Nothing particularly remarkable happened on the stroke of noon at Badwater.
I’ve just been wanting to write that headline ever since.
We’d departed Laughlin just after dawn under an utterly cloudless sky, heading north and west toward Death Valley. Gradually a cloud of smoke rolled in from the wildfires raging beyond the western mountains.
I knew the Ivanpah Solar Electric Generating System was out here somewhere, but I’d forgotten that I’d been looking for it.
Riding the Joshua Tree Highway west across the Nevada/California state line, we crested the ridge of the McCullough Range and there, far across the valley, were three white-hot towers, each the focus of a field of mirrors a mile square.
I’ve just been wanting to write that headline ever since.
We’d departed Laughlin just after dawn under an utterly cloudless sky, heading north and west toward Death Valley. Gradually a cloud of smoke rolled in from the wildfires raging beyond the western mountains.
I knew the Ivanpah Solar Electric Generating System was out here somewhere, but I’d forgotten that I’d been looking for it.
Riding the Joshua Tree Highway west across the Nevada/California state line, we crested the ridge of the McCullough Range and there, far across the valley, were three white-hot towers, each the focus of a field of mirrors a mile square.
Ivanpah Solar Thermal Generating Station. Credit: Axiom Images
Ivanpah Solar Generating Station. Source: Google
This is the world’s largest example of solar thermal (as opposed to the increasingly common solar photovoltaic) power. The superheated boilers run turbines generating up to 377 megawatts of power.
As has been happening a lot on this trip, again I felt the sense of living in a science fiction film. When I was back in Phoenix, riding back and forth between Mom’s house and the Haruska house, every time I zoomed past Arizona State University it seemed like an entire fleet of alien spacecraft had descended on Tempe Butte. Given all the new things that have been built in the Phoenix area since I used to live there, I feel a bit like a time traveler from the past, and have been constantly reminded of the story The Gernsback Continuum by William Gibson (although the key scene in that story took place at a rest area outside of Tucson).
But suddenly Larry decelerated and the time dilation reversed; we pulled over in the tiny green hamlet of Nipton, where Larry went off photographing things and Jana and I wandered the rock garden. She told a story of another motorcycle ride taken three decades earlier, during which they stayed at the tiny hotel, hunkering down from torrential rains.
As has been happening a lot on this trip, again I felt the sense of living in a science fiction film. When I was back in Phoenix, riding back and forth between Mom’s house and the Haruska house, every time I zoomed past Arizona State University it seemed like an entire fleet of alien spacecraft had descended on Tempe Butte. Given all the new things that have been built in the Phoenix area since I used to live there, I feel a bit like a time traveler from the past, and have been constantly reminded of the story The Gernsback Continuum by William Gibson (although the key scene in that story took place at a rest area outside of Tucson).
But suddenly Larry decelerated and the time dilation reversed; we pulled over in the tiny green hamlet of Nipton, where Larry went off photographing things and Jana and I wandered the rock garden. She told a story of another motorcycle ride taken three decades earlier, during which they stayed at the tiny hotel, hunkering down from torrential rains.
Onward into the smoke. It was an Epic Desert Journey to be sure, though the region’s famous views of distant mountains seen with crystal clarity across vast distances were decidedly impaired; often the rim of the world was barely visible against the dirty gray-brown sky.
The ambient temperature varied widely and frequently due to random elevation changes, winds, and progress of the sun. But it was a mild day; I think I saw 92 just once, 80s far more often. It was the right time to be in Death Valley, to be sure, though a pervasive sense of “best not tarry” in a locale so obviously and fundamentally hostile to life was impossible to escape.
But now I can check off, “Ride a motorcycle across Death Valley” as if there is some reason I should.
The ambient temperature varied widely and frequently due to random elevation changes, winds, and progress of the sun. But it was a mild day; I think I saw 92 just once, 80s far more often. It was the right time to be in Death Valley, to be sure, though a pervasive sense of “best not tarry” in a locale so obviously and fundamentally hostile to life was impossible to escape.
But now I can check off, “Ride a motorcycle across Death Valley” as if there is some reason I should.
Today’s ride ended at Lone Pine, California.
Early in the trip planning of this adventure (which was quite late by Larry’s standards), Larry had established that we’d stay in Lone Pine.
“Fantastic!” I replied. “I’ve always wanted to go there!”
His response:
“Why?”
I’ll explain some other time, maybe.
Early in the trip planning of this adventure (which was quite late by Larry’s standards), Larry had established that we’d stay in Lone Pine.
“Fantastic!” I replied. “I’ve always wanted to go there!”
His response:
“Why?”
I’ll explain some other time, maybe.
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