AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

Very fun read!

I've been going to that area for 40 years -- more if you include the folks taking me to camp at the Salton Sea while I was a kid. Also, in my former life, I was a locomotive engineer for the Southern Pacific and used to haul said ore trains from Ferrum Siding to the Kaiser Steel Mill in Fontana -- those were short, heavy trains.

There are fun areas to explore along the Kaiser RR north of I-10 which also butts against Joshua Tree NP. Palen Pass and the whole area where Patten trained his troops in WW2. Many fun spots in the Chuckwalla Mountains: Graham Pass, Augustine Pass, Chuckwalla Pass (and arch), and The Blythe Intaglios. Lotsa cool stuff in that part of the world.

BTW that "brilliant smoke tree" is actually a palo verde.

As you were.

 

I noticed it when I was poking around on maps, but I didn't visit - mostly because I was trying to keep this trip "true" to the Gold Road to La Paz book that @mk5 had lent me. My guess is that I'll be back to the area in the future (next fall or winter when it cools down), and I've already got a bunch of "stuff in the desert" waypoints marked for when that happens. That, and I really want to spend some time just watching the bombing range. As someone who loves every time a plane screams by overhead in Death Valley, there is WAY more traffic down here next to the Bradshaw Trail.

For an entertaining look at another side of the range, check this out (note, you have to view it on YouTube, it won't embed): https://youtu.be/I4pFat3VTkI

I've been to the other side of the Salton when we visited Anza-Borrego, but never to the east side. Definitely a lot to explore, and several of the places you mentioned are just a little further along the route than this first (of three) installments took me.

And thanks for the palo verde identification! I wasn't sure if it was a Smoke Tree, but I know they are in the area, and it reminded me of one I saw in Death Valley at the Smoke Tree Slot Canyon. I've updated the story.

 

Across the Chuckwalla Bench - Bradshaw Trail #2
Part of the 250 Miles of Washboard - Bradshaw Trail trip.

It was a little after 2:15pm when I veered away from the first stage of the Bradshaw Trail that follows Salt Creek Wash and across the Chuckwalla Bench. This is where Bradshaw's Trail first ventured into unknown territory. Previous expeditions having carried on to the northeast - through the pass that divides the Orocopia and Chuckwalla Mountains before following the north face of the Chuckwallas eastward to the Colorado River. By leaving the wash, Bradshaw saved roughly 200 miles of travel - surely one of the reasons that his route to La Paz became a popular one!

Onto the Chuckwalla Bench.​

The views here were immediately expansive. To the north, the Chuckwalla Mountains rose up in the near distance and to the south, the Chocolate Mountains did the same - though a bit further away.

Layers of mountains extending into the distance.​

A flowering ocotillo, windswept into a graceful arc.​

As usual, it wasn't long before I found a reason to stop. A concrete foundation a hundred feet from the road caught my eye, and I headed over to investigate.

Rittled with bullet holes - which always makes me question the humanity that does such a thing - this foundation once supported an old gold mill where nearby miners could process their ore.​

Those with keener eyes than mine may notice a plume of smoke rising in the distance behind the foundation of the mill. It was only after I had spent several minutes wandering around for different angles and was on my way back to the Tacoma that my attention turned to the south - and then, only because of the echoing boom that rumbled across the desert.

Well then, a good reason to stay off the Chocolate Mountains Aerial Gunnery Range!​

Now aware of the active shelling, I would see plumes of dust, and feel the accompanying booms for much of the remainder of my journey. This was a new experience for me - the military activity I've seen in other places across the west always limited to in-air maneuvers - and was an exciting addition to my arsenal as I continued along the trail towards my next short detour.

One of the biggest struggles on a route like this was finding water; wells were prized and cataloged for further travelers. About a mile off the main route, the Gulliday Well was one such location - though as I headed north, I was pretty certain that there wouldn't be any indication of it having ever existed.

The location of the Gulliday Well is - today - decorated only by an old climate control vent that was dumped in the desert many years after the last wagon train.​

A "standard" pencil cholla (Opuntia ramosissima) on the left, and a cute-and-cuddly-as-a-teddy-bear Munz cholla (Opuntia munzil) on the right.​

Trust me, after mistakenly picking one up, the Munz cholla balls are not cute-and-cuddly-as-a-teddy-bear. Not even a little bit.​

Having struck out again on anything historic at the well, I continued east. In my route planning, I'd noticed what looked by a cabin not far off the main route, and figured that I'd take a look. The road to it was completely gone, but with it only being a quarter mile off the road, I set off on foot to see what I could see. Which given my luck so far, would be nothing, probably.

On the way to the cabin, I noticed this interesting road grading technique.​

"Well, at least it's not 'nothing'."
-me, trying to keep a positive attitude.​

The graffiti on the door of this nearby vehicle about summed up how I was feeling about the washboard and historical sites on this trip.​

A slow learner, I had one more trip up into the Chuckwalla Mountains before the major side-loop for this section of the Bradshaw Trail. Again, as had been the case with the previous forays, this one was to an old mine site that I'd spotted via satellite, a bit of detritus on the ground giving me hope that there'd be something interesting to see.

On my way to the unnamed mine workings, a small cholla forest.​

As luck would have it, while I was photographing the cholla, a low thump-thump-thump caught my attention in the distance. I'd surely have missed them if I'd been in the truck - with the combination of air conditioning, sound deadening, and the bumpy road - but as I looked up to the horizon, a pair of planes I'd never seen before pounded across the Chuckwalla Mountains!

It's a chopper. It's a plane. It's a pair of V-22 Osprey!​

After seeing the planes, I traversed the last few miles to the mine site and photographed the entirety of the remains. This stove.​

Found a survey marker on the way back.​

With the time nearing 5:00pm at this point, I found myself thankful for what were becoming longer days as winter gave way to spring. Just a few short months earlier, sunset in Death Valley had been 4:30pm - so I counted myself lucky that there were another two-and-a-half hours before the sun would set of this gorgeous day. I figured that would give me enough time to complete another loop - this time into the Chuckwalla Mountains - before heading to the spot that I planned to camp, even if I did that under the cover of darkness.

Of course, things like this rarely goes to plan.

The view west from Augustine Pass in the Chuckwalla Mountains.​

For those interested in this loop, the Gold Road to La Paz guidebook noted that a portion of this loop is closed to all vehicular traffic between June 1 and November 1 to avoid possible harm to a heard of Nelson bighorn sheep that cross the area in search of water every year. Please respect the closure if you visit during those months.

​

The 13 mile loop first climbs into the Chuckwalla Mountains at Augustine Pass, then drops down through Chuckwalla Wash before winding back through a series of washes and eventually over the mountains to return to the Bradshaw Trail at the old stage station at Chuckwalla Well. Over the entirety of the loop, the territory is spectacular - peppered with expansive views, narrow winding canyons, and several opportunities to explore old mining operations.

After summiting Augustine Pass, I soon found myself entering a maze of narrow washes, the low sun making for a very contrasty experience as I wound my way between the rocky walls. Nothing was overly tight, but I was glad to have a narrow vehicle, making the going enjoyable rather than nerve racking.

Into the narrows. The Chuckwallas weren't as colorful as the Orocopia Mountains, but there was nothing to complain about from a visual interest perspective.​

A narrow vehicle made easy work of several tight turns in the wash.​

Emerging from the narrows.​

A third of the way through the loop, I encountered the first mine that I planned to check out. This one it turns out belonged to Martin Augustine - for whom the pass was named - and was one of several mines that he discovered around 1920. While he optioned most of the claims off in the early 1920s, he continued to work this one until shortly before his death in 1945.

An old shaft, the entrance partially covered as the hillside around it crumbles.​

Only about 15 feet deep, the ore here probably didn't pay well. Later, it appears to have been used as a place to escape the harsh desert conditions.​

All that remains of Augustine's camp are a few barrels and some scraps of wood. No buildings or mining machinery. ​

The remains of Martin Augustine's well cap.​

Now at about the halfway point of my loop, it was coming up on 6:00pm and I realized that even with the later sunsets, time wasn't really on my side. Rather than rush, I figured there would be countless suitable spots to camp in this maze of canyons, and purposefully slowed myself down to enjoy the scenery around me.

Ka-pow! Green barked Palo Verde tree.​

This Munz cholla group appeared to be running towards me - arms outstretched for a hug.
Fair warning: DO NOT HUG CHOLLA.​

On the north side of the Chuckwallas now, I-10 was barely visible in the distance.​

Not all the scenery was of the natural variety.​

It was only a few minutes later that I made an unexpected - but completely exciting - discovery: an old mine site with actual structures! This, it turns out, is the Talking Rock Wash #2 mine. While no longer active, it was worked - or at least registered - up until 2017 when it was taken over by the Bureau of Land Management (BLM). Still, the site is recent enough and in good enough condition, that should you visit, be sure to take care that it remains a nice place to discover!

A very nice stone storage shed, with some new hinges to boot!​

As with any good claim, paperwork is key!​

With a loading ramp supported by telephone poles, ore was dumped into the chute before being transported by conveyor to a (no longer on site) mill.​

This being the first historical mining site that I could really explore, I probably spent longer at it than I should have, and I had less than 30 minutes before sunset when I finally got back underway. With a possible destination in mind at this point, I whizzed by the Chuckwalla Spring, a small arch, and a hoodoo named Lot's Wife in an attempt to make it before the sun dipped below the horizon.

Chuckwalla Spring wasn't overflowing with water, but there was definitely a bit down at the bottom of the hole. Enough at least for smaller animals that could navigate the six-foot drop.​

As I squeezed through a narrow section of canyon, I'd apparently uncovered the Chuckwalla Arch!​

Lot's wife. Not the most dramatic hoodoo I've seen, but nice in the evening light.​

Even more than on the earlier parts of the loop, this second half of the loop was full of color. Even as I stopped to photograph these rocks, I wouldn't fully appreciate the extent of the canvas until the following morning.​

I arrived - at the site of the Southern Desert Gold Mine - with only moments of sunlight to spare. Active until 1987, it was an open-pit operation that was clearly quite a bit larger than anything else I'd run into in the area, though vandals had obviously gotten to whatever was left and essentially destroyed it.

The mountains glowed a fiery red as I started to look around.​

The old workshop, only the shelter above the entrance still intact.​

Troughs and piping used to move gold-bearing ore as it was processed.​

With light fading, I spent significantly less time at the Souther Desert than I had at the Talking Rock Wash, and soon I was headed back to a low rise that I'd passed on my way in. While I knew it wouldn't be the best place for sunrise in the morning, I hoped it would provide at least territorial views, and a bit of shelter should the notorious winds pick up during the night.

Looking north, the Belt of Venus made for a calming evening as I snacked on granola bars and an apple for dinner.​

Just as the last light was peeking over the horizon, I got the tent set up and climbed in for an early night.​

The Following Day...

I slept fabulously there on my little knoll. A light breeze blew through camp all night - enough to keep air moving through the screens of my tent, but not enough to rustle the rain fly - and temperatures cooled from the triple digits to the low 60s °F by the time I arose the next morning to catch the sun coming up over the hills to the east.

The first thing to catch the sun was the moon, and an early morning flight out of... LAX?​

If I didn't know better, it would almost seem that the previous evening's purple faded into this morning's pink.​

Having learned from my mistake the previous day, I ate my "cereal" breakfast before the sun was beating down on my camp. Note: there is no actual cereal.​

Camp was stowed and I was on my way by 7:30am. I was looking forward to this area quite a bit as Mike @mk5 had described it as just my kind of place:

Luckily, I'd come prepared with a nice route punched into my tablet, so there was no "getting lost," for me. Still, I wandered my way around for a good 45 minutes, just so could experience some of the same spectacularly beautiful dead ends that Mike had a couple years earlier.

"Dang." A dead end. What a "bummer."​

"Shoot." It's really "too bad" I made my way down this fork of the wash.​

Eventually of course, my knowledge that there were many miles left in my journey got me headed the right direction, and by now the sun was thoroughly heating the air around me. As I pulled out of the washes and up onto a road that would follow the ridgelines back through the Chuckwalla Mountains, I caught my breath as the colorful rocks I'd been seeing the previous evening an morning were all placed into perspective.

Did someone spill paint on a massive scale? What in the world am I looking at?​

Look back at where I'd been.​

And forward to where I was going.​

Cholla forest. Warning: not cuddly.​

It wasn't long before I'd nearly reached the terminus of my loop so I could continue along the Bradshaw Trail - the only thing left to explore was the old site of the Chuckwalla Well Stage Stop. I'd expected this to be like the other stops - non-existent - and was delighted to find that there were actually still clues to its existence!

As a stage stop, a place to hitch your horses is an absolute must.​

These rocks once formed the walls of a building on the concrete pad - a place to get out of the sun and out of the saddle for a few minutes.​

A lone palm still stands at the well, a sunstar peeking through.​

After leaving the stage stop it was less than a mile to the main trail, but a couple stops meant that it was one of the slower miles I'd travel on this journey. First, there was a prime example of desert pavement, and then of course, there was the COVID-19 boat.

This desert pavement forms through gradual removal of sand and other fine particles by the wind and intermittent rains leaving behind the large fragments. These larger fragments are fit into place by rain and wind, and then patinaed to a deep brown. While easily disturbed by vehicular travel, it's amazing how protective this surface is of the finer sediments below.

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Desert pavement is like the crust in places like Canyonlands National Park - it takes decades or more to form, but is easily ruined by careless visitors. Stay the trail.​

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This boat isn't all that notable except that there hasn't been water here for... centuries, and some goofball before me had noted it in his trip report.​

Finally, after more than 15 hours, I was back on the main route and headed east. For all of about five minutes. To my right (south), a windmill caught my eye and I followed a well-travelled road to take a look.

The only standing remains of the old Bell Ranch is the windmill. Still spinning like a top in the brisk morning wind.​

In their day, views from the ranch were nothing to scoff at!​

For no other reason than a morning that was even warmer than the previous one - temperatures in the mid-90s °F by 9:00am - I was back in the Tacoma as quickly as I could be, and on my way east.

Sort of.

You see, I'd just happened to pull over to photograph a second boat skeleton on the side of the road, when I heard a droning sound in the distance. For the third time on this trip, I seriously lucked out when it came to military aircraft - within a few seconds, a C-130 Hercules powered by just a couple hundred feet overhead!

My initial thought was, "well, this is cool!"​

Right about now I was thinking, "Holy shit this is awesome!"​

And finally, I was like, "Hell ya!"​

I've never had a plane so large and so low that I had to zoom out my camera to fully fit it in the frame, so you can imagine how exhilarated I was with this experience. In fact, I nearly forgot to snap a photo of the boat I'd stopped to capture, as I furiously reviewed the C-130 photos on my tiny viewfinder.

The boat was suddenly a lot less interesting.​

Back underway, finally.​

I suppose all the stopping I was doing shouldn't have surprised me or anyone, but I was glad for a few uninterrupted miles of air conditioning in order to reduce the sweating that seemed to break out immediately whenever I'd exit the truck. The road here - finally - was smoother than it'd been, and it was great fun to push the suspension a bit as I raced through the desert.

Of course, I'm not the first one to have raced through these parts. More than half a century ago, The US Army used this area for light tank maneuvers as part of the Desert Training Center, and even today - all these years later - their impact on the desert pavement is apparent.

Tank tracks still scare the desert pavement next to the Bradshaw Trail.​

M3 light tanks training for war, many years ago. (US Army Archives)​

Nearby, these rectangular outlines on the desert floor were where a small tent camp had been erected for troops practicing nearby.​

From this point, I had only two more quick stops before this second - of three - segment of the of trail would be in my rear-view mirror.

First on my list was the Mule Spring Stage Station. Unlike some of the other stations that have roads leading directly to the site, only a small cairn marks the location where one must start hiking to reach the Mule Spring ruins. Luckily, I spotted it along the side of the road, and set off on foot, once again, the research I'd done prior to embarking on this journey coming in handy.

I suppose that many people never notice this cairn, or wonder if it has any meaning.​

Only a few crumbling rock walls remain from the Mule Spring Stage Stop; still, it's more than any other stop along this route.​

My final stop was one that I'd really been looking forward to - a pair of charcoal kilns. Unfortunately, the promise of a "still mostly standing" kiln was unrealized, the 30 years or so since the Gold Road to La Paz was written having taken their toll on the adobe-barbed-wire-and-manure structure.

Two piles of rubble were all that remained of a pair of charcoal kilns built by Walter D. Scott of Blythe during the 1950s.​

Nearby, a dwindling pile of the charcoal that Scott supplied to nearby mines for the operation of steam-driven equipment.​

And with that, I'd nearly reached the end of the Chuckwalla Bench. Before me, the final phase of my journey - into and through the Mule Mountains - rose up in the distance.

Into the Mule Mountains.​

It was the section I'd been looking forward to the most, and one that would definitely not disappoint!

.​

 

Fun read, thanks for sharing.

While camping near the Bradshaw Trail a few years ago, we got to watch Osprey land, take-off, circle, then return to land -- all this close to our camp. Made for a great airshow.

re: your photo of the windmill at Bell Ranch. Maybe I'm confused here, but isn't that Rainey Well?

 

The C-130's are a regular attraction around here. Especially in the evenings. Of course, NUQ has been home to the Air National Guard's 129th Rescue Wing too. Last night, they flew buy with the ramp down. NUQ was one of the homes of the P3 Orion, Sub-hunters back in the day.

Always cool to see them flying.

However, the coolest thing happened Monday up in Sutter, CA. I got buzzed by an Air Tractor! They're dusting the fields--it's this crazy aerobatic dance in the sky as the pilot lines up, sprays, pulls straight up and over to line up for the next pass. They do all this with high voltage transmission towers as well as the usual lower voltage distribution. It's incredible to watch and even better to experience one that goes over your head at 30'!

 

Really excellent write-up, thanks for taking the time to put that together!

 

Nice write up. I've only been to that area one time and there is much more to explore.
What a great surprise from a Marine Corps KC-130. Ooooh Rah!

 

Sadly, in the 30+ years I lived in the South Bay, I only ever once saw them doing air-to-air refueling training. That Hercules was going so slow for those helicopters to plug into the drogue. Way too cool.

 

That sounds pretty awesome - I'd have loved to see one land and take off again! Even just a little better angle with the sun for me would have been cool, it looks like you were lined up perfectly when you got your show!

As far as the windmill goes, I'm really just going off the book I was reading (Gold Road to La Paz), and don't know a ton about the location myself, so I could totally have the name wrong. The location is ~here: 33.42120255909006, -115.1882081748266

Nice! I've seen some dusting as I've driven through the central valley before. Those guys are crazy - maybe breathing in a bit too much of what they are spraying!

You're welcome! Glad you enjoyed it!

OK, so what's the difference between (is there one?) between a C-130 and KC-130? Probably just a configuration thing, but I'm always curious to learn as much as I can!

That's pretty cool. I've seen refueling a couple times over DV, but always at elevations that I assume choppers would never reach, and nearly beyond the range of my zoom lens!

 

KC-130 is the refueling version of the herc but in the Marine Corps it is a multitask aircraft. There are all kinds of different versions of hercs.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lockheed_Martin_KC-130

Any "KC" designation denotes a refueling aircraft and many were/are commercial transport aircraft i.e. KC-97 (B-377), KC-10 (DC-10), KC-135 (B-707), KC-46 (B-767). Wow looking at this list I just put up, my dad flew all those types during his military/commercial career.

 

Funny that most of us turn into little kids when we see military aircraft doing their thing. I revived a hobby I had when I was a kid and started building plastic models again. I've done an F-18, A-10, and working on an F-15, all in varying stages of completeness. I need a good airbrush to get the paint right.

KC-130 is a tanker version of the C-130 transport. Then there's the AC-130 Gunship version. There's a cool mission in one of the Call of Duty games where you get to man the guns and can switch between different night vision views and gun calibers. The big gun on that thing packs quite a punch!

 

i work contracts in skydiving and have jumped a few C-130 they are a fun aircraft

recently whilst driving the Panamint Valley rd an aircraft few past us (going the same direction) about 200ft off our passenger side and perhaps 100ft off the deck, wasn't a jet or anything, perhaps some sort of trainer. There was oncoming traffic so I didn't get a great look at it - we got this very late low quality photo.....

 

Looks like we are discussing the same location -- USGS topo maps have the place listed as Rainey Well.

 

Just located a self-portrait with the Rainey Well, Spring 2001. 800x600: hi-rez!

 

I think the coolest variant is the AC-130 Gunship. When ground troops are in need, it delivers.

 

Through the Mule Mountains - Bradshaw Trail #3
Part of the 250 Miles of Washboard - Bradshaw Trail trip.

As I transitioned from the middle segment of the Bradshaw Trail that'd ferried me across the Chuckwalla Bench, I was very much looking forward to the final - and shortest - segment of the journey. It was already quarter-to-five in the afternoon, so I only had a couple hours of light before I'd have to call it a night. I hoped that would give me enough time to find a great camp site in the Hauser Geode Beds. This spot - as with most of the other highlights of this adventure - wasn't on the main route, but was one of two loops at the very beginning of this segment, which I suspected would be the highlight of this portion of the trip.

This ocotillo was looking nice as it stood against a backdrop of the Mule Mountains.​

As I headed south, the distinctive Thumb Peak - in the Palo Verde Mountains - rose up in the near distance.​

Just as I was snapping a few photos of the pointy summit, I happened to notice a road entering from the east. This, I realized was the end of the second loop I planned to run - through the Palo Verde mountains and Clapp Spring - the following morning. As I continued south, I quickly found myself slowing down and putting the truck in reverse - perhaps swapping the order of my loops would be a better idea!

Making the last-minute decision to mix-up my ordering was based primarily on driving direction. As it was, driving to the Hauser Geode Beds would mean driving west-southwest, directly into the sun on the horizon. However, by heading east toward Clapp Spring, I would not only keep the sun at my back today, but I'd leave myself with a westerly journey in the morning, again with the sun behind me!

With my altered route, I'd essentially circle Thumb Peak, which I thought was pretty cool.​

For those interested in this loop, I ran it in the opposite direction than it is described in the Gold Road to La Paz guidebook. I should note that I believe the guidebook may be out of date. While there was no signage indicating wilderness anywhere along the loop in the clockwise direction, and tire tracks the entire way, there was a wilderness stake at the extreme opposite end of the loop where it re-joined the main road. Therefore, part of this area may now be wilderness and should be hiked rather than driven.

​

Now headed due east, I soon found myself in the undulating folds of Coon Hollow, clearly a place that's seen significant mining activity in the past, with claim stakes peppering the landscape and small diggings readily evident.

I'd seen something "heart shaped" on the ground when I'd scouted the area via satellite, and it was pretty neat to find it when I arrived. Coincidentally, just as I was taking this photo, @mrs.turbodb texted me a heart emoji (♥), so I texted her back a photo of this installation! #perfecttimming​

A few minutes after the timely text exchange, I arrived at the Opal Hill Mine. This - as the name suggests - is an opal mine (on a hill), and I was a little bummed in my pre-trip research to learn that while the opal was no longer sold commercially, it was still a mine where visitors had to pay a daily fee to wander around and search for opals.

To my surprise though - as I drove toward the mine - two ratty old cars alongside the entrance had been spray painted with the words "open dig." My curiosity piqued, I continued on.

The Opal Hill Mine has been abandoned.​

Discovered in the 1890s, the story of the Opal Hill is a common one - a small amount of precious opal was discovered and claims were filed in the hopes that vast quantities of the material lay just below the surface. This never panned out, though the miners did find substantial amounts of fire agate. The mine changed hands several times over the years, eventually transitioning the mine to its rock-hound status nearly a century later!

An old bulldozer, not only used to grade the road, but also by a previous owner to drive 9 miles to Palo Verde!​

Several trailers dotted the property. When the mine was active, these trailers could be rented by rock hounds who planned to stay for a few days!​

Top-of-the-line digs.​

Can't complain about the views!​

After poking around for a bit and picking up a few small pieces of interesting looking agate to bring home to my resident rock-hound, I climbed back in the Tacoma to continue along my way. At this point I was trying to balance two desires - continuing to put miles behind me, so that I'd arrive at the Hauser Geode Beds as early in the morning as possible, so I wouldn't be digging around in the mid-day heat - and finding a spot to camp that would have a view of the eastern horizon - so I could stand a chance at enjoying one desert sunrise while I was on the trip.

Ultimately, I decided that I shouldn't rush - I was out here to enjoy myself, and seeing the sun come up over the horizon was part of that enjoyment.

Slowing down, I soaked in the Mule Mountains around me.​

It was 6:15pm when I found myself at Clapp Spring. A desert oasis like so many other springs, there was no water here, but a cluster of palm trees suggested that there was likely some just under the surface - and perhaps even above it at the right time of year!

Shaggy palms need haircut.​

Not wanting to camp too close to the spring itself - in case desert wildlife should come by for a pool of water I hadn't discovered - I backtracked a good distance along the road so I'd have a view to the east, and set up camp near an old fire ring and what appeared to be the crumbling walls of a stone structure,

There, I ate a few potato chips and munched on an apple as the sun set to my west, its long rays playing across the landscape, turning the dry desert canvas into a thing of beauty.

Last rays of light on the tent, shade spelled relief for the temperatures that were still in the triple digits.​

Long evening rays.​

With the sun below the horizon, all that was left was to enjoy the show of color above.​

After prepping camp once again for any wind that should pick up during the evening, I climbed into the tent just after 8:00pm with my hopes high that a similar breeze to the previous evening would keep me comfortable as I lay uncovered atop all my bedding. Certainly at 90°F, I was in no danger of getting cold.

I fell asleep almost immediately.

The Following Day...

I don't think it ever cooled down enough to get under the covers in the tent, but I still slept great out here in the middle of nowhere. In fact, as I arrived at the geode beds several hours later - to RVs and vans dotting the landscape - I realized that I'd really lucked in choosing to modify my plan the previous evening!

A really nice way to greet the morning.​

With camp put away before the sun had fully risen over the horizon, I hoped that my early departure and a bit of skinny pedal would mean an early enough arrival to the geode beds that it wouldn't yet be sweltering outside as I hunted around. Now rounding Thumb Peak - dramatically less prominent from this angle - I passed by Clapp Spring again before continuing on my way.

Hard to even recognize Thumb Peak from this alternate angle.​

The green palms were looking colorful against the red rock.​

Looking back at the side-profile, the distinctive shape of Thumb Peak is identifiable once again.​

My route now wound through the Palo Verde Mountains. With no mines to explore - at least that I knew of - it was just a pleasant drive through remarkable terrain as I worked my way towards Wiley Well Road. I have to say that the geology here rivaled any that I'd seen so far on the trip, and the time of day - plus a little bit of cloud cover - helped to keep the temps very pleasant for this part of my journey.

Winding my way into the Palo Verdes.​

As the road wound up through a wash, the most brilliant green rocks poked through the gravel in the bottom of the wash. What is this?​

The landscape here reminded me a bit of a Martian-themed Butte Valley, the rocky surface lending an other-worldly vibe.​

Eventually, I popped out of the mountains to a vast valley, where I'd once again join up with Wiley Well Road.​

This was the most colorful ocotillo I encountered on the entire trip!​

Now just after 7:45am, I was making good time on my final side-trip of the Bradshaw Trail. I figured that it'd take me a couple hours to explore the Hauser Geode Beds - perhaps scooping up a treasure or two - and then I'd be on my way. First, of course, I had to get there!

The route to the geode beds is well worn by rockhounds much more serious than I.​

As my road wound its way toward the Black Hills, I spotted the first of several camps in the area, making me glad for my solitude the night before.​

Couldn't resist a photo of this nice Sportsmobile.​

The Tacoma made quick work of the dusty trails to the Black Hills - where the geode beds are sprinkled just about everywhere - and before long, I was winding my way towards their center, hoping that it would be obvious where I should dig.

For as much digging goes on here, it was nice to see that for the most part, people have been respectful of keeping their vehicles on the trails, thus preserving the desert pavement.​

Yep, it's obvious where to dig.​

Having found a spot to dig, I promptly decided that there would be no digging in my future. Sure, I could chalk it up to the rising temperatures, or the fact that I had a sum total of zero idea what I was doing - but the sad truth is that I'm lazy. Instead of digging, I set about collecting a few scraps left by those who came before me. You know, the ones who actually knew what they were up to.

These looked pretty awesome to me, even though they are probably all trash to real rockhounds.​

All but two of the geodes I found ended up back on the ground - one small thunderegg for @mini.turbodb to crack open, and the most colorful specimen in the middle hauled back for @mrs.turbodb to have a peek at - as I washed up and continued on my way.

This is likely a good place to note that the BLM rules for rockhounding are as follows:

​

Heading out of the geode beds, the yellow Sportsmobile camped in the distance gave me a nice landmark.​

As I continued through the geode beds, it was pretty entertaining to see where people had choosen to dig. Nothing seemed out of bounds - all ashy areas were pocked with holes. Some sections of road were even slightly hazardous to drive on, as rockhounds seemed to care more about finding that perfect crystal-lined sphere than being able to retrace their steps to camp!

Soon though, I was out of the thick of it and back onto the higher-speed, dusty roads that would return me to the Bradshaw Trail for my final push to La Paz. It was a good feeling, and my spirits were high as I knew that there were still a couple more mines to explore along the last few miles of the route.

Almost no wind this morning, my dust hanging in the air.​

Back on the trail!​

The first mine I visited was the Roosevelt Gold Mine. I didn't expect much here - I could see that the site had been cleaned up in the satellite imagery - so I wasn't surprised when the end of the road was a simple, boring, gravel pad.

Even from a distance, it was pretty clear that there wasn't going to be much here to explore.​

I didn't even get out of the truck at that point, opting instead to carry on to the final mine of the adventure - the Rainbow Gold Mine. This one had appeared to have a bit more going on when I'd scoped it out from the comfort of my computer chair, so it was with high hopes that I headed north into the flanks of the Mule Mountains a little before 9:30am.

Looks promising!​

It turns out that most of what was at the Rainbow Mine were big metal grates over the various adits, all of the mining equipment and structures neatly cleaned up - either as part of a remediation effort by the mining company or as a safety precaution by the BLM. Still, one of the shafts was accessible, and I ventured in a few feet for a quick photo.

As I snapped this shot, several bats scooted by me overhead and I took that as my cue to make a quick exit!​

Looking down the inclined shaft that I'd just taken a photo of from the inside!​

An old arrastre seemed out of place for the size of this operation.​

With that, all that was left were a few miles of trail between me an civilization. The Bradshaw Trail doesn't end here - and neither would I - but the remote part of the journey certainly does, as the route exits the Mule Mountains and descends into the Palo Verde Valley.

Goodbye Mule Mountains!​

​

Entering civilization. Not that we were ever really that far from it.​

Palo Verde Valley - just west of the Colorado River - is one of the premier agricultural regions of California. With year-round warm temperatures, and plentiful water from the Colorado River for irrigation, every field in this region can support several crops per year, dramatically increasing the viability of a farm.

On the outskirts of town, the desert has suffered. For miles and miles, there was trash strewn everywhere. If was as though there was no garbage collection in town, and so people just brought their stuff here to get rid of it.​

Ahh yes, a desert does seem like the perfect place to grow water-hungry crops. Certainly. Sigh.​

A few miles further into town, I reached the former site of the Adobe Stage Station, the final station before the end of the route in La Paz. Like much of the rest of the valley, a concerted effort by Thomas Henry Blythe to acquire as much land as possible - in this area under California's Swamp and Overflow Act of 1868 - for agricultural cultivation is likely what initially led to the clearing of trees from this area, and the development of gravity-fed canals from the Colorado River.

Rice, anyone?​

From the town now named for Blythe, I had 15 miles to cover to La Paz. More than a day-long journey by wagon, pavement and bridges have made things much easier, and within 15 minutes I found myself standing near what may have been the end of the line. Today, a Hualapai memorial stands in this place, honoring Native Americans who once worked at concentration camp in the late 1800s.

Over the Colorado and into Arizona!​

The end of the line. Out there, somewhere, was the final stage stop.​

It'd been quite the journey. A bit more wash boardy and devoid of mining relics than I'd hoped, but still an enjoyable experience along a historic route through the west.

When establishing this route, Bradshaw decided that the surest way to profit was to run a ferry service over the Colorado River and shortly after completing the journey, he secured the exclusive rights to run such an operation for the next 20 years. Typically, Bradshaw delivered 30 to 50 passengers plus freight per day. With travelers describing the roadway as “lined with teams,” it's no wonder that Bradshaw experienced quite the rise in notoriety in his day.

​

For me, the journey was only halfway done - I still had the 1,200 mile trek north before I could call myself done. And, like the travelers of the late 1890's, I too felt like I'd be spending a pretty penny on the journey. Still, it was a small price to pay for the adventure!

Ouch.​

As I sat, watching the price creep up, a modern wagon train came rumbling by. This one - a full seven locomotives in the lead - was a great way to end my time in the desert.

Faster and more efficient, I wouldn't mind riding on one of these trains for a while. ​

 

Every time you think this journey might be nearing the end, out comes a little surprise. I honestly feel like if there was nothing left but the foundations, the roads would remain and it would still be worth traveling them. We're all of a generation that we can wonder about the wagon trains that travelled "short" distances each day, like the 15 miles and a days travel to Blythe.

Same with the contrails. They start forming around 30k feet, which aircraft can reach about halfway to the park. But is the plane going to Salt Lake City or Baltimore? And the plane's contrail, unlike the wagon, is only temporary--not much left to imagine, is there?

 

Corn Spring and Desert Center - (Venturing Off the) Bradshaw Trail #4
Part of the 250 Miles of Washboard - Bradshaw Trail trip.

Right smack in the middle of my Bradshaw Trail adventure, I was presented with an option - travel the trail as outlined in my guidebook - Gold Road to La Paz, an Interpretive Guide to the Bradshaw Trail - or take a 75 mile detour north over Graham Pass to a nearby desert attraction - Corn Spring.

Normally, I'd probably have opted to just keep going, but this time the decision was a tough one. While not on the actual route, my book had included a photo of some petroglyphs at Corn Spring, and if I'm a sucker for anything, it's rock art.

Early on in my trip - and even as I started the Augustine Pass loop from Chuckwalla Bench, I'd hoped to make it to a BLM campground at Corn Spring to spend the night. That all flew by the wayside as the loop took me longer than anticipated, and it was 9:15am the next day when I finally reached the intersection of the Bradshaw Trail and Graham Pass Road.

Figuring that I could be back on my way by 1:00pm, having had a nice lunch at Corn Spring, I headed north.​

Unlike the Bradshaw Trail - which at this point in the route was a rather high-speed raceway - the road leading between the Chuckwalla Mountains to the south and the Little Chuckwalla Mountains to the north was anything but high speed. Still, I made the 5-mile journey in a little more than 15 minutes, so it's not like I was crawling along, either.

Emerging from Graham Pass, to an expansive view of another valley - the Chuckwalla Valley.​

Descending the pass, and then all the way across the valley floor, things got a lot better. The road was wide and smooth, and it was only my aired down tires that kept my speeds limited to 50mph. I made good time on the next 35 miles of trail, stopping only a few times for some quick photos before arriving at Corn Spring.

What's with all the boats out here?​

Climbing back into the Chuckwalla Mountains, this time from the north.​

I nearly arrived at Corn Spring just before 10:30am, the sight of the palm trees quite stunning against the backdrop of ragged ridges. Even so, I must admit that it wasn't what I'd been expecting, with a full 50% of the palms missing their fronds.

Corn Spring.​

A plaque commemorating the area, which I just happened to stop next to for the previous photo.​

Having done a bit of research prior to setting off on the trip, there were several aspects of this place that I was looking forward to exploring. There were - of course - the petroglyphs, but there was also an old cabin and mine, as well as what looked like a cluster of houses several miles deeper in the mountains. Finally, some 10 miles from the spring, what appeared to be the remnants of a mining operation. Really, as I look back on it now, there's no way I was going to pass this up!

The petroglyphs being at the top of my list, I set out immediately to find as many panels as I could. There are quite a few, and I recommend spending a bit of time broadening your perspective if you should visit this area yourself; not all the etchings are in one area!

Covered in glyphs.​

I was curious what these upside-down rainbows represented, since they were clearly important.​

Snakes and rainbows.​

One of just a few anthropomorphs, and a sun beaming down on some grass.​

A sun, and ... plants growing from the ground?​

Tall, skinny man looking up at the stars (dots).​

Not all the etchings were Native American Indian, several were from more recent visitors.​

Many were old enough that desert varnish had nearly concealed them for eternity.​

My exploration of the petroglyphs complete, I headed the final little way to Corn Spring campground. Located just above the spring, it was a desolate place on this hot spring day, only a single campsite - of ten - showing any sign of life. Even then, I'm sure the resident would have quickly vacated the area, had just about anyone show up.

Hello, reptile friend.​

Corn Spring itself was no longer the gurgling oasis that I imagine it once was - no water was present above ground, and everything around seemed quite dry. To further add to the arid feel, it appeared that a fire had ravaged the palms, leaving many of them topless.

A sad sight.​

Still, hope for the future!​

What with it being only 11:00am at this point, I resisted the grumbling of my belly for lunch and pushed on into the mountains. I figured that I could either find a place further up the road to break out the taco fixings, or at the very least, I could stop by Corn Spring on my way out and set up the kitchen in the shade of one of the largest salt cedars I've ever seen. For now though, adventure called.

Just a mile or two up the road, I made my first stop.

A mining cabin! One of the first I'd seen all trip, and so quite exciting. (Small pleasures I tell you.)​

This was Gus Lederer's cabin. Perched above the wash on a claim he called "The Little Chad," Gus Lederer moved to this site in 1915 where he built a small two-room cabin for himself and another for passers-by. Using Corn Springs as a headquarters, he'd venture out on prospecting trips - never striking it rich, but making enough to get by.

Inside Gus' cabin, things are kept nice and tidy.​

Besides prospecting, Lederer was also an artist, philosopher and animal lover. He had a cadre of nearly 20 burros, for whom he would make flapjacks every morning. Eventually, people began referring to him as the “mayor” of Corn Springs, always friendly and helpful to anyone who happened by. He died in December 1932, when he was unable to receive treatment quickly enough after being bitten by a black widow spider.

This water tank drained into the rock pool around it, before feeding the mill on the hillside below.​

Gus Lederer. 1868-1932. Prospector. Burro Fancier. Vegetable Gardner. "Mayor of Corn Springs"​

From Lederer's cabin, I continued along the same road, curious as to what I would find. I'd seen some structures from my pre-trip planning, and wondered if there were perhaps some residents that still lived in this area, far from civilization but happy for the solitude. In other words, desert lovers like Gus.

The first building I came to looked to be in pretty good shape, but it was also quite clear that there was no one around - at least at the moment. It turns out that this was the Gold King Mine, and was mostly abandoned. I say mostly, because the lower level porch was packed with stuff as though someone had been living there. It was a bit creepy, really, and I decided that hanging around was probably not the best of ideas.

The combination mill/living quarters at the Gold King Mine was in pretty good shape from the outside.​

An old bulldozer stood guard at the front of the property. Spray painted​

I wish it was always this easy to discover the name of a mine.​

Every other room in the building was a complete mess - with rodent droppings, old papers, rugs, insulation and drywall strewn on the floors, but the screened front porch certainly looked... lived in.​

It was when I saw the spray paint on a back wall that read, "At the Gold King we mine our own business - so should you," that I made a beeline for the door and continued on my way. As the road forked, I realized that the "town" I'd seen was on a short spur off the main road, and initially I headed that direction. However, as I neared the buildings, I couldn't tell if they were occupied, and not wanting to bother any of the residents if they were, I decided to back off and take a few photos from a distance.

One thing is for sure - the residents of a place like this would need to be hearty souls, and they'd definitely put in a lot of work to their desert home.

The thing that struck me the most was how much firewood had been gathered. On a hot day like this one, it seemed crazy, but then I realized that all cooking, heating of water, etc. would likely need to be done by wood in a place like this.​

With that, I carried on towards the end of the road. Unsure if I'd even find anything of note there, I enjoyed the trail as it wound in and out of a a wash, slowing gaining elevation in the middle of the Chuckwalla Mountains. The landscape here reminded me of Alabama Hills - weathered granite outcroppings reaching up towards the sky.

Leaving the creepy buildings behind.​

There's a really big bunny hiding in that hill.​

End of the road.​

I reached the end of the road right around noon, the sun high in the sky and my air conditioning blasting away in the cab trying to keep me cool. It was generally successful as long as I didn't turn the engine off, so as I got out to take a few photos, the Tacoma continued to sip on - what was now - just a little fuel that remained in the tank.

There wasn't a lot at this old mine, but what there was told a story. A couple of adits and some old metal sleds over which buckets of ore were dragged before being dumped over the side of the hill and collected in chutes below.

Dragging ore over these metal sleds would have significantly reduced the friction, easing the job.​

Like the miners who once worked these hillsides, the plants too are hearty little buggers.

"A cracked granite rock you say? Sounds like the perfect place to grow." -Barry the Barrel Cactus.​

My exploration complete, there was no doubt now that it was time for lunch. I considered - for a full three seconds - having lunch here at the end of the trail, but with no shade to be seen and temperatures easily over 100°F, I quickly pushed that thought to the back of my mind and bee-lined it for the shade of Corn Spring.

Headed back the way I'd come; no stops this time, my belly wouldn't stand for it.​

The post-fire view was a bit of a downer, but the shade and guacamole more than made up for it.​

Originally, I'd planned for Corn Spring to be my only side trip as I ventured away from the Bradshaw Trail. However, as I'd climbed into the tent the evening before, I'd made the mistake of checking my phone for service. I was sure I wouldn't have any, given my location deep in the Chuckwalla Mountains, so you can imagine my surprise when I had one full bar - and sometimes two - of LTE signal.

As if to prove that it wasn't real signal, I fired up a bookmarked I'd created to Mike's @mk5 trip reports for the Bradshaw Trail, just to see if there was anything I was forgetting. While I seemed to be doing just fine on the trail itself, I took note of a recent visit to Desert Center - a town along I-10 that has fallen on hard times and is slowly turning into a ghost town. Only another eight miles up the road, I decided that I really ought to check it out.

As I often say, "I'm closer now than I will be when I'm home!"

Not really knowing much about this crazy town - I hadn't done any reading about it at all before showing up at the freeway offramp - I didn't really know why it was abandoned or when people had decided to leave. What I can say after visiting, is that it has a strange feeling to it - people seem to have simply walked out of their homes, not taking anything with them. The school building has been destroyed, but all the furniture is still inside. It's almost as if people were forced to flee, some invisible catastrophe necessitating the evacuation.

But, as far as I know, that was not the case at all.

This Texaco is not the last one left, and certainly isn't a 24-hour location any longer.​

A room, full of belongings, abandoned.​

Once, this was a happy place.​

The old school building.​

This was once the auditorium, an overturned piano and seating for several dozen people, strewn about.​

Post-apocalyptic.​

Still in a state of misunderstanding - I don't really know how to better describe it - I made my way back to the Tacoma and along the high-speed route to Graham Pass. I squirreled away in the back of my mind a desire to find out more about this strange place, but for now, I just wanted to get back to a happier place - the middle of nowhere; the desert!

Headed south through Graham Pass.​

As usual, my goal - to get back by 1:00pm in order to continue the Bradshaw Trail - was really more of a wish, as it was just after 3:30pm when I turned the Tacoma east again towards the last section of the Chuckwalla Bench and the Mule Mountains. Like any adventure, this one had been totally worth it. Leaving me with more questions than answers, I reveled in the unknown - knowing only that there was more of the same to come!

A welcome sign as I rejoined the Bradshaw Trail.​

Hope you enjoyed this adventure. There are, of course, many more to come!

 

Miles of Light (Diode Dynamics SS5 Pro)

Ever since I got into this whole adventure thing, I've always sort of turned my nose up at aftermarket lighting. Looking back on it, I think there are three reasons for my prejudice:

1. I'm not a fan of the "Instalighters." We all know these folks - they are the ones that install several light bars - on the roof, behind the grill, maybe one in the rear, as well as pod lights, ditch lights, fog lights, and any other lights they can possibly fit on their vehicle. Then, whenever they take a photo - boom! - all the lights are on. In the middle of the day. Around the campfire. Don't get me wrong - some task lights, turned on and off as appropriate are fine - it's the look at me lights that I can do without.
2. Price. The top-tier lights are expensive, I never really understood why. I mean, there are plenty of cheap LED lights on Amazon and eBay - what could possibly make Baja Designs or Rigid or Diode Dynamics worth orders of magnitude more money? It's just light, right? To some extent, I thought they were being greedy.
3. Performance. The "more affordable" lights on amazon and eBay never really seemed to perform that well when I saw them on other people's vehicles. Sure, they would look bright and shiny on the truck, but the beam patterns were generally scattered, and didn't really put that much light in a place that I felt like was all that useful - though, without fail, they seemed to be an annoyance in the rear-view mirrors! Turn that crap off, was what I would often find myself thinking.

About a year ago however, I realized that I needed to do something about my lighting situation. It was my headlights that were really bothering me - on the long drives south to places like Death Valley, I'd often spend 12+ hours driving in the dark, and my 20+ year old headlights just weren't cutting it.

My original headlights. Sometimes, I wondered if only my parking lights were on.​

I started by "upgrading" my headlights to LEDs and Hella 700's to HID, The light was great - if a little blue for my tastes - but I soon realized that the LED headlights produced so much radio frequency interference (RFI) that I couldn't use them and my radio at the same time. Within a month, I'd pulled the LEDs and performed the ultimate headlight upgrade, beefing up the headlight wiring so I could add some high-powered halogen headlights that properly threw gobs of warm light down the road with absolutely no RFI to mess up my electronics.

After doing all that, I felt like I was done. I had light in front of the truck, I hadn't broken the bank, and my truck didn't look like a Christmas tree when I turned all my lights on. And then, the unthinkable happened - I won a raffle for a set of Diode Dynamics SS3 light pods. Seeing as how I never really win anything, I was caught completely off guard, but ultimately ended up receiving a set of SS3 Pro Fog lights that I proceeded to install in the fog light mounts of my bumper.

Oh. My. Goodness.

My mind was blown with how fantastic these Diode Dynamics lights really were.​

All I could think about on that first trip with the fog lights was what I'd been missing for the last five years. Suddenly, I understood that the premium price that one pays for top-tier lights was totally worth it. The driving experience - especially in inclement weather - was so much more pleasant. The secret isn't in the LED technology or emitters, it's in the optics. The research and design that goes into the reflectors and lenses is what sets these lights apart, and Diode Dynamics is - in my opinion - at the top of the game in those regards today.

As part of working with John and Craig over at @Diode Dynamics on the SS3 Pro fog lights, they'd hinted at something special coming later in the year. They couldn't tell me much, but there was enough to enlighten even the slowest of us that it was going to be a significantly higher-powered pod than they currently had on the market. Needless to say, I was intrigued.

Fast forward several months, and Diode Dynamics announced the SS5 series of lights. With gobs of output, the pro versions of these lights with a spot beam pattern can throw usable light more than a mile down the road. I knew immediately that - even with the high price tag - these were the perfect light to replace the HID-upgraded Hella 700s I had on my bumper.

That was a big step for me, because I am a big fan of the look of Hella-style lights. The round light housing looks right to me, compared to the square housings that are so common to LED pods, and of course I paid about 1/7th the price for the Hellas, even taking into account the upgrade to HID. On the flip side, I'd been having some issues with the Hellas that made it easier to set them aside.

1. Like the LED headlights, the Hellas produced RFI - primarily when they were initially switched on. As the ballast was energized, it would send an unbearably loud crackle over my stereo speakers, to the point where I'd think twice before flipping them on, often opting to just forego the additional light on the road.
2. The beam pattern of the HIDs was good but not great - they seemed to have T-shaped hot spots. That wasn't the end of the world - and perhaps was to be expected with retrofitted bulbs - but it could certainly be better.
3. I'd been having issues with them not turning on all the time. In the end, this turned out to be a problem with my Bussmann relay box, but at the time, I was sure the issue was in the HID system somewhere.

At any rate, I placed a pre-order for a pair of SS5 Pro pods with yellow (4000K) emitters - I knew that the 6000K would be much too blue for me - and some clear spot lenses. And then I waited - attempting to present a patient façade - for 4 months.

High expectations.​

The SS5 Pros arrived mid-afternoon on the day I was set to leave at 9:00pm for the Bradshaw Trail in southern California. Given that I'd be driving through the night, I made the decision to swap in the new lights before I left so I could give them a test - and hopefully take full advantage of them - over the next several days.

With a pluggable wiring harness already in place for the Hella's, the installation was relatively straight forward. The first order of business was swapping the lenses. To get the warmer (4000K) emitters, my lights had come with selective yellow lenses, which were easily swapped to clear using a T10 Torx wrench.

4000K emitters with clear lenses is the perfect combo for "white" in my opinion. Also, please ignore the Allen wrench shown, I quickly realized my mistake and swapped over to the right tool!​

Then, it was a simple matter of unbolting the old lights from the bumper and bolting the new SS5 Pros in place, plugging the supplied pigtails into my existing 12ga harness that allowed them to be switched on directly or automatically when the high beams were illuminated.

It was a nice feeling to use the existing harness with no modifications!​

Literally within hours, I was flipped on the new pods in real-world use. To say I was blown away by the light output and beam pattern would be an understatement. I'm sure the word "wow" escaped my lips the first time these miniature suns illuminated the road before me. I'd felt like the Hellas threw a lot of light forward, but these things were in a class of their own. Seriously, I don't even really know how to describe it.

Knowing that I'd need to adjust their positioning a bit, I'd brought along the requisite Allen wrench, and soon found a rest stop along the side of the highway where I was able to aim the pods so that they illuminated a mile of highway in front of me, while being splayed slightly left and right to also illuminate the shoulders, where those pesky deer tend to jump out at the last minute!

This photo doesn't really do the lights justice.​

It was, perhaps, the most pleasant night drive I've ever had in the Tacoma - at least, when there was no oncoming traffic, since I was quick to extinguish my suns for fear of blinding oncoming drivers when I'd see their headlights in the distance.

And so, here I am, a convert. Aftermarket lighting is a good thing, as long as it'd done tastefully and with drivability as the motivating factor. That means spending a good deal of money for the secret sauce - reflectors and optics that have been engineered for performance - rather than going for something that's just for looks. And speaking of looks - I still like the look of round Hella-style lights, but man, these SS5 Pros look pretty great as well. Understated, even.

A reasonable look.​

Let there be light.​

I figure I also ought to show a comparison of the SS5s as compared to the previously installed Hella 700s. The comparison isn't really fair, as the location I'd taken the photos previously didn't allow for significant distance of light, but here they are for comparison.

Stock headlight bulbs, lo beam.​

High-powered OSRAM headlight bulbs, after ultimate headlight upgrade, lo beam.​

High-powered OSRAM headlight bulbs, after ultimate headlight upgrade, hi beam.​

Diode Dynamics SS5 Spots, with 4000K emitters and clear lenses.​

Left: Hella 700FF w/HID upgrade; Right: Diode Dynamics SS5 Spots, with 4000K emitters and clear lenses.​

 

Some quality lamps you got there. I've been tempted to get a pair of SS5s as well but I'm already the guy you describe in your intro