Early April, 2008 - For the last several years, Dad Hall has been reminding me that since 1960, we've been driving back and forth between Phoenix and San Diego without ONCE stopping to see Painted Rock Dam and Painted Rock State Park. I can almost hear your collective screams of disbelief at this egregious travel omission.

Well, Dad's powering through his 85th year and was not to denied, so south we headed. Passing through Gila Bend, I was conforted to see that things haven't changed much. Sure, there's a cool new prison; but the old Dairy Queen and most critically, the iconic Space Age Lodge still anchor a perfect "middle of nowhere" experience.

That's the pile of rocks, right there yonder.

Several miles west on I-8 you take the Painted Rock exit, and head north deeper into "nowhere." Of course, no desert road ever truly heads nowhere and pretty soon you dead end at the Dam (closed to the public, and so exciting visually that my camera simply would not take it's photo.) Backtracking to Painted Rock State Park, you find youself in the middle of a caldera like basin looking at a pile of black rocks.

Marked by ancient punks, space bugs or mystical native Americans?

This is Painted Rock and it appears that for the past 20,000 years, every passing sentient creature with a scatchy stone stopped here to etch some sign or other. Now, my buddy "Texas" (we call him that because he's not from Texas and it annoys the hell out of him), he believes this collection of petroglyphs is further evidence that ancient teenage street (trail?) gangs, probably from the L.A. area, have been defacing the environment and generally degrading society for millenia. It's a theory.

Historic, and still driveable, Gillespie Dam Bridge

Anyway, we were running out of daylight so we passed on a trip to the nearby Oatman Massacre Site, which was okay with me (if you've seen one massacre site, etc). North out of Gila Bend we took Old US 80, the same road that originally carried the Halls to Phoenix from San Diego (or the Paradise Lost Incident, as I occasionally refer to it without much trace of bitterness.) Naturally, along this stretch you pass by a Shrimp Farm. What other business makes more sense in the middle of a blasted-to-hell desert? But, do yourself a favor and walk into the doublewide office and buy some. They're incredible.

    By the way, we saw no current evidence of teen gangs (except the big shiny new prison) during this entire trip.