Biking Death Valley

Now
it's time
to bike
Death Valley!

The

lowest

hottest

driest

place in America!

...and
to my eye
one of
the most beautiful!

- Why
on earth
would you want
to bike
in a place
called
Death Valley?
they ask.

To live life
to its
intensity,
I may answer.

or maybe...

...for the
sheer
challenge!

or maybe....




...I'm just crazy.

Whatever the reason,
Bianchi and I
set out today
to bike
Death Valley!

- Remember
to hydrate!
warns Ian.




What an
old Mother Hen!

I've biked
across America.

Surely
I know
what I'm doing!

So
Bianchi and I
set out
on this clear
blue sky day.

Not
a cloud
in sight!

What could be
more beautiful?

The names
don't daunt me...

Furnace Creek

Devil's Golf Course

Badwater

They
just added
to the devilish charm...

I ignore
the warning
signs....

...spin
past the
Furnace Creek Inn...

...and out
into the wilds
of
Death Valley!

I'm not
completely
alone...

I see
the cars
parked
at Golden Canyon.

Every
now and then
I pass
a peloton
of bikers.

But mostly
it's me and my bike
alone
between the red desert
and the deep blue sky.

My mind
spins
with my wheels.

I contemplate
the snows
on the mountains
above me....

Snow?
in desert?

I imagine
the onslaught
of gushing water
violently carving
these
crevices.

Gushing water?

Desert?

I think

I see glistening snow

on the valley floor.

Snow in the valley?

That's way too weird!

Are people
ice skating
in
Death Valley?

I pull over
at Badwater
and rest my bike.

I need
to check
this out!

Yes,
there is
water
in Death Valley...

..but not the kind
you'd want
to drink!

It's toxic
with the white minerals
stripped from
the mountain edges.

Mostly salt.

Yes, salt.

The kind
Tom likes
on his dinner.

But all
is not toxic
in the
Valley of Death...

There is
sweetness,
too.

The flowers
of the
desert...

...exult
in the
bone-parching
aridity.

Parching
myself...

I pause
for a drink.

In this dry air
you lose
2 gallons of water
just standing still.






Did I bring
enough to
drink?

On bike again,
I spot
a huge
desert hawk!

Swooping
and swirling
over the road...

...chased
by a fellow
hawk...

He flips
upside down
on the wing

....and they
chase away
out of sight.

I stop
in amazement.



Then I see
why they fight.

A juicy
dead pigeon lies
by the side
of the road.

A leg band
denotes
his ownership.

I pull out
paper and pen
to copy down
his numbers.

I'll call tomorrow
to tell his registry
about his
fate.

Fate.

I'd better
turn around.

I'm running
out of
drink.

Brief rest.

Picnic
in desert.

Read
my
book.

Back
past
my flowers...

Past
the badwater...

Past
Artist's Drive...

...with paint-splashed
hills
glowing
with sunset light.

Thirst
gnaws
at my throat.

Eyes and lips
desiccate.

Dust

Sand

Dry

Desert winds
blow
my
thoughts...

thoughts
of
water!

water!

Water!!!

Oh, why
didn't
I listen
to Ian?

I'm
so
thirsty.

Spin around
the corner at mile 5
and I spot
Wylie E Coyote.

The landscape
is right.

But
where is
roadrunner?

I make it
to
Golden Canyon.

Just 3 miles
back to
The Ranch.

Cat-eye
tells me
I've gone 48 miles.

I reach
the Inn!


Just one mile
to go!

Thank goodness
it's one mile
downhill!

Finally!

The Ranch!

The General Store!

I worry
about
the shirts
they sell here.

But
at last

I have
water!

Back
to
the
room....

...to rest...

...and dream....



...of my next
bike ride...


...in
Death Valley.