April 23, 2007
Sacramento, CA

The Great Mexican Adventure : The Final Word

[ Note: This is the last entry regarding the Great Mexican Adventure on this blog. For maximum enjoyment, if you haven’t been following along, I would recommend going back in the archives to at least March 11 (click here) when this part of the adventure really began. For those of you who have been following this trip on this blog, be advised that there will be more adventure coming in late May/early June when we head to the northwest for a couple of months.)

. . . . . .
April 19-20

In case you are wondering, the condensed version of the last couple days is that we successfully retrieved our old-dog Carly from Las Vegas (she happily remembered us, and was watching for us from the second floor balcony), drove to Barstow, where we had stashed the rig at the Shady Lane RV Camp, then drove about 8 hours, arriving home about 5:30 (dropping the rig off at the storage yard first).

Initially, as we drove north on Highway 99 (to avoid the crumpled pavement of I-5), I was mentally composing my letter of thanks to Gov. Schwarzenegger for the fine job of fixing Highway 99. However, upon reaching Stockton and transferring over to I-5, it became apparent that the Guv hadn’t done squat about that highway. It still has some breathtaking cracks and potholes, though it looked like somebody had tossed a few bags of asphalt fix-all in a few places.

About the only excitement of the ride was our lunch stop at Carl's Jr. in Tulare. I was dying for an In-and-Out Burger, but there were none in the area when the lunch bell rang. So, opting for a Carl’s Jr. Angus Burger, Janice picked up the burgers while I walked Carly around the adjacent K-Mart parking lot. Janice returned to the rig carrying a bag that had me drooling. The sweet smell of French fries.

Opening rather large paper containers that touted the superb taste of the “$6.oo Angus Burger,” my salivary glands were in overdrive. I took a bite and got a mouthful of bun, tomato and lettuce. Readjusting the burger so I could get to the patty hiding under the lettuce, I took another bite. “Hey, no meat,” I exclaimed.
“Where’s the beef?” replied Janice.

How could anybody in a fast food joint put together a burger and forget the meat??
“Did you ask for the vegetarian burger?” I quizzed Janice.

Anyway, she returned to the burger joint while Carly and I passed the time flipping French fries in our mouths.

Janice returned with real meat burgers this time, although I don’t think I have ever tasted a more tasteless burger. To heck with this pricey Angus meat, I’ll take one of those ground-up, worn-out dairy cows any time. In the process of returning the burgers, Janice advised that the ‘flipper’ got a good chewing-out by the boss, and by now has probably lost his day job and can now spray paint graffiti in Tulare 24/7.

Following that unsatisfying snack, it was back on the road. For the last 1000 plus miles (ever since the Road from Hell death ride in Baja), there has been an intermittent buzzing noise under my dash. Adding to this distraction, every two minutes, the warning light for my anti-lock braking system (ABS) would come on, accompanied by a 5-second warning signal. I did my best job of trouble-shooting these annoyances, but to no avail. I knew I had brakes, it’s just that the ABS might not be working. This was not something I wanted to entrust to a Mexican mechanic along the Baja highway, so I just put up with it, saving it for an extended visit to my Winnebago dealer. I found that if I turned up the country western music real loud, I couldn’t even hear the buzz and the ding. However, I think that I may have discovered a new bloodless torture to use in the war against terror.

April 22

Well, now that we’re home, (map) I’ve done a bit of reflecting about our Mexican adventure.

The caravan was one of the greatest adventures that Janice and I have undertaken. With a few exceptions (the van-ride of terror to the mission school and the initial arrival Easter weekend at Playa del Sucko), the tour was well thought out and well-organized.




Our leaders, Wagonmaster Larry and Wagonmistress (can I say that?) Evelyn did a tremendous job of leading our group, and courageously held the point position against the oncoming hordes of big-rigs. Tail-gunners Ralph and Pam starred in their supporting role.

The rest of the cast, our fellow ‘roadies,’ was as fine a group of 34 people that one would ever want to share such an adventure with (call it an 'achievement'). By the time we had endured the train ride strapped to the top of a flatcar, dry-camping for 5 days, and sharing a few margaritas (soft drinks for some), there was strong bonding that had begun. It was cemented as we relied on each other for info. over the CB during some driving experiences that can modestly be described as 'challenging.' A few got sick along the way and were nursed back to health by the group. (I even got chicken soup when I was down for a day or so.)

While I could write colorfully about these people individually in great detail, I have chosen not to up to this point, and believe that I’ll maintain this practice. The ‘detail’ would be very positive about interesting folks who have spent a lot of time RVing. Differing backgrounds and a mix of personalities. Everyone had a ‘story.’ Almost all were retired, and enjoying it very much. Not a harsh word was spoken between any of us, which is pretty amazing given the stresses that we faced at times. We thank them all for their support and their friendship during this journey. Most of all, we hope to share a campfire or a sunset with them down the road.

Great memories, and each of us had our own highlights. A few of mine:

1) The amazing technological and construction achievement in building the Copper Canyon rail system, evidenced by 83 or so tunnels, numerous bridges, sweeping rides down the side of mountains and cuts towering over the train.
2) Mexican dance—especially the students at Rosa's Cantina in LaJunta. (but not the ones wearing the BVDs.)
3) The Beach at Tecolote, especially for those of us fortunate to be in the ‘annex’ camp.
4) The tip of Baja—as viewed from a boat. A trademark view.
5) Easter services conducted by gringos on a Mexican beach.
6) Cuesta del Infierno. A steep curvy ride, seemingly straight uphill.
7) Lunch at El Pardon, Mulege. Delicioso.
8) The strong sense of morality I sensed about the Mexican people.

Of course, there were a few low-lights:

1) Playing Baja-road roulette with on-coming trucks. “'Semi' coming from the front.”
2) Odors. Mexico is a country of unusual odors, some identifiable, some not. None forgettable.
3) Garbage: As it is written in Collapse by Jared Diamond, my last ‘read’ on the trip, when referring to a quote by a resident of the Dominican Republic: "The apocalypse here will not take the form of an earthquake or a hurricane, but of a world buried in garbage.” Mexico, too, I think.
4) Plastic bags and plastic bottles. Everywhere. Old tires dot the countryside.
5) Air pollution and water pollution; the latter is particularly bad along the beaches on holiday weekends, thanks to human 'contributions.'
6) Barking dogs and crowing roosters.
8) No room at the beach!
9) The golf course at Cabo Country Club where a sewage settling pond doubled as a water hazard! Phew! Just hit the ball and move on! Quickly.

And then there were sights we will never forget:

1) Mexican country peasants on the mainland living in shacks, tending fields with mule-power. Transportation by foot, horse or bicycle on trails.
2) Loading the rigs on flatcars.
3) The loading/unloading of the ferry.
4) Poor kids….always smiling.
5) Half-finished construction: Roads. Condos. Houses. Hotels. You name it.
6) Hilltop villas overlooking the Pacific Ocean at Cabo. Ultra wealth.
7) Cactus. Cactus. Cactus.
8) Brown hills. Brown mountains.
9) Dust. Dirt. Dust. Dirt.
10) Topes. Topes. Topes.
11) Eager vendors.
12) The ‘fresh’ meat, fish and fowl of the Mexican marketplace.
13) Watching the numbers on the pump at the Pemex station.
14) Looking for the International Space station (found it one night!).
15) Ana's Cantina at Playa del Sucko (for a link to 'the song' at the Cantina that was simply shocking to many of us, click here. But please don't click if you are offended by the "f' word.")

And the "Best of the Caravan” awards are as follows:

1) Best lunch: El Patron, Mulege. Fish soup, fish tacos—take your pick.
2) Best dinner: Dined out at the Inn at Mazatlan. Terrible service, though.
3) Best RV park: Estero Beach, Ensenada.
4) Best tour guide: (tie) Chilly-Willie (Mazatlan) and Guillermo (La Paz)
5) Best bakery: Santa Rosalia
6) Best margaritas: Tie: Copper Canyon Overlook (hotel) and Mulege (restaurant)
7) Best beach: Tecolote
8) Best group adventure: Cabo Dinner cruise (aka the ‘booze cruise’)
9) Best optional activity (tie) ATVs in Los Barilles and ‘Zipping’ in Cabo. We didn't 'zip' but the 'zippers' really enjoyed this one.
. . . . . .

This brings me to the moment of truth: Would I ever take this tour again?
Nope. This is strictly a once-in-a-lifetime trip. Do it more than that and you may be tempting the odds on the Baja highways.

Would I recommend it to anybody else for the first time?
Absolutely. But be cautioned, that this is not a venture for rookies or creaky rigs. It is not a cruise, but a dry land river-rafting expedition. ‘Experienced drivers only.’

. . . . .
I am grateful for my road-lady, Janice, whose love and companionship was the real highlight of this adventure for me. We sure had a lot of fun!

April 18, 2007
Barstow and Las Vegas
We’re coming, Carly!
We departed Casa Beddow at La Salina DelMar approximately 8:00 am this morning, fueled by a pot of coffee prepared by Patti. A fortuitous conversation with the neighbor while I was packing the spare tire revealed that the new highway to the Otay Mesa border crossing was now open. Four lanes of super highway and no more winding around through Tijuana.



Last evening featured the finest dinner of the trip (separate category for the caravan tour!) It was a veranda/beachside table at La Fonda , a few miles up the coast. Scrumptious bacon-wrapped stuffed calamari for me and wild salmon for Janice (its wildness attested to by our waiter, “eets wild, yes.”) A nice sunset (we missed any possible view of the ‘green flash’ as we were busy chatting). A strolling guitarist in the background. Great ambiance for our final night in Mexico. We’ll be back to this place, someday.

Finished the evening at the LaSalina Cantina, a short walk from Casa Beddow. We sought border crossing instructions from “Paco” the bartender, but the net result of the conversation was that while he might have some valuable information on the topic, his English shortage and our Spanish shortage ruled out any reliable communication.

Reaching the promised super-highway, it lived up to expectations. This was cut through massive mountains, but there was ample elevation change to provide a roller coaster of giant hills followed by steep drops. The concrete was obviously poured by the lowest bidder, providing a bumpity-bumpity on what should have been a smooth ride.
The amount of new housing on the Mexican side of the border is just amazing. New projects in every direction. Looks like government housing, a definite step up from some of the squalor hanging on hillsides and along river ravines. They may be positioning the troops for the invasion.
Finally at the border, we joined a couple hundred cars queuing to escape Mexico. We were the only RV, which made me wonder whether we were in the right place (we were). A couple of rag-toting caballeros went from car-to-car, seeking (very) short term employment washing car windows. Few takers for the smeary mess they produced. A 5-year-old boy juggled tennis balls, hoping for an audience that would pay a few pesos for his show. As we reached the gateway, a man with no arms engaged in casual conversation with a man on crutches with a shrivilled leg, which he would swing back behind him, catching it with his hand. An old man hunching in a wheelchair sat off to the side eavesdropping, also hoping for a bit of charity. It was a Tijuana day at Otay Mesa.

We were sent to secondary inspection, where we expected a search of every compartment, the toilet and under the bed for the load of illegals we were smuggling in. Instead, the inspector removed the two shiny red apples in our refrigerator, waving off my objections that they were ‘Washington apples.’ “Doesn’t matter.” It was over. No requests for batteries. Nothing. We weaved our way back into traffic on the 905 and headed up the road. It felt good to be back in America. Real good.
The rig responded nicely to the 905, welcoming back the familiar pot-holed surface of California freeways. But, no dust or topes. There were wide shoulders on this highway, and signs we could read. Soon we were winging it up I-15, then the 215, then back on the I-15. We filled up with some of that pricey $3.24 gas, and felt good about it, seeing signs for considerably more $$ across the street.

Our vacation was over. This was now a mercy mission to rescue Carly before Julie went over the edge, pushed by Carly’s insistence on spray painting her light carpet with brown stripes. Stinky brown stripes.

There was desperation in the e-mail received last night from Julie. "Carly really wants to see you badly. Can you come now?” Carly wants to see us? I’ll bet a Las Vegas 5-spot that Carly has forgotten the folks who dumped her in Las Vegas nearly 50 days ago. And, if she does remember us, she is probably bitter that we missed her 13th birthday on April 15. (Julie even made cupcakes.) So, we made a mid-course correction, abandoning plans to meet Julie in Calico, and high-tailed it for Las Vegas, via Barstow.

(A visit to the vets failed to reveal the cause of poor Carly’s affliction, but she seems to be responding to antibiotics. She'll be ready for the ride back to Sacramento.)

Reaching Barstow, we dumped the rig at the Shady Lane RV Camp (yep, “camp”), a well-worn park east of town on Old Highway 58. The majority of rigs hadn’t moved in many years, with their slumping tires graying and cracking. A fine dust was blowing. Janice asked, “Is it always windy like this?” The owner, a 70ish fellow who was glad to see somebody with their own teeth, said, “No, it’s usually windier.” We piled in the Honda and headed for Las Vegas, hoping the rig would be OK at the Shady Lane.

. . . . .

We are motoring to Las Vegas now, a strong tailwind behind us, Janice at the wheel.
Julie sounded VERY happy on the phone. ‘That dog’ would soon be gone. No more walks three times a day. No more dog hair on everything. And no more poop!

April 16-17, 2007
Casita Beddow
La Salina Del Mar, BajaMex (map)

A Final Stop

Our caravan officially ended at 8 a.m. as we watched the rigs pull out of Estero Beach.
It was difficult saying the ‘goodbyes,’ but we sensed an eagerness by the group to hit the road and return to the U.S. (click here for video) We can't wait!

It was a nice sunny day as we headed up Highway 1, through Ensenada and onto the cuota (tollroad) for a short drive to the Beddow’s (Chuck and Patti), who have a casita on the beach in La Salina Del Mar. A minor mishap as their gate closed on our rig, but soon we had our parking spot in front of their place. Looks like cosmetic blemishes that will rub out.

Today Chuck and I played golf at Bajamar, a wonderful golf course 3 miles down the road. Some exceptionally beautiful holes along the ocean. Janice and Patti went pottery shopping up the coast. Looking forward to dinner out tonight. Beautiful day, low to mid-70s and sunny.


Word from Las Vegas is that Carly has had a touch of la turista. Reports developing, but she may have worn out her welcome at Julie's. Pooping on the carpet will do that.

April 14-15, 2007
Ensenada, BajaMex (map)
(Almost) The End of the Road

We pulled into Ensenada about 4 pm yesterday after a fairly grueling 9-hour ride, being passed by 83 semi-trucks, according to the count of a fellow traveler. The road widened a bit along the way, so the ‘thrill factor’ abated somewhat. Lots of dicey mountain roads, with some of my

favorite edge-of-the-cliff driving, which churned my innards. Seems as though the whole driving experience on the trip was to prepare us for the length and difficulty of this drive. So glad the worst is over.

The Estero Beach RV Park is probably the nicest we have stayed in on the journey. Near waters edge it is clean with growing grass!

Today’s morning activity was a round of golf at the Baja Country Club, very reasonably priced at $35 with a discount coupon from the RV Park. The course was surprisingly nice. For all the billboards that have been put up promoting the place, their internet presence is pretty meager. Light rain began to fall by the 18th hole and sporadic showers continued throughout the day, culminating in a major downpour just as we finished our final dinner together. It drummed on the roof of the rig, providing a nice reminder of past rainstorms on the road.

Ensenada is a classic border town, with a mix of Mexican and US enterprises. Since cruise ships stop here, there is a thriving tourist zone. Fairly modern, it still has its share of shacks and one-person storefronts. Couldn’t help but feel sorry for the less fortunate tonight as the rains fell. Roofing is not a sure thing with some of the ramshackle dwellings we have viewed.

My last visit to Ensenada was about 40 years ago when several of us college fellows decided in Davis, on the spur of the moment one warm summer night, to drive nearly 1000 miles starting about 1 a.m. We simply wanted to escape the valley heat for the cooling of the Mexican surf. (If you believe that, I would like to sell you a desert oasis near Catavina.) The Bahia Hotel on the strip is still standing, no doubt with historic instructions posted somewhere not to allow those gringos from Davis on the premises again. Such was the foolishness of youth for the 8 of us who made the journey.

Visited Costco en Ensenada for provisions, and I savored a Costco hot dog, all 180 pesos worth. Good American chow!

Tonight’s dinner was a poignant gathering. We had, as a group, endured 38 days together, many fun, some (driving-wise) very tough. We survived with but a few scratches to our rigs, and only a few minor health issues. It was an adventure that none of us will ever forget.

It has been 35+ days since we have viewed television. No talk radio. No newspapers for the same period. And not a single cell phone call the entire time.

We have enjoyed this moving snapshot of the Mexican countryside, some of its cities, lesser burgs, the vast and vacant countryside, and a brief taste of its culture.

To those who may think some of my commentary along the way has been shaded towards the negative (I prefer to call it "wry"), realize that I write this blog to provide a semi-informed chuckle to the reader (and to me, 2 years hence, when my memory has been cluttered with subsequent events and places. At that point, I will not care whether the piñata on a given occasion was a donkey or a cow.)
. . . . .

After a few days reflection, when I am seated in front of my computer at home with a nice cup of coffee flavored with hazelnut coffeemate------ I will put down some final thoughts on the 38-Day Copper Canyon Journey. In the meantime, we will be heading north, first for a visit with friends at their casita north of Ensenada, and then to Calico for a reunion with Carly, dutifully to be delivered by daughter Julie, whose dog-sitting over the past 6 weeks has allowed us to make this journey in a somewhat less complicated fashion. The caravan will leave without us, heading to a border crossing at Tecate before officially disbanding. Vaya con Dios, muy amigos....

April 13, 2007
Catavina, BajaMex (Map) (map 2)

In the Middle of Nowhere

Catavina is in the sticks, or more properly in Baja, ‘in the cactus.’ The drive here was uneventful, except for about 30+ big rigs that passed us, mostly on-coming. (click here for feature video)

During the lunch break I measured the pavement in front of our rest area. It was 7 feet wide in one direction, and 9 feet in the other direction. (I suspect that in most areas it is 8 feet and 8 feet.) Considering that our rig is over 8 feet wide (without the mirrors—and 10.5 feet with the mirrors), it is understandable why I pucker when encountering a big rig that is 8+ feet wide.

In Catavina, our ‘park’ is a large vacant lot with a couple of trees scattered about. The town, which has about 3 structures, features a very nice hotel, complete with dining room (or as it is written there, a ‘dinning’ room), bar, swimming pool and nicely manicured grounds. More importantly, it appeared to be the first building I have seen in Mexico where everything is finished and nothing is visibly broken. It is one of 'the stops' for whale watchers en route to the coast. However, the hotel is simply a matter of casual interest, as we will be dining in the middle of our vacant lot, with our fellow travelers emptying their refrigerators of the verboten items that would otherwise be snared at the border. Should be some interesting cuisine.

Upon arrival, we took a side trip to see cactus growing. (Yesterday we watched salt ponds evaporate…today it was the cactus growing. I think things may be slowing down.)
One fine specimen, the "Methuselah Cactus," is reputedly over 300 years old. If Mexico could figure out something to do with its non-tequila cactus and its stray dogs, its economy would be booming (more than it is).

Speaking of stray dogs, one can only marvel at the number of flea-ridden, lethargic pooches walking around or simply lying down, siesta-like. The females typically are staggering around, their teats hanging low, grateful for a few minutes away from ‘the kids.’ And based on the waiting line spotted in Guerrero Negro for una fido en caliente, monogamy is not a trait of the Mexican pooches. Mexico is a mutt factory, pure and simple. Remarkably, all appear to be quite docile. They must do their fighting at night, as evidenced by chewed ears and bite marks.

Tomorrow, one of the longest drives of the trip, about 250 miles, with the last stretch reputed to be one that will ‘wake you up.’ California, keep the night light burning. We are on the way!

April 12, 2007
Another day in Guerrero Negro, BajaMex
Salt, salt and more salt


Today’s tour activity was a tour of the 4th largest salt evaporation ponds in the world. While it doesn’t seem exciting to watch salt form, the process is indeed interesting. Covering 80,000 acres, the complex was established in 1955, as was the town. (The name, Guerrero Negro, means 'black warrior', but was the name of a whaling ship that chased a large whale into the lagoon, harpooned it, took it aboard, and promptly beached on a sand bar. Too much blubber.)

The truck-trailers hauling the salt carry 360 tons (120 tons per hopper) per load, and discharge the load in just under one minute. This is ‘sea salt’, bereft of iodine and intended primarily for use in the chemical industry....not for margaritas.







A group dinner in the evening with (apparently) alcohol-free margaritas. Made from orange juice instead of margarita mix, the restaurant made a tidy profit at the bar tonight. These were voted the worst margaritas of the trip. The fish was represented as 'sea bass', but I believe that this is a loose Mexican translation for the dreaded Tilapia. They fooled me again.

On the road to Catavina in the morning as we head for the final days of the trip. Will not be returning to Guerrero Negro, even if Moby Dick is spotted in the lagoon.

April 11, 2007
Guerrero Negro, BajaMex (map)

Cuesta del Infierno

(the Road to Hell)

The day started well—after changing shoes. Since the great Mulege flood, the ground in the RV park is loaded with salts that rise to the surface at night, creating a reddish paste that sticks and stains. My sandals may be doomed.

After driving for about an hour, the last part of it along the Sea of Cortez, we stopped at Santa Rosalia, a very nice town that features a church designed by Mr. Eiffel, creator of the Eiffel tower. The plan was to mass-produce these for French missionaries, but this may be the only one now in existence. We also walked the town and visited the panaderia (bakery), a town fixture since 1901, to purchase some bread and buns. The town was spotless—no trash in the streets, and they even had handicapped cuts in their sidewalks, the first such concession to the handicapped pedestrians we have seen in Mexico. Lord knows that enough people get crippled stumbling on sidewalks which feature breathtaking drops of a foot or more to the street, and also provide surprises such as gaping holes with no signs, etc. An orthopedist’s dream, if anybody had any dinero for treatment.

Following coffee and pastries in the town square, we hopped in our rig and the caravan headed northwest, saying adios to the Sea of Cortez. The road to hell, known as Cuesta del Infierno,was about to begin. First we headed uphill, or rather up-mountain, (video) snaking around heart-stopping curves, passing numerous shrines along the road where asphalt caballeros met their fate. One little shrine on a cliff-side turn featured a hazardous materials placard on it, pointing to the ominous fate of the gas truck and trailer spotted at the bottom of the chasm. R.I.P. Pedro. The challenge was heightened by my wounded right-side mirror, which had been whapped by a road sign last week while I was avoiding sure disaster with an on-coming semi.

By the grace of God, no semi-trucks were coming downhill, or we would have likely joined Pedro in his final repose. The road was narrow, and the centerline drifted arbitrarily back and forth across the center of the road like a drunken snake. Guardrails, when present, were right on the edge of the lane, promising a certain shellacking to the unwary who might venture to the side. My long-standing fear of driving on roads built onto the edge of a cliff kicked in halfway up, and I fought the sickening spasms that throbbed at the pit of my stomach (and lower!!). We followed a tanker truck uphill and it crawled in slow motion around the curves as the CB clattered with reports of overheating rigs behind us.

Finally, we reached to crest, only to begin a joyride of semi-truck roulette for the next 80 miles or so. As reports of an on-coming semi-truck would come over the CB, we would slow to a near stop, hugging the right edge of the road, but trying not to fall off, since construction contracts for building Mexican roads seemingly prohibit the installation of a shoulder. The semis would rumble down the road, hugging the center line. The terror was increased by reports such as “he’s coming fast” or “he’s over the line.” In the end we would just sit there like ducks in a shooting gallery, waiting for Senor Peterbilt to explode the driver’s side mirror as he passed, the whoosh of air and the roar of the motor and tires rising to a crescendo at the moment of truth. We survived about 25 potential “bulletos to paradise” on this leg, not to mention a few semis that overtook us from the rear, with their procession up the caravan ominously passed rig to rig by CB. Only the theme song from Jaws was missing as these behemoths ran us down, tracking us like prey, and lumbering past us into oblivion.

Not to discourage anybody who might want to take this trip, but I will never drive a motorhome on this thrill ride highway again. The excitement is best summed up by a statement heard over the CB: “After that stretch, I have a pair of shorts that are ready for the laundry.”

A brief interlude during the ride from hell was a military inspection stop. The gent who inspected our rig asked us if we had batterias. We proudly showed him our battery bin. It became obvious at that moment that Senor Inspector needed 4 batteries, so we provided him a new 4-pack of Kirkland AA’s, which he slipped into this breast pocket, saying, “Gracias.” At least he thanked us for this shakedown before he exited our rig en route to the next turista.

We are now in the Malarrimo RV Park in beautiful downtown Guerrero Negro. It is on the Pacific Coast, so the temperature has dropped considerably compared to the ‘east-side’ of Baja. I hereby designate this town as the sister city of Rio Linda. For unknown reasons we will spend 2 nights here. (It is possible that some cardiac patients may require 2 days to recalibrate their pacemakers after today’s ‘cruise’ across the Baja.) One reason to stay here is to visit the whales which R&R in a nearby lagoon. Unfortunately, the whales have moved on, except for a few sluggos, leaving little to redeem this town of crinkled pavement and a one-street business district featuring boarded-up "whale watching" kiosks. In the meantime, the local lavanderia (laundry) is featuring a 'shorts especiale' for the gringos surviving the ride from hell.

We can ‘smell the barn’ and look forward to appropriately kissing the pavement as we cross into the US next week.

. . . . .

And, of course, what would April 11 be without mention of Happy Birthday to daughter, Julie, erstwhile keeper of Carly.

So............ Happy Birthday, Julie!!!!

April 10, 2007
Mulege, BajaMex (map)

Bonus Blog! Movin' up the Road

Moved 12 miles north to Villa Maria Isabel RV Park in Mulege, getting 1140 pesos worth of gas just outside of town. We are good to go!
A quick local tour upon arrival, visiting the former party pad of John Wayne that has been falling into ruin for the past 20+ years. It commands a breathtaking view of the Sea of Cortez and upriver to Mulege. Most of the palms towards Mulege have had their tops blown off, so they stick up like giant cigars.

The view from John Wayne's barstool

Adjacent to Casa Wayne is a motel-like structure that no doubt housed his guests. There is room for a helicopter pad out front and a small airstrip is across the river. Local lore says that Wayne used to cruise the waters in a converted minesweeper. You can almost hear the voices on the property of Hollywood's glamour group frolicking through the day and night. What goes on in Mulege stays in Mulege.

It is a shame that it has fallen into disrepair, like so much in Mexico. It is now owned by Indians who are doing nothing with it. If an entrepreneur could loosen this from the grips of the Indians and sink about $2 million into it, this would be the ultimate yuppie Baja destination. Any takers??

Dinner tonight in town.

April 10, 2007

Playa Santispec (quattro)

Beach Living Continues


Yesterday was a day of exploration. Beginning with a drive up a cobbled road to the top of a mini-mountain where a microwave tower overlooked the bahia, we enjoyed the view.



The road was about ¾ mile long and every rock had been hand laid, I suspect by persons in custody doing a little hard time. Good craftsmanship, nonetheless.

Next was Mulege, a town devastated by rains following last fall’s hurricane. After the hurricane fizzled, the storm hung over the mountains, dumping 20 inches of rain in 20 hours, causing major flooding from the river that bisects the town. Many of the roads are still a mess. Other than that, it was an interesting town, with very narrow streets, a town square and the usual souvenir shops.
















We lunched at El Patron, at the end of a long, dusty, rutty road, nestled on the shoreline. Fish soup at 100 pesos apiece was scrumptious—the best lunch of the trip. A fine gravel floor and a bottle of Corona added to the ambiance as we looked out on the bahia.

Next, a short drive and then a climb to the lighthouse, where we were able to look ‘upriver’ viewing the path of the river that ravaged Mulege.



About 8 of the rigs remain on the beach—the others have departed for the RV park in Mulege. We will likely join them because we have a group dinner scheduled in Mulege tonight, plus the fact that we need to top off the gas tank, and we don’t want to hassle that in the a.m. So, we will be beach bums until about 2, then push a few buttons and be on the road.

Some observations on our beach experience at Santispec:

The hordes of Mexican families who were here when we arrived were an extremely well-behaved bunch of people. Had such a number of norteamericans gathered on a beach during a warm, holiday weekend, it would be a series of drunken brawls, blasting boomboxes and foul-mouthed teens. The Mexicans conducted themselves impeccably, went to bed by 10, and the kids were respectful of their parents, evidence of the strong family structure still present in the culture. We respected the fact that this was their beach and their holiday and tried not to crowd them or intrude. There were certain sanitary issues which I have already commented on, and the ATV road races, but other than that, these were good neighbors while they were here.

In general, we have found the Mexicans to be warm and friendly, and at no time have we felt any threat to safety of person or property, whether walking city streets late at night, or driving dusty country roads during the day. Always good to count your change, though.

April 8, 2007
Playa Santispec, part three (map)

On the Waterfront

A great start to Easter Sunday as the group held its own Easter service between a couple of rigs—attended and enjoyed by most of the group. This is an Easter service that we will long remember. Following ‘church’ we had breakfast together, featuring omelets in a bag. Delicious!

Most of the Mexicans vacated the beachfront spots late in the morning, so we moved the rig next to the bahia (bay). ATV road races continued, with machines driven by 8 year-olds and loaded with smaller kids zooming by at breakneck speeds. You just had to shake your head and gasp.

A mysterious aroma hits us when the sea breeze blows—possibly wafting over damp spots left in the sand by the prior tenants. On the same topic, we took a stroll on a trail into the nearby brush. Dotting the landscape were hundreds of pieces and piles of toilet paper left there by nocturnal visitors. Flowering ‘Charmin’ plants?? (End of description)

Saturday night we wandered down the beach to Restaurant Ana, a local cantina that is usually open only on Saturday nights—primarily for the norteamericanos living in the area—and there are many of them

Now that many of us have moved from the parking lot to the pavement, our Wagonmaster has allowed us, at our option, to either stay here or move to Mulege, some 15 miles up the road. We have heard that the park there is pretty rudimentary, so we will stay here, and hope for an off-shore breeze. Maybe a little sight-seeing on Monday.

Sunday night featured a weenie roast on the beach followed by some feeble karaoke. We need some practice on that before trying it again.

A minor concern is the likelihood of a gas shortage following this holiday weekend. It may be a day or two before the station in Mulege gets replenished (by one of those tankers zooming down the road!) The next drive to Guerrero Negro on the Pacific coast is over 200 miles, with a 200 miler following that, so it is advisable to have a full tank for these gas-guzzlers.

For those of you wondering about Carly, she escaped the Las Vegas heat (90 degrees) by a hike on Mt. Charleston—a cool 65 degrees, plus snow cones!! Does she even remember us? Seems to be thriving at Casita de Julie.

April 7, 2007

Playa Santispec, part deux

Del Playa Parking Lot

Last evening’s burger bash was supplemented by a double batch of Margaritas, which served to lift morale a bit. It was an excellent dinner, especially for those of us who have been recently drooling as we passed Burger King or McDonalds on the Mexican byways.

As the sun set on our parking lot playa, a single presto log on a double layer of aluminum foil on the parking lot became our beach bonfire, though we were a good 50 yards from the water. We found that though we could remember tunes to sing, our repertoire was typically limited to the first verse and possibly the chorus. At that point we simply hummed the rest. There was little, if any, Mexican music from the gathered hordes. A very well behaved group of folks at the beach, except for the gringos in the motorhomes. Tonight’s entertainment may include a karaoke machine. Ay, chihuahua!

With the rising sun this morning came hopes of moving closer to the water, as it seemed as though many of our Mexican neighbors occupying desirable beachfront property were leaving. The great exodus failed to materialize, so we are simply staying put. Many of our group have taken a day trip into Mulege, seeking escape from the parking lot. Mulege will come soon enough for us—on Monday. It's time to catch up on reading.

A small correction is due to our Mexican neighbors. Today we spotted a couple of rickety outhouses on our morning stroll, so it is evident that a few of the several hundred folks along the shoreline are not contributing to the skyrocketing coliform count offshore. Mui complimentos. One Mexican gent was spotted walking to a primitive “one-holer” with a shiny white toilet seat—including the lid, wrapped in plastic, tucked under his arm. Now there’s a gent who takes his camping serious. Don’t forget to put that lid down when you are done, Senor.

The ATV road races continue through the parking lot. An occasional breeze provides relief as the thermometer edges above 90.

We are a resilient, positive group now resigned to our current surroundings. But we are not happy about Del Playa Parking Lot. Like the Mexican ice cream man at the beach in Cabo pulling his heavy load through the deep sand, our smiles serve to conceal the grimaces underneath.

April 6, 2007


Playa Santispec, Bahia Conception,
BajaMex (map)




La Playa del Sucko (the beach that sucks)

After a couple hours of winding, semi-mountainous driving along the Cortez Sea coast, we have arrived ‘at the beach’ at Playa Santispec. This was the second-choice beach spot for today, numero uno having been snared long-ago by Mexicans on holiday, which began yesterday. Our group has been grumbling a bit about how the trip’s purveyor (Fantasy RV Tours) could have (apparently) overlooked the occasion of the Easter weekend holiday in Mexico and failed to have secured some decent accommodations.














Our beach camping consists of a few square feet for our rigs in a packed sand parking lot behind at least two rows of tents and cars that permit only a glimpse of the water, which is at least 50 yards distant. Walking access to the water requires walking through somebody’s campsite along water’s edge, which is now strewn with styrofoam cups used as sand molds for beachside mini-casas. The water appears to be waist deep out at least 100 yards, as folks wade out, allegedly to cool off.

The fact that there are several hundred campers here and no outhouses leads me to suspect that these erstwhile frolickers in the water may also be engaged in individual acts of water pollution. As darkness falls, the brown trout will likely begin their migration. I will not be snorkeling in this water.

It is near 100 degrees and any cooling sea breezes are taking a siesta. Generators from our fellow campers hum in the background, to run air-conditioners and fans, spewing gas fumes for the rest of us to inhale. A kid on an ATV zooms by at 40+ mph, doing a cool swivel-slide for a young senorita standing nearby with her family, and now is circling the lot with 3 other compadres aboard as if preparing for the Indy 500. A truck passing by kicks in his jake-brake, creating the unmistakable sound of mechanical highway flatulence.

Tonight’s activities include margaritas (a double…and hold the mix, please) and a hamburger cookout, which will have the festive ambiance of a tail-gate party in a Walmart parking lot. We are a hardy crew, but this just ain’t camping on the beach. It is unlikely that the group will willingly put up with three nights at this La Playa del Sucko. Some are packing to move up the road to Mulege in the a.m. We may join them.

Today’s drive found me (as driver) faced with the option of losing my driver’s side mirror to a passing semi-truck/trailer or cheating to the right side of the road and taking on the ‘narrow road’ sign. I opted for the latter and our right side mirror is now swathed in duct tape to hold the few remaining shards of mirror glass in place. Could have been worse, much worse, so I’m not complaining.

For those of you who were thinking, “They’re just having too much fun on this trip,” the yin became yang (or vice versa) today.We’ll see what tomorrow brings. For now, a Dos Equis, por favor.