Living in Los Angeles, I missed out on the thrill of the first total solar eclipse to cross the United States since 1979. I was too far south of its coast-to-coast path to see much of the action. But it left me yearning to commune with the stellar majesty of the night sky, which is equally elusive in LA. The city is full of stars, but not the ones I’m after. That’s why I’m behind the wheel of a 2018 Chevrolet Tahoe, driving away from the setting sun on Highway 190, about to cross the threshold into Death Valley National Park. This desolate desert landscape that straddles California and Nevada is my first of three stops on a Southwestern road trip where daytime itineraries will be an afterthought, and nighttime plays a starring role.

Death Valley: Beyond the Oasis, a Starry Desert | 268 miles from LA

Death Valley, site of the highest ambient air temperature ever recorded at the earth’s surface (134 degrees Fahrenheit, in 1913), is best avoided in summer. But in the cooler months it is well worth a visit, whether to traverse the rippling Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes, to cross Badwater Basin (the lowest point in North America) off your bucket list, or, in my case, to go stargazing. The National Park Service went to great lengths to reduce outdoor lighting in the region, which earned Death Valley a designation by the International Dark-Sky Association as the largest International Dark Sky Park.

In the Tahoe with its mighty EcoTec3 V8, I confidently cruise down the highway and past the unpaved turnoff that winds its way to Twenty Mule Team Canyon, named for the means by which early 20th-century prospectors transported ore out of the region. I pass Zabriskie Point, where I make out the silhouettes of several stragglers taking in a panoramic view of undulating rock formations and flat salt plains, just before the sky fades to black. Four miles up the road, I pull into The Ranch at Death Valley, my Western-themed accommodations for the night.

The Ranch features a spring-fed swimming pool, tennis courts, a playground, two restaurants, a bar, and an 18-hole golf course. It’s part of a date palm–filled compound called The Oasis at Death Valley, which includes Fiddlers’ Campground and the upscale Inn at Death Valley—a AAA-rated Four Diamond resort. Unless you’re game to set up a tent in the wilderness, The Oasis is the place in the otherwise desolate Valley where you’re most likely to put down stakes.

After sating my hunger with a pulled pork sandwich, I drive a couple miles up 190 to Harmony Borax Works. It was here in the 1880s that pioneer William Tell Coleman employed 40 men and twenty-mule teams to excavate, process, and haul borax to the railroad depot in Mojave. Tonight, there isn’t another soul in sight, save for a lone coyote stalking in the moonlight. I luxuriate in the peace and quiet of the Tahoe’s comfortable cabin, then crawl to a stop, kill the lights, step out, and lean back on the vehicle, gazing up. At first, I use a stargazing app to locate Gemini, Pisces, and Taurus. Then I put my phone back into my pocket, where it belongs. I’m on the hunt for Capella, the eye of the constellation Auriga the Charioteer. I learned from the daily flyer the park serv­ice distributes that Capella would be sparkling low in the northeast. Capella is actually two stars, 16 times as large across as the sun and nearly as bright as Vega. From the bowl of the Big Dipper, I shift my gaze eastward. And there it is, inducing a type of quietude in me that I’ve never experienced before. The brightest yellow star in the sky, 42 light-years away.