AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

LOL, our VRBO was in the building that the Poke Shack is in, on the 4th floor, facing the ocean. That place was so crowded all the time.

 

Volcanoes National Park | Hawaii Vacation #2
Part of the The Vacation Adventure (Dec 2023) trip.

Whereas @mrs.turbodb was most looking forward to being in the ocean while we were in the tropics, I was most looking forward to seeing an active volcano. Actually, I suppose I was conceptually interested in that, but I hadn't fully thought through two key elements: (1) where to go to see said active volcano and (2) whether there was actually an active volcano.

Turns out, (1) is a problem when the answer to (2) is "there isn't one."

I so sad.​

Still, even if we couldn't see some fiery hot lava blasting into the night sky, or cascading into the ocean, or creeping dramatically over a highway, going to Volcanoes National Park was still a fun experience. Except for the NPS parking attendants - they were assholes.

We arrived - strategically - about an hour before the pay stations opened.
(Relax internet, we have - and I always recommend because the National Park Service needs all the funding they can get - an America the Beautiful pass.)​

Nahuku (Thurston Lava Tube)

Our first stop was at Nahuku. Even with a copyright date of 2009, our trusty guide book suggested that this was a place we'd want to experience early in the day, since "every tour bus stops here." As such, we made it our first stop - arriving just before the interior lights turned on at 8:00am - but still nowhere near the first ones to be waiting outside the entrance when they finally did.

Jungle.​

Nāhuku - one of many such tubes on the island - was created by a river of molten lava. When a lava tube is active, lava travels along its floor at temperatures that exceed 2,000° F (1090° C). When the supply of lava stops at the end of an eruption, or if it gets diverted elsewhere, it leaves behind an empty cave.

When this lava tube was discovered in 1913, the roof of the tube was covered with lava drippings. Unfortunately, those soon disappeared due to souvenir collectors. Help protect this incredible resource by not touching the walls or delicate tree root systems hanging down. Use only your eyes to experience the lava tube.

National Park Service​

Looking out.​

Looking in.​

Mauna Ulu Lava Field

We made a quick stop in the Mauna Ulu Lava Field on our way to the Pu'uloa Petroglyphs.

In 1969, eruptions from Kilauea's East Rift began building a new lava shield that now rises above its surroundings. It was named Mauna Ulu (Growing Mountain). By the time the flow stopped in 1974, it had covered 10,000 acres of parkland, added 200 new coastal acres, and grown to 2680ft. It also buried a 12-mile section of Chain of Craters Road in lava.

Hawaii - The Big Island​

50 years after cooling down, this pāhoehoe lava flow is just beginning to come back to life.​

It might not have been hot, and it might not have been flowing, but we did get to see lava munching on the old road.​

Pu'uloa Petroglyphs

Puʻuloa, translated as the "long hill" or "hill-(of)-long-(life)" from Hawaiian, is a place considered sacred to the people of Hawai`i, and those of Kalapana in particular.

Located in the ahupuaʻa (an ancient Hawaiian land division) of Pānau Nui on the southern flank of Kīlauea volcano, Puʻuloa is the name of the site which contains a vast area covered with incredible numbers of pecked images in the hardened lava, images known as petroglyphs. The archaeological site of Puʻuloa contains over 23,000 petroglyph images; motifs containing cupules or holes (84% of the total), motifs of circles, other geometric as well as cryptic designs, human representations known as anthropomorphs, canoe sails, and even feathered cape motifs.

In geologic terms, the center of Puʻuloa consists of a volcanic pressure dome with outlying areas of ancient, relatively level fields of pāhoehoe lava bedrock (pāhoehoe, being one of the two types of lava found in Hawai`i, a rather smooth surfaced substrate), dated geologically between 1200-1450 AD.

National Park Service​

This was a pretty cool lava logjam we passed along the way.​

An ADA boardwalk, after a three-quarter-mile long trail over uneven lava.​

The first petroglyphs we saw were like many that we've seen on the mainland - circles and concentric circles.​

Very tall man (left). | Casually walking man (right).​

Rubber arm men.​

Another man having a baby? Oh, maybe not a man!​

By far, the most common glyph here - more than 16,000 of them in this one site - were puka, a hole created to house a child's piko (umbilical cord stump). Families have and continue to come here - to Pu'uloa (the hill of long life) - with the hope that the mana (spiritual guiding energy) of Pu'uloa will bless their children with long and prosperous lives, rooted in their ancestral land.

Concentric circles around puka piko cupules.​

Frog man.​

OK, these two just look like aliens.​

I was surprised how much this anthropomorph looked like those I've seen in the Cedar Mesa area.​

Hōlei Pali (Sea Arch)

Sea arches can be found along a wide swath of the southern coastline of Hawai’i. They are remnants of once-continuous sea cliffs, where lava has previously run into the sea and added to the size of the island.

The moment that new lava cooled and turned to rock, however, it began to erode. Immediately, the pulverizing powers of wind and water began to pound and fracture the cliffs. The seas on the southern edge of Hawai’i are known for being rough and having a violent surf. Ever so slowly, these eroding waves break apart and wear away the rock, sculpting sea caves into the cliff.

As the waves pound into these new sea caves, the water hits the back wall of the cave and refracts. The force of the water bouncing off the back of then begins to erode the cave’s headland, over time, forming a sea arch.

However, the forces of erosion don’t stop once this beautiful sculpture is created. Given enough time, the force of the waves will cause the remaining bridge to collapse, leaving behind a pile of rocks known as a sea stack.

Though they may appear mighty and permanent, individual sea arches are an ephemeral feature of the island’s constantly shifting coastline.

National Park Service​

On our way to the arch, the black, barren lava gleamed under puffy clouds and blue skies.​

Here today, gone tomorrow.​

Kilauea Iki

Making our way back into the heart of the park, it was nearly noon and - though it was the middle of the week - the place was busy! This wouldn't have been a problem, except that park employees were stationed at every parking area, directing traffic to "the next lot, only a few minutes further down the road." The problem was that every employee declared their lot was full - though empty spaces could be easily found - and were unwilling to let anyone else enter. Not only did this result in more cars on the road, but with no ability to use a "full" parking area to turn around, the Chain of Craters Road became a river of vehicles with nowhere to go.

It was amazing how quickly traffic cleared up at 3:00pm when the parking attendants called it a day!

Overlooking Kilauea Iki.​

Kīlauea Iki crater may look tranquil these days. But in 1959, this now 400-foot (120 m) crater held a seething lava lake that spewed fountains of molten lava thousands of feet into the air. Considered by some to be the most spectacular eruption event of the 20th century, Kīlauea Iki provided a unique opportunity for geologists to study the plumbing system of the Kīlauea volcano.

<img decoding="async" src="https://www.nps.gov/havo/learn/nature/images/USGS_1959_-Kīlauea-Iki-Lava-Lake.jpg" alt="USGS photo" width="1300" height="903" />

When the lava lake grew higher than the vent, fountains stopped erupting. Molten lava drained back into the vent, dragging pieces of the lake’s crust with it.

This dark "bathtub ring" can still be seen on the crater walls today. Lava often poured back into the vent four times faster than it was erupted, generating a noisy whirlpool of red-hot, liquid lava and black slabs of solid rock. These continuous drainback events and the natural convection currents of the lava formed the crater floor that visitors can walk over today.

National Park Service​

The Pu'u Pua'i cinder cone.​

People walking across the lava lakebed of Kilauea Iki, under the watchful eye of Pu'u Pua'i.​

Kilauea Caldera

Like the geniuses we are, we gave up the parking spot we had at Kilauea Iki, in the hopes that we'd find a spot near the shaded picnic tables at the visitor center to eat lunch. In case it wasn't obvious, this was not a genius move - parking attendants at the visitor center are the most senior assholes - and we spent more than 30 minutes circling before finally giving up and following the rest of the hoards west along Chain of Craters Road.

There - to our surprise and after several failed attempts - we were able to find a small side lot with only a few parking spaces that were inexplicably empty. As a bonus, a shaded picnic table was only steps away, and we enjoyed some of the Dungeness Crab that we'd picked up at Costco a few days earlier.

Then, we headed toward the edge of the Kilauea Caldera to take a look, a bit bummed understanding - from the park web site - that there was no active eruption.

​

Clearly, we have no idea what "active eruption" means, because there was smoke and stuff rising up from the caldera.

​

This was a big place. Even I had to admit that I probably couldn't outrun a surprise eruption.​

Seems like a risky place to lay a survey marker.​

Ha‘akulamanu (Sulphur Banks)

We went to the Ha‘akulamanu (Sulphur Banks) only because our guidebook promised, "rocks crusted in shades of chartreuse, brick, and other J Crew colors." This was a gross exaggeration, and I'm confident in saying that skipping this little hike - should you ever visit the park - in favor of picking your nose would be a good use of your time.

Seriously. If you're looking for mineralized hillsides, visit Death Valley. If you're looking for mineralized vents, go to Thermopolis.

The most colorful thing we saw was this invasive bamboo orchid.​

Sulfur crystals at an active vent.​

Maunaiki and Footprints Area

When I was reading through the park web site a few hours before our visit, the description of the Maunaiki and Footprints Area caught my attention:

The Kaʻū Desert is a harsh landscape where volcanic eruptions and ashfall from events in Halemaʻumau crater have created a desolate, moon-like environment.

In 1790, a dramatic explosion occurred at the summit of Kīlauea. The eruption involved a torrent of hot gas, ash, and sand that rained down on the Kaʻū Desert. Caught in the middle of this deadly, suffocating storm were groups of Native Hawaiians travelling through the region on long-used trails. In the newly fallen layer of ash, these groups left behind footprints that we can still see today— a reminder that Hawaiians have borne witness to the geological drama of this island for centuries.

A shelter protecting these footprints - and the story of the Footprints Area - is accessible via an easy walk about .8 miles (1.3 km) from the Kaʻū Desert Trailhead.

National Park Service​

Human footprints in ash? That sounds unique! Yes, please! When figuring out where to go in our single day at the park, I'd added it to my list of things to see in the #2 position (of 7), but given its location - away from everything else and on our way out of the park - we'd saved it for the end of our day. "One of the best for last," as it were.

Off we go, through a much older lava field.​

More colorful than the sulfur banks.​

With only three-quarters-of-a-mile long between us and the hut that covered the footprints, we covered ground quickly, passing a ranger just as we arrived. Turns out that the trail beyond the footprints had been closed - until he removed the trail closed sign - due to increased volcanic activity. Or at least an increased concern of a possible increase in the risk of increased activity. Maybe. But not.

Anyway, upon our arrival at the hut, it turned out that there were no footprints; it was all a hoax. There, we found a cast replica of some footprints, and an information board informing us that more than 3,000 footprints had been found in the 4,284 acre ash field around us, but there were no actual footprints to see.

Consolation prize: crumbling ash on dark brown sand.​

We headed back to the car to share an even-half-is-more-than-you-should-eat-at-one-time chocolate chocolate chip muffin cake, and with full bellies pointed the Kia north and towards our lanai.

Note: I've poked at NPS parking attendants throughout this story. I want to stress my distaste at these attendants, but also share my never-ending admiration for most NPS employees that I interact with. Without fail, I've had only enjoyable experiences with every Park Ranger, Geologist, and Historian that I've run into, and I'm thrilled to now call several of them friends.

The parking attendants - while wearning NPS garb - were likely an entirely different type of employee. One with a single, very boring job. A job that may only last a few weeks, or months, during a busy season that coincided with winter on the mainland.

Surely they could still do better, but it's important to realize that they are not representative of the NPS as a whole.

​

 

looks like a great trip so far...
stayed in volcano almost 30 years ago & took a drive down to the holei sea arch...crowded even back then, but great view stretch of brand new asphalt
petro hunting wasn't on my radar back then...bummer i missed 'em

 

That Kilauea Iki hike is a fun one. We did the loop back in December, starting before dusk and ended up back at our rental Jeep about after dark. The nighttime wildlife sounds on the return leg were spectacular. Made me real glad I thought to pack our headlamps.

 

From Sea Level to 13,796 Feet | Hawaii Vacation #3
Part of the The Vacation Adventure (Dec 2023) trip.

I'd always imagined that Mauna Kea would be inside Volcanoes National Park. Not only is it not, but it's not even part of the park. @mrs.turbodb knew this already.

Having researched and planned all of our volcano visiting in a single sitting - overlooking the Pacific Ocean as it crashed against the shoreline outside our apartment - we'd learned that visiting Mauna Kea wasn't as easy as simply driving from sea level to the top of this 13,796 behemoth. In order to get there, we'd have to abide by the following rules:

1. We'd need to stop for 30 minutes at the Visitor Information Center, 9,200 feet above sea level, in order to acclimate to the lack of oxygen (or at least throw up from altitude sickness before getting to the top).
2. We'd need to be driving a 4WD vehicle with low gear. This, apparently, is due to the 17-24% grade of the gravel summit road, and the requirement to use engine braking on the way down.

The first of these requirements was no problem, but I was pretty sure that our Kia K5 wasn't sporting 4WD, much less 4-Lo. And, though I was 100% sure that I could navigate the situation with the Kia, @mrs.turbodb was 100% sure that we wouldn't even be allowed to try, even if I showed my business card, because well, tourists do stupid stuff.

I have a stack of homemade business cards; I must know what I'm doing.​

And that's how we ended up with a second rental car. Or "sort of" a truck? Whatever it was, it was called a Jeep Renegade, and it was a boxy pile of poo, rivaled only by the Nissan Cube. But, it had 4WD!

This thing was garbage.​

Overlanding Mauna Kea

When we got to the Visitor Information Center and had 30 minutes to kill, we could have done what normal people do - hang out in the parking lot or look through the gift shop - and we had every intention to do just that, until we noticed a dirt road exiting the parking area, and red cinder cone in the distance.

Might as well "Jeep it" to the red Pu'u Kole cinder cone. Or, it turns out, try.​

As I started down the trail, chuckling at the posted sign that read, "Stop here, engage 4WD," - since it was little more than a gravel road - @mrs.turbodb fired up the Gaia app on her phone and discovered that this was one of the major "Overlanding" routes on the island.

If you are an experienced off-roader and would like to make a full-day off-road adventure of your trip to Mauna Kea, there is an off-road trail that begins just below the visitor center called R-1 Road. This road takes you on an approximately 35 mile loop around the entire back side of Mauna Kea, crossing a variety of fascinating terrain including a Silversword grove, red lava landscapes that look like you're on Mars, and desert washes reminiscent of Utah or Arizona.

It's not a difficult trail, but it is definitely a true 4WD road, with a few rocky climbs and descents that will require careful tire placement to avoid scraping your undercarriage. It would probably rate about a 3 on the usual 1-10 off-road difficulty scale. This trail is not recommended for the average tourist, but if you're an experienced off-road driver willing to take the risk, it's absolutely worth it.

AllTrails​

This infrequently maintained, unpaved, four wheel drive hunters' road circles the east, north, and west sides of Mauna Kea between the 7,000' and 9,000' elevations within the Mauna Kea Forest Reserve. It passes through native sub-alpine woodland and over barren lava flows. On clear days dramatic views of the whole northern coast, the Waimea Plain, Kohala Mountains, and the island of Maui may be enjoyed. The route traverses critical habitat of the endangered palila (Loxioides bailleui), a Hawaiian finch found only on the upper slopes of Mauna Kea. Caution, the entire route is open year-round for hunting.

Trailforks​

Getting dusty, it was amazing how little traction this thing had, even in 4WD.​

At 8,600 feet above sea level, we were just at the level of the clouds that clung to the base of Mauna Loa.​

As the Jeep struggled for traction on sections of road that I'm used to ignoring, I wondered if it would even make it to the top. Note: I was still sure the Kia would have been fine.​

After making it less than two miles in 30 minutes - during which time we realized that our ground clearance was less than six inches and that the Jeep was more comfortable three-wheeling than four - we headed back to the Visitor Information Center, our bodies fully acclimated to the higher elevation.


Summitting Mauna Kea

Confident that our Jeep would cruise through 4WD inspection and ferry us to the top of the mountain, we were caught by surprise when the ranger balked at how dusty the Jeep was. Apparently, there was a third rule for heading to the summit:

3. Our vehicle needed to be clean.​

Thinking that this was just a misunderstanding, I mentioned that the dust was from the Kahinahina (R1) Road, right here at our current location, and not some "dust with cooties" from elsewhere on the island. Alas, this apparently did not matter - or more likely the ranger didn't believe that a tourist in such a worthless vehicle could have possibly driven the Kahinahina (R1) Road - but he was totally cool about it and suggested that we go dust off the Jeep "out of sight" and then come back for another inspection.

Luckily, we passed the second inspection with flying colors and - after demonstrating that I knew how to use 4WD and low gear - we headed up!

At 10,832 feet, we were above the clouds that were converging on Mauna Loa from both sides.​

At 11,702 feet, we passed Moon Valley, where the NASA tested the lunar lander before flying it ...to the moon!​

Also at 11,702 feet, we felt fine, but the Jeep sounded like it was getting altitude sickness.​

We reached the top an hour before sunset - barely enough time to check out some of the telescopes that cover the mountain - before looking for the perfect spot to soak in what was sure to be a spectacular show.

The CalTech Submillimeter Telescope (CSO), currently being decommissioned and disassembled.​

Four dishes of the Smithsonian Submillimeter Array (left) and the Japanese Subaru Telescope (right).​

Even an hour before sunset, the colors reflected in the dish were taking on a warm, pink hue.​

Looking for life. Or something.​

Keck Observatory (left), NASA Infrared Telescope (right).​

The Heep made it to the top!​

The actual summit of Mauna Kea is a sacred site, a quarter mile walk from the telescopes.​

They have faces!​

It turns out, the coolest thing at the summit of Mauna Kea is neither sunset nor the array of telescopes and technology that peer far into the sky. Nope, the coolest thing is a phenomenon called the Mauna Kea Shadow. Way up here, when the sun drops along the western horizon, Mauna Kea looms so large that it casts a mountain-like shadow onto the clouds - and even into the atmosphere - to the east. Not knowing if this was a common occurrence or required just the right conditions, I had no idea if we'd get to see the shadow, and nearly caught my breath when we left the throngs of people looking west to see what there was to see, to the east.

Look closely.​

There's no mountain there.​

Shadow caster.​

And then, it was sunset.

When the top of the clouds are the horizon.​

United Kingdom Infrared Telescope (UKIT).​

And then, it was after sunset.

NASA Infrared Telescpe Facility (IRTF).​

Watching the Belt of Venus (left). | I really liked this wind blown tree trunk at Gemini North Telescope (right).​

And then, with rangers rounding up tourists like the cattle that we surely were, it was time to engage low gear for our descent. Using engine braking most of the way down, we passed our brake temperature inspection with flying colors - unlike the majority of vehicles that actually had 4-Lo - skipping straight to the front of the line for the 90-minute drive back to our apartment.

I still think the Kia would have performed better.

 

Mauna Kea is an interesting place. One of my friends works there occasionally. Flies over from the mainland to do his thing. He did some work on SOPHIA as well (the telescope mounted in a 747). Anyway, lots of controversy about whether telescopes should be on Mauna Kea. The Hawaiian people hold the summit as a very sacred place. It's a complex issue for sure but I feel the Ancients would likely have approved the study of the stars as they made navigation possible and it's how the Polynesians were able to discover so much of the neighborhood.

Speaking of heeps. I guess the Gladiator is ceasing production.

Excellent write up!

 

It's All Wilderness Now | EMHT Segment 4a Camp Clipper to Turtle Mountains
Part of the Wrapping up the EMHT (Jan 2024) trip.

After running the first two segments of the East Mojave Heritage Trail (EMHT) with Mike and Zane last month, and then returning for the third segment with @mrs.turbodb only a week later, it was less of a question of "where" and more a question of "when" my first trip of 2024 would take place. The "where" - of course - would be the final, fourth segment of the 770-mile long route, winding my way through the Mojave Trails National Monument and the Turtle Mountain Wilderness.

Segment 1: Needles to Ivanpah - 173 miles
Segment 2: Ivanpah to Rocky Ridge -199 miles
Segment 3: Rocky Ridge to Fenner - 211 miles
Segment 4: Fenner to Needles - 155 miles

This was the segment I'd been looking forward to the most - right from the get-go - given that I've only ever wandered through this neck of the woods once before, in search of a Blueprint Petroglyph. I didn't think that particular spot wouldn't be on my itinerary - at least, not until I decided to give finding it a second shot - but having skirted the Turtle Mountain Wilderness once before, I knew that this segment would be a treat!

- - - - -​

After my usual fly-into-Vegas-and-provision routine, I didn't head straight to the EMHT. Rather, knowing that no matter how fast I drove, I was going to arrive at the starting point for Segment 4 after dark, I made a detour to a couple of places in the Mojave Preserve that I've wanted to visit but where timing just hasn't worked out.

I'll get to those right after Segment 4, I promise! (see: Extras Along the Way | EMHT Segment 4)

With those stops, it was just before 8:45pm when I pulled onto the runway at Camp Clipper. It wasn't windy, but I was out in the open and totally exposed, so I fired up my phone to check the wind situation for the rest of the night.

Ugh.​

With a forecast like that, I knew I'd be in for a rough evening. With reasonably calm winds at the moment, I emptied one of my jerry cans of fuel into the tank - as I'd noticed that the seal was leaking when I'd been out to take photos earlier in the day - and got the truck oriented so that the tent wouldn't fold up on me when the gusts really began. Then, after a bit of Lightroom work, it was off to bed!

The following morning...

As predicted, it was a windy night. Parts of it were pleasant - with earplugs, the sound wasn't too bad, and the rocking of the tent was rather nice - but I was not thrilled when I picked up the sound of driving rain against the side of the tent.

The first time I heard it was just after midnight, and I knew that the wind would easily dry everything out by the time I woke up. And, luckily, the winds died down for about 30 minutes just as I climbed out of the tent, allowing for a quick launch of the flying camera - the only way to capture the place in which I'd gone to sleep.

Morning at the Camp Clipper air strip.​

Built in 1942, Camp Essex and Camp Clipper were built to prepare troops to do battle in North Africa to fight the Nazis during World War II. At Camp Clipper were trained the 93rd Infantry Division. The trained troops went on to fight in the North African campaign.

An air strip near Camp Clipper supported training activities. The runway consisted of two 4,500-foot-long runs made of steel landing mats with 6 parking pads at each end of the runway. The runway ran north-south, parallel to the old U.S. Route 66.

The runway was long enough for large planes - such as the Douglas C-50 cargo plane, Douglas A-20 Havoc, Curtiss P-40 Warhawk, Lockheed P-38 Lightning and Consolidated B-24 Liberator - to use in training exercises. In early 1950 the airfield was used as a private airfield, but soon fell out of use and was abandoned in the late 1950s.

wikipedia​

You can just make out the Tacoma in the middle right parking pad.​

It was still dumping over the Piute Mountains, the direction I was headed!​

Things didn't look much better over the Providence Mountains to the west, either.​

While most of the rain on the tent had dried, there were a few places that benefited from a little toweling off, so after taking care of that I ate a quick cereal breakfast and packed everything away. It was later than I'd hoped to get going - more than an hour after sunrise and just a few minutes before 8:00am - but at least the sun was winning the battle against the clouds, and it was turning into a beautiful day!

A quick stop under the train tracks. Should I be worried that there are some additional supports for some reason?​

Only slightly phased by the additional supports, I did my best to put that out of my mind as I procrastinated climbing back into the Tacoma. Rather, all my energy was focused on willing a train into existence on the tracks.

Success! I manifested a train!​

Harder and harder to put those supports out of my mind.​

Finally working my way further into the route, I headed toward the sun - and rather ominous looking weather - into the Piute Mountains Wilderness. This was a place where - during the springtime - I might finally get to see a desert tortoise, but given the cool temps in early January, I knew my chances were nearly zero on this particular morning. Still, there was plenty to keep me interested as I gained elevation. The landscape here - decomposing granite with yucca - reminded me of Joshua Tree National Park, and I found myself hopping out of the Tacoma too frequently to snap another photo.

I hoped the clouds would clear as I neared the Piute Mountains.​

After the previous night's rain, the yucca were a blazing green.​

The Providence Mountains in the distance were covered in a dusting of powdery snow.​

I really enjoyed the patterns on some of the granite as I neared the pass.​

Wonderlands of rock were reminiscent of Joshua Tree.​

On each segment of the EMHT, there exists a mailbox. These aren't true mailboxes - such dainty containers would never survive in these harsh conditions - but are quarter-inch steel structures, able to stand up to the worst that the desert can muster. And, as I came to the last box, I'd soon find it to be the least-visited and most interesting.

The final box. Box 4.​

Inside, a bag of gold!​

Looks like this box went missing for a time, and Billy Creech was only able to reinstall the logbook in December of 2020.​

​

I made sure to sign the book, but I thought the entry just above mine was even more interesting!
​

I had the opportunity to help as a junior member of Friends of the Mojave Road
to layout the EMHT. It is now about 35 years later, and today I retire as the
BLM Needles Field Office Manager. What a ride! --Mike W Ahrens
​

I always feel a little weird leaving anything in the desert, even in a log book, but there were few enough folks to sign in here that I thought it'd be fun to leave a little momento.​

Whereas I'd spent only a few minutes at each of the other mailboxes, I ended up spending nearly half an hour perusing this last treasure chest, perhaps a little sad that there wouldn't be another one along the way. I may have also taken the opportunity to eat a bit of trail mix - or at least the peanuts and raisins, since I'm not a fan of the M&Ms that are the favorite ingredient of every normal person.

Then, after speeding through a sandy wash - the smoothest, engine-revingest, and downright funnest - section of trail - I made my way out of the Piute Mountains and into the Old Woman Mountains.

There was a time - only a handful of years ago - where getting into sand like this would have had me looking for an alternate route. Today, the soft, fluffy base puts a smile of my face!​

As I neared the Old Woman Mountains, the view across the valley - to the rugged Stepladder Mountains - was stunning.​

Pilot Peak was a recognizable landmark all along this section of trail.​

Whereas there'd been a small reroute of the original EMHT to avoid wilderness through the Piute Mountains, the formation of the Old Woman Mountain Wilderness in 1994 meant that a rather sizable set of changes were necessary in order to keep EMHT vehicular traffic out of sensitive area. These updates also resulted in the route skirting a couple of old mines - the Gold Star and Lucky Jim - by a few miles, requiring that anyone interested in checking them out, hike to them - gasp - on foot!

The new route through this portion of trail was nothing to complain about!​

It should come as no surprise that I was looking forward to the hikes to the two no-longer-on-the-main-route mines, and before long I'd abandoned the Tacoma on the side of the road and was working my way up the four-mile mining road to the Gold Star Mines.

Into the wilderness, along the original EMHT.​

I've not been able to find any information about the Gold Star Mines, though there were at least two mines up this way and one of them appeared to be - despite the name - a Barium-Barite mine. And no, I have no idea what that really is, even after reading through as much of the wikipedia article as I could stand.

The nicer - and seemingly less-visited - of the two cabins.​

I don't generally find unbroken glass windows at a place like this.​

Not fully stocked, but a few useful bits and pieces if you wanted to take care of the place.​

I was never able to find the actual mining site for this cabin, but it was - apparently - the Barium-Barite mine, so I wouldn't have known what to look for in the first place. Rather, I pushed onward - toward a cabin that was more prominent from the distance - and which appeared to belong to a more traditional tailings pile, high on the hillside.

Those are the types of windows I'm accustomed to. Glassless. ​

With much of the roof missing, all of the doors and windows ajar, and infrequent visitation, this cabin was looking a little disheveled.​

A how-long-can-you-hold-your-breath competition must have taken place here!​

In my experience, miners rarely found riches, except in the views from their cabins.​

I contemplated picking my way through the yucca, cacti, and granite to the old tailings pile another quarter mile and 300 vertical feet up the hillside, but ultimately decided that I'd better head back the way I'd come. I still had a lot of EMHT Segment 4 to run, and I needed to get far enough that I would set myself up to finish the remainder of the route the next day.

Predictably, the time I saved in hiking up to the Gold Star Mine workings, I almost immediately forfeited by hiking another mile or so to the Lucky Jim mine.

I'd seen these workings on satellite when I'd research the route, and while there were no structures, I'd spotted what I hoped would be an interesting adit to explore.​

There was no question about what Lucky Jim was after - the green ore all over the ground gave away his treasure - copper!​

This adit didn't turn out to be all that interesting. However, I was glad to have my N-95 mask, as the entire floor - from wall-to-wall and front-to-back was black. Covered in a 2" deep layer of mouse droppings, I'd never seen anything like it.​

It was a few minutes after 2:00pm when I turned the Tacoma east - or rather, the EMHT turned east, and I simply followed along - away from the Old Woman Mountains and towards a place that holds a fair bit of mystery for me - the Turtle Mountains.

As with many of the ranges out here, the Turtles are old, jagged, and seem largely composed of volcanic material.​

I'd only visited the Turtle Mountains once before. At the time, @mrs.turbodb and I were in search of the Blueprint Petroglyph, an elusive - we never found it - carving somewhere in the vicinity of Mohawk Spring. I'd tried - unsuccessfully - to figure out its location again prior to this trip, but having come up empty, I had no plans to look for it as I passed by on the EMHT.

The approach never got old.​

This late in the afternoon, I was delighted to approach from the west, the sun illuminating the mountains, rather than silhouetting them in shadow.

Knowing my way around just enough to be dangerous, I swung the Tacoma to the right - bailing off of the official EMHT - as I noticed a BLM (Bureau of Land Management) road marker that appeared to run along the boundary of the wilderness area. My tablet suggested that this road would meet up with the main route a few miles ahead, still allowing me to check out the Lost Arch Inn, the "usual" attraction in this neck of the woods.

Layers and light.​

Before long, I was at the Lost Arch Inn. It has seen better days, but I've never seen it in better days.​

Things are not always as they seem. To learn anything about the Lost Arch Inn, you need to know where to look. Or, be really short.​

Legend has it that a man named Amsden left Needles in 1883 to prospect in the Turtle Mountain Range. A few weeks later, Amsden staggered into Goffs, close to death but with his pockets bulging with gold. After recovering from his ordeal, he returned to his home in the east. Several years later, it is said that he penned a letter to Dick Colton, a friend in Goffs, with directions and a map to his placer mine in the Turtle Mountains. The letter said the gold was not far from a natural arch.

From 1922 to 1948 a pair of prospectors, Charlie Brown and Jesse Craik occupied a cabin near the suspected Lost Arch mine. While neither gave much credence to the legend of a lost mine, they nonetheless sampled much of the ground around the Turtle Mountains and held many claims, milling what they found on site. In fact, one claim - betrayed by the concrete foundation of their old mill - was one right behind the camp and tested at $3 a ton (for gold and silver).

As well, they welcomed visitors and dubbed their two cabins as the Lost Ach Inn.

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The old mill foundation.
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If there's still gold here, it's not easy to access.​

​

At this point, it was 90 minutes before sunset and I had a decision to make. I knew that there was some great camping - just across the valley and in the shadow of the Turtle Mountains - at the Lisa Dawn Mine. Or, I could push on - trying to cover as much ground as possible - and hope to find a spot further along Segment 4.

In a completely uncharacteristic move, I opted to settle down for the evening. I still don't know exactly what made me choose this route, but my night in the Turtle Mountains ended up being the most pleasant of my trip, so perhaps I should take it as a hint to slow down and smell the desert roses more often.

And so, with an hour to kill and having explicitly planned to forego a second search for the Blueprint Petroglyphs, I set off to do the opposite. Because hey, how hard can it be to find a single rock in 177,209 acres?



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I hope I’ve said this before, but thanks for taking the time to document your trips so well. Though it’s a two-edged sword … I’m finding that I spend more time reading about your exploits (and a few others’) than getting out myself. And, since we recently got a van (and a dog), when I do get out it’s with less off-pavement flexibility than going solo in my Tacoma. Still, my metal tent on wheels is a very nice place to hunker down when the desert winds pick up. Unless it gets really bad I pick sites for the views and not to get out of the wind. And the dog has become a great hiking companion; in fact with a few backcountry road closures (to vehicles) even Death Valley, where dogs are basically only allowed in developed campgrounds or on vehicle routes, is dog-friendly-ish right now. Anyway, I got off my butt last week and had a great time and some of my exploration was inspired by your posts. Thanks for providing some motivation!! I explored the Rainbow Basin north of Barstow, drove off pavement from Bishop to Benton Hot Springs and checked out lots of petroglyphs. I even tried to get to Saratoga Spring, from the south off Hwy 127, but I cried uncle after less than a mile of the washboard that’s been bladed in after last month’s flooding there opposite the southern Dumont Dunes entrance. 148” wheelbase should give a nice ride but at 8500 lbs I’m hesitant to air down much and besides, all the pots and pans and cans of beer and stuff is in wooden cabinets in the same metal box I’m sitting in. Not at all peaceful, even with aftermarket springs all around and Falcon rear shocks. Despite all the videos of off-road #vanlife they really were just designed to deliver packages.

And, your writing about the EMHT prompted me to do a little research, and I learned that a former co-worker is very active with the organization that is mapping and preserving it. Small world!

 

Thanks! Glad you're enjoying the stories. I do have a great time experiencing them. Writing, a little less so at the time, but they are always fun to read in the future, so I try to keep that in mind, hahaha! And, I get plenty of motivation from the trip reports I read from others, so glad mine are helping with a bit of that too.

And the van - I've mentioned to @mrs.turbodb that I could see us with a sprinter-style setup some day. The whole "no tent setup" and wind situation sure is compelling. And, as we prioritize hiking more and more over the driving, the van becomes more of a possibility. As long as we can get to wherever we want to start hiking, of course.

 

The van lets you have that outside experience as it's a huge wind break. You can also stand comfortably under the awning. I would think the only real disadvantage is the cost of a 4x4 Sprinter.

 

I won’t hijack your thread with van tales but after decades of Toyota’s, and a few less than positive ownership experiences with German cars, we test drove a Sprinter but bought a 2020 AWD Ford Transit. So I guess “Sprinter style” but not a Sprinter. The 3.5 EcoBoost and 10 speed automatic make my 3rd Gen V6 Tacoma feel like a malaise-era Detroit car (power/fuel economy balance) and so far at 45K miles it’s had ZERO issues. After a couple of times dragging stuff we had a 2” lift installed which also allows slightly larger tires than stock but 255/70 or 245/75-16 is about the max. Also skid plates. Between its size and high CG it’s not really suited for trails but I’ve gone in and out of Saline Valley (without snow) on South and North Passes plus Bat Rock to the Springs, and Cima Dome Rd all the way from Cima Rd to Kelbaker including a wrong turn onto what the park map calls a “high clearance 4wd” trail from Aiken Mine to the Lava Tube. plus lots more dirt and washboard in almost every state west of the Rockies, a few east of the Divide, plus Alaska, Alberta, BC and Yukon. About 14.8 mpg overall. That’s a high roof with solar panels and awning on the roof and about 1500 pounds of cabinets, appliances, kitchen, etc. even a toilet, and a gasoline heater. About 8500 lbs ready to roll with 22 gallon H2O and 31 gallons of fuel. Its actually easier and more comfortable for long pavement drives than the Tacoma.

 

Yeah, sounds about right. I don't know a ton about vans, as I've not yet seriously considered one beyond mentioning that the concept would be nice, but I know a couple folks who have Sportsmobile's - my uncle, and Ben @m3bassman - and they both love the platform for what it both allows and enables as compared to Jeeps and Tacomas that they previously used.

I think I'll have a good time figuring out what's important to me and which platform to go with when I head that direction. No idea if it'll be the next platform or the one after that (or after that). Right now, my favorite "not-a-1st-gen" is the 2nd gen (a '12-15), but who knows what it'll be when I'm ready to move on!

Thanks for the 411, and feel free to post in here about the awesomeness of the van any time. I'm always down to learn/hear/etc. - I don't consider it hijacking at all.

 

I sort of feel like anything that helps you get out an explore what you want is fair game

A van also gives you options should you decide stop and power nap too.

 

Worn Out | EMHT Segment 4b Turtle Mountains to Needles
Part of the Wrapping up the EMHT (Jan 2024) trip.

My plan - if one can ever really have a plan when out adventuring, was that this was going to be my last day on the East Mojave Heritage Trail. After nearly 10 days of travel, I had only 70 miles or so to complete Segment 4, and in an effort to ensure that I'd actually get through those 70 miles before dark, I was out of the tent nearly half an hour before the sun peeked over the horizon.

With no shadows, the ambient light on the Turtle Mountains was something special.​

The main reason I was up so early was that I wanted to finally fix my clutch pedal. For nearly a year it hasn't returned to the ready position - not a fault of any of the hydraulics, but because the torsion spring that pushes it out has been worn out. I've tried several times to fix it, but figuring out exactly how to install the linear spring that I hope will work better, has been an exercise in failure, since I've never known where to find the spots where the hooks on the spring are meant to install.

No going back now!​

Luckily, I'd found this photo on TacomaWorld from @Madjik_Man, and after several nervous minutes of fiddling around, I got the new spring installed.​

That whole ordeal - along with poking around camp looking at a few interesting discoveries, eating breakfast, and getting camp put away - took me an hour, so it was just after 7:30am when I pulled out of camp and pointed the Tacoma south, along the eastern flank of the Turtle Mountains.

I don't remember the ocotillo here on previous visits, but I am getting old, so...​

Working my way along the trail was slow going to say the least. I'd known this was going to be the case - both from my previous visit to the Turtle Mountains, and from the EMHT Segment 4 Supplement - but even so, I was a little surprised at how hard the trail was to follow, given its designation by the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) as road NS-510.

DECISION POINT

• 
  
  
  • OFFICIAL ROUTE: Turn right on NS 510 (south) and continue down this trail for 14.1 miles. Then turn right (south) on HWY 95 for 2.79 miles, then turn left (east) rejoining the EMHT mile 585.4 NOTE – this trail is EXTREMELY rugged with no discernable trail in multiple areas and little to no smooth trail at all. This is a rock garden and multiple foot recces will be required.
  • OPTIONAL ROUTE: A faster, smoother, well-defined path is to: Continue straight on Turtle Mountain Rd for an additional 10 miles, then turn right (south) on HWY 95 for 13.76 miles, then turn left (east) rejoining the EMHT mile 585.4.

EMHT Segment 4 Supplement​

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At least the Turtle Mountains were a nice backdrop to the EXTREMELY rugged "mapped route."​

​

I never had to get out of the Tacoma to "foot recces," but it took me more than an hour to pick my way over those 14 miles of road - some of the slowest going of the entire trip, rivaled only by the alluvial fan near Valjean Valley in Segment 2. Ultimately though, I was glad I didn't turn tail and run for the pavement, as I stumbled on a pretty cool old mine site along the way.

I think this is a ore transfer site for a mine. That, or old training grounds for Evel Knievel.​

The clouds were looking interesting along this section of trail as well.​

As I neared the highway - it really is out there - Pyramid Butte rose in my windshield.​

After driving for so many miles on dirt - and after crawling my way to the place where the trail crossed US-95 - it was quite the change of pace to push the Tacoma up to 50mph as I covered the couple of miles to where it peeled off to the east on dirt. I'm sure that the folks stuck behind me felt as though I was moving at a snail's pace, but to me, it felt like I was flying! And so, when I could see there were no vehicles between me and my turn to the east, I pulled into the oncoming lane, the three vehicles behind me, surely wondering what I was up to!

Only a few dozen feet from the highway, this drone landing pad (?) caught my attention. Why would anyone need this, and if they needed it, why would they leave it here?​

Update from one of the folks who knows more than I do and contacted me:

Just an FYI that was not a drone landing pad but a surveyors Ground Control Point (GCP) for an aerial photogrammetric survey.

I do not have any info on those targets specifically, however... Unlike a Benchmark (the brass disc/medallion stamped with info that I'm sure you have come across in your travels), GCPs are usually unique to that specific job, are not public record and are somewhat temporary. I do know of - and have been involved in - a couple of ongoing ordinance removal projects in more or less that area though. My guess is the one you came across was 1 of probably 4-10 depending on the scale of the area and was more than likely used for a topographic survey and terrain modeling. Hope that helps!

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To me, the paved surface of US-95 designated the transition from the Turtle to the Whipple Mountains. From here, I'd continue mostly east - and a tad south - soon arriving at the southern-most point of the East Mojave Heritage Trail. It was an area I'd never explored, and if the initial views were any indication, one that I'd enjoy as the Tacoma rose and fell over the hilly terrain.

From one color to the next, it was like driving through a kaleidoscope.​

As I progressed through the colorful landscape, the thing that caught my attention was not the proliferation of teddy bear cholla, rather it was the fact that many of them - entire forests - were dead or dying. While I don't consider myself one to have been everywhere in the desert, I've most definitely been to a-lot-of-where, and I've never seen anything like this. I don't know if the widespread death is due to drought or some sort of invasive plant/animal species, but it was surprising even to someone like me who thinks of these plants as the devil incarnate.

Teddy Bear cholla are never warm and cuddly, but they certainly look less-so when they are dead.​

This tall trunk shows that the problem is not (only) a recent one.​

A closer look at the lattice structure.​

I ended up stopping several times throughout the Whipple Mountains to photograph the cholla, and between a couple of these stops, I noticed that the Trasharoo was slowly sliding off of the spare tire. This isn't a common occurrence, but it's not uncommon, either so after putting my camera back in the cab - no more leaving it on the bumper for me (!) - I went back to adjust the straps.

Lazy as ever, I decided I'd first try to just pull the Trasharoo back into place instead of opening the swingout, unfastening the clips, and repositioning the entire bag. And, it was as I did this that the entire tire moved as I tugged on the Trasharoo.

I knew it wasn't good, but I had no idea how bad it was. My initial thought was that the three lug nuts that hold the spare tire onto the tire mount - which in turn is bolted onto the swingout of the rear bumper - had come loose. However, after removing the Trasharoo, I quickly realized that things were much worse.

It wasn't the tire that was loose, it was the welds on the tire mount that had failed!​

Realizing what was wrong, I wondered as to the best way to proceed. I'd modified this tire mount - to save 2 lbs - when I'd shaved weight from the Tacoma, and I assumed that it was my weld that'd failed catastrophically.

Only as I was in the process of cinching it all back together with a ratchet strap - and inspecting the 15+ inches of welds that failed - did I realize that the welds looked a lot better than anything I've ever done. Perfectly stacked dimes, I realized that these could not possibly have been my welds - mine look like little more than a poopy sludge randomly splattered across once pristine surfaces - but were actually original welds from CBI. And looking even closer, it appeared that they'd gotten the 3/16th inch steel too hot in the process, the tear happening along the scalloped edge of the weld.

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This isn't the first time this ratchet strap has been called into service to complete a trip. It'd gotten us home from Death Valley once before.​

The tire as secure as I could get it - and in my opinion, secure enough to not cause any further damage on the remaining 40 miles of trail - I got back underway, towards the last mine on my journey, and the spot I planned to eat lunch.

Somewhere in there is the New American Eagle mine.​

The New American Eagle Mine is a copper mine owned by Hal Oxnevad, which - like many copper mines - also produced a bit of gold and silver. Though production numbers of all three metals are not available it was pretty clear as I arrived at what was obviously the main camp area that there was quite a bit of copper that came out of the ground here.

The big hole in the center housed an inclined shaft, and the size of the waste piles suggested it was quite large.​

When even the concrete is green, you know the copper was coming out in reasonably large quantities.​

From the main camp, the road wound a little further into the hills, where a second shaft - this one vertical with a wooden headframe - sat perched on a similarly green platform. It always amazing to me how much material these mines seemed to leave behind; I can only imagine that the ore they did send off to the smelter must have been amazingly rich!

No, that's not mint chip ice cream.​

I had mixed feelings as I pulled back onto the main route. On the one hand, I knew that I was reaching the end of this amazing route; on the other, I knew my spare tire was holding on for dear life, and it'd be a relief when the last mile of dirt was behind me. And so, having visited the southern most point on the route, I turned north - first toward Lake Havasu City, and eventually to the end of the loop at Needles, Ca.

Civilization. Not something you see a lot of on this trail.​

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Approaching West Well, the mountains here reminded me of the Trona Pinnacles.​

From the air, the color on the ground was even more dramatic.​

Sometimes the Tacoma acts like it's a side-by-side, and in those cases, it always gets a good scolding.​

Like many of the waypoints along this section of trail, I'd not known of West Well prior to my arrival at it. There, I discovered that it has been a reliable source of water for Native American Indians, ranchers, and farmers for centuries, with evidence of several cultures still present for those who spend the time to look. The more modern corrals, guzzlers, and concrete-lined wells were less interesting to me, but taking the time to find the petroglyphs and rock rings - where the Chemehuevi Indians once lived - was an exercise in delight!

Petroglyphs of West Well.​

Someone couldn't leave well enough alone and carved a female anthropomorph (?) over the top of this abstract design.​

W. H. Gier also left his mark in May of 1919.​

I had to look a little harder to find the rock rings, but after taking a moment to look around at the terrain, and consider the geography of the West Well site, I was rather pleased with myself when I ended up finding them in the first place I looked!

There's not much left, but when you find them, you know these rings aren't natural.​

A cluster of dwellings.​

By this point I had fewer than 2 hours of daylight remaining and still more than 30 miles of trail to cover - I was going to have to keep the skinny pedal depressed as I raced by the Chemehuevi Mountains if I hoped to get to camp before darkness set in. It was a tall order. The lighting on the mountains - as the sun streamed in under the dark clouds - was dramatic, and I knew I'd have to fight the frequent urge to stop and point my camera towards the jagged peaks.

Dramatic ridges.​

I thought the scale of this Teddy Bear cholla and the peaks behind was a fun contrast.​

When a bit of light illuminated the landscape, I sprinted to capture the fleeting moment.​

Ultimately I made reasonable - but not what I would call quick - time past the Chemehuevi Mountains and along the nicely-graded power line roads that would deliver me to the Sacramento Mountains and the place where Mike @Digiratus, Zane @Speedytech7, and I had set off on the start of this grand adventure some 10 trail days earlier. I wasn't going to make it to camp before the sun dropped below the horizon, but it wouldn't be much later, I hoped.

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There were several green patches of trail as I entered the Sacramento Mountains. These were not copper, but were - I believe - green volcanic ash, similar to some that I'd seen in the Mule Mountains on the Bradshaw Trail.​

Heading down the final wash, the smoke trees were just starting to bloom.​

Eagle Peak provided a dramatic backdrop for the last several miles as I wound my way down the wash.​

As if on cue, a final splash of color.​

The last turn.​

I rolled into camp - at the same place that three buddies had begun this crazy adventure along the East Mojave Heritage Trail - three minutes before 5:00pm. The sun had fallen from the sky 15 minutes prior, and a blazing sunset - the most vivid I'd seen on these last three trips was bright in the sky to my southwest. I found the perfect spot - on a ridge with a commanding view of my surroundings - and contemplated everything that'd happened along the way.

A fitting finish.​

What an amazing route through the Mojave Desert. It's hard to get a sense of all this place has to offer - and there is much that any route will miss - but the East Mojave Heritage Trail is an amazing experience. Traversing a large swath of the desert, the terrain, history, and scale of this place are just a little clearer when it's all in the rear-view mirror. I've always appreciated my first foray - running the Mojave Road - into the Mojave National Preserve, but it's easy to see that the EMHT offers more.

Of course, my recommendation is to run them both - there isn't much overlap when it comes right down to it - and then dive deeper into the Mojave. Because the best is found by venturing off the tracks that others have created, and by finding your own adventure.




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Wow. I was able to help you out? Never thought I'd see the day.

 

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My first thought would be UAS photogrammetry and surveys. You can program a flight and the highly-visible point (along with others marked out elsewhere) allow the model to be fine-tuned and/or used as a survey if you get those points "properly" surveyed. Keeping the markers out there allows you to repeat the flight consistently, if you were doing something like tracking landslide movement (which is what my agency often uses it for). I have to presume that that's not the use case there, given the apparent topography, but I'm sure there's one that makes sense.

 

Per the clutch pedal issue. Kind of a disorganized mess, but:

https://www.tacomaworld.com/threads/clutch-pedal-truffle-shuffle.499079/

 

Cost is still a huge problem. I feel like i got a really good deal on mine, but there is not denying it is still a lot of money to shell out.

The van is always a great option, although i think the OG Sportsmobiles are the ticket. Whether or not its true, they are certainly more heavy duty feeling, the other van types just look delicate in the dirt. The good news is that even though their size is compromising, in general that is less of a problem in the wide open desert space you enjoy so much.

This is such an underrated benefit. I have at least once, pulled into a rest stop/wide spot to rest my eyes on a long day of driving. no drama of setting up a tent or trying to sleep upright, just crawl in the back and crash on the couch for a little bit. In fact, i think its a huge benefit year round if you were to get caught up in winter storms, highways close, well i dont need to find a hotel, i can just crawl in the back and wait out the weather. Yes i am very biased towards the van life, but i see more benefits to overall travel than what the truck setups provide. Small size and better speed/capability off road don't outweigh the self contained nature of a van and all it offers.

 

I don't understand the cost part. Sure, Mercedes but i have noticed price creep with some completed vans selling for a couple hundred grand or more--that's the part I don't get. Seems like starting used might be a lot better. Even brand new, the van is not even half the cost...

 

I don't mind sharing that I got mine for $68k, not cheap, but with 123k and to me a desirable 7.3 power stroke and a Quigley 4x4 system.

Looking through the receipts on my van, brand new it was (if memory is serving me) $38k in 2001 money for the bare van, drop shipped to Quigley from the factory for the 4x4 which was around $18k. Eventually it moved to Sportsmobile for the full interior and I don't have a number on that. Converting that to 2024 money it's knocking on the door of $100k... and that's before the full interior, before the $8k in aluminum bumpers, and converting the top to electric, redoing the canvas top, adding solar, and in my specific case, converting the appliances over to diesel power, not propane. These rigs were incredibly expensive new, and while some ask a premium still today, deals can be found. And that price carries into today. Yes you could DIY one of these for much less today, but there are some things you can't get that an OG Sportsmobile has, in my case, the custom windows, the ground up designed application, and most importantly, the nostalgia. I'm very very lucky to get mine for the price I did and even luckier that I had a divorce that paid it off within 2 years. For most folks, it just isn't an option, even if the $300 fill ups at the pump don't do you in (back when diesel was $6/gal and you fill 50 gallons), 16 qt oil changes every 3k miles, and tires that wear fast when you weigh 10k lbs. If you can afford it, and you can find a proper good deal, I think it's worthy, but the specs, quality and prices are all over the place making the hunt for one a dangerous mine field to work through.