Date:         Mon, 3 Apr 1995 19:17:41 -0700 (PDT)
Sender:       Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@vanagon.com>
From:         Steve Johnson <sjohnson@pcocd2.intel.com>
Subject:      Red Rock Trip Report Part 3 - Shake, Rattle & Roll


Red Rock Trip Report Part 3 - Shake, Rattle & Roll


'Wake up and go pee.'

"Mmmmmm"

'No don't try to go back to sleep, ya gotta pee.'

"Uh-uh. ZZZzzz"

'I SAID you gotta go PEEE.'

"Oh, dammit, Ugh.....

And that happened only twice in the first night.  All's
quiet.  Colder than a well-diggers butt in Alaska.  Wriggle
out of the bag, climb down from the upper bunk and hop on
the porta-potti.  Finish business, climb (urr) back (ugh) up
to the bunk.  And wriggle (brrrrr) back into the bag.  Lights
out. 

	    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My eyes started to open and and noticed that there was real
sunlight on the canvas side of my poptop.  I internally searched
one more time for any indication of needing any sleep.  This is
nothing more than closing my eyes and relaxing.  If I don't nod
off, then I think I should get up.  If I nod off, then it's
a moot point.  As it was the former, I forced myself forward to
look down off of the bunk and noticed all the clutter below. 
Last nights clothes tossed here and there.  A porta-potti, an ice
chest, beer bottle collection, bag of groceries, miscellaneous
eating implements and my heavy coat.  Ah, what a sight.

All of a sudden I'm thinking, COFFEE!!!  Man I could use some
coffee right now.  I hope someone has made some.  I climbed 
down from the bunk, pulled on some cold clean clothes from
my sports bag, grabbed my coffee pot and headed outside. 

SUNLIGHT!!!!!!  Man, it was soooo bright out, I had to go
back in and get my sunglasses and headed back out into
the dreaded rays.

I strolled up to the site where everyone gathered at the
campfire before and noticed the well scorched beer bottles
and leftover charred wood and rather thick ashes.  The 
picnic table was littered with all kinds of left overs from
the previous night and looked as though no non-human night
creatures even considered touching it.  I looked around and
could see that no one else was stirring in our group and 
decided that I would have to make some coffee soon.  

I went back down to the site I was parked and was making
preparations to get stuff for breakfast at which time I noticed
Dave Kautz who shared the site with me puttering about getting
his morning act together.  He yanked out a Coleman white gas
fired stove and a drawer which he had pulled from his '73 camper
and smiling said, "Since you had a '74 camper, you should recog-
nize this."  Indeed I did and we went into a discussion of the
layout of those years of the VW camper. 

He pulled out all of his fixin's for breakfast and I went and
grabbed my all time favorite bag of grocery store bought danish
and proudly placed them on the table.  David had his own cinnamon
rolls and had water boiling in a pan.  As I didn't have much
coffee in the cabinet I opted to go with hot chocolate instead.
This seemed to be David and his childrens choice too.  

David commenced warming his rolls on an overturned pan and
Siena pronounced them as edible.  This routine kept up for a
spell and then David offered to do the same with the danish
so I let him have at it and they seemed to be a hit.  Just
ask Larry McPhee. ;)

Speaking of which,  Amy, Larry and their kids came strolling
over from their sight offering oranges and pop-tarts to the
buffet, along with some good coffee.  Thus making a semi-
mocha for me.  Ahhh, that's good stuff Maynard.

Various discussions about our vans and such were swapped 
around the table as we got our fill of the goodies set out.

Eventually things got put away.  "Who's gonna clean them dishes!"
And fun stuff like that could be heard.  

Since no one was else was up yet, I decided to take a short drive
out of the camp ground and down the road a few miles to make a 
call to my wife to let her know I'd made it okay.  I was a little
nervous that I hadn't called her sooner and thought she might be
mad that I didn't call, but she said she knew I'd be out of touch
at the camp site and that I would live to see another sunrise 
after I got back.  

After I talked with her and we said our good-byes I went into the
little general store that was the reason for the phone booths
existence in the first place.  I was greeted by several shelves
of goods and supplies and wall paper that had pictures of scantily
clad women boasting the wares of companies such as Coors, Miller,
Budweiser and the like.  While I'm sure the male patrons hardly
minded these sultry ads, I doubt the female patrons returned for a
second visit.  I picked up 3 bags of ice.  1 for my ice chest and
2 for the anticipated Margaritas that were promised for the
evening.

I drove back to the campsite and again enjoyed the varying shades
of brown, grey, white and red scenery.  There were panoramas 
everywhere with a stark blue sky that stretched far across the
backdrop.  It was intensely pleasing to see so much blue after
so many days of oppressing gray.  Even the desert plants appeared
to cheer the sun as it rose in the east and dazzled the wide
stretching valleys.

As I rolled once again into the Park I decided to have a look
at the Ranger station.  As I strolled around the room inside,
I couldn't help but feel that the displays were still being put
together and that it was incomplete.  Not everything had an
explanation.  It was just there.  There were pictures of the
local critters and explanations of their behaviors in the language
of that of a 5 year old.  Various artifacts dating back to
the mid-1800's which could only be found there or at many a
persons back yard.  Sadly there was the skin and head of a small 
brown bear laid out on a table with a small card saying that 
no bears are found in the southern sierra, but this one was 
hit by a car in 1988.  Kind of depressing and in my opinion 
a tactless way to handle what was left of the poor beast.  

Then there was the traditional "Natural" tee-shirts and
such for sale in all sizes.   After glancing over these I headed 
outside.

As I made the loop around the park I noticed the other forms
of camping vehicles such as 5th wheels, cabovers, jeeps, 
two behemoths and a small pickup with some kind of flip top
camper shell that folds forward to the cab and becomes a
tent on top of the pickup shell and cab.  Kind of unique,
but I preferred my arrangement best.

As I arrived back at the camp, I spied Martha taking undercover
video tape shots and before I could conceal myself, she had
the lens already on me.  I knew that my cover was blown for
sure.  

Meanwhile the Schwarzemiester came running up to my van as I
was obviously driving up from the "in" direction he asked "Wait, 
where are you going?"  He wanted to know if I wanted to go on 
an excursion to a local mining tunnel that was in the area and 
assured me that it wasn't that far and we'd all get there in the 
vans and then go to Randsburg for lunch.  I told him I was game 
for the trip.  I should've paid better attention to the little tune 
playing in the back ground of my mind.  It was playing a little melody 
with a male duo singing something about a tour boat going out on 
a three hour tour.

We sorted out who was going to ride with who's van and then we
got into the van that was closest and rolled out of the campsite
without too much fanfare.  

I was in the Schwarzemiester's van with Bob Kenyon and his trusted
pal Al.  We knew that if we went with the Schwarzemiester that we
were in good hands.  We were followed by the '72 orange Westy with
Jack driving, followed by Martha's '82 ('81) Westy which was followed
by Bradley's '66 split.  Meanwhile, Larry McPhee and Alice Gibb had
their own planned agenda which included their kids and they went
off on their own.  I surmised, that it must be part of their drug
ring scheme but I kept it to myself so as not to disrupt the rest
of the party.  

We rambled out onto the highway and headed south on 14.  As we were
high-tailing it along Schwarzemiester thought he spotted one of our
party on a bicycle going in the opposite direction.  I figured this
could be one of the Schwarzemiester's delusions but as luck would
have it, there indeed was someone pedaling in the other direction
and it looked almost as if they were trying to keep their identity
hidden from view as they sped away.  Meanwhile, Schwarzemiester
initiated an exit maneuver into the shoulder of the road followed
by the other vans.  A quick conference as whether we should ask
this person if they wanted to go on this excursion was completed
in the affirmative.  Three of the vans stayed behind while the 
Schwarzemiester would go in persuit of the cyclist.  So in a spray 
of dust and gravel, we were headed north again.  As the bicyclist 
spied us, it appeared as though he were literally throwing all his 
might into his speed in order to get away from our enclosing van.  

As the gap narrowed the cyclist finally gave up the ghost and slowed
down.  The Scharzemiester applied the brakes and pulled over and
nearly side swiped the cyclist.  He hopped out of the van and was 
looking for the peddler as those of us in the van watched David 
Phillips climb back up on the shoulder with a bewildered look
which seemed to say, "Am I still in this world?"  David helped him
up and asked him if he would like to join us on the excursion and
if he'd like to just put his bike in the van and go.  David quickly
refused and indicated that he'd catch up with us in his van.
This satisfied everyone and once again we were off on our mission
to see a mysterious tunnel.

We took a turn at a road with a sign that pointed the direction
to Randsburg and traveled the road for a few miles.  Schwarzemiester
made a turn on to a gravel road and stated that this was surely
the road to the tunnel that was our goal.  We all trusted his
judgement as he had been there before.  Meanwhile we enjoyed the 
view of the rugged terrain.  There were other vehicles here and 
there along the way.  Some were camping in primitive sites and 
most of the vehicles, I noted, were of off-road make.
  
We rambled along, twisting and turning through the brush and noticed
that the road was becoming less and less road-like.  We finally came to 
washout that was long, wide and sandy.  The drop-off from the road
was fairly abrupt and we decided to get out of the van and take a look
at how much trouble it would be to traverse it.  As the drop-off was 
tapered it looked like driving down it would not pose any problems.
Schwarzemiester climbed into his Safari and eased down the road to 
the drop-off and crossed it with no ill effects.  He pulled across
the sandy wash-out with a slight swishing from the tires but that
was all.

Next to traverse this pit of doom was Bradley.  Well, if the Schwarze-
miester's entry to the washout was the picture of grace, then Bradley's 
was the picture of "Damn the torpedo's, full speed ahead!"  Bradley, man 
handled the steering wheel and put the pedal to the metal.  Lurched down 
the drop-off and plowed ahead.  About three-quarters of the way through 
the wash-out his sporty rear 4-ply biased tires started spinning in sand.  
Fortunately, Bradley new his predicament and killed the engine immediately.  
A group of us charged the rear of his bus and started throwing rocks under 
the tires for traction.  I think a few prunes and some flannel were 
thrown in for good measure.  Bradley tried a few more spins while the 
several of us put our shoulders to the hind quarters of the '66 Split.

There was still not enough traction.  Someone found a piece of corrugated
aluminum about 10 foot by 4 foot and threw it under the rear wheels. 
The traction gain was immediate and the '66 plowed out of the wash-out.

The other two vans found their way through the wash-out without a hitch
although Martha's van needed a whip taken to it because it was being
driven too slow and was threatening to get stuck in soft sand.  

We treked through some more rugged terrain and then we found ourselves
driving down a washout.  Bewildered, the Schwarzemiester was at a loss
as to where we were although he kept up the pretense that the sought
after tunnel was just around the next bend.  

While in the middle of the wash-out we were traversing rocks and
decided it was time to stop and and send scouts to see what was 
ahead before going any further.

After that it was pandemonium.  Some people ran ahead to see if 
there might be a real road.  Some folks milled about checking
out the geology.  Others climbed the steep embankment that loomed
over the left side of the riverbed we were driving through.  The
rest of the party hung around the vans.  Bob, Martha's friend, 
was obviously delirious and was climbing on top of her van and
having a look around.  

Bradley, not having a reverse gear available, pulled out of the river 
bed and attempted a looping maneuver through the rocks and brush.  As 
I was not near by, it looked as though he got stuck and was deciding 
what to do.  

There was a conference held and the Schwarzemiester wanted to know if 
we wanted to hike the rest of the way or to turn back.  He offered us 
views of wonder, adventure, and memories for a lifetime.  I immediately 
decided that I was ready to turn back.  Several people wanted to 
continue and several appeared undecided which told me that they probably 
wanted to turn back too.  Since some of the party was not prepared for
a 6 mile round trip hike, it was eventually decided that we'd best be
turning back.  I had a quiet sigh of relief but upheld my staunch look
of hardiness.

Each van owner in their turn lurched, rocked and rolled their van's back and 
forth trying to avoid rocks and drop-offs so as not to incur undue harm to 
their beloved beasts.  Eventually all vans were headed in the outward bound
direction of the path. 

The vans rambled along back through the rough terrain and again we had to
traverse the soft sand of the wash-out that crossed the road.  As we 
approached the drop-off, I was saying to David, "Maybe we should get 
out --".  But half way through my sentence he already had the acce-
lorator to the floor and we were in the sand and plowing to the other
side.  We lurched up the drop-off and were through the worst and on
the other side.  We cheered our success and urged the next van on.  Each 
van in it's turn pounded into the sand and plowed forward.  The '66 and 
the '81 both popped wheelies as they hit and roared forward.  It was quite 
an exciting sight to see these beasts surge through the wash-out and come 
out unscathed.

After that the rest of the road was uneventful.  We arrived at the
entrance and we decided to leave a note for Dave Phillips.  So the
Schwarzmiester grabbed a piece of paper and wrote a quick note and
appended it to a post at the road entry and we all hoped that Dave would
spot it.

We decided to go to Randsburg for lunch and headed down the road.
It was at this time that the Schwarzemiester enlightened us to the
fact that he just discovered that we were on the wrong road to the
tunnel.  As the map was passed around we saw that the road we were
on was marked as "bad", "very bad".  For 4-wheel drives only.  Only
someone who drives a Safari VW could have not understood the maps
meaning.  We joked about it and said things like, "We're tough, We don't
need no stinking Synchro's".  But I knew in the back of everyones 
mind they were thinking, "Who is this leader that has taken us down 
this mysterious road?"  "And to what purpose?"  

As we came upon the real tunnel road with an obvious sign that
said there was a tunnel to be seen, we entered and had a short
conference as to whether we should go in or do lunch.  The majority
was for the tunnel.  So we entered the road, not knowing what
strange fate awaited us.  A groan at the pit of my stomach escaped
and I wasn't sure if it was for hunger or fear.  And what about
Dave Phillips?  How would he find us?  Or would he even show up
at all?  And what of Alice Gibb and Larry McPhee?  Were they part
of this bizarre plan?  I couldn't tell and could only proceed with
caution and apprehension.  Nothing could prepare me for the fate
that awaited me.


                            To be continued.........







Steven 

sjohnson@pcocd2.intel.com