After working the scooter through the loose sand, I hit Cottonwood road and headed into the park. It was a pleasant ride, albeit slow. The first part was all up hill and the scooter was moving between 10 and 15mph. It was during this part of the trip that I realized I didn’t bring a jug of water. Not good. Once I made it up to the visitors center it sped up to about 30mph. From then on, it was smooth sailing. I stopped at all of the various markers and checked out some Ocotillo trees in bloom. I was lucky enough to see a rare purple aster that supposedly only grows in this area. The only wildlife I saw were a few lizards and a rabbit. No sheep for me… sigh. After a long ride in the Colorado desert, I finally made it in to the Mojave. I looked at my fuel gauge, but it hadn’t moved. I decided to go all of the way to White Tank Campground.

When I arrived there I was overcome by the scenery. The giant boulders surrounded by Joshua Trees were an awesome sight. I was so entranced I almost didn’t notice the time or my fuel gauge. I didn’t have a clock, but the sun was pretty low in the sky. The gauge read 3/4 tank. I thought, “Plenty of time and fuel, but I should head back.” I got to see a Joshua Tree! Too bad it took 30 miles.

I headed back home. This is where the fun started. My hands were a little cold, so I stopped to warm them up at a pull out. When I started off again the fuel gauge said 1/2. I started to get concerned. I was still about 27 miles from our campsite and 20 miles from the visitors center. Uh oh! Panic sets in, and I start driving slower to conserve fuel. The scenery had disappeared. All that was left was the gas gauge, the odometer, the road ahead of me and the faint hope that some off-roaders with gas cans would be around the next bend.

The next 20 miles were like that. Slowing down seemed to help. My gauge was moving very slowly. I thought that I might make it. I even chose to pass up stopping at the visitors center, because the gauge still showed fuel. But, it was not to be. As I made it up the hill just past the visitors center, the scooter died. I tried to start it, but it was futile. Grrrr… Most of the rest of the journey back to the campsite would have been down hill. I debated trying to coast down the 7 miles to the campsite. Then, I remembered that I didn’t have water. Seven miles, desert, no water… not good. Had I had water, I think I could have done it. Alas, I coasted back to the visitors center. It was closed. There were three cars in the parking lot. Only one wasn’t a subcompact. It was an SUV. I figured it was my best shot at a fuel can. Nope. He said I was in a good spot though. There was a campground up the road. By then all of the other cars were gone.

I started hoofing it up to the campground a half mile away. As I topped a hill, it looked like I could coast the scooter down the rest of the way to the campground, so I went back and got the scooter. I also figured that people would be more willing to give me a couple ounces of fuel if I was pushing the scooter. Damned heavy scooter. My brilliant idea of coasting down was destroyed. The scooter wouldn’t move on its own. More pushing.

Then the guy I asked for fuel at the visitors center drove back by. Oh joy. Here I am, alone, with a disabled scooter and now I have a stalker. Lovely, buried in the desert… ugh. He said that he thought I said “I could drive a few miles” instead of “I only have a few miles to go, so I only need a few ounces”. He offered me a ride or to try to find me some fuel. I told him that I would be grateful if he brought me fuel, but I am going to continue to the campground. He drove away. Relief. I tried to run beside the scooter to get it rolling down the hill, but when I jumped on, it would crawl to a stop (no fat jokes!). Back he came. Said that no one would answer at the ranger houses and that he would try the campground.

So close. I got to the campground sign but saw no campers. All up hill from there. I pushed a little further. No campers in site. I spotted a tent camper and his son. I asked if I was going the right direction to reach the campers. It was up hill. I was tired. I didn’t want to waste any energy. He said it was his first time there and he had no idea. He asked if I was the “one who ran out of fuel”. Obviously, the creepy longhaired guy in the SUV had been there. Maybe he didn’t want to kill me after all. Then, the tent camper offered to take me to the campers. I declined. He jumped into his jeep, started it, and told me to hop in. I accepted. I pushed the scooter into a parking space and locked the steering.

Being a big believer in self sufficiency, it was pretty hard for me to go around begging folks for help. I was more comfortable pushing the scooter up the sides of mountains than asking for fuel. I was still out of breath when I asked the first person I saw. They said they couldn’t help and asked who the guy that dropped me off was. The next folks, a man and his grandson, were much nicer. They offered me what they had, stove fuel. I asked if they had cell phones, but neither could get a signal. They let me know that if I couldn’t find fuel they would be happy to drive me to my campsite. Nice folks. That trend continued. Then, the stalker pulled back up with a can of gas. Hooray! I hopped in the “serial killer’s” vehicle.

I was happy, but worried that I had killed the battery when I tried to start the scooter earlier. Thankfully, I hadn’t. Greg, probably a nice guy and not a murderer, poured the gas in. I tried to start it. No go. Plenty of battery but no start. The scooter can be a pain to start when its cold. I figured after a couple hours it was probably cold again. I tried again and again. Ok, kickstart. Nope. Greg wanted to try to kick start it. Still nothing. Try the electric start again. And, again. Greg took the gas can back. I finally killed the battery. It was over.

I walked away and asked the tent camper if he had cell signal. Of course not. Greg returned. I told him the bad news. He offered jumper cables. I turned it on and tried to start it again. Omg, the battery recharged itself. Second try and it started. Then, it stalled. OK, I tried again and this time opened the throttle right away. It started, but then stalled in milliseconds. I tried it a few more times and it never started.

I decided to let it rest and Greg and I chatted. Turns out that he is a rock climber who used to work with a team training people. They have all long since moved on, got married, had kids, etc. But, every year they meet up in Joshua Tree on Palm Sunday and climb together. He was on his way home from it when I pestered him. He turned out to be pretty cool. He is now an Earth Science teacher who would rather mountain bike or surf than scramble around on rocks. I wish I would have met him and his lady in better circumstances. Good people.

OK, time to try it a couple more times. It was getting dark. The stupid scooter wouldn’t start again. I asked Greg if he was leaving the park for the night. He was. I decided to take him up on the offer to shuttle me to my camper. So I grabbed my helmet, locked the scooter and left it for dead.

Not much happened after that. Greg and I chatted about adventure sports, environments, and life on our 7 mile ride. I started to feel a little guilty about him sticking around so long to help me. He wouldn’t accept any cash for his trouble.

The scooter is a liar. I almost wanted to leave it at the campground. But, when I got home we packed up and went to rescue it.

Campsites mentioned in this post:
Joshua Tree NP South BLM Land
White Tank Campground

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Internet connectivity has been spotty, but not as spotty as the sides of the truck. About a week ago, we stopped overnight at a horse trail in the national forest just off the Natchez Trace. On pulling in, we saw a rather deep looking mud puddle and in our infinite wisdom, decided to try and keep the truck clean. A few words of advice: in Mississippi, if the road looks bad, the ground around it is awful. Fifteen feet off the road, the ground sunk in bad enough that we needed to put the truck in 4WD and lock the hubs to get out.

Now this is the point where everybody tells you that 4WD allows you to get stuck deeper in. The smart course of action, would have been to back out. However, I looked at the ruts we’d already made and looked ahead. No big deal, just a little 10″ deep ditch. Nothing the truck can’t handle, right? At this point, the ditch, with water running through it, somehow, looked better than the foot deep mud behind us. I guess everybody that’s spent much time in the mud is giggling about now. I hadn’t taken into account that a ditch, WITH WATER IN IT, is likely to be at least as gooey as the ground around it.

So, long story short, another fifteen feet of driving put us in quite a bit of nasty crud and the poor, overloaded truck refused to budge any direction but down. I got out and started digging in some hope of flattening the area out. Jenn decided it was a great time to snap a picture. Women! I can’t fault her too much though, by the time the night was over, she did her share of digging.

Did I mention this was within sight of the highway? One of the good ole boys driving past decided this was good, cheap entertainment and pulled in to help us out. About this time, we discovered that the rear cargo carrier was pinned and was perhaps the cause of the problem. We jacked the camper up and were able to wiggle out the cargo carrier. However, by the time we ran the jacks back up, we’d sunk a bit lower. By the time the truck stopped sinking, we were a hair’s breadth from the fuel tank resting on the ground.

Well, Billy ran home to get his 4WD Bronco and we kept digging. We dug trenches under the tires and filled them with gravel we stole off the road. By this point, the rear jacks were in the mud. We dug trenches for the jacks. Eventually, Billy got back with a Bronco he uses for hunting that looked like it had actually sunk in quicksand and smelled like he’d spent the afternoon picking up three day old roadkill. After half an hour or so, we decided that no combination of the Bronco and our truck was going to budge us from that damned ditch.

Luckily, Billy had an ace up his sleeve. He called a buddy, who happened to run a tow company, who sent a different tow driver over since he was closer. While we waited, I made up a liter of whiskey for Billy to thank him for his time while Jenn kept him entertained talking about hunting. I’ve got to say, it was one of my best bottles yet and Billy and I enjoyed a few shots before and after the tow truck arrived.

Said tow truck, made the whole operation look trivial, of course. Hook up a winch, turn on the motor and two minutes later, you’re on dry ground. Jenn and I were actually considering a winch for just such occasions, but we never ran across one that was a reasonable price. Perhaps, it’s because we were looking for too big a winch. Anybody have an idea what size winch you’d need to move a 7 ton vehicle with a bit of help from the engine?

Oh, the total cost for the nights ‘entertainment’ as Jenn puts it? $45 and a helluva a good bottle of homemade whiskey. Jenn still claims it was the most fun she’s had since we hit the road. Women!

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Until we get some of our latest pictures ready for perusal, I’ll leave you with some goofiness from the Myrtle Beach area. There was quite an array of giant animals attacking everything from buildings to vehicles in the Myrtle Beach-Surfside area.

I think all of this strange animal activity can be traced back to this house:

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And then, we ran into this sign:

Of course, we had to pull in.

It didn’t take long until we ran into this cute fella. Jenn wanted to bring him home with us and tried to give him half of her sandwich. I was just about to ask her if she was going to clean up after him when he ran off.

We followed the little brontosaurus until we ran into either Mom or Dad. Neither of us was brave enough to get closer and find out which it was. We sat on the hill for a bit watching the bronto family eat while Jr. ran around harassing the adults. I can’t be sure, but I could swear he was whining ‘I wanna go see the humans!’

It’s hard to say whose eyes were bugging out more: us watching these brontos or them watching the metallic beasts roaring past on the interstate.

Either way, this idyllic scene is a memory I’m sure we’ll treasure forever. We will describe it for our children in glorious detail as we drive past and ignore their whining.

After a bit, the brontos all left in a hurry. The birds took off as well. The silence was a bit disconcerting, so we packed up and moved on. And we damn near walked into this guy! Thankfully, he wasn’t looking our direction.

Needless, to say, we got the hell out of there as quickly and quietly as possible. In fact, we were still running when we encountered the scariest thing in the park.

Anytime, you run into a Welcome Center capable of eating a T-Rex, it’s probably a bad sign. Even so, got a bit closer until we could make out the tiny print on the sign: Adults – $12.75. That was enough to scare us off for good. After all, it had to be scarier inside, right?

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And here’s a picture of us trying to race the storm home before chaos tore loose. We ended up having visibility problems for about an hour as this monster dumped water on us non-stop.

It was definitely one of the worst storms we’ve driven through in a while. I think the last bad one we drove through was hurricane Ivan after it turned into a tropical storm. For intensity, this thing had Ivan beat hands down. Luckily, it was only about an hour of white-knuckle driving instead of 4-5 hours.

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