The Dam Daytrip

After a brief stop at a Carl's Jr. for what was technically brunch, we set off towards the famous Hoover Dam. The ride was uneventful aside from the strange phenomenon of traffic. Typically our drives were only impeded by construction, but metro areas always contained mild amounts of traffic. As we got closer to the Dam, the density of cars increased, but before too long a giant chasm could be discerned ahead telling us that we were close. Just before reaching the structure, we were waved into a small security checkpoint where I was instructed to open the roof top carrier. The guard glanced inside and waved us on. Merging back into the single file stream of cars, we drove slowly over the mass of concrete that powers Las Vegas. On the other side we were welcomed to Arizona by a small sign.

We parked and took a moment to view the back of the massive Dam. The color of the Colorado River on the upstream side of the dam is the most amazing blue-green color. Combined with the immense depth, I could easily imagine the river to be a slice of an ocean that was scooped up and transplanted into the desert by some magical being with a sense of irony. We marveled at the sight, noting that the water had once been even deeper as evidenced by a band of white bleached into the rock above the current water line. Not half a mile north of the dam, several boats sat on the glass still water, held back by a line of buoys. Half a mile downriver, high above the water and even above the level of the dam, the skeleton of a incomplete bridge spanned the canyon. This is a project I had read about before the trip, and will presumably offer an amazing view of the Dam. After a few minutes, the temperature eventually drove us back into the car. While chilly in comparison to Death Valley, it was still over 100 degrees in the sun.



We drove back into Nevada and parked at the visitor's center. Welcoming the air conditioning within, we perused the cheesy paraphernalia, purchased some water, and headed back out into the heat to see the Dam on foot. A monument erected to those who died while building the Dam stood just outside the visitor's center and caused us to pause for a minute. Two statues, of an ancient Egyptian flavor, flanked the standard flag and inscribed stone present at most memorials. I have no idea who chose the sculptures, for they do not fit the whole strictly American aesthetic pervasive in most of the west, but I'm glad they were commissioned because they were truly beautiful. We crossed the road and looked down the massive face of the Dam. I can't really fathom how much potential energy is stored by that gigantic wall in the Colorado River, but it felt like one of those quantities that's measured in number of atomic bombs instead of kilowatt hours.

We didn't have time or ambition to take a Dam tour, but having acquired our Dam postcards, Dam magnets, and Dam photos (c'mon you knew that was coming) we returned to the car. Pri had scandalously, though without incident, left her door unlocked. While I chided her about making sure her door was locked and that the car was basically our home on wheels, I discovered that I too had forgotten to lock my door. Somewhat put in my place by my own doing, we both had a laugh before quickly cranking the air conditioning and preparing for a speedy return to the Las Vegas. When we originally sat down to plan this trip we had decided to do one "nice" hotel and one cheaper one. It was immediately obvious to me what our "nice" hotel would be. With fond memories of Ocean's Eleven I programmed the Bellagio into the GPS, where we would hopefully have luck seeing the more glamorous side of Sin City.

[adam]

Welcome to Sin City?

About 1/3rd of out trip was spent in the giant state of California. We had seen the majestic coastal redwoods of the North, made some new friends at a lighthouse near San Francisco, explored mysterious things with old friends near Santa Cruz, watched the sun set over a beach-side waterfall, witnessed Yosemite burn, stood in the presence of the biggest tree on Earth, and survived the hottest place in the country. Finally, for the first time in eight days, we crossed a state border into Nevada. Our final attraction in California proved to be a good segue for the southwest. Though we never experienced anything quite as hot after Death Valley, it was clear we were now in a completely different ecosystem. One expansive desert, broken only by the occasional river or mountain range, spread out before us and would be our home for the next segment of our journey.

Our first sign of civilization en route to Las Vegas was the small city of Pahrump. It wasn’t in our nature to stop at the welcome signs for any of the strange towns we had thus-far driven through, but this was obviously an exception.
Pahrump is a city of about 20,000, and though we didn’t spend much time driving through, we did have to stop for ice cream. This indulgence was, of course, the first thing we figured we should eat after leaving the thermal anomaly of Death Valley. If you choose to do the same in your travels, may we suggest not visiting this particular ice-creamery, as it is governed by a rude troll. Perhaps she thought she was royalty due to her castle themed habitation. Either way, we continued on our way equipped with tasty weapons to battle the persistent, triple digit heat.
On we went, eventually merging onto I-15 North right into the heart of Las Vegas. We got our first view of the strip from here, basically paralleling the famous Las Vegas Blvd from the west. For some reason we failed to drive down the actual strip, and simply exited at the northern terminus arriving at the Stratosphere Hotel and Tower, which was to be our introduction to Las Vegas.


My original perception of the the Stratosphere was that the rooms were all in the vertical rise of the tower, and then the restaurant was at the top. I was mistaken. In reality it has two buildings, the hotel and the tower. The hotel is an uncreative block shaped thing that butts up to the bottom of the tower. From the hotel, you can take an elevator up to the top of the tower. There's nothing in the rise of the tower except the elevator. We quickly checked in to the hotel and headed up to our first real hotel room since Petaluma. Taking showers was high on our priority list. Pri won the coin toss and got to go first while I sorted through our stuff. Once we were both clean again, we suited up in preparation for our first night in Sin City. This was to culminate in dinner at the Top of the World restaurant in the top of the space needle.
We descended to the casino level where we were hit full in the face with cigarette smoke and jingling bells. It became quickly apparent that we stuck out like a sore thumb in our nice clothes. As a Las Vegas veteran might know, the Stratosphere is not the place to go for glamour and ambiance; it is the place people go to feed their paycheck into a slot machine in the fervent hope of wining it big. We more or less ran through the crowd of dull eyed drones towards an escalator bearing signs that promised "shops," a feature we assumed would be an improvement over the casino. In retrospect I guess it was an improvement, though not a significant one. By way of example, imagine a Jersey mall. Make it trashier. Now replace all of the nationalized chains with sketchy looking gift/convenience hybrid stores. Insert a bunch of drunk shady looking people, and you have the stores in the Stratosphere. We lingered in the less scary ones for as long as possible, acquiring our customary magnet and postcards. After a short while, we decided to go up the tower for our dinner reservation where were immediately seated at a table. The restaurant is two concentric circles. The one closer to the center of the tower is stationary and houses the kitchen. The outer part was the dining part, a disk that flushed up against the windows allowing the diners to see the city. The disk rotated imperceptibly slow (once every 90 minutes), but fast enough to make our brains go "hold the phone, something funny is going on around here" and thus we had mild motion sickness. This feeling was rapidly pushed from our attention, however, by the arrival of our singular waiter.

A middle aged man, somewhat portly, with slicked back hair arrived, his eyes darting around wildly as he talked at about the speed of light. Basically, imagine a guy who was raised in a nightclub. Because he was. His father owned one on... wait for it, Long Beach Island. He left us with our menus and, with difficulty, we focused our attention on deciding what to eat instead of staring out the windows. We both liked the sound of a particular salmon entree, and despite his uninvited advice to steer us clear of ordering the same thing in a "world class restaurant," we committed the classic faux pas. When the food came out, he was proven half right in his suggestion. The salmon was cooked poorly and drenched in oil which would cause us both stomachaches later that night. The only thing world class about the restaurant was the view. Stretching out before us in all directions were thousands of lights. They always write energy statistics about how long something could power Las Vegas, and I now understand why they do. We gazed out in all directions, the shades of electrified tungsten, mercury vapor, and other illuminants creating a completely different landscape than what we were used up to this point in the trip. We could look straight down and see the drastic contrast between the strip and the surrounding area. Empty lots were within a block of Las Vegas Blvd, and beyond those were shady one story buildings scattered about. This observation, along with what we had seen in the hotel earlier, highlighted that the oasis in the desert was really a mirage, as it was completely supported by decay, avarice, and lust. Despite this sad realization, I decided that I would pause my judgment on the city until the next day, when we would be staying at a much nicer hotel hopefully funded by tourists seeking entertainment rather than weak people gambling away their life's savings.


We continued to eat, with frequent visits from our waiter who became less annoying and more entertaining as the night went on. He would typically take a knee right night to my chair, so close that I could knock him over if I moved my arm, as he rambled on about everything from his friend's cell phone service to the time he went to Colorado. We concluded the dinner by walking up to the outside observation deck. Upon exiting the turnstile doors we were hit with a wall of hot dry air. Over the course of the day we had reaclimated to the comfort of air conditioning, so the 80 degree blast of atmosphere was quite a shock. But like they say, the dry heat is much better. We gazed out over the cityscape, trying to find landmark buildings.At some point we realized that the top of the tower was decorated with three rides for the adventurous hotel goer. One ride was the classic freefall, with the tower's spire serving as the vertical pole on which the ride ascended before rapidly descending. Another ride was a rotor, from which extended six or so arms adorned with chair harnesses at their ends. The chairs all faced the center and spun around the central axis of the ride with the goal of making you dizzy. Oh, yeah and also... it was suspended over the freaking abyss at the edge of the observation platform so if you rode it your feet were dangling close to 1000 feet above the ground. For the last ride, imagine a 100 foot excision of a small roller coaster (like the ones at the boardwalk) complete with two cars. Now keeping with the theme of these rides, imagine that short piece of rail anchored in the center to the disk of the observation platform so the line of the track is tangent to the circle of the tower. The ride would teeter on this pivoting point so the cars would precariously plummet towards the end of the track (below which was nothing) then catch at the last second on some kind of pneumatic brake. It would pause for a few seconds while the riders undoubtedly got a great view of the people walking around far far below. The track would then tilt backwards and repeat the same maneuver a few times before concluding the ride. We marveled at these rides for a while, also soaking in the lights of the city some more. We descended to the lower observation platform which was indoors. Here we found those penny crusher machines, which produce the classic souvenir we had been collecting wherever possible. Neither of us had change so we resolved to return in the morning and retired to our room. We stayed up writing posts until we passed out.

The next morning we packed everything up into the car, then returned to the tower for our penny. Somehow, we forgot change again. All of the change machines were broken, and the woman in the gift store said she couldn't open the register unless we bought something. So we purchased some chapstick, attacked the penny machine equipped with our change, and headed back down triumphantly. Piling back into the car, we decided to kill the remaining time until our 3PM check-in at the next hotel by taking a daytrip to the Hoover Dam.

[adam]

Lucifer's Playpen

Here are some facts about Death Valley, according to Wikipedia. Death Valley is the lowest, driest, and hottest location in North America. It holds the record for the highest reliably recorded temperature in the Western Hemisphere at 134°F, and the average annual precipitation totals about 1.58 inches. You might wonder why then anyone (especially someone with a propensity for hating heat and tanning) would venture into such a wasteland. This is a fair question, and let this picture be the answer.

A large, flat plain in Death Valley National Park is known as the Racetrack Playa, and is famous for what are called "sailing stones". These stones, as pictured above, move like slugs across the landscape over the course of 3-4 years, gouging paths in the dry mud behind them. Conflicting theories offer explanations as to why exactly they shift and slide; their rate is too slow to record actual movement. They are the photographic darlings of the park, and we were so intent on witnessing these mysterious trails and collecting our own set of eerie pictures that we were willing to brave the promise of the scorching valley heat.

We made our first stop at the Eastern Sierra Interagency Visitor's Center and were handed the standard newspaper and pamphlet outlining the park's features, notices, and maps. At Adam's casual mention of the Racetrack, the ranger asked what kind of car we were driving and recommended against trying to visit the stones. Unwilling to let her deter our spirit of adventure however, we decided to ignore her suggestion. As I began sorting through our new papers and making sure the route we had planned to the Racetrack was correct, Adam started heading towards Stovepipe Wells so that we could fuel up and get some ice for our completely melted cooler. After a bit of map comparison, I started to get concerned when I realized that the only path to the Racetrack was marked as a "4-Wheel ONLY Road" on the park map (ranking higher on the warning list than the "Low Clearance" roads). We had already learned at Yosemite that just because a road shows up on the GPS doesn't mean it's a traversable route, and Adam's ground-skimming Civic loaded with extra weight hardly qualified as a high-clearance vehicle.



Torn about how to resolve this dilemma, Adam decided that he would ask the entrance station for advice once we reached Stovepipe. We figured that they know the roads better than anyone, and they could indicate whether or not the warnings were really as severe as they seemed. The temperature continued to climb around us as we drove deeper into the Valley and we began to understand that the decision was not to be made as lightly as we had anticipated. Out here at sea level, in the middle of nowhere, the sun felt dictatorially oppressive; even with the air conditioning on the temperature barely felt pleasantly warm at full blast and I could feel my skin tanning despite efforts to keep myself in the shade of the car, my hat, and my SPF shirt.

Eventually we reached Stovepipe Wells and Adam went in to buy ice as the car sat getting refueled. When he came out, we worked to pour the quickly dissolving cubes into our cooler while he explained that we still needed to get our entrance pass from another building. With the car set and ready to go, we headed a few blocks down to get our pass. This time when Adam came out, he had bad news. When asked about the road conditions leading to the Racetrack, the ranger responded without even stopping to inquire as to what kind of car Adam was driving. His response was immediate and unconditional; he strongly urged us not to attempt it. Emergency situations were more acceptable in winter months, he explained, because help would come if our car became disabled. In heat such as this however, a breakdown would potentially enter us into a life-threatening situation in which help might not arrive quickly enough. Unsure of just how much we had already taxed the car beyond its abilities and knowing we had low clearance and front-wheel drive, we agreed to abandon the plan. Devastated at the loss of the sailing stones from our itinerary, we tried to regroup and figure out what to do next. We looked at the map and decided instead to head for Artist's Drive, a beautiful road through hills of naturally tinted dirt, and Badwater, the United States' lowest elevation point.

Disappointed in our sacrifice, we began the trip to Artist's Drive which would take us on a 9-mile loop road through the desert and put us back on track for Badwater. With nothing to do but try and stay cool, we started to enjoy the rollercoaster of roads that rose and dipped over the dry land. Soon however, we started seeing signs encouraging us to turn off the air conditioning in efforts to prevent overheated vehicles. We were intrigued by the signs, having never seen any like them before, but did not take them very seriously and continued to cling to the cool air for comfort. Before long we were astonished to see Adam's temperature gauge rising quickly and threateningly. Shocked at a sight neither of us had ever encountered before, we quickly turned off the air conditioning and glued our eyes to the dashboard, desperately crossing our fingers that the needle would creep back down to its safe and proper location. After about 5 minutes, it finally returned to normal and we realized that safety precautions in a place like this were the result of legitimate risk and not the overprotective paranoid tendencies that we're used to. When there are tanks of water stationed every couple miles to offer an emergency coolant for your radiator, there is probably a formidable reason. Unable to sit completely sans air conditioning for longer than 5 minutes, we danced a carefully alternating tango with the engine's heat gauge all the way to Artist's Drive.

Though not as viscerally arresting as the sailing stones, Artist's Drive did not provoke regret at our change of plans. The hills resembled piles of colored powder, embellished dust in dark pastel hints ranging from caramel to violet, with roses, whites, maroon and Tiffany blue mixed in. Itching to preserve these miraculously unpolluted pigments, we took turns hopping out of the car and frantically collecting vial samples before our skins crawled with calidity. Before long we had a small spectrum carefully preserved in our miniature glass prison, full of every color that we could reach without considerable effort. Unfortunately the energetic colors refuse to hold captive in print, fogged by a hazy sunlight that has somehow failed to bleach and rob them of their identities. Regardless, we were content with our samples and headed to Badwater, where the temperature again defied our challenged notion that it could not possibly get any hotter.

A sign indicating sea level on the hill, 282 feet above where we stood.

Getting out of the car at Badwater, we were confounded to see what was surely an unusually persuasive mirage; there was a small pool of water before us. Between the torrefying air and tyrannical temperature, water was an inexplicable sight. Certainly there was either a continuous source or the heat had taken its final effects and we had lost all sanity. Soon enough we read that the pool was indeed spring-fed, and were equally astonished to learn about creatures able to thrive in these conditions (the ground we stood on was nothing more than an expansive salt flat). The water would be dangerously saline to anyone foolish enough to attempt drinking it, and full of (visible!) larvae. After exploring the perimeter of the pool, some small round mini-springs, and the sparkly, parched earth for a couple minutes I started to feel faint from the heat and headed back to the car. My legs and arms reeled from the touch of a sun that felt like it was 4 feet away from me. Adam seemed to fare slightly better, but even he could not last more than a couple minutes beyond what I had. We got back in the car and started to exit Death Valley.



On the way out, we saw a couple formations with caves visible from the road. They appeared to be dwellings, but we were not sure whether or not they were currently in use. Since we were not allowed to go near them I debate if they might belong to the Shoshone tribe that lives in the area. Either way, they were an unexpected treat and served as our farewell from the park.




Right outside Death Valley we stopped to pick up some souvenirs. I don't know how well you can see this in the picture, but above the door to the small shop was a thermometer. Here we were 1. in the shade (5-10° cooler) after 2. exiting the valley (another 5-10° cooler), and the needle was still resting comfortably above the 100°F line. We never got a chance to figure out exactly what peak temperature we experienced during our visit, but from these indications alone I would wager we sat in a furnace of about 112° to 118°F. Out of the hell-ditch we continued on our odyssey of opposites, away from the inferno in the valley to the cool, towering metal spire of the Stratosphere Hotel & Casino in Las Vegas.


{pri}

The Ant-Hill Soiree

Heading to the Keough Hot Springs Resort in Bishop, California, we were anxious for some overdue relaxation. The resort had promised a natural hot springs pool and hot tub, sourced from the hills and piped directly to an indoor waterfall that cooled the water down to a toasty 102 degrees. As we drove south on 395, we were flanked by fields of grass parched and yellowed from long days of blue skies. Beyond this emptiness was only a small mountain range that paralleled the road, like two snakes racing towards a predetermined goal. Despite being able to drive quickly and freely out in open countryside, the drive felt long and uninteresting; the landscape was dull and nonprovocative. The only sight to see was the small town of Bishop, although it did have a decent number of restaurants and we made a point to remember it for dinner. Eventually the checkered flag finish line on the GPS came into view, but instead of being excited, we became concerned.

A complete lack of any civilization greeted us; the only visible marks of humanity were three white satellite dishes peeking at us from a distant hill like guardians ready to sound the alert. Our apprehension quickly transformed into confusion when a large, kelly-green sign reading "KEOUGH HOT SPRINGS RESORT" loomed up from the horizon on the left, opposite to a small winding road to our right. The sign bore no arrows or further indications of direction, and though in a strange land we had successfully matched up the hieroglyphics before us with those we were seeking, we still had not discovered its meaning. The road to the right appeared to lead into the hills; no tire tracks or buildings seemed distinguishable. Adam thought we should try exploring, but having not learned from our previous lesson at the lighthouse I was sure that if it looked wrong, it was wrong. I stressed we keep looking.

We kept driving for a small while only to find the neighboring roads gated and locked, without even a sign to acknowledge the existence of our final location like the previous road had. We turned around and drove back down to the initial path Adam had wanted to try, slowly crossing through a small dirt intersection. Once we crested the hill, a small complex appeared before us with a billboard identifying it as the Keough Hot Springs Resort. Relieved to have finally pinpointed it, we replaced our confusion with renewed hesitation; once again we found ourselves arriving in a location that appeared less than suitable. The buildings were small, echoing the style and decor of most roadside motels. The parking lot in front of the main building was empty, and I sat in the car staring at handmade wooden cutouts of clowns as Adam ran in to check things out. Coming out with a key, he ran down details of the interior, deconstructing our preconception of the "springs" into its true form: a warm swimming pool next to the gift shop.



Assuring ourselves that if nothing else, it would be another interesting story (warranting we didn't mysteriously disappear in this twilight zone), we headed to the tent-cabin we had rented for the night. Pulling up to the little fabric hut, we were slightly unnerved by the neighboring porch which was strewn with heaps of insect killers and barbecue equipment too hefty in volume for a temporary resident. Were there people who actually lived here at the resort/motel? We weren't sure. The tent-cabin itself was pretty well kept inside, three windows and giant fan were welcome sights in the blazing heat. Unfortunately, the cabin was also a small oven, and we uncomfortably put down our belongings in the carpeted cube of warmth. It was here that the pocket on the back of my pants became inexplicably hooked to the door, and Adam made sure to run and get the camera before setting me free.

After opening all the windows and putting the fan on full blast, we went outside to game-plan and get some fresh, if sweltering, air. As we both settled onto the porch sofas and respired in momentary silence, my legs started to feel tingly. Looking down, I saw the beams of wood swarming with ants crawling over every imaginable surface, including my toes. Disgusted, I started shaking them off as Adam grabbed a broom that had conveniently popped into our conscious existence on the other side of the porch and started sweeping colonies onto the dirt in front of our tent. Laughing in the amusement and mania of our surroundings, we decided we might as well try to take advantage of what we had and headed to the main building to scope out showers and see the pool. As Adam had indicated, it was just a regular pool with neighboring hot tub, although it did have the misty waterfall like promised.

Since we hadn't yet gotten dressed for swimming, we headed into the gift shop to pick up our token souvenirs. The gift shop was open but unattended and we walked around looking at the bizarre collection of random objects stocked in this particular little room, completely unrelated and non referential to the resort or its surrounding lands. After deciding that we couldn't comfortably drive the rest of our trip with a 6' painted zebra hiking staff sitting between us in the car, we accumulated a small armload of treasures including a wooden ladybug and a chameleon-shaped carabiner that doubled as a multicolored disco flashlight when you open its mouth. We waited for someone to appear whom we could pay for these things, but no one came. In the interest of time, we walked out of the store carrying our selections and to the check-in desk/milkshake stand where neither of the two people seemed surprised that we had come here to pay.

Back in the tent-cabin, we both changed into more water friendly attire and headed to the stall showers to rinse off (we were both in desperate need of cleansing and it was required before entry into the pool). Feeling refreshed, we then got into the pleasantly warm pool and floated around for the next hour or two, buoyed by foam noodles provided by the hotel. Realizing that it was approaching 5:30pm and we still wanted to eat dinner in Bishop before everything closed, we hopped on over to spend some time in the hot springs tub. This water actually was really warm and soothing; getting out of it was a reluctant, shivering experience.

While we dried and dressed, the evening heat tranquilized into a bewitching, breezy repose. Driving north, heavy clouds caped in a hue of sunken sapphire descended on the diminishing glow of sunset. Here we watched a neon explosion of plum and pomegranate, the sky flushing with the electric palette of a midnight massacre in an orchard. Doped with color and the cool air, we happily settled into a sushi bar called Yamatani right on Main Street. Here we ate our first healthy meal in a while, and our waitress happily obliged our requests for piles of sugar, soy paper, and custom rolls. Back in the cabin afterward with full bellies, we energetically committed to spending the rest of the evening writing posts. This lasted for about 7 minutes before I passed out, and Adam followed soon after.



In the morning, we awoke and packed well before our 11AM checkout time since we had plans to see Death Valley and wanted to get to our next sleeping destination (Las Vegas) with time to spare for a nice dinner. When we pulled up to the main building, we again noticed how empty the area was but it wasn't until Adam tried to open the door that we noticed a sign posted with the resort hours. According to the listing on the door, the main office would not be open until 11AM. If you are thinking that this is unusually tardy for an office, let me add that it was also physically unfeasible. According to our reconciliation of the situation at hand, people staying at Keough must be expected to materialize at the main office in the precise moment that the office staff arrives for the day. We were absolutely stunned when there appeared to be no notice explaining how to check out earlier than 11AM, nor was there any type of drop-box or mailbox that we could leave the key in. Unwilling to wait a couple hours and left with no alternative, Adam wrote a short explanatory note attached to the key and slipped it under the front door. Incredulous and crossing our fingers that we would not get a call in a couple hours inquiring about our extended stay fees, we left Bishop in the already swaying heat of the day, heading towards a National Park most commonly summarized by the image of a horned skull.

The beautiful, state-of-the-art bar outside our cabin and its bartender.

{pri}