A Scorching 121 degree bike ride through the Mojave Desert

A Scorching 121 degrees in the Mojave Desert

We knew when we woke up in 29 Palms, just outside the perimeter of Joshua Tree National Park, that we were headed for several days of hell. We knew that we would be facing some of the most physically and mentally challenging days of our lives. We knew that we would have to endure trials and difficulties that would test the limits of our endurance. We knew that we would be going through the longest stretch we had yet encountered where we would not be able to buy food or water. We knew that the next time that we could hope to find food or water or any real shade was 100 miles away. The sign leading out of 29 Palms said it all: “Next Services: 100 miles.” Stephane said, “We can do it in two days.” I stared at him, “Are you trippin’? It will take us at least three days, maybe four.” I hid extra water bottles in my bags because he always counts low on water, trying to save on weight.

We woke up in the pre-dawn hours, determined to start early in order to try to beat the worst of the heat. But before we even climbed onto the bikes, the migraine that had refused to leave me for the past two weeks shot into new records of intensity. The sun hadn’t been up long, and it was already 100 degrees. Stephane had bought a spray bottle before starting out, and we used it to wet our hats and heads as often as possible, but hardly before they were wet, the cruel sun dried them out again.

We were heading into the Mojave Desert, which extends from California into Arizona, Nevada, and Utah. This place was one harsh and unforgiving landscape. It was so dry that my skin and lips cracked and my nose bled. The water in our bottles boiled, setting my throat and ears on fire as I felt it burn all the way down (And the Arizonans swear on their lives that they love the dry heat!).

Heat waves rising from the ground turned the desert into an hallucinogenic experience, with vast expanses of sand stretching into eternity interrupted occasionally by sand-colored mountainous mirages. At least we had hot meals. Couldn’t complain about that. Our pre-cooked pasta and tomato sauce in a jar were as hot as if we had just taken them off the stove.

Highway 62 was one long, lonely stretch of road between 29 Palms and Vidal Junction. There was not a single tree to provide us shade. But the bushes beside the road were taller than those that continued into the horizon. Stephane put our plastic blanket over a bush and it was enough to provide shade for 1 ½ persons, until the sun and shade changed position, which was about every ten minutes. But it was something and it saved us (and our sanity) and Stephane did his best to keep my fever down.

We biked only 25 miles the first day, as we were forced to stop by 11:30 AM, when the thermometer topped 120 degrees. I thought I might die and I knew mom and dad would never forgive me. Stephane put our tent cover on the highest bush we could find and we lay all day underneath it, hiding in the shade. The hot wind blew and blew and blew and the temperatures went higher and higher. It was too hot to even sleep or read. My head had already exploded, anyway, and I was sure I could see flames shooting out of it. We checked the thermometer every ten minutes in the evening, hoping to see it drop. If only it would drop below 105 or 100 degrees, we could start biking again. The minutes stretched into eternity, and we stayed under that tent flap for a long 8 hours before packing up and continuing on our way after the sun had disappeared behind the mountains. It was one of the longest days of my life.

Our original idea had been to rest during the daytime and bike at night, during the cooler temperatures. We found out that it wasn’t going to work quite as planned, mainly because it was too hot during the daytime to sleep. The heat of the daytime made our daytime breaks more draining than reposing. We were exhausted by the time night rolled around, and it didn’t cool off until well past midnight. The ground was hot to the touch. As we had to wake around 3:30 AM in order to get started before the heat of the early mornig set in, we were averaging only 2 1/2 hours of sleep per night. The lack of sleep, combined with the extreme heat and physical exertion made for difficult days. So, although nighttime was the best time to bike, it was also the only time we could sleep. We ended up compromising and doing a bit of both.

The second day was a bit better because we came across the two aqueducts that we had been looking forward to. We filled our bottles and soaked ourselves at the first one, before setting up tent at the second one around noon. Doug, a road worker from CalTrans, had given us his cold water and ice earlier in the day, with the promise to send other workers by later on to check on us. Sure enough, he came back later with Kim and Mike, and brought not only cold water, but also ice and Gatorade! They were really looking out for us.

We couldn’t have been happier. It’s hard to describe how much the COLD water meant. Morally, it made all the difference in the world. It was so much better than drinking boiling water. One of the three came by to check on us every several hours over the course of a couple of days, always bringing fresh water and Gatorade. I love road workers! And I love Doug and Mike and Kim!

We stayed under the tent by the aqueduct the second afternoon (the only possibility of shade), and every once in a while, we’d get out and Stephane would throw our bucket into the aqueduct and we’d dump buckets of cold water over our heads. Then we’d lay back down on the mattresses, covered in a wet blanket and icing my head. We seriously considered filling up our tent with water and laying in it, like a children’s inflatable pool!

The heat was demoralizing. And so was our food situation. We ate under bushes that didn’t provide enough shade. And when you spend several consecutive days in 120-degree heat and don’t have a refrigerator, you are very limited in terms of what food you can carry. Most everything will spoil, and so you have to choose carefully. Plus, we guarded our water supply jealously, and so we didn’t want to make anything that required water for cooking. So we resigned ourselves to three days of bread that became rock-hard within two seconds of feeling the hot and dry desert wind, greasy and runny lunch meat, melted slices of Pepper Jack that had melded into an ugly, greasy, and deformed block, disgusting, boiling tomatos, chili peppers, Wheat Thins, and tomato sauce. Once our lunch meat ran out, Stephane chowed down on the Wheat Thins and tomato sauce (things he normally hates) and declared them to be the best food he had ever eaten! It was just that kind of week.

We survived the dry, dry desert and the long, lonely stretches of road between desert outposts, when at long last we caught a glimpse of Vidal Junction, near the Arizona border, at the end of our third day. Our hearts missed a few beats in excitement and we caught a sudden burst of speed. This was the first sign of civilization we had seen in days; this was the first place we could fill up on water and food and rest in some real shade.

We were within half a mile when Mike (our road-worker friend from the desert) and his wife Joy pulled up alongside us in their car and invited us to stay at their place that night. They thought that, along with a break from the heat, we could use a shower and a home-cooked meal, not to mention an air-conditioned house in which to sleep and a washing machine to wash our clothing. They really spoiled us. They grilled burgers for us and even rented a video so we could veg in front of the TV! Joy even sent us on our way the next morning with homemade, hot and delicious breakfast burritos. Wow, are these people out here ever NICE!!!