This time we left by our own power. But it was still very tough going. Glen and Robin spoke of an “old road” that was impassable but would be a much shorter distance to the main road. We came to the fork in the road and I chose the one less traveled. It made a difference albeit one with a tradeoff; it ended up being much shorter but almost twice as difficult to maneuver. The road winded up and around heap of loose rocks and then pitched deeply down and around with similarly terribly wobbly under footing. We realized why it was no longer used and just how it had come to be known as “impassable” but we were pretty excited when we caught sight of trucks rushing by in the distance. Then two mules that had been grazing in the middle of the “road” we were on heard me coming and startled, I slowed to a trot. They began to trot, I tried to pass on the left. They moved left. I tried to pass on the right. They moved right. This went on for about five minutes as they both carefully kept an eye on me as well as kept pace. Finally they tired of the game and bound off the road to the left. I passed right.
Carraterra, or a paved road, is a welcome site after two days of close calls and calls on dirt roads. We turned south once again and made for Loreto, stopping for lunch at McLulu’s Taco Stand and then were on our way. We decided that we were going to make it to La Paz even if we had to ride a bit at night but first we wanted to make a quick stop in Escondido. Escondido was, and is, a very well protected harbor surrounded by islands which block almost any prevailing winds. It’s also a horrible concrete marina development which is being continuously ‘upgraded’ by the Mexican government for some seriously ungodly reasons. It also happens to be the site of where our sailboat was towed back to and suffered the attacks of yet another Chubasco twenty years ago.
We had only recently been towed to Escondido and were still sorting things out on the boat a few days later when a Chubasco was somehow able to affect this tiny harbor and within the 600 yards of water it had to work with had thrown a four foot chop and 60mph winds smashing into our boat. The boat in turn smashed repeatedly against the pure concrete seawall we were tied up to with only measly fenders to defend us (they didn’t). Thus some more damage to the boat and a lesson relearned.
We were walking around the marina and looking at where the boat had been; we both remembered the dock perfectly well but had us really surprised were the surrounding mountains; they came rocking down right to the bay and towered above like majestic ripples in a giant curtain. We both admitted to never having noticed any mountains and recalling that the place was flat and desolate was all. I guess kids never really look up and take in the grandeur of an area they just see the things right in front of them and hope that they’re something to play with or some candy to eat. We were glad to have come back just to finally appreciate this area that we had pretty much only bad memories associated with it.
These photos sadly don’t do the mountains justice but it’s all I’ve got.
Then a pirate in the form of a young girl by the name of Debby and her father (not a pirate) Mike and his friend Glen (also not a pirate but an experienced captain nonetheless) pulled up in a truck and we all got to talking. Inevitably about the good ol’days when Escondido was a laid back place with modest ambitions and good people. Glen had been coming to Escondido since 1972 and had seen even more change than us since he actually had a palapa that he lived much of the year in. It became later and later and the sun began to pass behind the same mountains that we had just been admiring and we started to falter in the original plan to ride the four hours to La Paz in the dark. Glen suggested that we check out the beach around the southern side of Escondido that went by the name of Rattlesnake Beach for camping. He of course assured us that rattlesnakes don’t come out when it’s cold and since its winter… ah, but winter isn’t really all that cold in Baja.
But it is cold enough to necessitate a sleeping bag. Something I didn’t have anymore. We set up camp and watched an amazing sunset riff off of the cliffs while we tried to figure out what to do about dinner. We both rode back to the one restaurant on my bike and were about to sit outdoors when Debby the Pirate came out and invited us to join them for dinner. We obliged. Debby and her father had just flown in that afternoon and were both botanists that owned a native tree nursery in Orange County while Glen sold sundries to Whole Foods but was embarking on a new scheme of raising grass fed organic beef. They also enjoyed Garrison Keillor and the Prairie Home Companion just as much as we did (mom always used to go out to the station wagon with her hot tea to listen with us when we lived in the cabin in Oregon) and were competitive joke tellers. Joshua and I declined eating dinner and instead stuck to liquid (we thought it’d be cheaper but it wasn’t) and once they were finished with dinner everyone took turns telling stories. Then we went back to Glen’s mobile home for more jokes and more drinks and also to borrow a sleeping bag for a night that was getting down to fifty degrees.
Debby had been a bus driver in college that decided she’d like to do her route in pirate garb (although regulations stipulated that she couldn’t actually wear the eye patch over her eye) and tell pirate jokes to the coeds. Her jokes were relatively tame in nature, “What does a pirate drive? A Carrrgh,” but the authorities that be cracked down and hard on this free radical pirate bus driver and it was only with a massive student backing that she was reinstated and allowed to continue her pirate antics.
We told the popular but still good pirate joke that goes; A pirate walks into a bar with the helm to his ship sticking out of his pants. The barkeep asks, ‘Why do you have a wheel down your pants?’ and the pirate says, “Yaargh, it’s drivin’ me nuts.’
It got late so we drove our nuts back to the campsite for some comfy Rattlesnake Beach sleep. The next morning we returned the borrowed sleeping bag and enjoyed probably the best coffee we’ll experience on this trip; freshly roasted (the night before) Costa Rican coffee that was piping hot and ready to set us buzzing to down to La Paz. We thanked the pirate and her scurvies and beat it out of there before they could board our bikes.
Notice the red star t-shirt that I’ve been continuously wearing…
