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Journal

Impossible Route: Death Valley Day 5

March 5 – Furnace Creek to Race Track: 101 Miles

Our heavy mood had lifted and we had great vibes, hot coffee, and some amazing cinnamon rolls that Biju had scored. It was a fresh start for the new day.

Today we climbed from below sea level up one monster of paved climb. I was surprised how we had seemingly recovered, or perhaps the smooth asphalt was a contrast to the playground of sand we had become accustomed too.

Tyler saw a false summit up ahead and attacked! I countered, seeing the real summit was another kilometer away. We raced to the top as if we had just started our expedition, and somehow we were flying near 400 watts. This should’ve been impossible, having ridden 40 hours in the last four days! We high-fived and went on a detour of the abandoned rhyolite mine.

Adventures like this, when time stands still, are so cool.

Next we hit Titus Canyon. It was a stunning kaleidoscope of colors and shapes, and amazed us like kids in a dinosaur museum. There were serpentine tracks laid down a woven tapestry through the mountains.

I won’t ever be able to describe it, and the videos will only halfway do it justice. I’ll just say, it was definitely one of the most amazing descents on a gravel bike I have ever done!

We emerged through a crack in a wall-like mountainside and returned to the valley floor.

We took a right on Hidden Valley Road and enjoyed a direct tailwind on pavement.

We made it to Uhebe Crater just in time for sunset, and celebrated finishing the day!

Tyler noticed something was missing. “Now where the hell is the RV?” A cold wind blew in and crows sailed like kites above the craters edge.

Unfortunately, our camp was another 16 miles to the south. Let’s just say it made for some sad dark riding for us to get up that mountain. Thinking it was a shorter day, we didn’t have our lights, and so we hopped in the truck for the last 10 miles to the campground. We figured we had ridden at least 10 miles off course to go to the mine for photos and videos and sightseeing. So we made the most of the day, and declared the course certainly was “possible.”

Journal

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.

Click here to learn more about The Impossible Route series.

Journal

Impossible Route: Death Valley Day 3

March 3: 70 Miles – Sahara Oasis to Death Star

We set out at 8 a.m. Despite the warming sun, the temperature was in the 30’s. We desperately needed sleep the night before, so we planned on this later start time. Tyler seemed to not want to leave the warmth of his sleeping bag. It didn’t sound like 70 miles would be much, but it would be far from a recovery ride. We hoped this day would be a chance to at least regain our composure.

The surprisingly named New York Mountains were beautifully filled with Joshua trees and were a hard-pack dreamscape. It was amazing how once we got moving our legs turned over with ease. The golden morning light passed over the nearby cliffs and beamed to the sandy floor of Wild Horse Canyon.

We flew down a monster descent on our Grails before double track took us deeper into the heart of the Mojave. Here the desert was rich with life. Cholla cactus gardens lined our path and flowers dotted the sand. I wished we’d spotted a desert tortoise or a big horn sheep.

To our surprise, we spotted an abandoned mine. It soon became a well-worth-it detour. Like an eager kid, Tyler couldn’t resist climbing the old wooded structure. Like a more cautious kid who’d already experienced some broken bones in his life, I soon followed. From atop this contraption, we stared off into the endless distance and imagined what life would be like out there permanently and a long time ago.

Then we headed north on Cima Road towards Kessler Peak Road. The mountainside roads were beautiful. The hills below the abandoned mine offered a stunningly fast rolling double track path. This riding was the stuff of my dreams!

Finally it seemed like we’d be given an easier day, but as we approached the pass we found ourselves rim-deep in sand once again. Pushing, riding, cursing, Tyler took off his broken shoe and walked along with one socked foot. This had become my new sort of gauge of how long a sandpit was.

We crested the pass, and were greeted by the sickest decent of the whole ride: a bermed ATV track. This was one of the opportunities I’d cleverly used the Strava Route Builder to reroute our course with the goal of avoiding the interstate. We followed a blown-out section of road and saw the film crew up ahead. Tyler wanted to jump on the interstate to finish but I thought it would be more appropriate (and legal) to ride the parallel gravel route that was really more sand than gravel. Yep, he did not like this decision, but we made it. At the very end of the day, we caught site of the massive solar arrays of the Iwanpah Solar Generation site.

There was a certain somber mood that evening. We knew the crux of the expedition was upon us. The next day was 163-miles across a massive mountain and with endless dry desert in front of us.

This was the impossible part of the Impossible Route.

This is the fifth of a nine-part journal of the Impossible Route: Death Valley expedition. Read part six. The journal is being released in conjunction with the feature documentary.

Click here to learn more about The Impossible Route series.

Journal

Impossible Route: Death Valley Day 2

March 2: 130 Miles – Blythe to Hole in the Wall
Shoe Tree Chasing the Mirage

We started out in the crisp morning air, through great farmlands with small houses and palms of old Mexico. We turned a corner only to be stopped behind a massive herd of sheep. The men with their safety vests and sticks worked dogs to move the sheep. It was relaxing to be at the mercy of the sheep’s pace, but at some point we knew we needed to forge on.

Today’s surface was a little firmer. We climbed northwest on Blythe Rice Road and over Styx Pass, enjoyed some magic vistas and very nice gravel. The track alternated between fast gravel and 1-kilometer-long sand patches that forced high power just to stay up, but today the rhythm change was tolerable and even fun.

 

 

 

We stopped at the Rice Shoe Fence for some photos and to take in the modern art/trash installation that was something out of a post apocalyptic future movie. It was kind of creepy, to be honest – not the kind of place I want to be at nighttime.

We got back on route but struggled to find the correct road leaving the ghost town of Rice. We decided it was safest to take the plan-B route of Cabot Road where we were passed by giant trucks hauling salt with huge trailers. These desert titans on wheels flung dust trails like jet plane for miles. As we approached the horizon, it would just get farther away. At one point we spotted a town. “Look!” We were excited. A patch of little white square buildings in the distance surely meant water was near.

The closer we got, the farther the town seemed, until finally an hour later we arrived at an abandoned mine site. There were containers, gas tanks, earthmoving machines, oil tanks, sheet metal and buildings, but no people. No water. ‘Damn, I’m getting thirsty, “I thought. We continued west. Our left sides baking in the sun, the backs of our legs burned to purple. We encountered deep sand and again full effort rendered progress of just 4 miles-per -hour.

 

The sections that were hard-packed were gorgeous lunar landscapes in 360 degrees. Finally, after two hours, we arrived at an intersection. Upon crossing the tracks, we became excited because we saw the only human being we’d seen all day: a rail line maintenance worker, with a sweat-stained shirt, worn boots, and scruffy cowboy chin. He waved hello. Tyler chatted with him and scored us four little bottles of water. It was just what we needed to make it.

We opted for the pavement on Route 66 from Danby, but two completely washed out sections interrupted even that route. We rode right down the yellow line on what used to be the busiest road in the Southwest. I imagined folks in heavy metal cruisers traveling to San Diego or Las Vegas from Chicago. Now Route 66 is just dressed in sand, and cracked pavement, and old signs. The rough payment is a treat.

We upped our speed toward the abandoned town of Essex – the fourth ghost town that we passed. So many abandoned places and lost stories, and again no obvious signs of water. According to the map we just had to turn left and in 10 minutes, cross the highway, and go up one more hill. No problem, I thought. Then we looked in the distance and caught sight of the behemoth mountain and realized the scale of my map. Our jaws dropped. Because my GPS track was a 130-mile point-to-point, the scale fooled us. The interstate was 12 miles away. The warped space-time distance of the desert got us again. Tyler and I rode as fast as we could this late in the game, thinking top speed would get us there faster. He was out of food, so I gave him my last snack. I too paid for raising the pace. It was my turn to bonk in the last half hour. Two hours later, climbing away from the sunset our brains low on sugar, we spun the pedals on the steepening grade.

We had entered Mojave National Preserve. The Joshua trees at 4,000 feet stood guard like old men. In my mind, they welcomed us to a sacred desert, palm flags showing us the way up.

I was in the trance: The place in your head you get to only after incredible work and with a lack of mental diversions; Where the pavement passes underneath you like a conveyor belt of diamonds; The sky swirls like a van Gough painting. Long shadows stretched across the rippled desert as the sun dipped behind the mountain.

Part of the magic behind these efforts was the quest for some clear vision devoid of modern human influence. Breathe like breeze, blood rushing like a river, a reflection of mountain silhouettes in our eyes; we for once become more a part nature than of human kind for some brief moment. “###! This is Epic!” Tyler blurts out. Yep, I confirm this over-used word certainly rebranded in this moment.

Finally we arrived to the hole-in-the-wall campground nestled in a high saddle between the Woods Mountains and Providence Mountains in the Mojave National Preserve. A small applause erupted and I cracked a chapped smile.

Round granite rocks, palms, cactus, yucca, and Joshua trees surrounded the campground. It was a beautiful place to call it a night. We rebounded quickly with a lot of Flow Recovery drink and water. We enjoyed laughing off the hardships of the day with the film team while eating incredible biryani and caramelized sweet potatoes Chef Biju cooked up.

This is the fourth of a nine-part journal of the Impossible Route: Death Valley expedition. Read part five. The journal is being released in conjunction with the feature documentary.

Click here to learn more about The Impossible Route series.