Barstow

We attempted to drive to a remote, first-come-first-served campground in Southern California last night but the 3 mile road leading to it was impassable by RV, so we ended up settling at an RV park in Barstow instead. I’ll be honest: it was a little creepy. And the town of Barstow was pretty rundown, with boarded up houses and buildings and obvious signs of poverty. I tried to change my critical view of the town to one of empathy: at one time, this was a bustling and thriving place. In fact, Route 66 runs right through it, and before the interstate was built Barstow was most likely a cultural hub. It was good for me to be there, as Ann Arbor can be such a strange and blinding bubble. But I was also glad to get out. My heart goes out to those who never can.