CHAPTER 11

Playing the Shamanic

Game of Life:

The Big Picture

The ratty old volkswagon bounced over the ruts of the
desert track, a road barely discernible in the dawn light of
a cold December day. The steep climb out of the seldom-
traveled north end of Death Valley slowed the ancient
bug down to a crawl. Rain slanted down, finding its way
through the old convertible roof, dripping onto the pon-
chos of the travelers.
"So it never rains in Death Valley," growled Lena as
she worked the coat hanger to make the wipers work.
She looked askance at Jose, who was silently maneuver-
ing the old car up the incline. "My hand is freezing and is
that what I think it is?" Lena pointed to the white stuff by
the side of the road, the first signs of snow on the pass.
"Don't worry. I brought the chains," mumbled Jose, try-
ing not to get breath on the inside of the windshield.
Sure enough, after not more than a mile, the snow had
built up on the road to such a degree that it was time for
the chains. Jose released the front trunk, stumbled out
and fished around for the chains. "Aha, here they are," he
yelled triumphantly.
A few minutes later Lena heard curses coming from
under the car. "What's wrong?" she shouted irritably. The
cold night in the damp tent had taken its toll.
Jose came to the window, a look of disbelief on his
face. The chains don't fit. I must have brought the ones
for the Honda, they're way too small. Damn! And we have
only enough gas to get to Lone Pine this way. So we can't
turn back at this point."
Lena gave him an incredulous glare. "I thought you
tried them on." With that she threw open the door,
slammed it shut, and stomped back down the snow-
covered roadway in utter frustration. "What a miserable
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