The first place we looked was Jockey’s Ridge State Park, home to one hang gliding school and one giant sand dune. The signs all said it was easy to get lost there, so I figured the colonists could easily be wandering around in the sand.

It was kind of like that time we went to White Sands. You know, except not HORRIBLE. JOSH. Sorry, I’m still maybe not over the whole losing my keys incident.

My first idea was to follow some tracks in the sand:

Using my Harriet the Spy sleuth skills, I can tell you these tracks were made by 16th century shoes!

Steven, naturally, was skeptical.

"Who cares about colonists? Why can't we go to Sonic? I hate being in natural light."

So I once again had to encourage him onward.

"Steven Matthew Wiggins, do NOT make me come over there. We are RESCUING THOSE COLONISTS and that's FINAL."

When we got to the top of the giant sand dune, it was really quite windy.

Probably why the lost colonists did not simply climb on top to look for the way home.

Everyone knows colonists are afraid of wind.

BUT THEN, in the distance:

Hark! The Lost Colonists! They have somehow acquired backpacks among the sands!

"Hey! You guys! We've totally been looking for you for like hundreds of years!!"

"Yeah, we're kind of busy right now filming a movie or shooting a backpack commercial or something. Catch you later!"

"Okay, ttyl! Call me!"

CASE CLOSED. At the first place I looked. Seriously, I am ace at this solving historical mysteries thing. Look out, Stonehenge, you’re next.

To celebrate, we climbed this lighthouse:

Currituck!

So many stairs right now!

Me: Looking for more colonists I can save

Steven: Auditioning for a shampoo commercial for some reason.

“He’s got the urge to Herbal! On Currituck Lighthouse!” That is definitely going to be Herbal Essences new slogan. Just you wait.

Just Like When Neil Armstrong Visited

To be fair, a Floridian and a Texan are not the crack team you need to really ace the Sledding World Finals. Especially not on sand. It also probably would’ve been better if we hadn’t visited during the absolute hottest part of the day. As we were walking back to Trixie–which I thought must be a mirage for awhile–I realized I’d lost my car keys. Luckily, Steven also has a copy but we went back and dug through all likely piles of sand to try to find them. No such luck. Then Steven tried to film my sweating, gnat-covered misery. I was not happy.

So I decided to lash out publicly at Josh Langsfeld, whom I hold personally responsible for everything.

Happily, there was a Volkswagen dealership in Las Cruces. Not so happily, they said they needed to order a new key from the factory instead of copying Steven’s and that it would cost $290. Instead, I decided to keep a very, very close eye on the one copy we still have.

Don’t worry, though. I decided to soothe my wounded spirit by checking into a hotel with an indoor pool and nice pillows. And while floating, breathing in the too-chloriney smell of my childhood and staring up at the inexplicable hot air balloon mural on the ceiling, I found it within myself to forgive Josh Langsfeld. FOR NOW. If something goes wrong in Albuquerque, you KNOW whom I will hold personally responsible.