Driving through the Mojave Desert                                      December 10, 2000

You would think that after fighting the waves and tossing bloody fish to wild sharks in Moorea, or getting inside a lion's cage and feeding them chunks of raw meat in Christchurch, or bungy jumping off a bridge in New Zealand, we'd find travel in the U. S. a bit mild.  But our scariest adventure so far occurred in California -- an unplanned trip into no man's land, miles from anyone and anything.  

We'd left Las Vegas early one morning and, after gassing up at the Nevada border, took the lovely 60 mile scenic drive south through California's Mojave National Preserve.  We stopped for a leisurely and cool hike into the high desert (still some snow peeking out from under the cactus in places), and later climbed the huge sand dunes at the Devil's Playground.   An eventful day, now turning into mid-afternoon, finds us about an hour and a half from Twenty Nine Palms, our destination.  

As we continue south, the countryside is wild and barren, and the road is straight and empty.  We notice some signs along the way, but can't quite read them as we were tooling along at 60 mph and they're much too wordy.  After 20 miles through the Marble Mountains on a deserted highway -- no amenities anywhere -- we turn west and finally read one of the signs.  Some road about 10 miles ahead will be closed on November 13-15.  So what day is it ??  We think it's November 13.  This sign also makes it clear that the closed road goes to Twenty Nine Palms.  Can you say 'Uh-oh"?  We cross our fingers, and hope the road work is behind schedule.  No such luck.  As we arrive at the turnoff, we see the roadblock; unexpectedly it also blocks what we thought was an alternative road.  Ahead a semi is doing a multi-point U-turn.  At least we're not the only ones to get this far.  

Looking at our AAA map, it's going to be 25 miles back along the roads we've just traversed and then a 150+ mile!!! detour taking the suggested route through Barstow.  Apparently there aren't many options for driving through the Mojave Desert!  The map does show another alternative -- an unpaved road of some sort that's about 20 miles east of us.  Not wanting to take the unbelievably long detour, we decide to check out the unpaved road.

I would have liked to fill up and get some food before heading into the desert, but these weren't options; there was nothing but a few houses en route.  Still, we did have a half tank of gas and some pretzels, though not much water.  At 4:30, we think we've found the road that should take us through the desert.  (Where's Moses when you need him?)  It's a dirt road, washed out and very sandy at its low points.  Flash floods have obviously occurred in the past. but at least the sky's clear; no need to worry about rain.  Still what about the road's condition?  A sign at the entrance gives a hint: "San Bernardino County is not responsible for damage to vehicles on this road".  And we're driving a low-slung Acura, not a jeep!  

Dick says, let's do it.  I say OK, but wonder silently: "what's the road's going to be like ahead?"  I'm foolishly thinking it will take an hour to drive the estimated 35 miles of dirt road, so we'd get to the other end just at dark.  An hour later, we've gone 20 miles, and it IS dark -- REALLY dark.  

So far the road's been a bit rutted, but we haven't gotten stuck, even in the sandiest areas.  We also haven't encountered a soul; no cars traveling in either direction.  And the only lights are WAY off in the distance.  What if one of our tires blows?  (We only have a "baby" spare.)  What if we're stopped by banditos?  What if we get stuck in the sand, or the radiator springs a leak?  And why doesn't anyone else think this road is an alternative to the closed road?  

No one knows we're here; no one is expecting to hear from us for a week!  What if we get lost?  It's likely to be about 35F in the desert tonight.  

My fear has been building over the last 10 miles, as the shadows lengthened over the surrounding hills, and the sky darkened.  I'm getting pretty scared; my tummy is slowly filling with golfball-sized knots.  I finally suggest decide to speak up.  We should turn back.  It's obviously the prudent thing to do.  At least we know what's behind us.  But Dick is an explorer, an adventurer at heart.  He isn't worried, or so he SAYS.   He wants to go forward.  As usual, I acquiesce.  (Ed. note: "yeah, sure").

More frightened by the mile, I ponder our fate.  We'll get lost and be found locked in our car, dehydrated and frozen, or we'll break down and try to hike out, our clean-picked remains, dried by the desert sun, eventually discovered.  

Then I remember: we're the proud owners of a cell phone.  And I had spent $300 for an ugly, bulky, analog / digital unit just in case we got stuck somewhere and were outside Sprint's digital network.  Amazingly, the analog mode actually worked out here in no man's land.  At least at the moment.  I quickly called a friend (who wasn't home) and left a message.  "Here's where we are;  if you don't hear from us in two hours, call the police and ask them to come looking for us."   Thank goodness for modern technology.  Making this call eased my mind immensely and even my tummy started to relax.   

Still, driving in the dark was difficult with only  headlights to show the way.  We did stop briefly to look at the stars; they're incredible when one is SO far from civilization.  But the desert is darn cold at night, and I needed to get to the end of the road.  We had planned to take a shortcut, an intersecting road that went off to the right.  But there weren't ANY road markings at all, let alone signs at possible turnoffs, so we couldn't be sure where to turn.  And we definitely didn't want to get lost.  So we just kept driving straight.  Finally, after 60 miles and almost 3 hour, we made it to the other end of what seemed like the endless sandy road.  I was ready to kiss the pavement when we finally found some.  So many hours and we never encountered another adventurous traveler! 

As it turned out, even the paved highway was mostly deserted.  It was 30 miles to  a gas station, which was still in the middle of nowhere -- no town, no restaurant, no motel, nothing.  So we just kept on driving, eventually all the way to Indio.  

Yet once on  pavement again, all felt safe and secure.  I was again willing to let Dick lead the way.  That is, he could take me wherever the pavement went.

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