Southwest Road Trip: Joshua Tree, Palm Springs & Historic Route 66 (Part 2)

Picking up in Joshua Tree National Park, my solo campervan adventure through the American Southwest continues in Part 2 of this road trip travelogue series.

After the rush of the road and the long desert miles of the first three days, this part of the journey slowed everything down.

Part 2 of this Southwest road trip series picks up in Joshua Tree National Park, where I lingered for nearly three full days—letting more stillness, close-to-the-campground exploration, and the California high desert shape each one. From a dramatic descent into Palm Springs and a restorative spa day (and a proper shower…finally), to half-day adventures to Joshua Tree town’s quirky shops and cafes, and finally a turn back east along Route 66 to sleep between the vines at a desert winery, these three days felt like the emotional center of the trip, an anchor that took the rush of the first three days and grounded it all in the present, in the beauty of what it was I was getting to experience.

This is the stretch where this road trip stopped feeling new and started feeling like the life I wanted to just keep living.

Day 4: Day Trip to Palm Springs + Afternoon at a Desert Spa

Day 4 at a glance: A slow morning in the desert, a dramatic descent into Palm Springs, spa day with access to mineral hot springs, and a (super)moonlit return to Joshua Tree.

After the six-hour drive it took to reach Joshua Tree National Park from Organ Pipe National Monument (you can catch up on that journey in Part 1), I was in no rush to leave. In fact, I’d already penciled three nights in Joshua Tree into my road trip itinerary—two at Jumbo Rocks Campground, and a hopeful third at one of the park’s first-come, first-served campgrounds if I managed to snag a spot amid the weekend rush.

Knowing I at least had this night’s campsite secured freed me up to wander beyond the park boundaries for the day. Inspired by something I’d done on my Pacific Northwest road trip this past spring, I’d been researching spas around Palm Springs that offered day passes and access to natural hot springs. I’d read that the region sits along the San Andreas Fault, where geothermal activity heats mineral-rich water deep underground. It’s one of the reasons Palm Springs has long been known as a desert wellness destination.

While many Palm Springs resorts were well outside my budget, I found exactly what I was looking for at Azure Palm Hot Springs Resort in nearby Desert Hot Springs.

For $69, I could spend the day slipping into their individual mineral spring–fed tubs overlooking the San Jacinto Mountains and the Coachella Valley. I could sweat out the stress of the road in their Finnish sauna, cool off under the ice bucket shower, then bounce betweent their indoor and outdoor hot tubs, sun loungers, and heated plunge pool. Knowing I still wanted to see Palm Springs even just for a few hours in the morning, I booked a noon start at the spa and planned to enjoy its amenities for a full five hours from there.

With this plan locked in, I let myself enjoy a spectacular sunrise and a slow, satisfying morning at camp before pointing the van west, deeper into California, towards Palm Springs. The drive itself was dramatic: the emptiness of Joshua Tree gradually gave way to dust-coated highway towns along Route 62, before the San Jacinto Mountains suddenly rose into view, looming larger with every passing mile. At over 10,800 feet, they tower above Palm Springs like a stone wall, their scale made even more striking by the palm-lined oasis at their base.

Palm Springs hooked me instantly. After days of muted desert tones and dirt-dusted roads, the city felt lush and almost surreal—green lawns, midcentury modern architecture, and skinny palms everywhere I looked. I stopped at Ernest Coffee on Palm Canyon Drive, slipping into a seat among laptop-clad locals deep into their workdays.

This is life on the road. Every day unfolds differently than the one before, offering brief, intimate glimpses into places you might otherwise only skim past—and often lasting no longer than it takes to finish a cup of coffee. That was all the time I had for Palm Springs, too. Noon was approaching fast. With one last look at this city I promised myself I’d return to someday, I climbed back into the van and drove the twenty minutes north to Desert Hot Springs.

Once I’d made it to the resort, I scarfed down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the parking lot, filled a tote with my swimsuit, shampoo, and flip-flops, and stepped into an afternoon I could not wait to devote entirely to soaking, lounging in the sun, and—for the first time in days—being in one place for more than an hour while the sun was still high. And, perhaps equally luxurious, enjoying a proper shower after.

The afternoon was heavenly. Temperatures hovered in the low 70s, making time between dips in the thermal tubs and sauna genuinely pleasant. It was a welcome change of pace from the rush of the road. What I needed most was stillness—but stillness like this, shoulder-deep in a thermal pool surrounded by desert foliage, mountain views, and hummingbirds flitting about.

By 5 p.m., loose-limbed and freshly showered, I began the drive back toward Joshua Tree. The timing couldn’t have been better. A supermoon rose low on the horizon, so large and luminous it had me gasping in awe. Before I knew it, I was blinking back tears too—not from exhaustion, not from relief, but from pure, unfiltered gratitude.

This had been a perfect day. From sunrise to moonrise.

How lucky I am to get to live this, I said aloud to myself. I don’t take any of it for granted.

Day 5: Ryan Mountain Hike + Exploring Joshua Tree Town

Day 5 at a glance: Claiming a first-come, first-served campsite, hiking to one of Joshua Tree National Park’s best viewpoints, wandering Joshua Tree town, and catching golden hour among the glowing cholla.

If yesterday fell into the category of staying still, today took it to new heights—literally and figuratively. I wouldn’t venture more than a half-hour from my campsite all day long. The first order of business, of course, came after my now-sacred coffee ritual in bed: securing that campsite for the night.

Jumbo Rocks was fully booked, so my best options were Belle Campground or White Tank Campground, both first-come, first-served. I had two BLM lands marked as backups, but as a solo and relatively new van-lifer, I preferred the simplicity and peace of staying inside the park at an established campground—not to mention the proximity to so many trails and natural wonders.

When I rolled into White Tank Campground just after 9 a.m., I lucked out. A few sites were still available, and I snagged one tucked against a massive boulder, with a Joshua tree flanking the other side. Perfect. Knowing I’d still need to officially register at the north gate, I made a temporary claim: tearing a sheet from my journal, writing “Reserved 12/5-6,” attaching it to the numbered post marking the site, and leaving my campchair as a second signal.

Praying my informal claim would hold for a few hours, I decided to tackle a quick hike up Ryan Mountain before officially registering at the north gate. But “quick” and Ryan Mountain don’t actually belong in the same sentence. The trail is short but steep, climbing roughly 1,000 feet from trailhead to summit over just a mile and a half.

The effort, however, is rewarded. Catching my breath, the summit revealed the park’s expansive boulder fields, valleys, and the distant snow-dusted peaks, the same ones I’d driven toward just the day before. It’s one of the best viewpoints in Joshua Tree, and I can see why. I asked a group that had just summited to snap a photo of me, something I hadn’t been doing enough of on this trip, and then descended with speed, hoping my makeshift reservation at the campground had held.

At the north gate, relief washed over me: no one had taken the campsite in the three-hour interim. With a campsite officially secured, I followed the road out of the park toward Twenty-Nine Palms, a small desert town that serves as the gateway to Joshua Tree National Park from the north. From there, I kept traveling west, retracing the route from yesterday toward Palm Springs—but this time stopping in one of the dust-caked highway towns I’d breezed by: Joshua Tree.

Joshua Tree town is a quirky, artistic desert community bordering the National Park, with shops, cafes, and restaurants that literally hug the highway on either side. I crossed more than once to see all that this dusty town had to offer, stopping at Joshua Tree Coffee Company first, then visiting the World Famous Crochet Museum, poking around a sci-fi bookshop, and finally browsing various gift shops in search of a souvenir mug. For such a small, loosely stitched-together place, I was amazed by its creativity and culture, which clearly attracts artists, nomads, and characters of all kinds.

Before I knew it, the afternoon was transitioning to golden hour. I said goodbye to Joshua Tree town, thoroughly satisfied with my decision to spend an entire afternoon poking around its shops, kitsch, and cafes, and returned to Joshua Tree National Park, just a half an hour away.

Once back inside the park, I made a last-minute decision to head straight to the Cholla Cactus Garden instead of my campground. I’d passed it yesterday and knew golden hour would be an especially magical time to see it. Boardwalks wind through hundreds of wild teddy bear cholla—a deceptively cute and fuzzy cactus that eagerly propagates its spines at the slightest brush.

Intentionally sticking to the boardwalk to avoid any accidental encounters with its barbs on my skin or through my shoes, I wandered through the garden, doing multiple loops of the same path, watching the golden light of sunset transform these stubborn spines into a gorgeous halo around each. As the sun dipped behind the nearest mountain and the desert cooled as quickly as it had the night before, the day once again had that unmistakable thud of completion. Another day done well.

I climbed back into the van and returned to the campsite I hadn’t seen since morning, easing it once again between the towering boulder and the flanking Joshua tree.

Day 6: Joshua Tree National Park to Kingman, Arizona (Route 66 + vineyard stay)

Day 6 at a glance: One last desert hike in Joshua Tree, a stunning stretch of Highway 62, a brief stop in Lake Havasu City, and a surprise night among the vines along Route 66.

The day began the way most of them had by now: coffee as the sun rose. This morning I decided to squeeze in one last wander through Joshua Tree before it was time to leave. I set out on the Arch Rock Nature Trail, a short loop that winds through the campground’s dense boulder field to its namesake arch, hidden among the rocks. The trail felt less like a traditional hike and more like a desert jungle gym, requiring all four limbs to scramble, duck, and hoist my way through it.

As I scrambled, I was acutely aware that this was the day this road trip would begin its U-turn back toward where it started. Sure, I still had two full days before the van needed to be returned, but by nightfall I’d be back in Arizona. That had a finality to it I didn’t want to face. These three days and nights in Joshua Tree, using the park as a home base rather than a quick stop, had been so special. If I were being completely honest, I didn’t want to leave. I wasn’t ready to go back in the direction of The End.

Feelings aside, I had to hit the road. Today’s drive clocked in at around four hours without stops—and stops, when I’m the one driving, are a given. My day was slated to end at a winery near Kingman, Arizona, one I’d found through an app called RV Overnights, where hosts offer a place to park in exchange for supporting their business. There, I’d pay for a tasting flight and maybe pick up a bottle of wine for the road. I was excited to see what sleeping between vines would feel like in contrast to the saguaros and jumbo rocks I’d grown used to by now.

The stretch of Highway 62 out of Joshua Tree and toward Lake Havasu City deserves special mention. For miles, the road cuts through wide-open desert with soft, sandy shoulders, rocky expanses that press right up to the pavement, and rugged, canyon-like formations that had my jaw on the floor. It was one of those drives where you don’t realize you’re on a destination road until you’re already on it—one curve revealing another impossibly vast scene. This isn’t my road trip how-to post (that’s coming later), but consider this a Southwest road trip tip anyway: do not miss this stretch of highway.

Riding high from that scenic drive, the remaining miles to Lake Havasu City passed quickly. The town itself felt like a sharp contrast to the emptiness I’d just driven through. Built as a desert resort destination, Lake Havasu City leans hard into leisure—boats, waterfront promenades, souvenir shops—and famously features the relocated London Bridge as its centerpiece. The effect is a little surreal: a slice of vacation-town energy and random across-the-pond connections dropped into the Arizona desert. I parked, wandered the waterfront briefly, and realized within about fifteen minutes that it wasn’t quite my speed. Back to the van I went.

Not long after leaving Havasu City, signs for Historic Route 66 began to appear. I’d completely forgotten I’d be joining it today, and the realization sparked an unexpected wave of excitement. For all its kitsch and nostalgia, this was a road with real history beneath it—once the primary artery connecting east and west. I also hadn’t realized just how significant Kingman was along Route 66, complete with a museum and preserved stretches of the original highway.

I let myself get sidetracked in Kingman longer than planned, wandering its main street and poking around the museum and gift shop at the Visitor Center before finally messaging my winery host to let him know I’d be running late.

By the time I arrived at Little Old Wine Drinker’s Winery, just outside Kingman in the unincorporated community of Valle Vista, the sun was already dropping low. Steve, the winemaker, greeted me by name as I jumped down from the driver’s side of the van, clearly expecting me. Before daylight faded completely, he walked me through his vineyard, pointing out the mountain ranges encircling it—the Hualapai Mountains, the Cerbat Mountains, and the distant Music Mountains framing the desert horizon.

Soon enough, I was seated at the bar tasting all six of his wines, each with a story more unexpected than the last and told with the bravado of a showman—something Steve actually was in a former life just across those Music Mountains in Las Vegas. Rosé, Pinot Grigio, Tempranillo, and Cabernet Franc landed in my glass, but it was the red blend and the strawberry wine that had me in stitches from the stories attached to them—the red blend born from accidentally mixing up vines during planting and never quite figuring out what was what, and the strawberry wine cheekily named Clothing Optional, inspired by a pair of road-tripping eighty-year-old women who once spent the night much like me, tried it, and jokingly offered to pay with their panties because it was that good.

This was yet another day where the reality of the itinerary mapped went above and beyond anything I could have imagined, and it kept delivering right up until the final moment. That night, as I fell asleep parked between two rows of grapevines, just steps from the tasting room, I marveled at how strange and generous this life on the road can be. I really wasn’t ready for it to end. Not yet.

There’s still one more part to this story, Days 7 to 9. This next stretch of the road trip brought with it sobering encounters, iconic vistas I never thought I’d see so soon, and the inevitable return to Phoenix. Stay tuned!

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