Blythe: a post for Mary

Even cell companies insult Blythe.

Our friend Mary was worried about our sanity, when finding out we were spending the night in this rather pathetic city (sorry, Blythe people), even though we were literally only arriving late in the evening and leaving first thing the next morning.

Maybe Mary was right, the one memorable thing about Blythe was that our meal at the leading Mexican restaurant of the city gave Dinah heartburn.

Blythe is the last town from California on I-10 before the Colorado river and Arizona, and it’s like this amazing state that gave us Yosemite, Big Sur, Los Angeles, and the Redwoods had no more energy to create something cool and vomited out a town on a perfunctory basis. From the east, it’s the first town travelers from AZ see — sort of a bad ‘welcome to California’.

Not much to say about modern Blythe except that evidently, after the voters approved recreational cannabis in 2016, the sunshine, soil and low costs (because WHO WANTS TO LIVE THERE) of Blythe now makes it an excellent ganja production center.

Typical Blythe street.