“Although happiness is desirable, it is a banal subject for travel.” -- Paul Theroux, Dark Star Safari

Lately, the subject lines on my sister's e-mail messages to me have reflected her increasing alarm about the state of the run and the condition of the runners. The first message was titled simply “Yellow Team.” The second message was “Have you heard about Yellow Team?” The third “Poor Yellow Team.” And finally “Oh my God what has happened to Yellow Team!!!!”

Indeed.

Yellow Team (Heiko, Paul, Rudy, and Laurel) have had a very difficult few weeks. No doubt about that. The entire team admires their bravery, tenacity, and sheer, unadulterated stubbornness. We're very proud of Yellow Team and we're thankful and relieved that all four runners are on the mend.

I would, however, like to take this opportunity to dispel a few of the rumors that that been circulating about the members of Yellow Team. Heiko was not torn apart by ravenous wolves in the Mojave; he was merely chewed on slightly and then rejected by the pack as unpalatable. Paul was not abducted by aliens. Rudy was “borrowed” for a few hours by the alien race Xenopud, but he is back on the team and recovering nicely from all the probing. And finally, Laurel was not caught offering to exchange pairs of slightly used running shorts in Zion National Park for rides back to Hawaii; I have no idea why she's chained in the back of the team van.

The rumors surrounding Silver Team are, sadly, a little more true. Yes, we had trouble finding the Mojave. Yes, when we did finally find the Mojave, we buried the van in sand up to the axles. And yes, I ran in a small, tight circle in the Mojave, convinced I was lost.

As I discovered in the Gobi, I don't enjoy running in sand and I really don't enjoy running in sand in total darkness. Fortunately, because we had effectively immobilized the van, I had a brief reprieve from the delights of desert running. Instead, I lay on my back in the sand and stared straight up. The night sky over the Mojave was completely black and spangled with stars. The Milky Way looked like a thick tattered ribbon, Jupiter a brilliant gem, the Moon a huge, overripe banana. Antares winked wickedly over one shoulder, while Cassiopeia smiled benignly over the other. Perfect.

Well, almost perfect. The sand in the Mojave is smooth and silky, as soft and fine as confectioners sugar. While we were waiting for the tow truck, I sifted it through my fingers and buried my bare feet in the sand. I exfoliated. Thoroughly. I also (unintentionally) jammed sand into every available orifice. Two days later, I'm still finding sand in remote and inaccessible places, like that curly bit in your ear. How did sand wind up in there?

The final run of our shift was on a road which paralleled some rather astonishing red rocks in the Valley of Fire. Of course, because it was dark, I'll have to take the word of the instructional signs lining the route to the park. I can't believe the signs would exaggerate the color of the rocks, though; after all, it's easy to check! I'm sure the rocks were Crayola crayon red. But I digress. My run through the park was great, even though my bit of road went up and up and up, over what I am sure was a chunk of red rock.

The sky was again a celebration of stars and, like in the desert, I lay in the middle of the road (a luxury afforded only by the night shift) looking up. Until I remembered the spiders. And the scorpions. I really wouldn't want to find a scorpion in a remote and inaccessible place. Or any place, for that matter. I spent the rest of the shift standing very close to the van.