Mar 30, Tues (Death Valley, CA - Las Vegas, NV)

March 30, 2010 (Death Valley, CA – Las Vegas, NV)

The wind here is strong. It hissed along our car like a living beast. We started our day by driving to Zabriskie Point, which I learned from an excited Derek (who is limitless in his knowledge of film) that this was one of the filming location of the cleverly named 1970 film “Zabriskie Point.” Apparently it contains a scene with people who roll around in dust and dirt and have sex and go on drug trips. Hot.

I was wearing my shorts, and the wind was so strong, it blew up duststorms that pelted us with tiny rocks (especially my bare legs), and threatened our footing. Damned shorts. The view from the lookout was pretty, but we wanted to do a little hiking, and Derek thought the wind would be less at a lower elevation, so we took the narrow, one man path that winds down the rippling, banded landscape of badland hills (reminiscent of the South Dakota Badlands) to the former bottom of Furnace Creek Lake (gone now for a wee 5 million years). The erosion on the hilly landscape of the former lake made me think of sphinxes reaching out giant paws that melded into the earth. We followed the precarious path, and as shoes hit the dry soil, they sent up clouds of dust, so that literally we were eating eachother’s dust. I was wearing sandals, and the bare parts of my feet were soon coated in the stuff. Derek called them my ‘Jesus feet.’

The wind did subside the lower we went, though when it became still, it also grew HOT (thank god for the shorts). At the bottom, there were a few shrubs, and cracked, brittle earth.

We began climbing again, to a point that offered a better lookout of Manley Beacon (one of the more famous formations, a nice, jaggedy, pointed rock). There were moments when I was convinced the wind would blow us over, and the word of the day became ‘CAREFUL,’ especially when Derek would be filming and walking, or flipping through pictures and walking. I chided him for that, which then allowed him to chide me for such things as writing and walking the narrow path. We are each as bad as each other, but for some reason when he wasn’t paying attention to his feet it always seemed so much scarier than when I was absorbed in a thought I just had to jot down. There was only one point where I was actually scared – when a hard wind was blowing and the soft silt underneath my foot gave way and I slipped close to the edge. I looked over the side and had a momentary vision of the wind lifting me up, my clothes acted as a sail, and gliding for a few feet before I plummeted to my ultimate death (or as Derek pointed out, most likely mere paralyzation). If you haven’t guessed already, Derek and I can be a bit dramatic.

We saw the Manley Beacon and took our token pictures, though the hike was the most fun part about the whole thing. We decided to turn around, and on the way back up, close to the top, we were hit by another windstorm, peppered again by a succession of tiny, pebbly stings. The only thing to do was stop and draw in on yourself until it was over. Derek’s hat, which was tied under his chin (one of those floppy, green tour-guide hats) blew off of him anyway and landed partway down one of the hills, off the path. He decided to get it, though I thought it was a potentially hazardous idea. So I eeked out a few carefuls, and then took pictures of the process because that’s what I do, especially when nervous.

Our next stop was a drive to Dante’s view (whose name we had to look up, because we kept calling it Dante’s peak, Dante’s inferno, and the one Derek was most stuck on – Dante’s hammer ).

I don’t know why it’s called Dante’s view, because the sign was worn away, and the sun was blaring in my face, and it was fr-e-e-z-i-n-g. But the view was worth it. It was a 13 mile drive to the view, and not until we were at the very top and turned the last bend were the salt plains below us revealed - A giant valley, backed by the Panamint range, ethereal with mist that hung above the white floor far below. It is this kind of scenery, combined with the force of the wind, that puts life into perspective in the size and scale and brutal beauty of the world. It is a reminder how small I am against something so majestic, and utterly indifferent. I love seeing such sites and being stirred by such power of the earth, because I feel both connected and insignificant, part of something larger. Such a vision can awaken my mind, causing a spot assessment of all the trivial things that add up to the stress of daily life, and leave me, for just a moment, feeling peaceful.

We eventually moved on, driving our way out of Death Valley, passing an abandoned town that we of course had to stop and take photos of. We passed spotted landscapes of brush and bush and rock that reminded me of the humps of a giant, tufted animal. Cholla cacti entered the landscape, their furry coat glowing in the sun. The vegetation is scarce enough that when a new plant is growing, even I, a vegetation novice, can recognize it.

We passed desert covered with thin coats of salt, looking almost exactly like snow, perhaps the only snow that stretch of desert will ever see. Then we crossed over to Nevada, and with great ceremony flipped our first atlas page. It felt like a big step. We were truly on our way.

We stopped in a small town that I couldn’t find on the map. While Derek topped off our gas and scraped off the bug guts from the windshield, I entered the market in search of a restroom. It had about four slot machines inside, and a weathered man pulling the handle as the girl behind the counter chatted with him and told me that next door had the bathroom. So I headed next door to the Tavern, whose hand painted sign denoted it as a “gambling and drinking establishment.” There were about four people at the barstools, and a woman behind the counter who saw my clearly lost look and said, “Honey, it’s right over there.” Four sets of eyes followed my movement into the bathroom, and resumed again as I walked out. Not unfriendly, just curious.

We saw a turtle crossing sign and dutifully looked for turtles on the road, and instead saw a white haired man sitting on the side of the road with his dog. We were a little disturbed by this but kept going, because it was clear he wasn’t trying to hitchhike. Maybe he was just enjoying the heat of the day. In the dust. On the side of the road.

We entered Pahrump (where the martians land in Mars Attacks!). We had decided to stop here for lunch, but we soon began to despair at ever finding a unique eating establishment in such a land of fast food. I finally spotted some colorful buildings that mentioned a ‘honcho’s bar.’ It turned out to be part of the casino, and we ended up eating at a café in the casino instead, after being made to wait for a table even though several tables were open, which Derek was convinced was a tactic to get people to gamble (and it did. I lost 20 of Derek’s bucks yippy skippy in a video poker machine). We ate to the sweet sound of the chinging and dinging of slot machines, perhaps the only young people in a see of walkers, canes and wheelchairs.

On our way to Vegas again, we saw a field of Joshua trees, those branched and twisted trees with tufted ends that belong in a Dr. Seuss book. Too add to the perfection of the scenery, a tumble weed blew across the road in front of us. “That was the Godzilla of tumbleweeds!” Derek exclaimed. Then moments later, we saw a large rock formation in front of us with a notch in the face towards the top that could have been a cave (if you squinted). “It looks like a Yedi cave!” Derek said. It made me smile. Our descriptions of what we see are so much a part of who we are. I tend to anthropomorphise, and wax on poetically for too long, and Derek tends to see the film monsters of his youth.

And then Vegas suddenly rose in the distance like a mirage, one that moves in and out of view as you get closer for the next 20 miles. After all the danger and drama of the past two days, first blood of the trip (aside from Derek’s tooth) was me scraping a knee on the asphalt as I kneeled in the parking lot, trying to figure out where I’d stashed my ‘nice clothes’ for Vegas. Pathetic. I also realized when I stood up that my knees were black from the pavement, and I couldn’t wipe it off. I looked like a vagabond in my dusty sandals with black knees, so I tried to hide behind Derek while he checked in at the Palms. After washing the grime and blood away, I promptly scheduled a massage in the hopes that it would help my shoulder. Derek cleaned up and gambled. We met back at the room and headed to the trendy ghost bar at the top of the hotel, whose view of the city was by far the best thing about it. Its logo was a ghost with this long curved tail, and I wondered idly about why the long tail made the ghost trendy, and what makes things trendy in general, because that kind of sh*t is way over my head (as anyone would guess who has seen me dress). Derek was raring to go, (but we’re in Vegas baby, Vegas!) but I felt too tired for sin. We ended up eating dinner at Derek’s guilty pleasure, a diner called the Peppermill. I love diners at any and all times (I could eat breakfast for every meal). It’s neon lights and flamingo lamps only seemed to add to the night. But when dinner was over, I was done, and though Derek didn’t want to admit it, so was he, as he fell asleep sitting up in his chair at the desk. I led him to bed and so ended a rather sinless night in Sin city.

Captions:

1. Hiking down Zabriskie's Point

2. Dante's View

3. Abandoned town on the way to Vegas

4. Vegas

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