East from Stovepipe Wells

December 11, 2023

New bird! We knew there’d been a lot of rain a few months ago in Death Valley, but we sure didn’t expect to be seeing this:

Well, actually that shot wasn’t taken in Death Valley - it’s from our walk on Goat Rock Beach from our stay in Jenner ten days back. It’s here though because I was looking over my bird inventory and realized I never registered seeing a brown pelican. Feels like a freebie!

It’s desert morning cold when I go outside soon after sunrise to see if I can find that rock wren hopping around and get a better shot this time. He’s not there, though the ravens of course are - we heard them from inside our room as soon as it got light out. I take a quick shot of the vintage air compressor parked in front of the lodge and then hustle back to the warmth of the room.

A beautiful antique. When it’s warmer and lighter I should return for a better look. Maybe the rock wren will be back then too.

By ten it’s warmed up enough that we’re ready to ride. Conditions look over the top excellent, as fine a day as you could hope for to bike in this place. Clear, sunny, practically windless, and warming to around 70 by early afternoon. The ride we’ve chosen today is the simplest option available - bike east on Route 190 toward Furnace Creek until it’s time to turn back.

If I backed up a few feet to bring more in the frame we could see the raven standing on the ground observing the action, but I wanted to focus on her reflection off the other Raven.

We decided to come to Death Valley again after reading an article in the NYT a while back describing what an exceptional time it is to be here now that the park has partially reopened after being shut down due to all the road and infrastructure damage from Hurricane Hillary. I was excited at the thought of maybe seeing a greener park than we’ve experienced before, but my interest was really piqued by the fact that some of the paved roads are still closed to all motor vehicles but open to walkers and bicyclists. Doesn’t that sound incredible though?

What the article didn’t mention though, and maybe it’s just the situation at the moment, is that the park is practically empty. After we’ve ridden for an hour or so and gotten closer to Furnace Creek and the commercial heart of the park the traffic picks up slightly - but for the first ten miles the main road through the park is virtually empty, with a car passing us only every half mile or so. And it’s so quiet and the sight lines are so long that you know a vehicle is approaching several minutes before it arrives.

Passing the Mesquite Dunes, which we’ll come back to for a better look later. Rachael wants me to clarify that she’s on the wrong side of the road at my instruction, because it would frame the shot better.

We’re following the usual Team Anderson OAB script with her breaking away as soon as I stop for a photo, as I often do of course because this is such a stunning place. It takes me awhile just getting past the Mesquite Dunes, as I keep stopping for another look from a different angle. And I stop often to zoom in on the colorful formations miles off or just for another take of the mesmerizing road tapering off into the distance.

And she’s off. I’m zoomed in on her from about a quarter of a mile off. Not a car in sight.

In the so-called Devil’s Cornfield, named because the isolated plants suggest corn sheathes.

Approaching the junction with the North Highway, the road to Scotty’s Castle and out the north end of the park. It’s closed to cars after about the first mile, but I’m not sure about for bikes. It’s a candidate for one of our other rides.

The Amargosa Mountains are so colorful! I think the high point ahead is Thimble Peak.

We’ve been gradually dropping for most of the first six or seven miles, which since Stovepipe Wells is at elevation zero, five or ten feet depending on where you stand means we’re well below sea level when we come to the big climb of the day and cross a ridge that lifts us up into the nosebleed section, all the way up to +130. And then it’s a fast drop for the next two miles, with huge views down the southern end of the park to Badwater Basin.

Looking south toward Badwater Basin, way off in the distance. The scale is so huge! That’s fifty miles of emptiness ahead until we come to the southern boundary of the park.

A view across the basin. From a distance I thought there might be standing water down here but I think it’s all salt. Maybe further south when we come back tomorrow we’ll see remnants of that transient lake the NYT showed photos of.

I’m not quite twenty miles into my ride when I see Rachael coming my way, circling her hand above her head to indicate that I should make a uey and join her. After about a mile we come to what looks like as good a picnic spot as any and stop for lunch. It’s pretty comfortable really, our butts settling into the soft sand as we sit and stare across the salt flats.

After a few minutes Rachael starts up a little before me, hoping to find a creosote bush large enough to afford a modicum of privacy in case the rare car passes by at the wrong moment.

I’m working at catching up to her when I come to Beatty Junction, closed and barricaded, and see three folks packing up their bikes into their cars. I stop to ask what Beatty Cutoff Road is like, since it’s another candidate ride. They all rave about what a spectacular ride it is all the way up to Daylight Pass and the exit to the park - a ride we’ve ridden ourselves in the past and know how extraordinary it is coasting back down fifteen miles after you finally reach the top.

Experiencing it without cars though must take it to a whole new level. I may have to come back and give it a try.

Not hard to find a picnic spot, but we wouldn’t like it much when it heats up again.

I catch up with Rachael in another mile, waiting at the top of the Big Climb beside a largish creosote bush. We ride together for the next several miles, dropping off the other side of the saddle and then leveling off. Eventually though I have to stop again. I was just here a few hours ago, but it’s different now - the sun is lower in the sky and the colors of the land and vegetation are coming to life, so she bikes back to the room on her own while I take my time. I arrive home myself maybe twenty minutes behind her - enough time for a dozen or so more photo stops and one at the store to pick up another beer. Outside the store I chat with another biker, someone who from the sounds of it is a regular here. We both go on about how unusually quiet it is now, and how excellent the day is.

Really, if you’re anywhere near you should throw your bikes in the car and drive on over. It’s that great right now.

The vegetation turns vibrant by late afternoon.

Mesquite Dunes. Not today, but we do have to get out there before we leave.

Video sound track: The Best is Yet to Come, by Grover Washington Jr. and Patti LaBelle

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Today's ride: 45 miles (72 km)
Total: 211 miles (340 km)

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Suzanne GibsonSo thrilling that you are cycling in Death Valley, and under such perfect conditions! I'm also really excited that your ablation was such a success.
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1 year ago

Scott AndersonTo Suzanne GibsonThanks, Suzanne. So far at least it feels really transformative. Exceeds expectations.
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1 year ago