One more stop in California: China Ranch Date Farm. Located in the Mojave Desert, it's a genuine oasis. Half the fun is finding it.
The Hyundai is one tough little car to have endured endless miles of dirt roads.
Driving through the mining area.
The mine shafts aren't even braced with any supports. Crazy to think of the risks taken by early pioneers.
This is what they sought: gypsum.
The date farm is literally the only speck of greenery amid this desolate landscape.
I bought 9 different varieties of fresh, moist, organic dates at a fraction of the price of the desiccated, old Mejool dates from the grocery store. What a haul!
This is the reason I hadn't left the hovel the previous night: food. I could have driven another hour to Baker, CA, but I would've missed buying my dates. I could have camped in my car somewhere, but the thought of coyotes stalking Cole again deterred me. Yes, I put my dog's safety above my own.
The date farm has a partnership with The Nature Conservancy, thus providing hiking trails throughout the farm and beyond.
Dates grow on palm trees.
Cotton bells protect the fruit. What timing: it's harvest season.
Our run was more of a tip toe at times.
The edges of the path crumbled away with each step.
Back down in the canyon, we made our way to a portion of an original pioneer route, the Old Spanish Trail. What a great morning!
Post-run reward: half a date cookie. This bird would fly into my face to snag a bite. That level of tenacity deserves a hand-out.
In Baker, CA, I had the option to take the interstate, but the car insisted we go cross country 60 more miles through the Mojave Desert Preserve.
Glad we did.
My first encounter with a Joshua Tree.
On the horizon is the Devil's Playground, expansive, tall sand dunes.
We ran on and on and on.
Happy boy!
As we started our run, I saw a couple lolling around the dunes. Both had taken their sandals off, you'd think they were at a resort headed to the tiki bar. She carried hers over her shoulder, her chunky necklace reflected the sun, her gauzy pantaloons flapped with the wind. They made a beautiful mirage! French, even at 100 yards, I knew they were French.
"Can you see the sidewinder snake tracks all over the place?", I asked them in French. It took them maybe ten minutes to high tail it back to their car. Now that I had 'saved' a tourist from potential harm, Cole and I could have miles of dunes to ourselves. I'm evil, I know!
View from the top of Kelso Dunes.
Same picture zoomed in to show the location of my car. The Garmin GPS watch hasn't been allowing me to download my last runs. So, pictorial documentation is all I have for the time being.
Surveying my kingdom with my kid.
He truly is a once-in-a-lifetime dog!
Tanking up before the downhill run/slide.
Our timing was perfect. I can't imagine that we could have done any running if the temperatures had been above 75'F. The heat refracting off the sand would have cooked us.
A sign asks you to not take any sand from the dunes. If said sand voluntarily jumps in your shoes, you cannot be faulted for purposefully removing sand from the preserve. Lawyer-ese for 'I got a cup of sand for my collection'!
