What goes up, must come down. Death Valley Days 2 and 3.

It was Doug’s fault really. At 3500 feet (he’ll tell you 3700), he said, “I could turn around right now and go back to Stove Pipe Wells and sit by the pool and drink a beer.”

We started day three at sea level in Stove Pipe Wells planning to ride 30 miles over a 5,000 foot pass to oPanamint Springs. The climbing began right out of camp.

We had climbed to 5,000 feet twice on day two riding from Beatty at 3200 feet through Titus Canyon over gravel roads and then descending to 0 feet at Stove Pipe Wells. The road was crushed rock, lots of thick sand and ran one way only into Death Valley. The climbing started gently enough at 3 and 4 per cent. Jen pulled at 6-7 mph—slightly faster than Ii would have liked.

Finding the line was tough. Most of the road was too rocky or too soft. The left side seemed best and since there would be no on-coming traffic, we took it.

Steve and Scott on Titus Canyon Road

The park bound traffic, however, was fierce. The most cars the ranger had ever seen. They seemed to come in caravans of five or six: Pickups, small SUVs and many rental jeeps.

But the canyon was supposed to be spectacular. It had better be. Traffic forced you off your bike just when you least could afford to lose momentum. Deep, soft, shifting granular sand mired you wheels and add drag to the trailers.

Jen in particular struggled more. Her cross bike’s narrow tires gave her little purchase and her one wheel Bob trailer seemed to always lean against her direction. Scott also pulled a Bob. Neither had any suspension. Though Scott at least had a hardtail. The jarring would only become worse on the downside. My two wheel Burley Nomad seemed to stabilize me in the sand especially on the downhill. But more stable means it can carry more and as a novice I was over packed—not like Scott with useful tools and lots of water. I had plenty of time to think about what I could have left behind as I pushed through sand and gravel up those 18% grades at 1.6 mph.

Steve, on the other hand, has never pulled a trailer. Front and back panniers and rack for our accomplished road tourist. Though he is out of shape owing to an enforced period off the bike ‘cause he broke his butt, his training plan (riding a century) seemed to work on those two 18% pushes in soft gravel. When the rest of us dismounted and struggled up the grade, Steve stayed in his saddle. . It was his grinning face we saw as we reached the top of each ascent.

“It’s the panniers,” he lamely offered as an excuse.

“We’re not buying it,” Doug asserted and that was the last we worried about Steve’s being behind.

Red Rock Pass

Red Rock Pass, the first of the two ascents leading into Titus Canyon, is scattered in red dust. No trees or plants grow here. We’d soon learn not to expect plants anywhere. This is a barren, hard scrabble land which has only ever attracted minors and gold seekers and a few foolish cyclists. Now we would get to head down. We worried about braking power and the stability of the trailers. I had never done a descent with a trailer but we saw relatively little of the softest most treacherous sand we had seen on the ascent. In addition the lack of rain meant no washboardy ruts cutting across the road and leaving huge rocks partly exposed capable of snagging a trailer wheel. I actually had little trouble going down. Steve was impressed. Of course, now he thinks I can go ride more nasty trails.

On the second ascent Steve again performed the miracle of the mount while I struggled just to keep moving. Doug was closest behind Steve and came walking back down to help. I was just beginning to wish I had brought a gun, when Doug pushed my bike a few yards for me. I shewed him off to help Jen but she had already off-loaded most of her gear to Scott’s bike. I’d later fix Scott for exposing my weakness, by beating him into camp. But for the moment, thanks for the push, Doug.

Once we made the second descent, Doug’s choice of routes was suddenly redeemed by geology. Wide canyon walls swept by some ancient sea had carved through limestone and granite until it opened a chasm to the valley floor.

Steve explores a cavern

Each bend saw a new striation of water-worked stone looming high in arched splendor—granite, square blocks, limestone caverns. Strong afternoon sunlight chiaroscuroed the canyon walls with deep shadows and shining stone.

“Good choice of route,” Steve complemented Doug.

“I forgive you the 18% on the other side,” I added.

But now it was 3:300 and Stove Pipe Wells was 20 miles away. Motorists had been telling us all day that the camp ground was full on this three day weekend. Would we find a camp spot or go mendicant in the desert?

Only three miles separated us from smooth pavment. We though we could make it, but we hadn’t counted on a sea of lose gravele for those 3 miles. Doug and I put one foot down and scooted through the sand.

Doug hurried off, perhaps, in an attempt to take responsibility for finding us a camp spot or perhaps because that is what Doug does. I rode a bit with Steve while Jen and Scott brought up the rear. I hadn’t planned trying to catch Doug but when I pulled away from Steve and finally spotted his sturdy form pulling a yellow Extra Wheel, I couldn’t resist giving chase. I figured we’d trade pulls into camp and secure a spot together. But when I caught him, he seemed to lose heart. I sped on to camp arriving in Stove Pipe Wells right at 5:30. It would be dark by 6. It took some time for me to figure out the camp situation and both Doug and Jen had arrived as we learned we’d have to camp in an RV lot. It didn’t really matter since it was all the same rock. We lacked only a table.

Our campsite for days 3 and 4

Scott had different priorities. When he rolled in, he wasn’t in a hurry to pitch tent. Instead he handed out cold beer. He’d stopped at the General Store—good man.

Stove Pipe Wells Village. That's a pool of mineral water on the left. Water was discovered here and marked with a length of Stove Pipe.

So it really was Doug’s fault that we turned back on day three. The plan had been to ride over 5,000 ft Towne Pass to Panamint Springs, spend the night and then return via Emigrant pass the next day. But Towne Pass was a different animal. At the bottom a sign warned us to avoid overheating by turning off our AC. The sign reported we had 20 miles of climbing. This was supposed to be an easy 30 mile day. Towne Pass doesn’t switch back giving you relief. Instead it climbs relentlessly at a steady 6 to 9 percent with some 10 percents sneaking in there. We were fully loaded.

Rest stop at intersection with Emigrant Pass

At 3500 feet we began to see the world more clearly. We weren’t sure we could do that much climbing day after day and still be able to climb over Daylight pass to Beatty on Wednesday. When we gave up the idea of riding back on Emigrant Pass, riding to Panamint Springs didn’t make sense. Maybe the beer by the pool, was too attractive.

Scott, lover of suffering, and Jen chose to continue to the 4000 ft marker before turning back. Doug and I left immediately. Steve followed soon.

Actually this turned out to be the best decision we could have made. On the next day, we’d ride the relatively flat 25 miles to Furnace Creek for lunch and then back. Along the way desert primroses were said to have made the desert bloom yellow and we’d also have a chance to explore Salt Creek for the elusive pup fish.

But the climb to Beatty looms in the back of our minds. Pavement or no, if it hits 18% again, I’m pushing.

For the ride of it. --Corrie