2023 Death Valley National Park

Leaving the desert…

Saturday, March 4.

I wake up to frost on my tent. Doves coo in the palm trees. Sunrise is golden on the brown grass. It is calm. Unseen song birds join the morning song. It is the best morning yet. I could linger in this oasis, swim in the warm springs pool, sit in the sun and watch the blue pupfish swim. I am just getting into the groove and I don’t want to leave this strange desert.

High winds are predicted so I am out of camp by 8:10 am. It is 28 miles to Pahrump. The wind is 20-25 mph with gusts to 30 mph, but fortunately it is either a tailwind or off our right shoulders. We climb up out of Shoshone and into the Chicago Valley, then climb out, into the Amargosa Valley. There are all sorts of interesting cactus off in the distance: barrel cactus, cholla, and beavertail. I see tiny buds on one cactus. I don’t want to leave.

It is bitter cold and I am underdressed. Wind buffets my front wheel. Get it done! The last 4 miles into Pahrump are ugly and take forever. There are billboards everywhere and hundreds of plastic bags snagged on sagebrush and fences flapping in the wind. It is dismal, but I also feel a sense of accomplishment and I feel strong after 227 miles.

We meet back at the Best Western in Pahrump. I spend $5.38 for a cup of Folgers coffee from a machine. Those who met us in Pahrump drive off. Some say goodbye and others don’t. For those of us headed back to Las Vegas for flights home, we load up the bikes on the rack on top of the van to drive an hour back to La Quinta.

My pre-Death Valley life begins to enter my thoughts as the logistics of packing up Miss Blue, finding dinner and scheduling a 5 am ride to the airport take over.

It has been a very long and immersive week. It was often hard and uncomfortable, but it also commanded an attention and presence that is often missing in my day to day life. I rode my bike and let the wind blow me around. I rode my bike and saw wild burros, coyotes, blue birds and pupfish. I rode my bike up and down high mountain ranges; across low deserts; by crazy green rocks, white salt flats and clear badwater. I rode my bike by desert holly, creosote bushes and purple flowers. And, I rode my dusty bike in dusty clothes, dusty shoes and dusty gloves.

I think the dust will never leave; imbedded in my lungs; stuck to my tent; ground into my bicycle chain. But in the right light it sparkles like tiny flecks of gold.

Postcard from Shoshone Village RV Park

Friday, March 3.

We ride south from Furnace Creek today, 75 miles and 5000’. The leaders have given us a cut off time. If we made it to Ashford Mills Ruin by 12:30 pm, at mile 45, we can ride the whole way. If not, we have to be shuttled in the van. The cut-off is aimed at the slowest and oldest riders – me and Denise.

The choice pisses me off. It don’t like racing along just to meet some arbitrary time limit. And, I don’t like being told what I can and can’t do, especially on my bike. I ride for freedom not constraint. So I decide to ride my own ride; see what I want to see and stop when I want.

I stop at Badwater Basin at -282 feet below sea level. I ride with a slight tailwind. The road is fairly flat. It is the warmest day yet. I finally get to ride in shorts!

Something about the next stretch of road reminds me of my father. I miss him. Sadness rolls up from deep inside of me, catches in my throat, as tears begin to run down my cheeks.

He had backhanded way of supporting my bicycle adventures. He would make jokes about how much easier it would be to drive and stay in a nice motel. But, I think he was also proud of me, though he would never say it in a million years. He always commented on my blog and had ideas about where to ride next. He passed away in 2021 at the age of 91.

Out here in the great wide open, pedaling away, seeing the world in my own way, I have a lot of time to be just present with what is around me and what it brings up inside of me. I guess a salt crusted basin surrounded by 11,000’ peaks digs up the grief. But, after the grief, there is joy, wonder and the feeling of freedom and resonance. My wild-heart sings with yellow flowers in a roadside ditch!

We are riding to the south end of the park so there is little traffic. I have been hearing about the potential for a super bloom, so have been keeping my eyes peeled for unusual colors. Finally, I see a bank of yellow flowers, then pink and purple! I have to stop!

It is a great ride! I miss the cutoff by 10 minutes, but I also get to see wild flowers. I could ride more and push the issue, but I would get into camp late and hold up everyone’s dinner. I am riding with some really strong men on light fancy bikes. And, whether I like or not, or how much it hurts my pride, I am just not as fast as them. So, I try real hard to let it go. In fact, I am still trying real hard to let it go!

At the Shoshone Village RV Park, I set up my dusty tent and roll out my dusty sleeping pad, sleeping bag and pillow. I finally get to sleep in my tent! It is the last night of the official trip.

I grab my swimming suit and shower kit and walk across the dry grass and past the palm trees to the natural spring heated pool. It is 89 degrees. It is sunny, but the wind is cold as I change. The water is great! I float on my back and look up at the sky. Water in the desert! It is an oasis! Birds sing! Palm fronds wave!

After, my shower I walk up to see the restoration site for the Endangered Shoshone Pupfish. These tiny little blue fish, the males, and brown with yellow females have evolved to live in warm water. They are called pupfish because of their puppy like behavior as they dart around playfully the shallow pools.

We have our farewell dinner, or awards banquet, as we laughingly call it at the Crowbar Saloon. I receive 2 awards. The first, for Dave and I, for the best vegetarian chili dinner and the second for being the person with the most positive attitude and sunniest demeanor, through all of the challenges we faced. Me?!

As we walk back from our dinner, on the old highway, there is a perfect halo around the waxing moon. Jupiter and Venus still shine brightly in the sky, our constant companions.

After dinner, I crawl into my tiny tent, put on long underwear and snuggle into my sleeping bag. It is quiet. Absolutely quiet. As I fall into a deep sleep, the light of the moon makes shadows on my tent.

Artists Palette

Thursday, March 3.

There is just something about serpentine colored rocks that intrigues me! It just doesn’t seem natural.

Artists Palette is our destination today, where the minerals in the rock are, well, a palette of colors, serpentine, red, pink and pale yellow and blue. These colors are apparently from volcanic deposits. The geology of Death Valley is complex – first an ancient sea, then moving plates that formed mountains, then volcanoes, faults erosion and lakes.

We start off with a nice tailwind from Furnace Creek to the turn off at Artists Drive. As I start the climb I notice that I am feeling strong as I churn up some short, but steep, 10 and 12 percent grades. It is about 28 miles round trip with 2500’ of

Denise bailed out before the turn, but Joe and I team up for the ride up. He is a much stronger rider, but likes to stop and see the sites along the way. He says he can race with the fast guys at home! It is lucky for me, because it is more fun to ride and explore with someone! And, I just assumed I would be riding alone the whole trip.

The climb is arduous, but that is what I came to do. And, the slow pace let’s me really see what is around me! Even if I could ride faster, I am not sure I would race through this strange paradise. I like feeling a part of the landscape around me, the dry desert air, the gusts of wind, the sweat on my face and the grit between my teeth. I am crunching and breathing the rocks and minerals that are ancient, billions of years old. I just love the total immersion.

We eat lunch at the Palette overlook. Like many sites that you see in pre-trip photos, the color and scale pales a little bit in real life! It is smaller, less colorful, than I imagined. Yet, I am here! I feel the sun on my cheek, eat a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, feel the red soil crunch under my bike shoes and the breeze lift my hair.

Another fun downhill winding through the colorful canyon

On the way back, we ride down a series of fun switchbacks, our speed limited by the headwind so 15 mph. Back on the main road, I draft behind Joe. He pulls me at 8 mph. If I was in my own I might have made 5 mph. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard the phrase “the team makes the dream” on this trip!

As we pull up to our left turn to head back to Furnace Creek, the Inn at Death Valley is off to our right. Tall palm trees are planted in neat rows and the adobe colored buildings are topped with red tiles. It looks like an oasis, tucked into the hillside. As we rode across the road, a big bushy-tailed coyote crosses the right and runs up the hill towards the palm trees.

Mosaic Canyon & Zabriskie Point

Wednesday, March 1.

We eat breakfast in the parking lot, make sandwiches and load up in the van to go sightseeing. The forecast is terrible, so we take a day off.

The view north from the Mosaic Canyon trailhead.

The road to Mosaic Canyon is rainy, snowy and yes, there are several intense dust storm that rock the van from side to side. We drive past Stovepipe Wells and feel traumatized all over again.

The temperature drops to 41 degrees at the trailhead.

We talk about flash floods as we hike the 3 miles out and back. It has started to rain and you can see how quickly the water pools and starts to move.

We had hoped to see the pupfish at Salt Creek, but like many roads in the park, it has been damaged with flooding and is closed.

Our next stop is Zabriskie Point and the Golden Canyon. It is breathtaking and I understand nothing.

Postcard from Furnace Creek

Tuesday February 28.

My tires whir on the road. The dust storm is over, my gear is packed and my chain clean. Our plan was to camp at Panamint Springs, but snow and high winds are predicted and we are afraid the road will be closed. Plus it is a 5000’ climb in 34 miles!

We pivot once again. We will climb for 10 to 15 miles towards Panamint Pass, then ride to Furnace Creek Campground.

I turn around at 10 miles then do a fast descent back into the valley. I stop at the store in Stovepipe Wells. I drink ice tea and eat a bag of BBQ chips, as I sit on the front porch in a rocking chair. What a difference a day makes.

I ride with Joe to the Mesquite Dunes then head to Furnace Creek. The salt flats glisten in the sun and look like snow.

Several people have told me about the potential for a super bloom. I notice new yellow blossoms on the creosote bushes along the road. The unusual rain and snow is having an impact.

At 46 miles I find the campground at Furnace Creek. Bad news. Another wind advisory for 50 mph winds that night. The leaders confer and we all bail on the camping. Denise, Sarah and I share a room at the Ranch at Furnace Creek. Palm trees, oleanders and bougainvillea are the favored landscape items in this oasis.

It is Dave’s and my turn to cook dinner on the 3 burner stand up stove in the parking lot, next to the van and trailer. It is windy already. We laugh about the “extreme cooking” we have been doing on this trip.

Fortunately Dave loves to cook and so I am his “Sue” chef. We make a vegetarian chili with seasoned hamburger to add for the meat eaters. The wind picks up as we chop carrots, garlic, onion, and celery. I cook the hamburger while holding the top of a plastic box to keep the stove from blowing out.

Dinner is a big success and we top it off with a Walmart Strawberry Cheesecake. The moon is out and Venus and Jupiter shine together in the sky. I spot Orion and the Big Dipper, Cassiopeia and the Pleades. But the waxing moon is too bright to see the Milky Way.

As it gets dark, a coyote runs across the parking lot as we finish the dishes.

I am the toughest, so I volunteer to sleep on the floor of the hotel room. I get no arguments. We leave the door to the porch ajar so we can enjoy the cool and the sound of the wind in palm fronds.

Guess what the forecast is for tomorrow? You guessed it. There is a Wind Advisory for 50-55 mph winds with a chance of rain and snow!

Dust storm in the desert!

I abandon my bicycle, tent, sleeping bags and duffel bags. The wind is sustained at 30 mph and the gusts are up to 50 mph. Fine sand rips along the surface of the desert, orange colored in the headlights of a van seeking. It is like some apocalyptic horror movie, set on the surface of Mars.

The noise of the wind is unbearable. I turn my back with each gust. Close my eyes. Hold my breath. It comes from every direction. It stings my cheeks. My eyes are dry and gritty, my ears fill with sand and my hands feel dry and cracked. I walk away.

Earlier, we could see the dust in the distance, moving across the flat desert floor. We watch it, curious, cheerful, still oblivious to the wind advisory for winds 50-55 mph. Joe and Steve start dinner as we munch on chips and salsa. The van and trailer form a wind break and they set up the stove and tables in the lee.

A big gust hits. I see my tent roll on to its side, then roll onto its roof and start to blow away. Stakes on nearby tents start ripping out of the sand. Rainfly’s flap. Nearby tent’s stakes are ripped out of the gravel as rain flys flap loosely. Jeff’s tent is nearly flattened. Game on.

Jenn grabs my tent as I sprint over. I open the tent and throw my two yellow heavy duffel bags inside the tent on top of my 2 sleeping bags, sleeping pad and pillow as an anchor. I collect the tiny red toothpick tent stakes and re-stake the tent. It is like wrestling big luffing sail in gale force winds in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

The fine dust has already blown through the mosquito netting covering everything. It never occurs to me that it might blow all night and I should cut my losses and pack up my gear.

By dinner, the sand is whipping under the truck and we can barely eat. It is dark. Every bite of meatballs, pasta, sauce and cake is gritty. I don’t bother with salad, it would just blow away. I chew the water in my water bottle.

We all pitch in to out away the leftovers, wash dishes, and load up the trailer. The wind is full on by now. You can’t even see across the campground there is so much dust!

At 7 pm, we meet by the pool, for our nightly map meeting for the next day’s ride. Snow and rain are predicted at our campground at Panamint Springs and the climb there is a steep, 5000’ in 34 miles. We are afraid of getting snowed in, with the road closed, so the leaders make a Plan B. We will ride up towards Panamint Pass and turn around and camp at Furnace Creek.

As we disperse, I walk back to my tent. It is roaring. I decide I am not going into my tent. I check the stakes, then turn my back and walk away.

I head back to the shelter at the pool. Jenn and Reed, from Olympia are there. We call it a pool party and decide to hang out until the wind subsides or they kick us out a midnight. We charge our phones and chat. Reed checks out the cost of a room, but it is $226/night and we aren’t desperate, yet. The forecast says the winds will lighten up at 10:30 pm

I am exhausted. There is sparkling gold sand stuck to my black down coat. I try to dust it off. It sticks. Big gusts thunder through, rattling the metal fence surrounding the pool. I laugh and say there are white caps on the pool. I am cold. My brain is numb. I am hunkered down. Survival mode. Patience. Wait it out. It is going to be a long, long night.

Finally, the leaders call it at 9:30 pm. They get motel rooms for us to share. I walk down through the raging storm to try to get Joe and Denise to join us, but they are settled in for the long haul, buried deep in sleeping bags. Dust and sand covering them. I lock Miss Blue to Denise’s bike and drag myself to the room. I wash my face. Tammy, one of the leaders, lends me a t-shirt so I don’t have to sleep in my dusty flannel shirt. I am too tired to shower and fall into bed. My body is shivery, like it is still being buffeted by the wind. But it is quiet in the room since we are on the lee side of the building. I fall into a deep sleep.

The next morning, I oversleep. Tammy makes me take a shower. I still feel groggy. Stunned. I walk to the campground. My tent is still there!

I am afraid to look inside my tent. Everything is covered in a fine sand. I shake out and wipe everything off. But the dust sticks like a static charge. I shake out the tent! There is at least 2 pounds of sand. One section of my tent pole is bent from the pressure of the wind. I pack up the tent, clean the grit off my chain and derailleur, make 2 sandwiches, drink 4 cups of coffee and get ready to ride. The sun is out, there is snow in the mountains. It is a new day. And, a new challenge. I shake off the dust and start to climb.

Dust storm in the desert!

The fine dust has already blown through the mosquito netting covering everything. It never occurs to me that it might blow all night and I should cut my losses and pack up my gear.

We all pitch in to out away the leftovers, wash dishes, and load up the trailer. The wind is full on by now. You can’t even see across the campground there is so much dust!

As we disperse, I walk back to my tent. It is roaring. I decide I am not going into my tent. I check the stakes, then turn my back and walk away.

The next morning, I oversleep. Tammy makes me take a shower. Says I will perk up. I feel groggy. Stunned. I walk to the campground. My tent is still there!

And guess what, there is another high wind advisory for tonight!

Descent into Death Valley

February 27.

I finally get a second cup of coffee at 9:30 am. Breakfast was delayed until Andy and Jeff scouted the route ahead for snow, ice and washouts. We finally get the okay to ride and are on our bikes by 10:30 am.

It is cold as we start our climb out of Beatty, NV. It is cloudy, windy and winter bleak. My thighs are stiff and tight from yesterday’s push.

After the first climb, the road stretches out towards Daylight Pass, with the Funeral Mountains to the south and Grapevine Mountains to the North.

Soon we leave Nevada, enter California and stop at the entrance to Death Valley National Park. Finally! It seems like it has taken forever to get here!

It is windy at the top of Daylight Pass. As I wait for Denise and Jeff, I eat a fig bar, find a skimpy creosote bush and chill down quickly. They stop briefly, then we start our 13 mile 5095’ descent into Death Valley!

The first thing I notice is the wind is roaring in my ears through my wool hat. Gusts of wind knock my front tire and I struggle to steer a straight line. I gain speed to 25 mph. The head wind and a some nervous braking keeps me from going any faster. In my excitement to start down, I forget to zip up my coat and armpit vents. I am too cold! It takes me a long time to slow the bike to a stop so I can pull up the zippers and cut the wind chill.

The landscape spreads out before me. My eyes stream from the cold. The view is stunning, vast and incomprehensible. A lump forms in my throat. Then all kinds of emotions bubble up. I laugh with joy! I sob with relief, disbelief and a sense of pure freedom. I laugh again – just me and my bike bombing down this mountain with absolute abandon. I am overwhelmed by the scale, and strangeness of the geology around me.

Half way down I pull in to wayside. It is sunny, some blue sky and it is warming up! Then I look across the road and there it is – Death Valley! I can’t believe it! It is huge, shining white and surrounded by huge mountain ranges.

I babble away to my fellow riders. I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it! I have never seen anything like it! It’s so amazing! It’s overwhelming. And then, words just fail me.

I start the second half of the descent, more confident, still laughing, still awestruck. Still high on wonder and joy. At the bottom, as we pull up to the stop sign at our turn. I look back to Jeff and yell! I want to do it all over again!

But we turn left to head to our campground, crossing Death Valley from east to west.

Riding across Death Valley looking north

Soon we finish our 35 mile ride at the Stovepipe Wells Campground. We happily set up our tents in the sun, on gravel, in our dusty parking lot campsite. We roll out our sleeping pads and sleeping bags, walk across the street to the hotel and take showers by the cold water pool. Back at camp we hang out our laundry on our bicycles and tents.

Some how, we also ignore the high wind advisory predicted for that night, even as the flag on the ranger station stiffens and the breeze changes direction…

Postcard from the Atomic Inn

The start is cold. Bitter cold. We are dropped off on the side of the highway. After our bicycles are unloaded from the roof rack, we attach handle bar bags, seat packs and panniers. I fumble in my gloves.

It is windy. I wear tights, rain pants and booties; four shirts, rain jacket, two hats and winter cycling gloves. It is blowing hard from the SE.

We turn left on the highway. The speed limit is 70 mph and there are big trucks and lots of Sunday traffic. The shoulder is good with rumble strips, but the road is chip-seal and rides rough on skinny tires. I feel unsteady at first. Loud trucks, loud wind, gusts grabbing my handle bars. I take a few deep breaths of cold crisp air.

It takes about three miles to warm up and 5 to really feel comfortable and in the groove. There are big puffy clouds, vivid blue sky, snow on the mountains as we ride through the Amargosa Desert. The valley is huge and breathtaking the way it opens up. This is big country.

I ride with Joe from Connecticut and Denise, my roommate for the first 2 days, from Michigan. Expecting to ride alone, it is fun to have companions for our 46 mile ride. There is only really one place to stop on the way to Beatty, the Area 51 Alien Center, a gas station and rest area. We are riding adjacent to Area 51, a top secret US Air Force Base. It looks like beautiful mountains to me.

We stop at the rest area for a quick and chilly lunch. When the sun comes out it instantly warms us, until another cloud moves in. I love this!

Later, as we churn out the miles, Denise says “ I hear a helicopter” and sure enough 1 big black helicopter and 1 smaller black helicopter tailing it whir by very, very low to the ground. Okay. This area is more than pretty mountains and creosote bushes as far as I can see.

When we are 4 or 5 miles out of Beatty, I notice a small bit of flowing water. There has been so much rain and snow that this normally dry river, the Amargosa River is flowing! Later I discover it “flows” all the way to Death Valley. It is in its banks now, but you can see where is flooded the day before.

As we get close to Beatty we start a subtle climb. It appears like we are going downhill and at a big turn in the road ahead, it seems like the cars and truck are descending too, but our speedometers tells a different story. We are climbing. The downhill that goes up!

We spend the night at the Atomic Inn. We cook in the dark in the parking lot on a three burner stove. It is cold and windy, but the tacos were hot and the carrot cake delicious. I ate and then ate some more.

Right now there are a lot of unknowns ahead. Ice or snow on the road? Wash outs? A high wind advisory. But if we make it to Stovepipe Wells, the forecast is for 64 degrees! If we make it! Stay tuned!

What happens in Vegas…

February 24.

You know the phrase… what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Well, I am telling you not much happened.

I wake up at 5 am, amped up and ready to go. I drink two cups of weak coffee and eat a bowl of runny oatmeal, with a dash of raisins, and study the weather forecast.

High winds, from the SE, are predicted for the afternoon so I suit up and roll Miss Blue to the elevator for her “did she survive the flight shakedown ride” and to stretch my legs.

It is a dry, penetrating 37 degrees. I immediately feel underdressed as I start pedaling. Shifting good. Brakes good. Tires could use a little air.

I have cobbled together a couple of bike trails along some parks, but getting there is terrible. Fast cars and trucks on wide boulevards and no bike lanes. I ride sidewalks, dodging driveways, lamp posts and signs. It feels as dangerous as riding on the road.

The first trail is the Union Pacific Trail, that runs along, you guessed it, a live railroad track. I ride it to the Pittman Wash Trail, which is a giant flash flood control structure filed with concrete and native vegetation. I am never quit warm.

On the way back, I ride through Sunset Park to see the last remaining sand dunes in the city. There are Redhead ducks, Gamble’s quail and Great-tailed Grackles. There are coyotes warning signs. The dunes are interesting, but bare winter branches above the pale orange sand have snagged too many plastic bags, shredded by the wind.

I am back by 10:30 am, after 20 easy miles, and before the wind picks up. I expect to see other ride mates at the motel, but there is no one.

I check email, the weather again, download photos from my ride, look up the names of birds and find a Kabob place I can walk to for lunch.

And then nothing. I have nothing to do. My list is complete. No shopping. No packing. No tweaking the brakes or shifting. I contemplate visiting the Strip, checking out a show. But, now I am just making things up to do.

I decide to idle in neutral. Sit with the discomfort of doing nothing. Jets roar as they take off across the street. The mini-fridge whirs and a dog barks down the hallway. Then quiet. I am between the long push to get to here and the intense push across the desert to come.

And, in case you are wondering, the only thing that really happened in Vegas, is a young, dark haired waitress calls me “pretty lady” as she takes my drink order, water with lemon.