Today we decide to channel our inner elementary school selves. We leave with all the excitement of “are we having a snow day”. But not before we stop and borrow two round “UFO” sleds from our campground. It is hot and fully in New Mexico’s high desert. But Apparently sand dune sledding is a thing, and we are all in on the adventure.

So this morning, we travel the lonely highway to White Sands National Park. Along the way we cross the White Sands missile range, which is an active military test site. It is crazy that you can see missile observation stations from the highway. It is crazier to think that the government actually tested nuclear bombs not far from where I am driving. History is sometimes hard to imagine through my modern lens.

A few sonic booms make me wonder what they are up to today and whether we should even be here. No one else looks concerned, even when we have to come to a full stop on the interstate at a government checkpoint. A flock camera reads our license plate and a border agent asks us questions. I feel a little silly saying I am taking my “flying saucer” to surf a sand dune and I need to cross your missile range, please. They don’t even bat an eye. Since this is the only main highway, I guess they are used to a steady stream of commuters.

At the visitor’s center, we browse exhibits about the dunes, read and hear numerous warnings about trails and consider the very real possibility of getting lost. After all the cautions, we also buy an extra gallon of water. Just in case.

On our first stop, we hike a 1.5 mile trail over the sands. It is beautiful in a surreal way. I get beach vibes without the water. Where did the sand come from? How can one tree grow in a sea of sand?

We are careful to follow the trail markers. It is not always easy as the wind has blown dunes over some of the way finding signs and other directional sign posts are placed in areas that are hard to see. We wander back and forth in deep sand, straining our calves and thighs.

It is hard walking. The sun is high in the sky and searing our skin and eyes. Even my sunglasses don’t seem quite dark enough. The birds and small rodents don’t seem to care. I concentrate on the wind on my face and finding the way back to the truck.

Back at the truck, we drink an ample supply of water and head on down the road. At some point, we run out of paved park road. From here on, we drive on occasionally plowed silica. It is like driving after a Midwest snow storm. I keep trying to use the technique I use to drive on ice or hard pack. It is instinctual and makes no sense in our current situation. But I feel like at any time I could hear the crunch of snow under the tires. In reality, it is more like a washboard dirt road. Thankfully, I am also a veteran of country backroads.

I don’t know how long it will take to the large dunes, but we have been assured that a) there will be a nearby parking lot and b) we will know them when we see them. We also were told not to venture beyond the first few dunes because the trails have not been maintained and no one will be coming to the rescue. Point taken. Noted. Don’t have to tell me twice.

Eventually, we reach mountains of sand. We are not the only crazy people out here. There are others and they also have sleds….and children. It seems we may be the only retirees. Oh, well. Age is just a number.

My husband commences with the waxing of the sled. We are supposed to coat the bottom of the sled with a think layer of wax to help it run smoothly over the sand. While he is working, a car pulls up. A couple that is easily our age (probably older) gets out and asks if we are going to try it. We say, “of course.” They ask to join us.

The more the merrier. It turns out that they are also staying at our campground. It is fun to make new friends so we share a few stories from the road. It seems we all had issues getting our rigs safely down the horribly maintained highway. There are woeful stories of potholes, elevation gains, and high winds.

Eventually it is time to fight my way to the top of the hill through the deep sands. It is harder than it looks. I struggle to climb. Two steps up, a giant slide back down. If I zig zag like a mountain trail, I make progress. Heading straight up is an epic fail. This could take awhile.

At the top of the hill, I swallow hard. It looks so steep from here. Am I sure I want to do this? I wish I could watch someone else first. Oh well. I just throw down the sled and jump on….. I hit the ground and jerk forward. My sled collapses in the middle and takes on a saucer full of sand. Meanwhile my husband zips down the hill.

What the heck? I sit and try to shake sand out of my underwear and wonder what just happened. I try again and ground out once more. Like a beached whale, I slide along, pulling myself with my feet. The sled buries and pitches me forward on my face. I can’t make it go despite a variety of technique changes

I watch my husband with envy. He wisely declines to offer advice. After awhile we decide I should try his sled. I take a running start and I zip down the hill. Whee! This is awesome!

I am so glad it was my defective, floppy sled and not me. I walk up the hill and zip down again. I have memories of trudging through snow up the small hill in my backyard. I am still that small girl in my mind’s eye. I am once again Queen of the Hill. I can do this all day.

Eventually, we tire of the long climb. Our shoes and pants are full of sand. I have gritty grains in my hair, teeth, and eyes. The sun is getting lower over the dunes and it is time to go. We say goodbye to our new friends and invite them to sit at our campfire tonight.

We will need to clean up, and refine the stories of the day. One of the best parts of “snow day fun” was sharing hot cocoa and laughing about the adventures of which you lived to tell the tale. Since we are in the desert, I think a nice cold drink and a pizza may be more appropriate.