Death Valley National Park
California
Lone Pine, California is the perfect jumping-off point for a sunrise in Death Valley—at least in theory. Our plan was to reach town before sunset, take the scenic detour through Alabama Hills for those iconic shots of Mount Whitney glowing gold in the distance, then rest up before the early-morning drive. Reality had other plans. By the time we rolled into Lone Pine, the sun had vanished behind the Sierras. At the tiny roadside motel, we spent a few minutes convincing the sweet Indian woman at the front desk that Kodi was, in fact, a “service dog.” She finally relented, mostly because she sat perfectly still and smiled at her.
Dinner was next on the negotiation table. I had my heart set on a good steak—the Mount Whitney Restaurant came highly recommended by climbers fresh off the mountain—but my driver and budget manager voted for “something close.” We ended up across the street at The Grill, glowing with Christmas lights in mid-September. I ordered steak, Alan ordered a burger, and everyone was happy enough.
We were on the road by six the next morning, headlights cutting through the desert dark. By 6:40 a.m. we had reached the entrance to Death Valley National Park, and by 7:30am we stood at the edge of Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes—second car in the lot, just behind a father and daughter. I set off quickly, “drafting” behind them to keep pace and momentum, as I often do on trails.
Two dunes in, I realized I’d made a rookie mistake. No water. My mouth was so dry it felt like cotton dust. The sunrise had already done its best work, so I turned back toward Bessie, gulped half a bottle of water in one breath, and felt alive again.
From there, we continued east across the park—Highway 136 to 190, past Father Crowley Vista Point, Panamint Springs, and Stovepipe Wells Village—before reaching the heart of Death Valley. We planned to drive to Badwater Basin for the famous salt flats, but the ranger at the Furnace Creek Visitor Center told us recent flooding had closed much of the area. Instead, she pointed us toward Zabriskie Point.
On the way, we stopped at The Ranch at Death Valley, the park’s lodge, a real-life oasis framed by palms and desert mountains. Then the landscape shifted again—ochre, sage, brick, gold—until we reached Zabriskie’s sculpted hills, glowing under the morning sun. As we headed out along Beatty Road, we spotted a perfect rock formation shaped like a toad’s face. That was the exclamation point on the day.
Lunch was brisket and pulled pork from Smokin’ J’s Barbeque, eaten in the van with the AC blasting as we drove toward Las Vegas, Hoover Dam, and the long, legendary stretch of Route 66 waiting in Kingman, Arizona. We snagged the last available 1st floor room at the Best Western in Kingman.
