We're up before the sun, which means we only had, oh, nine hours sleep. Don't know how we'll survive.
We break camp, pack the car and head to the campground store to buy souvenirs and pay way too much for enough gas to take us to a place where the price will be more reasonable. I notice that my low tire light is on, but don't think much about it because it seems a bit cooler this morning, and sometimes that will cause one or more tires to be low.
I put some gas in the tank, find the offending tire and air it up, and we head out. We plan to stop at the fossil bone exhibit, which isn't as exciting as it sounds, and take the auto trail to Dagger Flats, where giant yuccas live, or so we've read.
Along the way we stop at an "interpretive exhibit" that turns out to be the grave site of a woman who had settled in a small oasis area with her husband, who taught at the school for the Dugout Wells community.
We climb around a bit at the fossil bone exhibit, read the signs and look at the fossil replicas, then head for the auto trail. On the way I ask Sharon if she wants to have some real excitement on the way home. I suggest that we run the Border Patrol station outside of Marathon and see if they give chase. She laughs but doesn't think it'd be a good idea. Imagine.
The auto trail is a gravel road with a bunch of markers linked to a guide that explains the plant life in the area. It's a bit rough but nothing the cube can't handle, until we arrive at a wash that crosses the road. Some black sand covers the road along with some kind of rubber grating the park has put down.
We cross that easily enough and then come to another part of the road covered with black sand. I don't think much about it since we crossed the last patch without incident and proceed. The road falls off a bit to the sandy area, where we promptly become stuck. I try the techniques for snow and only manage to dig myself in deeper. The sand comes up to the bottom of the bumpers.
I think that maybe I can push while Sharon drives and get us going, but that doesn't work. Sharon checks her cell phone and finds that she has a signal, so we agree it'd be best to call 911. I'm still trying to figure out a solution. There's less behind us than in front of us, so I decide that's the direction to go.
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| Almost out. Notice the dug out area in the right front corner. |
We have nothing really suited to digging with, so I drop to my hands an knees and start digging with my hands. I dig down behind each wheel until I hit hard packed ground, get in the car and try backing up. The wheels bite and push the car back a few feet till the sand stops it.
Repeat the digging. Back up a few more feet. Repeat. Eventually we gain enough traction to put us back on the gravel portion of the road, where we turn around and head back for the main road. Sharon calls 911 back to report we're out of trouble. I've no idea how long this has taken, but I have a feeling no one had been dispatched to help us.
By the time we return to the main road, I notice my low tire light is on again.I pump it back up and think that perhaps being stuck aggravated what I had hoped was a slow leak, and we wouldn't have a problem. I really shouldn't think. We make a stop at the Persimmon Gap visitor center to look at the souvenir offerings there, and by the time we return to the car, the tire is low again. I pump it up again.
Off we go, but we have to stop before we get to the Border Patrol station to air up the tire again. I don't want to have to unload the car to put the spare on, and as long as we're driving, the leak doesn't seem be as bad somehow.
I behave at the Border Patrol station, where they ask if we've been at the park and whether we're American citizens. We're not asked for any identification. The agents peer through the windows and seem satisfied we're not a threat to national security and let us go.
In Marathon we stop for a soda and check out the possibilities for tire repair. The Shell station appears to do some mechanical work, but I decide I'd rather keep pumping up the tire and take my chances in Fort Stockton. I only have to stop once before we make it to town.
Sharon has checked TomTom, which tells her that Fort Stockton has a Firestone, which is good because I bought the tires there and have road hazard. But when we try to follow its directions, it doesn't take us to a deal, it takes us to Firestone Road, which is not in the town.
We go back to town, stop at the Ford dealership and ask about the Firestone. Turns out it's just down the road, not far past the intersection where the GPS sent us left instead of right, which would have brought us to our destination.
The tire was repaired in due course, but it turns out the tire shop is just an authorized seller, not a dealer, so I have to pay for the repair. We find a place to grab some grub because it's been a long time since breakfast, about 8 hours, and a soda and pretzels were all we'd had.
The adrenaline subsides while we munch away, and we agree we've had enough adventure for one trip. We're ready for a normal rest of the trip home. Ask, and you shall receive.
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