DEATH VALLEY SOLO QUICKIE



2-16-08

Death Valley National Park

Missing the ADVrider Death Valley Daze in January due to fear of riding/sleeping/and general dislike of rain/snow/cold, my opportunity came again on Predsident's Day weekend. Not that I ever have that holiday off...and I don't. The fact that the Airheads.org where meeting in DV for an annual drink and lie rally, and the weather promising to be perfect made my whining, whimping, and general vacillation kind of moot.
That, and I had a well-worn kitchen pass from Jean, saved up, so I thought I'd better use it before it expired.

So, a big two-dayer was my challenge. A real test of the Derelict Mule. i've done the test rides. I've done the local loops, testing my work and the bikes reliability envelope. Fifty mile loops, 100 mile adventures through the local forests, 200 mile runs to Ventura to get parts. Everything good, no anomolies, no leaks or issues other than a n occasional sputter at low RPMs here and there. Time for something furtha fatha...I would venture out, overnight, and be alone with strangers, solo as it were, braving the elements and the wide open spaces...jeez, what a whimp I've become. Where's my suck-blanket.

It wasn't long ago jetting out with not much more than a jacket, a sleeping bag, and a pint of Castrol would'nt have caused a second thought. Cold? Rain? Weather? I'll ride around it and with glee.
Now it appears I have to prepare like I'm going on a mountain expedition. Cold, wet, hot, and in-between riding gear. Layers upon layers of heated, breathable, non-hypoallergetic, wind-proof, water-repellant and riding specific gear seems to be required. Toiletries and medications, food stuffs, tools and strappage, emergency and non-emergency goods, and several sources of night lighting just in case of life-threatening situations that might, just might occur...Christ, you'd think I was going head-long to my death.

A week before I'd turned my head and sold most of my old riding gear,(you know, the cool stuff that shows years of integrity, the stuff the Melrose crowd would pay top dollar for if the particular style was currently trend-specific). I went out and bought NEW riding gear that actually fits, and itis so modern motorcycling cutting edge, that odd wearing it. Kind of like naked with my clothes on. I mean, new is nice, but it's like starting all over again. Where's the love? New is interesting, and even functional, but I'm not sure how to do this.

I certainly don't end up looking as dramatic as this guy...

...or even this guy...
Oh yeah, same outfit, just don't take the helmet off....maybe I need another new helmet...
Ouch, there's that word again....new..

There's something to be said for all this high tech clothing, BMW Motorrad stuff in particular. I've tried lotsa stuff, but this stuff is really nice. A bit bulky with features, and heavy too. I basically feel like I'm wearing a suit of armor...I know, I am, but I mean like real armor.

Ready?


Set!


Gone! ...and once I got my girdle adjusted, an hour later I was breezin' past Jawbone Canyon.


it's a class joint. This girl reminds me of someone...

Koehn Lakebed headed east.


Doin' the ton (minus aclick or two) heading up to Johannesburg.


Mr. GPS told me to find the next turn on my left, so being Mr. Adventure I turned right. A puttered thru the ghost town where many dirt bikers, cops, and cops on dirtbikes mungled about in the orning sun. I came to a poleece barrier on the other end of town.

Not sure if the poleece was dirt-bike friendly or if they was just there too be hasslin' the dirt peeps. It appears that possibly the District 37 ride came thru here on the way to Death Valley...maybe. To many dirtbikes to tell what was up.


I got scared and split. It reminded me of San Felipe' wthout the beach or the tacos.


Nice car, perfect rust.

Out of Jo-berg I started to realize that my plans of cutting across the desert on back roads was all but wasted. All these roads where beautifully paved, and wide open. The only thing I had to look out for was dirtbike kids crossing the road at just the wrong time...for miles and miles. Many many dirtbikes out this weekend. Reminded me of the days when you had to wash the blood and fur off your wheels and bumpers because there were so many jackrabbits out here....crossing the road at just the wrong time.

Not knowing the route except by the sun, I dawdled down the road until some riders on large-ish dual sports came up from behind and made a turn north/northwest. I tailed them for a few miles, smiling inside my helmet as I blew past them and clicked off a couple photos, then kicked in the Rennsport cam and pulled away.
Toast, pure toast.

Trona. Sorry, no photos.It's white and flat and there's alot of white buildings...and a gas station. I was getting gas as the 3 straGglers caught up with me. Friendly bunch. An R12GS, a V-Strom, and an RT of some sort. earplugs in, I smiled and waved and made thumbs up jestures as they stared at me in my matching modern Motorrad outfit and the old bike I was riding...kind of an oxy-you-moron.
I guess I missed the big attraction.
The Trona pinnacles, maybe next time.
somone even made a movie there once.

The last stretch out of Trona ended up with a very nice set of switchbacks heading down into the
desert. This looking north. DV somewhere over the mountains to the northeast on the right.

Pano 1

GPS units are really cool for some people. Those who know how to program them. Glad I only paid $100 for my used BMW Nav 2. ii won't even go into the mis-adventure I had from here getting to to Wildrose Road. I saw a line of shiney objects moving across the desert (probably a Jeep club) and ended up in a sandwash that appeared to go...somewhere. My senior rider radar told me to turn around. An hour later I was back on course.

Wild Rose is a great seguay into the park. Winding, part paved part dirt. Once traversing it I realized I hadn't seen any bikes since Trona. Odd for such a big weekend. There where more couples beating the crap out of there Accords than bikes. I did pass a guy and his chick on there Harleys parked on the side. I think it was more of a challenge than she expected. He looked disgusted, she looked scared.

Wildrose Canyon Road winds up and across a meadow then up the side of the mountain. Perfect GS-bike road. This was shaping up nicely.

A pleasant surprise. Something I always wanted to see but never knew where they were. The Charcoal Kilns.

"Just seven miles beyond the Wildrose Ranger Station are the Charcoal Kilns, ten conical, stone structures, each 25 feet in height.
More than a hundred years ago these were used to make charcoal for miners in the neighboring and treeless Argus Mountains. Inside you'll find that the Kiln's shape affects sounds differently depending on where you stand-- you've got to try it!
Shade from the surrounding forest, combined with high elevation, makes the Charcoal Kilns one of Death Valley's coolest summer spots."

Inside der bee-hive...

KILN NOISE is he having a laugh?

Mini Rex Eurotrash

High clearance vehicles can continue up the dirt road to two more campgrounds: Thorndike Campground at 7,500 feet in elevation, and Mahogany Flats, the highest spot in the Park that you can drive to, at 8,200 feet.
At Mahogany Flats you can enjoy spectacular views of Death Valley to the east and the mighty Sierra's to the west. I call it a "Panorama Sandwich"!"

Yes, well, all good intentions aside, I waited for a serious Jeep to come down that path and I rode about 100 feet on snow, ice, and mud before the radar kicked in again. It was quickly becoming evident that my loaded down bike with dualsport tires was not going to cut this road, not solo anyway...do-able with the bike prep'd correctly. I turned around gingerly and headed back down.

Maybe next time.

Coming back down Wildrose. Too bad the majestic views are so hard to capture. Maybe a new wide-angle lens.

Down in the Vall-eee! The vall-eee so looow!

Headless horseman...the damn jacket stands up by itself...

The approach going south past Stovepipe Wells.

visor up?

visor down?

you decide!


Ah camping! For joy for joy! Arrival at Furnace Creek Campground proved to be less than glamorous. Oh there where some bikes and once I found the Airheads registration table, I got situated. The old other dudes where friendly and welcomed me, though with a cocked-eye when I told them I couldn't recall my membership number. $20. I'm here for one night. Pick a space between the yellow markers anywhere and pitch it.
So I did.

Fiive minutes later after unloading and getting my tent half-pitched some Greenie girl comes over and says to me 'Hey man! your in our camp space! Sorry!" I don't think the Greenie was with the biker crowd.
Turns out the yellow markers where on one side of the street, not in the middle island.


Fine. I'll drag my gear across the road. Sheesh! Furnace creek has to be the worst campsite outside of Littelerock Dam, CA. Hardpan and some scrubby lookin' brushy-bushes. The only shade is in the bushes, and the bushes are all taken. When no one was looking I horned in on a space inside a bush that was partially occupied by other squatters. I could hear someone grumbling and rustling in a tiny tent on one side of the holler. A wayworn fellow squat stuck his head out.

"Don't mind me squeezin' in here do ya?" ...I asked friendly, (preparing to get down wif my bad self if I got any lip from the munchkin.)
"Not if you don't mind snorin'." said the sqaut.
"Well then, we can harmonize." I said.
"That's a scarey thought..." he said.
A comedian.
I continued adjusting my dirtbag dwelling, then I went to go check out the bikes.

This guy was there.

.
I wouldn't have believed this if I hadn't seen it...




This was a sweet rig.

The sun was haeding for the nod over the Panamints turning the Valley of Death into a pallet.
I headed on out for a quick run up to Dante's View.

Pano 2 - Dante's View

Dante's View


Dante's bike.
Sun nearly down by the time I got back, I decided best to get some real food. I was warned by ADVRider guys that there would be long lines and shabby food at high prices. The restaurant was open, and I walked right in and proceeded to the counter. On my way there someone spoke. Sitting at a table by himself some guy insisted that I sit and join him. Not one to pick fights with the locals I sat. He offered me a jalapeno popper and told me they where bland. I asked him if he was with the Airhead group, though he didn't look at all bikerish. He said he was and that I was camped right next to him. It was the squatter...
My new friend Will turned out to be quite the character. Long time Airhead.org officianado and solo rider from Sonoma. We told stories and talked about what a hole Palmdale, CA is. I enjoyed my very good $9 burger..not everything you hear is the truth.

Meanwhile back at the campsite...it took me 20 minutes riding around in the dark to find the campground that was only 300 feet away. Finally sitched, I surveyed my stuff, taking note how well everything matched, even in the dark... oh no, those are not my black Levi's!

I spent a good 30 minutes trying to assemble my new/used Kermit chair. My buddy Will came buy and gave me a hand.
I guess the chair was so new that it takes two weak squatters to get it together.

I attached my LED cap light to my forehead, feeling totally dork-ish, then stumbled out to find the central keg area I'd heard about. First thing I saw in the dark area around the main bonfire was alot of other dorks with LED cap lights stumbling around. Feeling en vogue and dressed in stealth black I sheepishly approached the primitive dirt circle of bike-types around the fire. Using the shadows as cover I approached and spotted a dark round object...a keg.

Finding a plastic cup I casually filled it with amber swill and slunk off into the dark.
Gosh o gee, this brew was good stuff. Hey it's Sierra Nevada Pale Ale! These dudes are alright... After a couple of these I sauntered into the dirt ring like I belonged there. I ran into Will and felt anonymous enough in the crowd of 100 or so. Will started introducing me to people. Some Airhead living legends, some dualsport trash. All pretty happy campers. The normal stuff going down, door prizes and laughing and a general good time in the air. I decided next time I'll bring a door prize from my unofficial sponsor RPM Cycles...right Gary?.

I loitered back and forth between my Kermit chair and the keg. With the moon directly overhead, and about 60 degrees, it was turning out. Perfect. Riding and camping comes back to me now. Simple fun with motorcycles.
See this pic? That's not snow, that's the twilight zone...those are dirt angels...





Sunday 6AM. Slept fairly well actually. Did manage to wake up at Dawn's crack due to my, um, regularity...I decided against waking the neighbors by using my special container...
......................

Oh my gosh... even the tent matches the gear and the bike...


After being discouraged by the camping bathroom scene by a gaggle of camp scouts I did thhe sage bush for number , then managed to make coffee with the new JetBoil, and proceeded to scaled my upper lip with the first sip. Better than cowboy coffee for sure, but I my lip is still peeling.
A quick squashed banana and I was ready for the day. I packed all my crap and left it at the camping hole.

Soon I was in the cool wind heading out to find Titus Canyon and a place for a morning dump-out., or both.
A so-called friend had told me about Titus and that I should go there.

First stop (in a panic) was Old Stovepipe Wells.



There was a marker, an old pump, and alot of sand. Pretty, but I just had to go...

After Running up North Hwy 20 miles off the main road into the park (190?) I realized I wasn't finding any signs that lead to Titus canyon. Oh everyone said go left then right, you can't miss it. After about a half hour of wingin' it I came across some real relief. The guy in the Jeep was nice enough to wait.
I relieved in quiet splendor.


Afterwords he shouwed me his huge map...between the two of us we couldn't find Titus. But there was a turn back the way I came, somewhere between here and there. After another 20 minutes of blasting back and forth in my own tracks I almost gave up. Then I decided to go back towards where I saw the jeep guy. The sign for Titus was right there at the first turn on North Hwy. I'd missed it in my colon panic.
Now on Daylight Pass the road and weather where jus perf. A nice set of sweepers.

After a good half hour or so I realized I was heading towards Beatty, NV, and no sign of Titus Canyon...
for joy, I'm in Nevada.


Soon the wind turned towards me and cold. Heated vest on, flaps shut, never been there, guess I'm goin.
Beatty Nevada...kind of an odd place for a whore house, or not.



Looking around at the locals and the faire, this just about sums it up.

Beatty seemed pretty much like Rosamond...except prettier and with more dogs.
no signs of whores (I think) or whorehouses, so I took a quick loop around town. Found a whorehouse but they were only selling jerky so I loaded up. Best damn whorehouse jerky I ever had!


I seen pictures, never been there, but Rhyolite is a special place...I pulled up to the old train station...

turned on my heal and snapped a caboose...


...and headed back down the hill to the ruins...this be the bank, (no ATM). There was a couple of B-emp-dubbuyu riders there. I he on an R12 Adventure, she on an F650GS Dakar, both in full Rallye 2 Pro regalia. I felt akin, yet oddly trendy. They oblidged me with a pic.

Eurotrashin' in Rhy-o-lite...


Farther down the hill it got more interesting. Weird scenes outside the gold mine...

..the locals walked in circles...

...spirits found their bikes..

...and this little prich scared the Hell outta me! Boo! Boo! Cute..

This made me hungry.

This made me horny.

This made me sleepy...

This one made me mad.

...and this one just made me want my binky...

Oh, yeah, and this one thrust me into prayer for the Ghost of the Sky Woman Spirit....yeah sure.

Enough of this place, time was running short so I headed back at full speed, wind behind me.
What did I come across?

My friend never mentioned that Titus Canyon was almost in Ne-feckkin'-vada! ...It was about noon-ish so I headed doewn the TC road...long, rocky, washboard road to a flat horizon going towards what looked nothing even resembling a canyon. The bike was ytaking a beating, I was solo, and I knew one thing, this trip was not a loop.

Later for this. Some other time...

The wide open sweeping turns looping back to DV on Beatty Road felt much better.

Pano 3 - That's what I'm talkin' bout...

One short adventure left. Wonder Mine the sign said. I trailed down a pice.
I The Wonder Mine is clear over there...

When I got there I wondered why I'd come.

...musta bin dis funny shiney rock they was diggin'...

Pano 4 - View from Wonder Mine

Time is a wasting...I shucked it back into Furnace creek and packed my mule. I stopped for some $4.50 a gallon
premium and shared a pump with a Harley rider and his chick.
He appeared either weary from the weekend, or just plain disgusted. The pumps where off and we had to wait.
I cracked a joke about the prices going up and he laugh outloud at my joke.
I got the Hell out of there.

One last side trip on the way south. Artist's Drive.

Pano 4 - Artist's Pallet
I love this place, the colors are fab. A geologists heaven I'd think. The drive is paved fresh like a racetrack.
I held back my instincts and sucked it in and tried not to worry about the time. I swept around two cars that seemed
confused as what to do next. Turns out one was an official. At the bottom of the hill the official park ranger told me
I should be more patient. I'm not.

Hot lappin' the sweepers out of the park, it was perfect light going thru places like
Badwater.

...many tourista vermin there, no time gotta go...

Pano 5 - Really Feelin' Bad-water (see the time warp?)

Hwy 190 out south is much nicer than when I was here some 10 years ago. All the roads where pretty fresh. Nobody seems to pay attention to the speed limit.
What the hay, I slipped into the zone. Coming up on Ashford Mills (don't ask me) the road forked and I took the dirt tang. I've been wondering about this straight shot
coming out of DV. Read some stuff about it. Could be challenging, can be all washboared, watch for flooding...no real feedback from anyone that's gone that route.

Harry Wade Road



Jeepers. It sure was a washboard. I sure felt all isolated.


Hey, a straight shot point A to point B, right?
I've got a good 3 hours before sundset...' course, I'm not sure this is the road...
Bite the bullet Mr. Big Adventure Guy...

I'm goin' for it.

Well, it was a lil' ominous, only vehicle I saw was what appeared to be an abondoned Chevy Suburban...I didn't stop.
About 20 miles in it the environs started becoming vaguely mountains-of-the-moon-ish...kinda like pics I've seen of
Siberia and whatnot. The plains of Oinga Boinga.
I expected to see a gazelle or some such, if not a Stickyosaurus...

My mind was playin wif me. One thing for sure. This was fun .................................................................................wait...what's that...BURROS!

I see BURROS! Something about seeing these lil' babies gave me a thrill...we got one at home.

Maybe it was a sign...go home Rex!

Solo riding...many years of roadriding alone has served me well. The off road solo thing is something I've been turning over in my head for the past few months.
I've been trying to recruit the few riding buddies I have into the dualsport fold. Nothing seems to be panning out.
So I go....and it's been good...do far.
But, having a wingman has two sides. You got someone whos got your back, but on the other hand, you may be the one leaving your pal with a busted bike (or worse) and going for help.
Doing Harry Wade Road may not be a big deal. Especially on a real dirtbike. On a Sunday afternoon 250 miles from home with the sun setting is another deal
. I admit to myself I am tentative.

The bike does well on this kind of road. Loaded it's still does good. It wants to push the front end in the deeper gravel. It's worse with a load.
At 35mph going is just above a slog, any thing less is a paddlefest.

Head up, eyes peeled, steering the boat around peril...and it feels like a boat. The real rocky parts at the top of the swells look like they could easily do damage.
As the road undulates and changes demeanor, crossing washes and volcanic aggregate sections.
She drifts.
Gotta keep the speed up. At 55 things click.
I'm playing Gaston Rahier as the bike is pulled into the current an moseys sideways across deep sections.
Then thinking about impact (my own) I back off to 45 and slower yet to rest the brain and save the bike.
A minute later I'm back in the zone.
The sun setting over the west mountains stretches the sagebrush shadows over the clear view of the road, adding to the visual challenge....seeing stuff.
The road sweeps left and just keeps going. At this point the GPS is reading south/southeast....I want to go south/southwest.

In another mile a shiver of relief comes when I see the white ants of trucks and winnebagos trailing from the east in the distance. It's Hwy 127. Civilization.

As I watch my silhouette ahead and to the left of the road doing a stand-up Jimmy Lewis impression, I realize that I am happy and in the moment.

I twist the throttle more.

2 hours and a mere 32 miles later I great asphalt. For a slug not knowing where I am I'm kinda proud of myself, and my bike...especially when I'm greeted by this marker.

Yet another bit of history about death vs survival in the desert.

'nuff said

Road burn to Baker, pump up the tires, and head home. I another two hours I'm back at the rancho, with a glass of red and in the arms of Mz. Jean.

Not much left to show or tell...


disgusting narciss-ista!