Teakettle Mama

TEAKETTLE MAMA

mother and son team-up and take-on Death Valley

by Steve Greene

Perhaps it’s genetic, or so it would appear, yet I’m sure that nurturing certainly played into it as well. Mom and dad seemed to have some mysterious calling to the land in eastern California that had terrorized countless people for ninety-eight years prior to their first trip to the region in 1947. Then I came along a few years later to carry on their tradition. During my childhood, they took my sister and me along on their visits to the Valley, planting the contagious seed of backcountry need.

Dad passed away when I was twenty-six, and by that time, I had a pretty good knowledge of the Death Valley territory from my own backroad trips with friends. Mom stuck around in the world of the living, but for many years, did not return to that fabled and romantic land of yore that she and dad had frequented during the post-war years. Recently, I provided the catalyst for change, and mama eagerly accompanied me on my mission of whisking her away to reunite with a land and time long past. It was destined to be a rewarding reunion in a world that had changed little over the intervening forty-some years.

So, at seventy-seven, mom was once again gearing-up for the trek to reacquaint herself with the memories, and perhaps secretly wishing that her husband could be along too. He would have been eighty-five, but on this trip, only personal spiritual beliefs would allow for communion. It was glorious springtime, the wildflowers were liberally proliferating and painting the countryside, and mama was excited to once again be part of a wild Death Valley safari. Like a magical trip back in time, she would get into my backcountry time machine and be transported to her yesteryears.

Yet, where I wanted to travel for our outback outing involved traversing some very primitive ground, on some very primitive roads, far removed from the typical tourist locales in the Valley. On all of my own trips over the years, I always camped in the wilds, living out of tent and truck, but this was not an ideal scenario for my senior citizen mama. During our planning phase the week prior, we decided to make motel overnights with regular meals a goal to achieve at each day’s end. Interlacing modern accommodations with primitive travels seemed the ideal method to allow mom the most enjoyment. We called and made reservations for our trip at three motels within Death Valley National Park, so our nights would be easy and relaxing.

Death Valley is a big place … really big. And no one even comes remotely close to experiencing it all unless they are willing to drive great distances. Not only that, but to experience the vast majority of it, pavement must be frequently left behind for varied conditions on dirt backroads or hiking trails. Fuel is always more expensive out there, but it is a necessary evil for the determined explorer. Ninety-five percent of the Park is wilderness, and most of this primal country is only accessed via more primitive paths … and the most remote wilderness areas were precisely where I had to go to satisfy my needs.

My old backcountry exploration vehicle (BEV) proved a daunting ingress and egress task for mom, who stands barely over five feet tall, and finds traditional mobility a challenge at times. This necessitated the purchase of a small foldable footstep at the hardware store that I planned on placing on the ground to assist in her entry and exit of the rig. Even with that, I had to provide additional support during these tricky maneuvers. Onboard space was also at a premium due to a generous supply of water stashed in every nook and cranny of the truck, so mom had to confine her safari belongings to two small handbags. She even bought a safari-styled hat to enhance the ambiance of our rugged trek, and to provide much needed shade in a land of perpetual sun.

I figured that it would require four days to really experience a mother/son safari of truly epic proportions … something that she would never forget. Remarkably, mama did not flinch at this time frame – she was ready to go live the adventure. She also wished to head on over to Henderson, Nevada afterwards to visit some friends of hers who had recently purchased a home in an active-retirement community. We were to be gone for a full six days, four in Death Valley and two in Henderson, just south of Las Vegas – a lot of time to sit in a vehicle.

Day One – April 25, Monday

All plans and reservations firmly in place, on the morning of Monday, April 25^th, we arise around six, eat breakfast at her house in Claremont, pack the truck with our minimal baggage, get mom in the truck using her new nifty nine-inch step, and head out towards Interstate 15. At Victorville, we exit the high-speed thoroughfare and head due north at a more leisurely pace on old Highway 395. Three-ninety-five goes all the way to the Canadian border, but we will be parting from it in much different territory. The speed is slower and the sun is no longer drilling holes in my retinas. All is well, we are ready for adventure, and the safari is quickly becoming reality; mom and son being drawn back to the land of dreams and illusion.

Through the old mining towns of Red Mountain, Johannesburg, and past Randsburg we travel. Our semi-final fuel stop prior to entering the Park is in Ridgecrest, California, a moderately-sized community that supports the military bases common to the high desert region. After this, fuel prices will soar, so we top off the 32 gallon tank, stretch our legs, and press on. Only about a half hour’s drive away, we again top off the tank in Trona, near the famed Pinnacles, because as any savvy DV enthusiast well knows, you get gas whenever you can out here. Distances are deceptive, primitive roads involve greater fuel consumption, and besides, dad had always told me it’s better to be safe than sorry. Trona prices are higher than Ridgecrest, but nowhere near what they will be from here on out.

1955 - sitting on mom's lap at Mushroom Rock

Heading north from Trona on Highway 178, we eventually crest the rise overlooking the sprawling Panamint Valley. We stop momentarily so that I could point out to mom our first stop of Ballarat, a tiny ghost town down there on the shimmering alkali flat of Panamint dry lake. Then, we pull back on to the pavement and head down the twisty and tight switchbacks to the bottom. Traffic this far out is infrequent, so driving is essentially stress-free as we enjoy the immense stage of the natural world unfolding before us. Once in the valley, we turn east onto the Ballarat graded dirt road for the final three miles to the town. Fortunately, the road is dry, so there is no worry of wet alkali residue rusting the underside of the truck. I take a few photos of the abandoned jail and general store, and then we drive back to the pavement rather than taking the Indian Ranch dirt road, to keep things easier for mama.

The day is turning out to be very pleasant. It is in the mid seventies, with some cloud cover, a near-perfect set of weather circumstances for the Death Valley region. Back on 178, also called the Trona-Wildrose Road, we head for its partial namesake, Wildrose Canyon. My intent is to snap a few photos of Telescope Peak from part way up the hiking trail, so mom and I drive past the ten famous Charcoal Kilns, each thirty feet high with the same diameter, where the pavement again ends and the road becomes very rutted and usually requires high clearance with four wheel drive.

Past Thorndike Campground we travel before it becomes obvious to me that it is not worth the final drive to the Mahogany Flat summit due to deep snow and mud. Normally I would have continued, but with mom along, I do not want to chance any problems that are easily avoided, so we swing around to eat a bit of packed lunch at the primitive Thorndike camp. My photos on the trail will have to wait until another day.

We were now having a blast! Mama is fully engaged and enjoying the trip so far, not having complained at all. It has been a long time since she has been in Wildrose Canyon, so this day is special.

Our safari of two in a vehicular caravan of one crosses the Skidoo pipeline again, a waterway that provided the once-bustling Skidoo gold town the precious fluid all the way from the slopes of Telescope Peak, as we forge on north. Over 5,547 foot Nemo Crest we pass, and likewise over 5,318 foot Emigrant Pass, soon turning east onto a fairly easy dirt road to Aguereberry Point for our first glimpse of the well-known Death Valley. After nearly seven miles of primitive road, our BEV climbs the final portion of steep terra-firma to the parking area at an elevation of 6,433 feet above sea level, where we can gaze upon the salt flat, and elevations as low as 282 feet below sea level. Mom stays in the car as I hike a ways to a farther northeast point to take some photos of Furnace Creek way below.

As part of our safari plan, we have purchased small pocket-sized two way radios so that we can remain in contact when I hike to photo stops. Mom has her latest fiction novel along, and with the windows cracked just enough to let in some of the chilly air at this altitude, she happily reads as I happily cross the rocky path to the edge of the cliffs. I have been a hiking fool since a tiny tot, always eager to find out what is around the next turn of the trail.

Next stop is the townsite of Skidoo, one of the very few gold mining camps that actually made quite large sums of money from its mineral extraction efforts a hundred years ago. The dirt road to Skidoo is only two and a half miles north of the Aguereberry Point road, south of Emigrant Canyon. We make the seven mile drive, with spectacular vistas of Death Valley on the backside where the road narrows to one vehicle width on a steep cliffside, and then park so that I can hike to the major mine remains for some more photos, taking along my walkie-talkie.

I also decide to explore a somewhat rougher and more hair-raising little side road up a steep hillside that overlooks Tucki Mountain, and this is the first time a comment comes from mama about the wisdom of such a jaunt. Since I opt not to stop the rig and lock-in the front hubs, I keep the speed up slightly because we are in two wheel drive on a four wheel drive incline. We make it, but it bounces her around more than she wants to experience. She has to admit though, at the top, the views are great. Sure wish my old rig was like the new ones where engagement of 4 wheel drive can occur from within the passenger compartment.

Back down we come, back out to the pavement once again we trek, taking a few photos of Telescope Peak in the distance. At the intersection of Highway 190 at the Emigrant Campground area, we turn south to climb 4,956 foot Towne Pass on our way to our first night’s destination of Panamint Springs. This pass is deceiving, as anyone who has driven it from the north side knows, because the car seems stuck in second gear, but the ground seems relatively level. It is a steep climb, demanding much of most vehicles, but the pavement makes it easy compared to most of the roads on our present safari, so I do not complain. Besides, the views are awesome. Across the north end of the Panamint Valley we drive, pulling into the Panamint Springs Resort parking lot on the other side of the valley.

It is now late afternoon as I unfold mom’s step stool and assist her out of the BEV and onto the dirt parking lot, just a few feet from the empty two-lane highway. The folks at the resort are having some sort of difficulty with their power generator, so it is a while before we can use the credit card to pay for the room. Finally settling mom in to our digs for the night, I decide to take advantage of the remaining daylight to take a wonderful hike to Darwin Falls, not far west of the resort. Mom remains comfortably stashed at the very rustic motel room, reading more of her novel while seated on an old wooden chair on the front porch. I drive a mile west on 190, and then turn south onto the dirt access road for another couple of miles or so to the trailhead.

The half-mile one-way hike to Darwin Falls is mostly flat, up a hidden creek bed, and terminates for most people at the lower falls, after a few yards of rough going before accessing the inviting pond surrounded by high cliffs, nestled in a seeming utopia-like setting. As I take some photos of this dreamy cascading waterfall that splits in two, I can’t help but wish that my mom were physically capable enough that she could have accompanied me here, for I know she would have loved to visit this secret hidden treasure that most folks will never see in this arid and harsh environment.

Darwin Falls is the precise opposite of what most folks would imagine when engaged in a discussion about Death Valley. It is absolutely a sight that should not be missed if you are in this neighborhood and capable of hiking short distances! There are several other falls higher above that can be accessed if you are willing to climb up and through some rough rocky terrain, and they too are worth your time. The small town of Darwin is not far from here via dirt road, and people still live there. The name Darwin comes from early regional explorer Darwin French.

Time is marching on, and since I have mom to think about, I suppose it’s best to head out, lest she begin to worry. I hike back to the trailhead, pass one person still coming in, and then travel leisurely back to the motel as the sun is getting low on the mountaintops.

The people here at the resort are friendly and rugged. We have a very nice full-course dinner in their dining room that is adorned with award-winning quality photos of the Death Valley territory. Despite the generator’s on and off performance, resulting in occasional lighting deficits, our time at the table is memorable as we discuss everything Death Valley, our day’s events, and what is on the agenda for tomorrow. Then we retire to our spartan room for a much-earned sleep, albeit on a couple of beds that have seen better days. Mama reads some more in her novel as I drift off to slumber.

Day Two – April 26, Tuesday

Today is about to prove an eventful one that will test the mettle of mom with primitive places in a vehicle. After an excellent and filling breakfast at the lodge, we head west on Highway 190, up the very steep, narrow, and switchbacked road past Father Crowley Point. I had fueled the BEV the night prior, paying at the time what we considered outrageous price-per-gallon fees of $3.50. Of course, due to the power generator problem that night, we had to pay with cash since the credit card usage required electricity.

At a point about twelve miles west of Panamint Springs on the high plateau, we turn north on the Saline Valley road, a wide and well-graded dirt road that even a grandma could drive in her luxury sedan. One of our goals this day is to get a photo of each of us at the famous and extremely isolated Teakettle Junction, and my intended route is over and through the forests of Hunter Mountain, a picturesque high-country setting that is always cool when the valleys are hot.

Trouble is though, that the National Park Service (NPS) has been proclaiming on their website that Hunter Mountain is still closed at the end of April due to severe mud and a few patches of remaining snow. The folks at the resort gave me the same information last night, and advised us not to travel the road. The twenty-something fellow at the counter said that just yesterday he had to go winch out a guy who had tried it in his 4wd truck … not a welcomed bit of news.

Not welcomed because I know the alternative is a road that has historically become known as one of the worst and most treacherous in the entire Park, requiring experienced four wheel drive enthusiasts to even hope to make it. It is not my first choice to drive this road, called the Lippencott Road, with my mom in the car, for not only will it be rough for her, but if something strands us out here, the risks are frightening because mama can’t walk out. I know that we can use pavement and graded roads to access Teakettle from the other side by Ubehebe Crater, but to do so will add many hours and miles to a journey that would normally be relatively easy and direct from Panamint Springs via Hunter Mountain.

We decide on Hunter Mountain, making our decisions as we go.

Our safari this morning in the wonderful sunshine leads us across the delightful Lee Flat area, on a two-track dirt road that is fun to drive as we weave in between many Joshua Trees, and up a tight canyon or two to the South Pass Summit. From here, we can look south to the Panamint Valley and dunes far below, see the resort where we stayed through binoculars, and view yesterday morning’s stop at Ballarat so far away that we can only speculate that it is out there somewhere. Also at this high pass is the fork in the road, one leading up higher to Hunter Mountain and the other leading down Grapevine Canyon into the Saline Valley to the north. As decided, we start up the BEV and chug on up the Hunter Mountain road, which, so far, looks just fine. I am hopeful.

This is a fun road with great views and nice Juniper and Pinyon forests, and it can usually be driven with virtually any four wheel drive rig with decent clearance, much of it in only two wheel drive. All that is required is a driver with a spirit of adventure and a normal amount of common sense. I also want to show mom Hunter’s Cabin (sometimes called Bev’s Cabin), which was built by the namesake’s son in days long gone by, and it is a mile off the main dirt road, on the high wooded plateau. On we proceed, and my confidence continues to build on a road that I have driven before, and which is exceptionally non-challenging today. I feel better that our trip to Teakettle Junction via Hidden Valley is now within reach. The road is bone dry so far.

Dry, that is, until we are a couple of miles up from South Pass, and just downstream from Jackass Spring, which is still flowing quite profusely at this late date. Its waters are causing a stretch of primitive road about thirty-five feet long to be a serious deep mud obstacle. On the other side, it is again dry, but who knows what lurks even farther up at even higher elevations. Mom sits in the truck as I stop at the muddy goop, get out, and decide to walk it for a survey of our options. She pulls out her trusty romance novel and becomes involved in a faraway story once again, while I am in fierce internal debate over what to do here.

The two alternatives to this route are not high on my list of acceptable options, so I study the obstacle from every angle to see if we can drive through without harming the environment or sticking the truck. At one point, a misstep causes my foot to sink in quite deep, and I reluctantly realize that to proceed farther will be foolish, and likely require the use of my winch, which I do not want to hassle with during my time out here with mom. So, I get back in the rig, tell mama that we have to turn around, and that my decision is to attempt the Lippencott grade to access our next area of visitation.

Mama doesn’t seem at all worried. I guess she has the ultimate confidence that, like my dad, I will make the right decisions, do the right things, and get us through without mishap. And of course, that certainly is my goal. This is to be a fun and enjoyable time for us together, in a way that most moms and sons will rarely know. I tell her that we will go as far as we can safely, and if necessary, will turn around again, no matter the time or photo opportunities lost.

Safety is the underlying foundation of this trip, although there may be some who will contend that even being out this far by ourselves is not safe in and of itself. I am relying on my many years of backcountry experience and a vehicle that I keep in top-notch condition at all times. Dad had taught me not to take chances, and to always go prepared. Mom knows this, so she is calm as a cucumber, even though I secretly question my own wisdom.

Once into the Saline Valley, we can see the Lippencott road heading off up the mountain in the far distance. This road will be dry because its highest point is just over 4,000 feet, whereas the Hunter Mountain road is close to 7,000 feet. Three thousand feet can make a lot of difference with regards to snow and mud. On our way up the alluvial fan to the first steep portion of the road, my nerves are initiating a typical human response that calls for a bathroom break, so I park in the greasewood bush wash at the bottom for us both to take care of this little inconvenience. Mom’s step stool works fine, although it sinks in to the sand a bit.

Up we climb, the road becoming very steep, very narrow, very rocky, very washed out, and very exciting. Since my old truck is a full sized rig, a few scrapes between rocks and wheel rims are inevitable to avoid dropping off over the side of the cliff. But you know what? Mama never once cries out or suggests that we abort our mission. She sits in her comfy captain’s chair and lives the adventure right along side her son, happy to be here with him, and knowing that it sure beats any potential boredom that may have been on the agenda had she stayed home instead. This is high adventure at its finest, and we are conquering it together!

Halfway up the road, we stop at a historic metal sign fastened to a large boulder and concrete edifice. It proclaims that we are now entering Death Valley National Monument, which is historic because it was placed here many years in the past, before the National Park status of 1994. Yet here it remains, alone and remote, ravaged by time and weather, and seen by only the very few individuals courageous enough to take this lonely road in the middle of nowhere. This truly is the road not taken. It is my hope that the Park Service always leaves this sign in place here as an interesting landmark from the 1930s.

At the top, I breathe a huge sigh of relief and get out to stretch my legs and shoot a few digital photographs. We are now at the southern end of The Racetrack, an odd dry lake were boulders skate across the surface and leave tracks betraying their paths. It happens when the weather is unbelievably foul, with high winds, ice, and flooded lake the setting for this never-seen spectacle. To see these examples of nature at its strangest, you have to hike a half mile or more out onto the lakebed, so it is not on our agenda today.

Another six miles north on this now-easy dirt road, we finally stop at long last at Teakettle Junction, where mom gets out once again for our highly anticipated photo opportunity at one of the Park’s most beloved locations. It is only a wooden directional sign, pointing to Hunter Mountain, Hidden Valley, and The Racetrack, but what makes it so special is that for decades people have adorned it with all manner of decorative teapots, some with elaborate messages, some wildly painted, and all lending themselves to at least one photograph by the rare visitor.

In the olden days, this road juncture was supposedly marked by a lone teakettle sitting on the ground, hence the name. Every time you visit here, the teakettles are different, the changes often the result of unknowns who abscond with a few of the water vessels. Apparently, the NPS does not remove these beloved kettles, which is good news for all us aficionados of the bizarre. Teakettle Mama is enthusiastic to study the varied pots, and we realize that perhaps we should have contributed one ourselves. But alas, it’s too late now – no stores close by.

From here, we head north on the dreaded twenty-mile stretch of road to Ubehebe Crater. Not dreaded due to any difficult or dangerous driving encountered, but simply due to absolutely the world’s worst washboards … washboards that will not let up until we hit pavement again at Ubehebe Crater. My aging truck is well-suited to most backroad conditions, but when it comes to washboards, its larger tires and heavier suspension require that we drive only 10-15 miles per hour most of the way. Even at that speed, we are still being jittered all over the place.

As a quick mathematics check will reveal, twenty miles at those speeds make the journey over an hour in duration. Imagine – an hour being jolted about. Fortunately, the BEV’s manufacturer has provided exceptionally plush captain’s chairs in this particular truck, so, while irritating, it is at least survivable. Occasionally a sound of distress will emanate from mama, but at least we have made it this far, and over Lippencott, no less!

Memories are most clearly forming that will last a lifetime. I don’t think mom wants to take this road again.

After snapping some photos of the huge crater that attracts many visitors in the north area of the Park, we drive on over to the Death Valley Ranch built by Albert and Bessie Johnson. You may know it better as Scotty’s Castle. Here, we park in the paved lot, use the restrooms again (have to after that nightmare washboard), take some photos, browse the gift shop, and have a snack. Still plenty of fuel onboard, we head south on the paved road towards Titus Canyon.

I had wanted to drive us through this awesome canyon that mom hasn’t visited for nearly fifty years now, but, as is sometimes the case out here in DV, it is closed from recent weather events that make a small portion of it impassible, according to the NPS. So, we drive up the three mile two-way dirt road to its terminus, I hike in a couple of miles for yet some more photos, mom and I staying in contact with our walkie-talkies until the tight canyon walls prevent further communication, and all the while she continues to read in her novel (I wonder if she recalls the name of that book anyway).

By the time I make it back down Titus through the narrows, it is getting later in the afternoon, and the temperature is somewhat hotter than it was at the higher elevations where we had just been. Mama’s bookmark keeps showing up later in her book, so I know she is making good progress. We drive south to the stovepipe well landmark, just north of where the Scotty’s Castle road intersects Highway 190, and we drive in a mile or so to take a photo of the famous stovepipe. From here, the main sand dunes that most people associate with Death Valley are clearly visible, the ones that are just north of the Stovepipe Wells Village. It is time to relax. Our arduous day of adventurous exploration is over, and our room awaits just minutes away.

The pavement from the stovepipe, past the Devil’s Cornfield and Burned Wagons Point, is easy sailing. We pull into the Stovepipe Wells motel office parking lot, and go inside the office to sign-in. An oscillating fan is moving the warm air about. While there, a large bird flies in the door, just inches above mom’s head, and heads back into the hallway somewhere. We get in the truck and drive around to the room, parking right in front, which makes it easy for mom to access the room. In this particular room, drinking the water from the tap is not advised, according to the sign posted above the sink, so we walk over to the resort dining room for our evening meal and a glass of fresh water there. Our dinner is outstanding, the service top notch, and the atmosphere of an old mining era tastefully decorates the entirety of the restaurant.

This motel is a few steps above the previous night’s accommodations with regards to luxury, and we welcome the relaxing chairs and beds after a hard day’s journey. Mom reads a little more this evening as I take a stroll to appreciate the invigorating balmy air and the lovely feeling of the glorious desert after sunset. The dunes across the highway are now fading from their warm golden glow as stars slowly begin to twinkle above.

Day Three – April 27, Wednesday

A perfect morning greets us, and things start off well, with another excellent breakfast to fuel our bodies, the sun shining again with scattered clouds, and an agenda that does not call for any questionable backroad routes that can get us into trouble. It is a relaxing and lazy morning as we prepare to drive up to the Mosaic Canyon trailhead, three miles immediately south of the village, and clearly visible from the motel parking lot. Not much can go wrong today, we figure, and we are not pressed for time at all, since we don’t have any high mileage to cover before our next motel layover tonight at Furnace Creek. It will be a day full of unproblematic activities and a few photographs.

At the Mosaic Canyon parking area, we find other cars parked, and know that their occupants are probably already deep within the magnificent canyon walls on their hikes. I get my water bottle slung over my shoulder, check my walkie-talkie, grab my hat, and prepare for another wonderful hike into Death Valley’s mysterious hinterland. Guess what mom does. Yup, gets out her book and rejoins her printed adventure, waiting patiently until her son gets his photographs, along with his fill of hiking (that will never happen).

As always, this canyon, accessed by anyone with a passenger car and fully functional legs, delivers some of the most pleasantly intriguing narrow passages anywhere in the Park. It is a must-see for all visitors. To miss experiencing Mosaic Canyon is to miss one of the finest gems out here! The digital pixels are flying as I take one shot after another. The narrow walled sections are so tight as to make passage by humans an occasional test of contortionism. As this is an easy hike for me, I am back at the truck in relatively short order, so mom and I drive slowly back down to the highway only a couple of miles away.

Once back in the village, I turn left into the NPS Ranger lot to get some info, and that is when trouble starts. It seems that having taken more vibrational abuse than the metal could handle the previous two days, the rear tire carrier latch assembly became weakened, and in this slow-speed turn into the parking lot, it finally breaks and flies open. I immediately know this might take a while. Thank goodness it happens right here, instead of way out in the boonies.

Sure enough, a steel bolt has sheared, and it appears that we will have to cut our safari short and head back home now. I spend an hour in the warming sun jury-rigging it all back together with bailing wire, pliers, and duct tape (what a mess), and it looks like it might hold for the easy highway driving back to the city, if I am careful not to go too fast. Mom is expressing disappointment that we can’t continue, so upon questioning the ranger inside, I am told that perhaps a fellow named Freddie at the Furnace Creek golf course can help me out with a fix. He is the resort mechanic for the golf carts, and an all-around Mr. Fixit type of guy apparently. We limp the BEV slowly the twenty-some miles to his office/garage.

Freddie is a cool guy. Friendly and charming, he is more than happy to have a look-see. Well, wouldn’t you know it, within about half an hour using his hardware arsenal, old Freddie has it all fixed up, cheerfully pocketing a twenty dollar bill that I offer him for his time, and mom and I are free to explore yet again. So, we take some photos of the Old Dinah steam tractor at the resort, where my dad had taken black and white photos of mom and me back in 1955. It’s still here, rusted as ever, but those immense iron wheels don’t seem as tall to me as they did when I was only four years old.

Next, we drive three miles north to visit the old Twenty Mule Team wagons at the Harmony Borax Works, and also stop in and visit with Ruth Shandor who is in charge of the Furnace Creek bookstore sales and operation (her son is a Park Ranger). Then we visit the Furnace Creek Museum and purchase some souvenirs. By this time, the day is pretty well used up, and mom is ready to relax again, so we check into our room and go to eat, nearly two hundred feet below sea level.

Today’ events are a far cry from yesterday’s harrowing driving, but we have experienced a unique set of problems, which, as our family tradition dictates, have been overcome through ingenuity and resourcefulness. Dad would be proud if he were around to witness our little triumphs of life.

Dinner is an informal affair at the local restaurant, not up to the level of last night’s at Stovepipe Wells, but good nonetheless. A little browsing at the gift shop, a couple of hours of cable television in the motel room, and then off to dreamland I plummet, while mama (you guessed it) continues in her fiction novel a few more pages before she ultimately signs out for the night. Mama is happy, so I am happy.

Day Four – April 28, Thursday

Our safari is three quarters finished, at least the Death Valley portion anyway. Day four finds us in the coffee shop for another good breakfast (no place ever does a bad breakfast, right?), and then we are leisurely heading south down the Badwater road through the heart of the lowest land in America.

I had planned to stop several places for more photographs, but not everything is open. Artist’s Palette is still closed from water damage, but we do stop at Golden Canyon. The parking area is only a few yards off the paved road, so I pull in and start hiking up the canyon with my walkie-talkie, ever aware of the darkening rain clouds to the east. Canyons are no place to be out here if it begins to rain. Mom rests some more in the truck, reading her novel of love and monitoring the radio channel for any distress calls from me. I keep this hike short, for the darkening clouds are demanding that life-loving people not get too far into a long canyon for fear of flash flooding.

What a team we have become! Sharing our journey of adventure, overcoming our troubles, and watching out for each other’s safety. We have it down to a science, and are confident of a successful conclusion to our backcountry escapade, since most of the hard stuff seems now to be comfortably behind us.

On the way to Badwater, out of the blue, mom suggests that I might consider getting a new truck to replace this ten-year old, aging rig that has now seen many backroad miles. She is fearful that my continued trips alone in the outback could someday end in tragedy if my BEV gives out in one of the more isolated areas that I travel, where few people ever dare to go, and where survival options are minimal for most. She even offers to assist financially if need be, and this is when I know she certainly must still love me! After a discussion for several miles of driving along the Amargosa Mountain Range, I take it all under consideration, and then we soon spy Badwater.

At the turnout, right off the roadway, are scores of tourists, including a bunch from a couple of tour busses. The sign tells about the basin, altering layers of mud and salts, ten thousand feet deep, that spread across the valley (actually called a graben), to the Panamint Mountains majestically rising to 11,049 feet on the other side. A few months prior, people had been kayaking out here after the heavy rains in August, including the well-known KCET travel host, Huell Howser. But today, it is dry as a bone and bright as hell.

Speaking of hell, some folks from yesteryear thought that this basin, and the area known as Devil’s Golf Course, was the biblical roof of hell, for temperatures here are usually in the 120s and above during July, and it is the hottest place you’ll probably ever desire to visit. Photos taken, we are off again, past Natural Bridge (don’t go in due to threatening storm clouds east), past Mushroom Rock (where mom held me on her lap in 1955 while dad snapped a photo), and finally to the long-since abandoned Ashford Mill (still partially standing) for a leg stretch and some more photos (now mostly cloudy). After a picture of Shoreline Butte to document that an ancient lake had indeed been here thousands of years ago, we head east up the passes on our final leg of the safari (with the tire carrier still doing just fine).

After crossing the summits of Jubilee Pass (1,290 feet above sea level) and Salsberry Pass (3,315 feet), we turn north onto a dirt road! Finally, after so much pavement, we are once again on a nice, slow going, two-track primitive road, much to my enjoyment (you’ll have to ask mom how she feels, but to her credit, she doesn’t complain). Really though, this one is easy, traveling northward into the Greenwater Valley, where once a number of get-rich-quick seekers of fortune hoped that copper would change their lives. Well, there wasn’t any copper there that could change anyone’s life, so the whole scheme went bust, as was common.

But today, my mom and I are winners as we take in the magnificent scenery, clouds now north of us, and the temperatures are as close to perfect as one could wish. Ten miles in, we take a side road to the east, to journey over the ultra-lonesome Deadman Pass, topping out at 3,263 feet above the oceans of the world.

Okay, at Deadman Pass, we stop for a bit to munch on a few morsels of our pre-packed food supply, and also to savor our last half hour or so in the immediate Death Valley territory, for it won’t be long before we are headed to Henderson, Nevada on pavement. The descent on the eastern side of Deadman Pass is just as easy as the western ascent, a smooth dirt road, except for an occasional gully running across it, which, if you don’t slow to nearly a stop for each one, it will send anything in the rear of the truck airborne that isn’t tied down, and also bring a disgruntled “ugh” from mama.

Up ahead is a very large mountain, kind of a landmark for anyone attempting to find this scant two-track road from Highway 127. It’s called Eagle Mountain, and it’s one of those pieces of terra firma that you just can’t miss. So, as far as directions are concerned, just tell anyone who asks where the Deadman Pass road is: “Go to Eagle Mountain and then head west up the sandwash across the street.” Well, it’s not quite that simple, but it’s close to get you in the general neighborhood anyway.

Finally, mama’s wild Death Valley safari is over when we pull into Charlie Brown’s general store and gasoline station in the tiny town of Shoshone, California. No, it isn’t named after a cartoon character, but after a real man who had been a lawman in these parts long long ago, and then later went on to serve as a lawmaker for the state. With a fuel tank full of new petrol, we say goodbye Death Valley, and head out on a few hundred more miles of pavement to the Las Vegas environs, to visit mom’s friends for a couple of days.

The rest of the trip is smooth sailing, Freddie’s fix on the tire carrier continues to hold up, and six long and grueling days after we left mom’s house on April 25^th, we once again return, safe and sound, with a multitude of memories that will never be forgotten.

I am proud of my Teakettle Mama – she held up like a trooper in her Time Machine! And get this: she wants to do it all again someday! How many people soon to enter their ninth decade can make a proclamation like that? I’m always ready to hit the trail anytime you feel like paying for gas. Good thing for mama that I now have a much more fuel-efficient backcountry exploration vehicle. Or maybe that’s the real reason why she talked me into getting a new rig. Hmmm. Or could it be that she never did like red, and the old truck was red? Okay Steve, story is over, take your debate and put it out to pasture.

Anyway, for any parent/child combination looking to pull together in a way that cannot be achieved readily by the masses, backroad travel and exploring is one great way to reach that goal! So, any such team out there who is reading this and wants to double up, let us know. You never know what adventures await you, and that, of course, is precisely the best part of the Call of the Wild! Wish dad could have been along for the ride … perhaps he was.

Happy Mother’s Day mama!