Day 3: 2 March 2016: Brawley to Indio: The wind in my heart, the dust in my head

March 22, 2016

At home in northern California during our rainy January I plotted possible routes in the vicinity of the Salton Sea, thinking how warm and dry it would be while Santa Rosa remained chilly and wet. Other than rolling out my sleeping bag along the road—not even any dunes to shelter behind—the options for camping (and motels) looked relatively limited, especially on the west side of the inland sea between Brawley and Indio. Still in the planning stage, I emailed the Oasis Palms RV Resort, and they confirmed tent camping would be possible.

When I awoke in Brawley on Wednesday morning, I anticipated riding about fifty miles up to that resort where I would camp Wednesday night. That would leave me about twenty-five miles to ride on Thursday morning and reach my car at the motel in Indio, giving me plenty of hours to switch over to motorist mode and skedaddle up the Interstate.

With fifty flat miles to ride, I was in no particular hurry Wednesday morning, but I was nonetheless up early, ready pretty quick, and ended up rolling north shortly after 7:00. The motel in Brawley was right at the western edge of town. That meant the Surly was immediately cruising through crops and open fields along Highway 86. The temperature was probably in the mid to high 50s, and I considered putting on my windbreaker. Nah, I decided, better to enjoy the chilly morning before the temp hit the forecast high in the mid to upper 90s.

For the first ten miles or more I pedaled past the same kinds of irrigation ditches, cultivated fields, and low green crops I'd seen while southbound from Calipatria yesterday. Today the agricultural landscape started to fade away north of Westmorland, gradually replaced by another familiar landscape, empty and arid. By the time I reached the next landmark—the US Border Patrol station a few miles north of Westmorland—I was definitely in the wide-open desert again.

The Border Patrol had northbound vehicles backed up for inspection at the station. I slid into line in the middle of cars and 18-wheelers and—gradually inching forward—observed the proceedings. As each vehicle pulled up, one by one, an inspector would size up the situation. In some cases, he would signal the driver to continue. In other cases he would halt the vehicle, sending a dog and handler to check it for contraband. The inspector took one look at me and the Surly in the middle of a full lane of traffic and waved us through without any change in his facial expression. Whew! That was a close one, because I'm carrying a heavy cargo of Advil. Plus, the Surly and I might still excite the drug-sniffing German Shepherd after our encounter with pungent Jesus—or whatever his name was—at Salvation Mountain yesterday.

Anyway, despite being waved through, I pulled over and took advantage of a quiet, shaded corner of the Border Patrol compound to eat cookies and drink tea. Nobody seemed to care.

Immediately beyond the Border Patrol station, Highway 78 peeled off 86 and headed for Ocotillo Wells and points west. I stayed on Highway 86 and rolled north. This continued to be a four-lane divided highway with very wide shoulders and a well-placed rumble strip. Traffic wasn't bad, and big rigs tended to move over to the left as they passed me. Other than some noise, it wasn't a bad ride north. The shoulders didn't even contain too much debris, except for an intermittent trail of desiccated carrots that must have bounced out of a northbound produce truck.

Interestingly, 86 is not a limited access highway, and there are quite a few intersections along the way. However, at the vast majority of those intersections, the paved cross street simply dead ends in the sand a few yards away from the highway, without even an unpaved frontage road, side road, or desert track. Otherwise mostly useless, the short stubs of pavement at intersections made great places to pull over whenever I wanted a break.

The first sign of habitation north of the Border Patrol station, Salton City, eventually shimmered into view, and I arrived at a real intersection. On the left, on the road coming down from Borrego Springs, was a modern conglomeration of gas station, convenience store, fast food joints, etc. Instead of going over there, I turned right onto South Marina Drive and after a block or two put my feet down in front of the dilapidated West Shores Market.

When I came out of the market with a chilled bottle of tea and pulled a sandwich out of my handlebar bag, a rather large guy was sitting at the shaded picnic table in front of the store.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked.

"Go ahead, man," he encouraged me. "I'm just watching everything go by, and you're the only thing moving. Where ya from?"

"I live north of San Francisco," I responded as I started into my sandwich and tea. "Right now I'm heading toward Indio."

"North of San Francisco, huh? I lived up there, up in Marine County for a couple of years." He pronounced Marin County like the US Marine Corps. "San Quentin State Prison."

"Oh yeah?" This conversation sounded like it might go south real fast.

"Yeah, man. Too many DUIs. I thought I'd just have to pay another fine and do a little more time in the county lockup, ya know, but the judge decided to make me the example, ya know. Man, I don't know why he picked me for the example. Then my boss he wouldn't hire me back no more and my wife she left me. Rufe, she said, I can't take it no more."

"Yeah, alcohol can sure take a toll," I responded. I wasn't sure I could eat fast enough to get out of here before I couldn't take it any more either.

"I'm from Blythe over there by Arizona—it's real hot over there—but I had to move over here with my brother-in-law. Nothin' here. Nothin' going. Ain't no jobs but driving diesels, and ain't nobody let me drive no diesel no more."

Imagine that!

"Ya know, I was sitting right here a few weeks back when another guy on his bike came by right here. He had him a little trailer back behind his bike with a cover, and he carried around his ol' dog in there. He had him a big sign and he was taking money up for cancer, and all the old folks from around here was like, that's a good thing, right, and they was giving him money right there in the street. But then some of them was saying like, how do we know that money's going to cancer? And they got into a big tussle right out there in the street, right there, before he went riding off with his ol' dog. Ya ain't taking up no money for cancer, are ya?"

"Nope, nope. Just riding. Not soliciting donations for any cause."

Maybe I should just eat half the sandwich and get back on the road.

"Maybe ya ought to get ya a little trailer and a dog and one of them signs."

"Nah," I said, putting away the last of my sandwich and getting up, "I don't think I want to carry any damn dog up and down the road. Too hot for that!"

"Yeah, man, I know, too damn hot to carry no dog around!" Rufe laughed. "Hey man, if you're going up the road, you'll go right by that Red Earth Casino up there. They say it's real nice up there if them Indians'll let ya in."

"Okay, thanks," I replied as I mounted up and rolled off. "I might check that out. You stay cool, man."

Despite Rufe's recommendation, I didn't stop at the casino. I did enjoy the casino's billboard on the side of the highway north of Salton City, featuring a huge picture of a sparkling bathroom: "Got to go? We have clean restrooms and showers."

After the long run up the shoulder of Highway 86 from Brawley, I turned left on 81st Avenue and stopped in front of the Oasis Palms RV Resort, exactly as planned. It wasn't yet noon, and I'd covered roughly fifty miles. This was my intended overnight stop, but obviously too early for that. I went a little farther up 81st Avenue, found a shady spot, and ate more lunch, or perhaps a second lunch. Should I push another twenty-five miles or so, or call it quits for the day? Plenty of daylight, but at my age pedaling 70+ miles with gear in one day probably means I'll snap, pull, rupture, or otherwise damage some fragile body part I'd prefer to keep intact. After due consideration and a big dose of caffeine, I decided I should keep going.

I finished lunch and turned right on Harrison Street for the straight run into Coachella and Indio. Before long, I reached the Forester in the motel parking lot after pedaling almost 75 miles, compressing two days into one, and completing a full circuit of the Salton Sea.

Time to head for home, where my ace support crew was no doubt pining for the return of Old Grumble-Face.

After almost nine hours of driving, it started raining shortly after I crossed into the lush green county of Sonoma.

Beyond the irrigated, intensively agricultural part of the Imperial Valley around the southern end of the Salton Sea, Highway 86 runs through arid emptiness.

The map of highway 86 shows many intersections, but almost all of the side "roads" are nothing more than little stubs of pavement that immediately dead end in the sand.

This satellite view of Highway 86 from Google shows a typical intersection with a few feet of pavement going nowhere. Quite a few of these along the way. Good places for bicycles to pull off the road.

Northbound traffic on Highway 86 in line for inspection at the Border Patrol station.

Lots of personnel, vehicles, equipment, cameras, electronics, and at least one detection dog.

The Surly at another busy—not!!!—Highway 86 intersection. Looking west.

Archaeology 101: Signs of ancient civilizations in the desert.

Archaeology 101: Some of these relics appear to date back thousands of years.

Archaeology 101: More research required in order to determine why such an advanced civilization collapsed, leaving behind only these kinds of mysterious objects.

Between the mountains in the west and the Salton Sea—somewhere in the east, but invisible—there's nothing but a ribbon of highway running through featureless desert.

Arroyos like this one prove water has been known to flow through the desert, but they're all dry right now.

Salton City appears in the distance! The first sign of habitation north of the Border Patrol station.

I stopped to buy cold drinks at a run-down market. There I made a new friend, Rufe, while I rested in the shade. Rufe told me he lived for awhile in northern California in what he pronounced as "Marine" County. Actually, he clarified, in San Quentin State Prison.

From the highway, I couldn't determine if Salton City had more homes or more "Lots for Sale" billboards.

North of Salton City, the Salton Sea reappears in the distance off to the east.

From Brawley up to about here, Highway 86 is too far from the water to actually see it from the saddle of the Surly. As the level of the inland sea continues to recede, it will get even farther from the highway.

The view north from another one of the stubby little empty intersections along Highway 86. At this point the highway starts to get squeezed between hills and sea.

I met the four-armed Queen of the Desert, skull in hand, at the Alamo Market in Desert Shores.

The woman of my dreams!

But be careful! The Queen of the Desert and her Serpent Princesses will mesmerize you, steal your heart, swallow your soul, and make a plaything of your skull.

The Queen of the Desert was flanked by two identical Serpent Princesses. Here's one of them.

Photo opportunity north of Desert Shores. The Salton Sea barely visible below the distant mountain. The sea is out of sight for most of the route north from Brawley.

Another relic of a dead technology from an ancient desert civilization caught my eye along the highway.

I turned off Highway 86 near the Oasis Palms RV Resort, my destination for the day, but it wasn't even noon yet.

I decided to sit on this convenient rock and eat lunch while contemplating my options.

Note yet another relic of the desert near the Surly. I have no idea why the desert is full of discarded underwear, but rest assured those aren't mine.

Although I had covered about 50 miles, and it was still about 25 miles back to the Forester at the motel in Indio, I decided to push on through the afternoon.

After lunch I was back in the Coachella Valley, bountiful land of abundant crops, thanks to irrigation.

Rows and rows of orange trees. This was like a sweet perfume, especially after pedaling through the empty desert.

The Surly pauses by a jungle-like nursery of palms.

Almost back in Coachella and Indio and busy afternoon traffic.

This was my last photo of the day. Nearby palm trees and distant snow peak. I think that's Mount San Jacinto, accessible by cable car from Palm Springs.

Now it's time to unpack, sort, inventory, mend, wash, and file away everything.

Until next time.

Conditions

Time: 7:00 to 2:30

Distance: Approximately 73 miles

Up: Approximately 950 feet

Down: Approximately 850 feet

Weather: High in mid 90s F, with some tail wind

Home for the night: Driving north

Today's ride: 73 miles (117 km)
Total: 168 miles (270 km)

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