The engine revolutions built quickly, and my old Land Rover skidded sideways and came to an abrupt stop with a metallic “clank”. I knew enough to shut-off the engine and have a look; small problems become big problems when you spin wheels in soft sand.
Stretching in the height of the mid-afternoon sunlight I took in the still, soundless desert. Eore, my 1974 Land Rover, and I were in an Arroyo about two hours of washboard track south of San Felipe, Baja, Mexico. We’d dropped down a sand bank into the depression cut by flash floods during the rain runoff’s rush to the sea. The flow of water wound its way through boulders, compacted soil or flora roots to leave this scar of soft sand and rock with walls of varying height. My Land Rover rested at a steep angle on the climb out, its rear crossmember almost touching the Arroyo’s sand bottom.
During the failed climb, Eore had slid sideways and the crossmember under his transmission had come to rest on a large boulder; that was the “clank”. Using a high-lift jack on the front bumper, I raised and then pushed the Land Rover sideways 3 times to clear the obstruction. Using a shovel, I chipped away at the bank and shovelled load after load of sand and river rock in front of his rear-wheels as a ramp to clamber out. It took sweaty hours in the afternoon sun to get right, but I had a recovery plan and enough experience to get it done right, once.
Finding a place to camp in the final hours of daylight I knew I was in a bad way. My head was a mass of pain. I could alleviate it by holding it at different angles and pressing on my temples, but any relief was fleeting. I set my air mattress and blanket in wash sand by the Land Rover’s rear door and grabbed the yellow plastic canteen my sister had given me as a birthday present. With the spigot of a jerrycan on the ledge of the open door, the canteen could be filled easily. I had 5 gallons of water and 6 packets of Gatorade crystals.
The moon was full enough that I could open the packets and fill the canteen. The low barrel cactus and the tall Boojum and Saguaro had definition in that blue desert moonlight beyond mere silhouettes. Between fits of shivers and sweats I refilled the water, mixed the crystals and forced myself to drink. It was an effort. Shivers and muscle pain. Cold sweats with a constant pounding in my head. Drifting in and out of sleep it crossed my mind to write a letter home - Mom, though the road was short there were few regrets. In the moonlight there were quiet scurries and flapping wings; it was a beautiful night.
The sunrise was unremarkable; no pinks or cloud broken oranges. I lay awake well before it and witnessed it feeling quite normal. Remarkably, I hand’t pissed myself, so all that Gatorade had found where it needed to be and done what it was supposed to do to cure sun stroke. There wasn’t much to pack up.
If you wait until you’re thirsty - you have waited too long. I had heard the slogan before and have repeated it since. Though, this wasn’t the last time I had sunstroke; it sneaks up on you. Simply put, Gatorade replaces electrolytes that the body losses on the path to dehydration. I still carry packets of Gatorade in my Med kit. My daughter hates the taste - but I force her and my wife to drink it and monitor their intervals while hiking or during blistering hot Mexican afternoons in a Land Rover with no air-conditioning. Gatorade - the real saviour is water, but Gatorade will lower the potential of getting sun stroke and shorten the duration if you succumb. So, not an idiot's placebo.
