A Socotwa Trip Log

              For the second time that day, Frisby became the national pastime, but eventually with the philosophy that if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, we played baseball too. Bob Parry, an experienced Rat, knew that the back seat of the bus made a most comfortable bed - and no doubt it did until we discovered it too. That night, too, Steve and Company, Flag Manufacturers, were busy at work. Mostly, however, the evening was spent in mastering the fine art of Frisby flinging.  The baseball players finally went home about midnight, and so we quickly bedded down for our first night under the stars. It didn't take long to get to sleep, especially with the realization firmly planted in our minds that we must rise before dawn, which by now wasn't very far away. Just as our backs had adjusted to the rocks beneath them, and the warmth of the sleeping bags had heated the moisture in them to a tolerable temperature, and sleep actually had overtaken our excited minds, a car began to take slow., regular tours around the block. Many who were in deep slumber didn't notice this, but there were few who managed to remain unconscious for the next hour during the hilarity and fellowshipping which followed when the car finally sighted our drowsy group. The gay arrivals, with their now-famous "two-o'clock" laughs were Mary Kenner and Betty Barg, late comers from California. By the time we got them into their bags (for no other reason than to put them peacefully to sleep and ourselves as well), Merly began hopping about to a jolly hornpipe on the harmonica, informing  us that it was about 4 o'clock and time to be on our way.  Thursday June 12  Even the brisk cold water from the fountain didn't really waken us, but being offered raisins from Bob Parry's feather hat or a peanut butter sandwich did it. We watched from the windows of the bus as the sun rose from the edge of a marvelous, strangely peaceful, beautifully desolate land which held for each of us adventure never even imagined before. It was a few moments later when the bus came to the end of its line. Eagerly we piled into the back of the big and creaking truck, until, having quite filled it from cab to tailgate, we started out  again,- though this time on considerably narrower and less formal roadway. Our driver seemed to lose his sense of direction in the confusion, and suddenly we all were told to disembark in order to push, pull, or frighten the poor truck out of axle-deep red sand. Soon we were on the right road, carefully observing the Henry Mountains to our right under the direction of our geology instructors. We also were busy searching for buried friends, trying to decide which foot belonged to which person, concealing bloody fingers, or singing our lungs out. Some of us -3-