“Kindly fasten your seat belt,” Hassan said mildly as he slid behind the wheel, switching the transmission to 4-by-4-mode. 

No sooner had I buckled up than our Toyota Land Cruiser bolted from the paved road onto the sand. Instantly, we were roaring across the desert like Lawrence of Arabia—without the camels (although we did see some). At high speeds, Hassan wove his way among sand dunes and banks. With the windows down and the cool desert air whipping through the Toyota, it felt like we were skimming the surface of the sand. At first the sand was packed hard and we continued to gain speed. Then we crossed over into soft sand that lay smooth and untouched and I could feel the tires dig deep for traction. Suddenly, we were heading straight for a cliff. Still we didn’t slow down. An extreme rush of adrenaline shot through me as Hassan stepped on the accelerator. I could see the blue of the sea just past the ledge. As the Land Cruiser raced within feet of the cliff I expected Hassan to skid to a stop. Instead, he accelerated and the moment we hit the ledge he pushed in the clutch and downshifted, revving the engine high as we went shooting over the ledge, diving nose first.

We didn’t plunge into the sea as I expected, but landed at a near vertical angle on the downward slope. Aggressively, Hassan worked the steering wheel and I could see the white of my knuckles as I gripped the dashboard. At our position, I could feel my seatbelt strain hard to keep me from falling through the windshield. I now understood why Hassan was so popular. 

Before I could catch my breath we were racing up and down steep hills, oftentimes going airborne and broadside, creating a storm of powder-white sand all around us. Barreling across crescent banks, Hassan called out names like “half-pike” and “tube roll” indicating the maneuvers he was performing. 

I could not help thinking, “I asked for this.”

Later, when we stopped by the sea so I could take pictures of a herd of camels bathing, Hassan confessed to me that his dream is to be Rally race car driver. I told him that mine was to make it back to the hotel alive. But there was more to our adventure in the desert before I would see the modern world again. - Article Continued Below -

My saddle was made of wood and carpet, and though I was assured that the saddle was secured tight, I rocked from side to side for the three-hour trip. 

Suddenly, our camels began to trot. Only harsh shouts and the sting of the whip from Hassan could keep them from breaking away. What was it? Then I saw it—an oasis. The green branches of date trees surrounded what the camels must have known was water.  High above in the saddle I could see the tops of tents stretched taut with the wind beating down on the flaps. It was almost sunset and torches were already lit around the camp. 

I sat on a bundle of carpets drinking a squash of pressed almonds as the porters went to work. Cakes of camel dung were used as fuel for the fire to cook our evening meal.