Don Francsico (October 1, 1970) Page 1 Continuing...

Actually, all I had to do was to put the chains on the tires and that should get me out. But how to work the jack? (What if the chains didn't work?  You can't think about that, I murmured.)  About 15 minutes transpired before I figured how to use the Japanese jack; actually, it was quite simple. Pat took the chains out of the box and tried to decipher this oriental puzzle (neither of us ever had any experience with chains before.)  I found the seam of the chassis in which the jack slit clamped and I began to crank the jack handle, which slowly lifted the car.

My shirt became damp and several times I stopped to wipe the perspiration from my eyes.  Pat brought the lantern close to the tire so we could monitor our progress. Pat tried to turn the tire, but it seemed just as entrenched as before.  I turned the handle several more times and surely it seemed the tire would be loose now.  It wasn't; only the body was separating from the wheel. The wheel itself was as steadfastly stuck as before.  I reversed the direction of the jack.  I pulled it out and placed it closer to the rear tire; and again I began cranking it around.

This time I could see definitely that we were making progress.  After thirty revolutions of the handle Pat was able to move the tire.  She slipped the chains underneath the rear tire, looped them around the top, and finally locked the links together.  We repeated the process for the other rear wheel.  Now we not only knew how to work the jack, but the chains as well.

I crawled into the car tired from my exertion. We'd get the car out now, and maybe—hell—we'd even camp out right here among the Octillio cactus—the desert cactus scrub dotting the landscape.  The first task however was to get the car unstuck.  This became the psychological imperative.

I started the car and put it into forward and accelerated only slightly.  Whrrr!  The wheels spun. I threw the car into reverse with the thud of the transmission. Obviously, Japanese cars never got stuck in sand or snow which requires quick shifting of the manual gear box in order to gain the proper rocking motion.   Whrrr!  Damn!  The chains were not grabbling. I began to panic: Jesus, if the chains didn't get us out what the hell would.  Back into forward, the wheels whined; into reverse, only sand spewed from the tires.  I got out and glanced momentarily at Pat.  The tires were submerged at least half of their diameter.

One last try in the car. I put the car in reverse, and without even accelerating, the wheels rotated freely, perpetually rotating never touching the cavities they had dug. I got out again, slamming the door in disgust (more in fright, but I had to dissemble for appearances sake my fear).  Well, what to do now? I surveyed the scene again—the hapless car, my wife staring at me interrogating silently: how were we going to be rescued?

"Well, the chains obviously don't work in the sand," I commented.  I thought that they would work like they do in the snow. Really dug us in, didn't they?"