The Death Valley Convoy
Artist's Point, Death Valley National Monument, California
April 21-23, 1999

Table of Contents 2 - The Weekend Revs Up
   
On the shore of Lake Tahoe The Boxsters Have Landed II.  So many itineraries.  Convoys from Texas, San Francisco, Los Angeles.  Drives from Alberta, Arizona, Oregon.  Flights from Toronto, New York, Germany, North Carolina.  BoxsterLovers converging from all over the world to weave our routes together for one unbelievable weekend in Las Vegas.

No one can follow all the routes, tell all the stories. Here's ours.

 A bit of morning snow at 6300 feet.
Wednesday night we met Barbara (Baby Jade) and Bob Jeffress at the north end of Lake Tahoe, straddling the California-Nevada border at 6230 feet above sea level.  We walked to the lake shore, where a beachfront firepit (above) and the last rays of the sun kept us warm until we could wrap ourselves around a hearty dinner at the magnificent stone cathedral-ceilinged Lone Eagle Grill. The Death Valley convoy assembles Next morning we awoke to a light coating of snow on the cars (above).  What a pretty way to start a day's drive down into the desert heat. 

Or so we thought.  Our first inkling otherwise was a call on the cell phone from Carolyn Zimbaldi.  They were a hundred miles ahead of us, making 20 mph in heavy snow.

Our convoy - cars from the San Francisco and Tahoe - Carson City areas - met just south of Carson City, in front of S and W Feeds. (l)  The editor of the local Porsche group newsletter showed up to take photos.
Chains? On a Boxster? Our discussion revolved around the weather.  Should we detour east, seeking lower altitudes, or take beautiful Route 395 through the Sierras, figuring that the storm would let up?  Optimism won out, and we pressed on. 

Pretty soon Jeff Hurst, our convoy organizer (l) and the rest of us were reconsidering our optimism.  But Boxsters hold the road, right?  And some of us even had traction control.  Which we were glad of, as conditions continued to deteriorate (r).

 And miles to go before we sleep (or even eat lunch)
Near-whiteout conditions above 7000 feet Tightly gripping our two-way Talkabouts, we kept each others' spirits up and pressed on.  But coming over Devil's Gate Summit, above 7500 feet, there was a near whiteout (l) and the outside temperature indicators kept dropping: 32 ... 29 ... 27. 

So we stopped in the next town, Bridgeport, for lunch.  The saloon had pool tables, a cheery waitress, and fine chili.  And it was there our luck changed.

We were eating some quite decent burgers (r) when a round, baby-faced lad sauntered in, beaming a pleasant smile.  He looked about five years too young for the California Highway Patrol uniform he wore.  This was not the kind of CHP that patrols Interstate 5.

 Lunch in Bridgeport
"Can you tell us about the roads?" we asked.

"Well, they're black, covered with asphalt -- got a yellow line down the middle ..."  Definitely not the I-5 kind.

He grinned.  "They're wide open south of here," he said.

 South on U.S. 395 toward Death Valley And so they were.  By the time we got outside, the sun was breaking through the clouds.  We wiped half an inch of snow off the Boxsters and moved out.  Although there were a few sprinkles for the rest of the drive south, we had dry pavement from there on.  Even the dust and windstorms, which plagued the Mojave Desert and the convoy from L.A. earlier in the day, had layed down by the time we got there.

I still don't think he was a real CHP.  Probably one 'a them angels.
 
By now, we'd lost so much time to the weather that we might not make our 7:30 dinner reservation in Death Valley. The AAA map said three hours to Furnace Creek.  But it hadn't factored in 85 on the straight desert roads, nor what Boxsters could do to the twisty descent to the valley floor.  Did that sign say 52 mph? (r)  It went by too fast to read ... Winding down into the valley The outside temperature was moving up into the sixties as we headed down toward sea level.  Despite the gray day, the pastels of Death Valley unfolded before us. (l)

We made the "three hour" run in two.
Ruins of the old borax works We made a quick stop at the ruins of the borax works (l), where a gent in the parking lot asked to photograph our cars.  "My son and grandson are both Porsche nuts," he explained.

Then it was just a couple more miles to the Furnace Creek Ranch and Inn, where we checked into our rooms and changed for dinner.  The Inn (r), build in 1927, is an incongruous oasis in the midst of the bleak, baked desert.

 Furnace Creek Inn - elegance in the middle of nowhere
The Inn features an aged but not faded elegance, a pool fed by a natural hot spring - and a fine dining room.  The Sacramento cars had arrived earlier, and the Los Angeles contingent trickled in.  There were eleven Boxsters parked outside, twenty places at the table (r), and the World's Lowest BoxsterFeast - er, BoxsterFest - was underway. Thursday morning, we awoke, pulled aside the curtains and looked out the window.  The clouds were gone, and the sharp hills and subtle colors of Death Valley stood out starkly in the sunlight.
Would You Enjoy a Trip to Hell? An early morning trip to the Borax Museum at the Furnace Creek Ranch turned up this enterprising bit of tourist promotional material (l), cheerfully inquiring, "Would You Enjoy A Trip to Hell?"  The ad, which appeared in the April 1, 1907 issue of the Death Valley Chuck-Walla, enthuses that Death Valley "has all the advantages of hell without the inconveniences." Climbing the road to Zabriskie Point
The Boxsters gathered in the Inn parking lot (r), gleaming in the desert sun. (Boxster owners are resourceful.  They can find a water hose in the middle of the desert.) Fifteen minutes of chatting and inspecting of options, and then we were off for the morning's tour (above), heading up toward Zabriskie Point.

Death Valley is a work in progress.  A million years ago - an instant in geological time - this was level, gently rolling terrain.  A mere 25,000 years ago it was a 600 foot deep lake.
Zabriskie Point affords a spectacular view of the entire valley.  It's a perfect spot for a souvenir photo (below).  That's the owner of our Boxster on the right.

Then it was off to Artist's Drive, the most colorful spot in Death Valley.  A five mile, one-way road winds through narrow defiles with different grotesquely shaped rocks rising around each turn.

 Artist's Palette, Death Valley National Monument, California At Artist's Palette, we commandeered the good end of the parking lot for a group photo (l).  Asked to move his Saturn out of the way, a nice gent said "On one condition - you let me sit in one."  So he and his wife both did, displaying gratifying enthusiasm.  They're the third and fourth from the right in the picture.
Next stop was Badwater, lowest spot in the United States at 283 feet below sea level.  Some of us walked out on the salt flats (r).  That white speck up on the cliff, at the upper left corner of the photo, is a sign reading 
"Sea Level".		 Badwater - lowest spot in the U.S.
What was left of the convoy - six Boxsters - took off from Badwater in three groups.  With some determined driving, plus chatting on the Talkabouts, we were all together by the time we'd left Death Valley and gotten to Shoshone (r) for lunch.  Downtown Shoshone, Calif. Then most headed off to Las Vegas by the direct route.  But we detoured a bit to visit China Ranch, a date farm south of Trona on the back route into Vegas.
On the road to China Ranch date farm The date farm had some antiques on exhibit, and a nice little cactus garden.  But the most interesting thing about it was the dirt road getting there.  It was well graded, and followed a wash through fascinating formations carved out of the soft rock.  Richard Stanley (l) intrepidly dared the route with us - a gutsy move in an Arena Red car.  By the time we got back to pavement, it was more like Desert Beige. We were getting pretty tired by then, so we headed off for Vegas, not even stopping in Emigrant Pass to look for the pioneer wagon tracks supposedly still visible in the valley floor.

We drove straight to Keith Vyenielo's house, where he kindly provided us road warriors with a hose, towels, and all the necessaries to move a substantial chunk of Death Valley into the drain.  Then it was off to check into the Imperial Palace.  TBHL II was about to begin.
Table of Contents 2 - The Weekend Revs Up

Text and  photos © 1999 Walt Bilofsky – All Rights Reserved.  Page last modified May 2, 1999.

Visit Walt's other Boxster pages.