I have had this joke with myself, for as long as I can remember – my entire life.   It was that I wanted to end up living in an old trailer in the desert, a 3 legged dog in the “yard”, flies buzzing above his head, a broken down pickup truck, hubcaps or painted rocks lining the driveway.

I imagined being alone there, peaceful, a place to reflect, write, live out my ‘golden years.’   I’ve shared this notion with quite a number of people over the years, and the reaction has been mixed:  some people were horrified, some slightly bemused as I am; some thinking it indicated some sort of imbalance.  (But whom  of us can honestly say we are 100% sane and rational, by any definition?).

The “location” has changed over the years.  The first place I remember “choosing” and the spot that held the prize the longest, was on the Antelope Valley Highway, which runs between the far northern suburbs of Los Angeles (Santa Clarita), and Victorville, CA, on I-15, the road from Los Angeles to Las Vegas.

The next area I “picked” was Baker, CA, up I-15 a piece, midway between Barstow, California, and the western Nevada border.  If you’ve ever driven past here, you know about it – it’s the home of the world’s tallest thermometer (which rarely works), and is a layover on your drive to Las Vegas – or anywhere.  There are some coffee shops, gas stations, and not much else.  There is “Alien Beef Jerky”, and there is a Big Boy restaurant, which used to be called “Bun Boy”, and if you’re really, really old, like me, you’ll remember this stop was  frequent joke between Johnny Carson and Ed McMahon (tho I can’t tell you why – I don’t know).

At times, another location, tho I have never been serious about it, is the Salton Sea, as close a place as you can come to hell on earth, probably, in the far southern extremities of California.  An inland salt water ‘sea’, the location is most well known for the tons of dead fish and birds that pile up on the shore every week, from the salinity and diseases that accompany ultra high saline and high temp mixes.

Recently, I’ve been fascinated with Tonopah, NV, a place I first heard about when reading about Howard Hughes’ time in Las Vegas.  Tonopah is on US 95, called by many as “the loneliest highway in America,” and I might agree.  Tonopah is halfway between Vegas and Reno, and the highway has little going for it, in the way of rest, relaxation, culture, towns.   A few brothels dot the highway, once you are outside of Clark County, NV, where the state’s legal prostitution statute does not apply.

Brothels are not the attraction for me.  I’m not sure, other than I’m pretty sure I am going to spend the last years of my life alone, and I am pretty sure friends and relatives aren’t going to be beating a path to my door to visit, so I might was well be as far off the beaten track as possible.

I had enough money to retire nicely when I left Hong Kong.  If I had as much sense as money, I just would have stayed. Life on “my island” in Hong Kong was ideal for me, and it was a very low cost of living, but Central Hong Kong, and whatever you needed or wished for, was a mere 30 minute ferry ride.

The older you get in life, in my opinion, the harder it is to see what’s ahead.  As a teen, and possibly all the way into your 40s, you see (or at least most of us do) a brilliant future ahead, peace, prosperity, and happiness.

At some point you realize the futility of this vision. For most people, it doesn’t happen.  As it didn’t for me.