RANDSBURG,
CALIFORNIA—
We pulled
into Randsburg, California, around three in the afternoon. Bruce Jones,
our accomplice for the day, had made the mistake of asking, when we were
a mere fifty miles away, "Have you ever been to Randsburg? It's a
ghost town sort of place near Ridgecrest, or at least it was thirty years
ago when I last visited."
Bruce
Jones taking pictures of wild flowers before making his fateful
comment about Randsburg |
We'd been
on a wild flower hunt up until then, but a ghost town was too much to
resist. We headed north, and now, here we were, on the main street of
a town time had put on a back burner. Gold mining operations dotted the
hillsides, and turn-of-the-century wooden buildings with false fronts
and tin roofs lined the street. We parked near a bar called "The
Joint."
I had just
pointed my camera at a picturesque vine-covered outhouse when a woman
walked up. "That's one of the more amazing motor homes I've seen,"
she said. "I drive that van over there." She pointed to a Ford
Econoline with two propane tanks on the back. "I've been living in
it for four years. I just spent four months in Saline Valley."
Margi
Wainio with her home on wheels |
Margi gave
us a tour of her abode on wheels, a remarkable vehicle she'd outfitted
herself. "I really planned this as a camping van," she said.
"I didn't really intend to live in it, but that's how it's turned
out." Margi is originally from Santa Fe, where, when fate led her
in an unexpected direction, she traded a large house and a full complement
of belongings for a life on the road. She's writing a book about her experiences
on her laptop computer.
Tim
Powers' historic digs on Randsburg's main street |
Margi introduced
us to Tim, who bought three turn-of-the-century buildings in Randsburg
recently, including the old barber shop. "It still has the barber
chair in it," he said.
"You've
got to see Tim's bus," said Margi, and after we'd given them both
a tour of the Phoenix, we headed across the street.
Tim
Powers on the back porch of his Magic Bus |
Tim led us
to the back of the building. "This is the Magic Bus," he said.
"I'm adding a second story." Welded artistically to the top
of a white Superior school bus was the top half of a vintage Volkswagen
microbus. "It's going to be my bedroom," said Tim. "It
will slide down for travel, and then extend to full-size when I park—
three stories high."
Tim has called
the Magic Bus home for over a decade. "I moved in when my house in
Shasta City burned down," he said. Inside, he has a complete kitchen
with a tile counter, a Franklin stove, and a bathroom with a full-sized
tub.
"It's
a palace," we said.
"Oh,
and I have a thirty-foot flag pole on the roof," added Tim. "When
I'm out in the desert where there aren't any power lines, I drive with
my flag raised." He also used to have a basketball hoop on the back,
"But I had to take it off to add my second story," he said.
Tim is a
welder by trade, a skill that finds no end of application in the Magic
Bus. In preparation for adding his upstairs bedroom, he lengthened the
bus by about three feet. "I found an abandoned bus of the same type
out in the desert," he said. "I cut off the end and welded it
onto this bus. It matched perfectly."
And so it
came to pass that we found no ghosts in Randsburg, just two originals
who've chosen to follow the wind. Like the wild flowers, they may not
be there next time. Like a desert sunset, they were a fleeting delight.
