Sebastopol CA 5:00 am:
S: John has driven to meet us at our house at 5 am. Unfortunately, though he helped us to move to our new place, he has driven automatically to the old Petaluma residence. No big deal; we're packed and ready, we drive down and meet him in Petaluma. He has rented a "mid-sized" car -- as he says, "mid-sized until someone's in it" -- and, delighted with the novelty of a tape player in the vehicle, has brought numerous of his "Dick Jones" tapes. I immediately grab one, "DJ-8," so we can laugh while driving too.
DJ-8 includes rips on "Newt Gangrene," among others, and has us cracking up all the way out to Richmond.
John pulls up beside us on 580 waving an empty water bottle, indicating a need to stop and find a rest room. This is unavailable at the next exit, but we find a serviceable substitute in an empty mall parking lot. I also manage to trade "DJ-8" for another tape.
I-5 is, as ever, a long, boring drive. Terrie pilots all the way down to Bakersfield (with a couple of wrong turns, thanks to the navigator) and then over Tehachapi Pass to the desert. Tony and Sheila call on the cell phone at some point; they're about two hours ahead of us. After a few minutes' thought, I call them back and ask them to reserve three campsites if they are so inclined.
T: Coming into Bakersfield is the dreaded (to me) Rte.. 99. As we merge onto it, one of John's tapes has us laughing to the point of tears and I worry that we'll have to turn it off or pull over. "We are the hipsters..." ...well, you had to be there. Thankfully, it's just Saturday traffic and we're through it soon enough.
Ridgecrest.
S: We stop by the Maturango Museum, on the off-chance that Janet Westbrook might be there, and then head off on the best route into Death Valley. Janet, you missed the free CD!
The Wildrose drive is teeming with flowers. You can't go into Death Valley a better way. As the temperature rises, we drive past purple lupines, the occasional beavertail, carpets of yellow flowers, trying to remind ourselves that the desert isn't always like this. My mom calls; she's waiting to check in (they won't check you in until 4, though you must check out by 11 - coinciding with the hottest hours of the day); she'll be at the saloon (as I would in similar circumstances - after all, her son has called her to this blast-furnace for a wedding ceremony that, for all she knows, may include sacrificing goats...)
Over that last pass at almost a mile above sea level, and then down, down, impossibly down, to Stovepipe Wells and home, Death Valley.
We arrive at Furnace Creek around 4:30, find Tony and Sheila with three perfect campsites, and my mom in line to check in to the room, and everyone's there but Paul and Bridget. This is a source of mild concern, but I check them in, leaving their room key for them.
We've found that the "walk-in" campsites are better than the "drive-in" sites. The "walk in" is all of 200 feet, but it's enough to keep the electricity users out, thus we have a quieter and more enjoyable place.
It's hot and windy - 90-degree-plus heat, and 30 mph (?) winds buffet the campsites. We set up tents horizontally, but once they're down, man, they're solid, these tents. I am inordinately pleased with tents in whose design I had no part, but while they flap like pterodactyls while we're setting 'em up, they're like boulders once we get 'em staked.
T: Tony, Sheila, and their little scotty dog, Pippin (my "dog-phew" -- dog-nephew), have been trying to find rest under some shady trees in the campground, but seem hot and tired. They perk up quickly, though, and seem to be appreciating Death Valley already.
S: Later, John and I drive over to make sure they'll be able to get that key. The woman at the counter takes the names etc., again, before checking the box and finding the stuff I already filled out earlier. They're open all night, thought, and Paul and Bridget should have no trouble getting in. John and I walk over to the store for supplies, and on our return, spot the '64 Dart next to the rental car, and find Paul inside checking in. All worries assuaged, all pieces having fallen into place, we can proceed with our evening.
Dinner is bacon-wrapped scallops and prawns by the campfire. We take a perverse pleasure in bringing good fresh seafood to the desert in the cooler for the first night. Over dinner, we receive champagne and flowers and we distribute our 11th-hour gifts for the wedding party: moonstone pendants in hand-carved boxes. Dinner was delicious, and the gifts seemed to go over pretty well.
A recurring theme for this trip: the billion-star effect won't happen. There are just too many molecules in the air.
Still, there is magic.
T: Magic indeed. I joke on the Wildrose route about our "decorations" -- everything seems to be blooming, lining the corridor of the route to the valley with rows of flowers. Sheila tells me of laughing on the way in as she and Tony got their first view of Death Valley..."they couldn't just have some simple church for their wedding ceremony, they had to have something like this".
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