Easy Rider; Fast Times in Victorville

I rode out of Palmdale around 11:00 Monday morning, after stopping at Boodha's Bike shop to get my rear tube changed. I opted for a heavy duty tube; after the shop owner and I looked at the lighter weight punctured tube, we deduced that going over some tough bumps in the road on the way into town had caused my spokes to punch through. I can't have a flat every week, and I'm bound to have lots of rough road, so heavy duty tube it is. And now I can confidently say I can change the tubes myself, so I have the regular tube as a back-up and I'm ready to deal with another flat if I must.
The road from Palmdale to Victorville was ridiculously easy, I covered 45 miles in just three hours (that's easy for me pulling a trailer, trust me) - the road was either flat or downhill all the way. Now I'm really in the desert; nothing but sand, cactus, yucca tress, more cactus and desert palms all the way. The high desert, apparently. I took a picture of the city limit sign for the town of Pearblossom - over 3,000 feet high, with what look to be snow-covered mountains in the distance (or maybe it's just salt? or whitish looking sand?) I stopped over for lunch in Victorville, and while I ate my sandwich I contemplated the mystery of nails in the road.
For the entirety of my trip, I've had to contend with dozens and dozens of nails, of all shapes and sizes - long, short, thick, thin, rusty brown, shiny new steel, bent, straight. Where the hell do they come from? The nail has not had any practical use in the automotive industry since the horse and buggy, right? Are houses along the road spontaneously ejecting nails from their boards into the streets in an attempt thwart the traffic running in front of them? Is some demented Johnny Appleseed flinging nails onto the highways and byways of America, looking not to plant trees but instead create a garden of shredded rubber and scrap metal in the asphalt fields of the country? I don't know, but I'll keep my eye out for the anti-Johnny. Pinched tubes are bad enough, nails are another thing altogether Johnny.
I stopped for the night in the curiously named Apple Valley, in another motel. No way I'm pitching a tent on the side of the road in these towns - I'm not sure I'd wake up with the clothes on my back, much less my bike and all my gear. And why Apple Valley; is there such a thing as a cactus apple? I've heard of a cactus pear. Maybe Apple Valley is just the locals way of looking at the bright side of life (or maybe this is the birthplace of the anti-Johnny, hmm.) If there's an apple tree within a hundred miles of here I'll eat my inner tube.
Last word about Victorville - had a fun time at the Ramada Inn Monday night with the front desk clerk and her boyfriend (no names to protect the not so innocent.) You see the nuttiest things at some of these small town hotel/motels; last night was the prize winner so far. A working girl from Reno, Nevada checked in; said she was "just visiting a friend", i.e. the local pimp. Go-go boots, skirt that just barely covered her unmentionables, belly hanging out of her blouse, Good Lord! The front desk clerk's boyfriend was having fun with her, asking if he could be her "friend", if he could have her number, etc. She claimed she wasn't attracted to him and that she never gave anyone her number. He wrote I love you on her door later with shaving cream, fun times in the hot town. And then there was the couple that had just gotten married, coming in straight from the reception to the hotel; he still had his tux on (all white, looked a little like a marshmallow), and she was still wearing her wedding gown, complete with veil. They had good luck messages written with shaving cream all over their truck (which inspired the love note to the working girl, I think.) They checked in and off they went; I'm not sure they even had any luggage. They made 16 people in a hotel that has 103 rooms; it was a little creepy that night, what with the wind constantly blowing the front doors open and whistling down the halls. A little like the Overlook Hotel in the Shining; I had the feeling if I turned around in the hall leading to my room I might see something I'd rather not (like a poltergeist, or the working girl, whose room was ten doors down.) Seeing her in the middle of the night would be a haunting experience, for sure.