I am about as far south as I can be in mainland USA, and every exit is for a different border crossing into Mexico. There is a strong visible presence of border police, and twice the traffic is stopped for a check. On both occasions I am flagged through, so my pallid complexion obviously constitutes no threat.

The highway at this point is surrounded by sand dunes, looking for all the world as if the sea is just beyond. Eventually I reach my turn off and head north, with the countryside becoming just a little greener. Although there are a couple of towns, and the road number changes twice, the next 100 miles are basically a straight line. There is gradually a distinct change in scenery with, for quite a long stretch, the red mountains of the Anza-Borrega Park on my left and the Salton Sea on my right. I eventually take heed of my constant yawning, and pause for a Starbuck’s break, although my destination is not too far away by now.

I turn onto my old friend the I-10, but only utilise it for a few miles before hitting SR-62, the 29 Palms Highway, just as the whole landscape is taken over by a huge wind farm, a quite stunning sight. The highway rises steeply through the mountains, with lots of tourist traps, until I reach my destination, the Joshua Tree Inn, “the cosmic American motel.”

A cool, slowly spoken dude in a cowboy hat checks me in and shows me to my room. I have booked room 8, the Gram Parsons room, where the eponymous musician spent his last night on this earth in September 1973. Parsons was considered by some to be the founder of country rock in the sixties, and played with the Byrds, the Flying Burrito Brothers and the Fallen Angels.

This was his regular room at the motel and, after a day of ingesting a variety of drugs and alcohol, this is probably where he died, although he was not declared dead until reaching a local hospital.

The building is old and quaint, with local artefacts and rock music memorabilia everywhere. The rooms open off an outside corridor, which contains armchairs and tables, and which borders a rectangle containing a large swimming pool. The edge of the corridor is full of a beautiful purple plant. Outside my room there is a small shrine to Parsons, and the room itself contains much of his memorabilia. They have also thoughtfully provided a CD player and some of his music.

Unless you’re a true fan, or on a whimsical trip such as mine, I doubt whether the contents of the room justify the extra charge. But it’s a nice place to be nonetheless.

I settle myself in and decide to try the pool, despite having been warned. The warning proves justified, as I only get my feet and lower legs wet before returning to my room, where I put them in the fridge to warm them up!

Dinner time arrives, and I drive back to the nearby town, Yucca Palms, where I had noticed several options when driving through. I settle on La Casita, a Mexican place, which should be good if judged by the number of people there. I order a Negra Modela, a dark Mexican beer I remember from before, while I peruse the menu. I try Carnitas Michoacan, which consists of roast marinated pork, with the usual Mexican rice, refried beans, guacamole and tortillas. No complaints from me!

Returning to the motel, I am struck by the drop in temperature – the car says 52 degrees, a local bank sign goes as low as 47. When I arrive, cool receptionist dude is in the dining room strumming his guitar, so I join him while I get my e-mails – the internet connection doesn’t reach to the room. As I walk back, there is a full moon, a clear sky and a view that stretches for miles; the palms and Joshua trees are silhouetted against the night, and the purple stuff around the corridor is releasing an amazing perfume. Maybe it is worth the extra for a bit of cosmic, after all!