High noon at Badwater basin, and here I am wearing a light fleece coat and cursing it because, well, it's not my high-end, breathable Gore-Tex rain jacket, hanging uselessly back home in the hallway closet.
You congenital high-brows who believe Death Valley is as parched culturally as it is meteorologically really need to get off your high horse and into your SUV and hightail it to this one-pump-of-the-brake-pedal town at the crossroads of highways 190 and 127, where high lonesome meets low desert.
There's something deliciously pampering about staying at multiple-star luxury hotels. The best of them evolve novel ways to cosset their clientele. Each of the three I experienced in my hometown of Toronto creates its own portrait, which I individually framed in an attempt to capture its unique character.
Tourists know about the treasures found around Los Angeles, but just 65 miles north lies one of the best kept secrets on the West Coast. The little seaside town of Oxnard offers almost everything that you can find in its southern neighbor, but none of the crowds.