The Midnight Sun in the Mojave Desert: A BMW F 900 GS fever dream

One of my favorite episodes is “The Midnight Sun” where Earth's orbit is disturbed, sending it on a collision course with the sun. Scorching temperatures and power outages instill panic as people flee to colder regions of the earth. Probably something to think about considering the number of well-educated scientists warning us about global warming, but I digress.

I thought about the panicked fear that set the tone for the episode as I sat alone on my motorcycle, stuck in a large sand wash in the Mojave Desert a few miles south of Death Valley National Park. I imagine anyone who’s ever had a solo mishap in the desert can probably relate to the pit forming in my stomach and the trickle of sweat working its way down the back of my neck.

Leaving Las Vegas

It was shortly after 6:30 a.m. as I carried my old Adidas duffle bag out the side door of the Renaissance Hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada. The sun was already bearing down from the east as I climbed to the second story of the outdoor parking garage where my BMW F 900 GS loaner was parked.

The brand-spanking-new F 900 GS was set up with with the “Off-Road Package,” which meant a GS Trophy paint job as well as a quickshifter, additional off-road ride modes, an upgraded suspension, handlebar risers, a skid plate, aluminum-backed handguards, and a set of Metzeler Karoo 4 adventure tires. In other words, the perfect bike to help execute my plan of tackling a round-about way back to Los Angeles.

While it’s probably lost on the average traveler barreling down Interstate 15, sealed off in an air-conditioned SUV and dreaming of finding fortune in the sand (or perhaps they’re on a return trip pontificating the meaning of life after leaving it all on black), the stretch of Interstate 15 between Los Angeles and Las Vegas provides a windshield wonderland for adventuresome travelers to behold. Two-track jeep trails and single-track ruts follow alongside the sweltering blacktop, connecting to ancient crossroads with alternate routes disappearing into the sand-swept mountains of the Mojave.

As someone who has spent more than enough time traveling on I-15, my goal was to head back to Los Angeles using as little tarmac as possible by riding trails adjacent to the freeway. Almost like a reverse LAB2V Dual Sport but a bit more exploratory in nature. With a little over 200 miles of desert between the two city limit signs, I figured this adventure would be doable with an early enough start time.

Exiting the Interstate

With perspiration already working its way through my base layers to the inner liner of my jacket, I clicked the Beemer’s shift lever into gear, let out the clutch, and set off into the crowded streets of early morning commuters. I followed Interstate 15 out of town and kept my eyes peeled for an opportunity to explore a barren-looking highway exit. After a few failed attempts, I exited in the roadside town of Jean, Nevada, and followed alongside the singular runway of a little airport, which looked to specialize in skydiving treks. “Nothing against sky divers, but I prefer a bit more control over my bad decisions,” I thought to myself as I rode around a “dead end” sign and continued through a small desert wash to pick up the old dirt road on the other side. 

On a map, this section of trail was labeled as “South Las Vegas Blvd.” While it has clearly been a long time since desert travelers chose this as their preferred route, it was relatively well groomed and proved to be an excellent adventure alternative to the freeway. I was able to trundle along at nearly highway pace without another traveler in sight.

The road ended in the back parking lot of the now defunct Buffalo Bill's Casino. Citing a decline in visitors to the border town of Primm, Buffalo Bill's shut its doors to regular customers in July, 2025. That being said, the site is still kept in good standing for special events, such as the Mint 400 Desert Race.

Originally started in 1968 to promote the Mint Hotel’s annual deer hunt, the Mint 400 claims to be the toughest and most spectacular off-road race in North America. With classes for cars, trucks, UTVs, and motorcycles, the event has grown considerably over the years and the start/finish line of the event is located in the parking lot behind the old Buffalo Bill's Casino. A quick aerial search on Google shows a desert racer’s paradise on the outskirts of town.

With the sun continuing its ascent, I resisted the urge to explore and continued on my way. Crossing over the state line into California as I motored out of Primm, I immediately hit a fence blocking off the Ivanpah Dry Lake Recreation Area. Despite seeing what looked to be a dirt road in the walled off section of desert, I couldn’t find any legal-looking way to reach it.

Slightly discouraged, I backtracked to the freeway entrance and engaged cruise control to give my right hand a break. This is the beauty of adventure bikes. Their duality allows riders to be equally as comfortable cruising 75 mph on the freeway as exploring the abandoned desert routes of pioneering travelers gone before.

Rolling through California’s official “Port of Entry,” I motored across the Mescal Mountain Range on the freeway before exiting at a sign for “Yucca Grove.” While the name hints at a scenic desert oasis, all I found were remnants of what looked to be an abandoned rest stop. Names can be deceiving.

Sans oasis, I found a small little two-track trail leading out into the desert. Scouring a map, it looks like this little trail is officially called Halloran Summit Road. It climbs in elevation along the south side of the freeway with the asphalt disappearing in the distance below. This route meandered along, stopping at another little abandoned rest stop called Halloran Springs before connecting to the town of Baker.

Trouble on the outskirts of Baker, California

Between Halloran Springs and Baker, Halloran Summit Road takes a sharp left into the mountains but I continued straight, battling against desert washes and rocky drop offs. For this entire 20-mile stretch I followed a path of felled telephone poles. It looked like someone came along with a chainsaw and cut down the abandoned poles in an attempt to harvest their copper wire.

Whether this was done in an official capacity or by some entrepreneurial desert rat I can’t say. Whoever it was, they left behind the pole’s stainless steel cables, which often criss-crossed the trail. More than a few times the cable was elevated enough that I had to dismount the bike and hold the steel wire down while rolling the bike across. This was probably my favorite section of the trip, but the cable dance did force me to keep my speeds in check and my eyes peeled, lest I clothesline myself off of the motorcycle.

Emerging from the desert south of Baker, a series of upright telephone poles guided me into town for an obligatory photo with the Baker Thermometer. The famed “tallest thermometer in the world” indicated 78 degrees shortly before 11 a.m. Feeling solid and making good time I cruised out of town, deciding I wasn’t ready to stop for lunch.

Having no sooner merged onto the highway, I made a quick exit at Beacon Station and picked up a very soft, sandy, two-track route on the north side of the freeway. For the first time all day I was struggling to keep the BMW moving forward as the sand deepened.

Unlike the swampy sand of New Jersey, where I usually ride, the pebbly dry sand of the Mojave prefers to swallow rear tires of heavy adventure bikes rather than allow forward trajectory. Thus, maintaining momentum is extremely important and it took all of my focus and concentration to keep things progressing upright.

Keeping an eye on the horizon so as to not lose sight of the freeway, I followed the trail down a steep descent and found myself at the bottom of a dry river wash with a steep exit on both sides. After a few failed attempts, the rear tire found enough traction to get moving and I didn’t let off the throttle until I reached the top of the embankment, which offered a rocky refuge from the sand.

Battling through another few miles of deep sand, I was drenched in sweat and sucking down water as the sun reached its apex in the sky. After crawling atop another rocky plateau, I dismounted the bike, clumsily trying to find my footing without bringing the bike down on top of me. I began to wonder if it didn’t make more sense to cut my losses and turn around, but the thought of going back through what I had just traversed didn’t offer much appeal.

It had taken me over an hour to travel a few miles since my stop at Baker and the entire vibe had changed. The deep, soft, sand of the Mojave was getting the best of me, sapping my strength, the sun was high in the sky, the day growing hotter, and I was kicking myself for not stopping for lunch or to fill my hydration pack.

Looking around for a potentially shaded area to take a break, I found none. Eating my last protein bar, I assessed the situation. In front of me, the trail disappeared into the mountains and offered no indication of what to expect. Out of water and food, I walked to the edge of the rocky overhang where I was parked in search of an alternative route.

A few hundred yards back from where I’d come, the trail split off and descended into a dry riverbed below my feet. From there I could potentially follow the wash back to the highway and continue on my way.

It seemed like the most promising alternative as I turned the bike around and carefully navigated the BMW down the rocky ledge and into the riverbed. Keeping momentum up I worked my way through the deep sand wash and for a moment I felt as if I’d made the smart choice. The moment was fleeting.

The rocky ledge on the other side of the wash caught my front tire and I didn’t have enough drive from the rear tire to keep the bike moving forward. I dabbed my left boot and tried to kick the bike forward, but it was futile. I came to a stop. No momentum.

Killing the engine, I sat in silence weighing my options. With no shade and temperatures kissing 90 degrees, the sun had become an oppressive opposing force. I could hear the blood pulsing through my temples as I tried to catch my breath and level out my adrenaline. Just like the character in “The Midnight Sun,” all I could think about was some type of reprieve from the fiery orb in the sky.

Dismounting, I unpacked my duffle bag from the bike and removed my helmet, jacket, and hydration back. Carefully setting them on rocks in an effort to avoid an unwanted visit from a scorpion or rattlesnake, I got to work pushing the bike back and forth, trying to free the rear tire.

While the incline in front of me didn’t appear overly steep, it was clear after multiple attempts that I wasn't going to get enough momentum to crest it. That left me with two options:

1. Hike to the highway and call for help.
2. Backtrack the way I came.

While I was doubtful I would be able to make it back through the wash and out the other side any easier than the hill in front of me, I decided it was better to give it a try before giving up.

It took me almost 45 minutes to get the bike free and turned around. I was drenched in sweat, my mouth was dry, and my legs felt like rubber bands. I knew I was going to get one shot at this and if I stalled or lost forward motion, I was screwed. Propping the rear tire up on a rock in an effort to find some traction, I clicked the bike into second gear, gunned the throttle, and dropped the clutch.

I was off like a herd of turtles.

I slowly made my way back up the wash, arcing the bike wide to hit the rocky ledge to the trail squarely at 90 degrees. I no sooner felt the Beemer’s front tire pop up out of the wash before the rear grabbed traction on the rock face and with a lurch, propelled me forward. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked! Breathing a sigh of relief, I dismounted the bike and hiked back down the wash to get my gear and my luggage.

Climb that hill

Almost an hour and a half had passed since I considered the mountain range in front of me, and here I was, back in the same spot. Rationalizing that at least the mountains would give me a break from riding through deep sand washes, I pressed on.

The initial climb ended up being relatively uneventful considering what I had just endured. There was one particularly steep spot where I stalled the BMW, but luckily I was able to get my left foot on the ground while locking the rear brake with my right foot. I restarted the engine and feathered the clutch the rest of the way.

Following the trail through the foothills of the steeper peaks, I breathed a sigh of relief as the highway came into view with a relatively hard-packed trail heading back down to the desert floor.

It was just past 3 p.m. as I pulled back onto the highway. My tank was nearly empty, both literally and figuratively, as I stopped in Barstow for some water, chicken tacos, and gasoline, in that specific order. Having had enough adventure for the day, I stuck to the highway and split lanes back to my little hotel on the outskirts of Hermosa Beach. Armed with a six-pack of Dos Equis, I had much better luck traversing the sand to the edge of the ocean than I had earlier that day under the oppressive Mojave sun.

I sat sipping my beer and watched as the sun sank below the horizon and a slight chill crept into the evening breeze. 

The twist

Nearly every episode of The Twilight Zone has a twist and at the end of “The Midnight Sun” the young woman in the episode wakes up from what we learn was a fever dream. It turns out the earth wasn’t heading for the sun, but in an ironic twist of fate the temperature outside was plummeting as Earth had indeed fallen out of orbit but was drifting away from the sun into outer space. 

Spooky. 

As I sit here typing this story the snow is drifting up against the house while the wind is rattling the windows of my living room and a draft pushes past the dying embers of a fire in the hearth. Supposedly it’s 13 degrees Fahrenheit outside tonight but it feels more like three with the wind chill. It’s funny how quickly we humans can go from wishing to escape the heat of the sun to missing it. For those of us in the throes of winter, the promise of warmer days ahead helps to get us through.

For surely, there are warmer days ahead…