Tag Archives: Expedition

Journal

Impossible Route: Death Valley Day 6

March 6 – The Cerro Gordo Ghost Town: 72 Miles

The calm evening was interrupted shortly after we lay down in our sleeping bags. A devil wind howled. It picked up to a gale at one point and terrorized us. There were insane tent flapping sounds like a giant bat flapping its wings. The rain fly and one pole of our damaged tent were falling apart with 40-50 mph gusts. Around 4 a.m. the tent caved in, and in our half-asleep state it felt like we were in a collapsing cave!

The wind eventually relented as the sun came up, but was still blowing at a steady 20 mph.

I rallied to get up, but Tyler was not getting up. After drinking enough coffee to kill a Chihuahua, we got a late start.

We headed south, moving slowly toward a point of interest simply called “The Racetrack” where we had our chance to see one of the most beautiful places on earth. There, 60-pound rocks slide hundreds of meters, mysteriously across the mud. Our experiences in the winds the night before made it seem very clear how the rocks moved.

We turned and descended Lippincott Trail. This massive downhill was totally badass, but probably more suited to a 4×4 Jeep than our bicycles. It was kind of cool because, once again, somehow we got away with it with no crashes. Let’s just say it was sketchy, real sketchy. I’m not sure why it felt so awesome to ride the gravel bike down this crazy trail. It was kind of an analog approach to the route a practicum in the absolute limits of body and bike. Yep there is the limit????

From the bottom of Saline Valley, we climbed and climbed until we saw snow in the shadows. The view around us was phenomenal. There was such contrast and 6,000 feet of relief between the brown Death Valley on our left and the 400-foot tall sand dunes below to our right that glowed yellow like small ribbons. The road became glorious hardpack. The Joshua trees laughed at us. We jumped, whooped, and howled with delight. These were the only sounds, aside from the tailwind whooshing.

After we took a break for lunch, the fastest descent of the day was a magical moment in which I realized we were surrounded by a truly ancient landscape. Humans rarely see a place almost untouched by people. The prehistoric Californian mountains were twice as big and the desert twice as wide as I could have imagined. From the valley at sea level, to the mountains rising 10,000 feet above, my eyes were stunned. Damn, California, you sure are beautiful.

Of course, for these highs we paid terribly.

The backside of climb Cerro Gordo punished us for more than an hour. Tyler’s knee really hurt. For a time, he didn’t think he could continue. I encouraged him, and he later found his rhythm. My back started to hurt. It was so bad I had to actually sit down and stretch. I got back up and just put on foot in front of the other, knowing if it was like everything else on this trip it was bound to improve.


Improve it did. Reaching the top of Cerro Gordo, we were treated to a tour of the mine museum by famous “Ghost Town Living” YouTuber Brent Underwood.

He told us how 4,000 desperate minors, working 80+ mine shafts in search of silver and lead ore, once inhabited the ghost town. In perspective, we don’t have it so bad.

Our 5,000-foot descent into the sunset was like the ending of some kind of movie. It was so surreal. The silver of the Lakes below showing like mirrors. We stopped several times to shake out our hands and take photos. Once again we rode into the dark, speeding down the pavement, but we had zero regrets about lingering at the site too long. We had seen some epic shit that day. It was the kind of ride that could have been 2 days.

 

 

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.