Today, dreams of the California Riviera are long gone, replaced by isolated communities of people truly looking to get away from it all and slip the grid, or just ride their off-road machines without too much government interference. During the three times we visited in the cooler months, the legendary smell was nowhere to be sniffed, and the place had a sort of desolate beauty... and no I don't mean that in a Mojave Desert sort of way. From the east side of the Sea, when the wind is calm, you can see a prefect reflection of the western mountains. Migratory birds fly in formations like long silver kites overhead, and there's a peaceful feel to the place.
The most scenic and accessible area of the Sea is on the northeast side, off State Route 111 at the Salton Sea State Recreation Area. There are a couple of campgrounds and picnic areas right on the water. Evidence of the sea's prehistoric connection to the actual sea is all over the beach here, which is almost entirely made up of tiny fossilized mollusk shells, and the source of the valley's Spanish name: Conchella (which through bad translations, became Coachella). Though, due to algae blooms, swimming in the sea is considered a bad idea, there were a few people out kayaking both times we rode down the east side. For the fisherman, there are still schools of hardy Tilapia inhabiting the salty waste, which might be good for sport... but I wouldn't eat it.
Continuing down the 111 to the southeast, the very next thing you run into is Bombay Beach. What was once a planned resort community, situated on a perfect 1 square mile grid, is now a wasteland of wrecked houses, trailers, empty lots and a huge berm separating the beach dwellers from water. I can say from recent experience that it looks like the desert equivalent of the Ninth Ward in New Orleans. During the floods of the 50s and 60s, the sea claimed the southernmost reaches of the town, submerging the dwellings in mud and water (thus the large berm). There is a public beach to the west accessible from the western end of the grid. Public services like the store, fire department and restaurant are on the west side of town, nearest the access road from the highway. Riding around town is a little odd, as you will definitely get some looks from the locals, but we spent a good amount of time on the south side taking pictures and were never challenged.
If you want to take in some geothermal trills on the east side of the Salton Sea, we got a hot tip from a Slab City native. There's a road between Niland and Calipatria off of State Route 111 called Shrimpf. It's a pretty gnarly bumpy dirt and gravel road, doable on a street bike but only if you're pretty confident in your abilities. About three and a half miles down rutted-out Shrimpf on the northeast corner of Davis Road, is a field full of mud volcanoes. The valley and the Salton Sea straddle the San Andreas Fault so there is no lack of geothermal activity around here, including multiple hot springs, and little mudpots like these. They're fun to play with as they gurgle and churn, and I was told by a member of the fairer sex that the mud's good for the skin. If you go be careful walking on the mud, as the wet spots are really slippery.
If you don't mind rutted dirt roads, continuing north on Davis will lead back to 111, but by a longer (approximately 10 mile) route that takes you by the Sea, and out north of Niland.
The western side of the lake, while still showing the marks of a boom time gone wrong, is a little less spooky than the eastern side. Traveling down State Route 86 to the towns of Desert Shores and Salton City, there are less ramshackle buildings dotting the landscape. There are abandoned marinas and a boarded up drive-in theater, but the houses that remain are pretty nice, and the vacant lots are just vacant, mostly not still sporting a rotted hulk of an old building.