Sand in my ears

Imperial Sand Dunes National Recreation Area lies about 25 miles west of Yuma, AZ across the state line, about 10 miles north of Mexico. 40 miles long and 5 wide, this holiday weekend it was the scene of some hundreds of thousands of "Duners" descending upon its white flowing ocean of sand. They drove 4-wheelers, dune buggys, sand rails, dirt bikes, and souped up golf carts in drag races along the dunes. And they drank copious amounts of beer, ate pallets of greasy french fries and turkey sandwiches out of coolers, and blew up fireworks late into the night.

My own part of this scene was small; we arrived tuesday and left friday, time enough to partake in those activities aformentioned, as well as roll our sandrail, repair the resulting broken stub axle, and get cited for blowing up some unclaimed fireworks.

Of those, rolling the sand rail was by far the most exciting, for me at least, since I was the passenger at the time. We had just set up camp and were making a quick run before going to eat, my brother was driving and we were hauling ass across the top of a dune. Me being a virgin duner and in the company of several experianced folks, I had been excited in the preceeding minutes by what I was assured was pretty tame stuff. So when we hit the raised crest of a dune at suffecient speed to point our nose up in the air and then our tail over our heads, I thought to myself,in that moment we had to contempate the likeness of our arrangment to that of a lawn dart, how cool this was and if this is what running the dunes is all about. Then came the impact, and ensuing roll. When the dust cleared, my brother was turning the air a sort of purple with his barrage of epitaths and trying to pull forward, when I pointed out that we were missing a wheel, as well as an assortment of lights and other minor fixtures. In looking at our tracks later, we were confused at one point when the tracks disapeared, until we realized that was when we were in the air. Acually, the rear tire marks were entirly absent for a good 50 or 60 feet, not appearing again until accompanied by one the detached tire buried in the sand.

Long story short we towed, draged, and cajoled the rail back to camp and spent the next 24 hours McGuivering the axle, wheel, and rail back together in time for a full afternoon running the dunes and a few runs down the drag strip. We even ran the airshow smoke system dad installed. Most folks we talked to said they didn't know anyone who had ever rolled a rig before, but I suspect that has more to do with their not wanting to hurt their jillion dollar toys. Much more fun to spend less money on the rig and the difference in repairing it each time you mangle it.

So that was how, on thanksgiving evening, we toasted among other things, strong roll bars.