My eyes seemed to be misbehaving . . . across the never ending expanse of flat, dried-out lake bottom there seemed to be a mini-mountain rising up out of the dusty yellow Racetrack to the north. Later, I confirmed this was not a trick on the eyes, although the desert seemed to dish up those with regularity, but merely a geological formation titled: The Grandstand.

It was obvious where the feature got its name, as the shape was reminiscent of a raised platform or stage rising up out of the beige and light colored tones of the ground I stood upon. Contrast was a theme reinforced time and time again during this adventure into death valley, and the Seventy-three foot high rocky precipice was a perfect example.




Standing upon what would be center stage I paused to take in the glory of the landscape surrounding me. From this vantage point that desolation of The Racetrack was so clearly illustrated. Rumbling twenty-seven miles on an unimproved road just to make it there, we weren't about to leave too quickly. But alas, the time had finally come. The clouds were massing together above us like a caucus of puffy white and grey, and if we were going to make it over the Panamint range before sundown, we knew it was time to pack up our stuff and leave this amazing place. I will never forget The Racetrack and its playa of dried earth filled with sailing stones.

ER Harris