Contrary to what you might imagine, I found the stark reality of Death Valley had a hugely positive effect on me today. Initially it took a lot of attention to detail to navigate the two-lane, winding roads that dropped down into the valley from the higher elevations of Highway 395 west of Olancha and I found it hard to concentrate much on the scenery. Still, any fan of geology will simply find the valley immensely interesting. Millions of years of alluvial material laid down by the weathering away of whatever mountains once existed in this part of the world has deposited layer after layer of mud and sand and rock, each layer having its own distinctive color and texture. Then if you can imagine a huge level stack of carpets of this sandy material with a couple of gigantic football teams facing each other, each holding the edge of the stack carpets, and each pushing for all they're worth toward the center, you can imagine the geology of Death Valley. Each layer is pushed into peaks and valleys of strata like a huge, bunched up carpets. Some layers lie at a forty-five degree angles. Some layers are nearly vertical. It's downright humbling to think that the Pacific tectonic plate has so much power that even all these miles inland the geology of the valley can be crushed and mangled so magnificently by those forces.
But that's not the positive effect that I was talking about. No, it wasn't until we were sitting outside the Furnace Creek visitor's center that I had an epiphany. It happened as I watched the dozens of visitors coming and going. Concetta and I had just returned from the center where we had toured the museum of valley history and ecology. Concetta was making our sandwiches and I has just observing the activity in the parking lot. Activity was everywhere. RVs coming and going. Young people who were bicycling the valley were finding shade for a quick drink of water. Old timers were beating a path to the center door to learn what there was to see in the valley. People taking photos. People having picnics on the grass. People depositing their trash and recyclables in the proper bins. People taking their pets for a walk. People just being, well, people. That's when it struck me. These were Americans just being American. They're exploring their history, the bounty of what our ancestors have fought for over the centuries. They weren't painting graffiti on any walls. They weren't throwing their trash on the ground. They weren't confronting each other for the sole remaining parking spot. They were just being the kind of folks who, over the centuries, made this country grand and a place of which we can be proud.
I first wandered into Death Valley on New Years week of 1976. I was 26 years old and after 18 months of life in Carson City, Nevada, I had finally earned enough money to survive for awhile without working and it was my intent to drive back to L.A. by way of Las Vegas and to take up residency with some old chums of mine from my sea-going days. When I reached Beatty, on a whim, I hung a right and plunged into the wilds of Death Valley. Then, to prove I was just darn adventurous, I took another angled right and took the rough, rutted, rocky shortcut known as the Titus Canyon road. The Titus Canyon road was 27 miles of one of the most challenging four wheel drive treks in the park. Only I wasn't driving a 4x4. I was driving my little Datsun 510 sedan, a standard two wheel drive passenger car. Let's just say the going was tough on the little rice burner. Still, I managed to climb to the very highest point on the shortcut without incident even though I had spent most of the trip dancing between ruts and washouts and rocks the size of footballs. Once at the top of the pass I breathed a sigh of relief that the hard part was obviously behind me. That's just about the time I zigged when I should have zagged and a jagged stone shaped roughly like an Anazasi obsidian arrowhead sliced through the sidewall of one of my rear tires and brought my adventure to at least a temporary end. No worries, I had cheated fate somewhat by bringing along TWO spares, which would be very handy since I was only halfway across the desolate shortcut and anything might happen in the last ten or twelve miles. But once I begun to descend from the top of the pass, down toward the valley again, I entered a wonderful snake-like canyon full of twists and turns and the going was easier on the sandy bottom. For awhile I was totally awestruck by the beauty of the canyon -- well, until I began to recall stories of flash floods in desert environments. Then I started nervously watching the skies behind me to make sure that no dark clouds had started forming and calculating the probability of my surviving an impromptu flash flood in the twisty, narrow-walled canyon. But I made it okay and happily spent most of the rest of the day at Scotty's Castle. Once it started toward to dusk I jumped back in my little Datsun and motored further into the park where I spent a very cold night sleeping in my car at Stovepipe Wells. We passed Stovepipe Wells today on our journey to Pahrump and I glanced over at my sleeping spot as we passed. Times have certainly changed.
But passing Stovepipe wasn't the most awesome event that happened today. No, the most awesome event happened as Concetta and I stood on the rim of Death Valley looking into a canyon which plunged steeply down and down to the valley floor below. I think our elevation was around 3,000 feet and we needed shortly to descend to a couple of hundred feet BELOW sea level. The view was breathtaking and we lingered on the edge just snapping photos and admiring the view. Suddenly, and without any warning, the all-encompassing thunderous roar of a jet engine engulfed us as a military jet fighter (find red arrow) dove right past us, twisting and turning with the rugged geology of the canyon, diving toward the canyon floor at hundreds of miles per hour. We were so dumb stuck that I barely got the camera to my eye and snapped a photo before he completely disappeared from sight. Wow! It was like Goose and Maverick had just dropped in to show us what they could do when the situation called for it. Incredible!
But of course that wasn't the most memorable thing that happened today. No, the day wasn't over yet! Turns out, the most memorable thing that happened today was our discovery of the Wine Ridge RV park right here in Pahrump. In addition to having a downright fabulous RV park, these folks have their own winery and make their own wine. They also run a five star restaurant right on the premises which, fortunately for us, we were able to secure a couple of reservations for and have an absolutely wonderful dinner complete with some of their cabernet and homemade bread pudding. Just the perfect ending to a perfect day.
