every weekday – because I work from the road – will the cellular signal be solid?

But beyond that stress is a world of possibilities and fun. I love driving up to an intersection and deciding: left or right? The thrill and mystery of having that choice outweighs the stress. Mostly.

I had never heard of Borrego Springs, but one night I was bobbing in the pool in Desert Hot Springs and a lady told me I should go there. She called it a cute little artists’ village and mentioned it was a dark skies town – a town that tries to preserve darkness at night so you can see the stars. Right up my alley.

The directions to get there are basically this: go about 60 miles south of Palm Springs, turn west, go 30 miles into the sprawling desert until it starts to meet the hills, and you’re there.

Anza Borrego State Park is huge and remote, and Borrego Springs sits within the embrace of the park. It’s a small town of just a few thousand people, with a few stores, a few churches, and a truly spectacular library.

I stayed at a very fancy RV park with a 9-hole golf course (don’t get me started on golf courses in the desert being an ecological disaster) and mineral spas and another deliciously hot swimming pool.

Every night after working while watching the clouds roll across the desert and the snowbirds walking their dogs, I would wedge myself into my swimsuit, waddle down to the pool, and get some exercise. Then I would luxuriate in one of the tiny mineral spas while looking up at the glorious night sky, take a shower, and walk back to Gladis, leaning my head back to stare at the stars.

It was dark out there, and quiet, so quiet that the manic yips of the many desert coyotes sounded like they were right outside as I lay in my little RV bed.

One day after work I drove outside of town just to see what was there.

Soon I found myself among dozens of larger-than-life metal horse sculptures, scattered among the sage and ocotillos across the desert as far as I could see, maybe every quarter-mile or so.

There were also a few giant crows and elephants. Why? I don’t know and I didn’t ask.

It was just part of the mystery and beauty of the desert.