Until The Last Drop - Solo Bike Trip Through Death Valley in Summer (MiniDoc 4K)

Oh boy, what did I get myself into this time. The outside temperature is hot enough to cook a steak medium rare. And here I am, pushing the pedals of my overloaded bike through world's biggest oven in the hope to find a new water source before I run out. Five days in the desert with nothing but my bike. We've got a long heat wave heading our way. Exceptional heat continues. Death Valley reaching 130 in the coming days. The National Weather Service is reporting that the temperature in Death Valley National Park could rise above 130 degrees next week. They've broken all-time record highs over the weekend out west. That continues all week long and it stays steamy here in the north. What can I say. I could have picked a better time to cross one of the hottest places on earth. But the problem is, this ride is not just a single ride. It's part of a bigger goal. Successfully circumnavigating the globe on a bike. I've been pursuing this dream for over a year and a half already. And timing of the seasons and locations is simply very hard, if not impossible. This ride has been on my mind for weeks. And despite all the research and preparations, I still don't really know what to expect. It feels insecure and vulnerable. I've been packing my bags pretty much every day for over a year now. But somehow this time it feels different. It kind of feels like hoisting the sails before sailing away from a safe harbor. Sailing away into an area known to be dangerous and known to be ruthless. And paddling away from my safe harbor also means accepting the risks as a result. My ride starts at the Great Central Valley in California. It takes me along endless cornfields and fruit farms. They provide a bit of greenery and sometimes even some shade here and there. It's very hot already and as soon as I hit the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, the green fields turn into dry grassland. I'm not even near the desert yet, but I already feel like vegetation has difficulties growing here. Getting higher up into the southern section of the Sierra Nevada also means that the surroundings are a little more green and water is still around. I'm trying to take every opportunity I get to enjoy the cold creeks. Because I know, soon I'll be praying for the smallest drop of water or the slightest shade under a tree. After two days of cycling, I stumble upon a road closure. Ironically, the road has been washed away by a flash flood. But fortunately, with some hopscotching, I managed to make it past the open ditch. By now, the surroundings already start to feel a little bit more like a desert, but I'm still high up in the mountains. Soon after though, I finally cross over the final mountain pass, dividing the west coast and the Great Basin. Also known as the Mojave Desert. In Ridgequest, the last town before the real desert starts, I stock up on food and water as much as I can. And with an overloaded bike, I set off into the desert, leaving civilization behind. It never really cools down in the desert, even the nights are hot. Therefore, my routine in the desert is simple. Wake up before sunrise, get on the road as soon as possible, and try to cover most of the daily distance before the afternoon. There are a handful of lonely shops around in the desert, although they are very rare. The distance between them is often a full day of riding with nothing else in between. This means that every possibility I get, I have to fill up my bottles and water bladder. I carry about 12 liters of water with me, which seems plenty for one day, but with these temperatures, I have to be mindful with every sip I'm taking. There's not much around in the desert, just a bunch of sounds. The sound of your tires rolling over the asphalt, the sound of pushing your pedals, the sound of sweat dripping onto your frame. But soon your mind starts filtering out all of those consistent sounds, and then silence. Nothing but pure silence. An empty landscape as far as your eyes can see, and just one road cutting through it. Nothing else. To some people this might be boring, but I think there's a certain beauty in it. How often do we still see untouched nature, or experience complete silence? In our lives we're constantly surrounded by the sounds of our modern society. A highway in the distance, or a plane flying over. But here? Here it's just you. You and the empty planes. Even though I've been cycling through the desert for over a day now, I only just arrived at the official border of Death Valley. I arrive in a miniature town existing of one gas station and one campground. Just moments later, a rough sandstorm is rolling in. Trees are being swept from left to right, and the sky is turning dark. It's a reminder that heat is not the only danger in this area. The next day, as the weather has cleared up, I get back on the road at four o'clock in the morning. I have a big climb coming up today. And I want to have made it over the pass before the real heat is kicking in. It's a lonely ride on the serpentine road leading me over the mountain, but the colorful gradients in the sky and the deafening silence feel special. In the next town there's a small shop, allowing me to stock up on food, water and ice again. Soon after, I reach the impressive mesquite flat sand dunes, covering a large landmass with rippled sand fallen off from eroded mountains. Furnace Creek, located well below sea level, is known to be one of the hottest places of Death Valley. The blistering sun is heating up the asphalt like an oven. You can feel the heat gliding along your body as it gets reflected from the surface. The temperature has reached 120 degrees Fahrenheit, or 50 degrees Celsius. Nearby Furnace Creek, at Zabriskie Point, I witness the sun rise over the Badlands. I'm slowly closing in on Las Vegas, and the last night I spend camping out in the middle of the desert again. The empty vast landscapes offer endless possibilities to pitch the tent, although I still have to keep an eye out for scorpions and rattlesnakes. I'm not redeemed from the desert yet, but by now I can slowly start looking back at a memorable ride. It's been a very challenging week, with record-breaking temperatures and sandstorms, asking a lot for my body, both physically and mentally. But being able to say you successfully crossed Death Valley in summer, feels like a real accomplishment. An accomplishment found outside of my comfort zone, but rewarded with a memorable ride and a sense of pride. A ride I won't forget. A ride to be proud of. So one last time, I get ready. One last push to the city. The roads leading up to Las Vegas are already getting busier, and traffic is increasing. One pedal stroke at a time, I'm leaving the loneliness behind, and cycle towards civilization. So one last time, I look back. Back at the open plains. Back at the blistering hot desert. I made it out of Death Valley. Alive.