Two-Up to Death Valley

Our most recent adventure involved lots of snow, freezing our assess off, and almost getting naked with Owen’s boss. But I should start from the beginning.

The road through Titus Canyon winds for 27 miles through a remote part of Death Valley National Park, and is not for the faint of heart. Naturally, Owen had been dreaming of riding the motorcycle through it. We had it all arranged: we would go over the long President’s Day weekend in February and even took Tuesday off to give us wiggle room if something went awry. Owen’s boss, Gustav (also known as Gus; pronounced “goose”), even decided to join us in his Land Rover to be our mule, carrying extra gear. 

Then it rained it Death Valley. See, it doesn’t rain often in the desert, so when it does, it can be pretty intense, with flash flooding and wash outs. Nevertheless, Titus Canyon was closed according to the National Park Service, when we checked the day before our departure. We left as planned on Friday anyway, unsure exactly what we’d do once we got there but excited nonetheless. We encountered quite the first day trip conditions. It rained almost the entire afternoon and evening, not letting up as we rode to Sequoia National Forest, about 100 miles outside Death Valley, and continuing on relentlessly as we set up camp and ate dinner. I credit the Habanero, my 0 degree down sleeping bag, for my amazing night of sleep despite the freezing rain.

The very first thing we did when we arrived at Death Valley the next morning was asked about the status of Titus Canyon Road. I had tried to keep my expectations low, but I was still bummed to hear it remained closed. We devised a new itinerary over Snickers bars in the parking lot. Owen and I had done some quick research a few days earlier and formulated a sketchy backup plan. Now it was time to put that plan into action. We had found some hot springs on our map in a remote valley in the northwest corner of the park and a quick Google search turned up some basic route info. I wasn’t sure what we’d find, or if there’d be any hot springs at all, but it was our best option. Off we went!

En route to Death Valley

The first obstacle was the road closed sign we came to. We were prepared though- in our research on the route people had mentioned that usually the road isn’t actually closed even when it says so. We blew through it with confidence. The second road closed sign had me feeling slightly anxious. What if the road was actually closed? I silenced the thought, and we continued on. At this point, the road started to get a bit more gnarly. Eventually, we pulled over to take a break and were soon joined by two older guys in an Econo van with Maine plates. The driver introduced himself as Tequila Pete. They asked if we were headed to the naked baseball game. Yes, you heard that right. The naked baseball game, they explained, was a rivalry between the Lower Springs and the Upper Springs, and there were about 100 people making their way out to the springs this weekend for a party and the game. I couldn't believe our luck! In an instant, I went from worrying that we’d arrive to find a dusty, dried up hot spring to devising a new plan that we try to make it there by nightfall.  

More of a suggestion than a rule 

Traveling in a caravan with Gus and some others

It wouldn’t be all smooth sailing though. According to Tequila Pete, a huge rock had fallen off the mountain and had made this road impassable until just a few days ago when some hardy souls chipped the side of the mountain out so cars could fit through. Apparently, this obstacle was just a few miles ahead of us. We traveled as a caravan until we came to it and thankfully all made it through fine. A couple dusty, bumpy hours later, we made it out to the hot springs at last! The most ridiculous part was that Owen and I successfully navigated the rocky, rutted road unscathed for 80-some miles and then got stuck on a big rock when we finally parked the bike.

Photo credits: Gustav

Gus emerged from his truck, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, sporting a Death Valley bandana purchased from the visitor’s center earlier that day, a Carhartt jacket purchased from a sporting goods store that morning, covered in dust, with a huge grin on his face. He explained with utter excitement that during the last stretch of road his hanging lights in the back of the Rover were swinging around so violently that he grabbed his knife, reached behind him, and started slashing around to try to cut them free. Then, he started hearing this loud banging noise and realized his axe, with all the rumblings of the road, had come dislodged from its perch on the outside of the Rover and was trying to cut its way inside. Needless to say, we were all relieved to have made it in one piece.

I can vouch for that

Wild burros

We took a quick tour of the area trying to get the lay of the land and then decided where to stake out our claim. Not long afterwards, our neighbor wandered into our site and without so much as an introduction, produced a drink concealed in a paper bag, announced he was conducting a survey, and asked would we like to try some? In the interest of not getting roofied our first night at the springs, I politely declined, as did Owen. Gus happily took a swig though and it turned out it was just a margarita that our neighbor was trying to fine tune. Completely harmless and just trying to make friends, as were the rest of the folks that we met in the hot springs later that night. It's a good thing they were all so friendly, because with all the people out for the weekend, the hot springs were quite packed. I tried not to bump into anyone as we stumbled around in the dark looking for an open seat, especially given the fact that most of them were naked. (Owen had made the executive decision that it was not in our best interest to get naked in front of his boss and I agreed.) Conversation mostly revolved around two topics: what route people had taken to get there, and what route they were thinking of taking to get home. There were three main routes in, and we learned about our other two options: one was completely socked in with snow, and the other had these crazy steps of some sort. Sounded like we had chosen well!

Photo credits: Gustav

Path to one of the soaking tubs

On Sunday, we all enjoyed our down day, though in slightly different ways. Gus stayed at camp to tinker with an infrared camera he’d brought from work while Owen and I went off to explore the surrounding area. Midway through our hike, Gus radioed to us that a park ranger stopped by and announced that bad weather was coming in, and anyone with a two-wheel drive vehicle should leave immediately, or they’d risk not being able to make it out over the pass which would be covered in snow soon. Motorcycles are one-wheel drive, so we were definitely screwed. Regardless, we did not leave. We did not feel like leaving, especially before the baseball game. Instead, we cracked open some beers, wandered over to the game, and cheered on our team. The players weren’t naked, luckily, but some of the cheerleaders were half-naked. Lower Hot Springs rule! (Our team won.)

I wish I could claim credit for making this, but it's almost cooler that we randomly came across it

Photo credits: Gustav

The bad weather never actually came, at least not in the Saline Valley, but by Monday morning it was time for us to make the trek back to pavement (what off road riders refer to as "the slab"). The 80-mile ride out was precarious at times given the snow, huge rocks, steep climbs, etc. but ultimately successful.

First time riding on snow

We made it back to the pavement!

We had two options to get home: the predictable route back the way we came through the Central Valley, or the unknown route, on Highway 395, which skirts along the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada, and then we’d detour through Lake Tahoe. I voted to ride Highway 395 with two caveats: the road had to be clear of snow and it couldn’t be too cold. We checked the conditions and gave Highway 395 the all-clear. As they say, hindsight is 20/20, and it turns out we didn't know what the hell we were thinking. Ultimately, Owen and I spent the next day and a half freezing our asses off, adding on a 5-hour detour into Nevada to avoid chain-up restrictions in California, and riding through areas that had, like, 20 feet of snow on the ground. Gus blazed all the way home Monday night, apparently just sneaking through a gate right before they closed one of the mountain passes in South Lake Tahoe, but Owen and I opted to recuperate in a cheap motel Monday night to warm up. The next day, in between bouts of freezing cold, Owen looked so scary he made a little kid cry! I kind of want to just leave it at that but I should explain: we were warming up in a McDonalds and when he put his helmet back on, the little girl at the table next to us started bawling. Apparently she has a fear of people wearing masks…

Highway 395: beautiful but menacingly cold

Feeling very out of place on a motorcycle on Route 80 through Tahoe (note Owen's duck tape hand guards)

In the past year of riding two-up together, we have come a long way. Exactly a year ago, we rode out to Death Valley to tackle our first dirt road together and though we survived, we were doing all the wrong things. We're by no means experts now, but at least we're not getting wrecked by washboard anymore. Death Valley, we'll be back for you next February, and I can't wait to see what's in store!

Our grand tour of California, plus a bit of Nevada just for kicks