Day five through Death Valley to Las Vegas
We left around 6:20 that morning, following Highway 395 south toward Lone Pine. From there, we would turn east across Death Valley on our way to Las Vegas. The early start was deliberate. After the heat we’d already dealt with, we wanted to get through the desert before it could become another problem.
In Bishop, we were only about forty-five miles as the crow flies from Lakeshore, where we’d been two days earlier. We’d ridden north along the western side of the Sierra to Oakhurst, through Yosemite and across Tioga Pass, and were now heading south along the eastern side. Looking at the map, it was surprising how close those places were, considering everything we’d experienced getting between them.
Highway 395 was spectacular in the morning, with mountains ahead and the Sierra alongside us as we gradually lost elevation.
We passed Manzanar without my recognizing it for what it was, a site where the United States government incarcerated more than ten thousand Japanese Americans during World War II. I like leaving room for discovery on these trips, but sometimes not doing enough research bites me in the ass. This was one of those times.
Lone Pine had an old Western feel that seemed authentic partly because of its imperfections. It felt lived in, an old soul with stories to tell. Some better-known Western towns seem polished into versions of themselves. This one did not give me that impression.
We stopped near the south end of Lone Pine to look at Mount Whitney. First, we had to figure out which one it was. We had a good guess, but it took a Google image search to settle it. There were plenty of impressive peaks to choose from.
Turning east toward Death Valley, the air was still cool and crisp. It was the kind of morning that made me glad we’d gotten an early start.
I’d been to Death Valley before, but never ridden this stretch west of Panamint. Highway 190 turned out to be one of the better roads I’ve ridden over the years. No traffic, great pavement and long views that gave way to tight curves through rock corridors. We lost elevation quickly, and the temperature rose but was still comfortable.
We stopped briefly at Panamint Springs. On a previous visit, in February several years earlier, the campground had been packed. This time it was almost empty. Looking around that little settlement, I found myself wondering why in hell anyone would choose to live out there.
We continued toward Stovepipe Wells, taking in the beautiful, desolate landscape from the saddle. "A Horse with No Name" by America was playing quietly in my mind. In remote country I often think about the people who traveled through it long before paved roads and motorcycles. Looking across that distance, I wondered what crossing it on foot must have demanded.
At Stovepipe Wells, we spent a few minutes in the shade, used the bathrooms and had something to drink. Then we were back on the road, passing the sand dunes on our way toward Furnace Creek. Dale and I may have let the motorcycles breathe a little along that stretch. We reached Furnace Creek a few minutes ahead of Jeremy and Peter and waited in the shade until they caught up.
Being back around Furnace Creek brought up memories of an earlier trip through Badwater Basin and a stay at the Ranch at Death Valley. We may have borrowed a maintenance golf cart for an impromptu late-night tour of the property. Some memories need very little prompting among the four of us, and we were laughing about it as we got back together and rolled out.
We were definitely feeling the heat by then. I wasn’t ready to say we were safely through it yet, but I felt confident we soon would be. As we headed east toward Death Valley Junction, my concern about the heat and the distance to services began dwindling by the mile.
Death Valley Junction looked almost deserted from the saddle. It had once been a railroad town serving the borax industry. Later, dancer Marta Becket turned its old recreation hall into the Amargosa Opera House, where she performed for decades. In cooler weather, I’d have liked to stop and explore. Even riding through, I wondered what stories those buildings held.
Beyond the junction, we continued into Nevada and stopped for lunch in Pahrump. By then, our early start had done what we’d hoped: we were through Death Valley before the heat became another problem. I’m not sure what I expected of Pahrump, but it felt less like an actual town and more like a large blob of businesses spread across the desert. Over lunch, the trip felt over to me. We still had miles ahead, but my mind had started moving toward returning the motorcycles and getting home.
Leaving Pahrump, we still had the climb through Mountain Springs before descending into Las Vegas. Up there, the temperature dropped so suddenly it felt like riding into an air-conditioned room. Everyone commented over the intercom. It seemed to catch all of us by surprise. For a moment, it was peace before the chaos of Vegas. Then, almost as quickly, the cool air was gone, and the descent into the city felt like riding back into the fire.
Once we reached the rental agency in Las Vegas, returning the motorcycles was straightforward. Repacking for the flight was less so. Normally our suitcases are waiting at the rental agency. We dump everything back in, close them and deal with it at home. Because this was a one-way trip, we had carried collapsible bags to use for checked luggage and carry-ons.
Then we went to the airport far earlier than we needed to. I still do not know why none of us suggested spending some time somewhere else first. Our early start had helped us beat the heat, but now we had a nearly six-hour void to fill.
This trip had more challenges than most. Some were avoidable and self-inflicted. Others came with the one-way logistics. The temperature was part of trying to find a window that offered a good chance of crossing Tioga Pass while also getting us through the desert in tolerable conditions.
If I did it again, I would probably consider skipping Los Angeles and making it a clockwise loop from Las Vegas. That would mean giving up Angeles Crest and Blackbird Airpark, crossing Death Valley toward Ridgecrest and Lake Isabella, then picking up the mountain route from there. It would remove the Los Angeles traffic and give us a familiar place to leave our luggage and return the motorcycles.
When I think back on the trip, I remember feeling the warmth as we rode out of the shade on the way to Glacier Point. Silver Lake and that sudden change from desert to mountain lakes. The road west of Panamint. There were some difficult stretches on this trip, but there was so much beauty along the way that I’m still trying to absorb it.