Field Notes - Dispatch 6 – Palm
Desert
Hello Fellow Adventurers!
Today we decided to leave the security
of the walled desert fortress, the PDG (Palm Desert Greens), and
cycle two blocks down the street to the Marriott Resort
http://goo.gl/R26Sg where Mary
promised I would be rewarded with a Starbucks strawberry smoothie and
a look at the parrot collection. I thought that was a brilliant
idea. There is nice curvy bike path with lots of manicured plants
along the way and protected crosswalks. All went well.
We arrived and got through the gate and
up the hill past the flamingo pond and to the front entrance where I
glided silently up behind the a valet and flipped my bike bell. The
guy jumped straight up six inches. I laughed my head off. After we
both recovered, I asked him and his pals who was going to park my
fifteen year old Trek mountain bike with its faded red saddle bags.
They implied that they were not sure whether to park it or have it
and its owner crushed for scrap metal. Very droll fellows, these
chaps.
Anyway, about then , and I am not
kidding, a new white Maserati pulls up under the portico with that
typical Italian purr that says big money. All three valets abandoned
me in a rush to hop over and cow-tow to the movie star type getting
out from behind the steering wheel and his passably attractive, in a
Venus sort of way, companion who was pouring herself out of the cream
leather interior like a star in a Ralph Loren commercial.
These two refugees from Hollywood walk
right by me and my faithful bike as though we didn't exist and I
certainly could not blame them. I was down on one knee trying
unsuccessfully to get the greasy bike chain back on the front
sprocket and they probably didn't even see me or I am sure they would
have said hello just to be neighborly. After all, just because some
people are rich, beautiful, and talented does not mean they are not
just like you and me. (MR says this may not, in fact, be true.)
Mary had long since leaned her bike up
against a bench and was inside sipping my smoothie. Eventually I
was able to get my bike tightly secured with two locks in a rack
beside a dumpster. On my way in to the posh lobby, I slipped the
valet a dollar and told him to make sure that shifty-eyed Maserati
driver or his girl did not steal my bike.
A person can't be to careful in these
uncertain times.
