Death Valley is the hottest place on the planet. Its air temperature has been registered at 134°F. Even in October, it’ll creep into triple digits, so my plan for today was a quick in-and-out trip, Ocean’s 11-style.
Badwater Basin is the lowest place in North America (282 feet below sea level); salt lines the basin and there is a strong smell of cured meat. I feel like I’m missing a link to connect those two observations. I viewed the basin up close and from afar, at the top of Dante’s View. Way out in the distance, almost imperceptible, is Mt. Whitney, the tallest point in the contiguous United States.
My favorite view of the badlands was at Zabriskie Point, named after Christian Zabriskie of the Pacific Coast Borax Company, and not Jo-Ellen and Dave Zabriskie of comment section fame. The jagged formations stretched out like a thousand fingers, and clouds overhead cast shadows that added even more varieties of browns, yellows, and deep oranges.
I successfully left without melting and drove east through Death Valley Junction, a particularly unphotogenic ghost town. I fueled up and waited out the heat in Pahrump, Nevada, and considered finding a place to camp. Thankfully, Dad reminded me that the Vegas Strip would be more impressive at night, so I pressed on.
I spent about twenty minutes walking Las Vegas Boulevard, which I found plenty as a solo traveler. I think I would enjoy the glamour and brashness more with friends. Right now, I’m in Philosopher-Errant mode, so I can’t be bothered with such base activities as the Strip provides. I also think casinos smell bad. I was considering a buffet until I pictured myself, alone in the line for crab legs. I cannot let myself fall to such depths. I shot out of Vegas and parked for the night. More philosophy tomorrow.