The view from Red Mountain Overlook on the way into Titus Canyon shows the naked landscape that captured the interest of prospectors and pioneers. Photos by Bernadette Heath/Cerca Contributor. "Cousin Jack" was a Western term for a native of Cornwall, England. Valued for their previous mining experiences. Cousin Jacks gave their name to this sort of structure in isolated camps where building materials were whatever came to hand. People weren't kidding when they started calling this part of Titus Canyon "The Narrows." It's why the road is one-way.

Titus Canyon in Death Valley National Park serves as standoff ground between nature's good and evil. Whatever gods there are have mercifully tempered the fiendishly distorted mountains and the vicious slash of steep canyons until they resemble stacks of layer cakes.

Narrow canyons with banded towering walls, petroglyphs, a ghost town, remnants of mining, and high desert vistas -- Titus Canyon Road furnishes all of these. If a spattering of fall rain arrives at the right time, the desolate desert is blessed with the glory of spring flowers.

Titus Canyon Road is one-way only and starts about 6 miles west of Beatty, heading east to west. Set your odometer here but remember odometers differ, so all mileage is approximate. The route heads up an alluvial fan, dotted with green creosote bushes and blue-gray sage, into the foothills of the Grapevine Mountains. Some teeth-rattling washboards and steep climbs justify a high-clearance vehicle. By seven miles, the road turns into its characteristic curves and begins its ascent. Millions of years ago fire ruled this region, as rents in the earth's mantle spewed ash and molten rock that hardened into stone. The tan-colored mountain to the right, a remnant of hardened ash, has survived erosion, leaving it a solitary landmark.

The road, crooked and steep, has me driving at 5 mph to the top of 5,000-foot White Pass. I could probably go faster but I don't want to risk missing the view, or a curve, for that matter. At the top, I take a short walking path to see the scenery without the risk of driving off the edge. To the southwest is the drainage of Titanotheres Canyon, named for the fossil remains of rhinoceroslike animals that populated the area 25 million years ago.

Also visible are a variety of rock layers. Geologists explain different soils were originally deposited on a level area, then tremendous forces inside the earth hardened the soils to rock. Earthquakes, tectonic plate movement, volcanoes, upward thrusts and downward sinking turned these once-horizontal structures into wildly contorted formations. My unscientific mind sees the layers as taffy candy, squeezed and pulled into waves and curves.

Another climb brings me to Red Pass and I pull over at a wide spot in the road. From this height, the region's geology is exposed like skeletal bones with variegated red mountains, steep canyons and pinnacles that seem ready to topple over.

It is downhill from now on. I'll drop from 5,250-foot Red Pass to near sea level in less than 14 miles, so I shift down into low gear. The road has some evil hairpin curves but cactus and desert shrubs soften the look on this side of the mountain. I see my first signs of wildlife -- a tiny lizard and a few small birds. A National Park Service handout suggests that if I spot bighorn sheep roaming these mountains, I should report the sightings to a ranger. Those sheep might be there, but I don't dare take my eyes off the road to look for them.

A "Mine Hazard Area" sign is just past 14 miles and here I see more wildlife. This time it's eight members of the SKP (Escapees) Club, a recreational-vehicle group all driving four-wheel drive vehicles today instead of motor homes. They are a friendly bunch and we hike the short trail to an abandoned lead mine. It is a horizontal tunnel, an "adit" in mining terms, but I stay out.

The ghost town of Leadfield, with several old buildings, is only another mile down the road. The precarious Titus Canyon Road was constructed to carry the highly anticipated ore from Leadfield's mines to Beatty. Lead-silver ore was discovered in the region in 1905 but not enough to make the venture profitable. In 1925, C.C. Julian promoted, exhorted and promised Leadfield into existence.

Julian enticed investors with assurance of high profits and a boom camp erupted complete with stores, post office and 300 residents. When the road was completed in 1925-26, Julian brought more than 1,000 people from Beatty to Leadfield. He transported them down the winding road into Leadfield in 94 overloaded cars, gave them the grand tour, fed them an extravagant meal complete with a live orchestra and returned them to Beatty, all safe and confident their future wealth was just around the corner.

Leadfield's abrupt demise occurred in October 1926, when the 1,200-foot Berger tunnel failed to yield ore, investors became suspicious and Julian's business practices were investigated. It is still debated if Julian was a swindler or just an over-optimistic entrepreneur, but without him and his dreams, there wouldn't be a Titus Canyon Road.

Leaving Leadfield, the road enters a narrow canyon of tilted, tortured bands of dark gray and tan rock. Powerful flash floods have deposited large red boulders on the canyon floor. After 16 miles a sign notes that I am entering Titus Canyon itself. The canyon's name comes from Edgar Morris Titus, an inexperienced prospector who left his group in June 1905 to look for water. He never returned, leaving behind a sign that read, "Hurry on! I am going down to investigate the spring."

The horizontal rock layers are now almost vertical and block-shaped pinnacles seem ready to tumble down. Klare Spring, a tiny oasis next to the road, is an unexpected delight. Indian petroglyphs are near the sign, but I find better ones on the far side of the large black rock to the left. Bighorn sheep, stick figures, rain signs and connected circles - their age and exact meaning unknown - mark this most valuable desert commodity, water.

The road actually widens for a distance, but at approximately 21 miles I'm in the "narrows," the most spectacular part of the Titus Canyon Road. With the road only about 20 feet wide in some spots, the narrows are daunting, humbling and somewhat claustrophobic. Some of the high walls are scoured smooth by water and narrow slits form side canyons. Rock layers are fractured, striped, convoluted and tortured into strange designs that look like someone has whipped them with an electric mixer.

Suddenly sunlight appears ahead, canyon walls shrink, the road widens. One more curve and Death Valley appears, its vastness overwhelming after the dark narrows. Hikers, parking lot, and two-way road all assure me that I've made it through Titus Canyon.

From the hellish rock formations to the heavenly Klare Springs, I'm still not sure whether good or evil reigns along the Titus Canyon Road, but they've both put on a showy battle.