Abolition Flag at Death Valley North
Today I decided to get into Death Valley from the North. This meant that I would actually take quite a roundabout route from Beatty, through Nevada, and come in, well, from the North. As it has been pretty much the norm every day, the days at over 4,000 feet make for a chili ride. At first, I had a hard time setting up the route on Mr. GPS since the northern approach road is relatively minor. Once we got going it was all business. Along the way I noticed to signs for brothels, which are legal in Nevada. They seemed to be called something or the other Ranch, and as I rode by, I did not quite know what to think, especially because of the purpose of this ride. What was even more unusual for me, was the fact that these establishments were in quite out of the way locations, and what seem to be low traffic roads. Even tonight, I am confused, and saddened for sure, for all of those involved in this system, the owners of brothels, the women that work there, the patrons, and the families of all of them.
As I descended into the park, in prayer I placed another flag at the entrance of Death Valley. Just before I got to that point, I did a little off-road excursion and a flat, pan cake like formation of cracked, but solid, ocre colored sand. Later I was to find out that this place is a smaller version of what is called the Race Way section of Death Valley, where boulders mysteriously travel across a clay plane. I would not be able to see the Race Track on this trip, since access to it requires a 4×4 vehicle.
As I got into the park, I noticed that on the right side of the slope there was a sudden change in the vegetation, which seemed to be really rich and exuberant. ‘There is water here’, I told myself. Sure enough, less than a mile later I got to Scotty’s Castle. This is an extraordinary part of the park. The castle is really a Spanish architecture mansion, not built by Scotty, but by one of the main owners of an insurance company, and while the story is rather twisted and complicated, the name was given to it because this Scotty guy was a swindler that was fired from the Wild West Show, and somehow charmed the financier, resulting in a twisted relation that lead to the building of the castle. I took the special tour, which is something I rarely do, but I must say it was a lot of fun, and well presented. The relationship with the water and the vegetation?, you say. Well, there is a spring in the property, which produced inordinate amounts of water at the time the mansion was built, which enables the lush vegetation to grow in this area.
From the castle it was down to the Ubehebe crater, where a volcano erupted 2,000 years ago, spewing molten rock and ashes 6 miles around it. Since it is bad to have a paragraph with just one sentence, here is another to make it two.
The day was getting old, and it was time for lunch. Stove Pipe Wells was recommended to me by the rangers, so I headed that way, keeping in mind that there would be some cool dunes just before it. The Mesquite Dunes were indeed impressive. However, the sun was just above me, so I decided to bypass them and catch them on the way back, when longer shadows might make for better pics. So I pressed on to Stove Pipes Wells, only to find out that the restaurant was closed, because the cleaning crew’s compressor had blown up. See Sandra? Nothing good ever comes from cleaning. I had to settle for a sandwich from the general store. But, while I was eating, I met three different BMWers. One, a lady, had an R1100s, and she had ridden it from Rhode Island. Another guy, was originally from Houston, and worked at a BMW dealership in the Woodlands, before moving to Albuquerque. He was traveling with his companion of 17 years on a R1200 GS Adventure, and they had just tied the knot last night in Vegas.
After lunch I filled up the gas tank, and headed out in search of the Coal Kilns and Emigrant Pass. I had been told by the rangers that the last part would be unpaved, but better than the Devil’s Golf Course. The ride was wonderful indeed. More undulations, or as the call them here dips, along with steep, twisty hills with narrow roads, often fenced off by bushes with yellow flowers. The sky was a bright blue, with darker hues surrounding the tallest peaks. I finally got to the unpaved section, but I do not know what the rangers were thinking, since this was quite rough and broken terrain, nothing like the Golf Course. So, not wanting a repeat of yesterday, and thinking that the Italian angels were off-duty today, I carefully pulled a u-ie with the BeMWu and headed back. As I neared the intersection of the main road, a figured just emerged in the middle of the road. A coyote just stood there, with his clear, bright eyes, and his big ears standing at attention. He looked at me for what seemed forever, and then slowly moved to the side of the road. I stopped the bike, thinking that I should take a photo, but in the end, we just peacefully stared at each other, and finally we both started moving again. It felt, however, as if we just had saluted each other and then just said our good byes.
As I approached Stove Pipe Wells again, the wind from the West hit me in the face. It felt like a blast from a kiln. Hot, and scolding. I could not believe that wind could feel so intensely hot. At first, this sensation spun off a joke in my head, thinking that I was late for my traditional Friday pizza making, when I run the oven at 505 degrees. Shortly thereafter, though, I thought of the story David Batstone tells in Not For Sale, about a family enslaved in India, working on the slave driver’s brick making kilns. ‘What a difference’, I thought. ‘I am here by choice, and can choose the direction of my journey to take me out of this discomfort as soon as possible’.
The Mesquite Dunes were waiting for my return, and I dismounted there to take some pictures. I walked on the sand for a while, climbing some of the steep, pale yellow sand dunes with some difficulty. At some point, I decided to take a photo of my hand in the sand, and I was surprised by the heat that radiated from it. I wanted to have some reflection time in the dunes, so I took refuge under a bush, while I closed my eyes, and cleared my mind.
From there it was back to Beatty, with the idea that I would stop at Rhyolite, a ghost town in this area. I did so, finding plenty of opportunities to re-think my photographic assignments from Adelina, and finding, just next to it, a series of art installation which included a crucifixion, the last supper, and a kneeling nude blond woman, made out of cinder blocks, but that look like a gigantic Lego sculpture.
After arriving in Beatty, I paid another visit to the local saloon, and hung out with the locals before coming over to the motel to prepare for tomorrow’s ride. With 2,688 miles on the clock, the ride back starts tomorrow. It will take me, the long way of course, to Cannonville. With over 400 miles in front of me, I will pack tonight, and leave quite early. Please keep me in your prayers, but, more importantly, please keep the captives in your prayers too.
IF they had cleaned if more in the first place, I’ll bet the thing wouldn’t have blown…nothing wrong with cleaning! No more pitfalls, my friend! Glad you got to stare down a coyote….I thought they only came out at nite….that was a special visitation, my love!