Crusty Cassette

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

"Shorts weather," I reported stepping from Scott's Telstar circa 1989 RV onto the pavement in Beatty, Nevada on the 16th of February, 2008.

It hadn't been shorts weather yet. In fact we were all prepared for cold. Scott inherited the RV from his mother and, while he had made sure it ran, he hadn't figured out the heating. By the time we picked up Steve in Payette, it was getting cold inside. Those banks of snow we could see along the road fro mNew Meadows hadn't helped.

Maybe the drafty windows had something to do with it too.

"It's too cold to sleep," Steve said sitting the table in the RV. Doug stretched out on the floor with a pillow just for the occasion and his eyes closed. The RV had a bed but with two BOBs and a Burley trailer, there wouldn't be much human use of that bunk. On the way back, Doug made sure to correct that error.

Four bikes loaded Doug's hitch on the back, so Setve's Gunner got ride inside, its rear wheel trying to hide in the bathroom, the front protruding into the passenger space.

"I'm surprised the sleeping bags haven't come out yet," Steve quipped.

Too much work to get to them, I thought, nodding off in my seat.

We started in Lewiston about 2, picked up Steve at the National Guard Armory in Payettte about 7:30 and still had four more hours before stopping for the night in Winnemucca. Scott and Doug took turns driving. Several deer crossing in the dark gave us a thrill and Scott reported some coyote. Four hours and chill to the bone, we pulled into the Motel 6 and Scott switched on the fan. Wonderful. At least there would be a promise of heat for the morning.

Promise was all it was, however. If you weren't driving or riding shotgun, that leaky window sucked all the heat out of the RV. We were treated to bright sunshine and snow capped peaks. Sagebrush dominated the landscape but Doug promised us a forest but all we saw were scattered junipers and even sadder Joshua trees.

A healthy example of a Joshua tree

The roadside snow receded as we lost elevation but when we stopped for gas--this RV doesn't pass a gas station (undependable gas gauge)--chill winds and icy footing greeted us.

100 miles from Beatty found all the snow gone leaving mere desolation. The wind was fierce and I began to have second thoughts. "What have I gotten myself into?" Did I just say that out loud?

So now I'm officially chief whiner for the trip. That's okay--the shoe fits. Doug's a little bummed. He thought whining was his job and now with Jen having joined TRC he's no longer the youngest member. "I'm nobody," he complained. Well, maybe he's still chief whiner. In any case we make Doug a TRC board member back in Clarkston at the bulsiness meeting. Your somebody, Doug. Just who, we are not sure, though.

So light winds and temps in the high 70s took us by surprise in Beatty. After 15 or so hours of driving, we were anxious to ride out the six or so miles to Rhyolite--a ghost town which once had 10,000 citizens in 1908.

Rhyolite

Skeptical about putting on short sleeves and shorts after having been so cold for so long, we nevertheless suited up and headed out. We couldn't check in yet anyway despite its being nearly three and check in time being 2. Add that to Doug's Waitress story for later.

Rhyolite is not in the park proper and appears to be on private property. Don't picture an old west town. The remains are brick and stone--a school, two banks, and a train station fully restored for a Hollywood movie. A house made of glass bottles embedded in stucco and a mercantile nestled together at the other end of town. Chain link fence marred thet depot and glass house for picture taking but we tried anyway.

Glass house and Scott

Train Depot

No chain link fence obscured the impromptu ob jet d'art we found nearby. An arrangement of statues mimicking the Last Supper. The figures were only empty robes in stark white plaster.Also a giant lego woman knelt in prayer and another ghostly robe held a bicycle--spooky for cyclists heading toward Death Valley.

But most popular was the ceramic couch with toys and pots embedded. We had to have a picture.

Steve reclines

The five of us hitch up our trailers and panniers (Steve, you know who you are) and head into Death Valley. We know we'll hit gravel on Titus Canyon road. But we didn't know how much or how steep. It will be mine and Jen's first experience pulling a trailer.

We won't be cold again until the last day leaving the valley. And Scott's discovered the window's open, not leaky. It's all good or seems so . . .

For the ride of it--Corrie

I Should have listend to my mother. I f I had, though, I wouldn't have been dragging a fully loaded trailer over 18% ascents through thick gravel, descending corduroy roads trailer bouncing behind through gelological time, or changing my soaking clothes in a filthy men's room in Beatty, Nevada while I shivered and the urinals overflowed.

"Don't talk to bad men." I should have listened.

Doug tells me I must unveil the tale one day at a time so I'll begin with the cast of characters today. Look for more pictures and adventures to come.

Cast of Characters

Doug

Doug seems like a pretty sane guy. He likes to take it slow down hill--sees no point in risking injury. I like that.

Still he does have that questionable tendency to just take off on a trip which got me into that Weiser River trip lsst fall. When his mind is set, he's gone. Several times he'd finished dinner and just left. He'd get up some mornings before dawn and just go for long walks in the moonlight.

Suspicious behavior for sure. And then there's the story of Doug's Waitress. I'll save that for later. For now, I should note, I should have recognized the bad man in Doug much earlier.

Jen and Scott at Rhyolite

Scott is Doug's friend and former boss from work. They've had 14 years to develop their bizarre relationship. Scott has joined us for rides a couple of times being laid back, never pushing the pace. Who knew he liked to hurt himself? He's run ultra marathons and while they might be in his past, his fundamental masochism showed up on this trip. His dérailleur became fouled so that he couldn't use the smallest front chain ring--granny. He made the toughest climb up Towne Pass in his middle chain ring.

In camp he decided to fix the problem which he did revealing that he not only had carried two large cameras and a lot of water but also a well-stocked set of bike tools meant for the bench.

Scott pulled two links from his chain earning him a front granny but losing the two largest gears in back. So did he use that granny gear to climb from Stove Pipe Wells to Beatty on the last day? "No. Where's the fun in that?" He might just as well have said, "Hurt me again."

Jen is Scott's fiance. She and Scott are both trained adventure cycling leaders. She also helped organize the Idaho Bicycle Ride last year. She has, however, never pulled a trailer before. She probably outweighed her bike and loaded trailer, but not by much.

Doug claims he heard her complain a time or two on the big pushes and in the cold, but I never did. And she took more than her fair share of pulls. If she's marrying Scott, she's likely a very dangerous woman.

Steve on his Gunner

Steve quit his job to ride across America a couple of seasons ago. What else do I need to say to show you how dangerous he is? Well, maybe that his training plan for this ride was a century ridden after having recovered from breaking the L1 and L2 vertebrae. He figures the best way to get back into cycling shape is to do his first ever fully-loaded mountain bike tour. He even bought new front rack and panniers for this trip. Definitely not safe and sound of body and mind.

That's me, the novice tourist on the right

Corrie has studiously avoided buying any bike that could reasonably be used on a tour. Some how I fell into this bad company. I don't like to drive farther than than the distance I'm going to bike, so what was I doing 900 miles from home with a freshly purchased Burley Nomad hitched to my mountain bike?

Critical mass. With McCracken and Goodenough lobbying for tours and actually doing them and my having no good excuses, I gave in to their blandishments.

I should have listened to my mother.