The next morning after a big breakfast, the family set out once again to hike in Death Valley National Park, this time at MosaicTrail. Bjorn was worn out from an early morning search for sunrise photos at the dunes, but the light didn’t cooperate and he came back with an empty camera. Their first hike was much like the day before–high rock walls with dry stream beds of scree–, but the day was dry, warm, with strong sun. Snorrie and Bjorn stopped half way in, but Astrid persevered a half mile more. She turned around when the path called for climbing over large boulders, since she didn’t want to go rock-crawling alone, without a spotter.
And at the end of the hike, they said goodbye to the valley part of Death Valley National Park and followed a long winding road through wide valleys and winding switchback roads to Father Crowley Vista Point- Rainbow Canyon. A pair of ravens played in the updrafts at the edges of the drop-offs and overlooks as the family walked on the edge of the vast valleys. Astrid marveled as a gigantic military cargo plane (maybe a C-17 ?) flew over the valley, and disappeared into the horizon. The R-2508 airspace complex overlaps Death Valley National Park.
When traveling, especially in and around national parks, a visitor sometimes travels along with many of the same people, unintentionally. One tends to see a lot of the same people, going from stop to stop at the park. Certain memorable characteristics bookmark people in one’s mind– unique cars, the weird yellow lights on a motorcycle, red hair, an extra nice camera, a shirt from your alma mater, someone who looks like a family member …
It was a “travel” day– a day spent, for the most part, in getting from one place to another. The original plan was to go to Joshua Tree National Park next, but the forecast called for a unique situation there: rain. Rain that would wash out roads, and make the best part of the park impassable. So the plans were preemptively changed, which involved driving along side a long, high mountain range, to get to Burbank, California.
The road to Burbank was picturesque, lined with sparse farmland, acres of pasture, dry deserts, lots and lots of Joshua trees, small shanty-type towns crowded with junk, all on a back drop of rugged mountains in the distance.
Just outside Los Angeles, they stopped at Vasquez Rocks Natural Area, where giant slabs of red boulders jutted out of the ground at a 45 degrees up toward the sky. Then it was on the road again
Astrid had traveled highways with a different people and they all have their own ways of coping with the journey. Miles take time to traverse, whether one is in an automobile, airplane, boat or train, and we humans often crave a distraction to ease our boredom of the monotony. Some travelers constantly nibble on snacks or sip on drinks when they drive. Some need music. Some passengers read, which boggles Astrid’s mind since, as a rule, she wore Sea-Bands to prevent motion sickness in even the best of circumstances. But she could listen to an audio book, and when driving, she sipped tea every so often, rarely stopping during the first 4-5 hours of driving.
As they drew closer to Los Angeles, the car population grew more varied, but with distinctive notes. The Porsches, Maseratis and other sports cars still zoomed past the family’s Chevy Malibu on the highway, but now they were in Tesla territory. The electric cars were getting more popular in the family’s Michigan hometown, but in California, they were everywhere.
It was pouring rain as they pulled into the hotel in Burbank.
Not I 