Death Valley Loop 2015 --Route / Gear Planning

Badwater Road --Photo Credit: Mike Reyfman Photography

I've been interested in looping around Death Valley for some time. The total mileage comes in a hair under 300mi, so I think I should be able to do it in four days / three nights. I've had a number of friends threaten to join me on this trip, but in all likelihood I'll be going alone. This trip will be ultimately prove to be more logistically challenging than most of the Pacific Coast was, as there's nearly no services available. (My second day will likely be 75 miles without a single place to collect water!) I'm not worried about this detail, as I'll have the capacity to carry plenty of food and water, but it's also peak-tourist season. If things really go awry, I'll be able to get help eventually.

The whole route

I'm not sure if I'm being too ambitious with two ~75 mile days in a row. Both involve big climbs in the beginning of the day, but then tend downhill. The topography is pretty straight-forward:

Day 1: Las Vegas to Shoshone RV Park

This is the elevation profile for a ride starting on Blue Diamond Rd, ending at the Shoshone RV park on the south end of the park. That initial climb is no joke, but it's over before lunch. I'm not sure how fast I'd be going on NV-372/CA-178, but I'm going to assume it's north of 15mph (on average) with that kind of grade. I'm still going to try to leave before sun-up to avoid arriving at Shoshone after sunset. 

Day 2: Shoshone RV Park to Furnace Creek Campground (via Badwater Rd.)

This is the ride from Shoshone RV Park to the Furnace Creek campground. The topography is pretty similar. Jubilee pass looks to involve a little under 2000' of steady climbing, but once you hit the top, you descend to well below sea-level. I'm not sure how much wind / rolling resistance I'll have once I hit the valley floor, but I'm sure it'll beat climbing. Also, the view on Badwater Road shouldn't hurt. 

Furnace Creek Campground to Pahrump, NV

I'm unfortunately going to have to climb my way out of the hole I'll have (at that point) descended into. I've planned for this day to be a tad shorter --60, as opposed 75 miles. I'll also be able to pop into Armagosa to resupply / eat around half way. Maybe she'll sing me a song? 

Pahrump, NV to Las Vegas, NV

As far as my gear goes, I'm using the same bike, but I'll hopefully have fashioned on some fenders and a new front rack. I'm going to need the added capacity to carry (a lot more) water and food. The CA coast had tons of stops along the way, where I can count on one hand the number of civilized outposts I'll run into on this trip.

I'll obviously be bringing warmer camping gear with me, though the weather looks to be fairly mild. I've dealt with colder/wetter lows in Tahoe in the spring time. I'm not worried.

Day 11: San Diego to the Border

Day Mileage: 24

Trip Mileage: 643

Strava GPS Report

Somehow, despite the three square feet of pizza I must have eaten last night, I managed to wake up starving. The lady at the hotel desk pointed me to the nearest breakfast-type place in Little Italy, where I ate a variety of embarrassingly large portions. I didn't have to travel far to wind up on the ferry from downtown San Diego to Coronado. 

The ferry ride was quick, inexpensive, and otherwise unremarkable. When I hopped off the boat, a fancy bike trail began which took all the way down the silver strand. I found myself dodging bewildered/curious tourists on rented cruiser bikes --asking questions like "how can you go so fast with all that crap on your bike?" I really never answered that question satisfactorily, beyond "the bike was made for this." 

The trip down the strand was mostly uneventful. It was a straight southward line. Once I reached the Imperial Beach neighborhoods, I followed some weird google map-data directions through a farm road. By the time the road turned to gravel, which turned to dirt, which turned to a foot path... I laughed hysterically when the voice navigation lady said:

"In a quarter mile, hang a left on 15th St." 

"BITCH, YOU CAN'T HANG A LEFT ON A FOOT PATH!"

I swallowed my pride and turned around, opting instead to take a better-paved road southward. This whole excursion added up to *maybe* three miles, so I wasn't really all that mad. I must have confused the shit out of the border patrol helicopters, though. One seemed to breeze just over-head of me every two or three minutes. 

The road meandered south and west, until I finally arrived at a paved outcropping with picnic tables, a bathroom, and a permanently-stationed (and humorless) border patrol agent. It overlooked the edge of the US border. I destroyed a couple granola bars and a liter of water while I just sat, stupefied that I had actually arrived.

I stared at the big stadium on the Tijuana side, as this family wandered by the border. They seemed amused to see someone there, so the dad yelled across the fence: "HELLO!" to which I responded: "HOLA!" --don't judge me, I was in a good mood. 

I spent what felt like a solid hour reflecting back on the entire trip. "Was this crazy?" No. I think it was (handily) the best vacation I've ever taken. I met a bunch of great people,  got to enjoy some of the best roads in the country, and camped out in perfect weather for nearly two solid weeks. I'm sad it's over. If my hands weren't positively throbbing, I'd want to keep going.

When I headed north, I shut off my Strava feed. I saw something pop up that I hadn't seen the entire trip: A "top ten" award. When you're riding a bike that weighs north of 80lbs, you're simply not going to break speed records on popular trails. Confused, I investigated further:

Apparently, my boat had a tailwind. Top five time, guys! Solid work Coronado ferry --you nearly made me a champion.

I want to thank / mention the cool people I got a chance to ride with on the way down:

Terri Lynn Hope
Marcia R. Cebulla
Nathaniel Nichols
Bruce James Kimosorio + his buddy (whose name escapes me)
Joe and Chuck,

...and to the friends that visited/humored me along the way:

Florentina Tanase
Liviu John T
Ashley Siebels
Matthew Hayes
Kathryn Kruse
David Hardy
Molly O'Donnel
William Cobb
Roderick McIntosh
Ian Miller
Marvin Javier, and
Dustin Bradley

...with a final shoutout to Kathleen Kahr D'Esposito for giving me an avenue to clown around on my way down.

Day 10: Newport Beach to San Diego

Day Mileage: 85

Trip Mileage: 619
Strava GPS Report

Most of my planning efforts centered around a couple of American Cycling Association maps. I bought two out of a series of five maps that go all the way down the continental US west coast. The first map (SF to Santa Barbara) featured a handy elevation profile that let me know what I was getting into from day to day. This was great for climbing-heavy days like Big Sur, and the hills before Santa Barbara. The next map (Santa Barbara to Imperial Beach) had no such information. The fact that they didn't include the information said one thing to me (at the time): "You're not going to be doing a lot of climbing from here-on-out." What it *should* have said to me was: "You're not going to be climbing any obnoxiously large hills from here-on-out." 

Those two statements are different in one very important way: You don't have to climb high to do a lot of climbing. 

LA to San Diego was not an easy 85 miles. I struggle to call any of the climbs "hard"... but HOLY HELL were there a lot of them. I think the flattest mile of this ride was in La Jolla (at the top of that Teton-looking map feature around mile 70). 

Alicia and Will fed me a solid breakfast, and jettisoned me down to Newport Beach, strategically skipping a couple dozen miles of urban LA. It was good to see them, and I hope to see them again in the near-future. 

It didn't take long for me to route myself southward. The coastal highway either had an ample bike lane, or a sizable shoulder for most of the way. Once in a while, I would be routed through a small "downtown" drag... where I'd be exposed to expensive cars piloted by hostile old ladies... but I remained unscathed. 

  

When I rolled into San Clemente, my route started going crazy, so I popped into a coffee shop to look at my maps and "fuel up." I noticed that the guy ahead of me in line was a (former?) aryan brotherhood member. This isn't uncommon, but seeing this burly guy with swastikas tattooed all over his body order a caramel frappe ( + whip) didn't fit with the stereotype.

After weaving my way through San Clemente, I eventually rolled through Camp Pendleton. I was kind of surprised that the base allowed random cyclists to just roll through the base. That said, they did have a pretty draconian list of "cycling rules" posted right at the gate. 

A random, unencumbered, cyclist tagged along with me through this stretch. He was fairly amused at my setup, and honestly, overall, a nice enough guy, but it quickly became apparent that he had never spent any time in the service. One of the clearly-posted rules from the way in was "all cyclists must ride single file at all times." In no way is that rule unclear. This clown kept pulling riiiight up next to me to chat. Given my previous run-ins with the civilian 5-0, I didn't feel like wilfully attracting the attention of the marine corps MPs. By the third time he pulled up, I just got frustrated, bit the bullet, and just plowed ahead faster than he was riding. Jackass. 

I did get to see a random tank pull up to a gas station to fuel up. I mean, sure, they've got to fuel up and all, but it's just funny seeing a dude at a gas station with a gigantic tank. (The Air Force doesn't have tanks, so these are still a novelty to me.) 

I exited Camp Pendleton almost as fast as I entered, and I was soon rolling through the run-down town of Oceanside, CA. Lots of shady-looking "MILITARY DISCOUNT! NO MONEY DOWN!" car lots, low-rent restaurants, pay-day loan centers, and a single hostile camro-owner. 

In what felt like to time at all, I found myself in Carlsbad. It was a pleasant ride from here to Torrey Pines / La Jolla, if not for this gigantic running meetup. I recall being at a red light when a few bros decided to run across the street. When a truck with the right-away (understandably) honked in objection, these idiots screamed "FUCK YOU!!!" at the top of their lungs. It was just... stupid. When I rolled by a few seconds later I said:  "Let us know how the whole self-entitled jackass thing works out for you." They responded accordingly. Like I said yesterday, this part of the country is wasted on some of its shittiest people.

As I trudged forward and the shadows grew larger, I overcame that giant hill in La Jolla, and found myself in San Diego proper. I had eaten a few snacks throughout the ride, but by now I was positively starving. 

My buddy (and UNLV office mate) Marvin met up with me in Little Italy. We found this pizza place that sold pizzas either "by the slice" or by the pizza. We ordered a gigantic pizza... I ate way more than half, and talked math for a few hours. 

I had budgeted three hotel stays into this trip --of which, until tonight, I had used zero. I used an app called "Hotel Tonight" to find a fairly inexpensive hotel nearby. After today's ride, I kind of needed a civilized shower and bed. Tomorrow: the border. 

Day 9: McGrath State Beach (Ventura) to Venice Beach

Day Mileage: 60

Trip Mileage: 534
Strava GPS Report

When I woke up, McGrath State Park was as gloomy as when I arrived --I guess they all can't be Refugio. The group assembled, and made our way through Oxnard to find a servicable cup of coffee. 

The road to the PCH was very flat and deceptively long. After passing a few fruit stands, I saw my first sod farm, which was sort of disconcerting at first. I guess I always knew that those big rolls of sod had to come from somewhere, but seeing hundreds and hundreds of acres of perfect "lawn" was really weird among the fruit farms. The sight might very well have brought a tear to the eye of even the crotchetiest of old men.

The scenery was a lot like what I grew up around in rural Missouri. I remember going for a run in high school, setting out, and seeing a tree off in the distance. That tree never seemed to budge. No matter how long I ran, I never ever seemed to make it to that tree. On this morning, the PCH was that tree. You could seriously see it for miles... but never seemed to gain any ground. 

Rest assured, I did finally make it to the PCH. After rounding the corner southward, I came across this little "museum piece" of old jets and rockets (complements of the US Navy). I defiantly whistled the Air Force Song as I rolled by. 

As I inched toward Malibu, the gloom finally started to break away. The scenery also started to improve. (There's really only so many sod farms and naval bases one man can handle.)

In what felt like no time at all, I crossed into Los Angeles County. Make no mistake, I was in Southern California... and the locals seemed hell-bent on reminding me of (by way of rampant, unchecked hostility) with every passing mile. Malibu really is a pretty place, but it seems to be wasted on some of the area's worst people. 

We continued southward for what felt like an eternity (25~miles). After obliterating a foot-long subway chicken sandwich, we finally arrived in Santa Monica. With  Santa Monica came the hordes of people and excessive direct sunlight. 

I took a moment to celebrate my arrival to the Los Angeles metro area, but this was a somber moment. My riding buddies: Marcia, Tricia, and Joe all had separate plans for the latter half of the day --which meant we were going to part ways. You really couldn't have asked for a better group of people; agreeable, funny, and capable. I really hope to run into them again some point in the future. Best of luck to you all. It was an absolute pleasure.

I loosely made plans to meet up with my LA friends for dinner late in the evening. However, as with any group of far-flung friends that didn't know each other, getting them into a room together would prove easier said than done. It was early, however... and I had time to kill. 

I've deliberately avoided mentioning (in great detail) how badly my hands were bothering me at this point. That day without gloves in Big Sur really messed me up. I stopped at a coffee shop near Venice Beach to find a bike shop to pick up even thicker gloves and an extra roll of bar tape. 

As I was heading to the bike shop, I ran into non-other than Nathan (from my second night at Brighton State Beach). It was a random-ass encounter, but I was glad to see he made it. 

I soon met up with several friends (old and new) for dinner at this rad Thai place (Jitlada) and catchings-up. 

Any place good enough for Matt Groening is good enough for me. That said, I did learn a VALUABLE lesson tonight: if you're going to order a spicy thai curry, make sure your lips aren't sunburnt. Guys, this is vital. 

After dinner, an old friend from the Air Force, Will, and his girlfriend Alicia, graciously put me up for the night. I'm going to take my first (much-needed) rest day of the trip, tomorrow. 

Day 8: Refugio State Beach (Santa Barbara) to McGrath State Beach(Ventura)

Day Mileage: 66

Trip Mileage: 474
Strava GPS Report

I'm pretty sure I understated just how good last night's campground was. It was so good that it made me want to live in Santa Barbara, if only so that I could bike there and camp cheaply whenever I wanted. Guys... it was incredible. Scenery-wise, I put it on par with Pfieffer Big Sur. Sure, Refugio is more crowded, but you honestly wouldn't care.

Back in San Simeon, I ran into these younger guys headed from the Bay Area to Santa Barbara. I actually ran into them again at Refugio --a mere 20 miles from their final destination. They were really cool, so it was cool to be able to see them off. Best of luck, guys. 

As I was eating breakfast, I was looking down at my (now awesome) tan line on my leg when I realized that, even after layering on the sunblock for days-on-end, I had managed to sun-bleach my leg hair. I never occurred to me that you could even do that. 

After that shocking revelation, a group I had sort of linked up with decided we should get lunch in Santa Barbara. If I haven't mentioned them before, they're four different people riding at about my pace -- a couple of nice ladies from Michigan riding from Vancouver to Mexico, and two guys from LA headed from the Bay Area to LA. We'd wound up at the same camp sites for several nights in a row, so we exchanged numbers a few days ago and kept each other posted of our general whereabouts. 

We rode mostly as a group down the 101, through Goleta, and eventually into SB-proper. 

I've got a good friend that went to college in Santa Barbara. If given the opportunity, he'd talk your ear off about how much he liked it there. Somehow, after all that lip-service, he managed to sell it short. Guys, this place is rad. 

The place we went to was a nondescript "beer" bar called Brew Haus (get it?) I ordered a belgian ale and a steak sandwich. A word in that order that I'm going to repeat is *sandwich* because when I got my plate, I didn't realize that word had an entirely different meaning in Santa Barbara Brew Haus...es. 

You see that tiny sliver of bread under the gigantic steak? That's what classifies this meal as a sandwich. It's sort of like how riverboat casinos in the midwest are technically "boats" because they're built up inside these tiny tiny moats that go around them. Of course I didn't complain, because I sort of needed the protein after yesterday's climb-fest. The horrified look on Joe's face (green shirt, below) as I inhaled that steak will stick with me forever.

Once that meal went down, one our teammates, Chuck, (7-Eleven) decided that he wanted to do an 80 mile day to get back to LA a day sooner. Later Chuck. 

We were soon on our way to Ventura. It was mostly easy, if not kind of boring for a while. Lots of windy town bike lanes keeping us off the 101 freeway. After a few miles, the route put us on the shoulder of the *northbound* 101, but behind a protective barrier. It's a pretty ride, but not entirely noteworthy. 

When I landed in Ventura, I noticed I had an awesome chain-tattoo:

...and for my RRC friends: (taken in Ventura)

Shit was getting gloomy as I rolled toward McGrath state beach. It got sort of chilly, but nothing intolerable. The campsite is a little austere compared last night, which bummed me out, but after a shower, I realized I didn't care as much. 

I'm going to Venice, tomorrow. A friend of mine is going to pick me up, and I'll meet up with a few friends for dinner. I may even take a rest day since I've never actually ridden 530-540 miles in nine days, before. I don't feel particularly exhausted, outside of muscle fatigue and some nasty hand numbness. I could probably use the rest, anyway.

Day 7: Oceano to Refugio State Beach

Day Mileage: 85

Trip Mileage: 408
Strava GPS Report

I'm not going to bullshit you --today was kind of boring. It was the longest day I've done yet, only because I wanted to plow through the hills before Santa Barbara in one go. 

I woke up at some unfortunate hour this morning due to a freight train blasting by the camp site. I could have hit it with a rock from where I was sleeping. I did manage to fall back asleep, but not as soundly. 

I got a late start because I had to stay in town for a few hours to dial into a meeting for work. I popped back into Red Dirt (the same place that gracefully helped point me in the right direction last night). I had a spam breakfast burrito. I now wish I had the presence of mind to snap a picture.

When I finally did hit the road, I hit a few small hills almost immediately. On the way to Guadalupe, there was a small town called "Mesa" nestled into what I can only assume was... a mesa... given how the climb felt at the time. Inexplicably, there was a giant pile of cabbage heads just rotting next to part of the highway. 

Heads rolled... two or three days ago. 

I stopped in Guadalupe for only a second to apply sunscreen and stock up on water. I didn't want to stay long. That town kind of bums me out. I saw an old guy put $6.00 into his gas tank. You see stuff llike that in the city sometimes and never really give it any thought... but in a dusty shithole like Guadalupe, it's hard to avoid thinking about it. 

The scenery didn't really help me in this regard. It's farmland. It's really... really hard to dress up farmland. 

Basically, it was variations on this picture for a few hours; though the farm workers seemed amused by me as I rode by. Eventually, there was a hill. That hill was long, straight, and easy to climb. That hill took me to Vandenburg AFB --a place I never really considered visiting (voluntarilly). 

FPCON: Radical

I rolled through a few rows of manicured trees, and down a sizable hill into Lompoc, CA --another place I thought I'd never visit voluntarily. 

I sped down the main drag, pulling off at a random gas station to get my bearings. Not four seconds into pulling out my map did this nice old dude wander out and say "Need directions!?" I really didn't, as I only had to make one incredibly well-marked turn, but he seemed really eager to help me out. 

I asked him where I could find a good sandwich in town, to which he pointed me to this unassuming little place just up the street: 

I had been craving a decent roast beef sandwich for a while. Not to mention one with horseradish mustard and a ginger beer. That sandwich went down faster than Frazier against Mike Tyson. I was out the door almost as fast as I came in, and slogged further down the 1. 

The hills were kind of pretty, but not Big Sur pretty. Honestly, this was the first day I wanted to listen to music during the ride. I made it through a few "Explosions in the Sky" records --not really listening to much else. Whenever my energy waned, one of those big-ass crescendos was there to lift me back up. 

Speaking of things "lifting me up" let's talk hills one last time:

Not one of those hills was as nasty as the wind past mile 70. I was getting, literally, destroyerd by crosswinds heading to / down the coast along the 101. I've joked before that "tail winds do not exist"... but when I moved along a curve in the road, one of those gusty crosswinds turned into a strong tailwind that I maintain lifted me up at least 10 feet of a 50 foot climb. I've never felt pushed like that before --thankfully it came at the end of the day, when I sort of needed it. 

My camp site is less than 100 feet from the water. I'm typing this looking at the milky way as waves crash by my feet. The cool wind is totally refreshing. It's a damn shame Vegas isn't on the coast. I'd like it more.