We never made it to Carlsbad. On our way, we stopped in White Sands National Park, which is an astounding site. For hundreds of square miles gypsum sands stretch, perfectly white except in the places where cryptobiotic soil has grown, anchoring larger plants like yucca, which struggle year by year to keep themselves out of the drifts, lifting themselves higher on lengthening trunks. In the middle of the dunes I cannot imagine navigating, unless one were well acquainted with the stars. The dunes become an infinite expanse of white, the sun near blinding, just as it is in snow-covered fields.
After a certain amount of horseplay and sunburn, we returned to our car, unpacked the cooler, and ate quickly at one of the alien picnic benches. the benches are covered by a single piece of sheet metal, which is fastened vertically on the south side of the bench and curves over the top of it. Seeing a group of them, one thinks of a fleet of tiny sailing ships, designed only for this place, and about to release their hold on the ground and be carried off over the dunes.
Coming ashore from our table, we boarded our car, the driver turned the key and was rewarded with...a gentle fizzing noise. "Hmm," we thought, collectively, like Leibnizian monads, "perhaps the battery is dead, or there is a loose connection." After some focused peering beneath the hood, we found that, indeed, a connection was loose, and the only tools we had (a good-bye present from the lovely folks at Jiffy Lube. They wanted them to be a surprise, so they hid them under the hood, and didn't tell us about them. Thank you, Jiffy Lube!) were an useless pair of pliers and a strange wire ending in an unpleasant hook at the end, which looked like the product of Torquemada's dreams after a long night of absinthe.
Fortunately, someone had had the brains to apply for AAA membership, and left with two other companions to get a tow-truck. I and another girl were left to occupy ourselves and make sure that the car was not stolen. We played gin. We played rummy. We played Speed, and near the end I was desperate enough to teach her to play War, the worst game ever devised. As the water supply and the sun steadily lowered, I began to concoct paranoid fantasies. They had left us forever, and were sitting in a swimming pool, in Dairy Queen, eating ice cream and being waited on by friendly penguins. The treacherous birds' natural coloring makes them perfect for the job. While we sat here, in the pit of Sarlak, playing half-witted card games, and turning a pleasant shade which Crayola calls "Boiled Lobster".
I was about to suggest that my companion and I bury ourselves in the sand and wait, before leaping on the next passers-by like trapdoor spiders, when our friends came back with a tow-truck. A twist of the ratchet and a jump later, we were on our way.
A mile down the highway, the driver made the mistake of hitting the brake. The car died. We pulled over. Our companions raced to a store and bought jumper cables. Power was restored. We drover further. The brake was pressed, the car was killed. This time, we had it towed to a mechanic's in scenic Alamogordo, who would be open in just a day and a half.
Alamogordo, as a base of operations, leaves several things to be desired. On the pro side weighs the Space Museum, one of the most enjoyable museums I've ever attended. Anyone who can go through it and not emerge teary-eyed has no soul. The men and women who took those great leaps for mankind shall never be forgotten. And have you ever wanted to land the shuttle? Here's your chance.
However, the restaurant we chose served my second beer at room temperature. Definite con.
I'm tired, so here's the pith: we're back, safely, and with a very nice poster of the solar system. Heaven our destination, indeed. I will post further on that tomorrow.
