Badwater Path, Death Valley Nat'l Park.
Eight miles of twisting, narrow gravel road climb up a mountain in rural California. Passing through narrow ravines and winding around sheer cliff faces, any wrong turn would certainly result in death. At the peak of this perilous path a rear-wheel-drive crossover hurries down the mountain road. Hot on their tail, a squad of all-wheel-drive SUVs--- decked out with spotlights and roof racks--- flies down the mountain, rapidly catching up to the ill-suited car ahead. Without any cell service, on the road to a supposedly abandoned mine, this squad of matching cars can surely only mean one of two things: these guys are a team of private security for some sort of secret drug cartel OR they’re CIA, and that poor Nissan Rogue ahead will certainly never be seen again. Either way, the passengers of the first car are surely doomed. At least, that was how I viewed things as I nervously drove that Nissan rental down the mountain road to the Cerro Gordo Ghost Town.
We had spent the first half of the day in Death Valley National Park and I read online about all of the abandoned gold mines, borax mines, and ghost towns in and around the park. Fascinated by the photographic opportunities posed by rusty metal and large rocky holes in the ground, I had convinced my girlfriend that we definitely needed to check out at least one of the ghost towns in the area. Also being naïve, I hadn’t done much research other than googling “Death Valley Ghost Towns” and writing down the names of the first results.
On a map, the Cerro Gordo Ghost Town didn’t appear to be too far outside Death Valley—“about an hour or so drive from Furnace Creek,” I reckoned. Two hours later, we found ourselves stopping for gas at “Panamint Springs Resort”. I put that in quotations because I found the “resort” part of the name misleading. Panamint Springs Resort consisted of a gas station/general store surrounded by trailers, small shacks, and an array of construction equipment, all of which looks as if it had been haphazardly dropped into place by a child playing with Legos.
Badwater Sunset, Death Valley, 2017.
About an hour past the luxurious resort town we reached the outskirts of Keeler, California. Keeler— locked in the desolate valley below the Sierras— maintained an aura of surreal beauty. Large plots of land, tinted bright orange, purple, blue, and seaweed green by the various mining activities contrast the salt white valley; it's an otherworldly landscape. Turning away from the Martian mining town and turning on to the somewhat misleading Cerro Gordo Street across from Keeler, we began our perilous ascent.
Striped Foothills, Zabriskie Point, 2017.
The trouble started when my girlfriend started to notice a plethora of “Private Property” and “No Trespassing” Signs. I began to get worried as we meandered up this road when our RWD car struggled to maintain traction on the gravel and lurched forward slowly up the mountain. Twisting between jagged, crooked crags on a single lane road, both of us were praying that no one was trying to come the other way. Eventually we gained enough elevation to get out of the mountainous ravines only to find ourselves driving along the side of sheer cliff face, much akin to the Yungas Road in Bolivia. At this point my girlfriend was terrified, sitting in a silent panic, afraid that speaking will ruin whatever miraculous balance our car has and that even a whisper will send us tumbling down the side of the mountain. I’m equally nervous— anxious just to get to the ghost town and then get back to the safety of Death Valley. It’s a little weird that a place called Death Valley was my beacon of hope and safety, isn’t it?
The most treacherous stretch of Cerro Gordo “Street” came right before the ghost town itself: a U-shaped dip in the road, which was maybe 10 feet wide. To make matters worse, as I was travelling uphill on more "normal" stretches of the road, I had to smash the accelerator all the way just to maintain speed. Thus, the idea of having to creep slowly down one side of the U and then floor it up the other side, while on the edge of a cliff, horrified me. But being stubborn and having no way to turn around, we went for it anyway. Slowly edging into the trough of the dip, I floored it on the way out. Maintaining traction on the slick dirt and gravel, we pushed our way halfway up the other side before our little Nissan began to slow. Exactly at the steepest part of the curve I could feel us losing traction—I pushed harder on the accelerator. Fearing, hoping, praying that this would somehow make a difference, the Nissan caught some kind of traction and made it past the U-bend.
As we rounded the corner past more no trespassing signs the mountain road opened up into the Cerro Gordo Ghost Town. Except, the town wasn’t exactly abandoned. In fact, there were a number of trucks up there and what appeared to a full scale mining operation. A sign read “Welcome to Cerro Gordo Mines: NO TRESSPASSING, All Violators Will Be Prosecuted, All Visitors Must Check In”. Seeing this and seeing the not-so-ghostly ghost town, I quickly assumed the worst: we’ve violated all kinds of laws and stumbled upon something we shouldn’t. Out here, 8 miles from the road on a desolate mountain, will be the end of me.
Big White Spot, Ubehebe Crater, 2017.
Thus, due to my own unease with the situation and my girlfriend’s similar wish to have nothing to do with this "ghost town," we immediately turned the car around and headed back down the mountain road. This time, we were hoping no one was driving up. However, almost as soon as we started down the road, a truck from the mine sped off, flying down the road we sheepishly drove down. As we went back over the terrifying U-dip in the road the first of the trucks had caught up to us. A jet black off-road-equipped Toyota FJ Cruiser loomed right behind us. “This is it,” I figured, “whoever was up there has caught us and we’re toast.”
I didn’t stop or look to pull off anywhere (mainly because there wasn’t anywhere to pull off) but also because I didn’t know what these evil Toyota-driving drug lords/CIA/Ninjas would do if they caught me. So far, they hadn’t waved any guns out the window, although I was staring in the rear-view mirror searching for one.
Dune Prints, Death Valley, 2017.
Out of nowhere four more Toyota FJ Cruisers appeared behind the lead car. I tried to assure myself these were just miners finishing their shift and they all loved Toyota, but really I knew they were an elite squad of KGB/Terrorists/James Bonds coming to get us for driving to this secret mining operation where they covertly funneled drug money to fund their uranium/nuclear bomb-making facilities that they then shipped to Chinese triads via float plane from Bangkok.
Ahead I noticed the road widen as it took a turn around the mountains. I was faced with a choice, pull over and either let this convoy pass and hope they didn’t see me or continue blocking their path. Either way, I left my fate in the hands of an assuredly crack commando unit of soldiers of fortune. Much to my own chagrin, I pulled off to let them pass. Now, the moment of truth: the lead car pulled up next to mine, slowing down. “Oh god,” I thought, “this is definitely it.” The men in the car, clad in beards wearing sunglasses, fit the description of either a redneck or Seal Team Six. They turned, looking right at me. We sat still, staring at them as they continued to drive past. A wave of relief overcame me—these secret drug mining ninjas let me go.
We continued on down the road, now in a cloud of dust thanks to the freakish driving of the crack commandos, hoping they’d speed ahead and we’d be rid of them. As we came back down the mountain towards the road, I saw them in the distance, all parked at the entrance to Cerro Gordo St. “Oh god, not again!” I worried. There was no other explanation for them waiting there other than that they were secret police, FBI maybe, and we’d never be seen again. As we edged closer to their blockade, I formulated my game plan. When these guys most definitely try to stop me at the turn off, I need to have enough speed that they won’t jump in front of the car. Then I need to wheel it onto the highway, with enough speed that they can’t take potshots at us as we drive away. So long as I maintain that speed to Panamint Springs Resort—god bless the resort—we should hopefully be in the clear. I'd played enough Need for Speed: Hot Pursuit 2 to pull this one off.
Hole in One (Million), Devil's Golf Course, 2017.
The moment of truth came: we pulled down to the base of the road and I accelerated, passing the convoy around 40 miles an hour as I almost drifted onto the vacant highway. I gunned it, trying to put as much distance between them and myself as I could.
However, I as passed them I couldn’t help but notice that they were going through their gear, camping gear that is, and chatting among themselves. Indeed, these KGB operatives weren’t secret agents at all, rather, people who camped the night before up near the mine. Later, upon actually researching the Cerro Gordo Ghost Town, it appears as though the town has fantastic tours and is carefully owned a preserved by a group of caretakers. I suppose I let my imagination get the best of me; what top secret paramilitary group would elect to drive Toyota FJ Cruisers?
Man vs. Dune, Death Valley, 2017.