Copyright 2001, all rights reserved

    Three years ago, I lost my home at Rancho Leonero to Tropical Storm Isis, which dumped 30 inches of rain in 8 hours in the local mountains. The resultant flash flood took out my home with only a 2-minute warning (see the story "Hurricane Isis Diary").

    Ever since then, I find myself always looking over my shoulder when it comes to hurricane season in the eastern Pacific. Knowing from past experience that whenever a good-sized storm hits the area (every few years), we should expect services such as power, water, phones, etc., to be out for up to a week. During the past three years, I've been planning for this day. I bought a home in the local village of La Ribera (on high ground), and equipped it with a gas generator and plenty of water storage. I recently traded in my SkyCell satellite phone for a new Iridium hand-held, as phone service could get clobbered.

    Juliette is now a Category 4 storm, with winds in excess of 140mph. I've been tracking it on TV as well as the Internet, and don't like what I'm seeing. Normally, the Pacific storms which form off Acapulco track northwest, usually passing between Clarion and Socorro Islands before dying in the cooler waters offshore. However, Juliette is forecast to pass inside of Socorro, and this poses a grave danger to us, as it means the center of circulation could pass within 100 miles of us, well within the hurricane force wind area.

    This morning I had my gardener put up the storm windows on the back and side of the house, leaving only the living room and office uncovered; these 2 windows can be quickly boarded up if necessary. Planning for the possibility of being cut off for up to several days, I've transferred additional funds to the hotel's front office, and advised my employees, Marilu and Nieves, that if it's raining in the morning to stay home.

    I spend the afternoon stocking up on drinking water, gasoline and groceries, and spend the evening tracking the storm's progress. Throughout the night, the local police stop by repeatedly, looking for updated information. I’m sure my neighbors must think I’m being arrested for some nefarious crime.

    Dawn brings a dismally gray sky and light but steady rain. I've wisely elected to stay at home, where I can be of most use in tracking the storm. As the morning progresses and Juliette gets closer, the wind picks up and the rain gets heavier. At 11am, some of the employees at the hotel get nervous and want to be brought home, but it's already too late - the main flood plain, the Las Cuevas arroyo, has already begun to channel off the tremendous rain falling in the local mountains, and has cut off the road from Rancho Leonero to La Ribera. The stranded employees return to the hotel to await their fate.

    At about 1pm La Ribera loses power. I fire off my generator, and continue to monitor the storm's pending visit to the area. Fortunately, Juliette has weakened a bit, with winds now about 100mph. Her forward progress is slowing down, and this bodes us no good. I decide to redouble my preparations, and clear the yard of anything that could become a flying missile in the oncoming maelstrom. In case the storm windows don't hold, I've taken the precaution of placing the computers, valuable documents and cash in plastic zip-loc bags, and locked everything up, just in case.

    At 3pm Juliette has been reclassified to a strong tropical storm – you could have fooled me! I think she considers this an insult, and all the meteorologists have accomplished is make her mad.

    Around 7pm I check my email and the storm position, and am amazed that we still have phone service. The storm center is now within 100 miles of us, just off the tip of the peninsula, and the previous downgrading to tropical storm status has been rescinded, as Juliette has regained an eye, and hurricane status again - Cabo San Lucas must be taking a beating. The police make their final visit for the night at about 9:30, and I let them know I think the worst will hit between midnight and 3am. Shortly thereafter, I hit the sack, as the shrieking of the wind and the splatter of the driven rain drowns out the drone of my generator.

    Dawn's arrival brings a welcome respite from a fitful sleep, continuously interrupted by the howling of the wind and the occasional impact of some debris striking the house. I'm almost afraid to look outside, but eventually curiosity gains control, and I step outside to view the boiling gray clouds above and what looks to be the set of a war movie on the streets of our village. For as far as I can see, the town is littered with shattered trees, downed power lines, and an endless amount of debris.

    Checking the TV, it seems the storm has spent much of its energy, but is now holding stationary just off the Pacific coast, north of Todos Santos. Realizing that relief efforts can't begin until the storm has left, I start thinking about rationing my supplies, as I think it could be up to a week before we'll get help. Shutting off the generator for a much-needed rest, I make a recon mission around town to see how everyone has fared. It seems everyone is safe, and those with flimsy homes stayed in government-provided shelters for the night. The hotel has fared OK, with no significant damage. My cell phone doesn’t work, and my Iridium phone only wants to connect to the USA. My contact with the hotel is limited to the VHF radio, and messages relayed through my frequent Iridium calls to John Ireland, fretting in San Diego.

    The wind has diminished, but the steady rain continues, with no chance of crossing the arroyos today, I spend most of the afternoon visiting friends and checking on the storm's progress, which has taken on the tone of a broken record, as Juliette can't make up her mind on where to go.

    The continuous rain has taxed the terrain's ability to shed water, and many low-laying areas have been destroyed. Gabriel gives me a grim report by radio, indicating that the homes in the canyon are at risk, and he will keep me informed as to how things go. The inability to do anything has become very frustrating. They have advised John of this, and we all get little rest tonight, worrying about the three homes in the canyon.

    The rain has tapered off, and the temperature is cool, so I decide to forego the generator and air-conditioning tonight, and I'm sure my neighbors were thankful for the relief from the dreadful noise emanating from the behemoth.

    Daylight reveals a light overcast and a slow drizzle. The town begins cleanup, and by mid-morning Pancho shows up and starts to erase the evidence of Juliette's passage from my yard. I'm convinced we may be without electricity for at least a week, as we have received reports that miles of power lines are down. I begin my search in earnest for gasoline to keep my generator running. Marilu's husband, Pedro, offers to siphon gas from his car, but it has an anti-siphon restrictor - thanks for trying, Pedro. The gas stations are claiming to be out, but we think they are hoarding it for themselves. I've siphoned about 10 gallons from the quad and jeep, and can keep going part-time for a couple of more days. I run into Mike O’Dell and he joins my quest for liquid electricity. We try to siphon the fuel from one of the Leonero homeowner's cars parked at his house, but my hose isn't long enough. We then head on over to Mike's carpentry shop, where we successfully rob 10 gallons from his crane truck - thanks Mike.

    Back at home; some of the neighbors come over to check on the weather, so I fire up the generator to check the TV. As expected, the storm is drifting away from us. After everyone leaves, I decide to take advantage of the power being on, and attempt a nap in the bliss of an air-conditioned bedroom. My rest is short-lived, however, as about a half-hour later my siesta is interrupted by a terrible explosion in my back yard, followed by the dreadful silence of no electricity. Hoping against hope that the problem is fixable, I rush out to the generator room to find pieces of the motor scattered about, as if a bomb had hit it. Upon closer inspection, there's a baseball-sized hole in the case where the piston made an unscheduled exit - RIP. Immediately, the impact of the generator loss hits me. In addition to the loss of email, internet and website updating with the loss of phone service, I now have lost computer services, not to mention loss of refrigeration, TV, and the all-important air-conditioning. Until I can get to the hotel or a miraculous restoration of public services occurs, I'm out of business.

    With nothing else to do, I join the milling hordes of restless people with cabin fever and start cruising the town, searching for a familiar face to chat with. With that plan getting old quick, I take off for Santa Cruz, to get some photos the washed out road for our insurance claim. On the way back, I stop and see if Marilu and her family want some of my frozen meats before they go bad - it takes her less than a milli-second to reply with a resounding yes.

    Back at home, I brace myself for a restless night without air conditioning, but a stiff breeze is blowing, keeping things reasonably comfortable. Dinner consists of some thawed out hamburger meat grilled on the bbq, downed with a semi-cold soft drink, all by candlelight- ah, I love Baja!

    The morning brings some patches of blue sky on the horizon. Breaking out the Iridium phone, I manage to reach our engineer, Rudy Vargas in La Paz. He lets me know it's still raining heavily there, so we shouldn't expect any help soon. Pretty soon Gaby calls me from the hotel by radio, and tells me all the employees have left and are trying to walk home. He also tells me the generator is acting up, and is cut off in mid-sentence. This is the last communication I have with the hotel today. A bit later I reach John on the Iridium, and he tells me that after 3 days of double shifts, everyone's patience is frazzled, and Gary had words with some of the workers, causing everyone to just want to go home. The generator has crapped out, so Gary is going to try to get all the guests moved on over to another hotel. When he gets there, he finds conditions there no better, so everyone decides to stay at Leonero for now; with a skeleton crew to keep things going.

    Going over to check on things at Marilu's, I get treated to a breakfast of machaca and fried cheese - pretty good stuff. My neighbor, Alfonso, who recently painted my Jeep, stopped by and asked if today would be a good day to buff-out the car (he needs $$) - I say yes, even though it still might rain again.

    The rest of the day is spent working on this journal - written on my Palm handheld - and visiting various employees. Going over to Angelica's, she tells of the harrowing 4-hour ordeal she had walking (and swimming) home from the hotel this morning. It's obvious no cars will get across today, so we just hope for the best for tomorrow.

    A couple of the hotel employees stop by to borrow a couple of gas cans, they're going to try to reach Miraflores to buy gas - I haven't seen them since. A check of the area stores shows all the perishable goods are gone, and the shelves are emptying fast. If we don't get supplies in during the next couple of days, things could get ugly.

    During a visit to Mike's house this afternoon, he tells me there’s a brand new 15kw propane generator sitting in the garage of one of the Leonero homeowners, Bruce Borggreve. Reaching him via Iridium, I offer to buy a new one if I can have this one, and he generously agrees - thanks Bruce - now all I have to do is get it here, right now it might as well be on the moon.

    An invitation to Mike's for dinner is a welcome surprise. Cocktails, pork chops and fresh tortillas later, we are sated as I make my goodbyes and try one last pass through town before returning to Casa Divertido to spend the rest of the evening working on this journal by candlelight - I really must be sick! Trying to find the coolest spot to get some sleep, I put my camping mattress out on the back patio, and am lulled to sleep by the angry buzzing of the hungry mosquitoes trying unsuccessfully to reach me through the screened windows.

    Dawn breaks early, as we've just gone off Daylight Savings Time, bringing with it a cloudless sky for the first time in weeks. The unimpeded sun will dry things out fast, but will also bring back the oppressive tropic heat, from which there is no escape.

    When in a situation like this, it's important to maintain one's normal routines, as much as possible. Things like making the bed, cleaning house, and washing the dishes help in maintaining a sense pf normalcy. After completing the morning chores, which included dumping the last of the spoiled food out of the now-useless refrigerator, I cook the last of the bacon and eggs for breakfast before collecting Mike for a recon mission to Las Cuevas to see if we can get across.

    The scene at Las Cuevas is devastating. The store and homes on the southern bank have vanished; the arroyo is still running about 4 feet deep, and is now nearly a half-mile across - no way to cross today. Back in town, we head down to the beach, looking for a pangero foolish enough to take us by boat to Leonero, and we found our man - Alonso. He indicates some of our employees want him to take them to work, so I quickly take off to round them up. Everyone regroups at my house and the decision is reached to postpone the panga trip until tomorrow at 7am. Enrique shows up to do some work on the Jeep, and the day settles into a dull monotony.

    Out of the blue, Gabriel and Oscar show up at my front door - they've come over via panga and are rounding up some relief help for the hotel. Things are looking up.

    With the possibility of restored electricity coming soon (once I can get the new generator here), my thoughts turn to my communications problem. I call my buddy Scott at Honor Marine Communications in San Diego, and he has a data module for my Iridium phone. Another call to Sonny Vigil, and he agrees to pick it up and bring down his scheduled trip tomorrow. Lunch consists of an Atkins bar and some canned peanuts, washed down with luke-warm bottled water.

    Calls to John reveals that Gary has gotten the hotel’s generator back working. This good news bolsters my efforts to find a way across the vast delta that now separates me from the hotel. I fire up the Jeep, grab Pedro and head on back to Las Cuevas to see if the raging torrent of floodwater has receded at all. Cutting through seldom-used farm trails we eventually arrive at the remnants of Las Cuevas, and to our disappointment, the water hasn't receded at all since this morning. We decide to try to get to Santiago to see how things are there, and cruise up the now-deserted highway. Dodging huge holes in the road, as well as large boulders, we soon arrive at the entrance to Santiago. The recent $10-million peso road improvement project for Santiago is nothing more than a fleeting memory. In a desperate attempt to cross the road, someone has tried to ford the arroyo with a farm tractor and has gotten stuck right in midstream. We get a few minutes entertainment watching them pull out the now nearly submerged John Deere with a steel cable attached to a road grader.

    On the way home, we spot a CFE helicopter landing at the Santiago substation, and stop to ask how long they think we'll be without electricity. The engineer sadly shakes his head as he tells us it could be 10 days or more for La Ribera, and probably much longer for Buena Vista. The high-voltage transmission tower that was in the middle of Las Cuevas has vanished in Juliette's wrath, and a new one will need to be air-lifted in by Sigorsky helicopter.

    Back in La Ribera, I stop at Mike's to pass on the story about the electricity situation, and find him busily preparing care packages of food for some of the area's needy families. He had hitched a ride with our panga to Leonero to check on the houses there, and had raided Bruce's extensive pantry - thanks again Bruce.

    Dinner consists of some hamburger meat Mike had kept frozen for me, and warm bottled water.

    Sacking out early, I've decided to catch the early panga to Leonero in the morning to try to get payroll completed for the employees, and to make a recon mission to Los Barriles to check on Agueda and the kids, not to mention trying to figure out a way to get the new generator here.

    It’s a welcome clear morning after a steamy, sweaty night. I'm up early to make the appointed 6:30 time to be picked up at the beach for the boat ride to Leonero, but when I get to Mike's to pick him up, he's still horizontal. I rush down to the beach to tell them to send another boat at 8:30, then return home to cook the last of my eggs. Afterwards, I round up Mike, and right on time, the panga shows up. On the ride over, the scope of the flooding becomes evident. There's a huge scar on the landscape that's still pumping water into the ocean at a furious pace - it almost looks like a permanent river.

    The scene at Leonero is as expected, Gary's patience has been worn thin by 5 days of battling with broken generators, stranded guests, and restless employees. Since the generator is down again, there's no point in trying to get any work done, so we gas up my Suzuki, and check on the homes Mike's responsible for. That task completed, we head to Los Barriles to see how things fared there. Lots of debris still in the road, and as we get to where the San Bartolo arroyo crosses the beach road north of Barriles, we see a number of damaged homes on the far bank. 4WD vehicles are getting through the still-running wash, but 2 unfortunate 2WD cars are stuck, hoping for someone to tow them out.

    Stopping at Tio Pablo's, it's apparent the resident community has no clue as to the disaster taking place just a few miles down the road. Everyone is enjoying their burger and beer lunches, while the communities of La Ribera and Santa Cruz are dependant on the government helicoptering in emergency relief supplies. Running into Clarence, it’s evident Juliette spanked him pretty good – he’s a giant walking mass of cuts, scrapes and bruises. He tried to cross the Buena Vista arroyo in his van, just as a wall of water got there. The impact tossed him from the car, and then bounced him down the canyon, like a rag doll in a storm drain. He also lost his home during Isis, Mother Nature must have it in for him.

    After taking advantage of our first cold drink in three days, we stop at the nearly obscenely stocked grocery store, and proceed to fill up the Suzuki with as much beans, rice, flour and powdered milk as we can carry, for distribution to the needy in La Ribera and Santa Cruz. Before heading on back to Leonero, we check out both the northern and southern limits of what remains of Highway 1.

    Back at home, desperate situations call for ingenuity. I'm really concerned about getting some money to the employees. I need electricity to run the printer in order to process the payroll that should have been paid yesterday. I dig out an old 110v inverter and convert the cab of my truck into an emergency office. Processing payroll is a snap, and while everything is hooked up, I call my San Diego buddy, Gary, who acts as my eyes and ears and relays the info on the new storm, Lorena, which appears to be heading this way - that's all we need.

    No dinner tonight - I guess it won't kill me. Sleeping is almost out of the question; all the neighborhood dogs are caught up in a chorus of constant barking which lasts all night - it's probably payback for all the nights I kept everyone up running my generator.

    After still another humid, sticky night, I'll try almost anything to get the new generator here. Morning starts with a cup of instant coffee, then the ride out to Las Cuevas to see if I can get across. My hopes fade quickly as it's evident the water level hasn't dropped at all. Dejectedly, I head on back to La Ribera, where a panga will be sent if I don't arrive by car before 9am - fat chance of that happening.

    Mike joins me for the boat ride, and once we get there, we receive the first good news in awhile - Gary has managed to get the generator back running. We briefly discuss the hotel's situation, and I let him know I've arranged for a 4WD Bronco to take some guests to the airport, if they want to cross to La Ribera by boat. He rounds up some of the guests and gets some takers for tomorrow morning.

    Now that the power's back up, I let Gary know Marilu and I will be in tomorrow to try to catch up on our paperwork. Mike and I check some of the homes and then it's quesadillas for lunch at the hotel. The 1:30 panda shuttle is full, so we decide to check out Las Cuevas one more time while we wait for the next water taxi.

    Once at Las Cuevas, the water has dropped appreciably. There's a group of CFE trucks trying to get across, but they can only get to the island at the center; the other side is still too deep. I’m pretty sure I'll be able to cross in the morning, so we hurry back to Leonero for the ride home. Once again Mother Nature shows her fickle hand, as a huge thunderhead builds up over the mountains, dropping untold millions more of unneeded gallons of runoff water onto the saturated ground. I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever get to listen to the sweet drone of a generator in my house again.

     My next-door neighbor, Gary, has shown up, with a harrowing tale of his journey to get here. He flew into La Paz, got a taxi to San Bartolo, caught a ride from there to Rancho Leonero, when walked (and swam) the rest of the way (4 hours) in the middle of the night. All's well that ends well, and he's just happy that he make it and there's no damage to his house.

    As the evening progresses, I notice what looks like the glow from a welder's torch down near the beach. Cruising down on the quad to check it out, the scene is truly spectacular - the entire eastern horizon seems to be one giant continuous massive thunderstorm, with so many consecutive flashes of lightning, it's nearly lighting up the sky. I'm transfixed with the awesome sight, when something almost magical occurs - a dim glow suddenly becomes the full moon rising over the boiling storm clouds. The sight is truly remarkable, and as I turn to leave, I can't help but wonder at how Mother Nature can be so treacherous and beautiful at the same time.

    Heading back to the house, there's a giant beacon emanating from Gary's home next door - he's fired off his generator, cranked up the Eagles to about 1000 decibels on the CD player, broken out the Chivas Regal and the party is on. A couple of hours of normal activities - drinking whiskey, playing pool and ping-pong, and eating real food has recharged my fun cells, and I go to bed (the 5th night of sleeping on my patio) looking forward to tomorrow's adventures.

    Today makes it a week since Juliette paid us her dreadful visit. I can't remember any other storm that has cut the roads for this long a time. I'm eager to try the crossing at Las Cuevas, but first I need to check on the guests trying to get out by boat this morning.

    As usual, Carl is early in getting here with the guests, and the pangas that brought them here have already left before Marilu gets to the beach at 7am. I tell her to wait for the next boat while her husband, Pedro rides shotgun for our showdown with the arroyo at Las Cuevas. Getting to Santa Cruz, it's a bad omen when we see the arroyo there was running last night, although it is dry now. Through the farm trails we meander, and soon arrive at the appointed spot. A crowd has already gathered to watch the idiots try to cross the fast-moving stream. Of small consolation is the tractor waiting to tow out the unsuccessful. Right in front of me is an older lifted Ford truck with 36" tires. He drives down into the murky depths and makes it across easily. Bolstered by his example, I follow a couple of minutes later. From watching the first truck, I've noticed a deep channel that seems to be giving everyone trouble, I figure the only way to deal with it is to put the pedal to the metal and go for it. Bounding into the raging waters, I gun it and sink like a rock when I get to the deep part. While the attendant rescue crew bravely wades out to hook me up to the tractor, I watch helplessly as the floodwater begin to fill the floor of my cab. The tractor makes quick work of pulling me out, and at the urging of the smiling crowd, I try it again - same result. Now that my embarrassment is complete, we hurriedly drive back to La Ribera, where the panga awaits us.

    Mike has already hired another panga for his workers for the next couple of days, and he's already at Leonero, checking on his jobs. I catch up with him, and we decide our best chance at getting my generator across is to try it with his 4WD truck today. The storm clouds over the mountains portend more rain this afternoon, so we hurriedly load the behemoth into his truck and off he goes, while I take the panga home. Back in La Ribera, I've given him plenty of time to get here, but there's no sign of Mike. Thinking he might be stuck somewhere, I take off in the Jeep to rescue him. Getting all the way to Las Cuevas, he's vanished into thin air. I'm now worried, until finding one of my employees who rode with him, and am told everyone made it safely across, and they had made a beer stop in celebration. Rushing home, I'm rewarded with a fabulous sight; my new Generac 15kw propane generator is sitting on my back patio, patiently awaiting my arrival.

    When Carl arrived yesterday, he brought my Iridium data kit, necessary to update the website and check email. This evening's project is to get everything installed on my computer so I can get back to being connected. It's out to my truck to set up the mobile office again using the 12v inverter. Before you know it, I'm ready to fire it up, but nothing works. A quick review of the instructions shows I need to contact the provider and activate data service for my phone. This is the digital equivalent of being "all dressed up and no place to go".

    Dinner is a sumptuous affair - an Atkins bar accompanied by the now-all-to-familiar lukewarm bottled water. Ahh, the good things in life. With not much else on the agenda, it's time for a quick shower by candlelight before turning in to dreams of electric power, air conditioning, and Internet service.

    For the first time during the six nights I’ve now slept out on my patio, the night was cool enough for me to pull a sheet over myself – at about 3am. Instant coffee by candlelight at 5:30, and by 6:15 I’m off to check on the status of the water crossing at Las Cuevas. About halfway there, I decide not to put the Ford at risk, and return to switch to the Jeep, which has a much better chance at getting across.

    Stopping at Mike’s to get him going on my generator installation, it’s off to Las Cuevas for another battle with Mother Nature. Stopping at the edge to watch the progress of other fools trying to cross, a green Dodge Ram pulls up next to me and Carl and Gaspar jump out. They’ve been MIA since yesterday, and I’m eager to hear their story. Jumping into the Jeep, off we go – no problema crossing today. On the ride to Leonero, they explain what happened to them. Carl’s van broke down right after he got the second set of hotel guests to the airport yesterday. They limped into a repair shop where they left the van, then spent the night at Gaspar’s uncle’s house in San Jose. They caught a ride this morning, and arrived just as I got there by pure luck.

    Arriving at the hotel, my first hot breakfast in a week sure tasted good! A few hours of crunching numbers later, it’s time to go – for the third consecutive day there are thunderheads building over the mountains. I want to cross before any fresh runoff gets to Las Cuevas. First things first, a stop in Barriles for some supplies, then a stop at Al’s to make sure he’s still alive (he is). He tells me the phone system is back up, and with this great news, we make arrangements for me to return tomorrow to get a connection for updating the website and download my email. Finally, a race to the crossing before the rain begins. Again, no problem crossing in the Jeep, and on the run home, I pass Mike going the other way. He tells me the generator is hooked up and running, and this give me just that more incentive to get home.

    With a flip of a switch, power is magically restored at Casa Divertido. Turning on the TV is almost better than sex I don’t have to pay for. A quick check of the Weather Channel shows the Eastern Pacific is clear of tropical activity – thank God for small favors! About 5:30, Mike cruises up, looking like a drowned rat. My hunch about beating the rain to Las Cuevas was correct – Mike’s crossing was complete with a cab full of water and a tow from the ever-present tractor. He says he just beat a wall of water about 4 feet high at the Santa Cruz arroyo, and there’s no way to pass tomorrow. As we chat, there’s a steady stream of water dripping from the cab of his truck. He invites me over for dinner, and then takes off to get cleaned up, while I contact the hotel to advise them to plan on transporting employees by panga tomorrow.

    After burritos at Mike’s, I stop at Marilu’s to let her know to catch the boat to work tomorrow. Back at home, I’ve had the A/C running in my bedroom, and it’s now sufficiently meat-locker cold enough for me, so it’s a last check on the weather, then shut everything down and enjoy my first night’s sleep in my own bed in a week.

    I’m up at 5, but don’t want to subject the neighbors to the noise of my generator just yet, so it’s instant coffee by candlelight, then down to the beach to make sure everyone’s shown up. I make arrangements for a boat to return for me at 10, cruise home and try to resume a little bit of normalcy by making some fresh coffee, checking out CNN, and getting some work done on the computer.

    Once the boat gets me to the hotel, I’m in a hurry to get to Al’s. I haven’t been able to update our website, nor check my email in over a week. Taking the Suzuki on over, I quickly get hooked up and connected. Updating the site goes fast, but the email is a bit slower – I have 97 messages to download. I take Al out to lunch, and am still surprised by the lack of urgency that exists on the south side of the Las Cuevas arroyo – there are people driving around, well-stocked shelves in the stores, and most restaurants are open. If it wasn’t for the irritating whine of dozens of generators, life here seems eerily normal.

    Hurrying back to the hotel, I don’t want to miss the boat. Arriving just as the boat is ready to leave the beach, I toss everything onboard and head for home, passing what I’m now calling the Las Cuevas River delta on the way. Firing up the new generator, I allow myself to relax for the first time in a while, and take a nap. Forcing myself to get up just before dark, a quick stop at Marilu’s provides some good news – apparently the CFE crews are putting up some quick and dirty temp power lines, and we might have power restored by Monday – will miracles never cease!

    T-bone steaks and cold beer at Mike’s makes things almost seem as if nothing’s amiss in La Ribera. Shutting things down, I want to look at those 97 emails tomorrow.

    The weather pattern of afternoon mountain rain has finally broken. With no rain yesterday, I’m hopeful about crossing Las Cuevas today. Arriving there just in time to watch some idiot who tried to cross in a bus get pulled out, it looks passable in 4WD. The Jeep handles the crossing with ease, and I hurry to Leonero to try to get some things done. The storm has brought my productivity to a crawl. My normal 10-minute commute is now a 1-hour ordeal. The normally simple task of updating our website is now a 3-hour adventure. Half of my staff, Nieves, hasn’t been heard from since the storm. All this while my friends back in San Diego think I’m lounging under a palm tree, sipping a beer.

    On the way home, I get some bad news. One of the CFE helicopters crashed while hauling in some new poles near Santiago, killing all three aboard. Whispering a silent prayer for those who were lost, as well as thanks for my continued good fortune, it’s home for the evening.

    The town is starting to get frantic about the lack of gasoline. Several times during the evening employees show up at my door, begging for me to give them some gas – alas, I have none to offer.

Oct 8^th

    Inspecting the power lines on the drive to work, it looks like the only unrepaired area is across the Santa Cruz arroyo. Arriving there, my hopes are buoyed by the sight of a CFE crew. Stopping to talk to the engineers, they tell me La Ribera will have power today. Las Cuevas crossing is a snap.

    Lunch at Tio Pablo’s with the Dixon’s, and everything seems almost back to normal. Mary at Baja Properties kindly lets me use her fax line to check my email. Life is good.

    On the way home, I see a wonderful sight – while passing through Santa Cruz, there’s a lit streetlight. Getting to La Ribera, there’s a Telmex truck at the switching station. With my fingers crossed, I open my front door and hit the light switch – and magically the lights come on. Hoping my luck’s still holding, I pick up the phone and listen to that fabulous sound – a dial tone!

Oct 9^th

`    Well, all’s well that ends well. The streets have been cleaned up, the store shelves are getting restocked, and today the gas station opened up. We dodged another bullet – things could have been much worse. For those of us here in the East Cape, all that’s left is for the arroyos to quit flowing, so the temporary road repairs and detours can be replaced with permanent pavement (until the next hurricane).

    Thanks for your time; I hope you’ve enjoyed my ramblings.

                                                            Roy Baldwin - Sr. Divertido

                                                            Rancho Leonero – La Ribera

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