On the Road in Cinco, California

Having felt the siren call of the open road calling to me more clearly for the last few weeks and with a sudden wealth of time on my hands, I finally succumbed and hopped into my car for a familiar trip. I find comfort in a familiar destination, like the warm embrace of an old friend, but I also have to admit that reliving these trips is my version of updating obsolete technology, my way of replacing a copy of a VHS movie with the DVD and again with the Blu-Ray. As I get access to better cameras and higher pixel counts, I feel compelled to return to my favorite spots. To try and get better pictures than the last time I was there. It’s a little embarrassing to look through my photos and see how many pictures I’ve taken of the Pike Place Market over the years – but I swear the next one I take is going to be the best one yet. So with my latest collection of cameras (I would use three on this trip), I set off on my latest greatest hits tour.

I’ve followed this particular route several times before and was pretty familiar with the stops that I was going to make. Up CA-14 to the Vasquez Rocks, past Mojave to Red Rock Canyon State Park, onto US-395 and a quick stop to see the Uniroyal Gal in Pearsonville (the Hubcap Capital of the World, don’t you know), and on to the Alabama Hills outside of Lone Pine. If I had time I would continue up into the mountains to see Mt. Whitney, or a little further north to see the abandoned runways near Manzanar or the ghost mine of Reward. With these well-known stops in mind on this oft-traveled road I am therefore surprised when I stumble across Cinco.

Red Rock Canyon…

Uniroyal Gal…

Admittedly I am a bit like a dog when I am on these road trips, head figuratively out the window and easily distracted by each little bend in the road and so it is all the more surprising that I hadn’t noticed this one before. Not a vast city, but more than a solitary house and certainly something that you’d notice with eyes glued to the roadside looking for interesting stops. Speeding by I briefly struggle with the decision to keep going or turn around, but it’s never really a question of stopping. Having passed many a site that I’ve later regretted missing, I am working on listening to the voice in my head when it gets excited, and soon I’m circling back for another look. Pulling in I’m pleased and more than a little surprised to find that there are no fences and not one No Trespassing sign – unheard of these days.

Creeping further in I become increasingly aware that I am pretty much driving into my own horror movie. A mysterious, abandoned, and oft passed but never noticed community at the side of the road? It’s only a matter of time until the crazies appear and I find out if I’m in The Hills Have Eyes or Children of the Corn. I can practically hear the audience screaming at me to keep driving without looking back. Still I inch forward. I count six permanent structures as I drive in. There is the main house out front, nearest to the highway, perhaps a manager or foreman’s house. Behind that is what appears to be a mechanical shop or garage, the air still thick with the smell of old engine grease. Further in are four duplexes, and behind those are seven singlewide trailers, which stretch out to the railroad tracks that mark the far end of the lot.

Satellite View…

I pull in between the duplexes, turn off my engine and step out of the car, quite aware of the silence broken only periodically by another car passing on the freeway. This is not a busy stretch of road. Moving toward the first duplex I instinctively lock the car, telling myself that it’s a force of habit from having lived in Los Angeles for so long though subconsciously it’s a lot more likely I’m just trying to make sure that if I do make it out of here I won’t be surprised by the killer in my car a few miles down the road. A few tentative steps into the first duplex and I half expect to be confronted by an angry resident or wandering lunatic. I snap a few pictures, take a few more steps in and turn to face a very clear message. While usually uttered in a menacing and guttural growl the meaning is still the same. Get Out! I take a couple more shots and decide to abide by the wishes of the graffiti for the time being, retreating out the front door, circling the outside of the building and heading to the trailers instead.

Get Out…

The Trailers…

Laid end-to-end in two rows, siding stripped bare, sparse insulation blowing in the breeze; I face a gauntlet of singlewides. Occasionally the wind blows a stray piece of metal roofing, sounding very much like a creaky door and giving me pause each time. I glance behind me just to make sure that I am still alone. Down one row and back up the other I stick my head in open doors, grabbing a few photos, and once or twice being startled by a cupboard door opening just as I stick my head in. The wind, I’m sure. I eventually find one easy enough to step into. Careful where I put my feet, testing the floor to make sure I don’t come out the bottom, and I’m in. Standing in the living room, den to my back and kitchen straight ahead. I move down the long and narrow hallway, silently thankful for the man sized holes in the outer wall, just in case I need to make a speedy escape. Approaching the bathroom I become acutely aware that this is the one room in the trailer I couldn’t verify was empty from outside. I brace myself for the shock of being discovered, fight or flight primed, one tentative step followed by another. One more step and I’m clear. No one in the bathroom and I’m on into the bedroom at the far end of the trailer. Still alone. A creak, another moving door. Just the wind…right? I don’t explore every trailer, but they all look the same, the wallpaper in the kitchen seemingly the only distinguishing factor. Who lived here and where did they go?

An Imposing Hallway…

A Vacant Bathroom…

I head back toward the duplexes, poking around, checking things out before I commit. The bedroom door of one catches my eye – five locks on the door. Someone wanted to keep something out. Perhaps a clue to the fate of this place? A deep breath and I finally step back inside through the back door and into the kitchen, keeping an eye on the sink – I’m pretty sure that it’s only insulation in there but I can’t be entirely sure that it didn’t just move. More tentative steps, all too aware of how easily someone or something could be hiding in here. Another creak, another glance behind me, another moment of still being alone. Moving deeper into the heart of the house, once more toward the bathroom, once more a room entirely hidden from outside inspection but this time the walls are solid. There is no quick escape. I steel myself against whatever it is that may lie in wait around that corner, sure that this time there will be something there. It may be my imagination but it suddenly feels a little colder. One more step and then I see it. I come face to face with the horrible truth, shaking me to my very core. The message is all too clear…Elvis died here. Ladies and gentlemen, the truth is out there. Elvis did not die in 1977. It all starts to make sense, a small community designed to protect the privacy of someone no longer content to be in the public eye. And now that he is gone, the place serves no purpose, it’s returning to nature. We may never know what happened in the intervening years or when he did actually leave the building, but at least we know now where it happened. Cinco, California – Elvis died here.

The Kitchen Sink…

Elvis Died Here…

I’ve since tried to find any information about Cinco, but have found precious little. The sum total of what I have been able to piece together is that Cinco was founded as a work camp in the early 1900’s for workers on the Los Angeles Aqueduct and I’m sure that these buildings don’t date back that far – although the setup does have a work camp or company town type feeling. While I may have made the area out to be a little creepier than it was, there is something much scarier about the more recently abandoned places – whether it’s because there are indeed more places to hide or that it’s just that much easier to imagine someone still being there, I generally find my imagination to go a little further when exploring these places and the creak of the metal roofing did make me look behind myself more than once. Piles of clothes and toys, stray shoes, and a baby’s car seat also gave the impression of a much hastier exodus than you generally imagine for an abandoned community.

Toys and Clothes…

Interestingly, for those who do buy in to the whole ghost phenomenon, I did make my way all the way to the front house and grabbed a few pictures from the door, but for whatever reason felt a lot more wary of actually stepping inside and in the end remained content to have the pictures from the doorway.

The Front House…

It may be that it’s proximity to the main road made me more nervous that someone would see me and come tell me I shouldn’t be there. It could possibly be because while I was taking the pictures another car pulled in and made a slow pass of the buildings before heading back out to the road, again reminding me that there were other eyes on me. Or it could be that aside from the very brief Wikipedia article and the few pictures on Flickr that I was able to find, the only other information I found was from a local paranormal investigation team who they claimed to have encountered spirits in this front house. An explanation that I am willing to entertain. At the end of the day it was an interesting site to find, and I already feel it creeping onto my list of places I may need to re-visit to once more try and capture that perfect picture.

Click on photos for larger views.

For more photos, visit my flickr page…

To read P.O.S.T. Paranormal’s account of their visit,
click here…