Thanksgiving Y2K

    Here we go again! It’s November 15^th, and if the next couple of weeks are anything like the last one, we’re in for a wild ride.

    After eight years of trying, I’ve finally convinced my Clairemont buddy Gary, to get off the couch and come down to visit me. Last Thursday I picked him, and his cousins Jennie and Karen, up at the Cabo airport, and it’s been nonstop ever since. That night I showed them the East Cape area, went out to dinner in Los Barriles, and wound up having a Jacuzzi party at Casa Divertido which went on until 3am. On Friday I took them to Cabo, renting a condo overlooking the town at the Finistierra. After shopping and a great dinner, we closed down Squid Roe, getting back to our suite about 5am, where the party continued. One of our neighbors got tired of listening to us and decided that it was easier to join us than to fight us, and came over with a peace offering of a 6-pack of Corona. The rising sun warned us it was time to call it a night.

    Noon came calling before we knew it, so we went poolside to nurse our hangovers. Making the obligatory stop at The Office (a local watering hole on the north side of the harbor), we soon were sufficiently inebriated to make the trek back to Casa D, where we then had a birthday party for my engineer pal Rudy Vargas, complete with plenty of carne asada and cases of cold Pacifico.

    We were planning on fishing on Sunday, but the wind gods were playing that day and forced us into a consolation plan of brunch at Otra Vez, followed by an afternoon of brain cell destruction at the Leonero bar. About 4pm our buddy Dennis ("Bosco") and his girlfriend Jane, unexpectedly show up and the partying goes to the next level. I want to show them the full Sr. Divertido experience, but it’s getting too late for me to risk driving, as well as finding a place in Cabo. With a stoke of brilliance which makes me a legend in my own mind, I gather everyone up and relocate to Casa D, where everyone gets ready for another Cabo night while I summon one of our 10-passenger taxis to ferry us in. Now suitably equipped with a sober driver and a cooler of beer we set out on another adventure. Getting to Cabo after dodging only a few cows in the road, it’s a late dinner at the Hard Rock Café, then another night at Squid Roe. Jennie makes the mistake of trying to go head to head with me in the consumption of Jello shooters, and the damage is evident as it takes both Karen and myself to keep her vertical as we leave the bar. Gary has disappeared, and we spend the next half-hour cruising town looking for him, with most everyone expecting to find him curled up on a park bench somewhere. I have higher hopes for him, and soon find him at The Love Shack, having the time of his life, and I have to drag him kicking and screaming to the van. On the highway just outside of Cabo, Jennie decides she has to pee now, and we pull over. Devoid of any type of paper to wipe with, I gallantly (or stupidly) rip off my shirt for her to use. Jennie is oblivious to the traffic driving by as she’s taking care of business, so Karen grabs my shirt and uses it as a privacy screen. Eventually everyone gets back in the van and we roll intact into Casa D about 4:30am, where everyone instantly passes out.

    After another great lunch at Otra Vez, Monday afternoon’s itinerary includes a trip to San Antonio to watch the Baja 2000 off-road race. We arrive about 20 minutes before the first trophy truck blazes by in a cloud of dust. We continue to watch the various vehicles pass by while Jennie sleeps in the back of my truck. Around dusk we head back to town, stopping for pizza at Tio Pablo’s before heading to Leonero, where I’ve put everyone up for the night, in anticipation of our delayed fishing adventure, now planned for the next morning.

    Tuesday starts with less wind, but no live bait, so I cancel the fishing and allow everyone some recovery sleep. Gary shows up for breakfast, and consumes an amazing amount of food, even by my standards. Bosco and Jane decide to take off, so we all decide to meet in Cabo that afternoon for lunch. I round the rest of the group up and we stuff some sashimi into Jenny before the trip south.

    Regrouping at Margaritavilla in Cabo, I stuff some food and drinks into everyone. I get the feeling no one wants to leave, and this feeling is confirmed when everyone takes too long at the Baja 2000 finish line to buy t-shirts, and I’m positive I’ll never get them to the airport on time. While waiting at the side of the road for everyone to get back from the t-shirt buying mission, I’m ready for a fast getaway, when a carload of girls pulls up next to me. Recognizing me from the last few days of debauchery at Squid Roe, the girls want me to go partying with them. It seems everything in life is always feast or famine, and remorsefully I tell the girls maybe another time (hopefully this could be fodder for a future adventure).

    Racing to the airport, we pull into the unloading dock about 4 minutes before the flight is scheduled to depart. As they jump out, the girls comment how I’ve put about 5 years of wear and tear on them in 5 days. Lying through my teeth, I assure them this was just another routine weekend for me – another successful Sr. Divertido adventure comes to an end!

    It’s now back to reality, I’ve got 3 days to get caught up on work, sleep and to prepare for the next phase of the adventure. On Sunday I plan to drive up to San Diego to pick up my new Yamaha Raptor 660 quad, and then head on out to the desert at Glamis for the Thanksgiving weekend.

    As is usual whenever I plan a trip away, I’m running on a very tight schedule, where a minor hiccup in the plans can cause a cascading domino effect that could ruin everything. I leave on Sunday, arriving in San Diego Monday evening, leaving Tuesday for shopping before leaving for the desert on Wednesday with my buddy Al (you’ll remember him from previous episodes of the Fun Chronicles). Returning to San Diego on the following Sunday, I’ll then need to leave for Leonero on that Monday in order to get back here in time to oversee the winter closing of the resort. The following weekend I fly back to San Diego for LASIK eye surgery, and then return for our traditional 4-day quad trip every December. The key component in keeping to the schedule is making sure the Funmobile is ready to rumble. I’m servicing it now and having my mechanic check everything twice.

    It’s now Saturday, and as usual I’m going nuts trying to get everything done in time for tomorrow’s blast off. The truck is washed, waxed and packed; Ranger the Parrot is safely tucked away at the hotel, and I’ve planned for every possible catastrophe at work. With everything in place, I zip into town for dinner, then head on home and finally get packed and off to la-la-land about 10:30.

    Ah, the best laid plans – are bound to go awry. I wake up late and have to hustle to keep my schedule. I’m planning on stopping at Guererro Negro for the night, but the hotel will only hold my reservation until 6pm. It seems everyone in Cabo for the Baja 2000 race is headed home and hotel rooms are at a premium.

    I make a quick stop at Leonero for some breakfast with Ranger, and take off after leaving some last minute instructions with the managers. I hit the highway at 8:30 and lead-foot it to La Paz. The traffic is horrendous – it takes me nearly 2 hours to get clear of La Paz, and it gets worse when I get to the military checkpoint north of town. There’s at least a half-dozen fully loaded cars in front of me, and I’m worried my evil alter ego, Sr. Coraje, will emerge before I get to the open road.

    After what seems to be an eternity, I finally pull up to the inspection station, where the soldiers are going through the motions checking everything out, looking for drugs or guns. At first all is routine, with the soldiers checking out the door panels, under the seats, etc. All of a sudden one of the soldiers yells out in Spanish "Commandante – come quick, I found something!" The boss strides purposefully over towards my truck, and while my heart leaps involuntarily to my throat, some of the soldiers toss me accusatory glances and move closer.

    Knowing there is no contraband of any kind in my truck, I quickly regain my composure, and do my best to stuff my wildly beating heart back into my chest. As I also move closer to where the soldier is pointing, my momentary fear becomes curiosity, now wanting to know what the fuss is all about. After a moment, the soldier reaches down, and with the gleam in his eye of a housecat playing with a cornered mouse, proudly raises my pocketknife into the air for all to see. The absurdity of the moment works like a miracle cure for my attitude, and with Sr. Coraje now safely stored in the recesses of my mind until he is next needed, I wait to see what happens next.

    Already anticipating the medal he thinks he is going to receive for interdicting my knife, the soldier dutifully passes it to the Commandante. The boss pauses for a minute, then looks at the knife, then looks at me, then the subordinate soldier, then again the knife, me and the soldier. With a sad look and the heavy sigh of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, he hands me back my lethal weapon, and waves me on, all the while probably thinking he should have stayed in bed today. (Note: I might have embellished the story slightly for entertainment purposes, in all the years I’ve been going through these military checkpoints, I have always been treated with courtesy and respect).

    The rest of the day is mundane in comparison, and now having cleared the metropolitan traffic, I begin to make up for lost time. I stop in Cuidad Constitucion for some roasted chicken for lunch, and pull into the Malarrimo Hotel just as the sun is going down at 5:45.

    Walking into the reception area, there are already several people circling like vultures, hoping to get my room. However, my Sr. Divertido reputation precedes me here, and the clerk was dutifully protecting my reservation until the 6pm deadline. As soon as he recognized me, the clerk broke into a relieved smile from ear to ear, now knowing he wouldn’t have to give my room to one of the vultures.

    After checking in, I take care of chores first, getting ice, gas, and cleaning the windshield. Not wanting a repeat performance of the spring trip when my clothes were stolen from the back of my truck, I put all the important stuff in the cab before heading to the restaurant for a great dinner of fresh white sea bass. Afterwards, I work on this journal and turn in early, looking forward to getting to San Diego tomorrow to check out my new quad.

    Everything was going smoothly, I had just passed Catavina when there was a pop!, and everything got louder. Either I punched a hole in the exhaust system or I blew all the baffles out of the muffler. In either case, I wasn’t about to stop – that is until I reached El Rosario. There my profound stupidity for trying to travel on a Mexican holiday reared its ugly head. I find myself in the middle of a 2 mile long traffic jam. With the exuberance of national expression that permeates Mexican culture, the town of El Rosario has closed the Transpeninsular Highway so it can have its 20^th of November parade. It’s obvious I’m not going anywhere for a while, so I dump my extra gas into the truck so I can avoid the rush on the gas station once the road reopens.

    An hour and 28 minutes later, the traffic finally begins to move. Dodging the line now forming at the local Pemex station, I start passing everything in sight. Traffic slows to a crawl in San Quintin, as I’ve just missed their parade. Cursing my reversal in fortune, I make a mental note to check the Mexican holiday calendar before attempting another drive trip north. At Camalu, their parade was still in progress with the Federal Highway Police blocking the road. Not willing to suffer another interminable wait, I zip down a side street and weave my way through the residential section of town. My audacity is rewarded when, a few minutes later I pop back up on the highway well north of the roadblock.

    My good luck has returned, and the rest of the drive passes quickly. Anticipating a long wait at the border, I relieve my aching bladder at the last toll station and prepare to challenge the gauntlet of vehicles all trying to squeeze into the USA. Pulling into the line, my luck is still with me, as there are only about 10 cars in front of me. Checking my watch, it’s now 3:30pm – discounting the wait at El Rosario, I’ve gone from Guerrero Negro to the border in 7 hours, a personal best.

    Crossing into the USA, I whisper a silent prayer of thanks for another safe trip through the Baja, and pat the dash of my truck for it’s good job too. It’s now on to Fun Bike Center (would I buy my bikes from anywhere else?), where the new 660 patiently awaits my arrival. It’s ready for me to pick up tomorrow, so there’s nothing left to do but head on over to Al’s.

    It’s nice to have routine in one’s life, and one of the things I can count on is that a visit to Al’s is always utter chaos. I walk in the front door, and am instantly besieged by Al – he’s just received a $53,000 insurance settlement, and instead of doing the sensible thing and paying his bills, he’s gone out and bought a Porsche. The more things change, the more they stay the same! Extricating myself from his exuberance, I quickly unpack and head on over to the Outback for the obligatory steak, and afterwards, I can hardly wait for my head to hit the pillow.

    Now at the wheel of a presentable vehicle, I spend the rest of the morning making checkmarks on my shopping list. Lunch with Beverly provides a nice break in the shopping action, and by 3pm most of the list is completed. There’s only one thing left to do – go get the new toy! The Funmobile senses my growing eagerness and responds by taking me unerringly right to Fun Bike Center, where we quickly load up the new 660 Raptor. The envious stares of some of the drivers I pass on the way home is ample reward for the 1000-mile drive to get here.

    Dinner with Carole at Outback provides an appropriate conclusion to the day’s activities. I fall asleep dreaming of shredding the sand dunes at Glamis for the first time in 9 years.

    Getting back to Al’s, I can’t stand it anymore, with the lure of Glamis beckoning me onward. I quickly pack up, and leaving Al a note saying I’ll meet him there, I load the truck and blast off.

    After the marathon journey I made getting here, the 150-mile trip to the desert seems like a walk around the park, and in no time I’m on the sand dunes, setting up camp right where Al indicated. Our buddy Frank is already here, and he helps me get unloaded. We soon are ready for the maiden flight of the Raptor 660, and start the break-in process by cruising on over to Oldsmobile Hill to check out the race action there. It’s still early and not too much happening, so we cruise on over to the vendor area, where you can find everything from a chrome gas cap to foot-long polish sausages.

    Frank spots a hat he wants to buy, while another rider stops and checks out my Raptor. He introduces himself as JJ, and he soon recognizes me from my fish reports on SportsRadio 690. He’s also a fisherman and knows all the local East Cape characters – small world. He’s having a new seat cover put on his quad, so we cruise on over to check it out, and Frank sees a cover he’s just gotta have. We zip back to camp so Frank can get some dinero for his seat cover, and we putt-putt back to get his new seat. While there I spot some hard-to-find V-handlebars, and make the opportunistic purchase. All of this cruising is fine with me; it’s good break-in for the Raptor, as well as allowing me some time to get familiar with its handling characteristics.

    About 7pm Al and Ryan show up, and we begin the deplete Frank’s liquor supply in earnest. Some more of the regulars start showing up, and now fortified with liquid courage, we ride on over to Oldsmobile to check out the hill racing there. It’s getting Glamis cold, so we soon pack it in and head for camp where we start a sizable campfire with some of the 2 tons of firewood we brought.

    The day dawns with the urgent need to shed some weight from my digestive system. Since no one else is conscious yet, I just stroll on over to a convenient bush and take care of business. Feeling a whole lot better now, I roust Al, and he and I take off in my truck to the store, where we hope to find some coffee to mix with the bottle of Bailey’s we brought with us. At the store I renew acquaintances with the owner, Bo, who I haven’t seen in nearly 9 years. A couple of high-octane cups of coffee later, we decide to see if Mama Jeannie still has the "Roy Special" on the menu (I talked her into putting this on her menu about 15 years ago, it’s still the #1 breakfast in her menu – fresh baked biscuits covered with scrambled eggs and country gravy with bacon on the side – a real low-cholesterol breakfast!). She’s so happy to see us she buys us breakfast – a Glamis first!

    We organize for an afternoon ride to the sand drags, and as usual, Jim is in the lead. The ravages of age are taking their toll on me, as I’m having difficulty seeing in the afternoon shadows on the dunes, and soon fall behind. After a futile effort to find everyone, I head on back to camp and bring the journal up to date. Pretty soon Jim comes dragging his butt, having crashed 3 times on the ride, he can hardly walk.

    Cruising on over to the store, I make a mental pledge to avoid drinking today, but that plan goes out the window when Al whips out the bottle of Bailey’s to spike our coffee. Knowing this is a battle I don’t stand a chance of winning, I quickly succumb to the lure of the magic elixir. After another great breakfast, it’s back to camp, and while we wait what seems to be an eternity for everyone to get ready for a ride, I have Gayanne perform some surgery on me. I’ve picked up an infection in the middle finger of my right hand, and it’s swollen and turning all kinds of ugly colors. She lances it and expertly squeezes out all the offending material, then we soak it in hot salt water for a few minutes before applying anti-bacterial ointment and bandaging it up. Already feeling better, I resume the futile task of organizing a ride.

    It’s nearly noon, and we still haven’t ridden. Since crashing yesterday, Jim is moving real slow today, and no one wants to ride without him at the helm. We finally get him moving, and head on out to conquer the mountains of sand. The weather has been nearly perfect, with warm days and none of the winds that frequently plague the area. Unfortunately, without the winds, the dunes become so rutted with tire tracks, the ride is so bumpy that I soon find it difficult to hold on to the handlebars. We finally come to a merciful stop at Oldsmobile and regroup there to watch the hill racing. Heading back to camp, I ride with JJ and his group, and have a much more enjoyable time, as the track he takes is much easier to follow than with Jim.

    Back at camp we quickly reorganize for a trip over to Gecko Road, where they traditionally have sand drag racing every afternoon during the big weekends here. While most take their trucks on over, JJ wants to ride, so I opt to go with his group. After another fun ride through the dunes, we soon emerge to a sight few outsiders would believe. There are literally thousands of bikes, quads, buggies and trucks lined up watching a menagerie of some of the strangest vehicles racing down the improvised sand drag strip. Trucks lifted an obscene 18 inches above normal, quads with 6 inch extended swingarms, high-jumpers going nearly 20 feet in the air, are all providing the afternoon’s entertainment. We spot our friends Launa and Vince, in their sand rail "Twisted Citrus", but are unable to find them again in the horded masses. We decide to try to catch up with them tomorrow, and as sunset approaches, we blaze through the dunes back to camp.

    Ever since the spiked coffee this morning, I’ve been a good boy and stuck with diet sodas, so I’m in relax mode and turn in early. In the meantime, the party is going in earnest around the campfire, with everyone getting primed for a run to Comp. It’s finally around 11pm before the caravan gets going, and I hear vehicles dragging in at 2 and 3am.

    Getting up at dawn, the camp looks like a bomb went off during the night, with trucks, quads and bikes strewn everywhere. Al and I begin our morning ritual of $5 showers at the store, followed by a hot breakfast with Mama Jeannie.

    As customary, by the time we get back to camp, there are few survivors wandering about. We spend the rest of the morning trying to organize a ride. Finally, at about noon, most of the camp is ready, with Jim in his usual pole position, we head out, a quarter-mile long string of bikes, 3-wheelers, quads, and buggies. Winding up at Oldsmobile, we head back early, as everyone wants a repeat performance of yesterday’s trip to the sand drags.

    I volunteer to drive, as we need at least one truck for everyone to stand in to get a view above the crowd. We get there early, and nab a great spot near the starting jump. Jim pulls in soon after and provides the musical entertainment with his massive stereo system. The group is determined that the coolers will be empty for the trip home, and throughout the afternoon they make steady progress towards that goal. Soon there’s a motley collection of inebriated spectators filling the back of my truck, howling and shrieking at some of the strange vehicles parading past us. During the course of the afternoon there were two delays in the partying, when some poor idiot would crash and have to be dragged off the track. It reminded me of the scene from the movie "Ben-Hur", when, during the chariot races the bearers had to remove any maimed racers before the chariots came around for the next lap. Pretty soon a drunken reveler makes the mistake of tossing an empty beer bottle at a Park Ranger’s car, and is immediately pounced upon by an undercover ranger in the crowd, and is dragged off kicking and screaming.

    As the setting sun signals the end of today’s debauchery, we are treated to the customary finale to the Glamis sand drags, several trucks make the loop bearing naked dancing girls in the back. As the crowd breaks up, Robby has pulled up and is autographing t-shirts, so we cruise on over to check out his truck.

    Having witnessed an afternoon reminiscent of a National Lampoon movie, we return to camp, having seen it all. Al, Ryan and I stop first at the Midway area, where we top off the day’s activities with carne asada burritos.

    Getting back to camp, it’s evident we need a pyromaniac to build tonight’s campfire. We brought way too much firewood and need to burn it all tonight. Al and Robert volunteer for bonfire duty, and soon the flames seem to be licking the sky. Most of the camp soon shows up, and the festivities resume. After a while Al disappears, and when I check on him, I find him watching videos with the kids – I guess some of us just never grow up. Feeling it’s also past my bedtime, I turn in, with the lullaby of Jim’s generator lulling me not so gently to sleep.

    The sound of Tammie making an early getaway wakes me up. Al’s already starting to organize camp, so we also decide to get out of here early. I’m ready first, and need to stop at the store for a t-shirt, so Al tells me to go on ahead and we’ll either meet on the road or at home.

    After the obligatory stop to say goodbye to Kay, Bo, and Jeannie, I find my spot in the endless stream of trucks, campers and motorhomes heading west. The line is unbelievable; it must be at least 5 or 6 miles long, moving at a snail’s pace. Finally getting to the Green Road intersection, I turn south, and with nobody following me, I can’t believe I’m the only one who knows about the shortcut through Holtville. For years we’ve avoided the masses in El Centro by taking this back door to Interstate 8, stopping for gas at the 7-11 in Holtville and eliminating the need to stop in El Centro at all.

    Pulling in for gas, as I jump out of the truck Al pulls in behind me – great timing! After gas and coffee we hit the freeway, and the ride home reminds me of some of our dune rides, with sudden turns, the pedal to the metal, and always keeping an eye out for 5-0. We get home without incident in about 2 ½ hours (some friends who took the El Centro route ended up taking 6 ½ hours to get home), and proceed to unload and put everything away. I’ve got way too much stuff to fit in my truck for the trip back to Leonero, so I head down to Bill and Maggie’s place to drop off the excess baggage – they’re driving down next week and have some extra space.

    On the way back, I knock off a couple more shopping stops. Now it’s my turn to reload everything for tomorrow’s early departure. Al helps me load the quad, and it’s evident the ravages of age has taken it’s toll on me – in the old days it was no problem for me to lift the back end of a 400-lb quad by myself. Now it takes both of us, and we barely get the job done. Being old and decrepit is no fun. A movie and dinner take up the rest of the day, and then it’s lights out early, as I plan on being on the road by 5am.

    I’m up at 3:30 and pull out of Al’s by 4am. First stop is the mandatory breakfast at Denny’s, then off to run the gauntlet at the border. As is the case with most things, timing is everything. Get there too early and you’ll have to battle the drunks trying to get home; too late and you’ll get the morning rush hour traffic. From years of experience, I find that crossing the border at 5 – 5:30 works best for me. I get a reasonable night’s sleep and get through the Ensenada traffic before most people are up. And today is no different, and I get to San Quintin at 8:30, just in time to hit a patch of pea soup fog. After about 20 agonizingly slow miles, the fog lifts and normal pace returns. I get to Guerrero Negro at 1:10, and then lose an hour as we switch to Mountain Time.

    I’ve been toying with the idea of driving straight through, but with the short winter days and lots of cows near the road, I decide that discretion is the better part of valor and plan on stopping at the Serinidad in Mulege. Getting there just before sunset, it takes a couple of minutes to get enough blood back in my legs to be able to walk to the office. Getting a room is no problem, as the place is deserted. A hot shower, a cold drink and a carne asada dinner work their magic on me and pretty soon Sr. Divertido returns to action. I spend the evening at the bar, watching the election nonsense on TV. It’s an interesting situation; in the year 2000 Mexico has an honest presidential election while the USA has a "funny" one. At this rate, it won’t be long before the Mexican government will have to post border guards to keep gringos from streaming into Mexico, looking for work. Happy to live in a country that knows who it’s next President is, I nod off, looking forward to getting home tomorrow.

    The day starts off with a machaca breakfast at the hotel restaurant, washed down with lots of coffee. I’m on the road at 7:30 and soon hit Conception Bay, where the water is as flat and inviting as I’ve ever seen.

    Rolling through Loreto at about 9, I soon head up the grade and approach Cuidad Insurgentes, where my BajaCel service is working again. Calling the hotel, I’m pleased and amazed there are no apparent catastrophes awaiting my return. I hit La Paz about noon and start the final stretch run, when the car in front of me slows down and flips me off before pulling over. As I pass, I recognize the driver; it’s Bob from Barriles with Greg in the copilot’s seat. I immediately pull over too, and I enjoy the moment as the boys drool over my new toy.

    Pulling into Los Barriles about 2pm, I grab a quick lunch at Otra Vez. Pulling into Leonero about 2:30, this trip is over. As I reach to turn off the ignition, I mouth a silent prayer to St. Peter, the patron saint of travelers, for watching over me – again. All that’s left is the tearful reunion with Ranger, and to head on home to unload.

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