Death Valley by Night

This week I was briefly in Las Vegas for work.  I know people love Las Vegas, but I've been there many times, frequently for work, and hanging out solo with the merry revelers just isn't my cup of tea.

So Tuesday evening after a hard day at work, I dined at the most brilliantly named, Google inspired restaurant on the planet -- "Off The Strip."  Off The Strip came well recommended by Tripadvisor, and I had a delightful meal of tacos and craft beer.  (Has anyone else had Mendocino's Eye of the Hawk?  Fantastic brew.)

Anyway, upon leaving the restaurant, I called Erin to gloat that I'd wrangled an extra beer and a piece of cheesecake from my waitress at no cost (and I didn't even have to take my top off.)  As I drove out of the restaurant, I noticed a sign indicating that Death Valley was a couple of hours away.

Now I've never been to Death Valley, but I've heard good stories.  It seems like an interesting place -- hot, lots of rocks, dead things -- and since it was only 7pm or so, I thought I could get out there and back by 11pm.  I had these grand visions of relaxing in the 112 degree heat while watching the sun set.  So in my classic style, off I went.

I'm not a complete idiot (yet), so I made sure as I hit the California border that I had a full tank of gas and a charged cell phone.  I even stopped long enough to verify that there was a road heading north out of the park on which I could return to Las Vegas without retracing my steps.  So as I barreled into Death Valley around 9pm, everything was looking good.  The scenery was amazing, it was EXTREMELY hot, and I was able to blare some classic rock on the radio with the windows down.  Good times.

But then my first mistake became apparent.  The two hours from Las Vegas got me to the eastern entrance of the park, and by gum, that is a BIG park.  So by 10pm, I still hadn't gotten to my exit route midway through the park.  Now it was dark, and I was smack dab in the middle of Death Valley in a rental car with no drink, no radio, and no cell phone service.

So I pressed onward.  Around 10:30pm, I saw a sign for the "north highway."  In my research, I thought I was looking for a California state highway -- something like CA-193.  So "north highway" didn't seem like the right move.  This was grand mistake number two.  It was also around this time that I saw a sign for a dirt road heading south to Barstow -- 200 miles.  I thought to myself, "Man would that suck to have to go to Barstow from here."

I kept passing minor roads off to the north, but no state highway.  I considered briefly turning on one of them, but in my head, the atlas showed NOTHING north of Death Valley until you get to Reno or Calgary.  So I was seriously fearful of turning north and running out of gas before I hit civilization.  I also knew that if I kept going west, at worst, I would hit I-5 running north and south through California, and while that seemed like an extreme prospect, it beat being lost.  So I kept driving.  And driving.  And driving.

The western edge of Death Valley is significantly more mountainous than the eastern edge, so now it was dark and I was driving on switchbacks up and down mountains.  Still no radio or cell phone -- only my thoughts to keep me company.  And even my thoughts were telling me, "You're an idiot."

I kept trying to get some help from my GPS, but it wasn't able to show me any detail beyond the park, so I couldn't get a gauge on how far back to Las Vegas it really was.  So by the time I exited the park and hit the intersection of U.S. 395 and CA-190 (map to come), I had already driven around 220 miles, and it was past 11pm.

At this point, I made another decision, which as it turns out, was correct -- but not good.  I decided to turn south on U.S. 395, as opposed to trying to go north to get back to Vegas.  I figured if I went south, surely I would hit an east/west road that would lead back to Vegas, whereas I couldn't think of a way to get back to the north.  (A quick Google Maps check this evening verifies that my guess here was right.)

So I headed south on U.S. 395 to, you guessed it, Barstow.  130 miles, 2 hours.  By the time I got to Barstow, it was after 1 am.  I was beat, so I decided to pull off and take a nap in a McDonald's parking lot.  (I've driven through Barstow multiple times on my various cross country Route 66 expeditions -- ask me some time.  More idiocy.)  I shut the car off in a well lit area, laid back, and immediately fell asleep.

Fifteen seconds later, there was a tap on my window, and a disheveled man with more eyes than teeth was pecking on my window.  I guess he saw something in my face because he started screaming, "I ain't no bandit, man!"  I started the car and made my way to a gas station across the street to get some caffeine and Combos.  As I got out of my car, another Barstow zombie approached asking if she could wash my windows.  "I'm a hard worker!  I ain't 'fraid of work.  Just let me wash your windows!"  I'm sorry, but my benevolence and need for a clean windshield are both pretty freaking low at 1am, so I politely declined and scrambled back into my car.  Next sign?  Las Vegas - 150 miles.

I made it as far as a rest stop another 30 mins or so away before I pulled over for an hour nap.  I had to get off the road, and by this time, I was looking at my watch thinking about my 7:00am flight.  If I'd had my suitcase with me, it would have been closer to fly out of Los Angeles or freaking San Diego, but all of my stuff - clothes, computer, sanity - were in my Las Vegas hotel room.  So on I pressed.

By the time I got back to the hotel, I had enough time to shower and head to the airport.  Luckily I sleep well on planes, so I was able to catch up on most of my sleep.  But if you ever think to yourself, "Gee, Death Valley by night seems like it could be fun" - think again.  It will be exhausting, provide little reward, and your wife will call you an idiot at least 50 times when you get home while she's on hold with your life insurance agent trying to up your policy.

Total mileage?  500, almost exactly.  Indianapolis to Atlanta.  All to see hot rocks.

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