Sandstorms are awful...

A short and restless night, thanks to the time change, was followed by a typical American pancake breakfast with maple syrup and fresh coffee among those who were either still or already sitting at the slot machines, leaving their luck to chance or the croupier at the blackjack or poker table.

The Harley dealer was quickly found and after a brief introduction and secure fastening of the panniers, we were ready to go. If only it had been that easy: the fully loaded Harley Street Glide surely weighs twice as much as my Aprilia Shiver. Not to mention the higher center of gravity, so that tipping over at the first traffic lights was always in the back of my mind. Fortunately, the initial uncertainty subsided after a while, but then came different problems: wind and sand. Each on their own can make a motorcycle tour uncomfortable. But when you combine both, the result is an endless sandstorm with occasional zero visibility. I could only see Torsten's tail lights three meters in front of me; we had to ride at a snail's pace. Then, in the middle of Death Valley, another letdown: road closure! According to the local police, it was too dangerous for both cars and motorcycles to continue. No wonder, when the wind manages to move the bikes one meter to the left or right on the road and the fine sand that constantly blew over us caused the machines to become statically charged, so that whenever we pulled the clutch or brake, we would get a jolt of electric shock. A very unpleasant and entirely avoidable experience. But you definitely won't do something like that a second time in your life!

Fortunately, before the closed road, there was a transporter that provided enough space and protection from the elements for us to park for a solid two hours. The helpful mentality of the Americans impressed me once again: without us having to ask, the driver handed us enough water bottles to prevent dehydration and to clean our sandy visors at least superficially.

The continuation of the journey was no less uncomfortable: constant crosswinds with wind speeds of 80-90 km/h took a toll. Concentration waned, the wind further cooled the body, and the last 50 kilometers felt like the proverbial rubber band stretching out.

Conclusion of the first stage: what a hellish trip... The landscape in and around Death Valley is truly magnificent. But the name 'Death' is definitely accurate!