Packing it up is a sure fire way to start out the day dirty. The bowels are unstable. I visit the rocks twice and the Unit makes four contributions before the truck gets underway. Keenly aware of the Sheets Competition, all eyes are covertly upon her as she requests that a shovel be kept in the truck for emergencies. My ribs are sore from coughing and I have a rash on my chin.
Water usage is restricted to drinking, cooking, and essential washing.
That means hands yes, face no. The sight of someone trudging through the sand, toilet paper in one hand, shovel in the other, is becoming common. At one point the Unit and I pass each other going in opposite directions and pass the shovel between us like a baton between two runners. As instructed the truck is packed for departure by 8 AM but our military escort is nowhere to be seen. We are totally at the mercy of the border officials and, like most petty bureaucrats, they relish the power.