The missing bit !!!

When I camped up at the Lee Vining campground last night, I hadn’t realised just how close to the town of the same name I was. What I did know was that it got quite cold over night but then the camp ground was at 7300 ft, I had hoped to get a bit lower and warmer, but I’d had enough riding for one day. As I headed on down the road next morning past a huge lake, instead of staying on the main road, I took a smaller turning which headed also straight on. Whilst I had lost a little altitude, it wasn’t a lot and initially I though I had miss-judged the road from the map, It rose and fell gently for the first few miles along a wide plateau although the mountains, which are never far away in this region, could bee seen lurking on the horizon. Then the fun started as I once more found some twisty’s to play on and the road started to drop more precipitously as I headed down towards Benton Hot Springs (which was virtually a ghost town) along a road marked on the map as “closed in winter”!  A short stretch on Interstate 5 heading north  then I swung south once more on another fairly minor road via Dyer and 

Oasis before I finally made my grand entrance to the infamous Death Valley!

I had heard all sorts of tales of Death Valley, not least that I was mad to ride it in August or September when it at it’s most lethal, but then I’ve crossed the Sahara quite a few times without incident so how much worse could this be? I turned at the oddly named Scotty’s Junction. And after entering the Park came across the castle of the same name! Walter Scott, was a fraudster of the top echelon who claimed to have found a gold mine in Death Valley and persuaded other to put up millions in capital, with which he built his very grand Scotty’s Castle. I stopped for refreshments and of course to take a few photos, before riding on into the valley.

The scenery was stunning with multicoloured rocks towering over me as I rode towards the Death Valley centre. I slowly lost height and of course as I did so the temperature started to rise. It maxed out ar 46c (114 F), plenty hot enough for me and certainly slightly hotter than I had experienced on my Sahara rides, but not by much. Arriving at the centre, I was surprised to find two out of the three camp sites closed, not that it made any difference at all as to which I stayed at; they were all just as hot!. The remaining one was about a half mile before the “village” and having set up camp and got out of my heavy biking gear, I suddenly had the thought of popping back to the shop for some beers and a bag of ice. Thinks I “ I'm in Nevada and it’s only about half a mile and I'm sure you don’t need helmets in Nevada”. So off I go wearing shorts, tee shirt and sandals. As I pay at the checkout I ask the guy if I’m right about the helmets. He replies, “ Could be, but we’re in California not Nevada! I’d apparently cut across a very small corner of Nevada and re-entered California! Oh well, I’m only just up the road, so jump on my bike, swing out of the car park to see… yes, you’ve guessed it, a Cop car coming towards me. My heart sinks as I look in my mirror and see his lights come on as he executes a very quick u-turn. He is on my tail as I turn into the camp ground. Fortunately he was a very nice and understanding Cop, who listened to my tale with a grin, checked my licence, shook my hand, and wished me good day. Phew! Just my luck, the only time I have ever ridden on public road without a helmet and I nearly get nicked. The heat was far more apparent without helmet and jeans, it was  as though I was being blasted by some huge infernal hair dryer.

Reading through the brochures I had picked up at the visitor centre, I learned of an point from which spectacular views could be had as the sun rose. I checked my Sat Nav for sunrise time, and was up early enough to catch some amazing photos as the sun lit up the mountains and rock faces. Surprisingly, I was not alone, others ahda apparently also read the brochures and I was in a small group of about 50 people witnessing the spectacle. I retraced my wheel tracks down the mountain to hit the lowest point in the valley, in fact the lowest point in the entire continent of North America at -252ft. It was still early as I headed west towards Las Vegas, not somewhere I’ve ever really wanted to go, but the road across towards the Grand Canyon went right past the door, so I felt it would be rude not to at least ride along the main drag and get a few pictures. It was everything I had imagined and more! I didn’t really even get off the bike, Bright,  brash and glitzy just about sums it up. I headed on toward Kingman for my first little taster of Route 66 and thence to then Grand Canyon.