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Death Valley DriveBY: Alessandro Saetta Vinci | Category: Travel | Submitted: 2010-03-17 10:05:57
It's 11 a.m. on a very hot morning. I'm in Death Valley, the natural park that reaches out California from Nevada, in the U.S.A. They call it natural park but I never really understood why. There's not any nature here, at all. Mile after mile of deserted nothingness. The sky is so blue it almost seems fake. I'm grateful to my own common sense for wearing my linen shirt, a phenomenal fabric in similar weather conditions. The outside temperature indicator says it's 108 Fahrenheit, and I've been told that it's going to go up. On the other side of the road it is looking at me. I can feel it. I'm not sure, but I feel like it's suffering from the heat. It's craving some rest. I'm talking about the silver Ford Mustang convertible that's parked on the other side of the road. It's mad at me, I can tell. I could fall asleep on the tarmac without any consequence, apart from the third degree burns I'd get, obviously. I've stopped 30 minutes ago and just one car has passed by ever since. Going the opposite direction, by the way. That is one great car to cross a desert. Quintessentially American Muscle Car in the American desert. Although I must concede that the engine is made in Germany, and the gearbox is French, and the stereo is Japanese, and the tyres are Italian. All technological details aside, this is as American driving. Like driving an Aston Martin in Britain, or a Fiat 500 in Italy. Time to go back, I've got to cross the Valley and go back to the hotel in Vegas, for the night. There is something surreal about driving on straight and paved roads in the middle of the desert, you don't know where you're going, you lose awareness of time and space, you can almost see the earth curve. After a while I reach the road sign that tells me I'm going in the right direction: "Welcome to Death Valley National Park". I still don't get why they call it park. A couple cuddling on a bench, ducks swimming in small lakes and lots of green leaves; this is what springs to mind when we think about a park. All I've seen here is a squirrel, stones and a fat bloke smoking a cigarette outside his lorry. The Death Valley stretches for about 160 miles, or at least that's what the guidebooks say. It looks like it's much longer than that, if I'm honest, I've passed the sign not long ago but the odometer states I've already done 50 miles. First stop: Zabriskie Point. It is a sort of huge raised natural square, a vantage point of view on the marvel of rocks shaped by the wind. If you ever happen to go to Death Valley you must stop at Zabriskie Point. Not doing it would be like going to South of France without enjoying a glass of wine. After parking my car, I can't help but notice a group of Italian tourists coming out of an enormous bus, judging by their faces and their shirts I can only assume it is actually hotter inside the bus than it is outside. Thank God I rented a car. It's almost 2 pm, the temperature has risen, it's now about 112 F°, not bad at all. I really struggle to go away from that natural beauty but my trip has got to proceed. I don't have any road map, I'm not following any particular designed path, but I'd read the night before, in my hotel, something about a place called Badwater, the lowest spot of the Valley, 282 feet below sea level, so I want to go there. The further and deeper I drive into the Valley, the lower I go, the more unbearable the heat becomes. Every 100 yards I can spot a sign that reminds me to turn the air conditioning off and that tells me it's hot. I swear I wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the signs. The top is rigorously still down. I've never turned the air conditioning on and I've always driven with the top down, ever since I got going this morning. The outside temperature indicator says it's 118 F°. Badwater is a natural lake. Well, what's left of it, it has evaporated a long time ago and now all you can see are puddles and salt flats. The skin of my arms is burning, I'm not punning, I could actually cook some eggs on them. I'm running low on water. I'm also running out of petrol, and during the trip I've only found one petrol station, and frankly I can't even remember in which direction. Perhaps it's time to head home. I can't be 100 % positive, but I'm almost sure that when I finally found a petrol station/bar and turned the engine off, the car said something like "next time you're running 200 miles with nothing to drink, you big daft utter idiot". I could almost hear it swallow the petrol while I'm filling its tank. Before going back to the hotel, though, I feel compelled to stop once again at Zabriskie Point, the sun is now setting and there will be no tourist around. I park my car again, and walk up the hill that leads to the square, sit and watch the Valley. I'm overhanging this natural work of art. For the fraction of a second, time seems to have stopped, I'm convinced I'm in a part of a world that doesn't actually exist. There I am. Witnessing what nature, God or whoever else you like, did. I was trying to think about something else, but there was nothing that could compete with that amazing sight, therefore I decided for a moment, not to think of anything. Article Source: http://www.writearticles.org/ About Author / Additional Info: Comments on this article: (2 comments so far)
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