O, Pioneer(town)!

There are many strange, strange, magical places in this world. Most of them, you only get to read about. Some of them, you might see on an episode of Planet Earth. Others, you'll experience vicariously through instagram the lens and anecdote of a friend. I've been to a lot of places; I've heard of, read about, dreamed of many, many more. Ultimately though, there is no amount of crisp high-def or crafty prose that can compete with what it is to see something for yourself.

Pioneertown, CA. 

You couldn't make this place up. 

I've heard the stories for years now. I've been the outsider to many conversations that revolved around re-living the times had in this literal ghost town. When El informed me last Friday that his favorite musician Ryan Bingham would be playing at the (only) bar in this 'town' that skirts the periphery of Yucca Valley, I knew that at last, my time had finally come to experience firsthand the Town of Pioneer. 

A brief history of the place: founded in 1946 by Hollywood investors, Pioneertown was created to resemble a late-1800's frontier town. The facades were built for use as a set for the westerns that were filmed here, and the buildings were open to the public, housing an ice cream parlor, bowling alley, and miscellaneous shops. Today, the only operational businesses seemed to include: the motel, Pappy and Harriet's, and a lonely pottery shop on the main drag. The bowling alley, a place that lives on in infamy from the stories I've heard of El's bachelor party a few years ago, has also sadly closed its doors. In any case, Pappy and Harriet's has held down the fort in a struggling economy, offering great food and drinks (with high grade crushed ice), and a fully booked venue that attracts some amazing musicians. 

We arrived just before dusk set in, and were welcomed by a sky of purplegrey clouds that cast an amazing light on the land and regulated the environment, holding some moisture in the air to balance out the dry desert heat.

The motel was booked to capacity; Psh, whatever...we were there to rough it. Camping in Pioneertown means parking in the dirt area behind the PT Motel, next to the horse corrals and this magnificent Joshua tree:

  

We El made haste to set up camp before the sun set.

I posted up at the tailgate with the essentials.

Dave and John arrived shortly after, at which point the sitting around and knife-throwing could commence.

Later, El and I took a stroll through town to check out the scene

 

There wasn't much going on.

     

We checked out the motel, and then decided to head back to the homestead to pre-game some more and enjoy the sunset from our fold out chairs.

Please excuse the plethora of sunset shots; much like in real life conversation, I struggle with self-editing.

Watching the sky was as mesmerizing and paralyzing as watching Bob Ross paint on PBS; every time you looked up you were confronted with a new color scheme, a different configuration of cloud shapes, and a deeper appreciation for life in general. 

Yes, that all really happened. And right before our eyes!

At last, it was time. Time to eat. Time to drink some more. Time for the show to start.

Ryan Bingham--was amazing, as both a musician and general specimen of humankind. The crowd on the other hand, was about as lifeless as the jack rabbits (5), snakes (2), opossum (1) and other assorted road kill (2) we swerved to avoid on our drive up to the high desert. No amount of pleading or attempted shaming could coax those depressing mouth breathers into as much as a sway. United they stood, affixed to the concrete with such determination and focus that, had a tornado swept through town, I don't doubt that this crowd would be the only thing left standing. 

We went so far as to try disassembling our own group; we split up and planted ourselves throughout the audience with the hope that our individual grooving would ignite a party, because that's what it was supposed to be (and wouldn't the band prefer to have an audience that showed their support by having fun?). Well, we failed. Maybe the crowd was having fun and we were the party poopers; Luckily we were not sober didn't care, and danced hard all night regardless. It was a great, great time.  

This truck bed tells a (very accurate) story.

It was all a haggard mess the morning after.

But, luckily, we were able to rally for some breakfast.

And stopped for more coffee shortly thereafter.

  

We even mustered the energy to check out some of the antique shops. 

And then, with some hesitation, we hit the road back to real life.