Death Valley National Park Tour  (March 6-8, 2009) by Sonny
FYI - Video links at the bottom of the page
I responded to an invite with probably the most controversial Pilipino motorcycle club in California...."Pinoy Harley Riders Club" for a three days excursion in Death Valley and camping at Furnace Creek.  Many motorcycle enthusiasts have painted  ugly portraits of them specially those who failed to meet the criteria for membership.  Pinoy Harley Riders Club (PHRC) is consistent with any other motorcyle club but with restrictions.  PHRC is exclusive to a Pilipino descent with Harley Davidson motorcycles which led to many allegations not worth mentioning.  Having said that, I prepared myself mentally and physically to absorb any unwanted insult they may throw at me and decided to go and experience it first hand.  
I headed northbound on State Route (SR) 14 at around 8 am to McDonald's in the City of Ridgecrest where PHRC and Gery's group out of San Diego are expected to arrive at 10:30 am.  I felt uncomfortable since I was a stranger.  I rode in at almost 10 am allowing me plenty of time to fill my belly with unhealthy cholesterol.  Surprisingly, Jim was there hence increasing my level of comfort zone.  It wasn't until 11 am when the others arrived.  Art and Joyce were the first one's I met and their friendliness extended my comfort zone level to above normal.  With my chin up high..."It's nice to meet you," I said, as I shook each PHRC member's hand.  During this time I felt as if I belong and my perception which had been tainted with bad rumors has made a left turn.  Gery has taken an alternate route since they have trailered their dirt bikes but some were on their Harley's with us. 
After a short lunch and fuel, Rene of PHRC led the way northbound on SR 178 to the quaint town of Trona.  From there the road becomes Trona Wildrose Rd and 15 miles or so later reveals a mini version of Death Valley, Panamint Valley.  As we turned into Panamint Valley Rd the bike in front of me broke down.  All this time, I rode at the back so I could shoot photos.  I pulled over and behind me were Carlo of PHRC, his lovely wife Dana and their son Sam in the family SUV also pulled over to offer assistance.  The shifter linkage ball and socket came apart, a common weakness of a Harley.  Carlo managed to administer first aid with the use of Dana's scrunchie, a rubberband-like used to bundle hair.  With an ear to ear grin on his face, "That's McGiver," Carlo said as he posed proudly for a photo shoot. 
Off we went and minutes later came upon the Death Valley sign where the rest of the group patiently waited.  "Listen up," Rene said as he pointed his hand to the east and yelled..."OVER THE MOUNTAIN IS THE VALLEY."  After plenty of poses, we headed east on SR 190 aka Death Valley Scenic Byway.  As we ascended, a jet pilot demonstrated his arrogance by performing acrobatics and quick manuevers. What a sight, but a vast region of remarkable scenery is yet to come.  Moments later, we began to descend revealing sand dunes, and rocks sculpted by wind, and sub-sea level valleys bordered by mountain wall with every hue. 
After a short fuel stop at Stovepipe Wells we continued south and as we reached the road to Scotty's Castle, the San Diego Harley riders peeled away and headed northeast to Beatty, NV to meet with Gery as we continued onto our campsite at Furnace Creek.  After making several U-turn looking for a perfect camping location and quickly settting up, we decided to head to Badwater and after having offered spectacular views along the way, we reached the lowest point in the United States, 282 feet below sea level.  Here, we performed lots of posing. 
It was dusk when we got back at camp and after a short rest, we walked to the restaurant where we waited for Gery to arrive.  We waited to a near lesion of the stomach lining not only from hunger but from worries if they made it okey to Beatty, NV since we were incognito (no cell signal).  No Gery in sight...we couldn't take it anymore.  It was time to go in the restaurant. 
It was dark inside and as always I didn't bring my spectacle so I could not read the menu.  Rene asked, "You want me to read it to you?  "Please," I replied, but before he began reading, I  overheard from Doc Rico's table, "These prices are too rich for my blood!  $25 dollars for a piece of steak?"  Upon hearing that, my hunger instantly went away.  Doc Rico explained to the waitress, "I could buy lots of chrome with your prices," he said and we mosey on out of there. 
Rene, Ruben, and I went back to the camp and cooked the Italian sausages with corn tortilla my wife prepared for me, and the rest of the group ate breakfast for dinner at the Cafeteria which were reasonably priced.  As we were resting our bellies, the wind began to gust to about 10-20 mph threatening to blow away our tents.  My tent had it worst.  The flimsy stake wouldn't go through the rocks so I placed some rocks over the stakes which ultimately failed.  Finally, Doc Rico came up with a solution to achor the tent to the bike and it worked.  Mother nature was pissed.  She began to throw sand at us and one by one disappeared into the tent. 
It was still windy at dawn when I awoke so I heated coffee water in my tent.  The wind finally let off at sunrise.  Brenda insisted on taking the 4 cans of corned beef hash that had been sitting on the shelf for almost 6 months which we cooked for breakfast with corn tortilla.  That's right!  We had corned beef hash Tacos and coffee.  It was tasty.  Life is good.  After breakfast, Chris pointed his finger at me and said, "Sonny, your lunch is on me."  I was shocked and humbled. The president of PHRC has offered to buy me lunch. "Thank you..I accept", I replied as I nodded. It was this time that I thought that if I continue to shower them with respect and kindness that it would soak in and perhaps attain the status of at least a step-brother.
It was almost kickstand up and Carlo's family were breaking camp on account of the fact that he has to work the next day. "Do you want me to leave the cooler," he offered which contained beer and a package of hot dogs. I heard several "hell yeah" and they began to carry it till it struck them, "how we gonna bring that big cooler back?" they wondered. Without delay I reacted to another opportunity to earn more points. I went to detach my GIVI trunk which was large and waterproof, laid it on the ground and said proudly,  "you may use that!" It was perfect...all is good.
After a quick housekeeping, off we went to the Ubehebe Crater and Scotty's Castle. From Furnace Creek we headed north on SR190 with Rene on the lead, temperature in the mid 60s, plenty of sunshine and no wind till we reached and turned right on North Hwy where we encountered severe headwind. Rene was committed on getting there quickly so we were speeding. I was enjoying the ride till an advisory sign caught my eye indicating 44 miles to the castle and I wondered,  "Was there a gas station at the castle?" Pausing with a deep thought, I didn't think so..my trip meter indicated 90 miles. Better do the math. With speeding plus the contending severe headwind, sh*t! I may not have enough fuel. Panic set in, over-stimulating the production of hydrochloric acid in my intestine complicating a lacerated lining that initialized last night. I began to murmur while reaching into my pocket for Rolaids. "Stupid! How you gonna look", I whispered. I began to think of how I'm going to address this matter and if they would lend a hand. My confidence was high after all I witnessed Carlo lend a hand yesterday.
It was 125 miles on my trip meter when we arrived at the crater. Ubehebe Crater was once a mini volcano. It exploded spilling lava rocks on the desert floor and now resembles a pot hole on steroids. This was strikingly a great place for Kodak moments and after snapping plenty of it, reluctantly I asked Rene and hope he doesn't get pissed, "Is there a gas station at Scotty's?" As he stared strangely, in a mellow voice he said, "I saw a sign. I don't think so! Did you not fill up yesterday at Furnace Creek?" "Nope, I filled up at Stovepipe Wells," I replied as I scratched the back of my head as to indicate my bad. In a loud tone of voice he asked, "Anybody have a syphon pump?" No one answered as I observed the facial reactions on each other and after a short pause of silence a voice was heard. "I have it," Chris replied. What a relief. Chris began to contemplate and suddenly he said, "Okey! Bring your bike next to Carlo's SUV and we'll pump some gas into it." I was touched.
Since problem solved, I suggested to keep going and pump gas if I run out since it was not for certain that I would not make it to the next gas stop. Okey! It was time to head to the castle and as we resumed riding formation Chris gestured firmly with a hand signal to ride in the middle and that he would take my place which was at the rear. Hmmm! I thought. He wanted to be there when I fall...my guardian angel. It was during this time that I thought that it's not always the journey that matters but also the friendships you make along the way. I would never forget this thought of concern.
Minutes later, we arrived at the extravagant Scotty's Castle. Scotty built this vacation retreat for a wealthy Chicagoan by fraudulently claiming he struck gold somewhere in the hills. Here we made a pit stop. ..just an expression. It's a modern bathroom and after caring for our biological needs we wandered around and took more photos. Upon leaving, we ran into the San Diego Harley guys at the parking lot. After a brief hand shakes and introductions where our names probably went in one ear and out the other and after a few picture taking, we headed back to Stovepipe Wells for fuel.
This time we were met by an irate Park Ranger at the toll booth.  You see, on our way to the castle earlier, there was no one at the booth and we failed to notice the sign directing visitors to go to the office and pay...we just rode through.  Anyway after a few word exchanges and Ruben paid for my fee and the others, off we went.  This time the speed was consistent with the posted speed limit in order to conserve fuel. It wasn't until we reached the T intersection to Stovepipe Wells which is about 6 miles to the pump when I switched to reserve giving me 30+ more miles of fuel. Man! All that worries wasn't for nothing...it validated these bunch have feelings. 
It was high noon when we reached Stovepipe Wells. At the pump, I shook my bike side to side to ensure no hidden air pocket nowhere, filled it to the rim and then some till it spilled over. After taking a short breather, we headed northeast on Daylight Pass Rd to a town with no traffic light, Beatty, NV. Beatty (bee-tee) serves as gateway to Death Valley from the eastside and also a railway center for miners in the area such as the nearby Rhyolite in the early 1900s.
As we rolled in at the Stagecoach Casino parking, we spotted Gery, Enrique, Ly, Hung and company. It was a delight to see them. There were laughter and yelling reminiscent to a meeting of an Ilocano family reunion and after a brief introductions and photo shoots, off they went as we made our way into the casino cafeteria for a late lunch. We split the group into two to avoid the surcharge for a large group.
Seated in a last supper-like arrangement, in a machismo voice, "Order anything you want," Chris said. "I'll have the half-chicken special." I replied. With Ruben seated at the end of the table, "How much was the entrance fee to the park?" I asked. "I got it!" he said. For a moment I was speechless. "I want to pay," I said. "No! I got it.. for the tasty breakfast." he insisted. While taking a deep breath, "Quid pro quo," I thought.
As we were digging in, we were startled by the sudden arrival of Banjo. "I have been looking all over the park for you!" he exclaimed referring to his PHRC brothers. I went to the camp and walked around the tents for notes. Then, I went to Scotty's and came this way. "How did you know we're here," Chris asked. "I saw him at the gas station with the same patch as you have," Hung said. I went to him and said, "You looking for Pinoy Harley?..they inside," Hung said.
Hung wanted to ride with us so this morning he rode to Furnace Creek, but we were gone. From watching CSI Miami, he went to the gas station for information. Unsuccessfully, he proceeded to Stovepipe Wells only to come upon the store clerk stating no. If only he remained there for an hour...
After a great lunch I felt discomfort in my lower torso. Great! I thought. I had to do number two.  It's better here than at the camp since the campground toilet tissue is thin and slick as silk. At the parking lot Rene walked up to me and said, "We are heading to Dante's View.. about 120 miles." I went for gas and after topping off, we headed southeast on US95 to Amargosa Valley. This is where we said goodbye to Carlo, Dana and Sam as we headed south on SR373 and west on SR190 and finally Dante's View Rd as it flowed uphill windingly to a viewpoint terrace of over a mile above sea level revealing panoramic view of an area containing a wealth of geological phenomena. You can almost see the entire Death Valley from the parking lot. Here we did the unthinkable. A photo by the edge.. At the rock on the edge, etc. The view was spectacular...it was surreal.
It has been a long day and plenty of poses. It was time to go before the sunset. Remembering mother nature's wrath last night, and Art's purchase of some tent stakes at the market yesterday, I referred to Banjo that I'm going to the marketplace at Furnace Creek to buy heavy duty stakes that will penetrate the stony landscape which is 86 cents each. "Get me four," Banjo said. Art, Joyce and I went to the market and Art led me to the back where the stakes were stored. There were plenty so I picked up ten. Six for me and four for Banjo.
I was met by Banjo the moment I rolled into camp. "Did they have any?" he asked. "Yes," I replied handing it over as he gently forked over $4 dollars. During this time the others carefully inspected the integrity of each tents in anticipation for another windy condition. Jim walked up and said,"I need one," and during the handoff, you could hear Banjo saying, "Man! that went in really easy."
My first order at the camp was to fortify my tent and these heavy duty stakes quickly brought it up to code. I figured we had half-hour left before nightfall. Hung was with us all this time and it was time for him to backtrack to Beatty until Rene declared, "Let's roll." Rene and Gery had stipulated for all to have a formal dinner, but we just ate lunch and it has been a long day...we opted not to go. With Ruben's concern on personal hygiene, "May I take a shower at your hotel room?" he asked Hung, and without hesitation Hung replied, "Sure," and in consideration to Hung's well being, Rene and Ruben rode the 40 miles to Beatty.
Shortly thereafter, we gathered to form a pow-wow formation. I remembered a phrase by the late President Abe Lincoln referring to a house guest...a fish begins to stink in three days.  I have to work fast.  I'm so close to making a touchdown and this was no time to drop the ball. If I carry the conversation politely and avoid stepping on anyone's toe it may lead them into submission. I began to work. "I have pork'n beans," I said...we could cook it, and Carlo's hot dogs. Jim second the notion and with a soft tone of voice Joyce said, "I bought hot dog buns at the market." "GREAT! Boil the hot dogs," someone said. "Where's the beer," Jim asked.  "I can't open this damn trunk," someone said. "Yikes! I'm sorry," I answered as I rushed over to unlock it. By this time the hot dogs and pork'n beans were done. We began to eat and drink as we discern the characters of each other. We joked and laughed for hours but what fascinated me most was Banjo. For nearly an hour, he kept his flashlight aimed at Doc Rico's face and Doc Rico kept changing position but the beam of light followed along. He finally had enough, "Will you stop that!" he said, but it didn't stop there. 
Art offered me a shot of Tequila which I respectfully denied. "Something wrong?" Doc Rico asked. Hesitantly,"No! all is well," I replied, but they were insistently repetitive. Shamelessly I explained the unusual side effects of alcohol, specifically rum in my system. Doctor's explained that a certain strain of yeast used during the fermentation process excites a specific chromosome in my DNA involving the release of nitric oxides in the corpus carnevosum which binds to the receptors of enzyme guanalyte cyclase which results in increased level of cyclic guanosine monophospate leading to vasolidation of the intimal cushions of the helicine arteries resulting in increased inflow of blood. The unwanted result will then require a form of manipulation such as a hand job, lap dances, a synchronized act with the opposite sex, etc. This caused an uncontrollable laughter among us all while Chris instruct Art, "GET THAT SH*T AWAY FROM HIM," he said and during this period I felt they not only like me but they also respect me as well.
The display of uneasiness was apparent to everybody during the absence of Rene and Ruben. It was almost 3 hours and suddenly, the thunderous sound of Harleys heading our way from over yonder uplifted our spirits. "That's them," Chris said. Upon arrival, someone asked, "how was it?".. "We just had dinner with Gery...not all joined us," Rene replied. "Did you get cleaned up," I asked Ruben.. Looking refreshed, "sure," he said while he joined with his mini folding chair.
Picking up where we left off, we began to talk about future rides and this was the time when Chris utterly aloud, "you can ride with us anytime!" he said. I was humbled once again. Art and Joyce said, "in May go with us to Bryce Canyon, and bring your wife so we could meet her."...  Doc Rico asked, "have you been to the Redwood Run?" I said no. "Go with us in June," he said. Ruben also offered to join him in the Run for the Wall ride to honor the memory of those killed in action. It was definitely a fine evening. It was time to turn in and one by one moved slowly into their tent. Needless to say but mother nature gave us a pass...windy condition never came.
It was in the crack of dawn when I was awakened by a strange sound. Coyotes I thought. Armed with a frying pan, I decided to take a peek. It was Doc Rico.  "Good morning," I whispered. Good morning, he aswered as he went on to break down his tent. Morning coffee is essential ingredient for my alertness and after setting the water kettle on the stove, I began to disassemble my tent. Minutes later, the kettle whistled. While making a cup, "care for some, Doc?" I asked. "Thanks!..I'll make my own," he answered. "Life is great," I thought as I took a big sip.
At this time the others were slowly getting up and my gears were almost packed. It was the savory aroma of the Italian sausages when Rene loudly exclaimed, "Man! That's smells great!" as he crawled out of his hole. Yes! Italian sausage taco for breakfast once more. During breakfast, someone asked for tips on my well orchestrated iron chef method and politely, I obliged. I chose corn tortilla because of portability, cost, and long shelf-life without refrigeration. Just warm it over the fire, throw meat on it and voila ...you're good to go. No paper plates or plastic fork needed. Beware, it will expand in your belly so eat moderately and eat fruits (fiber) or you'll simulate giving birth to a siamese twins. Cooked meat such as pork/chicken adobo, meatloaf, canned meat, etc.are great for making tacos. Freeze overnight to help keep cooler cool. Cooler made of soft material is best for transport on two wheels. Raw meat is dangerous. It may contaminate your food supply so make a stop at the market near the campground if you want to cook steak. I use a water kettle that whistles when the water is hot and ready for instant coffee, tea, chocolate, cup'o noodle, etc. Scissors for cutting, stove, and tongs for grasping and don't confuse that with thongs which is a tiny strip of fabric between the buns! A cowboy should have his own stainless steel cup..that's how they did it in the wild west. Baby wifes have many uses..clean your Harley, clean your frying pan,...go figure.
Breakfast was great...iron chef has done it again. With a loud voice,"kickstand up at 7:30," Rene yelled. By this time, gears were packed securedly on the bikes and after doing a number one and/or a number two off we went. Weather was identical as yesterday. We headed south to the final attraction before heading home. After a few throttle-thrust we reached the popular Artist Drive, a nine miles south to north one way scenic loop offering various spectacular views and natural wonders of multi-colored hillsides. The ride on this narrow winding road dips up and down like a roller coaster ride as it cuts through a ravine and finally to a parking lot.
Here we took more photographs. Banjo had the pleasure of posing with Russian tourists. One of them asked me what the area was called. Thinking switfly, "Sonny's Canyon," I said. Named after the man who discovered it, I added. Afterwards, at Furnace Creek gassing up, I felt bad for saying that, but what the hell. She's probably back home telling her friends how gorgeous Sonny's Canyon is.
It was time to backtrack home. We made a stop at the same Death Valley sign we stopped on our way over for more photos then finally to the quaint town of Trona. This is where we said goodbye to Rene, Chris, Doc Rico, and Banjo for they're heading south on US 395 and Jim, Ruben, Art & Joyce, and I were heading south on SR 14.  We waved away as we reached the interchange and Jim who is now on the lead, without delay picked up more speed, a reminder..he loved to speed. I was worried for Art who carried a precious cargo but all went well. We stopped in Acton, Ca for fuel and snack at Jack in the box. Joyce insisted on paying for my snack. Life is great and after the snack and goodbyes off we went...our separate ways. I will treasure my memories with you. I doubt very much that I will win a Writers Guild Award for this. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I writing it.
TESTIMONIALS....

"Hopefully, activities like this one leads to further interaction between groups that would create greater understanding and friendship within the community".......Rene of PHRC

"Great ride report.  Don't forget Laughlin River Run.  We stay in Vegas and ride with Phil-USA to Laughlin and back to Vegas"...........Gery of San Diego

"I love it! It's riveting" ..........my daughter Arianna

"Good job dear!  I missed another good one, didn't I?".........wife Brenda
"Way to go Dad!  I give you  an A- for mispelling okay...you wrote okey".........Carole 
Please excuse my English.  I stand corrected.  Contrary to what I've heard of PHRC, these bunch whom I had the pleasure of knowing are nothing but outstanding.  I don't let good deeds go unnoticed so thank you, Chris for the lunch, thank you Ruben for paying my way into the park, thank you Joyce and Art for the lunch at Jack's, thank you Rene for being a safe guide/lead, thank you Carlo, Dana and Sam, thanks Banjo and Doc Rico, and lastly but not least....Jim! thank you for getting us home very quickly.  You guys from San Diego, I miss you guys.  Click Here for music slide video.  Double click on the center of the screen to view full screen and double click to go back. Please view this awesome mind blowing music video courtesy of Doc Rico...Click Here and as always Gery's unparalleled music slideshow...Click Here 
P.S.  With today's economic hardship, someone needs your help.  He/She may be someone you know or not.  Please help them if you can...Thank You