Day 2: 50 miles/3k climb
Hard, remote, a test. Jodi and Patchy arrived before 9. SO good to see them. Huge hugs from Jo, squirmy jumps and spins from Patchy. Having them here made me miss them all the more.
Sunrise was cold, clear crystal, and the toe heaters worked! When Jo messaged me about coming early, I knew that was a good idea. The night had dropped into the low 20's, and two of my water bottles were mostly frozen. As I lifted my tooth brush out of my cup, a sliver of ice clung to the bristles. But I had to hustle to break camp. She arrived on the slope above just as I was finishing, her silver down puffy zipped up tight, the hard angle of the morning light sharp and bright.
Hugs, kisses, belly rubs – go! A cold, fast descent dropped me through a rugged canyon out into the sandy expanse of the Eureka Valley, the famous dunes glowing under the morning sun. At last, the pavement gave way to not pavement – soft sand mixed with hard washboard, Satan's road surface. I picked my line as best I could, swinging wide when a few Overlanders! came by. Two rigs were towing trailers. Ugh.
But ugh was me, too, fighting the road and looking with concern at the steep climb visible beyond, where, thankfully, the surface would again be paved. It gave me a better grip, but it punished me with steep, steep bottom gear effort. Sweat poured off me as I bit into the grind. Madness. But you volunteered! Jackass. I broke the climb up into a few sections, even walking a few yards to stretch my legs and ease my bum.
By lunchtime, I was on top. Off a spur road a few dozen yards away there was a parked Jeep, a woman standing, a man cursing under the front end, banging on something. I heard her say: “Can you fix it?” Ugh, sounded like an epic. I dropped below the summit to eat and inspect some very old mining equipment, rusted and long abandoned. Before departing, the couple got in the jeep and rolled down past me. I guess he did fix it.
The descent was a mixed bag, a substantial climb thrown in and lots of bumpy washboard to slow me down. Astounding views of twisted rock and grand reaches across the northern tip of Death Valley compensated for the frustrating progress. Shadows grew long as I rounded a big turn, “Crankshaft Corner,” the sign surrounded by, you guessed it, rusted crankshafts.
I dropped into the lower angled terrain below and at last encountered reasonably smooth riding, my pace picking up to about 12mph, sometimes higher. But it couldn't last, and it didn't. Before long I was battling washboard and loose gravel again, my speed plummeting as the shadows deepened and began to reach across the valley, a cold inevitable blade cutting into my day. Creosote blanketed the slopes for as far as I could see, waving gently in the headwind also slowing my progress. Fifty miles was the goal, damn it, and fifty miles it would be. Sore pretty much everywhere, I pushed on, mile after mile.
At last the odometer turned, and I could stop. I walked the bike down to a likely camp and called it a day. Message Jodi, set camp in the dark, eat, bed.
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