Navajo Country
By Maryanna Gabriel
I woke up with a start. Registering my bearings, not a soul or vehicle in site, I quietly made breakfast. I tried to get the spare tire down again to no avail. I was thinking about what I had recently driven by. I remembered seeing something about a ranch. I was struggling with another memory as the morning turned into afternoon. It was the old mountain adage not to leave one's pack. Long ago, on a school expedition several of us had been lost in a severe mountain storm. I had made it to the mountain cabin but half of us spent the night bivouacked in deep snow. The teacher who was responsible for us got down to saying goodbye to his wife. He thought he was a goner. Everybody made it out but it was close and one person was badly injured. I am sure that isn't the reason why they later divorced.
Was it better for me to try and walk to find help with a canteen, a kind of Clint Eastwood trek in the desert, possibly never to be heard or seen again, or should I stay with the pack, er, my truck, which was my means of survival? I really didn't know. It being almost 24 hours without any sign of human life, I decided on the latter course. With my bottle of water I began to walk to the ranch I remembered. It was hot but not unbearable, it being November after all. After five miles I came close to where the turn off was for the ranch. As I arrived a truck load of people were also headed for the turn off. They were Navajo. I waved anxiously and it looked like they were not going to stop. They drove past. Then the truck halted and backed up. They piled out. Relieved, I explained the situation to what seemed to be an extended family with a lot of children. The woman laughed and laughed. "You drive too fast," she said. Together we drove to the camper. A wiry girl, about twelve years old, slipped under the Bigfoot with a pair of pliers. In seconds she had pulled out the cotter pin and the spare was released. They all thought I was tremendously funny and I was so relieved that I felt pretty happy and laughed with them too. The spare was a pathetic thing but it was enough to get me to a gas station. I wished I could give them something but I had nothing to give except my thanks. I was lucky. They told me Chaco Canyon was a sacred place and I was not to go there. I didn't really understand as it was a national park open to the public. Gratefully I retraced my route back to Gallup, New Mexico.
