Cruiserdrew
On the way there
I'm posting a trail report from our run last weekend to the Desatoya mountains of Nevada. This is an easy trip and as you might notice there is more description of what we ate then there is of the 4 wheeling. Still we had a blast and there is a bit of tech here too. I apologise for the few private jokes, but this was originally posted on the Northern California Land Cruiser Wagon mailing list. We have over 100 people on our email list but unfortunately only 7 rigs could make the run. Some Pics at the end, shamelessly stolen from Alvaro's Website.
For the second time in 2 years the wagon group headed to Desatoya for
"Desatoyota". As you may remember from last year this is an easy trip to
wind down from the season of 4 wheeling, and to invite everyone along since
the terrain is suitable for stock and nearly stock Cruisers. We ended up
with 7 trucks (up from 4 last year) and 11 people. The Desatoya Mountains
are in west central Nevada and are fairly remote, with peaks reaching 10,000
feet. This area is famous for it's diverse wildlife, excellent deer
hunting, and especially the chisel toothed kangaroo rat, that lives there in
abundance. The trip started for me on Thursday in Fallon NV, where Jeff and
I met up with Marty, Devin, Roberto, Alvaro, and Carol at about 10pm. Dana
Adams and Ken showed up a few minutes later. The only one missing was Sam
McCandless who had gone off to bed early in another hotel. Marty brought
out a bottle of single malt scotch and we settled in to make plans for the
following day. Roberto and Carol were Alvaro's guests from Southern
California, and like him, are refugees from the current poor economy in
Venezuela. Roberto owns a 2002 80 series with manual transmission!!
Unfortunately, his 80 series is stuck at his mother's house in Caracas but
he hopes to retrieve it to the USA at some point. I hope he succeeds as he
and Carol were a great addition to the group. After a toast to a safe trip,
we all went to bed, anticipating an early start and a free breakfast at the
Best Western. I should mention that Marty and I had FJ60's, everyone else
had an 80.
We did get an early start on Friday, but after breakfast we immediately
drove across the street to Walmart and bogged down there. I bought a few
more groceries, but even after loading them in the truck, doing a full tune
up, changing the diff oil, rebuilding the transfer case and welding on the
perches for my spring over, Alvaro and Devin were STILL messing around with
Devin's CB radio. Finally, they had it wired up and we headed directly east
on US 50, the "loneliest road in America". The first real landmark after 60
miles is the shoe tree and we spent an hour or so launching shoes into the
tree, but only Carol and Jeff could get them to stay. After that we hit
Cold Springs which currently is a roadhouse cafe with a gas pump but it was
an old Pony Express station from 1860 and we gassed up there (for $2.65 per
gallon), then drove the remaining five miles to the turn off into the
Desatoya Range. It felt good to be back on dirt and we opened and closed
numerous cattle fences heading into the main canyon. After 5 miles of dirt,
we had our first carnage of the trip. Devin called over the radio that both
of his caliper bolts on the driver's side had fallen out, and his brake
caliper was banging around inside his wheel. It gave new meaning to a
"floating" caliper. Devin had always wanted a "full float" on his '91 but
this was not what he had in mind! The group did not have any spare caliper
bolts, but
Devin came up with a clever trail fix. It turns out the bolts that hold the
rotor onto the hub share the size and thread pattern with the caliper
bolts. We removed 2 of the 6 bolts holding on the rotor and after wrestling
with the lock washers a bit used the bolts to install the caliper. The
bolts were about 5mm too short, but worked well enough and we got back on
the trail. Editorial: This is the third time that I know of that someone
has lost caliper bolts, so please check yours, and buy some spares-the ones
from a Tundra pickup will work, but get the real deal.
We reached the canyon proper about lunch time and drove up to a good camp
site by the stream at the bottom of the main canyon.. Unfortunately, it was
occupied by a man and his son,
who were deer hunting in the black powder season. Fortunately for us, they
were pulling out, and we set up camp and got something to eat. After lunch
we took off to explore the trail system in the Western part of the Desatoya
range. The trails of Desatoya are not difficult. They were built to take ranchers
to their cattle, but ascend the canyons, then straight up the mountain side
to the very top. That first afternoon we were climbing up through the high desert
then up the mountains themselves. One hill was particularly
steep and loose and seemed way beyond 45 degrees up. Sam commented that it
was the steepest hill he had ever climbed. Eventually, we got to the top, parked
the trucks at 9600 feet and climbed the rest of the way to the top. There
were great views all around, including one of the Cold Springs Station where
we had been several hours before. We could also see another mountain range
directly south, and that will likely be the location of next year's trip.
After that scenic stop, we headed down the mountain and back towards camp,
2500 feet below. Part way down, Alvaro took the 80's off to explore a side
trail and Marty and I headed down the mountain. I was cooking dinner that
night and I needed to get things started. Once in camp, we decided to
shoot up some of Marty's ammo and that brings us to the rabbit incident.....
First of all, no wildlife was harmed in any way! Marty, Jeff and I took
turns shooting Marty's .44 magnum at some very unfortunate tin cans. After
about 10 minutes, Devin, Alvaro, and the rest of the 80s arrived, with
Devin's well stocked arsenal of long guns. We spent an hour or so shooting
everything from Marty's .44 to Devin's 1946 Russian assault rifle. The
rifle was this clunky cool old bolt action, that fired a 7.62 round. It just so
happened, that while I was holding the loaded rifle, a cotton tail rabbit
came out of his hole, and starts chewing on the vegetation directly in my
line of (rifle) sight. I lined up on the bunny (hey, I was cooking dinner!)
and was just about to let him have it, when I saw Carol looking at me with
horror. Needless to say, good sense prevailed and the rabbit lived to see
another day. After some shots at a target further up the mountain, the
rabbit finally disappeared. That rabbit was either deaf, stupid or both.
Still, it was good fun, and I thank Marty and Devin for their willingness to
share their firearms and ammo. Everyone got to shoot, even Carol, who got a
lesson in gun control from Marty. We'll be trap shooting on the next run if
Devin is there.
Back in camp, I made a marinade of olive oil, garlic, and lime juice and
marinated about 10 pounds of Coho salmon that I caught in Alaska 3 weeks
ago. Also on the menu was pasta, salad, and red wine furnished by Sam.
Even though I prepared it, I did enjoy the dinner and the company. Even
Alvaro seemed to enjoy it, despite the lack of sausages. After dinner,
while we were telling lies around the camp fire, I made a peach cobbler in
my cast iron Dutch oven. The down side is that it takes 1 hour to make, but
everyone was patient while it cooked. I've been practicing with the cobbler
recipe and it turned out pretty well this time-served with fresh whipped
cream. I had wanted to have ice-cream, but we needed one more person with a
fridge that we could set on freeze to keep it cold. Maybe next time.
The following morning (Saturday) we were up early in the cold (26 degrees
f), and Alvaro, Roberto and Carol cooked cachapas-a Venezuelan corn pancake
with fresh cheese. Delicious. Doug rolled into camp after a 5 hour drive
from Sacramento and was able to find us using only the GPS coordinates
provided by Alvaro. It was a miracle. I wanted to find the old overland
route across the Desatoyas and we took off up the other canyon to find it.
Alvaro was in the lead, and as most of you know, Alvaro and his GPS are a
dangerous combination. We ascended the canyons numerous times, with dead
end trails at 10,000 feet and multiple turn arounds. In the end it all
worked out and we found the overland route one canyon over, and crossed the pass at the very top of the Desatoya range. This was the route of the old stage coach that took
travelers across the wastelands of Nevada. They used the Desatoyas because
there were permanent streams that could be used to water the horses.
Otherwise, there was no water for 150 miles. We
worked our way 3000 feet down the canyon and eventually began crossing and
recrossing a small stream at the bottom of the canyon. We did find a place to play in
the mud, and everyone took turns driving into the stream bed and up the mud
slope. Pretty weird to find a permanent stream and mud in the middle of the
desert. Even weirder were the fish! After driving in the stream, Jeff noticed that
we had beached a number of small fish and we took a moment to gather them up
and put them back in the water. They appeared to be members of the trout
family, but the largest one was 3 inches long or so. Very cool. The rest
of the trip down the canyon was uneventful, except for the dead cow right
beside the trail. "..ee's just stunned." Not really, that one was dead. We hit pavement on Nevada 722, which years ago was US 50 when it went over Carrol summit. We climbed the pass and went down the other side. On 722 was a turn marked for the
(almost) ghost town of Ione and we drove off into the desert on a high speed
dirt road. After about 30 miles, the road had some great whoop-de-woos when
taken at 60 mph. What a blast. Eventually the group reached Ione and the place was like the town in High Plains Drifter (Old Clint Eastwood movie where he paints the
town red, literally) except the bar, built in the 1860's was open for
business. Alvaro, Doug and Roberto bellied up to the old bar and got a shot
of Maker's Mark whiskey. It was a scene right out of the old west. From
there we followed the dirt roads to Berlin, another Ghost town and saw the
town and the Ichthyosaur fossils in the state park above the old town. It
was an easy run from there to pavement and a long and slow haul back to
Highway 50. I should say, it was slow because of me. Like most FJ60's,
mine tops out at 65 mph, but everyone was nice enough to putt along at that
speed. Sam almost fell asleep in the late afternoon sun. There was a gas
stop at Middlegate, and then another 15 miles or so back to Cold Springs and
the entrance to Desatoya. Jeff scored a chocolate milkshake at the Cafe in
Cold Springs, and Alvaro, Roberto, Carol, Dana and Ken (all in 2 trucks)
went back down 722 to find the hot springs at the edge of the Playa. The
rest of us drove the 15 mile trail back to our campsite and had time for a
predinner drink before Alvaro and Dana zoomed into camp, proud of their
ability to navigate with the GPS. It was a very good day.
Dinner on Saturday night was really great. Alvaro cooked skirt steaks and
some other very delicious meat (ribs?), and of course, sausages. Dana and
Ken brought out a full spread of appetizers and we all chowed down. Like
the night before, Sam called it a night early and went to bed. Jeff and I
lasted a bit longer, but when the campfire talk turned to politics, it was
time for Jeff and I to hit the hay too. Devin, Alvaro, Ken, Dana, and
Roberto stayed up solving the world's problems. Jeff woke me up at 3am
saying
he didn't feel well and I made him leave the tent so he could be sick
outside! I think the milkshake, piles of appetizers, skirt steak, ribs,
sausages, salad and polenta were just too much, but he was fine the
following morning, fortunately. But hey, when I was 13, I could have
handled it!
Sunday, we cooked a breakfast of eggs, bacon and sausages, then packed the
rigs for the trip home. The funny thing was, Dana was no where to be seen.
We tried making extra noise, talking next to his tent and finally insulting
his 80 series. He slept through it all. Finally, Jeff set off a Piccolo
Pete right next to his tent and that got Dana back into the light and cold
of the morning. We packed the rigs carefully for the trail ride out of the
Desatoyas. Devin and Dana took the easy way out to the road and headed for
home. The rest of us went the back way out of the Desatoyas, over more high
desert and up one very steep hill. Once out of the mountains there was a 20
mile section of high speed dirt road back to the pavement. As we started to
air up, Doug and I were discussing my CO2 and his compressor. Lets just say
that I aired up 3 trucks, before he finished his 4th tire. CO2 is that
fast.
The ride home was fun. Alvaro and Doug stuck with my slow 60 until we hit
Reno, and the biggest military surplus store I've ever seen. Alvaro bought
some ammo boxes but otherwise we escaped without any cammo or RPG's. After
lunch very decent Mexican restraunt, Alvaro and Doug gave me a bit of a head
start, for the drive home to Sacramento. Because traffic was so bad, they
didn't actually catch me untill we were almost in Roseville two hours later.
Overall, our trip to the Desatoyas was a very fun and low key trip. It was a great way
to wind down from a summer of harder and rougher trails. The scenery was
great and the company was first rate. We're already planning next year's
desert adventure.
See you at Surf and Turf
For the second time in 2 years the wagon group headed to Desatoya for
"Desatoyota". As you may remember from last year this is an easy trip to
wind down from the season of 4 wheeling, and to invite everyone along since
the terrain is suitable for stock and nearly stock Cruisers. We ended up
with 7 trucks (up from 4 last year) and 11 people. The Desatoya Mountains
are in west central Nevada and are fairly remote, with peaks reaching 10,000
feet. This area is famous for it's diverse wildlife, excellent deer
hunting, and especially the chisel toothed kangaroo rat, that lives there in
abundance. The trip started for me on Thursday in Fallon NV, where Jeff and
I met up with Marty, Devin, Roberto, Alvaro, and Carol at about 10pm. Dana
Adams and Ken showed up a few minutes later. The only one missing was Sam
McCandless who had gone off to bed early in another hotel. Marty brought
out a bottle of single malt scotch and we settled in to make plans for the
following day. Roberto and Carol were Alvaro's guests from Southern
California, and like him, are refugees from the current poor economy in
Venezuela. Roberto owns a 2002 80 series with manual transmission!!
Unfortunately, his 80 series is stuck at his mother's house in Caracas but
he hopes to retrieve it to the USA at some point. I hope he succeeds as he
and Carol were a great addition to the group. After a toast to a safe trip,
we all went to bed, anticipating an early start and a free breakfast at the
Best Western. I should mention that Marty and I had FJ60's, everyone else
had an 80.
We did get an early start on Friday, but after breakfast we immediately
drove across the street to Walmart and bogged down there. I bought a few
more groceries, but even after loading them in the truck, doing a full tune
up, changing the diff oil, rebuilding the transfer case and welding on the
perches for my spring over, Alvaro and Devin were STILL messing around with
Devin's CB radio. Finally, they had it wired up and we headed directly east
on US 50, the "loneliest road in America". The first real landmark after 60
miles is the shoe tree and we spent an hour or so launching shoes into the
tree, but only Carol and Jeff could get them to stay. After that we hit
Cold Springs which currently is a roadhouse cafe with a gas pump but it was
an old Pony Express station from 1860 and we gassed up there (for $2.65 per
gallon), then drove the remaining five miles to the turn off into the
Desatoya Range. It felt good to be back on dirt and we opened and closed
numerous cattle fences heading into the main canyon. After 5 miles of dirt,
we had our first carnage of the trip. Devin called over the radio that both
of his caliper bolts on the driver's side had fallen out, and his brake
caliper was banging around inside his wheel. It gave new meaning to a
"floating" caliper. Devin had always wanted a "full float" on his '91 but
this was not what he had in mind! The group did not have any spare caliper
bolts, but
Devin came up with a clever trail fix. It turns out the bolts that hold the
rotor onto the hub share the size and thread pattern with the caliper
bolts. We removed 2 of the 6 bolts holding on the rotor and after wrestling
with the lock washers a bit used the bolts to install the caliper. The
bolts were about 5mm too short, but worked well enough and we got back on
the trail. Editorial: This is the third time that I know of that someone
has lost caliper bolts, so please check yours, and buy some spares-the ones
from a Tundra pickup will work, but get the real deal.
We reached the canyon proper about lunch time and drove up to a good camp
site by the stream at the bottom of the main canyon.. Unfortunately, it was
occupied by a man and his son,
who were deer hunting in the black powder season. Fortunately for us, they
were pulling out, and we set up camp and got something to eat. After lunch
we took off to explore the trail system in the Western part of the Desatoya
range. The trails of Desatoya are not difficult. They were built to take ranchers
to their cattle, but ascend the canyons, then straight up the mountain side
to the very top. That first afternoon we were climbing up through the high desert
then up the mountains themselves. One hill was particularly
steep and loose and seemed way beyond 45 degrees up. Sam commented that it
was the steepest hill he had ever climbed. Eventually, we got to the top, parked
the trucks at 9600 feet and climbed the rest of the way to the top. There
were great views all around, including one of the Cold Springs Station where
we had been several hours before. We could also see another mountain range
directly south, and that will likely be the location of next year's trip.
After that scenic stop, we headed down the mountain and back towards camp,
2500 feet below. Part way down, Alvaro took the 80's off to explore a side
trail and Marty and I headed down the mountain. I was cooking dinner that
night and I needed to get things started. Once in camp, we decided to
shoot up some of Marty's ammo and that brings us to the rabbit incident.....
First of all, no wildlife was harmed in any way! Marty, Jeff and I took
turns shooting Marty's .44 magnum at some very unfortunate tin cans. After
about 10 minutes, Devin, Alvaro, and the rest of the 80s arrived, with
Devin's well stocked arsenal of long guns. We spent an hour or so shooting
everything from Marty's .44 to Devin's 1946 Russian assault rifle. The
rifle was this clunky cool old bolt action, that fired a 7.62 round. It just so
happened, that while I was holding the loaded rifle, a cotton tail rabbit
came out of his hole, and starts chewing on the vegetation directly in my
line of (rifle) sight. I lined up on the bunny (hey, I was cooking dinner!)
and was just about to let him have it, when I saw Carol looking at me with
horror. Needless to say, good sense prevailed and the rabbit lived to see
another day. After some shots at a target further up the mountain, the
rabbit finally disappeared. That rabbit was either deaf, stupid or both.
Still, it was good fun, and I thank Marty and Devin for their willingness to
share their firearms and ammo. Everyone got to shoot, even Carol, who got a
lesson in gun control from Marty. We'll be trap shooting on the next run if
Devin is there.
Back in camp, I made a marinade of olive oil, garlic, and lime juice and
marinated about 10 pounds of Coho salmon that I caught in Alaska 3 weeks
ago. Also on the menu was pasta, salad, and red wine furnished by Sam.
Even though I prepared it, I did enjoy the dinner and the company. Even
Alvaro seemed to enjoy it, despite the lack of sausages. After dinner,
while we were telling lies around the camp fire, I made a peach cobbler in
my cast iron Dutch oven. The down side is that it takes 1 hour to make, but
everyone was patient while it cooked. I've been practicing with the cobbler
recipe and it turned out pretty well this time-served with fresh whipped
cream. I had wanted to have ice-cream, but we needed one more person with a
fridge that we could set on freeze to keep it cold. Maybe next time.
The following morning (Saturday) we were up early in the cold (26 degrees
f), and Alvaro, Roberto and Carol cooked cachapas-a Venezuelan corn pancake
with fresh cheese. Delicious. Doug rolled into camp after a 5 hour drive
from Sacramento and was able to find us using only the GPS coordinates
provided by Alvaro. It was a miracle. I wanted to find the old overland
route across the Desatoyas and we took off up the other canyon to find it.
Alvaro was in the lead, and as most of you know, Alvaro and his GPS are a
dangerous combination. We ascended the canyons numerous times, with dead
end trails at 10,000 feet and multiple turn arounds. In the end it all
worked out and we found the overland route one canyon over, and crossed the pass at the very top of the Desatoya range. This was the route of the old stage coach that took
travelers across the wastelands of Nevada. They used the Desatoyas because
there were permanent streams that could be used to water the horses.
Otherwise, there was no water for 150 miles. We
worked our way 3000 feet down the canyon and eventually began crossing and
recrossing a small stream at the bottom of the canyon. We did find a place to play in
the mud, and everyone took turns driving into the stream bed and up the mud
slope. Pretty weird to find a permanent stream and mud in the middle of the
desert. Even weirder were the fish! After driving in the stream, Jeff noticed that
we had beached a number of small fish and we took a moment to gather them up
and put them back in the water. They appeared to be members of the trout
family, but the largest one was 3 inches long or so. Very cool. The rest
of the trip down the canyon was uneventful, except for the dead cow right
beside the trail. "..ee's just stunned." Not really, that one was dead. We hit pavement on Nevada 722, which years ago was US 50 when it went over Carrol summit. We climbed the pass and went down the other side. On 722 was a turn marked for the
(almost) ghost town of Ione and we drove off into the desert on a high speed
dirt road. After about 30 miles, the road had some great whoop-de-woos when
taken at 60 mph. What a blast. Eventually the group reached Ione and the place was like the town in High Plains Drifter (Old Clint Eastwood movie where he paints the
town red, literally) except the bar, built in the 1860's was open for
business. Alvaro, Doug and Roberto bellied up to the old bar and got a shot
of Maker's Mark whiskey. It was a scene right out of the old west. From
there we followed the dirt roads to Berlin, another Ghost town and saw the
town and the Ichthyosaur fossils in the state park above the old town. It
was an easy run from there to pavement and a long and slow haul back to
Highway 50. I should say, it was slow because of me. Like most FJ60's,
mine tops out at 65 mph, but everyone was nice enough to putt along at that
speed. Sam almost fell asleep in the late afternoon sun. There was a gas
stop at Middlegate, and then another 15 miles or so back to Cold Springs and
the entrance to Desatoya. Jeff scored a chocolate milkshake at the Cafe in
Cold Springs, and Alvaro, Roberto, Carol, Dana and Ken (all in 2 trucks)
went back down 722 to find the hot springs at the edge of the Playa. The
rest of us drove the 15 mile trail back to our campsite and had time for a
predinner drink before Alvaro and Dana zoomed into camp, proud of their
ability to navigate with the GPS. It was a very good day.
Dinner on Saturday night was really great. Alvaro cooked skirt steaks and
some other very delicious meat (ribs?), and of course, sausages. Dana and
Ken brought out a full spread of appetizers and we all chowed down. Like
the night before, Sam called it a night early and went to bed. Jeff and I
lasted a bit longer, but when the campfire talk turned to politics, it was
time for Jeff and I to hit the hay too. Devin, Alvaro, Ken, Dana, and
Roberto stayed up solving the world's problems. Jeff woke me up at 3am
saying
he didn't feel well and I made him leave the tent so he could be sick
outside! I think the milkshake, piles of appetizers, skirt steak, ribs,
sausages, salad and polenta were just too much, but he was fine the
following morning, fortunately. But hey, when I was 13, I could have
handled it!
Sunday, we cooked a breakfast of eggs, bacon and sausages, then packed the
rigs for the trip home. The funny thing was, Dana was no where to be seen.
We tried making extra noise, talking next to his tent and finally insulting
his 80 series. He slept through it all. Finally, Jeff set off a Piccolo
Pete right next to his tent and that got Dana back into the light and cold
of the morning. We packed the rigs carefully for the trail ride out of the
Desatoyas. Devin and Dana took the easy way out to the road and headed for
home. The rest of us went the back way out of the Desatoyas, over more high
desert and up one very steep hill. Once out of the mountains there was a 20
mile section of high speed dirt road back to the pavement. As we started to
air up, Doug and I were discussing my CO2 and his compressor. Lets just say
that I aired up 3 trucks, before he finished his 4th tire. CO2 is that
fast.
The ride home was fun. Alvaro and Doug stuck with my slow 60 until we hit
Reno, and the biggest military surplus store I've ever seen. Alvaro bought
some ammo boxes but otherwise we escaped without any cammo or RPG's. After
lunch very decent Mexican restraunt, Alvaro and Doug gave me a bit of a head
start, for the drive home to Sacramento. Because traffic was so bad, they
didn't actually catch me untill we were almost in Roseville two hours later.
Overall, our trip to the Desatoyas was a very fun and low key trip. It was a great way
to wind down from a summer of harder and rougher trails. The scenery was
great and the company was first rate. We're already planning next year's
desert adventure.
See you at Surf and Turf
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