🌈 A Mountain Made of Paint, Love, and Madness

Need some salvation? I’ve got you covered.
- Cris

Salvation Mountain

Welcome to Salvation Mountain

What’s more American than a giant technicolor mound in the middle of the California desert that looks like it was built by Willy Wonka after he found religion?

Salvation Mountain is not a mountain. It’s a man-made hill of adobe, hay bales, and house paint - buckets and buckets and buckets of paint - planted smack in the baking sun near Slab City, California. It's weird. It's wild. And yes, it’s wonderful. I loved every sunburned, eye-popping minute of it.

Here’s the first thing you need to know: you don’t just stumble across Salvation Mountain. You have to want it. It’s located in the Colorado Desert, about an hour east of Palm Springs and just far enough from civilization to make you question if you are a victim of heat stroke on the drive in. Your cell service will flicker. The road turns to dust. And then… boom. Out of nowhere, a 50-foot high, 150-foot wide rainbow-covered shrine rises from the earth like a candy-coated hallucination.

Cue the angels.

Welcome to the Gospel According to Leonard

Salvation Mountain was built by one man - Leonard Knight - a former balloon pilot turned religious folk artist who arrived in the 1980s with a pickup truck, a paintbrush, and a message: “God is Love.” That message is now spelled out in massive red letters on the front face of the mountain, surrounded by painted waterfalls, sunbursts, and Bible verses.

It looks like what might happen if Dr. Seuss collaborated with a Sunday school teacher during a heatstroke. It’s what large parts of the US think that all of California looks like (“those hippies”).

And that’s the magic of it.

Seeking salvation in the desert? We recommend that you pack the following.

Festival sunglasses: So pretty
Floppy hat: Bigger is better
Mad Max clothes: Dress for success

You Can Walk Through the Mountain

Not on top of it (they’ll gently ask you to step off the rainbow if you try), but through it. Tunnels wind through painted caves like you’re entering a psychedelic Noah’s Ark. There are tree limbs sticking out of the walls (painted blue, of course) and little shrines and nooks dedicated to love, Jesus, and the occasional plastic flower arrangement.

One “room” is a shrine to Leonard’s truck, still parked nearby like he just stepped out for a burrito. (He didn’t. He passed away in 2014.) His legacy, though, is alive in every gloop of pastel paint thick enough to ice a cake. I really wish I had met this guy when he was alive. If anyone out there is creating something wild and crazy - hit me up! I would love to meet you.

Going Somewhere? Protect Your Trip (and Your Sanity)

Slab City’s “Unusual” Neighbors

Just past the mountain is Slab City, a squatters’ town proudly calling itself “the last free place in America.” The vibe is Burning Man meets Mad Max meets end-of-the-world optimism. Artists, wanderers, and a handful of off-grid conspiracy theorists call it home. It’s not a place you need to spend the night unless you’ve brought your own solar panels and snake repellent.

But it is part of the appeal. The entire area feels like it broke off from reality and now floats somewhere between outsider art and outsider lifestyle. There’s something scandalous about how unbothered everyone is. It’s lawless, it’s loud, and it somehow all works.

You Will Leave Dusty and Glorious

Bring water. Bring sunscreen. Bring your most photogenic sandals and your least judgmental attitude. There’s no Starbucks, no shade, and definitely no curated museum shop. What you will find is joy: raw, sunbaked, utterly sincere joy.

People leave notes in the cracks. Kids chase lizards past “LOVE” signs. Adults try to decode the dozens of hand-painted scripture verses like they’re on a treasure hunt from God. Some people roll their eyes. I climbed inside a painted cave and felt like I was being hugged by a rainbow. Yes, I was sober. I may visit this place again in an altered state in the future (bucket list!).

Go For the Weird. Stay for the Wonder.

Salvation Mountain is kitschy, chaotic, and completely unexpected in the best possible way. It reminds you that one person can turn a desert into a technicolor sermon. That joy doesn't need polish. That sincerity is the strangest rebellion of all. Maybe the next salvation could be a little more earth friendly? I find myself staring at all of that paint, counting the environmental toxins…

If you go, don’t wear white. And bring extra paint if you’ve got it - they’re always accepting donations in every color except black. Leonard wouldn’t have liked that. Too dark.

See you next Wednesday.

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