November 11-24, 2024
I left Red Rock Canyon on Monday morning, November 11, and headed to Pahrump, where I did laundry, filled my tank with gas at Maverick, and stocked up with groceries at Walmart.
I have been here at Furnace Creek Campground in Death Valley National Park for a full week. It has been as I anticipated, simply fantastic. I arrived late in the afternoon on Monday, November 11. When I pulled up to the entrance station to the campground, things started out great. I was greeted at the window with a “Hi, Tom!” It was Shelby working at the window. I had met her last year.
She’s been working at DVNP for about five years. She’s from Massachusetts. We chit-chatted a few minutes. I found her revelations about living in Death Valley interesting. There’s a little community here and plenty of conveniences like a gym, swimming pool, and plenty of sunshine. And it’s a natural playground. There’s also something here that I have discovered, which she did not mention, but I think it might play a role in her being here.
The overall environment provides a combination of nature and wonderful mental-emotional sensations. There are the physical realities, the mountains and landforms are amazing. There are a variety of landscapes and rocks, so colorful, rugged. The width, depth, and length of the park makes it unique, and it is the largest park in the lower forty-eight. And there are these other non-physical sensations of calm, wonder, excitement, peacefulness, and more. The land lends itself to internal contemplation and reflection, to a sense of comfort, a natural sense of feeling good, feeling wholesome. I say these are non-physical, yet I feel them as if in my gut. They give a type of pleasure, deep satisfaction.
On Tuesday I did my first ride here. It was relatively short, going north up US 190 to the intersection with Scotty’s Castle Road and back, thirty-four miles roundtrip. US 190 bisects this section of the park between the two main towns in Death Valley, Furnace Creek and Stovepipe Wells. The road is slightly rolling and greatly curving most of the way between these two places. It was a breeze influenced ride, taking me 1h 20m to reach my turnaround point, then taking 55m to return. The wind can do that. Also, there is a 300’ gain in elevation while riding north. It was a beautiful, sunny day, too, with temps around 70 degrees.
On Wednesday I did the ride to Dante’s View. This involves riding south from Furnace Creek for about thirteen miles, then turning southwest on another road (don’t know if it has a name) for another thirteen miles. The catch here is that it’s all uphill. In some places it is not too steep. In other places, yes, it gets quite steep. The overall elevation change is from 200’ below sea level, at the start in the campground, to about 5400’ above sea level at the top.
I reached the turnoff in 1h 26m. Altitude here was about 2000’. I reached the 20-mile mark at 2h 14m, with elevation now at 3400’. I was feeling really good, having a fun time of it. I took a short break at this point. It is a great sensation riding in this manner. The uphill aspect takes work, takes a kind of concentration that is meditative and relaxing. It feels good.
When I reached the next mile or so, the incline steepened. I knew this was coming. It slowed me down, and it started to be more strenuous. Up to this point, the gradient had been no more that 4%-7%. Now it changed to 8%, then 9% by mile 22. Miles 23-25 were mostly 10%-12%, with the last quarter mile being 13%-14%. It challenged me. I was working hard to just stay on pace. I reached the top at 3h 19m. It was very satisfying. I put on a long sleeve shirt and stayed up top for about twenty minutes, taking in the view and talking with a few people that had driven up there.
The ride back down was fast. I was on the brakes often, not wanting to go over 35 mph for long, as the road felt very bumpy coming down the first five miles. I am sure without frequent braking I would have been over 50 mph in short time. I arrived back at the campground in 1h 19m riding time.
The next day in the morning, at one point I walked over towards the restrooms, and a guy, who I later learned is named David, came up to me and said hello. He had on a grey sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his hat. The hat was new. It said Death Valley on it. He asked me if I was “the guy on the bike” that he saw yesterday. There’s more to the story.
Yesterday morning, when I went to use the bathroom, David was in there at the sinks with another guy. He was helping the other guy brush his teeth. This was unusual, and I could tell from the situation that the other guy had some kind of disability. You could tell by the way he grunted, by looking in his face, and at the way he held his arms. David was helping him, and he seemed so tender and caring, so patient, I was emotionally moved. It was an act of love and service. That’s the feeling I had. I walked away saying Wow.
A short time later, just before I went for my bike ride, I used the bathroom again. Another guy was in there washing his hands. He was a big man. I’ll call him “Bro” for reasons that will soon be apparent. We said hello, each telling the other to have a good day. He called me bro. “Have a good day, bro,” he said. A minute later, as I walked by their campsite, with my bike, I realized that this guy, David, and the guy with the disability are at the same campsite, across the street and a couple sites up. I noted that the disability guy had on a hat that shielded him from the sun and a pair or mirror reflective sunglasses, that new style where there is one piece of plastic that spans both eyes. He murmured something to me. I was not clear on in, as his speech was not normal. But it seemed to me he was saying he had a bicycle with four wheels. He was walking towards me. The big guy walked towards us and seemed to want to discourage the disability guy from further communication. But he keeps walking towards me, and he puts out his fist, reaching to me. I go a few steps towards him, and we fist bump, then the big guy puts his arm around him, and they walk back to their site.
About three hours later, I am on my bike ride up Dante’s View. I have just recently hit the steep part, around twenty-two or twenty-three miles into, and a black SUV is coming down the hill. The window is open, and the driver yells out to me, “Keep going. You’re almost there, bro!” I then realized it was the guy from the bathroom.
So, this morning, this guy with a grey sweatshirt and a Death Valley hat comes up to me and asks, “Are you the guy on the bike riding up that hill?” I tell him yes, thinking he might have been in the “Almost there, bro!” car. He told me how impressed he was. “It tells me tells me to never give up,” he says. He was amazed that someone my age could do that.
I told him I had seen him yesterday, helping the disability guy brush his teeth, and that I could see such great kindness and tenderness. I told him that was what I found to impressive, his compassionate humanity. He had a special gift. He thanked me and said that he helps out, and the guy with the disability is the brother of the big guy, who I called “Bro.” They came out here from Santa Rosa, California. This is his first time here. He’s from Fiji. “I’m a Fijian,” he tells me somewhat proudly.
On Friday, I did the ride out to Stovepipe Wells and back, about 50 miles roundtrip. This is the same ride I did Tuesday with another eight miles added to reach Stovepipe. When I was at Stovepipe, I pulled my bike into the General Store area and used the restroom. When I came out, a line had formed, people waiting to use the restroom. Just like that, here were five people in the line. There was one adult and four teenagers.
I asked if they were part of a group. The adult, a woman in her 40s with a bright smile and energy, told me yes, they had thirty-five in the group. They were from a high school in San Jose on an outdoor adventure. They were camping in the Group area at Furnace Creek, which was very close to my campsite. They were the large group I had wondered about, wondered what they were about.
One student told me the trip was not for a specific class, and they had to be excused from their regular classes in order to do this. I imagine this means they were doing well enough in those classes that they could miss a week of school. They have been here nearly a week. I talked with one of the teachers for a few minutes, while he sat with several students standing around, too. They had just hiked Mosaic Canyon. They had done Golden Canyon on Monday.
What did they get out of the trip? Do the students do any kind of assignment as part of this experience? A paper, even a one-page summary of their experiences, what they did, how they think about it, what they feel? What kind of impact has this had on them mentally, emotionally, or spiritually?
I talked with one guy, he had the whitist teeth I have ever seen, and he was the most articulate of the four students in the line waiting. I would ask a question, and he was the only one answering at first. It might have been a shyness on the part of the others. I asked if the experience was for a class. They said no. One guy eventually mentioned it involved “Human Geology.” I asked if they could tell me what they meant. No-one could. One guy eventually said it was just like regular geology. I wondered if “Human Geology” was sort of a way to title it, describe it, so the trip could happen, so it could be approved. There must be funding involved and some kind of official, academic aspects. It’s an annual trip.
On Sunday, I rode down to Badwater Basin and back, taking a slight detour to ride the Artist Drive Loop. It looks like the lake at Badwater, which had come into being as a result of rains the past twon years, had evaporated. When I was here last year, I walked out to the “shoreline” of the lake, which apparently had not been here for a number of years. Now the entire area had been returned to a dry lakebed of salt flats, a flat white landscape stretching for miles.
This road is entirely below sea level. There is some plant life, but not much. The ground is mostly dirt and rock, a landscape of gravel miles across and long that has been carved into by flashfloods, as evidenced by hundreds of dry streambeds of varying width and depth. It is hard to imagine the amount of water that would be required to carve this terrain as it appears. More wonders of nature.
I rode down this road past Badwater Basin for a couple extra miles. I was about to turn around when I saw a man ahead of me walking in my direction. I thought this unusual, so I continued and greeted him. His name was John, from Switzerland, and he was out hiking, he told me. He had a medium sized backpack and hiking poles. He said he was going to hike up to Dante’s View from Badwater. I wondered if there was a trail, but he did not confirm there was, only that the elevation change was about 5800’. He said he had done this twice before. I asked if he needed water, as I had extra Gatorade with me. He said no, he was fine, thanks.
On the way back north to the campground, I decided to ride the Artist Drive Loop. It is a nine-mile, one-way road that rises from about -150’ to just over 1000’ in about 3.5 miles. It’s a steep climb, starting with 5%-7% grades the first two miles followed by 10%-12% for the next mile and a half. It is awesome visually, as this area of the park has an exceptionally diverse landscape in terms of coloring. This is due to a variety of minerals present. There is one area called Artist’s Palette, due to the variety of colors in proximity. This climb was work, but it was easier than Dante’s View. Maybe the work up Dante’s prepared me well for the steep yet shorter climb here.
Today is my eighth day here. The day began at about 42 degrees. I had a great sleep, woke around 6AM and went outside to greet the dawn. It takes a little while for the sun to rise above the eastern mountains adjacent to the campground. I am now cooking some potatoes and breakfast sausage, fuel for the day. I plan to do the Golden Canyon-Gower Gulch Loop later this morning, but that’s a couple hours away timewise, and it’s only about a four-mile drive to the trailhead.
I talked briefly with my latest neighbors. Yesterday, I let them use my bicycle pump to try to inflate their brand-new air mattress. We could not manipulate the hardware such that a good connection was made. The attempts failed, and they would have to sleep without the mattress. They will come better prepared next time. I have noticed, in several cases, that people come here for a night unprepared. I don’t know what it is, if they decide last minute or what, but they come with little food, getting by on “snacks” and no lights, using the car headlights to see what they are doing as they set up a tent. But they have a great time, as evidenced by the laughter in their voices as they talk around a campfire.
Previous neighbors included a woman from Oregon traveling with her two elderly dogs, both Boxers, and a couple from South Florida visiting the park for the first time since 1988.
The woman from Oregon had a 2021, navy-blue Toyota 4Runner pulling a low-built teardrop trailer that she had custom-built eight years ago, telling the designer to make it so that she could “dependably head up into Alaska and back.” I see a lot of this type of trailer these days. They are hard shell, about three feet in height, providing a nice sleeping area, having lights and heat also. Usually there is a kitchen set-up in the rear section, accessed from the outside of the trailer, with stove, refrigerator, and storage. They are lightweight and aerodynamic. She uses it to mostly leave the clouds and rain behind for weeklong trips away from Oregon.
The couple from Florida and flown to Las Vegas and rented a car. They seemed under-prepared but managing fine, having a great time. They had a stove for coffee. They ate their meals “out,” thought this was severely limited in this park. They were going to Las Vegas and Hoover Dam, from here, and the rest of the trip they were staying in hotels. I think coming to Death Valley had a nostalgic aspect to it, being here and experiencing it thirty-five years away. I can understand that.
I also came here in 1988. It was in February. I had flown into San Diego, with my bike and gear in a box, and I rode the bike from there to Borrego Springs State Park, Joshua Tree National Park, the towns of Victorville and Ridgecrest, and then into Death Valley via Panamint Valley and Emigrant Pass. That was an adventure.
Fun and Games persist.
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