Leaving Anaheim, we headed to Vegas in the tow vehicle rental (sans trailer) for some fun with friends and (eventually) the Wild West Arts Fest (more on that later).
On the way, amidst the inky desert dark, we stumbled upon a midnight oasis; A lone diner nestled amongst the vast nothing on either side of us, it’s signage and architecture suggesting a classic 50s greasy spoon. The space had not been on our radar previously, and, with neither of us very confident drivers at night, we were glad for the reprieve, especially one so outwardly on the nose (for us).
Making our way inside the space, we were greeted by a fortune telling Elvis and a life-sized Betty Boop. To the left was a 5 & Dime store, packed with a near absurd level of retro commercial kitsch- as if someone read only the highlights of 30s-60s Americana and then proceeded to prepper-level hoard everything related to I Love Lucy, the Beatles, Marilyn Monroe, etc, and stock the shop to the gills accordingly. The women working the boutique, which also doubled as a nostalgic malt shop and soda fountain, echoed the surrounding aesthetics, both in dress and demeanor, directing us to the restaurant on the opposite end for more food and drink options , while I purchased the first item of décor for the Airstream (a coral colored Kit Kat Klock which had been on my wish list for ages, because OF COURSE they had one there).
Stopping over briefly to use the restrooms, the locale’s sense of humor became shockingly more apparent as, entering the women’s bathroom, I was greeted by the arched back of an imposing male figure, hunched over a urinal, hand on the wall above him, bracing his endeavors. I IMMEDIATELY flushed, looking to back out, assuming at least ONE of us was in the wrong place, until I realized he was inanimate, and I’d likely joined the astonished ranks of any number of femme creatures years past, seeking to relieve themselves in that space before me.
That heart pounding escapade aside, we journeyed through the opposite wing of the diner, to the greasy-spoon proper element, replete with charming painted wood cutouts of celebrities from Bette Davis to Fred Astaire, a tower of freshly baked pies, rotating within a dessert display case, and various other nostalgic ephemera everywhere you looked. It turns out, the owners of the space, who purchased it in the early ’80s, had worked (respectively) at Knotts Berry Farm and in the movie biz, and in the process of restoring the diner, (originally built in 1954) had moved their extensive collection of memorabilia into the joint for some added character (context we’d only gained the day following).
We continued, unawares, through the empty portion of the restaurant (it was very near closing, and the clientele were scarce as a result), making our way towards the parking lot out front where we’d left the truck. As we exited, through the buffeting wind, we heard music the sound of 50s Doo-Wop emanating from an unseen courtyard behind the property. Rounding the corner, we were met with what was probably the most unexpected sight of the evening- a gorgeously maintained and completely deserted promenade of grass and rocky terrain, filled with miniature lakes and waterways, traversable by way of small arching sweetheart bridges, adjacent an empty stage, and surrounded, everywhere you turned, by a unique and elusive species of reptiles ONLY found in these foothills of the Calico Mountains- The Diner-Saur.
Not much is known of this perplexing species, save that they only seem to want to gather exclusively around Peggy Sue’s. As we took in our surroundings, the voices of George Harrison and Paul McCartney echoing over unseen speakers in unison “Tell me whyyyyy”, we pondered the creatures’ origin and existence, cell service non-existent and the restaurant now shuttered, with no one to provide answers to the MANY questions amassing between us in this pseudo “Lost Highway”-esque ambiance.
I was grateful for the mystery- and the circumstances in which we happened upon the joint. I don’t know that my sense of reverence for the setting would have been quite as heavy if I’d planned to be there ahead of time, fully versed in the answers to all these burning theories about the rationale behind it. Sometimes, the best adventures are the ones you DON’T plan- the ones the universe, by pure serendipity, allows to unfold in front of you. My advice- this go around- to fellow thrill seekers, is to venture off the beaten path, look up from your map from time to time, let your cell service abandon you and see where the road takes you- you never know what you might find.
For more about this magical space, check out their website, here!