appeared on the tarmac. We proceeded gingerly and by this stage in silence
until, rounding a bend, we realized that the trek was over.
Across the width of the road was a giant pile of snow, about thirty foot
high; it looked as if a snowplough had pushed all the snow from the rest of the
road (or perhaps the rest of the mountain) into a heap and just left it. A sign
cheerfully proclaimed 'Road closed, snow mobiles welcome'. Fortunately
there was space to turn around and, after several minutes of cursing, Emma
executed a perfect 30-point turn. The journey back down was not fun, as
trying to drive a big van down a steep and narrow icy road is not one of the
selling points of camping. Still, we avoided an accident, had a great 'war story'
to recount, and were laughing about it by the evening.
After this adventure we headed on down to Death Valley, one of the driest
and hottest places on earth. In fact it was here, in July 1913 that the highest
temperature ever recorded in North America was, well, recorded. The
temperature in question? A balmy 134 degrees Fahrenheit, 57 degrees
centigrade. We knew it would not be warm when we were visiting, and with
temperatures down to zero we were not disappointed. We did think it would
be dry though. Foolish British tourists! On our first day in the valley clear blue
skies were replaced by dark, brooding clouds, then the heavens opened. We
were in a canyon on a hike when the rain came and ran out back to the van,
not because we were afraid to get wet, but because we had seen and read
warnings about flash floods - and we were afraid of that!
We later learned that the shower we had been caught in would have
needed to be a lot more severe in order to pose a flood risk, and even under