Dumb Ideas

I bet y'all have done some stupid things. I know I have. For some reason, I was thinking about this one the other day. Back in November 2020, the kiddo (who was five years old at the time) and I took the old GTFO Subaru Forester out to the Mojave National Preserve. It was probably just about when the temperatures got to be tolerable for the "winter."

I had been spending hours pouring over Google Earth of the area, following dirt roads into washes and across ranges. There is a semi-established group of campsites in the area with firerings that my friends and I had been going to for years that was totally blown up during the pandemic. One night we arrived to find a group projecting a light show on the rocks and blaring music...

However while chasing a particular road around the range, I became intrigued by another road it intersected. A powerline road near the Kelso Dunes. The damn thing went almost all the way to Barstow. Could a person drive it that far? Powerline roads are notoriously... okay. They have to be passable for a power company truck—certainly more heavy duty than a Subaru. And in addition to being prepared to be out there, they are also driving a truck that doesn't belong to them. 

The Kelso Dunes powerline road was not part of the November 2020 plan. In attempting to find one of the secluded sites I'd found on the map, we got lost and found a different, yet suitable spot to camp for the night. The next day, we set out in the daylight to find the one we couldn't find in the darkness. Then we bounced around a web of roads until we decided to try to hike the dunes. But perhaps the temps weren't entirely tolerable for the season, yet. We made it a mile before turning back. Hiking with kids is slow.

So we did the dumb thing. We hopped in the car and headed down the powerline road, unplanned. Let's just see how far we get. Then it was super washboard-y, so like turning around didn't sound fun. Then we reached a spot that was just within the Subaru's capability. On a lot of other days, I would've turned back. This day, I didn't, and that became the commitment to see the road through, because like, going back wasn't really an option anymore. I watched the temp gauge, and left the car running whenever we stopped. Because this would be the time it didn't want to start again, right? 

 

It was amazing. Canyons. Long wide-open stretches. Far enough away to hear nothing. At one point, some dunes (the dunes?)—deep in the middle of the expanse—come right up to the road. And when the road finally spits out, you're on a dry lake bed just above Ludlow and the 40. The worst part was that the Dairy Queen, where the crossroad spits out, was being remodeled and wasn't open.