Wanting for Warner Springs, Middle of Nowhere Mike, and the Coachella Valley

The walk into Warner Springs was relaxed and full of excitement.  We crossed paths with an experienced thru hiker who was headed south to bounce back north.  He was definitely old school, and we were amazed that someone would want to go through that previous patch twice, especially for what seemed to be a time killing procedure.
There's not a lot to Warner Springs as a town, but it sits in a green, paradise valley, literally an oasis in the desert.  On the north end sits a reservoir, the rest consists of grassy fields, blooming with noxious yellow flowers, all owned by Warner Ranch.  There's a spattering of rock outcroppings, including Eagle Rock, which resembles a magnificent bald eagle lifting up its wings, about to take flight.  We climbed onto its head, huge lizards were scurrying in and out of its cracks.  The surrounding environment was such a departure from the dry and barren landscape we had just passed through.  
Following a stream into town, we had one more obstacle in our path before we reached town.  A rattlesnake popped up along side the trail, Chris just happened to be leading again, and he jumped backwards abruptly like a marionet.  The snake held ground along the trail, which seemed to narrow to tiptoe across without passing into the strike zone.  We yelled at it and slapped our hiking poles on the trail in front of it.  Chris was able to get past on the slope down towards the stream, but when I started along the same path it turned its  head towards me and started moving.  I backed off, and it slithered across the trail, down the slope, and over the stream, rattling the whole way.
Warner Springs is a town of just over 200.  They have a high school, which serves a wide area, a golf course, and a spa resort with a naturally heated hot spring pool.  The resort actually had very generous PCT hiker rates, so we opted to stay a couple nights to get a healthy rest day in.  From the sounds of it, we're waiting for the snow to melt in the Sierras either way, so we might as well not push ourselves unnecessarily the first 600 miles.  111 miles deserved some celebration and relaxation.
We had a nice meal at the clubhouse, picked up our resupply box, and did some laundry.  The grounds of the resort were pleasant, and pretty sparse during the week.  Everyone was real nice, and, getting the sense that we were in the middle of nowhere, we felt as if the whole valley was somehow lost in time.  It had been many years since Warner himself fended off the Garra rebellion, holed up on the very same grounds until he ran out of bullets and took off on horseback with his young native servant.  The rebellion was later squashed, and today residents from Los Angeles and San Diego flock out here to while away their twilight years on fun noodles in the sulphur pool, lapping at an imperceptibly slow pace, their faces drawn blank by the steam, their minds filled with no more than the good ol' days and the subtle, dated elevator music.
Once upon a time, Bing Crosby had took a liking to this place, so did the Manson Family, and, now, so did we, even if it gave us the creeps sometimes.  The waitress at the restaurant muttered to herself about her boyfriend while pouring our water, and seemed surprised when we overheard her.  Everyone treated us well for the most part, even though we didn't have any passable semi-formal wear for the perpetually vacant fine dining room.  When it came time to leave, we had nearly forgotten what it was like to not live in the lap of decaying luxury.
We did 18 miles on Saturday, winding our way up onto the lip of the valley, where we had great views of a glider being towed by a prop plane.  Chaparral was comically dense. The wind was really whipping up in the late afternoon, a storm system was moving in.  We pulled off the trail near the Riverside county line and knocked on Trail Angel Mike's door.  Mike lives in a desolate house in the middle of  the desert.  When he first moved out here five years ago he had no idea what the Pacific Crest Trail was, nor that its hikers knew his house to be a safe haven under the previous owner.  Mike built a nice shack that hikers could sleep in, and had set up an old projector in his garage for movies.  There were a few other people visiting his house when he arrived, he greeted us with eyes barely open, laughing and groaning, "nobody's home!". He pointed us to the shack to put our stuff down, and invited us in for chicken.  Mike, who, when asked what he did out there, replied, "nuthin' man," had become very involved in the PCT scene.  One of his guests was a fellow who went by Warner Springs Monty.  They were organising food for the big PCT kickoff party in Moreno Lake later in the month, as well as the Cinco De Mayo event that Mike hosts here in the middle of nowhere.  It sounds like doing the PCT on schedule consists of hiking from party to party, we were well ahead of the crowd.  Mike is also a huge USC fan, and one of his prize possessions is a big Trojans helmet chair.  We all watched Avatar in the garage, then helped check a gas line on a plateau away from the house that the previous owner had levelled for desert rave parties. All in all, the evening wasn't anything close to what we were expecting, and it just added to the awesome quirkiness and fascinating cast of characters of our adventure so far.
We crossed the Riverside County line early the next day.  The hike took us along a rocky slope, with clouds pouring over the ridge above us and descending into a soupy mist in the valley.  Through a few patches we could see Mt. San Jacinto, our short term destination.  The weather cleared up, and we had a pretty easy 19 mile day with nice little breaks next to streams and big rocks.  We filtered water from another fire cistern, and ended the day by the Anza Hiker Haven, a little wooden shelf in the desert with water and log books to sign in.  We were right by a dirt road, which led out to several ready to build lots overlooking Anza, we watched the sunset from there, making out shapes in the rock outcroppings, then made it an early night.  The wind blew hard that night, and pulled one stake out from the rain fly.
Today, Monday, is my birthday.  Not really much of a deal out on the trail.  We had a real pretty hike today though, we climbed up a thousand feet onto a plateau where the Pines To Palm Highway ran through the San Bernadino State Forest. Ten miles into our day, and one mile off trail, we enjoyed a real meal at the Paradise Cafe, which is at the junction of the 74 and PTP Highways.  The restaurant switched owners this year, and the waitress said she was a big fan of the hikers, she made sure we were well hydrated and fed. It was also frequented by bikers, and town gossip batted around just like anywhere.  You could see San Jacinto's snowy peak out the window, it was getting closer.  The hike picked up in elevation when we got back on trail, we passed by some big rocks, a rattlesnake that was more scared of us than the other way around, and a Russian couple who had left St. Petersburg when it was still Leningrad.  Ryan said the trail reminded him of Eastern Oregon.  We kept on climbing, up past 6,300 feet.  We could see quite nicely into Coachella Valley, specifically Desert Hot Springs and Rancho Mirage to the East, and Lake Hemet to the West.  It's been encouraging to follow our progress based on the Imperial and Coachella Valley.  We could see the southern tip of the Salton Sea on the 28th, the northern tip yesterday, and now we'll be up by Palm Springs before we know it.  We hiked down a bit to camp near small Cedar Spring so we could stock up on water for our 21 mile day into Idyllwild tomorrow.