Deserts, Guns, and Ghosts at 8,500 Feet

                

               When someone spends all day flying across the country, they usually just want to kick back and relax for a day or two and let jet lag run its course. I was one of those people when I arrived in California on March 14^th, 2015. My friend David had other plans.

                Originally he tried to talk me into driving to Oklahoma to visit and old friend of his. Fun as that may sound to some people, after a day of flying one typically doesn’t want to spend ten hours in a car driving someplace else. Disappointed as he was, David came up with a second plan. He wanted to visit his friend Lance in Palm Desert, which was about two hours from our place. Tired as I knew I’d be, I agreed to this because I wanted to let him hang with his friend, and because I’d never been to a desert before. I wouldn’t get very far in California if I wasn’t up for sudden trips to new places to meet new people, so I told my little introvert self to come out of hiding and enjoy the journey.

                The trip to Palm Desert fit pretty well with what I was used to in terms of scenery. Though California’s environment is hugely different from Northern New York’s, the scenic route provided a glimpse of terrain I’d never seen before and the country girl in me loved. Suburbia fell away, and the hills approached. Sandy mountains and scrubby brush lined the roads. We saw just as many “Bighorn Sheep Crossing” signs as I’d seen “Deer Crossing” signs in New York (but unfortunately, none of the creatures themselves). The road we took down into the city was so windy I started to feel motion sick, but it went away as we got to straighter roads.

                

That distant desert...

                To be honest, I don’t remember many small details of the trip, since it was five months ago, so I’ll just skip to the big details.

                One of the first things we did in Palm Desert warmed my little redneck heart. We packed up some beer and guns, and went out in the middle of nowhere to do some target shooting. This area was what comes to mind when I think “desert” (minus the rolling sand dunes and camels). It was desolate, sandy, with distant hills and no civilization for a while. The dirt roads were littered with debris—the remains of other peoples’ shenanigans. Luckily, there were no body bags. Or bodies. Unfortunately, one of the tires on Lance’s car got busted by a wayward pair of pliers someone had discarded out there. Yes, he did have a spare, thankfully.

                Back in New York, my grandparents often took my older brother and me into the backwoods to target shoot. The roads there were dirt, and sometimes littered with debris. Essentially, the biggest difference between back home and the desert was the lack of trees and swarms of flies. The isolation was the same, with only the occasional passing vehicle, both parties probably wondering the same thing: "What're they doing all the way out here?" Back in the woods was where I learned to shoot, and though I hadn’t shot these types of guns (or any gun in several years), the guys were impressed that I actually knew what I was doing and could hit the targets. My grandpa didn’t call me “Annie Oakley” for nothing.

Those empty beer cans didn't stand a chance.

                The next day we did something I’d never done before: rode the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway.

                The tram takes you two and a half miles and 8,500 feet into the air, to the top of a mountain. The parking lot was at an angle because of mountains, and though we arrived in the evening, it was still fairly warm outside. The sun had already started setting by the time we started our slow ascent. The inside of the tram car rotates so even if the tram had been crowded (it wasn’t that night), everyone could still get a 360 degree view of the landscape.

Each time the tram reached one of the support towers, it bounced abruptly and swung for a few seconds. Though I’m sure the massive cables were sturdy, each time we passed a tower you had to wonder if it might bounce loose and you’d go hurdling to a rocky, mountain death.

We didn’t. Obviously.

The temperature dropped significantly by the time we reached the top of the mountain. I was honestly surprised (and a little upset) to see little patches of snow. David hadn’t seen much, if any, snow since he left New York in 2012, so he had to give it a touch. I’d just come out of yet another horrible NNY winter and couldn’t get away fast enough.

Would I like to touch the snow? Oh, no. That's quite all right. I still remember what it feels like. (My poor car...)

              Peaks Restaurant awaits travelers at the top of the tram line. We got there too late for food, but the bartender said he’d stick around long enough for us to get a drink. We sat and chatted with him for some time, and out of nowhere Lance asked if the place was haunted. The bartender told us the women’s bathroom was. Lucky for me, because after a strong Jack n’ Coke I had to use the bathroom.

             I do believe in ghosts, but there are few times in my life that I can say I’ve had what may have been a “ghostly encounter.” Well, I believe I had one that night.

So there I was, sitting in the bathroom stall doing my business. Suddenly, I heard the air hand dryer turn on for a few seconds, then stop. Then it turned on again for a few more seconds, but stopped before it could do a full cycle. When I exited the stall, no one was in the bathroom with me. I washed my hands quickly, my heart thumping, and was even more surprised to see that the dryer didn’t have a motion sensor that could have been tripped by a small mountain creature (hey, you never know). It was the type with a huge metal button you have to push inward to start. I was a little freaked out, and decided to just shake my hands off.

When I returned to the bar, I asked if anyone else had gone into the bathroom while I was in there. The guys said no one had. I said gravely, “Well, it’s definitely haunted then” and recounted my story.

After our drinks, we stepped out to the huge balcony behind the building. I’d wished we’d been able to see the landscape, but the night view of Palm Springs was just as gorgeous with all the lights. The only picture I’d managed to take doesn’t do it justice.

The glittering lights of Palm Springs, as seen from 8,500 feet.

We started chatting with some strangers; a middle-aged couple and their friends. As we were talking, I mentioned I was from New York. The asked what part (as they always do, “Manhattan, the Bronx, Queens?” *eye roll*). I told them I was from a town way up near Canada. They said their son had gone to a school up there called SUNY Potsdam. My jaw hit the ground because the last thing I expected was for anyone 8,500 feet in the air, at the top of a desert mountain in California to know the name of my alma mater. I’d just graduated from SUNY Potsdam in 2014!

I’m trying really hard not to say “It’s a small world” because if I’ve learned anything from this move, the world is a huge place filled with all sorts of strange and amazing things. The odds of finding a stranger who had been to my college almost 3,000 miles away from it seemed as unlikely as me moving to California in the first place. But, I serve as proof when I say that stranger things have happened.

Such as haunted bathrooms.