We treated ourselves to a breakfast of store-bought pastries and filled the car up at a Bakersfield gas station before resuming the long drive into the desert. As a fan of Red Dead Redemption (and an even bigger fan of the movie Rango) the American desert, the Mojave in particular, has always held a special significance to me. This is in rather paradoxical contrast to my extremely low tolerance for heat. I approached the coming days, which will take us through to Las Vegas and beyond, with slight trepidation, tempered by the understanding that it’s unlikely I’ll get the chance to do this kind of expedition again.
As we left Bakersfield behind, the mountain-framed plains of California gave way to open expanses of arid yellow dirt. Before long, the striated reds and browns of Death Valley began to emerge. Even so, I could still see snow-capped mountains in the distance. It’s surreal to be in one of the hottest places on the planet and still be in eyeshot of snow. As the car travelled the winding, up-and-down roads that run along the ridges, it became clear that the temperature here varies staggeringly between relatively slight changes in altitude. As we later learned, the extreme heat here is caused by sun-warmed winds getting trapped by these steep mountain walls, which recirculate the air back into the valley and create this self-feeding cycle of warming. When we reached a viewpoint on a high ridge, the cool wind made for a surprisingly balmy clime, but once we got deeper into the valley, it was me who got the first taste of the heat.
Friends who know me well will be familiar with my famously weak bladder. It struck again as we drove across the desolation. This, I thought, was a particularly bad situation for me. Death Valley is not known for being abundant in bathrooms. The nearest settlement was still thirty minutes away and I, feeling the squeeze, would never make it that far. There was no service, so I couldn’t research California’s laws on “wild wees,” but the stronger the urge got, the more I realised I was willing to risk it. We were forced to pull off the road into a dusty lay-by, where two cars were already parked. I checked to see if there were any faces behind the tinted windows, but the cars were empty. Thank God. I was already nervous about the legality of the situation, not to mention rattlesnakes and scorpions lurking in the shrubbery, of which Mum (rather un-relaxingly) reminded me as I jumped out.
Whoomp! The heat hit me like a freight train. The worst heat I’ve ever experienced was on expedition to India. We changed over in Abu Dhabi airport, which is situated in the middle of the Arabia desert. We passed the time in the gloriously air conditioned airport until the early hours, when it was time to get a shuttle bus to the plane. Even though it was three in the morning, the heat was unbelievable. It’s like a thick, hot weighted blanket, only wrapped tightly around every inch of your body and squeezing impossibly tighter. It was July then, and it’s April now, so I don’t think the Death Valley heat was nearly as overwhelming as that, but the sunlight was scorching enough to make me think twice about exposing my most vulnerable parts in the middle of the desert. I was already sunburned as a result of the sun reflected off the sea during yesterdays boat tour, so I did not want to add to that. But the need to urinate was simply too strong. I stood there, feeling foolish, flies undone, eyes scanning for poisonous critters. Eventually, I relaxed myself enough to relieve myself, though I did have to adjust my position to account for the unexpected gusts of wind.
With that sorry episode behind me, I was able to enjoy the vistas of the valley around me. We stopped at the quaintly-named Stovepipe Wells (which sounds like an eccentric steampunk character) for the restrooms and to buy ice cold root beer from the general store. There was a curious raven hopping about, investigating the tourists. From there it was another short drive to Furnace Creek, where we’re staying. The resort is a startling explosion of green, palm trees swaying invitingly overhead, with several restaurants, a store and even an ice cream parlour. The heat was still bananas, but we drank ice water in the lobby and had a cheapish (as cheap as possible in this country’s hellish economy) dinner of pulled pork sandwiches. By the time we had finished our ice creams, the sun was going down, and in the absence of its blistering rays, the temperature became not only tolerable but pleasant. The sibs and I enjoyed a night swim at the resort’s pool while families played badminton and basketball nearby, and as we walked back along the lanternlit, tree-lined paths to our lodge, I reflected that it was a shame to be leaving tomorrow. If there was ever a place to spend the day asleep and the evening playing sports and lounging on the patio, this is it. Although, as it happens, we’re off to a five-star Vegas hotel tomorrow, so I can’t really complain. Saving money for holidays pays off, kids.
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