Itinerant Air-Cooled Traverses Nevada
Posted: Sat Sep 10, 2016 10:33 pm
Long ago did I take leave of vwdreamBayb and her poor brakeless Hans to just hit the road up I-15 to Las Vegas to visit with ScottLasVegas. I remember, I remember the heat. I remember that exhilarating current of red and white lights snaking through the Cajon Pass and watching the jeweled night lights recede past mountain silhouettes, and I remember the terrible smell of burnt as I drove through the recent Blue Cut Fire that had darkened my morning photographs taken August 18th in Button Willow north of Los Angeles. It is a fast climb from sea level to 4,190 feet. NaranjaWesty pulled the entire climb in 4th gear with a maximum head temp reading of 428*.
Camped at my old mistake back in 2005 or whenever where I thought it was a "road" but it was actually an off-road playground where the Road Warrior threw on an oil pressure light on some impossible dip sideways. I was careful this time to find a nice level spot. The stars were so welcome. The silence was so welcome. The interstate truck lights gliding in the warm evening were the lovely gilt of my campsite threshhold to the desert, the place I look forward to visiting every summer. Well guess what? It was a nice level spot, because in the dark, I had parked in the middle of a new quarry road. A 6:00AM truck horn told me so in no uncertain terms, a double trailer truck driving crisply with four of his buddies behind him, and I was enveloped in clouds of silt and blasted with the sounds of empty trailers rattling over the bumpy rocks. Yeah, good morning to you.
It was a hot traverse to Barstow. Head temps were consistently high, and I no longer cared to chase adjustments around in circles. "I shall check the valves by and by." Came across a road that would have served well as my secret advantage if playing "Alphabet" with Cindy's daughter who kicked my butt when she spied Zelionople PA back in 2005. I would have started the game in Hesperia or thereabouts and we would have plowed through the alphabet and I would have waited for Exit 239 . . .
Zzyzz Road! I win! (finally):
At a temperature check, I came across this repulsive scene, all must have been full of dirty oil, all kicked over and drained. "Chevron" labels. Some Californians must have a deep and abiding hatred of that state's efforts to lead the way in environmental stewardship:
The big hill before Baker, didn't lift off the accelerator, either:
Didn't lift off the accelerator none here neither:
Chatted with the new owner of this 1965 Lincoln. Bought it in North Dakota. Asked him if he was going to lower it and stick on huge 22" chrome wheels. He looked like he might enjoy chrome. "Nope! I like 'em stock!"
Shy of Baker, I took a little dirt road for a while:
This is the descent into Baker. That hill in the distance, that is the famous 16 mile ascent to the Halloran Summit:
How hot was it? It was THIS hot:
Pretty punk coolish temps for desert denizens, perhaps, but for a 4,150 lb Westfalia with orange plaid, I say it was just right. The hill climb kept the revs down and my max head temps were:
.. .. .. at:
.. .. .. and the gorgeousness of the view just past the summit was my first evidence that moisture was becoming more known to the vegetation as I headed east:
Like my new desert hideaway? Found this off some exit before the Nevada border. It had shade and a cooling breeze, and an unexpected view for my 5,800 mile (slightly late) oil change:
Big valley traverse before the last hill climb (Mountain Summit?):
Who needs a runaway truck ramp when you have a poptop air brake?
It was a 10 mile 6% descent, however. The potential energy of a fully loaded truck dropping 2,000 feet has got to be pretty big . . . much . . . heat, brakes, kinetic energy converters, anyways, I never used my brakes. An amazing panorama:
Came across an other-worldy look at a different sort of energy conversion:
That's not water, those are millions of little mirrors:
Ran out of time! Day Two of jtauxe is rushing up. Will fill in later.
Colin
(hey Scott! Jump in here!)
Camped at my old mistake back in 2005 or whenever where I thought it was a "road" but it was actually an off-road playground where the Road Warrior threw on an oil pressure light on some impossible dip sideways. I was careful this time to find a nice level spot. The stars were so welcome. The silence was so welcome. The interstate truck lights gliding in the warm evening were the lovely gilt of my campsite threshhold to the desert, the place I look forward to visiting every summer. Well guess what? It was a nice level spot, because in the dark, I had parked in the middle of a new quarry road. A 6:00AM truck horn told me so in no uncertain terms, a double trailer truck driving crisply with four of his buddies behind him, and I was enveloped in clouds of silt and blasted with the sounds of empty trailers rattling over the bumpy rocks. Yeah, good morning to you.
It was a hot traverse to Barstow. Head temps were consistently high, and I no longer cared to chase adjustments around in circles. "I shall check the valves by and by." Came across a road that would have served well as my secret advantage if playing "Alphabet" with Cindy's daughter who kicked my butt when she spied Zelionople PA back in 2005. I would have started the game in Hesperia or thereabouts and we would have plowed through the alphabet and I would have waited for Exit 239 . . .
Zzyzz Road! I win! (finally):
At a temperature check, I came across this repulsive scene, all must have been full of dirty oil, all kicked over and drained. "Chevron" labels. Some Californians must have a deep and abiding hatred of that state's efforts to lead the way in environmental stewardship:
The big hill before Baker, didn't lift off the accelerator, either:
Didn't lift off the accelerator none here neither:
Chatted with the new owner of this 1965 Lincoln. Bought it in North Dakota. Asked him if he was going to lower it and stick on huge 22" chrome wheels. He looked like he might enjoy chrome. "Nope! I like 'em stock!"
Shy of Baker, I took a little dirt road for a while:
This is the descent into Baker. That hill in the distance, that is the famous 16 mile ascent to the Halloran Summit:
How hot was it? It was THIS hot:
Pretty punk coolish temps for desert denizens, perhaps, but for a 4,150 lb Westfalia with orange plaid, I say it was just right. The hill climb kept the revs down and my max head temps were:
.. .. .. at:
.. .. .. and the gorgeousness of the view just past the summit was my first evidence that moisture was becoming more known to the vegetation as I headed east:
Like my new desert hideaway? Found this off some exit before the Nevada border. It had shade and a cooling breeze, and an unexpected view for my 5,800 mile (slightly late) oil change:
Big valley traverse before the last hill climb (Mountain Summit?):
Who needs a runaway truck ramp when you have a poptop air brake?
It was a 10 mile 6% descent, however. The potential energy of a fully loaded truck dropping 2,000 feet has got to be pretty big . . . much . . . heat, brakes, kinetic energy converters, anyways, I never used my brakes. An amazing panorama:
Came across an other-worldy look at a different sort of energy conversion:
That's not water, those are millions of little mirrors:
Ran out of time! Day Two of jtauxe is rushing up. Will fill in later.
Colin
(hey Scott! Jump in here!)
Keep on, keeping on Colin! Are you still coming for a visit? 
