Compton was somewhat of a let-down. Some people like to portray this area filled with hordes of gangs and sub-machine gun holes in the side of each wall. Really, it is as ugly as anywhere else in L.A.
As Mr. Kirk and I found out as we took a wrong turn from the tradeshow, Jack-In-the-Box tastes just the same in the ghetto, even the Jalapeno Poppers. I took in all the wonder of each dark alley, and thought about what game some small kid was playing behind all those shrouds of gated windows, entrances and doors.
We were in Compton for a short while. But if you're going to do Compton - its best to do it with Mr. Kirk. He's a former comedian and actor, and he can spin a good yarn and poke fun at anywhere, and Compton is filled with good humor. Compton was a good starting point; a contrast if you will, for the next thirty-five hours of my weekend.
I left in the morning, Saturday, and in three hours I was walking through Red Rock, poking about among the cactus and sand. Next was gas, a powerbar and a coke in the town of Mojave, which was filled with commotion. Just an hour before at Edwards Airforce Base down the road, NASA had its first successful high-altitude crash test of an escape pod prototype to be used in the international space station. It goes like this: Let's say the Russians get their hands on a monkey-wrench, and the station busts up.all the astronauts crowd into this little pod, and it detaches, hurling itself through the atmosphere, and ejecting a gigantic parachute before it rams into the Earth.
Travellers talk of Bruce Chatwin's "Songlines", the idea that travellers don't measure distance in kilometers, but in songs. And so, from that perspective, I was at the foothills of Trona in just 27 songs; with the last leg being filled by 'Spanish Caravan'."Take me to Portugal, take me to Spain, take me, take me, take me away..."
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