Impossible Route: Death Valley Day 4
March 4 – Primm to Furnace Creek: 163 Miles
At daybreak, we got better sight of the craziest thing! From the top of our first climb, the entire valley beneath us was filled with one million reflecting mirrors, each directed at one of three glowing hot towers. This array, the Ivanpah Solar Power Facility, is used to generate 1 million mega watt-hours of electricity. This futuristic display made quite the backdrop to the Queen stage.
The climb of Colossal Mine was the toughest we’d yet encountered. It was steep, mean, and beautiful. It forced us off our bikes and made our knees and backs hurt. To make matters worse, we were fully loaded with as much water as was humanly possible for us to carry. The rough jeep track descent was brutal. The climb was not the reward we had hoped.
To ride through this segment without flatting took incredible concentration. We looked for the smoothest lines possible. It still took forever, and we had jackhammered hands and feet and necks.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour, we saw the most sumptuous super-smooth black top our eyes had ever seen. Excelsior Mine Road extended ike a long ribbon of fresh black licorice through a brown desert. We climbed and found amazing rhythm to the pedals, approaching horse thief camp on the COPA pass. At an elevation f 5,000 feet, cotton trees and tall grass wagged in the breeze. Precious spring water must be in the ground here somewhere, I thought as we passed an abandoned ranch.
We turned right crossing over a cattle grate into California Valley. Rolling hills on a mountain side bench lay before us twisting slightly left to right. In the far distance first sight of Death Valley a sliver of white hit sand. We sped down the rocky trail and were actually able to enjoy the rolling hardpack despite its numerous rocks. Toward the bottom it became sandy again. I came into a wash going way too fast and flew over the bars smashing my shin and startling me. I was very lucky not to get hurt out here, I thought!
We continued on furnace Creek Road and the temperature climbed, finally moving fast again on the payment until I got a flat! HISSSSSS….air was leaking out of a side wall cut. It managed to seal and then we continued. Still at 1,300 feet now we passed through the small village of Tacopa. There were a few simple structures like particleboard boxes and a few random small houses, and that was about it for the town with no municipal water.
“Ah,ha!” Tyler exulted as he spotted a freestanding shed-like building. It had a painted mural of giant blue water drop on one side and said H20. Yay! I knew it had to be free water for weary travelers, but when we rolled up we saw that it was a water vending machine. It only took dollar bills. My heart sank. I asked Tyler if he had any cash? He just shook his head. We sat there contemplating the irony in this moment. We leaned our backs on the side of the building in the only available shade, realizing we were out of luck.
Then along came a small silver sedan with two occupants – a seldom-shaven middle age man driving and a smiling woman in the passenger seat. Tyler’s charisma worked and the car slowed. The nice folks inside gave us a grocery bag full of water bottles! It was awesome and we chatted with glee and learned a bit about why some people chose to live here. The solitude and the peace and quite is like nowhere else, and the people are nice.
Once again we were revived from a lowest low to “sure, we can,” and off we rode in the big ring.
We crested a paved climb and peered over the rim and out upon the deep valley – the realm of Death, or at least that was how the scary legend tells it. I looked over at Tyler and said, “enough of the frying pan. Now into the fire!” It was a bit scary to have been riding for seven hours and only just be entering the toughest part of the route. We had nothing more than a snack’s worth of food and water enough to fill salad bowl. Sand dunes and a baked powdery valley lay below us. Then my front tire wheezed out its last breath. We looked at each other in amazement. In one of the smarter pieces of our plan, we resolved to carry a spare tire. We sealed the tire with a CO2, and were back in the game!
We turned right and continued descending into the valley of death. Then we faced a massive sand wash and had to walk our bikes again. We still had 65 miles left, with only two hours until sunset. A harsh reality was starting to sink in.
Then, an unexpected sound drifted toward us. We heard guitar music, and it seemed to be coming from a small camper van and the distance. As we approached, we said hello and the musician – a man in a wide-brimmed desert hat – offered to play us a song! It was a soft moment of acceptance of our fate. I was soothed by the guitar serenade.
We rode another two hours of vicious washboard and sand. We kept it moving, but I also knew this incredibly slow pace would have us riding well into the late night, with no food or water. We had enough punishment. Our wrists were battered, our feet were swollen, our behinds punished, and our throbbing legs with the least of our problems.
I smiled knowing we had likely met our match, perhaps before Tyler realized it. We rode another 3 hours until sunset. We were out of food and almost out of water. This would make for a death march in the dark through hideous sand and washboard roads.
We had to make a decision: Do we go as far as we can, or pull the pin here knowing perfectly well how it would end? If we bailed now we could at least finish the rest of the days, and have some chance of seeing the rest of the route. So we skipped the last 40 miles of sandbox and river rock, and I was just fine with it. We finally pulled over and decided we were done. We took a ride to Furness Creek in the film truck. With this plan, we knew we would have a fresh start the next day and enjoy the rest of the trip.
For all of the effort, I thought I’d be more disappointed not finishing the day, but rather I was quite fine with the gigantic effort we put toward trying. It didn’t bother me a bit, I suppose because I knew it wasn’t a close call, but rather very much not happening. You might even say “impossible” without outside support.
At camp that evening, we hung out and had fun. I felt a sense of relief that some pressure was off. Now we could explore and enjoy the adventure. It’s interesting that I seem to learn the most when I get outside of my comfort zone.
That night it was clear to me that the greatest value in this effort was not saying we finished the whole thing inside a deadline. The greatest part of this trip was the joy and camaraderie that we had forged in trying something this over the top, with such an awesome group of humans, and incredible supporters behind us. Death Valley was the heart of this adventure, and with a realization of how alive and powerful the desert is, I only wish it had a name that was a more fitting tribute. I suggest the Valley of Wonder.
This is the sixth of a nine-part journal of the Impossible Route: Death Valley expedition. Read part seven. The journal is being released in conjunction with the feature documentary.
