West 2009
  
 

Day 12

September 7

  
 
 
 

I get up early to get my shower and get started and I can already smell the bacon cooking. Andy and Dave are up getting their stuff packed too. When I make my way upstairs, Miss Joyce has whipped a breakfast fit for a king - and we are all just a bunch of court jesters! Gravy and biscuits, eggs, bacon, fruit salad - enough to give a feller the strength to do what needs to be done. I have to tell her -

"I really like this hotel - and your sure can't beat the rates!"

  
 
 
  Miss Hope and Ray make their way up from downstairs and it's serious chow time! Except for the poor, neglected poochie dog that promises she will be good if only she can come inside ....  
 
 
  But it's a long, hot way to Shoshone through Yosemite and Death Valley, so we say our good-byes and I give big hugs to all. I wish that we had more time to stay, but what it is is what it is and we've got to get rolling.  
 
 
  We negotiate the challenging driveway then do a U-turn to head out. Don watches us as we leave - probably relieved that the motorcycle trash is finally getting off his property.  
 
 
 

He has given us excellent instructions to avoid the fires in Yosemite, so we head up highway 49. Coarsegold is quietly sleeping as we make our grand entrance and exit.

 
 
 
  The place that has gas and looks open is in Mariposa, so we tend to that bit of business. I figure the gas pickings will be kind of slim until we get way on the other side of the park.  
 
 
  From a vantage point, the highway lays out like asphalt serpent that has run amok. This is know locally as the 'little' Dragon, but it doesn't look too 'little' to me! There's a couple of riders gingerly following a car not knowing quite what to do. I turn on my indicator, wave at them then blow around the parade with Dave and Andy in hot pursuit. They figure it out and follow our example and away we go to enjoy this excellent stretch of road.  
 
 
  Soon we come into a little town call Coulterville, an old Sierra Nevada mining center that dates back to 1850s. Just out of town is highway J20, which will cut the corner off to highway 120 that will take us into the park.  
 
 
  This is the northern entrance to Yosemite, one I have not used before. But it keeps up north of the most serious fires and out of the heaviest traveled part of the park.  
 
 
  That's not to say there is not any traffic, but we whip out our park passes and wait our turn to enter.  
 
 
  Soon we have the road back to ourselves and can enjoy the crispness of the morning and the beauty of the park.  
 
 
 

Big Oak Flat Road, which I had originally planned on taking to this point, is closed due to fires that currently rage in the park. I tell Dave and Andy -

"This is where we would have come out. But the traffic would have been pretty bad, so this will work out better for us. We're still going to see the better parts of the park anyway."

  
 
 
  But the fires have made their way pretty far north as we pass a still smoldering section.  
 
 
  Since highway 120 is one of the main links across the mountains to highway 395, we soon get into a little bit of traffic.  
 
 
It is amazing to me how the trees manage to cling to the rock faces and are not blown down the mountainside when the winter storms come.  
 
 
  This will be day of many great photo ops as we make our way through some of the most interesting terrain in the United States.  
 
 
  Remembering the mountainous chocolate muffins that Miss Joyce had for us, I could not help but compare it to the non chocolate mountains around us. And yes, it is as good as it looks ....  
 
 
  The slab in front of us almost looks like someone poured it out of concrete with carefully placed expansion joints. The irregular, jagged peaks serve as a perfect counterpoint to their precision.  
 
 
  As we take a break, some fire fighters pull into the break area. The danger these folks face in their jobs in this type of terrain is beyond my imagination. I have nothing but the utmost respect for them and the work that they do.  
 
 
  From our vantage point, Tenaya Lake colors the cold gray stone surroundings with a beautiful swatch of blue.  
 
 
  It is a beautiful lake, fed by the Tuolumne Glacier, crystal clear to look upon.  
 
 
  And Andy wanders down to get a closer shot of it's beauty.  
 
 
  But Death Valley awaits us like a sleeping, fire breathing dragon, so we have to keep a move on through the luscious greenery that we will soon leave behind.  
 
 
  Soon we are out of the park and into a dry and thirsty land.  
 
 
  It is amazing how quickly the terrain changes out here - from heavy stands of conifers to barren hillsides covered with scrub brush and rocks.  
 
 
  Soon we are out of the high places and down in the valley as we approach the intersection of 120 and 395. Off to the left is Mono Lake, a salty body of water of over 37,000 acres with no outlet.  
 
 
  There is still some snow at the higher altitudes as we make our way through the valley and down highway 395.  
 
 
  But the land in the valley appears to get little nourishment from the various lakes that dot the area.  
 
 
 

We run into a little construction slow down, but this is nothing compared to what we will encounter just down the road a piece.

  
 
 
 

As we make our way into Bishop, I see an Kragen Auto Parts, so I wheel it in and the crew follows me. I tell them -

"I'm going to pick up some headlight bulbs and some trim tape. I'll be right back."

One of my headlights has gone out, so I figure I'll get a couple and put them in later on. And the auto body trim tape will let me reattach my spot mirror back on the new mirror that Don had for me. With that bit of business done, we head for the Chevron just down the street for a fuel and hydraulic break. After I fuel, I find a nice shady spot under a pine to cool my heels.

 
 
 
  Little do I know that one of Edgar Allen Poe's friends is perched just above my head and is not happy with my interloping. I, in turn, become unhappy also when a women in a large RV pulls up right beside and leaves it running so I can enjoy the heat and exhaust. I finally decide that they are planning to leave the RV running there forever so I gather up my togs and move on.  
 
 
 

We have been making really great time down 395 and are hoping to reach Death Valley before the middle of the day. But the ship of anticipation is crashed upon the rocks of reality as we encounter one of the worse construction traffic disasters of the entire trip. Suddenly my brain realizes that we are still in California and California allows motorcycles to lane split, or filter as they call it in Europe. Unfortunately Andy does not have a radio but Dave does so I beam him up -

"Hey Dave, You want to filter? It's legal in California."

"Sure, Let's go."

Hoping Andy will pick up on it, we begin making our way between the cars and toward the front of this mess. Most folks are paying attention and give us the room we need, some are asleep at the switch or being just plain ugly. For the ugly ones, I just whip around the right side and keep on trucking.

  
 
 
 

Finally we get out of this mess and make it to a much needed fuel and rest stop south of Bishop. Andy tells us -

"I'm a little wider than you guys, but finally a Harley rider came by so I just tagged along behind him."

It is hot and getting hotter so we once again adjust our laundry for the upcoming conditions.

  
 
 
  But we should have plugged in our air conditioned suits (if we had one), because you can see the heat coming up from the long way ahead of us.  
 
 
  It's just a long, lonely stretch of road and I wonder how the early crossers of this terrain managed it without a good source of water. Fortunately our iron horses are more like camels than horses and what they drink has to come out of pumps.  
 
 
 

When we make the turn off 395 onto 136, the landscape gets even more foreboding. Soon we arrive at Town Pass and the official entrance to the park.

 
 
 
  But nothing prepares us for the stark view from our vantage point. And nothing will prepare us for the decent into the inferno.  
 
 
  The park is much larger than you would think and you come in at a fairly nice altitude of 4,000 feet.  
 
 
  And there is a little vegetation before you get into the main valley.  
 
 
  But in the distance you can see just how flat and lifeless the main part of the valley really is. But it does not prepare you for actually being there.  
 
 
  There is a another slight climb through some pretty colored rock as if to give you one last opportunity to turn around.  
 
 
  As you begin the descent into the valley proper, the elevation gets lower ....  
 
 
  and lower ...  
 
 
  and the temperatures get hotter and hotter. 110 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade is pretty hot - dry heat or not!  
 
 
 

Andy and Dave take the short stop at Stovepipe Wells to pour a little water on themselves to try to cool off. But then the water has gotten hot by this time and evaporates quicker than you can say -

"What happened?"

  
 
 
  And this sign ain't just whistling Dixie either!  
 
 
  And we see an unusual sign for an unusual place ...  
 
 
  But it sure doesn't look like any corn I've ever seen!  
 
 
  At Furnace Creek, there's an old borax hauling wagon on display. It always reminds me of that old television show, Death Valley Days, I used to watch as a kid.  
 
 
  There's also the 'modern' replacement for the twenty mules - a steam engine to pull the load.  
 
 
  Soon we make our way through the fierce heat to the Badwater turnoff. This will take us to the lowest place in the Continental United States.  
 
 
  It's a deserted ride to Badwater - not even a ranger is in sight.  
 
 
  We arrive and Dave's gauge on the ST1300 says it is 111 degrees - and it seems a lot hotter than that. When we left Don's house this morning it was in the low 40s. The last time Andy and I were here was back in 1973 when we were doing a quick car tour of the west.  
 
 
  And here's what Badwater looked like in 1973 -  
 
 
  Badwater is a very appropriate name - for the water is hot and salty. I wonder how many poor people struggled across this valley only to find that this pool was not going to be their deliverance from thirst.  
 
 
  And there's still a sign that indicates 'Sea Level' up on the cliff.  
 
 
 

A close up of the sign -

  
 
 
 

Just like there was in 1973 though it appears to have been replaced since then.

  
 
 
 

Dave tells me -

"I believe I'm hallucinating. I keep hearing this voice that says - Don't open the oven door yet - the Brit's still pink."

  
 
 
  When looking out from this point, the reality of the name - Death Valley - sinks in. No plants, no animals - nothing but parched earth stretches out to the horizon.  
 
 
  We have about all of the heat we can stand, so we mount up and continue our run in the blast furnace.  
 
 
  The sun is still blazing and even my shadow is hot and sweating.  
 
 
  I decide that if I don't get out of this heat soon, bad things are going to happen, so I crank up the wick a bit. An opportunity to sit in a nice air-conditioned ranger's vehicle seem well worth the price of admission right now.  
 
 
  At last we get on the shady side of the mountains and temps noticeably get lower. But then after 110 in the shade, 90 would feel pretty cool!  
 
 
  The sun is sinking and it is all right by me. The shadows have a new comfort all their own at this point.  
 
 
  Soon we are out of the 'official' park and I know it won't be long until we arrive in Shoshoni where we will be spending the night.  
 
 
  The motel pickings here are sort of slim - one or none - so we are booked in the only option. It's nothing fancy but the evaporative cooling system is working very nicely and for that we are thankful.  
 
 
  And the eatin' options are singular also, so we make our way over to 'The Famous Crowbar Cafe and Saloon'.  
 
 
  The lady that waits on us is great and the food is very good. It's just great to be out of the heat and relaxing for a while.  
 
 
  It's been the most physical challenging day of the entire trip as I expected it would be - day of extreme temperatures and terrain. But we have seen some sights that a lot of motorcyclists will never experience. Once I reach the room, I collapse into the sack and drift off to sleep with the steady rhythm of the cooler fan in the background.