Sometimes the line in the sand is important. Other times it’s just a waste of good sand.
The truck drove for hours through the cold desert night. It was almost midnight when we finally stopped, and everyone spread blankets and sleeping bags on the sand. The next morning, the driver yelled “Montez!” again. We climbed aboard, and the truck rolled deeper into the void of the southern Sahara.
Although it was daylight, a new darkness had arrived—a sandstorm. A steady dark wind blotted out the sun, allowing only 20 feet of visibility. All day, the truck crept slowly ahead in the dusklike conditions. Tallis and I took turns sitting under a blanket for a brief respite from the relentless, stinging ...