My last night of camping in Rancho Cucamonga turns out to be the worst of the whole trip. I figure early on that it will be difficult to find a camping spot, what with everything being Fast Foods and fortified residential villages. So I try a first public Park, but the homeless people tell me there ain’t much hope.
I find a second Park and decide to play it cheeky. Halfway through my evening meal the Sheriff turns up. He’s a decent fellow despite the initial mandatory curtness (“put your hands where I can see them”). But he has to get me moving because some neighbour called and complained. He suggests I wait until it’s pitch dark and try another part of the Park.
Which I do, only to be woken by a far less gentle police officer. I get the whole package, frisking, searching my stuff, threats and being told to move.
I decide to try ringing at people’s doors and ask for a backyard. First house, the woman looks through the shutters and doesn’t open. Second house, the couple refuses point blank. Third house a grown man tells me his mother won’t let him. I’m starting to despair, and when the fourth door reveals an old, frail woman, I almost turn around and give up. Turns out though, she’s the most courageous of the lot and will let me use her backyard.
I really hope I caught but a glimpse of a singular and dysfunctional residential settlement and not the future urbanism that awaits us, because just glimpsing it was enough to make one despair…
Song of the day: The Sprawl – Arcade Fire