I regretfully left Death Valley National Park on Friday morning after I returned from my overnighter in the Funeral Mountains. I say regretfully because the entire Death Valley experience was so unforgettable. The temperature was constantly in the low 70's and the scenery at every turn makes you gasp. Perfect, perfect, perfect.
Traveling the roads between Death Valley and Vegas is an experience in desolation. There is mile after mile of the gorgeous rock, sand and desert scrub in rows of mountains and hills that you pass. Except for the occasional ranch or small settlement, the area is untouched and mostly unused. Dirt roads wind away from the main roads in many places and one can only imagine where they might lead. The place is beautiful in its own right, with surprising abundances of life, color and natural formations but I can say that I am glad to just pass through.
This feeling was confirmed as I went through one of the larger towns along the way called Pahrumps. A sign on the outskirts of town bills it as, "The New Old West". I say the slogan should be, "The Town In The West Where People Park All Their Broken-Down, Half-Stripped Cars On The Front Lawn." I swear to God, every lot had at least 5 rusted-out vehicles in various stages of decay next to old farm equipment, swing sets, etc. I do have to say, though, that the town has a comfortable rustic feel and there are huge amounts of land in this area (and in many, many areas that I've driven through) that are still natural in almost every respect. If a land trust agency could come into areas like Pahrump that are rich in land but where property values are low, and purchase land, I think a lot could be preserved with a sizable "bang for the buck."
Before I got to Las Vegas, I wanted to discover an area west of the city in the Spring Mountains called Red Rock Canyon. I'd read that the mountain biking in the area is supreme and the scenery unbeatable. I passed a quaint little town called Blue Diamond and, before that, a not-so-quaint gypsum mine on my way north on Hwy 159 from 160. The day was overcast and it was threatening to rain when I pulled into a rest stop to view The Rock. Mist hung over the top of it but could not obscure the massive, element-carved, blazing red mountainside that stood there. Unreal. I took a couple of pictures, but they just don't portray the scene well and will only serve to downplay this masterpiece in stone. Go and see it for yourself.
I wanted to take a look around the park, but in a mild drizzle, I hurried to 13 Mile Campground just north of the visitors center. I got the tent up about 2 o'clock, tossed in a good supply of warm clothes (it was in the 50's) and reading supplies and waited out a nice storm that lasted until dawn. Seventeen hours of myself in a tent gives good reason to celebrate a partly cloudy sky at 7 a.m., if only to escape the stank.
I pulled out the bike stand and did a minor tune-up. (Now speak in a DEEP tone, "I drive The Rig. We have the capability to do these things.") The bike checked out and the weather checked out, so I was off. On the way there, I stopped back into the rest area to see if I would be allowed a better picture of Red Rock (I wasn't) and happened to start talking to these guys who were organizing their climbing gear at the overlook. They were hoping that the rocks would dry off soon so that they could continue their assaults on the nice climbs in the area. It is another example of an open space that is invaluable to everyone's well-being. People come here to hike, to bike, to climb and to gawk. Wildlands like Red Rock fuel us and make us feel alive.
While at the rest stop, I met Chris Daehler who was a biker too, and who wanted
to show me the Cottonwood area which is in the southermost portion of Red Rock. We drove there and we rode around on some of the numerous singletrack trails in the area. The scenery is open and colorful and big cliffs and hills back up the scene as you ride towards a series of small canyons. We stopped at one of these canyons when the trail got a little tricky for my ability and continued hiking east, upstream. A short rock and dirt scramble away from the valley floor brought us to some rocks that gave us a grand view. The picture is of the small canyon branch we walked.
Coming back down was a nice ride and Chris captured my perfect form on film.
As we were riding, Chris told me that he was from Belmont, CA, and it turns out that his parents, Max and Heidi, are the people from whom a group of friends and I rent a cabin each year at the north shore of Lake Tahoe for the President's Day holiday. Small world!
Chris had to leave to go back to his climbing buddies and I proceeded into the town of glitz known to some as Lost Wages, NV. I got a hotel room at the borderline-seedy hotel called the Travel Inn. I was very tired and had a lot of work to do to catch up on the website entries, etc, so I never even made it out much to see the city. Don't shed a tear, though, as I've seen the place a couple of times before already. My luck, serious lack of gambling skills and shortage of cash were a big enough deterrent. I did make one bet (with my money, of course) at a casino sports book shortly after grubbing a plate of $3.95 steak and eggs. It takes a lot of cows to feed this town and they were all present at the casinos. Seeing about 50 million blue hairs chain smoking and giving away the pension fund drove me back to my room in a hurry.
I had bet that the Atlanta Braves would beat the Florida Marlins (Smoltz was pitching, it was a gimme) and I settled into my room to write and watch the game.
Here's a picture of me holed up in my room, dropping words on the computer. I'd love to tell you how exciting Vegas was but, to be honest, I don't like the town. The traffic is constantly gridlocked and the city is a mass of uncontrolled sprawl. I couldn't wait to get out and I couldn't imagine living here. Although there is much open space and public use areas outside of the city, all of it is at least a 45 minute drive. To me, it is an example of how not to plan public recreation in an urban area.
I won the bet, picked up my $8 in winnings and made a beeline for Lake Mead.
Traveling the roads between Death Valley and Vegas is an experience in desolation. There is mile after mile of the gorgeous rock, sand and desert scrub in rows of mountains and hills that you pass. Except for the occasional ranch or small settlement, the area is untouched and mostly unused. Dirt roads wind away from the main roads in many places and one can only imagine where they might lead. The place is beautiful in its own right, with surprising abundances of life, color and natural formations but I can say that I am glad to just pass through.
This feeling was confirmed as I went through one of the larger towns along the way called Pahrumps. A sign on the outskirts of town bills it as, "The New Old West". I say the slogan should be, "The Town In The West Where People Park All Their Broken-Down, Half-Stripped Cars On The Front Lawn." I swear to God, every lot had at least 5 rusted-out vehicles in various stages of decay next to old farm equipment, swing sets, etc. I do have to say, though, that the town has a comfortable rustic feel and there are huge amounts of land in this area (and in many, many areas that I've driven through) that are still natural in almost every respect. If a land trust agency could come into areas like Pahrump that are rich in land but where property values are low, and purchase land, I think a lot could be preserved with a sizable "bang for the buck."
Before I got to Las Vegas, I wanted to discover an area west of the city in the Spring Mountains called Red Rock Canyon. I'd read that the mountain biking in the area is supreme and the scenery unbeatable. I passed a quaint little town called Blue Diamond and, before that, a not-so-quaint gypsum mine on my way north on Hwy 159 from 160. The day was overcast and it was threatening to rain when I pulled into a rest stop to view The Rock. Mist hung over the top of it but could not obscure the massive, element-carved, blazing red mountainside that stood there. Unreal. I took a couple of pictures, but they just don't portray the scene well and will only serve to downplay this masterpiece in stone. Go and see it for yourself.
I wanted to take a look around the park, but in a mild drizzle, I hurried to 13 Mile Campground just north of the visitors center. I got the tent up about 2 o'clock, tossed in a good supply of warm clothes (it was in the 50's) and reading supplies and waited out a nice storm that lasted until dawn. Seventeen hours of myself in a tent gives good reason to celebrate a partly cloudy sky at 7 a.m., if only to escape the stank.
I pulled out the bike stand and did a minor tune-up. (Now speak in a DEEP tone, "I drive The Rig. We have the capability to do these things.") The bike checked out and the weather checked out, so I was off. On the way there, I stopped back into the rest area to see if I would be allowed a better picture of Red Rock (I wasn't) and happened to start talking to these guys who were organizing their climbing gear at the overlook. They were hoping that the rocks would dry off soon so that they could continue their assaults on the nice climbs in the area. It is another example of an open space that is invaluable to everyone's well-being. People come here to hike, to bike, to climb and to gawk. Wildlands like Red Rock fuel us and make us feel alive.
While at the rest stop, I met Chris Daehler who was a biker too, and who wanted
to show me the Cottonwood area which is in the southermost portion of Red Rock. We drove there and we rode around on some of the numerous singletrack trails in the area. The scenery is open and colorful and big cliffs and hills back up the scene as you ride towards a series of small canyons. We stopped at one of these canyons when the trail got a little tricky for my ability and continued hiking east, upstream. A short rock and dirt scramble away from the valley floor brought us to some rocks that gave us a grand view. The picture is of the small canyon branch we walked.Coming back down was a nice ride and Chris captured my perfect form on film.
As we were riding, Chris told me that he was from Belmont, CA, and it turns out that his parents, Max and Heidi, are the people from whom a group of friends and I rent a cabin each year at the north shore of Lake Tahoe for the President's Day holiday. Small world!Chris had to leave to go back to his climbing buddies and I proceeded into the town of glitz known to some as Lost Wages, NV. I got a hotel room at the borderline-seedy hotel called the Travel Inn. I was very tired and had a lot of work to do to catch up on the website entries, etc, so I never even made it out much to see the city. Don't shed a tear, though, as I've seen the place a couple of times before already. My luck, serious lack of gambling skills and shortage of cash were a big enough deterrent. I did make one bet (with my money, of course) at a casino sports book shortly after grubbing a plate of $3.95 steak and eggs. It takes a lot of cows to feed this town and they were all present at the casinos. Seeing about 50 million blue hairs chain smoking and giving away the pension fund drove me back to my room in a hurry.
I had bet that the Atlanta Braves would beat the Florida Marlins (Smoltz was pitching, it was a gimme) and I settled into my room to write and watch the game.
Here's a picture of me holed up in my room, dropping words on the computer. I'd love to tell you how exciting Vegas was but, to be honest, I don't like the town. The traffic is constantly gridlocked and the city is a mass of uncontrolled sprawl. I couldn't wait to get out and I couldn't imagine living here. Although there is much open space and public use areas outside of the city, all of it is at least a 45 minute drive. To me, it is an example of how not to plan public recreation in an urban area.I won the bet, picked up my $8 in winnings and made a beeline for Lake Mead.
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