Baker, California is a sleepy town nestled in a remote desert area along Interstate 15. It is not really a destination. Rather, it’s a stop on the way to LA from a more enticing destination—like Salt Lake City or Vegas. My travel companions and I stayed the night there on Saturday, after a long day of driving west on the I-15. Here are some observations we made:

The town is comprised of one street—Baker Boulevard.

If the townspeople killed visitors passing through, then ground them into sausage to sell at their independently owned markets, I would not be surprised.

Apparently, everyone in Baker lives on a steady diet of Cheetos, bagged cotton candy, day-old hot dogs heated on a metal roller, mysterious, pickled miniature sausages [*ahem*] and Mountain Dew. There is nary a grocery store in sight; only convenience stores.

If you are on a quest to find the perfect plush animal hat with paws, Baker is the place for you.

There is only one motel in town—the Wills Fargo Motel. No one speaks of Bun Boy Motel, or what happened at Bun Boy.

Apparently, something happened at Bun Boy. Like a death. Or bed bugs. Or death by bed bugs.

The same goes for the Royal Hawaiian Motel.

The Wills Fargo Motel has a pool. It does not have an ice machine, but rather, a cooler filled with ice. And its rooms have no carpet; only tile floors. All carpeting was probably removed after the bloodstains became too numerous.

Baker’s unofficial motto, as coined by our Wills Fargo Motel neighbor whose car broke down on the Interstate: ‘The armpit of the world’

If you visit Baker on Cinco de Mayo, a festive way to celebrate is to pick up some burritos from the sole Del Taco in town, which closes at midnight.

NBC is not available in Baker. I am not sure why. Perhaps, Dateline did an expose on Bun Boy.

Lastly, the best way to sleep in Baker, without fear of being brutally murdered in your sleep, is to drink. Heavily.