February 11, 2006 -

    For the last several years I've taken a couple of weeks each winter to do a solo trip in the Jeep to various remote spots on the Baja peninsula. Although traveling in a group would be fun, going solo gives me complete freedom.  Often I leave without an itinerary after the first day. 

    I've been trying to complete a trip all the way back to the USA for years.  Almost made it two years ago, but a broken frame on the Jeep cut that trip short (the Jeep still got me back home to Los Cabos).  The general plan for this trip is to get to the US-Mexican border by next Saturday, Feb. 18th, then cross and take the Imperial Valley sand dunes up to Glamis, where I plan on meeting up with some of my buddies for President's Day weekend there.  Then a couple of shopping days in San Diego before returning home down the Pacific side.

    Along the way, there's several spots on my list to visit, including the east side of Bahia Concepcion, Rancho Percebu near San Felipe, as well as the 200-mile long stretch of dirt trail along the Pacific side, from Catavina down to just north of Guerrero Negro.  My buddy, Rudy Vargas, who used to build roads for the government, has told me about some cave painting sites unknown to the general public. These could be the highlight of the trip.

    With the Jeep packed, and most of the crisis's at work taken care of, it's time to go.  With a goodbye wave to Ranger, my 34-yr old parrot and sidekick (he's staying home to watch the house), I'm off to new adventures.

PART 1 - THE TRIP NORTH

DAY 0 - February 11th

    On the road at noon, today's run is up the highway to Ciudad Constitucion, a head start on the trip which really begins tomorrow.  Fueling up in La Paz, everything seems to be going my way, as the Jeep is running well, the sky is clear, air temp is a balmy 85, and Jimmy Buffett is doing his thing on the minidisk player - life is good!

    Passing Las Pocitos, I notice the oil pressure gauge is fluctuating. Pulling over to check the level, the thirsty Jeep is two quarts low.  This is a mystery to me, as I know the level was full when I left the house.  There's no obvious leaks, the water temp is normal, and no smoke in the exhaust (we replaced the piston rings 2,000 miles ago).  Topping off the oil, the pressure gauge immediately returns to normal.  Maybe I was pushing the Jeep a bit hard, and decide to continue to Constitucion, at a more moderate speed.

    Arriving in Constitucion just before dark, there's the obligatory stop at my favorite chicken joint before continuing on to Hotel Oasis.  Checking in, I decide to wait until morning to check under the hood again, and will decide then which direction I'll be traveling, depending on the oil situation.

    In my $30 hotel room, there's a sign saying the hotel now has free wireless internet - what is the world coming to?  Clearing out the 200 junk emails I've received since this morning, I fall asleep while watching subtitled Lord of the Rings on TV.

    I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

DAY 1 - February 12th

    The view through my window is a canvas of pink and purple hues in the dawn sky that not even Michelangelo could duplicate.  Maybe it will be a good day after all - NOT!  There's an ominous puddle of oil gathering under the Jeep.  In an effort to stall making a tough decision, I decide I do my best thinking on a full stomach. Checking out, the hotel receptionist that steals by breath away every time I see her is on duty this morning. Flirting with her, I'm almost ready to throw away the rest of this trip, just to be able to spend a few more minutes with her.  That is, until a little logical voice in my head starts screaming at me - "ROY!, she's way too young and way too cute to cause an old fart like you anything but trouble". So instead of going down the road that might have led her to become my future ex-wife, I smile, turn around and walk away, with my shattered heart feeling like a lump of cold lead in my gut.

    So I'm off to El Taste, my favorite restaurant here in Constitucion, in the hope that some steak and eggs will dull the aching pain that leaving the girl behind has left in my stomach.  Oh S*&#%! - while thinking of my disastrous love life, I've completely forgotten the Jeep's problems.  Putting my attention where it belongs, the Jeep is down another two quarts - not good!  Going back inside the restaurant for a couple of extra cups of coffee to mull things over, I decide that Baja problems require bold solutions.  Picking up the cell phone, I call my buddy Gary in San Diego and ask him to track down a fresh motor for the Jeep.  Then a call to the trailer store to order a new tow for my quad.  If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm returning home to La Rivera to switch vehicles, and will continue this adventure tomorrow, in the Ford.

    Stopping for a few quarts of oil to get me home (I hope), the trip south starts at about 10am.  It looks like the Jeep is drinking oil at a rate of about a quart very 40 miles. Retracing yesterday's route, I make stops at Santa Rita and El Cien to top off the oil.  Holding the speed down to a crawling 55mph, the trip home is taking forever.  Getting to the crest of the hills above La Paz, the fierce crosswind blows my hat clean off. 

    Pulling into my driveway about 3:30, the drive home has taken 5 1/2 hours.  Even crippled, the Jeep always gets me home - this time it took 5 quarts of oil to make it. By 5pm, the Ford has been washed, completely serviced, and all the Jeep's gear has been transferred over.  I'm amazed at what all was in the Jeep - it fills the bed of the Ford.  For the final touch, in a typical Mexican fashion, I've duct-taped the GPS to the dash of the Ford.

    Desperately wanting to put today behind me, I'm looking forward to a fresh start tomorrow.

DAY 1 - (Again) February 13th

    On the road at 8:30, the F-150 chews up the highway much faster than the Jeep.  In little more than an hour I'm passing through La Paz, where I notice a salvage yard with a bunch of motors lined up on display.  What the heck, might as well check it out.  Explaining I'm looking for a 3.8L Buick V-6 for the Jeep, the owner checks his records and shakes his head - sorry.  Oh well, it was worth a try. 

    Before leaving cell phone range I place a call to Hotel Serinidad in Mulege to make a reservation for tonight.  Connecting the sat phone to the magnetic roof antenna works great, now I have constant communications.  Eager to get to fresh territory, I'm lead-footing it, and have reached the outskirts of Constitucion just after noon.  Yesterday's 5 1/2 hour trip took 3 1/2 hours today.  Chicken wings and a soda later, I'm coming up to the turn for Hotel Oasis, and the magnetic attraction to the receptionist there is begging me to make the turn.  The little voice comes to my rescue, screaming "Don't even think about it!"  Gripping the steering wheel with both hands, it takes all my will power to keep the Ford on the highway, and eventually I get through the town.  With temptation safely passed, I stop at Insurgentes for gas as the highway turns east for the run to Loreto.

    There's little traffic, allowing me the luxury of stopping in the middle of the road periodically to make notes in my map book of several intersections with dirt roads I want to investigate in the future.  Passing the turnoff for Agua Verde, a smile comes to my face as I think about our last visit here, our 5-day quad trip to Loreto back in November (click here for that story)

    Reaching the turn for Puerto Escondido, it's been several years since I've swung through here, so I make the turn.  Passing the always-full Tripui RV park, I reach the embarcadero, and am amazed at all the construction activity going on here.  Somebody is dumping big bucks in developing a large-scale port/marina facility here. After taking some pics of the construction, I'm back on the highway to Loreto, with the only traffic an endless line of Cemex trucks hauling concrete from Loreto to the Puerto Escondido marina site. Passing Loreto, my cell phone starts beeping at me as soon as I get in range, reminding me there is more to life than just having fun.  Returning the frantic calls from my office at Leonero while still in cell range, I solve the current crisis, before continuing north to my first side trip.

    Some friends have asked me to check out the side road to San Bruno, about 15 miles north of Loreto.  I had marked the intersection years ago, and as I'm nearing the turn, I notice the highway signs are now gone. Making the turn for the 5-mile run to the beach, the road shows little use, and is littered with pockets of deep silt, raising choking clouds of dirt as I pass.  After about a mile I run into a large farming concern with closed gates.  This is just the excuse I was looking for to turn around, as there doesn't seem to be much going on here.

    Back on the highway, I soon reach the turn for San Basilio, where there's a spectacular little bay I camped at two years ago.  The turn is so obscure, had I not marked it in the GPS back then, I would have passed right by it unnoticed.  Continuing on, I soon reach the turn for San Nicholas.  I've never been out there, and since there's enough daylight left, why not?  It's a 9-mile run to the coast on a fairly good road, meandering through the foothills.  Coming up over a rise, a picturesque palm-lined valley fills my view.  Stopping at the base, I run into a gringo that lives here, and ask about the roads going north from here shown in my map book.  He looks at my book, and says the road to San Sebastian is blocked off, and the other trail leading to the south end of Bahia Concepcion has been abandoned and is in unknown condition.  He recommends I get back to the highway on the main track I came in on.  Making a mental note to return here with the Jeep or quads for further investigation, I cruise back to the highway for the run to Mulege. The planned excursion to the outer edge of Concepcion will have to stay on the to-do list for now.

    Reaching the pavement, there's a local looking for a ride to Santa Rosalia, and I offer him a ride as far as Mulege, and he gratefully accepts.  A couple of miles up the highway we pass another backpack-toting hitchhiker, and he climbs aboard.  Soon there's another.  I'm starting to feel like a shuttle bus driver, with bodies stacked everywhere in the back of the truck.  We reach the end of the line at the Pemex station just south of Mulege, where they all jump out, offering their thanks in unison for the ride.  Topping off with gas, the turn for Hotel Serinidad is just up ahead.

    Checking in, there's a line of dirt bikes in the parking area.  In the bar I make acquaintances with their group leader, Richard.  They've just come south on the road I plan on using on my way north, and listen attentively as Richard gives me a glowing report on the road condition between L.A. Bay and San Francisquito. Things are looking up.  Richard and I agree to meet over breakfast to review my map book. 

    I used to be a world-class drinker, but not anymore.  Two scotch & sodas with dinner sends me to dreamland. Today's total - 409 miles.

DAY 2  - February 14th

    Happy Valentine's Day!  I'm up at 4am, as old habits are hard to break. With no apparent lingering effects from the scotch last night, the early morning hours are the perfect time to work on the story.  By 7 I've got the story up to date, and my brain is going 1000mph, the result of drinking a whole pot of coffee.

    Looking outside, the weather gods are smiling on me, as I'm greeted with a crystal-clear azure blue sky.  After a plate of chorizo and eggs and a quick chat with the dirt bikers, I'm ready for today's adventure, which I hope will end at San Francisquito, a remote fishing/off-road camp south of Bahia de Los Angeles. 

    Heading north, my first task is to find an air compressor. My good one is hard-wired into the Jeep and couldn't make the trip.  I plan on using lots of off-road trails starting today, and don't want to be without a compressor to re-air up the tires when returning to pavement in a few hundred miles. Stopping in the town of Mulege, I check at a couple of auto supply houses, but no luck.  I'm looking for a high-volume 110v pump that I can run from my generator, not a 12v plug-in-the-dash model.  Deciding I'll try again in Santa Rosalia, I make the 45-minute run up Highway 1, with the only traffic hordes of land whale motor homes caravanning south, looking for tropical breezes and margaritas.

    Cruising through Santa Rosalia, I notice an auto parts store out of the corner of my eye, and quickly make the turn.  Inside, they have exactly what I'm looking for, and the clerk lets me connect the compressor to my generator to make sure it will run it.  It checks out perfectly, and with the addition of a 25-foot air hose, I'm set.  For traveling off-road, there is no substitute for having the right tools to handle the problems you should reasonably expect to encounter.  Feeling better prepared with the new addition to my tool inventory, its now a run up the highway to Vizcaino before turning off-road for the run to San Francisquito.  Stopping at the Pemex station at San Ignacio, the duct-taped mount for the GPS just isn't working.  Digging around in the gear bag, I find a couple of mini-bungee cords which make a suitable replacement.  Passing the turn to San Francisco de la Sierra, the site of the renowned cave paintings, I hesitate for a moment before deciding I'd rather look for the road Vargas told me about and continue on, making a mental note to save this side trip for another time.

    Moving on to Vizcaino, I top off the fuel, as I don't really know when I'll come across gas for the next couple of days.  Eyeing a chicken joint across the street, I might as well get some bird-to-go.  During my trip two years ago, when I stopped for gas at El Arco, I was complaining of the bad road conditions.  The attendant told me about a new road going down to Guillermo Prieto, and today that's my next destination. My maps show a graded road to Prieto about 5 miles west, but I'm only about a mile from the Pemex when I spot another dirt road going in the right direction, with two motorcycle riders at the intersection.  Slamming on the brakes, I swing off the highway and ask the riders if this road goes through, and they're unsure, but have the same thought - it's going in the right direction - why not?  Letting the bikers go ahead, I stop for a few minutes to drop the air in the tires.  I'm now officially off-roading, but its not quite the same as in the Jeep.  Here I am, in the middle of nowhere, driving up an unknown dirt track with the air conditioning on, the stereo blasting Kenny Chesney, chicken bones flying out the window - I'm even making phone calls with the sat phone while driving.  I could get used to this.

    A couple of miles in, I start smelling fuel.  One of the 5-gallon jerry cans has a bad vent cap and is leaking all over the bed of the truck.  Pulling over, I manage to dump about a gallon into the truck's gas tank, and this seems to stop the leak.  Soon I cross the intersection with the main graded road to Prieto, and make the turn.  The going is a bit faster, and soon I pass an abandoned village my maps say is Ejido Angel Cesar.  There's a track here heading directly towards El Arco, but there's no tracks on it.  This usually means there's a better road nearby.  Deciding to continue to Prieto to look for the new road, I'm soon there.  Stopping to ask directions, one of the local farmers points me the right way.  I'm soon on a new well-graded road not on my maps.  If going on these trips is the dessert of my vacation, then finding new roads is the icing on the cake. Soon my GPS says I've reached the 28th parallel, the border with Baja California (Norte).  I'm expecting to find some type of marker or sign, but am greeted with nothing more than a rancher's fence.

    The good track continues north, with a few rough spots crossing some foothills, and soon I cross the road leading out to the old mission at Santa Gertrudis. Pausing for a moment to contemplate checking out the mission, I decide leave that trip on the plate - it's a good reason to return here later on the quads or in the Jeep.  Northward we go, and all of a sudden, wham! - I run right into the main dirt road between El Arco and San Francisquito.  Stopping to plot the length of the new road and GPS points in my map book, I'm quite pleased with myself for finding this new track.

    Heading on to San Francisquito, this main road carries lots of traffic, so its in pretty good shape, except for the washboard effect caused by all the trucks using the road.  The lower air pressure is now paying off, as the tires are doing a good job of soaking up the bumps and smoothing out the rough road.  Passing by the rusting hulks of cars that didn't make it, I wonder what stories they could tell.  Dropping down the grade that replaced the infamous El Infiernito, I recall stories of the treacherous old road.  The grade was so steep, you couldn't drive down it, for locking up the brakes would cause you to lose steering, and you'd slide right off the side.  An enterprising rancher developed a solution, and built a sled which you would lash your vehicle on, then he would drag you up or down the grade by pulling you with his tractor.  Those days are now gone, and sometimes it makes me wish I had started these adventures earlier in life, when there was more challenge in traversing the Baja.

    Soon the Sea of Cortez is visible in the distance, and I'm getting closer to today's destination.  Pulling into the off-roader's camp at San Francisquito, it's pretty much the same as when I was here two years ago.  Arranging to stay at one of the cabins, the place is filled with dirt bikes.  Since there's a couple of hours before the cantina serves dinner, I fire up the generator and spend the rest of the day updating the story and maps.

    As soon as the sun drops below the mountains, it immediately gets cold enough to make me don a sweatshirt.  Trying hard to finish the map updating, I wrap it up just as darkness falls.  At dinner in the cantina, I make acquaintances with a group of riders from Orange County.  It's truly a small world, when asked about where I live, we discover one of the riders is friends with the Mexican family living 2 houses away from me in La Rivera.  Discussing our adventures over a dinner of fish and frijoles, everyone cleans their plates, as the food is excellent, but the portions are on the meager side.

    There's a group of riders from Canada that are MIA. Their support truck is waiting here but the riders haven't shown up yet.  Soon the muffled exhaust of a lone bike can be heard in the distance.  Arriving at camp with no headlight, the exhausted rider explains the entire group had run out of gas about 10 miles back, and had pooled their fuel reserves into his bike to reach camp and the support truck.  Making arrangements for dinner for his hungry comrades, the rider jumps into the support truck to go find the hapless group and get them some gas to get into camp.

    About an hour later, the roar of seven more dirt bikes can be heard in the distance, and soon the group comes dragging in.  In equestrian terms, they all look like they've been ridden hard and put away wet.  There's little talk as they quietly have dinner before all passing out.  Soon a weather front moves through, with a strong wind from the west, and our lullaby is the breeze rustling through the palm leaves.

    Today's total 209 miles.

DAY 3 - February 15th

    Another spectacular Baja sunrise, as my weather luck is holding with another cloudless day.  At breakfast with the Orange County guys, they tell me about a new road (Fred - if you're reading this, get ready for another quad trip!).  Beginning at El Barril, about 10 miles south of here, and continuing along the coast before connecting to the Santa Marta road which ends about 9 miles east of San Ignacio, this new road was only a burro trail a couple of years ago, but has been improved enough for vehicles to pass. This 135-mile stretch goes through one of the most remote sections of the peninsula that has never seen roads before - I can't wait! Checking out the Canadian group, they have obviously bitten off more than they can chew, as they all look Baja-whooped today.  I think to myself if I felt half as bad as they looked, I'd just kill myself! 

    Today I'd like to get to Bahia Gonzaga, another fishing/off-road haven further up the Sea of Cortez.  The first section is to Bahia de Los Angeles.  Saying my goodbyes to the dirt bikers, I backtrack the last 12 miles of yesterday's route to the intersection with the coastal road to L.A. Bay.  The road is in much better shape than two years ago, and I'm enjoying the trip, stopping several times to investigate future camping spots.  There is an inland side route known as the "green door" trail (there's an old green car door marking the northern access to the trail), that I wanted to map this trip, but the bikers said the trail was too overgrown to get the truck through - just another reason for a quad trip this way in the future.

    I had wanted to check out the trail to Las Animas, a little side bay on the Gulf.  One of the Leonero homeowners, Art Houston, told me about the time he made anchorage there by boat and was inundated with what he first thought was the sound of a million crickets.  Getting closer to shore he realized the sound was actually the angry buzzing of a zillion rattlesnakes, carpeting the desert floor like the Well of the Souls scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark.  Unfortunately, the sign that marked the turnoff two years ago has vanished, and I'm several miles past the junction before I realize it.  A guess Las Animas will also remain on the to-do list.

    Dropping into Bahia de Los Angeles, it's pretty much unchanged, except for the new paved road leading to La Gringa, where the government is putting in another marina facility in the "Nautica Escalera" project.  Stopping at a Pemex station which wasn't here two years ago, I drain the pump as a group of unlucky thirsty cars line up behind me.  Passing another Pemex station under construction only a couple of blocks away, it looks like the town could use a second gas stop.

    Steve, a new internet friend, has a place here at L.A. Bay.  I had asked him for directions to the inside track from here to the Bahia Gonzaga road.  In the past we've always had to go all the way back to Highway 1 and use 35 miles of pavement between Laguna Chapala and the L.A. Bay road.  This won't do anymore.  His instructions tell me to go to km 12 and look for the track north.  Getting there, I see tracks, but decide I'm so close to the Hwy 1 intersection I'm going there first to way-mark the junction in my GPS, and to top off on gas from the guy who's always there, selling gas out of barrels, as the Pemex station there has been closed for nearly 20 years (remember I drained the Pemex tank in L.A. Bay before getting a full tank).

    As the attendant is topping off my gas, I ask him about the trail north.  He tells me to look for a turn at km 10.  Getting there, this road looks a bit more traveled than Steve's turnoff, so off I go.  Following lots of motorcycle tracks, after a couple of miles the going gets rough, and it takes me over an hour to go only about 6 miles. I can now see Hwy 1 only a few hundred yards to my left, and am within a mile of what I believe is the connection with the back road to Coco's Corner and Bahia Gonzaga.  All of a sudden, a shiny new fence is blocking the trail.  I must have missed a side connection somewhere behind me, but I'm too aggravated with the poor road to go back and look for it.  Finding a shortcut to the pavement, this is enough trailblazing for one day.  Its off to Laguna Chapala and the main graded road to Bahia Gonzaga.

    Marking the turn to Gonzaga, I'm off on the last leg of today's trip.  The road is badly washboarded, but the low air in the tires is soaking up the bumps pretty well.  After a few miles I reach Coco's Corner, a spot immortalized in the off-road movie Dust To Glory.  Waving to Coco as I pass, I'm reminiscing about all the motorcycle trips we did on this road back in the 80's.  Soon there's a small blue pickup on the side of the road.  Pulling over, I introduce myself to Mike from England.  He's also traipsing around the Baja, and has shredded a tire.  He's in a quandary, as his axle has dropped so low he can't get his bottle jack under it to lift it up.  Roy to the rescue - I break out my floor jack and within a few seconds we've got the tire changed, but his spare is nearly flat too.  Firing off the generator and connecting the new air compressor, Mike watches with awe as I quickly get his spare to the correct pressure.  Telling Mike his highway tires are ill-suited for this type of road, I suggest he air down his tires and go slowly.  I also suggest he stop at Papa Fernandez's tire shop at Gonzaga to see if there's a used tire available to replace the shredded one, for now he has no spare, and about 60 more miles of bad road before reaching pavement. After shaking hands, I take off, looking forward to reaching Alfonsina's, a rustic motel right on the waterfront at Bahia Gonzaga. 

    Reaching Gonzaga, I notice the Pemex station that was under construction when I last passed by five years ago is now open.  Making the turn for Alfonsina's, there's a number of small planes parked at the end of the well-groomed dirt airstrip.  Pulling into Alfonsina's, the place has undergone lots of improvements, as the closet-sized rooms we used to squeeze into have been replaced by a new 2-story structure.  There's now hot showers and flush toilets, a marked improvement from the old days. The previously small dining area has doubled in size, and as usual, there's a number of dirt bikes parked out front.  Hopefully they have a room for me.

    Fortunately, there's a room for me for tonight. Walking into the dining room, there's one of the Seattle guys I met at the Serinidad in Mulege.  And he's all banged up, with scrapes all over his face and his entire left arm bandaged up.  After I left Mulege, he had an encounter with a cow in the trail - ouch!  He's cruising back to their rig in San Felipe, while the rest of the group continued on south.

    Dinner is fresh fish and shrimp, and the portions are more Roy-sized.  As is customary down here, most of us are horizontal early.

    Today's route - 208 miles

DAY 4 - February 16th

    The staff here has the morning routine done right - there's plenty of fresh hot coffee ready early.  I'm surprised to find British Mike here sipping a cup.  He explains that after I left him yesterday, he was using the softer sandy shoulder road and got stuck.  Another good Samaritan pulled him out, and he spent the night at a nearby spot.  We have breakfast together (more chorizo & eggs), and say goodbye again.  He takes off while I stop for ice and sodas at the corner store.

    I am looking forward to getting to San Felipe today, especially to renew my 25-year friendship with the Lopez family from Laguna Percebu, one of the campos about 15 miles south of town.  But first I need to get to Puertocitos, a 40-mile run from Gonzaga through lots of volcanic washboard.  One year it took me 8 hours for this segment, getting three flat tires in the process.  The sandy washes soon turn to volcanic rock. I pass British Mike, who's proceeding at a prudently slow pace.

    Getting to the top of the first of three volcanic grades known as the 3 Sisters, I pull over to make a scheduled sat phone call to my office. While on the phone, I get what's now known as a "Hey Roy" moment.  A car pulls up next to me, and here in the middle of nowhere some friends from back home on the Eastcape roll down their window and say hi - it's a small world indeed!

    Waving goodbye, we both continue on.  After getting to the top of the last of the 3 Sisters, all of a sudden there's a loud ticky-ticky-ticky sound emanating from underneath the truck.  I know that sound - I've just trashed the brand new torque converter we installed less the 3 months ago.  Mentally cursing Detroit's inability to make a product that's Baja-proof, there's not much I can do but continue on, hoping the drive train doesn't give out on me before I get to San Diego.

    Reaching Puertocitos, I notice the Pemex station looks to be permanently closed, and I don't see any private signs for gas sales. Good to know for future reference.  What some might call pavement begins here, but the going is actually slower than the dirt, as I have to dodge amazingly deep suspension-eating potholes.  After about 10 miles of this, there's finally some fresh pavement.

    The next few miles before getting to the Percebu turnoff bring back a cascade of memories going back to before the road was paved in the mid-80's.  My very first Baja trip included the 50-mile old dirt road from San Felipe to Puertocitos, where we bathed in the famous natural hot spring cut into the rocky shore there.  Where have all the years gone?

    Reaching the turn for Percebu, I'm eager to get to the cantina to catch up with Jorge, the brother that runs the place.  Twenty years ago he asked me to be the "padrino" to his kids, a rare honor in this culture.  Pulling up to the bar, there's been lots of changes in the last few years.  A new dining palapa in  front of the restaurant and an enclosed larger bar area are immediately noticeable. I ask for Jorge, and the girls say he's working on some grading in the nearby subdivision and should be back soon.  Might as well have some tacos while waiting for him.  Back in the 80's we were gods to the college kids that used to swarm all over the place during spring break.  We'd show up in our lifted 4wd's hauling trailers full of quads and dirt bikes, generators to run the blenders, and huge sound systems to blast Jimmy Buffett all over the place.  The college kids that would show up in daddy's car with a sleeping bag and a Frisbee would watch in awe as we would set up camp.  Those were the days!  Now it seems the Geritol-for-lunch bunch has taken over the place.  Ten years ago I was the oldest person here, now I'm the youngest. Don't get me wrong, I think its great.  Too many older people are content to live with their memories, but not these folks.  They're out running around in their dune buggies and ATV's, having a blast.  I just hope if I ever get to that age I can still be doing these adventures.

    Pretty soon Jorge shows up with a surprise, his older brother Cesar.  After a tearful reunion, we catch up on what's been going on in our lives.  Jorge's kids have left the nest, gotten married and are forging their own lives.  Cesar's son, who we used to take on ATV rides when he was only about knee-high is now racing quads out of Temecula.  The rest of the family, including the parents, sisters Amparo and Lupita, their husbands Lance and Duke, have all relocated to Mazatlan.

    I was planning on staying here tonight, but with Jorge now living in San Felipe, there's no real reason for me to camp here.  I decide to grab a hotel in town, and Jorge and I arrange to meet for dinner there later.  Jorge points out a ramshackle raft floating in the laguna, and explains there's an old sailor who built it in San Felipe six months ago out of trash, and is planning on sailing it down the Sea of Cortez and across the Pacific to China.  I take one look at the floating dump and think to myself - fat chance!  However, the old salt has a commission from the Discovery Channel to document the adventure, and is equipped with GPS and sat phone - I hope he makes it!

    Taking a couple of photos as I'm pulling out, I'm reminded of Percebu's signature drink, the Cazuela.  A large clay bowl is filled with whiskey, rum soda and fruit juices, then passed around your group.  It is truly a prescription for alcoholism.

    Just south of San Felipe I'm back in cell phone range, and pull over to make some calls. First to my Ford dealer to set up a service appointment for the ailing Ford, then to Gary at my US office to check on the progress in tracking down a motor for the Jeep.  Good news, he's found a local machine shop with the motor I want and it'll be ready in a couple of days - thanks Gary!

    Pulling into Hotel Capitan, I'm reminded at how dependent the local economy is on US tourism, as all the prices here (as well as all vendors in San Felipe) are all posted in US Dollars.

    Calling Jorge, he's tied up at Percebu and can't make dinner - we promise to try again next time.  Walking over to the El Nido Steakhouse, I think about the time we were here about 25 years ago and had run out of money.  Some college kids had left behind all their empty beer bottles, not realizing there was a deposit on them.  I collected nearly 20 cases of empties and cashed them in.  Got me enough money to buy a tank of gas and to take my buddies out to dinner here at El Nido before leaving. 

    108 memory-laden miles today.

DAY 5 - February 17th

    Some high overcast this morning, but still I've been lucky with the weather.  After breakfast at George's, I stop at a local internet cafe to check on another 1,600 junk emails.  As the webmaster for the Leonero website, my e-address is in the public domain - not much I can do about it.

    Making a last pass through town before pulling out, I'm looking for our favorite taco vendor from the old days - Kiko, but he's nowhere to be found.  Stopping at the Pemex to air up the tires to highway pressure, they're looking pretty ragged.  Checking my maintenance log, it's been nearly 6 years and 44,000 miles on these treads. Looks like some new rubber will be on the list when I get to San Diego.

    Heading north on Highway 5, the gringo invasion of Mexico is in full force here, as I pass countless signs touting the latest subdivisions going in along the Gulf, and in no time I've reached Mexicali.  Having now lived in Mexico for 14 years (has it really been that long?), negotiating traffic here isn't nearly as stressful as I remember, and soon I'm in the border line. 

    Checking my watch, the wait to cross the border is only 20 minutes - not bad.  I remember waiting as long as 5 hours to get across here during some of the big holiday weekends years ago.

    Checking into a hotel in El Centro, I hole up with my computer and a bucket of KFC.  I can't wait to go to Glamis tomorrow, where I'll meet my buddy Ken.  We've been buddies since sophomores in high school, having gone through all the classic teenage angst moments together.  Even though we talk on the phone periodically, we haven't seen each other in years - I'm looking forward to the time together.

    141 miles today.

PART 2 - USA

DAY 6 - February 18

    I have some time to kill this morning, as Ken won't be out at Glamis until at least noon.  Treating myself to a rare pleasure, I enjoy reading the morning newspaper over breakfast.  Still early, as it's less than an hour's drive to the sand dunes at Glamis, I stop at a shopping center to knock a few things off my USA list.  Listening to the annoying click-click-click coming from under the truck, I sure hope it lasts until I can get to San Diego. Getting to Brawley, I merge with an endless line of motorhomes and trailers heading east to the sand playground.

    Taking the Hwy 78 turnoff, soon I can see a cloud of sand hanging in the air over Glamis.  Getting to the west end of the dunes, the scene is astounding.  Years ago most of the duners came out in pickups with campers, or tent camped.  Now, nearly all the rigs seem to be 3/4 or 1-ton trucks pulling toy boxes, enclosed trailers which haul the quads, then convert to living quarters.  Viewing the countless campers, there's not millions of dollars worth of RV's here, there's billions of dollars worth of rigs.

    Continuing on Hwy 78 as it bisects the sand dunes which stretch from the Mexican border to the Salton Sea, the Glamis store soon comes into view through the sand-laden skies.  Stopping at the store to say hi to owners Bo & Kay, it's then upstairs to the restaurant to visit with Jeannie, who's operated the place for as long as I can remember.  While catching up with her, my phone rings, it's Ken with perfect timing.  He gives me GPS coordinates of his camp, and soon I'm on the way there, but not before Jeannie reminds me I now need to buy a $25 permit to camp here (boy - things sure have changed since the old days!)

    The GPS sure makes it easy to find Ken.  Reaching his camp spot, he also has the obligatory 3/4-ton pickup and a toy box trailer.  It's a far cry from the old days when we'd throw our 3-wheelers in the back of a truck and come out here with a tent and a cooler.  Now its all generators, TV's and microwave ovens. Getting caught up with what's been going on in each other's lives, Ken is solo this trip, meaning there's an extra quad.  Squeezing into an extra helmet (no easy task), we go on a dune ride to Oldsmobile Hill, the traditional afternoon gathering spot, where hundreds (if not thousands) of quads, buggies and trucks spend the afternoon racing up the slope.

    Making a stop at Boardmanville, another watering hole at the edge of the dunes, it's a tradition to put up a dollar bill on the walls or ceiling to mark your visit.  Scanning the thousands of bills, I spot a couple of old bills I put up there back in 1987.

    Back at camp, we decide to try one of Jeannie's pizzas for dinner.  At the restaurant, I notice she still has the Roy Special on the breakfast menu.  20 years ago she would make a special breakfast for me (biscuits layered with scrambled eggs, covered with sausage gravy and a side of bacon - a real low cholesterol meal - ha!).  One year I talked her into putting it on the menu, and the rest is history, as it's been their most popular breakfast item ever since.  The large pizza is more than we can tackle, with the leftovers going back to camp with us for tomorrow. 

    Back at camp, I'd forgotten how cold it can be here during the winter nights, and gladly accept Ken's offer to stay inside his trailer, rather than tent camping in the cold sand.  We try to start a fire using my Mexican gasoline, and nearly fall down laughing as the gas can't even ignite the firewood.

DAY 7 - February 19

    As the sun chases off the early-morning chill, we are greeted by a couple of hot-air balloons rising from a nearby camp.  My weather luck is still holding, with broken clouds here, while it's raining on the coast.  I can't make a visit here without having a Roy Special, and soon Ken and I are heading over to the restaurant for the heart-clogging concoction. Jeannie surprises me by comp'ing my breakfast (she says that's the least she can do).  Afterwards we try a couple of dune rides on the quads, but the sheer amount of traffic in the dunes makes it tough. 

    In the afternoon we decide to head on over to retail row, an area where numerous vendors are set up, plying their trades to the hordes of riders.  Picking up some needed parts for Ken and some souvenir shirts for me, we're on our way back to camp for leftover pizza.  We spend the rest of the evening around the campfire (this time started with Ken's USA gas).

DAY 8 - February 20

    We wisely decide to break camp early and get on the road.  With thousands of rigs all trying to squeeze through a single two-lane road to get out of here, it could take hours to reach the freeway later today.  Saying our goodbyes (gracias for everything Ken) There's time for breakfast in El Centro before limping to San Diego.  I've got my fingers crossed I'll get there before the transmission gives out.

    Pulling into my buddy Al's house, I breath a sigh of relief.  As is customary for my visits, Al, wife Jodi and infant Cameron and I make a trek to Outback for dinner, followed by movies on Al's big screen.  Tomorrow we'll treat the Ford to some TLC, as well as do some serious shopping.

DAY 9 - February 21

    First things first.  Pulling into Heller Ford to drop of the truck, it takes 3 pages and a half-hour to write up the service order.  I haven't driven the truck up in nearly five years, and there's lots of deferred maintenance to do, in addition to the tranny noise.  Picking up a rental car, there's a long list of shopping to be done. 

    Off to National City to put a deposit on the new motor for the Jeep at Motor Machine, I notice a Border Patrol truck and police car in front of the shop.  Asking Juan (the clerk I've been talking to on the phone) what's going on, he explains his shop does all the motor rebuilding work for the Border Patrol and various police departments. I'm impressed, it looks like I'm dealing with the right place.  A $500 deposit later, Juan promises the new motor will be ready on Thursday.  The rental car is making strange noises, so its back to Heller Ford to swap it out.

    After checking off more items from the shopping list, its time for adventures with Al.  He desperately wants a new truck to replace his 1996 Dodge 3/4-ton.  With the recent addition of Cameron to the family, he needs a truck with a back seat for the baby.  A new turbo diesel crew cab is going to set Al back about $52k (including lift kit).  He's been negotiating with a guy from Canada to purchase his classic Porsche for $30k, and thinks he can get about $10k for his '96 Dodge (he'll finance the difference).  He's got the jitters bad - we spend hours talking about what color and which options he wants, as well as whether or not he can live without a Porsche in the garage.

DAY 10 - February 22

    Stopping at the UPS store to pick up the 18 boxes of internet-ordered goods I've ordered, the next stop is REI (the outdoors outfitters).  Walking into the store, I start getting sensory overload.  There's so much stuff here I could use on our camping trips, I'm actually shaking - I want one of everything!  I consider it a success when I get out of there for less than $300.

    About noon I get a sad phone call from Heller Ford.  The transmission is shot, and with all the other work to be done, the estimate has gone up to nearly $7,000 - all for a truck with a book value of about $8,000.  I tell them to stop any work for now, while I figure out what to do.  I really need a truck for life in Mexico; I also need to haul the new Jeep motor as well. The answer is simple - buy Al's truck.  This solves a multitude of problems.  It provide me with a vehicle to get home in which can haul all my stuff, and gives Al the green light to complete the sale of his Porsche to get his new truck - perfect.  Even if Al's truck isn't the ideal choice for me, I can always sell it back home in Mexico for more than I'll be paying Al; it's a can't-lose deal for me. Calling Al to seal the deal, it looks like I've safely gotten past this speed bump on the highway of life.

    Dinner is hot chicken wings with Jeff Powell and family.  Jeff's another riding buddy from the old days (his name's also on the 1987 Boardmanville dollar bills at Glamis). 

DAY 11 - February 23

    Today's agenda is simple, finish the truck business so I can go home.  I had originally planned on leaving tomorrow, in order to have the time to investigate some off-road spots on the Pacific side on the way home. But now it looks more like Saturday before I can leave.

    Making arrangements to wire the funds to Al from my bank in Mexico, I need to get his truck smogged before I can register it.  An oil change before leaving is also a wise idea.  Add in some last-minute shopping and most of the day is shot.  Thinking about tomorrow, there's lots to do - register Al's truck, get insurance, pick up the Jeep motor, get everything packed, and pick up the Ford (Al's going to sell it for me).

DAY 12 - February 24

    My peaceful slumber is shattered at 3:30am with a loud banging on my door.  For an instant I have a flashback to the time about 20 years ago when the FBI showed up early one morning wanting to talk to Al - but that's another story.  It's Al, and he needs to talk to me - what has he gotten into now?  Quickly getting dressed, I join Al at the kitchen table, and he is obviously distressed.  He's got seller's remorse, and hasn't slept at all.  He wants to cancel the truck sale, as well as the Porsche sale; he's worried about taking on any more debt to finance the purchase of a new truck. 

    Discussing his options, Al's worried that I'm mad at him for canceling on me.  But how can I be, as for the first time in the 25 years we've known each other he's doing the smart thing.  Fortunately, I haven't transferred title yet, so our deal is easy to unravel.  But now he's got to reach the Porsche buyer, who is planning on driving down later today from Canada.  Starting at 4am Al tries calling him, but there's no answer.  Now I'm in limbo, as if Al can't reach the Porsche buyer before he comes down, Al might have to go through with the deal.

    At 5am Al finally reaches the Canadian buyer, and explains he can't go through with the sale.  A very understanding voice on the other end of the phone explains it's OK, and if Al changes his mind later, to please give him a call.  That problem solved, it's time to figure out what I'm going to do.  Here I am, less than 24 hours before planning to leave, there's a half-ton of my gear piled around the side of the house, there's a new motor that needs to be picked up, and I have no truck.

    With great pangs of guilt, Al agrees to cancel work today to help me look for another ride.  In the pre-dawn darkness he makes a Starbuck's run, and picks up a copy of the latest Auto Trader magazine.  By 7am we've identified several possible candidates, and off we go.  I have a real timing problem.  Today is Friday, so if I don't complete a purchase by 10am, I won't be able to transfer any additional funds needed from my Mexican bank until Monday.  The same thing applies to the Jeep motor - if I don't pick it up by 5pm I'm stuck until Monday. 

    Running around the county, we don't find anything that suits me.  At 11am, we return home, utterly discouraged.  I feel we've run out of time.  I'm even considering loading everything into my broken Ford and trying to limp home.  Splitting up, Al continues the search for a truck for me, while I run up to Escondido to pick up my Ford.  To keep my options open, I need to pick up the Jeep motor as well.  Running down to National City in the Friday afternoon freeway rush, I'm interrupted by a frantic call from Al, who's found a couple of trucks in Pacific Beach which might work. Detouring to check out Al's finds, there's a very clean Toyota and a king-cab Nissan Frontier to look at.  The Toyota looks perfect, but it's only a 4-cylinder, no thanks!  The Nissan instantly catches my eye, it's bright yellow, and looks just like the trucks used in the Baywatch TV show.  Explaining to the salesman I need to pick up my Jeep motor first, I'll be back in a couple of hours to give the Nissan a test drive. 

    Accompanied by the ticky-ticky-ticky transmission sound from the Ford, I manage to negotiate the rush-hour traffic to National City and pick up the shiny new Jeep motor before the shop closes.  Back at the Nissan dealer, a test drive confirms my initial attraction to this truck.  They even agree to take my Ford in trade, broken transmission and all.  With the $10k I'm carrying from Al's cancelled deal, my Ford and several thousand dollars charged to my credit card gets me the 2001 Nissan Frontier with 34k miles.  Turning over the key to the Ford without the slightest hint of remorse, I head for home in the Nissan, having first arranged to return in the morning so the service department can transfer the 400-lb Jeep motor from the Ford into the Frontier.

DAY 15 - February 25

    Getting to the dealer early, I really want to get the Jeep motor and get out of there before they determine how poor the Ford's condition is.  It's a Chinese fire drill moving the motor to the Nissan.  The 1984 Buick motor uses SAE threads on the bolts, while Detroit has embraced the metric system in recent years.  It takes the mechanics about 20 minutes to find some lifting bolts that fit, and soon the motor is safely secured in the bed of my new truck.

    After a stop at Discover Baja Travel Club for Mexican insurance, it's back to Al's for the daunting task of fitting everything that was in the Ford into the Nissan, plus the fruits of all my shopping here.  The Jeep motor is safely hidden in plain sight under a tarp, and by the afternoon the bed and back seat are filled to capacity.  With a full load, it looks like there won't be any off-roading for me on the way home - there's always next time.

    The last supper is at Outback (of course).  Planning on crossing the border before dawn (I hate the border area traffic), lights are out early.

DAY 16 - February 26

    With the anticipation of the trip, I'm up at 3am, early even by my standards.  Trying to quietly leave the house, I need a caffeine fix bad.  After a stop at Denny's, I'm ready for the long drive home.

    Getting to the border at 4am, every vehicle crossing at this hour gets a red light for a customs check.  Holding my breath, I pull up to the inspection station.  In addition to the new motor, I'm carrying $4,000 worth of suspension parts for our quads, as well as lots of boy toys.  If the inspector finds all this stuff, not only will there be hundreds of dollars in import fees, but they may require I wait until the commercial desk opens to process the paperwork.  The inspector dutifully starts opening up several of my bags, and now is when my careful packing pays off.  He bypasses the tarp protecting the motor, and misses the bag with all the quad parts.  Waving me through, I don't start breathing easier until reaching the first toll station on the highway south.

    The early departure gets me through the Tijuana-Ensenada corridor before there's any traffic.  Stopping at San Quintin for breakfast, the rest of the trip home proceeds without incident. 

EPILOGUE

    Got home on Monday afternoon.  The new Nissan worked out great, and certainly was a better choice for me than Al's Dodge.  Delivered the Jeep motor to my mechanic, and am looking forward to new adventures soon.

    Mentally reviewing the trip, it would have been much more fun in the Jeep, and a return trip with the fresh motor is already in the planning stage.  I still have to find the lost cave paintings, visit the beach trail along the Pacific side, as well as try the new route from San Francisquito to Santa Marta on the quads.

    The only regret was not seeing more of my old friends while in San Diego, but circumstances just didn't work out.  Hopefully next time.

February 28, 2006

Roy - Sr. Divertido - Magellan - Baldwin

"Go Everywhere, Do Everything!"

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