A Night on the Town

"Bakersfield gets a bad rap." These wise words were spoken by Bobette, the manager of the steak house we treated ourselves to last night. A fifty-something woman in a hideous purple and white print dress, the pattern of which formed an unfortunate target on her crotch, we'd drawn her attention because we were "new". My partner over-shared the information that we'd just moved here from LA. "Moved" wouldn't have been the word I'd chosen... "banished" or "exiled" came to mind. Even she surprised by the news. Her beehive swayed as she said "It's not as bad as people say."

Because Bako isn't the place you move to, it's a place you flee. Or more likely, pass through, which is probably most people's only experience with the place. I know it was mine, prior to our unfortunate move. I'd stopped for gas and smokes on the way to Yosemite. They say you only get one chance to make an first impression, and mine was "hellhole". As near as I can tell, the best thing about Bako is seeing it in your rear-view mirror.

Even the locals are hard pressed to name it's virtues. Almost everyone cites it's proximity to other, better places. "Oh it's only an hour to the mountains, or an hour and a half to LA. The coast is only two hours away, and you can be in San Francisco in three or four hours." If the best thing you can think of about your little hometown is how quickly you can escape it in any direction, you've got problems.