Death Valley is cold…

The following morning, we had to replenish supplies as the night was to be another camping. Supermarkets are always a challenge as food is expensive in the small quantities we could carry and needed. Buying meat is particularly problematic as most packs cater for large families or many days. Not having cooling facilities and heading to our next destination, we could not risk fresh meat or easily perishable vegetables. Isi did a grand job of finding what she could, whilst I loitered outside admiring the scenery and talking to the people taking an interest in us and the bikes.

Back to the highway and seeing our first cacti of the trip, small and indistinct to start with but growing in stature as we headed South and East, losing altitude with every mile. Finally, off the highway and onto a smaller road that took us over a small rise and onto our first close encounter with a cactus. We pulled in to a lay-by on a junction of a small dirt road that disappeared South in to the desert. We watched as the DHL van we had overtaken a few miles back, left a huge dust trail as he punished his suspension and disappeared over the edge to who knows where.

Meanwhile, I rode my bike through the soft-ish sand to park next to the cacti and then rode Isi’s to park the other side. During the time it took me to take numerous photos and for us to eat our lunch, the dust trail returned toward us, with the DHL off to his next drop.

It was time to press on, head East and lose yet more elevation to our next campground. As we pulled away from the lay-by and gently accelerated through the gears, there was an almighty roaring noise that filled the comms, our heads and the air around us. We both shouted expletives, that could not be heard, as our bodies entered a “fight or flight” reaction to this unknown intrusion. It was only a few seconds but I thought the bike was falling apart beneath me as my body instinctively tried to roll into a ball whilst still maintaining control of my bike. Those few seconds of terrifying unknown soon passed as two military jets screamed no more than 100 feet above our heads, going at full-chat as they dropped into the valley ahead and disappeared from our sight. Both me and Isi were still shouting expletives as the adrenaline washed from our tightened limbs and we slowed our breathing as the comms chatter changed to comments of elation at having survived. We truly felt we were going to die just seconds before!

As our hearts slowed their beating and we laughed about the near-death experience, we passed a few queued cars and parked at the front by the red light and the man controlling it. Parked beside the entrance sign for Death Valley, we learned that it would be 15 minutes before the westbound convoy of traffic arrived and we could head-off. The stop sign controller laughed when we explained about our near death experience and remarked it was the lowest he had ever seen the jets fly over. He reckoned the jets had seen us and purposely buzzed us for a bit of fun. Ha-bloody-ha-ha!

12 hour shift, 7 days a week - what a job…

As the convoy set off, we positioned ourselves behind the lead truck and started our drop into the valley. Whilst we already knew we would have a convoy escort, the reason became apparent very quickly, as sides of the carriageway were missing and far too dangerous for two-way traffic. A few months previous, a huge storm had pushed through California and Death Valley, dropping five times the normal amount of rain in a matter of hours. This resulted in closure of the park as water erosion took out roads and flooded areas not used to such rain. Months later and most of the minor roads are still closed with the main road being the only way in and out, albeit with convoy controlled traffic flows.

When we reached the bottom of the valley floor and free of the convoy, we were able enjoy the views unhindered by other traffic, albeit judging speed and distance of oncoming traffic to make sure we did not pass where the carriageway width was limited by dirt and sand blown in from the side winds. Next was a steep climb out of this valley and into the next. There were signs on the side of the road asking people to turn off their air-conditioning units and we could only surmise that, during the heat of the summer when temperatures can reach 50C, the air-conditioning units contribute to the overheating of engines and resulting in breakdowns - enough for the signs to be placed in numerous places…

We dropped in to the next valley, well below sea-level and turned into our campsite for the night. To most, it would be called a carpark with a soft sand margin at the far end, designated to tents. We had to display the Parks Pass to stay, so yet another reason for the purchase. As we rode down, we noticed one tent in the far left corner and one just over halfway along. Being British, we aimed for the pitch directly between the two - no need to crowd anyone! As we pulled up and started to unpack, one of the campers introduced himself as Jake and asked, with a British accent, if we would like a cup of tea? It seemed our plates and our choice of pitch had given us away before we could even open our mouths. Obviously we said yes and Jake returned with our requirements duly filled and an invite to join him and Jonathan for a campfire, later in the evening. We seemed to be taking an age on pitching the tent, so Jake took pity on us and offered us a rum and orange to keep things cordial.

As the evening light was fading, I was out with the camera and wandered over to the tent in the far corner, introducing myself to Jo and invited her to join the campfire. I did explain it was not my party but assured her it was OK to join us. As night fell upon us, with the sound of coyotes crying in the hills, a carpet of stars to rain upon us and plummeting temperatures, we grabbed our chairs and joined Jake and Jonathan for the only fire in the campsite. Jo soon followed and was welcomed in to the warm glow of the fire. Soon after, Kim (from a converted van setup) asked if she could join us and the party started. It was pleasing to know that Jo and Kim also met up a few days later at another site.

Jake and Jonathan preparing for their guests

The following morning, I was up early to catch the dawn light and photograph Death Valley from around the campground. It was unusual to find what looked like cracked Easter egg chocolate in the small depressions around the place. Evidence of how the rain had flooded the place and evaporated was all around. Even our picnic tables showed the water line 6 inches up the legs!

As we rode out, we noted a lake to our right. Not normally there but evidence still of the rains from months previous. As the road climbed away from the 200ft below sea level the satnag had recorded, we pulled in to a historic monument telling the lives of the Borax miners and processing area from 1881. The site would process up to 3 tons of Borax a day, at the height of the production. During the summer months when the water was too hot to crystallise the Borax, the miners would move to other areas that were not so warm. The Borax mining is famous for the 20-mule train’s that would have to endure the heat and terrain to get the Borax to market.

The ride out of Death Valley and on to Pahrump was spectacular with flat desert expanses broken by rolling hills and jagged mountains but, by this stage, we were tired and needed a break from riding every day, so we booked ourselves in to a cheap Best Western (late deals on Booking can be really really attractive) for a couple of nights. It just so happened to be October 31st and, as anyone will know, the Americans are BIG on celebrating Halloween. Without really being conscious of it, the event was passing us by.

We had enjoyed an early dip in the hot pool and we had decided I would cook, rather than eat in the hotel restaurant on a Halloween evening when everyone was having a party and we were not in the mood. For this, I needed microwavable pots and reception pointed me toward the restaurant, through the door at the end of the corridor. Pushing through the door, I found myself on the stage area of the restaurant, next to the evenings entertainer who was singing a song. As I stopped and looked through the bright lights, I saw that everyone was in halloween costume. Everyone! The singer, having been interrupted by my entrance, looked at me as if to ask “what have you come as?”. Without really thinking of what I was saying, I smiled and shouted out “It’s OK, I’ve come as a tourist!” and, as I moved into the tables in search of a waitress and a microwavable pot, I gained some small applause and laughter, before the singer regained her tune and carried on entertaining.

The next morning and it was laundry time. We had run out of clean smalls and whilst I was happy to start recycling and reuse, Isi was not, so we asked at reception if they had a laundry. They did not but there was one just across the road. Now, why would I bore you with discussing trivial things such as washing clothes? Well, firstly, when you live on the road, keeping the few clothes you have clean, can be a challenge. The odd pair of pants and soaks can be washed in the hotel sink but we had far more than this. However, the second and primary reason for mentioning this, was the laundromat we now entered. It was big, with three rows of machines ranging from very big, to big, to normal. Along one wall were two rows of dryers, with one row on top of the other. The place smelt fresh, the machines were clean, you could eat off the floor and the laundromat lady attendant was happily singing to the music as she went about her chores. This laundromat was (and still is) the cleanest and happiest laundromat we had been in and it was a pleasure to wash our smalls there.

Two nights turned in to three as Isi was feeling tired and we both enjoyed the break to do admin and just be off the bikes for a bit. Far too quickly, the third morning arrived and we loaded the bikes for departure but…. Our departure was to be delayed for a few hours as I reached for the tool kit…

Vegas Baby!

F… F… F… Freezing!