April 5, 2007
Puerto Escondido, BajaMex (map)

Along the narrow road

We got to the Pemex Gas Station at 8 am and loaded on 1250 pesos worth of Magna-87 Octane. Haven’t done the conversions from liters to gallons and pesos to dollars, so I have no idea what the per gallon cost is. I am assured, however, that it is less than the good folks in the US are paying.

By about 9:40, laggards had finally arrived for ‘formation’ and Wagonmaster Larry announced over the CB, “We go now.”


Leaving La Paz, we left behind memories of a family weaving operation, a family pottery mill, a great fish taco lunch (actually abalone and shredded shrimp)—a beautiful seaside town, but one we would not rate as a destination place.
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The hardest working man in Mexico...

I wished I had taken a photograph. We were sitting on the beach half-way between Cabo San Lucas and San Jose del Cabo. Waves broke on the shore, the blue water disintegrating to a frothy mix as it hit the beach. Families gathered. It was a perfect 85 degrees. I was lathered up with SPF 50. The ringing bells caught my attention.

He was pulling an ice cream cart through the sand, its large wheels buried to the axles. This was not hard sand, but a heavy granular mix that grabbed and held. He drug the cart by its handles, ringing the bells cheerfully despite his punishing task. He crossed the beach in front of me several times while we were there. A couple times his young daughters would push the cart as he pulled. This was a family business.

It would be difficult to devise a more difficult physical challenge than dragging this cart through the deep sand. Despite his bell ringing, sales were slow. After one sale, he reached in his rear pocket and pulled out his money to count it, then replaced it. It wasn’t much—and he patted his pocket to reassure himself as he continued his struggle.

Most amazingly was the smile that stayed on his face, barely hiding the grimace behind it. When he got to the ‘easy sand,’ the daughters skipped away and became beach-kids like the others there, but dutifully returned when dad hit the tough sand to give him a push. You could see their pride in their father—the man who pulled the ice cream cart. They knew, as I did, that at that moment he was the hardest working man in Mexico.

I should have taken a picture. I should have bought some ice cream.
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Today’s drive began with an inspection stop manned by the federales. A young man in uniform approached our rig and motioned for admittance. After gazing around, he asked a question in Spanish. We had no idea what he was asking about, but I promptly opened the door to the toilet. He looked in, grunted, and departed, assured that we had not stashed a machine gun or bale of marijuana in there.

The rest of the day it was two lane roads, grabbing the wheel and praying as the big-rigs whizzed by (“Semi coming—and he’s moving fast,” the CB squawked.) Near the end when it became semi-white-knuckle driving, an oncoming white Camaro drifted across the center line. I honked twice and dodged to the right, barely avoiding disaster. The final dodge was a semi approaching uphill on a very curvy road. As he passed, his rear end swung over the line. At this point, our caravan was advised to just stop and let these big guys pass. (video)

We are now at rest in Puerto Escondido, where I have dutifully dumped the black tank. Let’s just say it was an extra passenger today. El stinko! This is simply an overnight stop. Took a ride into Loreto----a town caught between the past and the hopes of future speculators. Dirty, dusty.

Tomorrow we will return to beachfront camping at Bahia Conception, called the ‘Aquarium of the Sea of Cortez.’