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Published: April 17th 2008
I have updated my map.
I have finally put some photos online.
By far the most interesting aspect of rambling around on a bike is riding into towns. Inevitably I've spent a great deal of time in the wilds, at least a few days, and generally I'm in need of a very specific set of things: a shower, a real full meal, water. That about rounds it out. Very simple. And so it was today when I rolled into the desert outpost of Baker, California. What kind of town is Baker? What is the story here? What am I doing here, or rather what am I going to do here for a day and a half? These are the things that course through my mind when approaching a town. And there are always the preconceptions. Here are the three things I knew about Baker before arriving today: It doesn't have any grocery stores, the Mad Greek restaurant is awesome, and it has the world's tallest thermometer (it shows up in my GPS as an "attraction").
My ride today was 48 miles with 1600 feet of climbing in the middle. I was fleeing the forecasted 50MPH gusts, and in the desert that means beating the sun (by 10AM, the wind is full force). I was on the road by 6:15AM watching the sun rise over the phenomenal Providence range in Mojave National Preserve with 700-foot tall sand dunes rising immediately to my left. By 8:45 I was celebrating the summit of my windless climb by pumping my fist in the air, yelling into the vast expanse of Mojave Yucca, birds, and cresote that lay before me. Only 25 miles and a 2000' descent to Baker, and no matter how bad the wind gets, at least I'm headed downhill. And then the long, endless, expansive stretch of road slowly opened before me. One crank after another after another after another. Suddenly I could not see the beginning or the end. These roads are the reification of the geometric concept of a line--no beginning, no end, just one point among the infinite. In the desert, you don't just see infinity, you live it. The plentiful creosote bushes that define the desert largely produce asexually giving single genetic lines over 11,500 years old (perhaps earth's oldest organisms, depending upon how you define "organism"). Desert Wood Rat mounds are reused time and time again, so much so that excavations have revealed plant seeds 10,000 years old, plants that can no longer survive in the increasingly arid desert environment. You can really see the mountains slowly melting into the washes and slopes and salt flats, slim ridges of slightly harder rock rising up towards the sky. Most pertinent to me, that mountain range on the other side of the valley is actually 40 miles away, and that slope rising up next to it, so innocent and gentle, is actually a 3000' climb.
So, upon my descent today, I could spot Baker on the other side of the valley. The town is always on the other side of the damn valley. And what did I identify first? Nothing less than the world's tallest thermometer, from about 15 miles out. It was less than motivational. Upon rolling into town, I could see that the thermometer was nothing more than a tall cement structure with an LED display. Where's the 10,000 gallons of mercury mere inches from the freeway?!? It was less than impressive. So the first thing I did was roll into the Mad Greek where I ordered a chicken gyro, fries, and a milkshake. It was $15. It was less than impressive for $15. Then I set out on the task of scoping out the town, particularly where I wanted to spend the next two nights. This was easy in Baker because it's really the size of most malls. It has three hotels, and I needed to choose one. The office to the first, "Arne's Royal Hawaiian", was locked at 10:30AM. I was getting back on my bike when the guy unlocked the door, looking like he had just woke up. I went into the office and heard children in the background. $45/night and not a good vibe. Carry on. I ended up at "Wills Fargo Motel". What kind of motel is "Wills Fargo"? Well, it's the kind of hotel that is in Baker. And what kind of town is Baker? The kind of town that would have "some sort of career fair thing" with five people in the corner of the motel office huddled around the two internet-connected computers intended for guests of the motel. We're talking a motel so ghetto that my dresser is missing handles and the soap wrapper from the previous guest was still in the shower. I am truly expecting condom wrappers under the covers. All for $55/night. This is what 2,500 years of civilization has gotten us.
And if you recall from my last post, I mentioned that my standards have slipped when I start calling this town "civilization". Well it is, to me anyway. The last three nights I've spent at the foot of Kelso Dunes in Mojave National Preserve. The bathroom was a mile down the road at the trailhead. I found relief from the demanding mid-day heat in the shade of a very small grove of Tamarisk trees, literally the only trees within 10 miles. It is here that I nursed the wounds of my ego and of my body, and finally started to feel like I was on the right track with my journey. But to understand this, it is imperative to go back to the beginning.
After writing my last post in 29 Palms, I went to bed and slept terribly. I was very stressed out about my impending 50 mile ride to Amboy, a destination that may or may not have water. God only knows what lies out there in the desert--the true desert, not this pampered national park crap that I just got done having a severely hard time with. Everyone I talked to was extremely skeptical of finding life in Amboy; it was as if I was riding into the core of a nuclear holocaust zone. "Amboy? :::Chuckle::: Good luck boy!" These were not encouraging statements. Regardless, I had little choice. This was the only way north! So I was on the road by 7AM and absolutely no wind to be felt. Awesome! I started into my 1200 foot climb up Sheephole Pass and it was easy as pie. I realized instantly that my entire problem had almost nothing to do with weight, it was all the wind! And just to really drive the point home, the wind kicked in with a God-like ferocity at about the exact instant I came to this realization. Fortunately it was a transverse wind and not a headwind, but it would hit me so hard that it would almost knock me over. I'm sure I looked completely drunk at 8AM because I took up the whole lane, swerving back and forth as the gusts hit me. Upon reaching the summit, the views were surreal and intense. For the first time on the trip I truly felt like I was in the middle of freakin' nowhere. Or rather I was about to descend down into it, about to become part of the anonymity of desert infinity.
The view from Sheephole Pass. Amboy sits somewhere past the salt flat 25 miles away.
Upon starting my descent, I was graced with the unbelievable luck of a wonderful light tailwind! About half way down I accidently ran off the road and almost wrecked in the sand. A very stupid and dangerous mistake, and as I was cursing myself I noticed that I scared an oddly dense concentration of grasshoppers that I had scared off. Looking around, the were everywhere, none more than an inch or two apart. Then out into the desert, as far as I could discern a grasshopper, there were grasshoppers. Holy shit, what is going on around me?!? I continued riding, for miles, about 7-10 miles, and the grasshoppers continued. How many miles had I not noticed them before? The truly bizarre thing is that they were all marching in the same direction, uphill and to the south, side-by-side. Literally millions of them--miles and miles of grasshoppers. You could hear them marching! I was witnessing some sort of plague-scale grasshopper migration to higher elevations! And every car that drove by me, disrupting the grasshoppers, was totally missing it! It was then that I realized why I ran off the road; I was reminded that I need to pay attention to the intracacies as well as the grand views. This is what makes the desert so intense, the juxtaposition of infinitely small with the infinitely large and the need and desire to reconcile and observe both simultaneously. It is an incessant exercise in perception that you only get in the desert, but it is one wrought with the wisdom of the ages. It is what makes desert people truly strange.
I spent the remainder of my ride meditating on this oddity. My meditation was interrupted by a sign mentioning something about honey. What the hell? Must be some another weird abandonded desert thing. Well, Amboy Road intersects historic Route 66 just before the town of Amboy, and at this intersection sat a dilapidated school bus selling jerky, dried fruits, and honey. Fruit! I rolled up at 11AM and met Gus, the proprietor, and immediately got some jerky and dried papaya. What a treat! I was worried if I was going to find life in Amboy and I even managed to get some papaya! He even gave me a bottle of water! Then Gus offered me a ride up to I-40, only 16 miles away but 2500' higher than Amboy. "I'll think about it," I said as I rode off towards "town".
The town of Amboy: a gas station and a post office.
I rolled up and met the guy who run's "Roy's Motel/Cafe", which is actually neither of those. It's a gas station that holds bizarre hours. He instructed me to set up camp under the Tamarisk trees at the extreme left of the above photo, saying "Do whatever it is you do over there." When I walked away I noticed that he had a gun at his hip, and I guess I would to out here. This is truly remote. But alas my stresses were relieved: I found not only water but also food in Amboy.
I spent the day relaxing and napping in the shade. I was definitely exhausted, but also elated for having made the distance without too much misery and no real wind. I eagerly savored each bite of papaya inbetween naps, it was beautiful. However, this village had a weird vibe. It is located on the busiest rail line in the country, to the extent that a train would go by every 20-30 minutes. I was positioned near the third building in Amboy (not pictured above), an unmarked white building with lots of refrigeration units and other various oddities going on. I couldn't figure it out. But largely I didn't care. Until after a few hours I noticed that I had no less than four cameras staring at me from the side of it. Then I cared. That's freakin' weird! I'm sure it was associated with the nearby "Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center". I wasn't keen on it.
Near sunset I went to explore Amboy Crater, a 200' black pimple replete with several square miles of lava flow rising in stark contrast out of the white salt flats. It was a beautiful and special place, full of Horned Larks and grand vistas. On the way there I stopped by Gus's bus, possibly to get a ride up to I-40 the next morning. Gus wasn't there but AJ was, a documentary filmmaker from LA. He was a very cool guy and we talked for over an hour about all sorts of stuff. I headed off to and up the crater, watched the sun set, and randomly got a hair up my ass and ran the mile back to my bike afterwards. "This is crazy," I thought, "I rode 50 miles this morning and now I'm jogging a mile on a sandy/rocky trail...what the hell am I doing?" When I rode back from the crater AJ was standing by his truck. He decided to head out to Needles to grab a room and a shower for the night and was waiting for me to see if I wanted a ride up to I-40 right now. It was basically dark out and I had no idea what was at the intersection with I-40. But this was my sign to leave, to follow my intuition, and I jumped on it even though I had no idea where I was going to end up for the night. Screw rationality, get me the hell out of here! We drove over to my campsite in his truck and in the process of loading up my gear the gas station owner rolled over in his truck and jumped out with his hand on his holstered gun asking us what the hell we were doing. I wasn't sure if it was the same guy I talked to earlier, some confusion ensued, and then everything calmed down once we recognized each other. Apparently there had been some thefts there recently (of what, semi-sized HVAC units? Nothing added up in this place). That's the second time in my life someone has gotten out of a truck with their hand on a holstered gun asking me what the hell I'm doing.
Alas, AJ dropped me off in a large sandy wash about 1/2 mile north of I-40, just inside the Mojave National Preserve. "This is fucking nuts man," he tells me, then he says how much he's wanted to do something similar. He hands me a free pack of jerky, and I express my gratitude and desire to pay him back for all the help he's given me. "Pay it forward," he said. I will, I will indeed AJ. After he drove off I felt my way to a brushy hidden area, set up camp, and ate dinner while staring at the moon as jack rabbits bounced around me. Ahhh....much better!!!! The entire situation, from my random desire to explore Amboy Crater at sunset, to connecting with AJ enough that he would wait for me before leaving, to randomly running the mile back to my bike--it was a beautiful orchestra of intuition. Always do what you feel, always.
I awoke to another ineffable sunrise in the desert. I had to stop packing up camp to check out a bird, which turned out to be an Ash-Throated Flycatcher, a new bird for me. Any day that starts with a new bird species is never going to be a bad day. I easily climbed 1200 feet up into the Granite Mountains despite the slight headwind. The area was too astonishing to care about the pedalling! If you took the rocks of the High Sierras and mashed them with the deserts of Joshua Tree, you get the Grante Mountains of the Mojave National Preserve. I wanted to camp at the summit so bad but I didn't have any water! Dammit! So unfortunately I descended towards Kelso, in the heart of the preserve. Slowly and unexpectedly the Kelso Dunes grew larger and larger and larger. Finally they were so large and beautiful I couldn't ignore them. I was drawn to them.
The Kelso Dunes. The camping area was 4 miles down this road.
Here is where I'd camp even though it was 7 miles short and 500' above Kelso where my necessary water supply was located. Well, screw it, I'll just hitch a ride there and back real quick. It'll be interesting. And it shouldn't be hard, especially since there was a car rolling down the gravel roads towards me. It turned out to be the park ranger who gave me 5 bottles of water and told me there were some people at the camp area. Sweet, I will just get some water from them. I started riding towards the camping area and encountered an RV. I flagged it down and asked if they had any water to spare. I have come to realize that RVs are nothing more than giant floating support units for bikers because they have an excess of absolutely everything, and the people are always cool and in a good mood. These tourists were French so the translation was a little tough, but once they figured out what I wanted they came out with a big gallon jug. Then another! After giving me almost two gallons they say, "Were you in Joshua Tree a few days ago? We saw you!" That is probably the coolest moment of my travels so far. I really have a hard time keeping perspective on what I'm doing. It seems so obvious, to me, to be biking through the desert like this. But then I have these moments when I realize that I am truly unique out here, unique enough that a random RV recognizes me days after they see me biking while they zoom by. And then I realize that "unique" in the preceding sentence could also be read as "insane". I'm still not sure what to think of that fact. Maybe that's why I'm riding, to figure that out.
I arrived at Kelso Dunes camp area to find one small cluster of Tamarisk trees with a truckbed camper underneath, a dude sleeping in his car nearby, and a few tents scattered about at various distances. For the first time on the trip, I didn't know what to do with myself. I had only ridden 20 miles so I had lots of energy, the day was young, and this place was awesome. Do I setup my tent, explore the dunes, eat, etc.? In the process of my internal confusion, I turned around and saw a tortoise sitting in the middle of the large dusty area that serves as the parking/camp area. I stopped everything and stared in disbelief. The Desert Tortoise is the crown jewel of the desert. Their populations used to be as high as 1000/square mile but cattle grazing has destroyed their food source (native grasses) and ravens now demolish the youngsters (more people = more trash = more ravens). They always look fake, like a statue, and I slowly walked over expecting this to be some sort of weird camp joke. Then it blinked. Holy shit. This thing was huge by Desert Tortoise standards, its shell measuring in over a foot in diameter. I stared for a while. What do I do? This is intense! Here it is, one of the main highlights of the desert I wanted so much to see and...here it is. I took a deep breath and realized that I needed to calm way, way down to enjoy the presence of a tortoise. I dropped everything and immediately walked over to the shade of a Tamarisk 30' away and sat down. Then, slowly of course, the tortoise started walking towards me. It veered around and then circumnavigated the tree and I'll be damned if it didn't plop down right next to me!!!!
Video of me hanging out with the tortoise.
I sat there and took a very, very deep breath and slooooooowly released it. This is tortoise country. This is the desert. It is eternal. Get into the rhythm. Behind me--with me--sits a creature at least 70 years old, probably over 100, and in front of me sit sand dunes almost 700 feet tall. Do you know how long it takes to pile up 700 feet of sand? About as long as it took humans to develop a frontal lobe. Yes, indeed, I got the message alright. There are no hurries. This is where I will stay, relax, and do absolutely nothing until I feel that I have learned from the land what I need to learn.
I spent the next three nights at the dunes. The time is really a blur. After spending a serious amount of time with the tortoise, it wandered off to the desert and I headed to the dunes to start identifying wildflowers. After arriving back in camp the people in the truck under the trees were out in the shade and I sat down with them. They were a fantastically awesome couple from upper British Columbia. And again, immediately, the message of relaxation and slowing of pace came into play when Walt said to me, basically first thing upon meeting him, "This is rough, isn't it? It took me a long time to learn how to do this, to do nothing. I owned my own auto repair shop for 30 years. I built it from nothing. Go go go. Not any more!" I knew immediately that this couple would be important to me, that I had a lot to learn from them. We spent the next several hours, way into the night, talking about plants and birds and insects.
They had amazing powers of observation. At one point, in the middle of a conversation, Suzie picked up on a neon green caterpillar cruising along the dirt 20 feet away. We all walked over to it. Turns out it was being moved around by a glowing red wasp. We watched the wasp take the caterpillar and shove it in small hole. It is common for wasps to paralyze prey and place them in a carefully excavated tunnel. She lays her eggs on it, and when they hatch the paralyzed insect serves as food until they metamorphose into wasps. And so it was with her, as we watched her place the caterpillar in the tunnel, go down and lay her eggs on it, and then carefully fill in the tunnel. She was fastidious, phenomenally fastidious about filling in the tunnel. She would pop out, scrape in some sand with her little legs, then go down in head-first and pack it in. She would even go so far as to use her wings to vibrate the sand to pack it in tighter. Time and time again she did this. When a pebble would fall in, sometimes she would reposition it. But sometimes it was no good to her. Once she picked up a pebble, flew into the air with it, and literally threw it at me! Then she immediately went a few feet away, picked up a random pebble of her choosing, and used that instead. When it was completely filled and blended she flew around from flower to flower several times verifying the overall look of her nest. When she was satisfied, off she went into oblivion. This was a normal event in an average day for Walt and Suzie. They had been there for two weeks.
There were other things that amazed me about Walt and Suzie. They were actually timing their departure from the area based upon the opening of the Desert Lilly. Ever since they discovered them budding in the creosote scrub about a half mile from the campsite three days earlier they took a daily walk to see if any had opened yet. I joined them for two days of this, and many other random walks as well. Every time it was, "Well, you never know what you're going to see out here, so let's go find out what that is." The last day was the most intense. I woke up early, right at daybreak, to the sound of a flycatcher that I didn't recognize in the tree right above me. I peeled my eyes open and in the sharp angle of the early dawn light I saw flashes of red. I popped out of my tent and grabbed my binocs only to see the magnificent Vermilion Flycatcher! "Today is going to kick ass." Later in the morning Walt took on me on walk down a wash he had frequented many times in his few weeks in the area. The hot weekend temps, hottest yet of the season, had started getting the snakes out of hibernation. The day before he had seen a Sidewinder in the dunes and we were searching for another. We saw some Sidewinder tracks for sure, but the real surprise of the day were those of the Desert Tortoise. From burrow to burrow they went, then out into the creosote scrub. These were little guys, probably my age, and their tracks were everywhere! Then we did our daily chore of resting in the shade doing absolutely nothing but staring at the dunes, at the trees, at the insects. The nice thing about hanging out under the only trees within several miles is that the birds come to you. A Gray Flycatcher stopped by, and then the bright and amazing Hooded Oriole hung out for a few hours right above my head--both new birds for me. And all I did was sit and wait for them to show up! The day heated up so intensely that the flies were chasing shade. Since that's also what we were chasing, conflicts of interest ensued. This lead me to my profound thought of the day: If flies could hear, would they kill themselves? One would only hope. And because of this conflict of interest, in the high heat of the afternoon, we went on our daily pilgrimage to check on the Desert Lilly. Would it be open today? On our way, in the meandering that desert hiking requires, we spooked a large bird. An owl in fact. It came out of a massive hole in the earth. Dear lord, was that really a Burrowing Owl? I didn't get a good enough look to say for sure, but now I knew where it's hole was! I would return at dusk, certainly, and stalk it out. But until then, the reward for our patience and care and concern, the wonderful Desert Lilly.
The amazing Desert Lilly.
That night, just before sunset, I slowly walked back towards the owl burrow. I found a nice nest myself in the dunes above the creosote scrub, hidden just enough from view, and waited. The patience to sit came easily now, as opposed to the nervous jitter that consumed me when I first arrived here a few days earlier. The sun slowly set and burned fire red on the amazing Providence Mountains in front of me. Night slowly pushed the day from the sky, and a deep dusk fell over the earth. The Dune Primrose, in full bloom, really shines after dark. It is, after all, moth pollenated.
The crepescular beauty of Dune Primrose.
After about 45 minutes, I heard something in front of me. It was a familar sound, actually, because I had heard it continuously since I arrived. All night, every night, I had heard this call from a distance. What it was I did not know, but it certainly did not sound anything like I had heard before. I lifted the binocs up and before me stood a wee little owl, an amazingly intense bird, the long-legged and ever-akward Burrowing Owl. He was standing on the pile of compacted soil that once occupied its hole in the earth, and he was doing a little dance. Leaning way forward with his head out strong, he would call out loudly then shift right 90 degrees, then back to the left with a loud call, and then he'd do it all over again, back and forth. He repeated this for several minutes while I sat there in complete awe. Finally it flew off, and I stared into space. Wow. Did I just see that? Am I really here, right now, apart of this? It was one of the most intense wildlife experiences I've ever had, akin to witnessing the delicate mutal grooming of the Waved Albatross on the Galapagos Islands. It almost brought tears to my eyes. But he had no time for reflection like I did. When I woke up the next morning, at 6AM, he was still calling out loudly. This was a male with prime real estate and he was trying to get some lady friends interested in his hot new diggs.
The Kelso Dunes are a fantastically special place, and not just because the wildflower bloom this year is spectacular, that the area attracts Vermilion Flycatchers and Hooded Orioles, that Burrowing Owl dens are nearby, or that Desert Tortoises greet you at every turn. The dunes themselves speak. Literally. They are one of 30 dunes in the world that "BOOM". I don't know why they say "BOOM" because it is wholly inaccurate. They do not "BOOM", they reverberate. Due to the size, shape, and moisture content of the sand, the grains of sand create resonance frequencies. So when you climb to the top of the dunes for an amazing sunset like I did, you get the added bonus of having sand that talks.
Beating the setting sun up 700 feet of sand isn't easy, but it's damn enjoyable at the top!
I have to say that in the beginning I was skeptical of the talking dunes. I mean, okay, how cool could the noise produced by sand really be? I lived at the beach, I know sand inside and out. I've seen sand do some weird stuff in my day. But the talking dunes, I dare say, was nothing short of the most amazing natural phenomenon I've ever experienced!!!! Not only do the dunes reverberate and make a very bizarre sort of noise, but you can actually feel it in your body. It's exactly like playing around on a giant string of a musical instrument. At one point I laid on my stomach and pushed myself down the dune with my hands, feet-first, and produced a continous sound for over 30 seconds that I could alter the pitch of by changing the depth of my feet in the sand! And I could feel it in my entire body! HOLY SHIT!!!!
Hear me jumping in the talking dunes!
So now you see my apprehension to rolling into Baker and leaving my paradise amongst the infinte sands of Kelso Dunes, where there really is something new and crazy every day. But alas, a new chapter in my journey begins. Thom is arriving from Maine tonight and driving in from Vegas to pick me up. Tomorrow night Phil comes in. The vast reunion of the three foolish boys that set off in a raft in the Alaskan Arctic and somehow did not die! How lucky we were! This time we have our hearts set on the desert slot canyons for a week of exploration, both geographical and psychospiritual. What truths do the canyons hold? And what sort of catatonic state is Vegas going to put me in if Baker is too much right now?
Out of the wild and into urbanity, the dichotomous life of living in modernity...
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dan
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Thank you! You are showing me the way. Yesterday I worked all day on the 15th Chapter of Lau Tzu's Tao Te Ching: Enlightenment, the art of being; not forcing. I pondered "Unbounded (fluid) as melting ice." and "Do you have the patience to wait till your mud settles and the water is clear? Can you remain unmoving till the right action arises by itself?" And this morning as I read your blog, I found in the sharing of your experiences and feelings that which helps me to know the meaning. Totally awesome!