I wake up early Thanksgiving morning and help Dad finish packing the car. We are ready to leave. Neewa is the last one to get in. She is so excited and jumps around the back seat like a jumping bean.
Off we drive with plenty of time to get there for dinner, at least that is the plan. During the first part of the trip we approach the beautiful Ruby Mountains. Deep in its canyons are quaking aspen trees, leaves quivering in the breeze. The leaves reflect the sun and twinkle like flashlights against the shadowy canyon walls.
The ruby red glow of the mountains is incredible. As we are passing through the gap on the only road that cuts through this range of mountains, blue skies hang above, not a cloud to be seen.
Soon after passing through the mountains we are on a flat highway, with neither a hill nor a valley before us. It's peaceful out here, amidst endless vistas packed with faded green sagebrush, tan desert sands, and dried gray grasses.
As usual the prairie dogs continue to run in front of our van, as though they are playing a game of tag.
Dad yells at a prairie dog as it runs out in front of us, “Watch out, get out of my way.” He motions with his hand to get them out of the way.
The prairie dog scurries across the road as we pass over him. We wait to feel a bump or hear a knock. Timidly, we look out the rear window anticipating the carnage? Miraculously, he’s not lying squashed on the road.
“How did he do that? I thought for sure I hit him?” Dad mumbles, perplexed at the animal’s reasoning.
More than halfway to Manny’s, we drive into town where if you blink your eyes you may miss it. We are supposed to turn onto another road somewhere around here? The directions say turn west and we do. Clunk, bump, we are now on a dirt road. I can tell from Dad's reaction he doesn’t like this and he slows to a crawl.
This is really interesting, there’s little difference between the surface of the road and the empty desert that surrounds us. The road is more like a twenty-foot trail carved by a bulldozer. Windswept sand blurs the edges on either side. I can barely see the road, it's more like a wide ditch in the middle of the desert.
Desolate roads can be treacherous because they can disappear into the dunes. People vanish on trails like these. If a sign blows down, a driver might miss a turn and drive right out into the desert.
To make matters worse he might go farther and farther, losing his sense of direction and get completely lost. That would be his last mistake. Once lost, he will never find his way back. Usually these unfortunate victims die slowly of thirst, or exposure, or both.
Dad frowns as sand starts blowing. “I’m trying to follow this ditch of a road.”
He shrugs his shoulders looking at Jackie in the front seat next to him.
“It is getting more difficult to stay on it,” he says, “and the visibility has gone from bad to worse.”
All of a sudden the wind starts blowing harder. Desert sand, dust, and dirt form a thick cloud in front of us. The storm is howling in the cracks of our van windows and doors making eerie sounds. Waves of sand are blowing across our windshield. I can barely see the road in front.
There is nothing to guide us down this dirt trail. No electric lines or anything else we can follow to help us stay where we belong, on the road. There is nothing keeping us from wandering into the wasteland. The road itself is covered with sand from the frequent dust storms. One more thing, we haven’t seen another car on this road, not one.
“We have to pull over and wait out this storm,” Dad declares.
Dad takes out his map and looks for a better route. After several facial expressions, measuring distances, and looking at possible alternate routes, he looks straight ahead.
“This is the only road on the map that will take us to Manny’s,” he declares. “The only other choice is to go way down south and then come back north over here.” He points to the map. “But that will take an extra three hours.”
After a few minutes the wind dies down and visibility seems to improve as the sky turns western blue again.
Jackie speaks first, “I vote we keep going.”
I add, “I second that.”
We drive on, more quiet and thoughtful than before.