Getting lost is annoying, especially for a person who prides himself on being spatially-oriented
at all times. My traveling gear includes detailed road atlases for the states I visit and a
compass for determing where geographic (not Oliver) north is. In spite of my careful planning,
wonderful maps, and close attention to detail, I manage on occasion to get disoriented. The
scene here is perhaps the worst caseof being lost in my life: wandering aimlessly on the
mud/salt playa in the middle of nowhere. This experience gave me a taste of what the pioneers
felt like when their wagon trains went up the wrong valley. Only by miraculous circumstance
was I able to find my way back to civilization. Please do not inform the International
Association of Know-Where-The-Heck-You-Are People of my lapse of competence.

Joe Tripod, my photographic assistant and traveling companion, was of help
only in his usual manner; he could not point me in the proper direction.

Footnote in response to John Cooper's comment: my English-made coin-operated GPS device was
onboard and functioning, but I ran out of quarters (25-cent pieces) to power it. Thus I
was without the most advanced technology available. Technology alone is not sufficient.
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