If you've been reading this blog long enough, you know that Owen and I are slightly obsessed with Death Valley National Park. For the past four years we've done an annual trip to the park over President's Day weekend. This year, despite how different our lives look during the pandemic, it was a relief that we could keep up the tradition.
Death Valley is the largest national park in the lower 48, and you could probably spend a lifetime exploring it and never see the same thing twice. We, however, were going back to a place we’d been: the Saline Valley. Two years ago we discovered it on a whim and were in awe. We were drawn back to it this year. The first day we hightailed it down to Inyo National Forest, just outside the park. I say hightailed it, but really it was 10 hours of monotonous, cold, windy highway driving. The reward came later that night: one of the most remote campsites we’ve ever had, and some of the best stars I’ve ever seen. The next morning, we drove into Saline Valley via the “easy” North Pass, which involved riding through a couple inches of snow in parts, and shook the motorcycle so hard that the screws to the headlights came out. Nothing we couldn’t handle though.
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| Secluded campsite in the National Forest |
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| Entering Saline Valley via the North Pass |
For the next two days, we enjoyed our version of a relaxing vacation, or as relaxing as it can be when you're motorcycle camping in the desert. For example, leisurely afternoon naps in the tent. Sounds fun, right? Sure, and it was also the only way we could avoid the violent wind storm that swept through camp. Later, we sipped on boxed wine, savoring it as long as we could since we only had space for two “juice boxes” in the motorcycle panniers. One morning, with vague directions from a fellow camper we discovered a fern wall with water trickling over it deep in a canyon. Our last night there, we conquered a fear we’d been trying to overcome for years: we went skinny dipping! Don't worry, there's no pictures! For a few blissful minutes we had the upper wild hot springs all to ourselves, until an entire crew of seven or eight Jeeps showed up to camp nearby. Making casual conversation with strangers while naked was definitely out of my comfort zone, but I survived.
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| Finally found the fern wall! |
A trip to the Saline Valley would not be complete without meeting some of the folks that have made the Saline Valley what it is, people that have been coming to the springs longer than I've been alive. There were the “burned-out Burners,” someone who offered to let us stay in his house in Nevada if we were ever in the area, and an old timer who knew all the locations of old mining cabins in the park and had almost blown one up years ago when he set fire to a mattress. And of course there were the people with war stories about the various breakdowns and mishaps on the gnarly roads leading to the springs. We used those tales as an opportunity to ask as many questions as we could about Steele Pass, the road we’d take out of Saline Valley the next morning.
We had been told several things about the Steele Pass route. There were lots of rocks, the road disappeared in many places, and there was a series of steps, also referred to as dry falls, that is dry waterfalls. Lastly, there were some sandy sections at the end, which Owen said he was actually looking forward to. The first few hours luckily the road never disappeared, but it was rocky with lots of loose gravel. I actually got off and walked a couple sections. Not easy in the heat. By the time we made it to the waterfall steps, we were already pretty spent. Rest was not in sight yet, though. We had to take the panniers and dry bag off, carry them down the steps (so the bike would be lighter), and rearrange rocks at some of the more precarious drops. Then all I could do was hope for the best as Owen navigated the bike carefully down. The steps are the most talked about challenge of Steele Pass, so it was pretty darn satisfying when Owen successfully cleared the final step.
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| At the top of the first step |
The last obstacle of the route, and we weren’t even really considering it an obstacle, was the sand. Boy, were we wrong. We had ridden through sand before, but this was not sand. This was moon dust that went "poof" when we hit it and covered everything in a fine layer of brown powder. It didn’t take long for the bike to get stuck in a deep rut, and we used nearly all our remaining energy to pull it out. We were steps away from the tallest sand dunes in California and possibly North America, but I could not enjoy the views. I was over it. Over the ride, over the sand, over being dirty. We had a hotel room booked for that night, and I’d basically checked out in my mind and checked into the hotel. And then something happened that would jar me out of my bad mood, bringing all my attention back to the present. We crashed.
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| Moon dust (on my right foot) |
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| Eureka Dunes |
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| Deep, deep ruts- not good |
To me, crashing sounds dramatic. That’s the term Owen uses to describe it, but I think “fell over” is more accurate. We were going 15 mph max and fell over in the sand. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, except that the motorcycle fell on Owen’s foot. What I remember most is that he kept yelling "Get the Advil!" What he remembers most is that after the crash I stepped on his foot. In my defense, he was laying on the ground in an unusual position and I wasn’t expecting his foot to be where it was! Pretty quickly, my mind spiraled. We’re stuck in the desert and we can’t ride out. How do we get to a rental car? Where’s the nearest rental car? How do we get the motorcycle back to our house? How much is all this going to cost? Denali’s going to be stuck at the dog sitters. All that worrying did nothing to help, though. Because Owen got on the motorcycle, rode us to the hotel, and (spoiler alert) was able to ride us all the way home the next day.
Those 100 miles to the hotel were the toughest yet, not because the riding was technical but because we were completely beaten down. When we finally arrived I had one thing on my mind: food. We skipped right past the overpriced restaurant and instead procured junk food from the gift shop, then went back to the hotel room to gorge on wraps, chips, and a pint of ice cream. I’ll spare you the boring details of the rest of the trip, which involved a lot of highway driving to get home with a quick stop to help someone repair their car. I was so tired when we got home that I didn’t quite get off the motorcycle as much as fell off, which was a pretty fitting way to end the trip.
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| Trying to enjoy the views after a long day |
Luckily Owen’s foot was just badly bruised, not broken, according to the x-rays. That didn’t stop me from going into full on caretaker mode for a couple of days, banning him from driving, running all the errands, and taking Denali for every walk. It was exhausting! Slowly he eased back into things and after a couple weeks of rest he was ready to go snowboarding again. For one snowboarding weekend in Lake Tahoe, we stayed at an Airbnb with a most unusual host who had epic stories about bear encounters in Alaska, had a pet pigeon who Denali did not get along with, and was into all sorts of conspiracy theories. It was a fine home base for a weekend in the mountains though and we celebrated the first day of spring with a beautiful day of snowboarding. While we never made it for a true powder day this season, I was able to cross something else off my bucket list: weekday snowboarding! I randomly had Caesar Chavez Day off, a Wednesday at the end of March, and went up to Tahoe for one last solo snowboarding day. For some reason I thought one solo day would magically improve my form and make me a better rider. It didn’t, but there was an unexpected bonus of riding solo: the (socially distanced) chairlift conversations. I got trail running intel from a veterinarian who runs with 5+ dogs at once, musings from an old-timer about how the mountain has changed through the years, and solid advice from a skier, that the most rewarding things in life are never easy. Come to think of it, it’s a pretty apt metaphor for my snowboarding. Even 10+ years into this hobby I still feel like a beginner sometimes, but the good days and good runs make it all worth it.
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| Girl power at my snowboarding lesson |
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| A successful solo day |
Since the skiing season ended I've mostly been doing little adventures nearby. I joined a women's running group based in Santa Cruz and try my best to keep up with the speedy ladies. Most of the activities though have revolved around Denali: play dates, dog parks, dog beach, and something called bikejoring which is essentially dog powered mountain biking. The American Kennel Club describes it as "not for the faint-hearted" and I would agree. I've been too chicken to give it a go, but happily bike behind as Denali pulls Owen along for a wild ride. We were supposed to go camping last weekend, but thunder-snow in the forecast derailed our plans. Here's to hoping I can get out soon before I become too much of a mountain hermit!
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| Trail running excursion in Marin with the running group |
