December 28, 2003 –

I didn’t get to go on the usual first part of December quad trip with the guys this year. Everyone was off doing their own thing, and I just was too busy with work.

For many years now, I’ve been writing about the desire to do a quad trip the length of the peninsula, but the difficult logistics of such a trip have been too great to overcome. This year, I’ve finally gotten my project vehicle, a 1970 Jeep CJ-5, in condition to where I’m confident it will take me the length of the Baja (and more importantly, bring me home). With the carrying capacity of the Jeep, I won’t be dependent on a chase vehicle. With extra gas cans, I’ll have a range of over 400 miles, permitting me to explore some of the more remote regions I’ve only dreamt about.

January 3, 2004 –

Spent the day prepping the Jeep. Changed all the fluids & belts; replaced the spark plugs & fuel filters; serviced the air filter, inspected and torqued all the undercarriage fasteners. If I have any mechanical breakdowns on the trip, they won’t have been caused by neglect.

January 5, 2004 –

The start date is now set in concrete (I hope) – will be leaving this Saturday morning, the 10^th. My buddy Rudy Vargas has agreed to go along for the first couple of nights. I’ll pick him up in La Paz on the way north, and will probably drop him off in Loreto, where he can catch a bus home.

I’ve started the logistics planning, first checking that all the camping gear is in good order. The big problem is storage space. Earlier this year I had a roof rack custom built, and I had thought this addition would provide plenty of room – Ha! Not even close, as the extra fuel, water & food quickly chewed up all the extra space. I consider myself a master at space utilization, we’ll see if anything needs to be sacrificed when the actual packing takes place on Friday.

January 8^th –

It’s a good thing I’m not a believer in bad omens. This afternoon I snapped the antenna off on my cell phone, right after punching in $100 worth of prepaid airtime. Then Rudy called and cancelled. This is reminiscent of my 1991 trip, when everyone dropped out at the last minute (of course I wound up doing that trip also solo, had a great time, which resulted in the first of the Baja stories to become known as the Fun Chronicles).

Traveling solo like I do requires some special planning. Communications is a priority. Onboard is VHF and 2-meter radio, plus the essential Iridium satellite phone (with data capability). The ability to call for help if I have any major problems gives me the security necessary to venture alone through these isolated locales. This year’s equipment additions include a small generator, which will permit me to keep the computer and other electronics charged up, allowing me to update my digital maps and this narrative as I go, instead of having to do all the writing upon my return home.

January 9^th –

One of the items I usually take along on these trips is a letter from the Secretary of Tourism, requesting that local authorities provide any assistance I might request. In all the years of traveling through the Baja, I’ve never encountered anything but genuine friendliness and courtesy from the people in the isolated villages, but carrying a document showing I have some political clout provides an extra layer of mental comfort.

Things are looking up. The dreaded north wind, common this time of year, has abated, and good weather seems to be on the menu. Got my cell phone fixed, and by late evening most all the gear found a spot in the Jeep. Praying I haven’t forgotten anything I’ll regret later, there’s nothing left to do but wait for morning to hit the road.

All the preparations seem to be paying off, as everything goes smoothly, and with a last scratch behind Ranger’s neck (my 30-yr old Amazon parrot), I’m out the door at 7:30.

First stop is the Bakery in Los Barriles for coffee, and then it's off to La Paz to stop at Rudy's place. Even though he cancelled, he was gracious enough to set me up with the hard-boiled eggs and tortillas I had asked him for - thanks Rudy.

These extra stops have cost me a couple of precious hours. Instead of turning off at Las Pocitas and heading towards Timbibiche off-road, I decide to take the highway to Constitucion to make up the lost time. Just past Las Pocitas, I come up over a rise, and the most perfect dust devil, symmetrical and going hundreds of feet into the sky, appears on the side of the road. I grab my camera, and just as I'm getting ready to immortalize the swirling dust for posterity - poof, it vanishes in front of my eyes. This was truly an example of the adage - "You had to be there!"

Getting to Constitucion, I take the first turn to the right, which leads to Federal Well #5, the jumping off spot for Timbibiche. Stopping a farmer to ask the way, he indicates the trip out to the gulf will take about 5-6 hours. There's no way I'll even attempt such a sojourn today. Turning around, the only fate worse that not trying is to have to spend the night in Constitucion. Rationalizing that I can always try to make it to Timbibiche on the homeward side of the trip, I decide to push on through to Loreto for the night.

Heading east after passing Insurgentes, the Jeep is running hot. Pulling over at the abandoned Pemex station at Federal Well #1, I pop the hood and check for leaks, but everything's perfect. Hoping the problem is the engine's response to having to haul the fully loaded Jeep over the mountains, I continue on, keeping a close watch on the temperature gauge. Dropping down the other side towards Loreto, the temp immediately drops to normal, and the Jeep seems to have perked up some. Passing Puerto Escondido, all the arroyos are at least double the width that I remember from last year. This year's Hurricanes Ignacio and Marty sure left their mark here, washing down countless huge boulders from the mountains.

Pulling into Loreto, its first things first, with fuel for a thirsty Jeep the primary objective. Checking into the Hotel Salvatierra, where we stayed last year, a lengthy shower later, it's a steak dinner at El Nido, followed by watching the football playoffs on TV.

Today’s statistics – 330 miles (all on pavement).

Slept like a baby, waking at 6, instead of my usual 4:30. One of my many vices is the need for copious quantities of coffee in the morning. From past experience, I know nothing happens early here, so I've come prepared and plug in my electric percolator in the bathroom outlet, and am soon rewarded with the unmistakable aroma of fresh java.

Checking the rig, the radiator is full, relieving my fears. Loading up, it's off to Macaw's on the malecon for breakfast. With both the Jeep and myself full, I’m onward to search for San Basilio.

One of the Bad Boys, Cliff, found this place a while back, and swore it was well worth the jaunt to get there. The only road my map shows near the spot is around Km 48, headed towards Bahia San Juanico. Driving up the highway, it's amazing how green everything is this year.

Getting close to the 48-km mark, I'm looking for a turnoff, but the only exit that remotely resembles a trail looks like it hasn't been used forever. Continuing on, looking for a better-marked road, I finally give up after a few more miles and turn around, heading back to the one trail I found. Checking the GPS, this must be the road to the beach. The moment I leave the pavement, a most terrible rattle emanates from under the Jeep. One of the newly installed muffler supports has broken. Relieved that the problem isn't terminal, I decide to make the trek back to Loreto to get it fixed before going any further.

Arriving back at Loreto, I'm lucky to find a welding shop on the edge of town open on a Sunday. Determining the problem to be a missing bolt, we pop in a new one. I then have him weld all the nuts on the support brackets to keep this from happening again. Topping off with gas, I start again, with the total cost of this misadventure two hours, $20 for welding, $20 for gas, all for a 1-cent nut falling off - I guess it could be worse. In fact, I'll consider myself fortunate if this is the extent of the breakdowns.

Getting back to the turnoff at km 48. I drop the tire pressure and venture into the great unknown. The trail soon drops into a sandy arroyo, where it's evident there's been recent traffic. Continuing on, the devastation last fall's hurricanes brought to the area is obvious, as all the bushes to a height of about ten feet are bent sideways from the rushing torrent of runoff that passed this way. Passing a split-rock formation, I reach a fork in the road, and take the more traveled route. About 30 minutes later I pop out on the beach at Bahia San Juanico. This would ordinarily be a nice spot, but a strong onshore wind today has ruined this as a camp spot. Exploring the area, there's a fish camp on the south end of the bay, accounting for all the recent tire marks. Backtracking to the fork in the road, I'm going to see where this path leads to. The road soon goes through a silt bed, and I'm enveloped with a cloud of dust so thick, I can barely see the road ahead. Fortunately, this only lasts for about a 1/4 mile, but then I have to climb a rough trail cut into the side of a mountain, requiring low gear. I can't imagine any silly gringos willing to risk their lives and vehicles, just to get to a seldom used beach.

A couple of miles further on, I intersect a newer, better graded road leading down towards the beach. I'll want to check out where this road comes in from when I leave tomorrow. Again, the storms have left their marks on the roads, as I navigate around deep ruts left from the runoffs. About a ½ mile from the beach, I come across a weather-beaten sign, declaring this as a tourist area – I don’t think so!

Arriving at the beach at Bahia San Basilio, it’s a beautiful shallow bay, with numerous islets rising out of the blue waters. Unfortunately, the strong east wind makes this spot also unsuitable for camping today. Turning around, I contemplate running up to the inside of Bahia Concepcion for a camp spot sheltered from the wind, when out of the corner of my eye I spot another trail leading around the headland. Investigating further, my curiosity is rewarded as I discover a magnificent crescent-shaped bay sheltered from the wind – for sure this is my spot for the night. Continuing on, in case there’s even a better spot, I come across a bluff with several unoccupied homes and a locked gate, which explains the newer road I came in on.

Returning to the deserted crescent bay, I stop on the beach and set up camp. Consulting my maps, this place is called Ensenada Puerto Almeja, and is well worth all the hassle it took to get here. Enjoying the solitude, I break out the fishing gear to see what might be lurking under the surface, but no takers. Just before sunset, my serenity is disrupted as a Jeep Cherokee pulls up and takes a spot at the end of the bay. As they drove by, it’s evident by the looks on their faces they never expected to find a lone gringo camped here. About an hour later, they move over to my side of the bay, and we strike up a conversation. The two young Mexicans from Loreto come to this spot often for night fishing, taking lobster, conch and fish from the shallow waters by hand, using a flashlight. While one enters the water, the other stays by the camp, and we chat for the next hour. I ask about the new road, and he says it intersects the highway around km 40, but has been washed out. The only way in and out is the road I stumbled in on. Asking about the fishing in the bay, he says there’s pargo and cabrilla near the rocks at the ends of the bay. Hiking to the rocky point, on my third cast a monstrous 6-inch cabrilla gobbles up my plastic scampi, and I send him back, asking to meet his big brother. However, nothing other than more junior-sized cabrilla take the bait.

Turning in, I review the trip so far. In the first two days I’ve already broken down once, having traveled only 20 miles off-road (119 miles today, 449 total) – welcome to the Baja.

Slept until almost 7 – rare for me. Firing up the generator, soon it’s fresh-brewed coffee, along with sausage and eggs. Breaking camp goes quicker than I expected, and by 9 I’m on the road. Today’s scheduled run is to take the El Rosarito – La Purisima road, then continue to Scorpion Bay, on the headlands at the Pacific-side San Juanico.

Retracing my steps to the highway, it’s a 7-mile run up the pavement to the intersection with the road to La Purisima. The first few miles are remarkable solely for the washboard, then gets rougher as the climb into the Sierra la Giganta mountain range begins. Again, every arroyo crossing bears the marks of last fall’s storms, with detours around most every damaged crossing. About 10 miles into the mountains, I’m stopped by a broken trailer blocking the road. The Mexicans are standing around, scratching their heads on what to do, and I ask if I can help with anything. Responding no, they have everything under control, I decide to negotiate a 100-yard detour through a boulder field, instead to waiting for what could be hours for them to clear the road. Locking in the 4WD, the Jeep easily lives up to its reputation as it climbs effortlessly through the rocks. Near the top of the grade, I need to drop the tranny into low range to get through a number of rough spots. Crossing the top, there’s still lots of ponds from the storms. An incredible amount of water must have fallen throughout the peninsula.

Dropping over the Pacific side I’m soon rewarded with a magnificent vista to the La Purisima valley below. Compression-braking down a steep grade to the valley floor, I soon pass through San Isidro. This village seems like a ghost town, as I don’t see a single person, and it looks like all the businesses are closed. Soon the pavement begins, and it’s a quick trip to La Purisima, 4 miles away. There I’m able to purchase gas (from barrels), and to replenish my ice supply. Continuing on to the turnoff to San Juanico, I stop there for a quick lunch of cheese and a soda.

The 26-mile run to San Juanico has always been known for the rough washboard, which tears the bottom out of the sturdiest vehicles. It’s either 5mph or 60mph, with anything in between beyond the design limits of most vehicles. Not being in any particular hurry, I opt for the slower speed, which combined with the low tire pressure, provides a comfortable ride along the coast.

Arriving at the small fishing village at about 4pm, it’s off to the American-owned campo known as Scorpion Bay, located at the tip of the headlands. Equipped with a restaurant, bar, hot showers and enclosed palapas with cots, we’ve stayed here many times. Unfortunately there’s no hot water as the boiler had recently exploded, so I brace myself for a cold shower with several cold Pacificos from the bar.

A cold shower and minus 2 pounds of Baja dirt later, I’m ready for one of their famous giant burritos, washed down with several more Pacificos. After swapping Baja stories with the other guests, it’s off to the palapas, where the beers have had their effect, and my switch goes to off.

Today’s statistics – 90 miles, 539 total.

The night was punctuated with the sounds of crashing surf, and I expected more than a 2-foot shore break when I got up at 6:30. The day starts off gloomy, with a high overcast. Hoping this isn’t a portend of bad weather ahead, it’s fresh coffee with the aid of the generator, and I’m on the road. Stopping in the village for more ice and water, there’s a small café serving breakfast. Making a note of this for future trips, it’s on to the edge of town where a large billboard is the host to the stickers of every racing team to pass through these parts. Noting with satisfaction that my Sr. Divertido sticker remains visible after several years, I head on out to today’s scheduled destination, San Ignacio, through Laguna San Ignacio.

The washboard is terrible – I really hope it flattens out before long; it’s over 100 miles to San Ignacio. Passing through the village of Cadeje, all the children at the school rush to the windows to look at the crazy gringo passing through. Waving at the kids, it’s on to the fishing camp called El Datil, where I know the road will be smoother.

There’s a military stop at the rancho called La Ballena. They take a lot of interest in my VHF radio, until I explain it’s necessary for my work at Rancho Leonero. The capitano comes over, admiring the Jeep, and we strike up a conversation about my mapping hobby. Almost as an after thought, I ask about the broken trail my maps show going from here across the mountains to Mulege, on the gulf side. I’ve always wanted to try this road, but the poor condition the maps say have always discouraged me from the attempt. However, the capitano says the road is in relatively good condition, causing me to make an immediate course correction, and it’s a right turn back into the mountains for the run east to the Gulf.

Meandering through a series of valleys, the road is better than the trip yesterday, even better than my daily commute to work. Passing numerous little ranchos, about 20 miles in I spot a newly cut road going north over a mountain. This could be a new road going towards San Ignacio, or just an access to another remote rancho. It remains for another trip to determine which. Passing through a narrow ravine, my path is blocked by a small herd of cows. Feeling a little bit like Rowdy Yates (Clint Eastwood’s character in the TV show Rawhide), I start to whop and holler, creating a stampede down the trail, pushing the herd in front of me for about a ½ mile, before the road ahead flattened out and the cows could leave the road. Picking my way through all the cow droppings, I continue on for what seems forever. My maps show the road improving at San Miguel, and I’m expecting to find a small village there. Passing a couple of farm houses I think are on the edge of town, it’s not until a couple of miles later that I realize that was San Miguel.

Passing the intersection to Guadalupe, the road soon starts its decline down the east face of the mountains, and in a short time a spectacular drop through a canyon with sheer rock walls towering a least a thousand feet above me requires compression-braking in low range to keep from going out of control. At certain spots, the road bed is concreted in place with rocks sticking through, in order to provide enough traction to keep from slipping into the abyss below. It’s funny; the first 80km that the maps showed were nothing more than a billy-goat trail were almost like a highway, while the last 40km which the maps showed were improved roads were so treacherous, I wouldn’t consider anything less that a high clearance 4WD to attempt. It illustrates the point that Mother Nature has a sense of humor, and likes to keep us mere mortals on our toes.

Finally dropping to the canyon floor, I make my way to Mulege. Gassing up at the Pemex station south of town, I debate my next move; stay here for the night or press on to San Ignacio on the highway. While bent over airing up the tires, Mother Nature again flexes her muscles, as the cold wetness of the first raindrop splattering on the back of my head seals my fate. Checking in at the nearby Hotel Serinidad, I pull all the bags off the Jeep into the cozy dryness of the room, then luxuriate in the first hot shower I’ve had this trip. I nearly clog the drain with all the dirt that washes off me. Reaching for a towel, I find the skin on my palms and fingers so chapped and sandblasted from gripping the steering wheel, it hurts to touch the rough surface of a commercial grade towel.

The quiet is shattered by the deep rumble of a dozen Harleys pulling in. It’s a group of riders making their annual trek on motorcycles down to Cabo. Later in the bar, while having dinner, the Harley boys put on a great show, demonstrating their ability to abuse their livers. Heading on back to the room, I make a mental prayer for the drizzle to stop, so I can continue my sojourn tomorrow.

With not much else to do, it’s time for a movie on DVD, and lights out. Today’s numbers: 86 miles, 625 total.

About 2am, my restful slumber is rudely interrupted by the clatter of raindrops on the roof. Happy that I’m in a cozy hotel room instead of my tent on a rainy night, I roll over and sleep until 7. The rain has stopped, but everything is too wet for me to continue today. When life gives you lemons, you better know how to make lemonade, or you’ll be a very unhappy person. While some people would curse the weather gods for ruining their trip, for me this is just an omen instructing me to take a break, to work on this story and my maps.

After machaca for breakfast, and chatting with Don Johnson, the hotel owner, it’s back to the room to work on this story, pausing on the way to watch the Harley boys head on out. Remembering a comment Don said, this is the last of the Wild West, there will be no more once it’s gone, then the Harley boys are the last of the modern-age cowboys, riding into the sunset, perhaps for the last time.

Around noon, the sun makes a brave attempt to thwart the clouds, and things begin to dry out. I make arrangements with Don to have one of the locals come over this afternoon to clean up the Jeep, and have the maids work on my extremely dirty laundry.

Watching the news on the hotel's satellite TV, I'm reminded how little I miss seeing how messed up most of the world is. However, there is a certain degree of comfort, knowing that nothing has changed in the world; there are suicide bombings in Gaza, car bombs in Iraq, and some Enron executives might get some well-deserved jail time.

Later in the day, I used the sat phone to check in with Leonero, and all's ok, apparently it rained all day there yesterday. A quiet dinner at the hotel's restaurant later, it's back to the room for another movie to end the day.

Today's statistics - 0 miles, still 625 total.

Got up at 6, and feel the need to get moving. A shower and packing later, I stick my head out the door about 7, and am rewarded with the best sight I've seen in days - clear skies. It reminds me of the Jimmy Buffett adage - "The weather is here, wish you were beautiful."

I'm only planning to go to San Ignacio today, so there's no hurry. Taking advantage of the leisurely pace, I cruise the town of Mulege, then take my first look at the old Jesuit mission here. In all the years of traveling through the vast remoteness of the Baja, I've never ceased to wonder at the accomplishments of the early settlers, building these monuments with nothing more than primitive hand tools, faith, guts and determination.

Finally heading north on Highway 1, passing the turnoff to Punta Chivato, I notice all the usual signs are gone - maybe they've gone out of business, who knows? When passing through Santa Rosalita, I notice a TelCel phone office. Pulling my cell phone out of the backpack, I'm surprised to see I have signal here. Pulling over, I use the unexpected opportunity to check in with the office, where all is good, allowing me to proceed with a clear conscience.

Arriving at San Ignacio about 11:30, it's too early to stop. Cruising through the town square to grab a couple of photos, I stop for supplies, and the shopkeeper gives me a bunch of good intel on the areas roads. Reviewing my maps, I decide to continue on to Guererro Negro today, which will give me a better jumping off spot for El Arco and San Francisquito tomorrow. Besides, the Malarrimo restaurant there has the best food for 500 miles.

Cruising along, I take advantage of this route to mark a number of waypoints on the GPS, and roll into Guererro Negro about 2:30. Snagging a room at Malarrimo, I'm not disappointed when getting lunch there, where great food is the rule, not the exception.

Spent the evening updating my maps, and watching HBO on TV - I'm really roughing it. I couldn't stay away from the restaurant's fare, and while having a light dinner, an RV tour group gathers out front to discuss their plans for the next couple of days - their rigid schedule makes me think of them as cattle being herded from one corral to the next - no thanks! And they all think of themselves as great adventurers, driving down the highway in a modern-day wagon train of RV's - lots of adventure there.

Looking forward to finally traversing the El Arco - San Francisquito trail tomorrow, I turn in early, wanting to be well rested for tomorrow's new adventures.

Today's statistics - 188 miles, 812 total.

Got up to a heavy marine overcast - I sure hope the weather isn't turning funky again. After a pot of coffee and getting things packed, its machaca time at the motel's restaurant. On the road by 8:45, I can see sunlight on the eastern horizon; maybe I'll have good weather, after all.

Stopping at the turnoff to El Arco to air down the tires, the sun has come out in force, and I hope I'm making the right decision trying this route. For years I've been hearing that the road from El Arco to San Francisquito is one of the worst in Baja. However, I figure that stretch is only about 40-50 miles, so what the heck.

My Jeep is rigged for just about anything the Baja can dish out, but it does not like washboard. And the road to El Arco is nothing but washboard. Dropping into the sand wash next to the road, I make a respectable pace. Keeping an eye on the GPS for crossing the 28th Parallel into the northern state of Baja California, I'm expecting a monument, sign or even a military check, but as I pass into the north, there's nothing there to mark my crossing. Continuing to El Arco, I'm expecting some kind of civilization there, but again, I've come upon a virtual ghost town. As I'm leaving town, I spot one home with activity, so I pull over to check it out. It's a rancher who makes part of his living selling gas to passer-by's. As he's topping off my tanks, I ask him about the deserted village. He tells me nobody but him and another family still inhabits the area, ever since the mining operation petered out back in the 70's. Asking about the road ahead, he tells me it's recently been graded, and is easily traversed all the way to San Francisquito.

And he was right, the road is wide and flat, allowing me to enjoy the gorgeous high desert scenery I'm passing through. The panoramic vista is straight out of an old western movie - I halfway expect the ghost of John Wayne to come out from behind one of the giant cardon cactuses to greet me. Passing through a forest of the strange cirios trees, the trail sweeps by beautiful canyons as it starts the drop towards the gulf. About 10 miles before my destination, there's a military stop at the intersection with the L.A. Bay road. From here on in, it's the return of the dreaded washboard, as I vibrate my way down to Bahia San Francisquito.

Arriving at mid-afternoon, to my surprise I find an airstrip, fishing guides, and a small rustic campo, complete with palapa huts with cots, bathrooms, and even a kitchen. This is much more than expected, I was planning on camping on the beach, but this is much better - I've even been invited for fresh cabrilla for dinner. How can you top that! With a nice long siesta - that's how. Resuming a vertical position just before sunset, I wander over to the kitchen to check on dinner. Noting some dive tanks outside, I inquire about diving, and they have tanks, weights and a compressor (bring your own BC, regulator, mask & fins). There's a large tank for aviation fuel on the hillside, but that's no longer in use.

During the evenings, they fire off a big diesel generator to keep things lit up, and soon we're all gathered around the kitchen table, wolfing down huge filets of fresh cabrilla, home-made beans and hot tortillas. 

After dinner I pull out my maps, and am told of several new roads not depicted, including a new road to connect the L.A. Bay road to the Gonzaga Bay road, made for the Baja 1000 race, so the participants could stay off Highway 1. They also showed where a new road was cut from Vizcaino to north of El Arco, and I make a mental note of this for future reference.

Noting my maps show the road from L.A. Bay to the abandoned mission at San Borja continues back down to Hwy 1 at El Rosarito, I ask about this trail's condition, and am told it's in good condition. I've always wanted to try this section, which means another course correction might be in order.

To wrap up a perfect day, I break out the computer and show a movie, with everyone sitting close by, with their eyes glued to the screen, as if they'd never seen a movie before. Afterwards, I make arrangements for breakfast in the morning, and turn in, with the gently-lapping waves lulling me to sleep.

Today's statistics: 95 miles 907 total.

Slept like the dead in this primitive Mexican cot, which is simply a piece of burlap nailed to a 2x4 frame, and is much more comfortable than it looks. A coyote's lonely cry starts a chain reaction, waking me up shortly before dawn. Sticking my head out, the clear sky and moonlight glistening off the water tells me we're in for another day of great weather.

After breakfast and packing, it's goodbyes all around, and I'm apprehensibly off. They said the road ahead was really bad, especially the last 25 miles, so I hope I'm up to the task. Retracing the way back to the military stop at the intersection with the road to El Arco, I'm now in new territory going north to L.A. Bay. The road is pretty ugly, but I'm making respectable time, and by noon my GPS tells me I'm about 2/3's of the way there, when suddenly I hear a loud POP! Pulling over to see what broke, I make an inspection and don't see anything amiss. Reaching in the cooler for a soda, there's a broken bolt on the cooler lid. Immediately I recognize it as one of the mounting bolts for the roof rack. With the bolt gone, the rack is resting on the roll cage. It seems to be riding OK, so I decide to let it be until I can reach a mechanic. Continuing on, although a bit more cautiously, I note this stretch is very boring, with little picturesque scenery, and the need to keep a constant vigil on the road - you never know when a washout is around the corner. Further on, the constant washboard causes the return of the dreaded fender rattle. Stopping to check on things, the fenders are actually separating from the mounting bolts. Slowing down even further, I finally see another vehicle for the first time in two days. Limping on in to Bahia de Los Angeles, the first thing I do is find a mechanic to replace the broken hardware, then it's feed the Jeep, then feed me, then find a room with lots of hot water. What a miserable excuse for a road!

Checking in to one of the hotels on the main drag, something's been nagging me, but I've yet to figure to out. Then it dawns on me, this place is simply run down. Maybe it's because of 9/11, the poor US economy, or who knows what, but I'll be glad to be out of here tomorrow. I've also decided to stop the northward phase of this trip, and will go to San Borja tomorrow, then back to Guererro Negro. For the first time this trip, I've felt the need to lock everything up. With nothing else to do in this godforsaken town, I guess I'll just go to bed.

Today's statistics: 86 miles from hell, 992 total. Note - there's a sign on the road going south out of L.A. Bay indicating it is 90km to San Francisquito. This is someone's idea of wishful thinking. From that sign to the beach at San Francisquito is exactly 83 miles (134 km).

Since the town's generator doesn't come on until 8:00, nothing happens early here. Last night the manager promised coffee by 7:00, but when 7:30 passes with no movement, I cruise the town in a desperate search for coffee. I can't even make my own coffee without having to fire off my generator - I'm completely at the mercy of this town. Finding another hotel with an open restaurant, my disposition improves dramatically after coffee, chorizo and eggs. Returning to my hotel to checkout, the manager flags me down to tell me coffee is ready, and you could see the disappointment on her face when I told her the hotel up the street already took care of it.

Getting out of town none too soon, the pavement has seen better days, but after yesterday, it seems like a blessing. Reaching the turnoff to San Borja, the trail is wide and smooth, and the view soon captures my interest, as I pass through a forest of elephant trees. Continuing up the grade, the desert simply blossoms as I get a little higher, and soon more cirios trees and countless cordon cactuses dot the landscape, and I'm having a really good time.

There's a marked intersection ahead, the sign says the Mission San Borja is 1km ahead. Arriving there, I remember from some guidebook I read eons ago that this was the northernmost of the missions, and was closed in the mid-1800's, by which time most of the indigenous population had left the area.

After a few photos, I continue on down to the village of Rosarito. Popping out on Hwy 1 at almost the exact spot I broke down 10 years ago, I couldn't help but relive the event. I was driving down in my old Bronco, and the lug nuts loosened up on the left rear wheel. Hitting a pothole, all the studs broke cleanly of the hub, and the wheel when flying. Fortunately this happened right by a clearing in the road, and I managed to pull over without further incident. The local mechanic was in Guererro Negro and not due back until the next day. I wound up sleeping in the Bronco to keep it from being vandalized as an abandoned vehicle, and I remember numerous times during the night I would hear cars begin to pull over, only to speed off as I would flash the lights on and off. The next day the mechanic arrived, and wanted me to pay for a $500 tow to Guererro Negro. I said no way, and convinced him with a $100 bill to pull the axle instead and take it to have new studs put in. After another night standing guard over the Bronco, he returned with the repaired hub and new lug nuts, and soon I was on my way - I can't believe that was 10 years ago!

About 10 miles down the road, my maps show a road going down to the beach at El Tomatal, with several north-south roads, which I want to investigate. However, upon reaching the turnoff to the beach, there's a military check blocking my way. I ask the soldiers if I can get down to the beach this way, and they say yes, but there are no north-south trails. OK, continuing down the highway a few miles, the lure of the Pacific beaches I'm seeing from the high spots on the road proves too great, and when the next trail towards the beach appears, I'm on it. About halfway to the beach on what looks to be a rarely used path, Mother Nature calls. Positive that there's no way anyone else could be on this road, I pull over and am in the middle of taking care of business when I hear the sound of an approaching car - it figures. It's a couple of Mexican fishermen, and they begin to pull over to see if I need help, until I wave them off with a roll of toilet paper, and they continue on, laughing at my embarrassing moment.

Down at the beach, there's a rocky shore, so I start looking for any north-south roads I can use to get down to Jose Maria Morelos. Finding only a single track heading south, I give it a try, even though it looks like it could be months or even years since it's been used. Pretty soon the track nearly disappears, and now I'm in the middle of nowhere, and my imagination starts to run wild. Hoping nothing goes wrong with the Jeep, or my bones could be bleached dry before anyone finds me, I continue on, praying I won't pick up a cactus needle in a tire.  In the distance I can see a truck on the highway, but I still can't figure out how to get there. With the trail barely visible, I finally manage to return to the highway - that's enough adventure for one day. I decide to head on in to Guererro Negro for the night, where I know a hot shower and a plate of tacos awaits me.

Checking in to the Malarrimo, I need to recharge all the electronic gadgets and to update the story. Tomorrow it's off to Scammon's Lagoon, then Bahia Tortugas.

Today’s statistics: 117 miles, 1,110 total.

Talking to the waiters at breakfast, I tell them of my plan to cross the desert east of Scammon's Lagoon as a shortcut to Bahia Tortugas. I show them the route I want to take on the wall map, and they sadly shake their heads as they tell me that area is private property, belonging to the salt company, and I'll need special permission to cross. By this time I think I've learned my lesson about listening to the locals, and decide to go out to Vizcaino and make the turn towards Tortugas there.

There's a high overcast keeping the temperature down, and it's pretty nippy on the way east, even though I'm wearing two sweaters. Topping off the gas as I make the turn at Vizcaino, I'm surprised to find out the road to Tortugas is paved all the way to the intersection with the road to Asuncion, about 50 miles. Stopping there to air down the tires, it's cold with a stiff north wind. Taking this as an omen to avoid Bahia Tortugas, I shift gears once again, and turn towards Asuncion, with clearer skies ahead. The road is good, and I make fast work of the trip to this seaside fishing village, where I top off the gas, just for good measure. I ask about the road condition going south to Punta Abreojos, and he says it's in good shape for the first half, but also shakes his head about the second half. However, I'm committed, so off I go. And he was right, the road is wide and smooth, the sun comes out, and it's a nice day for a Jeep trip along the beach - that is, until I reach San Hipolito, where the road turns to deep washboard, and I need to punch the Jeep to 50 mph to stay on top of the bumps. About 15 miles north of Abreojos, I take pity on the Jeep, and slowly limp on in to La Bocana, where the road flattens again, and I continue cautiously into Abreojos, for some ice before continuing the 5 miles to Campo Rene.

We stayed here during our December 2002 quad trip, and had a good time. I received an email a couple of months ago from some people, who had just been here, and they said there were new owners, and they had refurbished the cabins and had opened the restaurant/bar. And sure enough, when I pulled in, the bar was open, and the Mexican cots in the cabins were now sporting mattresses on top.

A couple of beers later, I give the Jeep a once-over, and find something in the front end has gotten tweaked, making it difficult to release the hood latches. The fenders are cracking from the washboard vibration, and I have to put a 2x4 between the fender and tire to bend up the fender enough to release the hood latches. I promise the Jeep when we get home I'll give it a thorough makeover.

The cold north wind reminds me I probably made a good call coming here instead of Bahia Tortugas, and I'm hoping some warmer weather will find its way into this story in the next several days. I haven't cooked a meal since Day 2 at San Basilio, so I put together a pot of meatball soup and have a feast. Thinking about tomorrow, the plan looks like camping at Punta Chivato, north of Mulege. I've heard various stories, including that it's closed, and another that some French company bought it and is marketing it to European tourists. I think I'll have to see for myself.

At about 7:00, I head on over to the bar, it being way too early to turn in. Manager Chula and her buxom 16-year old assistant, Norma, are tending bar and fending off advances from three local fishermen getting drunk as they have no work for tomorrow. After a couple of drinks, the guys are getting sloppy, and I figure the wisest course of action is to go to bed, which is exactly what I do.

Today's numbers: 192 miles, 1,302 total.

The cold north wind from yesterday has been replaced by one of the few things worse - thick overcast. Brewing up a pot of coffee as I get things packed, Chula passes by and offers to make breakfast, which I gratefully accept. After steak ranchero and tortillas, we say our goodbyes and I'm doing my best Willie Nelson rendition of "On the Road Again".

About 13 miles towards Highway 1, the road turns to pavement, much to my surprise. Checking my map book, there's been an additional 20 miles of road paved since I was last here, 13 months ago. I'm sure glad to have been able to do the exploring I have, before pavement and the subsequent tourists ruin everything.

Getting to San Ignacio, the gas station attendant says the road out to Laguna San Ignacio is in good shape, causing me to consider yet another course change. Debating with myself as I continue down the highway, I actually pull over and consider turning around, but I know that area pretty well, and I'm still curious about Punta Chivato, so it's down Highway 1 after all.

The last time I was at Chivato, I discovered an unmarked road coming in from the north side of the headland, and sure enough, it's still there, cutting several miles off the trip. Coming up over the rise, it's incredible the difference since I was here last. There's an unbroken trail of homes south of the hotel, going out into the distance. The hotel is pretty much the way I remembered it, 20 rooms on a bluff over the water. There's been a name change; it's now called Hotel Posada de las Flores. It's very well decorated, as it should be, with the cheapest room $200 a night, plus taxes. They don't even have a sportfishing fleet. Reviewing their brochure, the owners have another hotel of the same name in Loreto, and are marketing 6-night packages, 3 nights in Loreto, and 3 nights at Chivato. I wish them well, but when my plate of chicken tacos and two beers lunch returned a tab of over $15, I figured it was time to go.

Back to the highway on the well-graded main road, I still can't figure out why they have no signage, but soon all that is behind me, as I start to plan out the next couple of days. I'd like to get to Mag Bay before the weekend, so I can play with my friends who'll be there until then, but I'd also like to travel some more new roads if possible, keeping in mind the Jeep isn't at 100 percent right now. Thinking about my options, the optimal solution is to push through to Loreto tonight, then going to San Javier, Comondu, San Isidro, then turning down to Lopez Mateo on the Pacific side. Besides, this way I get another hot shower and dinner at El Nido again - it works for me.

Getting to Loreto just before sunset, it's the now-familiar routine of gas, hotel room at Motel Salvatierra, a shower and change of clothes, then dinner at El Nido - life is good!

Today's mileage: 254, 1,555 total.

Dawn brings clear skies and the need for another great breakfast at Macaws. I'm on the road by 9:00, and am soon climbing the grade towards San Javier. I was on this same section last year, and the road seems a bit worse than what I remember, but the miles pass by easily enough. Once into the mountains, the scenery is spectacular, with everything green and blossoming. The streams are all still running since last week's rain, but the crossings aren't deep. About 4 miles from San Javier, is the turnoff to Comondu.

Turning northwest, I'm now in new territory, and I'd almost swear the ghost of Hoss Cartwright was riding shotgun, as the scenery certainly could be from the Ponderosa. The road tracks indicate nobody's been this way for some time. About a third of the way to Comondu, I see a long steep grade in the distance, and soon find out why no one's been using this road. I'm bouncing over boulders and sliding shale. About halfway up there's a level spot where I stop and lock the hubs, the only time I've needed to since been on the beach at San Basilio. By the time I get to the top, my heart is pounding as the Jeep is getting a workout. Going down the backside is no easier. I can't help but think nothing less than a major-league 4WD could even attempt this, how can the average Mexican with a barely running pickup truck manage this road.

The suspension on the Jeep has really given up, as nearly every single bump causes the fenders to rub. Words don't exist to describe how bad the road is. If I would have known the road conditions were like this, I never would have come this way. Up and down a few more valleys and I'm eventually at Comondu.

Rolling into this picturesque village in the base of a huge canyon, I get the feeling everyone here thinks I must be from outer space, as they all appear at their doorways and windows with their eyes the size of golf balls. Stopping at a local store, I find out why - I'm the first person in or out of town since last week's rain, and the first person to make it in on the road from San Javier in months.

After a couple of photos, I continue on down the canyon to the village of San Miguel de Comondu. Most of the village is 250-year old ruins, with most buildings bearing signs indicating federal government ownership. In between the ruins, there are a number of new modest homes, and what looks like a thriving community. My maps show there are two ways out of town (besides the San Javier road), the road north to San Isidro, and a road west to Francisco Villa. I opt for the west road, as it will cut a bunch of miles off the run to Lopez Mateo, but as I follow my map down the canyon, the road turns into a swamp. Backtracking and trying all the other trails down the canyon, they all dead-end at various ranchos. Heading back towards Comondu, there's a government clinic on the west side of town where I stop and ask the doctor how to get to Francisco Villa, and whether the San Isidro road would be better. He confidently replies that the road through the swamp is correct, and he definitely wouldn't recommend the north road, as he couldn't in good conscience allow me to take my life in my hands by going that route. OK, it's back to the swamp, where the road through the water is easier than it looks. However, the road soon deteriorates into a barely discernable trail through a rock strewn jungle. It's obvious this road's been abandoned for years. Twice the forestation hides big boulders, and I wind up high-centering. The first time this happens, I envision myself being stuck here forever, much to the amusement of the clinic doctor, who must be having a good laugh at the joke he played on the stupid gringo. Building a ramp with the loose shale lying around, I manage to get off the boulder and continue on; with a certain degree of self-satisfaction I solved the predicament without outside help. The second time it happens I've learned my lesson and calmly build another ramp to keep going. I need to turn around, but the trail's too narrow, and I can only go forward. At last there's a wide spot where I can turn around, and retracing my path through the jungle, I'm driven by what I'm going to do to the doctor when I get back to the clinic. Mentally asking the Jeep to hold on for just a little bit longer, we bounce through the rocky trail. Arriving back at the clinic, ready to do something I could go to jail for, it's closed and the doctor is nowhere in sight - it's probably for the best. Back in town, the villagers point my to the road to San Isidro, telling me there's a new road to Francisco Villa, intersecting about 2 miles up.

Cringing every time the fenders rub, I finally get to the intersection the villagers told me about, but there's only one problem - I don't see any recent car tracks on it, whereas the road north to San Isidro bears signs of recent activity. When in Rome - take the well-used path. Limping towards pavement at San Isidro, the going is excruciatingly slow, trying not to rip the fenders off. I promise the Jeep if it can hang on until we get to pavement, there'll be no more offroading until it gets a thorough overhaul.

Finally getting to the security of pavement at San Isidro about 4:30, it's down the road towards Lopez Mateo. However, by the time I get to the turnoff, my interest has waned, and I'd like to get a bit closer to home before stopping. Gritting my teeth against the high desert chill, I grimly drive to Cuidad Constitucion, where I find an open restaurant on the main drag, and directions to a hotel with secure parking, where my $11 gets me a bed and bath.

Today's adventure: 174 miles, 1,729 total.

The day starts with coffee in the room. A look out the window shows clear skies have replaced last night's overcast, a good omen. Packing up, there's a lone motorcycle rider I strike up a conversation with. He broke down in La Paz, and his buddies went on without him. He owns the largest bar in Sturgis, South Dakota. I ask him to put up one of my stickers there. My buddies will have heart attacks the next time they go to the annual Harley gathering there and see my sticker on the wall.

Looking for a sit-down place for breakfast, I finally give up and head south, towards our spot on Mag Bay. Every year on the full moon in January a bunch of my buddies heads on over to their secret beach for a week of clamming, fishing, beachcombing and just plain relaxing. Yesterday was the full moon, so everyone should still be there, and it's an easy drive in my crippled Jeep can easily make.

I'm already past town before I realize I didn't buy ice. In the distance there's a small village, maybe there's a store there - my luck's holding out as there is a store, with ice even. And much to my surprise, they're selling burritos too. Filling up, the clerk asks me where I live, and if my wife is with me. When I tell her I'm single, she perks up and tells me to wait, she wants to introduce me to her daughter. Discretion being the better part of valor, it was my signal to get going.

Down the road, I make the turn towards Mag Bay, arriving at camp about 10:15. All the crew is there, and as I pull up, there's a mass clam cleaning project going on. For sure there'll be plenty of good eats around here.

While some of the crew go off on a quad adventure, the rest of us just hang around camp, enjoying the serenity here. Mark and Don have gone fishing, and the result of their efforts is today's lunch, fresh halibut filets. Life is really, really good.

Trisha is making a huge batch of her famous clam chowder, and as a couple of crows pass overhead with their overture of "caw-caw", the rest of the troop venture out into the low-tide exposed beaches, searching for more tasty clams. A light north breeze has chased off the few lingering clouds, as I find refuge under a shade canopy Howard has set up, awaiting the return of the quad adventurers and clam gatherers.

Dinner is an epicurean adventure without equal. To start, there's a huge pot of clam chowder, followed by shrimp grilled in butter, and a final course of clams barbequed on the half shell with cheese and hot sauce. As if this weren't enough, Cliff brings over a huge plate of bear meat tacos. The rest of the evening is spent around the campfire, with no one moving very fast after such a feast.

Today's mileage: 43, total 1,772.

About 6:30, the lonely wail of a single coyote starts a cascade of shrill replies, and for a few moments the shoreline is reverberating with the echo of countless coyotes welcoming the new day.

Soon there's activity, and I make my way from camp to camp, getting my coffee cup filled at each stop. The morning sun soon begins to evaporate last night's condensation, and as more people arise to face the new day, we resume yesterday's culinary excesses. Huge plates of fire-roasted potatoes with onions and eggs scrambled with pork ribs beg to be eaten.

Afterwards, the guys want to go beachcombing, so the quads get fueled and loaded. Duane offers me his quad (muchas gracias), as he's driving his truck, and off we go to a remote beach on the bay, where everyone searches for buried treasures, mostly whale bones, while my favorite, intact lobster pot floats, soon fill the basket on the quad. At one of our stops, we're entertained by a couple of whales, spouting from their blowholes, no more than 150 yards from the beach.

 The afternoon quickly slips away and soon we need to return to camp, for another fabulous meal of steak and stir-fry veggies. After the last couple of days of great eats, eventually Mother Nature catches up with you, and the need arises. The guys have set up a commode down the beach, and off I go. As I'm sitting on the throne, the moon is over my right shoulder, there's heat lightning in the distance over my left shoulder, and I'm on the toilet on an isolated beach in the Baja - tell me, how does it get better than this?

After another evening around the campfire, it's lights out for everyone. Today's mileage: 45 on the quad, 1,817 total.

The wind came up in the middle of the night, and brought with it a dry morning. The morning's tranquil calm is shattered just before sunrise by the near simultaneous starting of the generators in the high-rent side of the beach, as all the motorhomers prepare to pull out today.

As the girls start breakfast, the guys start the unenvious task of the preliminary packing, and a pall envelops the camp as everyone comes to the realization this adventure will be soon coming to a close.

It's adios to the motorhomers, and as we enjoy our breakfast of scrambled eggs with peppers and onions, left-over stir-fry, and polish sausage, the tide comes in, and we all start reflecting on what a great trip this has been. Before you know it, the sun is getting low on the horizon, and it’s time for the obligatory campfire. Doreen has spent the entire day preparing another culinary masterpiece, and her efforts were well spent, as we down plate after plate of pasta with home-made meat sauce, accompanied by a great salad and garlic bread. The perfect meal before spending our last evening around the campfire, watching the flickering embers rise high into the star filled sky.

No miles today, still 1,817 total.

It’s a sad day, time to go home. Had everyone not spent most of yesterday getting the preliminary packing done, we wouldn’t have gotten out of here until nightfall. As it was, it still took until about 10:30 before we started the slow grind to the highway.

Once we reach the pavement, I stop to air up the tires for the last time, and pulling off to the side of the road, a terrible surprise awaits me – a puddle of transmission fluid is growing under the Jeep. Popping the hood (no easy feat with the tweaked front end), one of the transmission cooler lines has cracked at the end. Rerouting the line to get some slack, I cut off the bad end and reconnect the line. Topping off the fluid, everything seems OK, so we resume the trip home.

The other rigs are much faster than me, and I soon watch them disappear over the horizon. Stopping in La Paz for gas, I pay a quick visit to the Vargas casa, before continuing the lonely venture home. There’s another quick stop at Otra Vez Restaurant in Los Barriles for a bite to eat, before pulling into my driveway at 6:50, much to the relief of Ranger, the patiently-awaiting parrot.

Well, it was a great trip, a total of 2,025 miles over the course of 14 travel days, 16 total days. As is the custom for these annual trips, I renewed some old acquaintances, and made some new ones. I found some new roads, and added nearly 100 new waypoints for my personal maps. The few vehicle problems I had were easily fixed.

I got to visit a number of places that have always been on my wish list, and the ones I didn’t get to will fuel my desire for the next trip. In summing up the trip, I was much luckier than I was prepared. In many instances, relying on commercially published maps got me into big trouble. Don’t try doing this solo yourself. I was in many spots where the failure of a 25-cent part could have cost me the entire rig. As it was, I barely limped back home. The Jeep is going to get a well-deserved rest. For now, it’s back to reality and the 3,942 email messages awaiting me.

Roy – Sr. Divertido – Magellan – Baldwin

January 25, 2004

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