We left the warm comforts of Tecopa hot springs and headed back to Death Valley.  The predicted rains arrived, as predicted, an anomaly in this arid zone, hindering our return to the park.  In this large expanse, few places offer the tourist services we now were in need of: a good diner or café to sate our growing hunger.  Miles and hours later, we reached the focal point of Death Valley, Furnace Creek, where the National Park visitor center serves as a key information source, displaying the current temperature prominently, along with the daily high temperatures, while also reminding us of the all-time planetary high temperature recorded here.

Furnace Creek also provides other tourist accommodations:  a campground and a modest collection of motel rooms, with a restaurant and bar to serve the travelers passing through.  At least that is what it was in 1995 when I stopped for a late-night snack on my way to Dante’s View for sunrise, and even in 2005 when I stayed for a few nights experiencing a peak spring bloom in the desert.  But now, about twenty years later, I did not recognize the place.

It was still “The Ranch at Death Valley” per the signpost, but now the entry took us through a gate into a different world, one with ice cream parlors and novelty shops at the boundaries of a golf course carved out from the desert, all nonexistent just twenty years prior.  

The dining room was now a fine dining room, albeit with one choice, an expensive buffet.  The rustic western-style bar that I recalled from 1995 was now an upscale scene that offered drinks with wings or pizza, high cholesterol choices at high prices. 

We were hungry, but not hungry enough to partake in these options.  Something had changed.   This was no longer a place to enhance an experience of Death Valley, at least not how I perceived it.  And it was certainly no longer affordable.  It had become a playground for the wealthy, and capitalism reigns, even within the boundaries of a national park. 

It reminded me of Horseshoe Bend:  what had been an obscure dusty foot trail to the edge of the Colorado River is now a major tourist attraction with admission gates, pavement, and tour bus parking.  At least the revenues go to the native tribe whose reservation land it crossed.  Here at Furnace Creek, the revenues end up in the concessionaire’s pocket.

This was not what we had come to Death Valley for. Still hungry, we left this misplaced slice of Las Vegas and headed to our more primitive accommodations at Stovepipe Wells.

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