Life in the USA : Death Valley

Visiting the Wild Wild West

Mike Leco — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 19:56:00 GMT

I recently drove from Las Vegas Nevada to Death Valley California. This is only a short drive of about 100 miles, but it takes you over the mountains and through the barren Sonoran Desert. It turned out to be a very interesting excursion into the picturesque countryside of the still wild West.

I drove through the Amargosa Valley, a vast expanse of dry sand and rock strewn flats able to support only widely scattered brown shrubs and a few cactus. The bare lifeless mountains that deliniated the sides of the valley were visible miles off to the side of Interstate 95. In this country, you tend to watch your fuel gauge as towns, service stations and other signs of civilization are few and far between.

I noticed the occassional dirt roads that extended straight across the valley floor for miles until they disappeared into the mountains. They were guarded by wire fences with signs warning away visitors. We were at the periphery of the Nevada Test Site, a government proving grounds for all the secret weaponry being developed far away from prying eyes. This was also the proposed location of the controversial Yucca Mountain underground radioactive waste depository. Across those mountains in the most inaccessable parts of this desert landscape lay Area 51, that top secret retreat where the US government had purportedly secreted captured alien spacecraft and the bodies of alien creatures.

At the turnoff to the Death Valley area, our map indicated a small town. What we found was a few widely scattered mobile homes parked in the desert, one boaded up restaurant, and a combination service station, general store, diner and brothel. The convenience store part of the big dilapidated building had an array of nearly empty shelves, the restaurant in the back claimed to serve hamburgers, fries and sandwiches, but no waitress was anywhere to be found. The old bearded man at the cash register was on the telephone the entire while we were there, and only bothered to glance up to take our money. The nicest part of this desert waystation was the neatly painted double-wide mobile home in the back with its big bright sign proclaiming it to be the "Cherry Patch II" house of prostitution.

Route 373 went through more desolate landscape occasionally interspersed with an oasis of green mesquite trees and a few houses indicating a local supply of water. Other than one modern casino inconguously located in this god-forsaken land at the end of the civilized world, there were no amenities such as service stations, restaurants or stores to be found. The road eventually brought us to Death Valley Junction, an almost ghost town at an isolated desert crossroads.

The Amargosa hotel was the most impressive building in this nearly deserted community. A long low white adobe building with an inviting shaded veranda along its whole length was the only well maintained structure in the town. The remaining cottages, stores, and industrial builings were in various states of disrepair and ruin. We met Richard, self appointed mayor, sheriff and one third of the population of Death Valley Junction. He explained how Marta Bennett, a ballet dancer from New York City had come to the deserted town in 1967 and decided to make it her home. She refurbished the old theater and reopened it as the Amargosa Opera House.

For over 40 years, Marta has produced theatrical productions in her opera house. She constructed her own scenery and lighting, her own costumes and stage props. She even painted the walls of the opera with elaborate murals of an appreciative audience. Marta used to dance ballet, but at 80+ years of age, she now restricts herself to singing and acting. Marta still lives in Death Valley Junction, and she still performs her show every Saturday evening to guests who come from around the world just to see this opera in the desert. Marta is a unique character, but the desert seems to attract unique characters.

Death Valley is a starkly beautiful but severe landscape with an extremely challenging environment. The temperature reached 120 F (47 C) during the middle of the day. The heat was oppressive, and I clung to the shelter of any bit of shade I could find. The gleaming white salt flats nearly blinded me with sunlight reflected from its burning surface where temperatures were hot enough to fry an egg or bake a cake.

I could easily understand why they named this place "Death Valley". I had more difficulty comprehending how prospectors and miners could ever have lived in such a severe environment. The thirst for gold and for riches from the mineral deposits must have been very compelling for anyone to brave such conditions.

On the way back to Las Vegas, I passed through the thriving desert community of Pahrump. It has shopping malls, restaurants, casinos and even a bit of industrial development. It is most famous for being one of the maverick communities that has permitted the legalization of prostitution. Brothels are scattered around the outskirts of Pahrump.

It is here that Heidi Fleis, the notorious Hollywood Madam who ran an escort service to provide prostitutes to movie stars and other famous movie executives until she was arrested, has taken up residence. With plans to open a Brothel, named "the Stud Farm" that catered to women customers, she took up residents in Pahrump and began a long feud with the existing Brothel owners and with the local authorities. Heidi never opened her brothel, but she still lives in the local desert with dozens of parrots, Macaws and other tropical birds. Another desert character.

In tales of the old times, the wild west was a very inhospitable place populated by many strange and interesting characters. It hasn't changed much.

Cowboys 2

Mike Leco — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 14:07:00 GMT

We visited Yosemite Valley in the early spring. The waterfalls were magnificent as the meltwaters of a record accumulation of winter snow filled them to capacity. We were headed east to the lands across the Sierra Nevada Mountains and ultimately to Death Valley. Tuolome Pass was still closed and not expected to open for several weeks, so we drove north in search of an open pass across the mountains. Along the way, we heard that the snow plows had recently opened the road through the Sonoran Pass. We decided to try it.

The roads to the Sierra Nevada passes all have long approaches from the western side. They struggle through miles of foothills before they begin to snake their way up the slopes of the mountains. We spent the better part of the afternoon driving through those sparsley populated foothills and into the dense pine tree forests on the mountain slopes. The sun set behind us and the shadows grew denser beneath the giant trees. We began searching for a refuge where we could find accommodations and a good meal.

Aside from a few isolated hunting cabins, we saw no signs of habitation in the wilderness. We grew tireder and hungrier as we climbed higher up the mountain. At last, we came to an isolated lodge whose signs offered lodging and food. Unfortunately, the place was fully occupied, and we found no refuge for the night. Fortunately, the owner directed us to an even more isolated hunting and fishing camp further up the slopes. He said they might have some cabins that we could rent for the night. We decided to press on, as it was already getting dark.

We found the camp a few miles off of the main road beside a mountain stream. It consisted of two main lodges surrounded by a dozen small cabins and an empty horse corral. It looked deserted. We were relieved to see two men seated on the veranda of the larger lodge.

They wore faded jeans and well-worn work boots of the type favored by cowboys. The larger dark-haired man with the bushy moustache wore a plaid flannel shirt. The shorter, thinner man wore an old white "cowboy" shirt with black piping and pearl buttons. He also wore a string tie with a turquois clasp. Both men wore leather belts with large silver buckles and traditional "ten gallon" cowboy hats.

In response to our questions, they said that the camp was not yet open for the season. In a few weeks, the horses would be brought up from the lowland pastures, kept in the corral, and rented as pack animals for hunters, fishermen and backpackers. The proprietor of the camp was in the lodge, they added; and surely, he could provide us with some lodging as all the cabins were empty. They were right. We managed to secured a cabin for the night.

We had eaten nothing since midday, and were quite famished. We asked the proprietor if his restaurant was open. No, he said, the cook had gone off fishing and he had no idea when he would return. The older cowboy with the bushy mustache overheard our conversation and offered, "We have some spaghetti left over from our dinner. If you would like some, we can heat it up for you."

His name was Bob and he introduced his diminutive partner simply as "slim". Bob owned a horse ranch in the foothills and slim was his hired hand. They were here to do some repair work on the trails, he explained. They had a small camping trailer at the edge of the camp. For dinner, he had made a large pot of spaghetti with venison sausage and mushrooms gathered in the surrounding forest. It was more than they could eat, so they had plenty left. He could go to the trailer, fetch the pot and return to heat it in the empty kitchen of the dining hall.

We readily agreed. The proprietor opened the dining hall. Bob brought his spaghetti, heated it on the gas stove and used a loaf of bread to make us some garlic toast. Perhaps our ravenous hunger made it taste better, but it was some of the best spaghetti we ever ate. The cowboys both seemed pleased that we were enjoying their meal.

We thanked them profusely for the chance meal, and offered to pay them for it, but they refused our money. They agreed, however, to our offer to buy them a beer. We managed to inviegle the proprietor to open his small bar, and ordered bottles of beer for all. Slim put several coins in the jukebox, and played some western music. He offered to teach the ladies how to dance the Texas two step. For the next hour, we danced, we sipped beer and we had a jovial time with our new cowboy friends.

We had a restful night after our suprise feast followed by the impromptu dance party. The next morning, as we were driving out of the camp, we saw Bob operating a backhoe and Slim leaning on a shovel. We stopped to bid them farewell and once again thank them for the dinner. They seemed genuinely pleased that they could help us and sad to see us leave. We will always fondly remember our two cowboy friends and their great spaghetti dinner.