Salton Sea State Park, Niland

The Salton Sea is the epitome of broken promises and best laid plans. Once thought of as an alternative to Las Vegas, an oasis of beachside resorts and nightlife in the desert, the Salton Sea is about as far from a vacation spot as one could imagine. Its several communities – and investments – fell victim to the realities of geography, weather patterns, and marine biology.

The lake is still there, and in spots remains quite beautiful, but the surrounding “towns” are nothing more than old trailers, small homes in massive disrepair, and a shocking lack of infrastructure. No gas stations (the very practical reason why people only seem to drive golf carts), very few (shabby) convenience stores, and no motels, restaurants, or anything else a tourist might need/want. Everything is dusty, broken down, and totally depressing. Oh, and unbearably hot. Not fun to be outside.

The first stop on our macabre, voyeuristic tour, was the North Coast, which, when times were good, was the central business and residential district. After driving for a while on the highway, we pulled off onto a narrow road, which ultimately took us to the North Shore Beach and Yacht Club. Before going inside, we walked down a dirt hill, past an abandoned bait shop/snack bar, to the water’s edge. We were immediately struck by the terrible smell, the hordes of flies, and the rotting fish that lined the beach. Apparently, the SS is very, very nutrient rich, a fact that under ordinary circumstances means a thriving ecosystem. The SS lies in a spot prone to high wind, however. When the wind blows hard, it dredges up algae (a product of high-nutrient water), which rises to the surface and depletes the water of oxygen, suffocating any and all fish in the area. Dead fish washing up on shore is not conducive to relaxing, carefree vacationing.

The second major problem is the flooding. Once every few years, hurricanes from the Gulf make their way up the coast and inland to the SS. The high winds and heavy rain lead to flooding, which ravages trailers and homes anywhere near the water. Our second stop on the tour, Bombay Beach, featured a graveyard of sorts littered with several abandoned homes (most with not much more than a wooden frame) and forgotten trailers. Furniture, clothes, shoes, appliances, all strewn throughout what used to be a subdivision. Incredibly sad, and though interesting visually, pretty tough to see on an emotional level. People’s lives were destroyed here, and the remnants are very plain to see.

On one level, there is something to be respected about cutting one’s losses and just leaving for the elements the wreckage left after a flood. In a place devoid of any hope or prospect of resurgence, it may be best to get out of dodge. Sunk costs, as they say. Though most seem to have taken that approach, there are quite a few that have remained. In a few hours of driving, we saw about 10 people (mostly old, shirtless dudes, wandering aimlessly), and met what I imagine to be the SS's most irrepressible fan.

Jennie Kelly, the curator of the North Coast Museum and chief SS propaganda artist, gave us a brief history, sold us some trinkets from the gift shop, and – for about 30 minutes – actually convinced me that the SS was headed for a renaissance. In addition to the brand new community center building (which was far nicer than anything else within 100 miles, at least), there are plans to revamp the boat marina, hold annual boat races, and eventually, bring back the grandeur and promise of the SS.

Misguided? A poor sense of history? Foolish pride? Maybe. On the other hand, I found the unabashed optimism for the place and dreams of a thriving future both charming and actually a bit inspirational.

Not so charming: The Slabs (aka Slab City: www.slabcity.org). The only remnants from an old Marine base, The Slabs are a winter destination for “hippies and $1,000,000 motor homes alike,” according to SS Jennie. Self-advertised (on the old cement guard gate) as the “last free place,” the slabs become an alterna-community of sorts. Just before you arrive at Slab City, you encounter Salvation Mountain, a colorful, wildly painted hill, with Christian messages, crosses, bible verses, etc., which serves as the centerpiece of a dirt cul-de-sac dedicated to Jesus and God. Several old cars/campers painted the same way were also fun to check out. I’m not sure whether it was the heat, the fact that I bottomed out the car driving on the dirt road, or a message from God, but our car died twice – twice! – in the five minutes we were there. The Subaru hasn’t died once in the eight years LVL has owned it, and it dies twice while in the shadows of God mountain. At the very least, a creepy moment.