Little Red's engine quieted at Wildrose. "I'm not going to try Charcoal Kilns," said Andy. "The roads are just too rutted. Do you remember this though?" We picked out the site where in 1983 we had pitched our four-man tent. Alone in the campground that night, we had awakened to a herd of 20 or 30 burros surrounding the tent. "I can't believe they didn't knock over the tent that night," said Andy. Today most of the animals, descendants of escapees of early prospectors, have been captured and removed. It makes for a more realistic environment and protects the native habitat.
From Emigrant Pass at 5,318 feet, the road deteriorated. Washed out in storms of recent years, the pavement remained flood-potted with loose gravel and sand and rocky shoulders. At 5 or 10 m.p.h. Andy guided Little Red through miles of ruts onto the Panamint Valley floor. We prayed Little Red wouldn't lose her engine. Andy was amazed she still had four fenders. Yes, the roads are that bad!
Ballarat Road took us to Ballarat on the western edge of the Panamint Range, a ghost town since 1917 when the post office closed. We passed a radar tracking station, the screen rotating. A jet rumbled in the distance, the roar echoing in the hills. "This valley is a training area for low level flying," said Andy, "which is probably why the whole valley was not added to the park in the first place. It's probably Navy training since China Lake Naval Air Weapons Station is nearby." Two propeller planes glided low overhead. Primarily a miners' supply station, Ballarat was founded in 1897 when prospectors struck gold in nearby hills. There wasn't much left, only five or six camper trailers, a dog, an outhouse held upright by rocks, and a ramshackle tin-roofed building marked general store.
Father Crowley Vista offered a view of 90-mile long Panamint Valley. Thank goodness we parked Little Red and walked the mile each way. The rutted road, hazardous with intermittent rocks, had not been maintained in spite of a modernized parking area.
"I keep thinking about the Iron Man competition," said Andy, as we drove toward Lone Pine. "Do you remember that?" On one trip west Andy and I had stayed a night in Panamint--the day of the Iron Man competition. Then we sat on the porch, watching runners struggle from Badwater to Whitney Portal in temperatures of more than 110 degrees. Now the cool 60's invited a stroll. Evidence of burros blended with round red and black basalt rocks at the pullouts.
"I keep thinking about the Iron Man competition," said Andy, as we drove toward Lone Pine. "Do you remember that?" On one trip west Andy and I had stayed a night in Panamint--the day of the Iron Man competition. Then we sat on the porch, watching runners struggle from Badwater to Whitney Portal in temperatures of more than 110 degrees. Now the cool 60's invited a stroll. Evidence of burros blended with round red and black basalt rocks at the pullouts.
Plenty more turds showed up on the dirt road into Darwin Waterfall. Andy stopped. "Your car is not built for this kind of terrain," he said. We parked and walked a mile or so without seeing any evidence of an oasis. "That's it," said Andy. "We're going back to the Panamint Spring Resort to sit on the porch with a bottle of wine and watch the cars drive by... about one every 20 minutes."
Sparrows joined us at the table, begging for raisins and nuts. "People who come here to live or work are running away from something," said Andy. "It's the loneliest place I've ever been."
"I guess it's a good thing you have me," I told him.
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