Dinosaur Run                                                        R.P.Folsom               

Well, here is a new addition to The Mexico Chronicles.  I hope you enjoy it.   rpf October 2000

Don't even ask why, I don't know myself. I thought I knew what I expected, or hoped for, but in retrospect, it was neither. I'm talking about a trip I made to Baja California in January of '92. I'd been feeling a little depressed, or repressed, for a few months. I thought I needed to get away for some breathing room, a little space, some room to think, about what, I'm still not sure, life in general, I suppose.

I enlisted the carpentry skills of my friend George and we went to work on my '66 Volkswagen van; for some reason I thought it necessary to travel in the van rather than my newer, camper equipped, full sized pickup truck, nostalgia I guess. First, we repaneled the inside walls with a thin wood veneer, (cleverly using the old panels as templates) then built a shelf, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say a bed, along the length of the drivers side behind the front seat. After adding a layer of carpet and a custom fit section of four inch foam rubber, the bed was comfortable enough for even my brittle old bones. I could sleep in the van with no trouble. Now, new carpeting throughout the back end and a  good clean up in general. Next, a trip to my trusted mechanic, Mike, for a thorough tune-up and overall inspection. Throw in some spare parts along with an updating of my tool box and Mike assured me that I was ready to go, at least as ready as one could be in a '66 Volkswagen bus. I wanted the trip to be an adventure, but at the same time I didn't want to do anything foolish. I asked myself, what would be the worst thing that could happen, the van would break down and couldn't be repaired? I could always replace the car with another, and travel in Mexico is safe these days, so I wasn't really worried too much.

It probably took me two weeks to get everything ready to go, I checked and rechecked my gear and supplies. I planned to camp all the way down the Baja, I carried two five-gallon water containers and plenty of canned food. I wanted to have my own in case I got stuck or decided to stay somewhere out of the way. Except a few trips to San Felipe and Ensenada, I had never taken a Baja trip before, so I didn't really know what to expect. All my Mexico traveling experiences had been on the mainland, but one thing I did know about Mexico was not to take anything for granted, be prepared. I think Pat thought I had slipped a gear or two, but I have to give her credit, she supported me all the way.

DAY ONE, MONDAY, JANUARY 5th, 1992

Anyhow, the big day finally arrived, I headed out about eleven or twelve in the morning, visions of sunny beaches and lighthearted fun dancing through my head, like a little kid on Christmas eve. I was heading into pure and lighthearted adventure, that wonderful feeling of 'not a care in the world,' complete independence and freedom, recaptured youth. I had been diligently watching the weather reports and was confident that I was leaving just in time to enjoy the beautiful tropical weather of carefree Mexico. I double checked the van, the supplies, kissed Pat and Aretha, bid them au revoir, fired up the Volkswagen and headed south.

The drive from Santa Barbara was thankfully, uneventful, the Volks ran great, there were no problems with traffic, I was off to a great start. I drove leisurely from Santa Barbara south to Carlsbad, just north of San Diego, taking about four hours. The drive was easy, so far, so good.

With darkness approaching, I decide to camp at South Carlsbad Beach, a state park with improved campsites. Earlier, I had driven through the rest stop just north of Oceanside, but after seeing the sign that limited resting to just six hours, decided not to spend the night there. I pushed on and wound up at the state park, learning that camping fees were a little more expensive than I remembered. They offered a choice however, fourteen bucks near the freeway and nineteen for a site nearer the ocean, I selected the ocean. The campsite itself was nicely tucked away, enclosed by large oleander bushes on two sides, right on the ocean, and very private. A heavily tossed storm surf and brisk onshore wind lent a bit of excitement and suspense to the moment. I set the bus into the camping mode, got settled in, and despite the stormy weather conditions managed to fire up the stove. I cooked a modest dinner of Dinty Moore's beef stew, bread, and soda pop. I read for a while, and retired for the night.

DAY TWO, TUESDAY

The next morning I awoke to a stormier and colder day than anticipated. I was hoping for better weather, but anxious to get on the road, I made the best of the situation. I made and drank hot coffee, used the facilities and with great optimism headed out onto the highway.

As I travel, I try to avoid the freeway, hoping to use Pacific Coast Highway and other less traveled local roads which might lend color to the trip. The weather seems to take a turn for the worse, but I try to stay positive. I find and continue along PCH as long as possible. Remembering that it is difficult to find Kentucky bourbon in Mexico I stop at a liquor store for a large bottle, what the hell, the stops are out, this trip does not lend itself to conformity and an evening bracer will be most welcome after a long day of driving. I also pick up a few magazines to the same end, not knowing for sure what is ahead, but that is the whole idea of the trip. I always seem to forget that San Diego is not the border town, there are still some miles to be traveled before you cross into Mexico. I see and follow a huge sign to an insurance broker and buy two weeks worth of Mexican insurance. Forty-eight bucks, a rip-off I think, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to shop around. I cross the border into Tijuana and stop to obtain a tourist card, which I realize later I really don't need, but they only charge me a buck, so no great loss, at least now I feel ready to tackle the great Baja Peninsula with all the adventure it may bring. Well, right away I found myself a little unsure, I was alone and it was raining, it wasn't too cold but it was getting very wet. I'll have to admit that it didn't feel like adventure. Perhaps my perception of adventure was different from its reality, the reality seemed to have more anxiety and less fun than the anticipation.

When it rains in Tijuana it's different; the drainage is not like it is in America, the water just goes where it wants to, where it has to, the flood control that we take for granted here in California just has not occurred in Mexico. Not only is it wet, but there are not road crews out working, there is no Cal-Trans, no one to route you through the danger of flooded out streets. You must navigate the water and the potholes as best you can, in other words, you are on your own.

I headed out onto a toll road to Ensenada, no trouble there, but after the toll road, reality sets in and you again must drive by the seat of your pants, in and around the inherent dangers of flooded streets, potholes you can't tell how deep they are, and mud. I immediately wish I had driven my pickup with its higher clearance but I did not, so I must head onward, through the fog, and the rain, down the Baja.

I push south through Ensenada, Maneadero, and past Santo Tomas. The rain seems to have let up somewhat so I am able to unwind a little and enjoy the countryside scenery, it is very green and very beautiful. Beyond San Vicente, I begin to feel Mexico as now I am out of the influence of the hustle and bustle of the northern border cities.  I feel more relaxed and more confident. The Volks is running great and I feel encouraged, through Camalu, past Colonia Guerrero and into San Quintin. I have already achieved my day's goal.

I turn off the main highway, onto a secondary road and head toward the ocean in search of the ideal campsite. It is still early, only about three in the afternoon, and I feel certain that I will find a good spot. However, after driving around for about an hour and never finding that good spot, I return to the main highway, a little unsettled, and head south once again. There were some nice spots, but they were all too wet, one campground looked good but it was closed down due to the flooding. It has been raining quite a bit and this land is pretty low, I just don't want to take any chances of getting stuck. It has started to rain again and now I am afraid it will be dark before I found a place to spend the night. I keep an eye out for a decent cheap hotel, I know that will be cheating, but I don't care. I saw nothing, it was just farm country, really nowhere to stop, I pressed on. My confidence shot, I was ready to take almost anything, but nothing comes along.

I finally reach El Rosario, now it is almost dark, under virtually no circumstances will I drive in the dark, I am too experienced a Mexico traveler for that. Then, at last, I spotted a sign, the Mount Sanai RV Park, two miles ahead, I pulled in . . . what a disappointment! I was somewhat uneasy, only a leveled off piece of dirt in the side of a hill with no real facilities at all. It was still under construction. I pulled in, parked, and approached the office. The people were friendly and very nice, they charged me five dollars (again I feel ripped) and directed me, with great pomp and circumstance, to a spot about thirty feet from the mud wall that comprised the border of the RV park. However, by now I am glad to be anywhere, I thank them and make preparations to settle in for the night. I remember the line coined so appropriately by Carl Franz about Mexico travel, "wherever you go, there you are." And here I am.

I set up my cooking gear as the rain increases a little, nevertheless, I cook a dinner of fried potatoes and those little Vienna sausages. The fried potatoes are terrific, but those little sausages suck, I make a note never to eat those things again. I get everything cleaned up and pour myself a good three fingers of bourbon just as it really starts to rain in earnest. Thank God, I'm inside, I'm dry, and I'm warm, I feel somewhat secure as I pull up my blanket and call it a day.

DAY THREE, WEDNESDAY

I first wake up about four in the morning to the loudest beating of the hugest raindrops imaginable, the metal roof of the Volkswagen amplifies the sound even louder. I think about the mud wall behind the Volks, I panic, is the damn thing going to come down and bury me alive? I put the thought aside, but should I? I mean, what kind of engineering went into the excavation? I knew the answer, none. I find my flashlight and shine it out the window, I can see nothing, my imagination runs amok, buried alive inside a Volkswagen bus, by the time they dig me out, it's too late, I'm a side note on the six o'clock news! Gimme a break. I roll back into the sack and go back to sleep. (Not quite as soundly though.)

Finally daylight, it's six forty-five, it's not only not raining, but the sun is shining. I feel a brand new start as I open the side doors and set up my tables, two three foot long one by twelve pieces of pine, supported by the two five-gallon water jugs. It works perfectly, the older Coleman one burner is fired up and starts the coffee. Meanwhile, on the other one burner, the more modern propane model, I start the corn beef hash. Everything is working perfectly, the ground is wet, but no problem. As the hash cooks, I pour a cup of coffee and check out the surroundings, it looks better than it did the night before, a couple of other rigs have pulled in during the night. We exchange glances and nods of recognition. Mt. Sanai RV Park, I wonder, how did they name it? The hash is done, I fry a couple of eggs, breakfast is a huge success. I clean everything up and start the Volks, she fires right up, I feel encouraged as I wave good bye and pull out onto the highway. The other RVer's are getting ready to leave as well, fortunately they seem to be taking their time, I would rather be on the road ahead of them, just in case of breakdown.

The desert is absolutely beautiful, the rain has turned everything very green and the sun shines down brilliantly. I can see some clouds over the mountains in the distance, but it appears as if the storm has blown on through. Great timing I think as I pat myself on the back for my meteorological genius.

The glory doesn't last though, as I gain altitude, the wind starts to buffet the Volks, and driving becomes a little difficult. Within minutes, it seems, new clouds have gathered, and now it starts to rain. I proceed toward Catavina where I plan to refuel, suddenly, a loud squealing noise, it seems to be coming from the front wheel, no, it's coming from under the dash, I take my foot off the gas and the noise changes slightly. I notice the speedometer needle is jumping wildly between twenty and sixty miles an hour. I reach under the dash and grab the speedometer cable, I can feel the vibration of the cable through the cable housing, I am relieved, it seems only to be the cable, if I can disconnect it, the problem will be solved. I see a wide spot in the road where I can pull over safely. I disconnect the cable and shot as much WD-40 down and into the housing as I can, maybe I can save the cable after all. It makes knowing when to shift gears and driving in general a little easier when the speedometer works. I pull back out onto the highway, no noise, no problem, it worked, good old WD-40.

While I was at the side of the road, I did not shut off the engine, also the RVer's from Mr. Sanai did not overtake me. For the first time I fully realize that I am alone and very dependent on the Volkswagen, a little fear creeps in and a little romance creeps out. The last thing I wanted was a breakdown, which now I feel is very possible.

Anyway, with the cable fixed, the Volks continues with no problems at all. She is running like a champ, and the wind is blowing very hard. The rain is coming sideways but I am able to hold the road with no problem, I do get quite a rock though, when trucks or RV's come by heading north, but nothing I can't handle. I kept the speed at fifty-five all the way to the Pemex station at Catavina. I gassed up, checked under the deck, no burning of oil and no other noticeable problems so I continued on.

The next sixty five miles to the junction at the highway to Bahia de Los Angeles were brutal, the wind blew even harder and the rain increased as well. I was skirting along the mountains of the central desert and getting a little concerned, there was more and more standing water in the low spots on the highway and it was impossible to make any real time. The Baja highway is not a high speed road; two narrow lanes, one in each direction, low or nonexistent shoulders and plenty of potholes. When I arrived at the junction I fueled up again, I was determined to keep the tank topped off, the Volks has only a ten-gallon capacity. I pull away from the pump and park at the side of the station, the time has come to decide, should I proceed south to Guerrero Negro, or east to Bahia de Los Angeles? I check the map, it's about forty-five miles to Bahia de Los Angeles, but it is downhill and I don't want to get caught in flashflood danger. Finally, because I feel the road to Guerrero Negro is more heavily traveled, and perhaps safer, I opt for the latter. As I head south, and slightly downhill, it seems as if the weather is letting up a little, the wind is still blowing hard but the rain has lessened. I begin to relax just a little, it appears as though the worst may be over. I am just beginning to enjoy the drive when I smell something strange, like something burning, no, it couldn't be, but it is! I can't ignore it, now I can see the smoke coming out from under the dashboard, oh my God, I can't stop here, what to do? Luckily, I am wearing the pair of driving gloves that I bought on an impulse at Pep Boys, they have come in handy on this trip, anyway, I put my hand under the dashboard and try to feel something hot to pull out, I don't really want to just start jerking wires, at the same time I am frantically looking for a place to pull over, Jesus, here comes a huge RV! I survive the backlash of compressed wind and rain as it rocks the Volks, look, there is a place ahead to pull over. I get the van stopped safely, but still can't find the cause of the fire, the engine continues to run. I open the door, jump out and stick my face up under the dash. Grabbing the flashlight and pulling off my gloves, I look for and grope at wiring, I find a hot one and pull it out, another, I pull it out, the engine continues to run. The smoke is gone, no other hot wires, I try the lights, they work, the radio works, I let up a little. Further investigation shows that the wires to the idiot lights for the generator and oil pressure have shorted out, I also find another wire with all the insulation burned off. I spend about an hour reinsulating the bare wires with black electrical tape. I check everything and add more black tape to any potential trouble spots. Everything seems to be working except the generator and oil pressure lights, I am relieved, I can get by without them, but my confidence is further shaken. I get back out onto the highway and limp into Guerrero Negro about mid-afternoon, somewhat shaken.

The first place I see, right as I enter town, looks great, it reminds me of the Hotel Russell in La Penita de Jaltemba, just north of Puerto Vallarta, but I continue driving through the whole town looking for something better, eventually returning to the original spot. It is a motel with a restaurant in front and some RV parking in the back, the Volks is considered an RV and I pay accordingly, five dollars, the same as the Mt. Sanai in El Rosario.

I get settled in, have a short bourbon, and find the shower. In the shower there is a sign that asks one to conserve water, as we are in a desert. It seems ironic during the rainy season, but I obey and take a shorter shower than I wanted. After showering I went for a walk, it was not raining now and I need some exercise. I walked around town for about an hour, thinking about the day's events and evaluating my position. Now that I am safely in town the events of the highway seem to take a new perspective, after all, nothing has really broken. The fire under the dash was just caused by some old wires and a little too much moisture, and as they were repaired now, I feel as though that danger is passed. The speedometer cable incident had actually been quite minor, after all everything else was performing perfectly. Even the gas mileage at 25 was superb, I felt better, I would get a good nights sleep and press on in the morning.

Upon my arrival back at the RV park, I noticed that my fellow travelers from El Rosario had pulled in, and a couple of additional rigs as well. We exchanged greetings as I made my way from the street back to the Volkswagen. The weather was actually pleasant now, the sun was shining and the temperature was just about right for shirt sleeves. Everyone was outside milling around making adjustments to their respective rigs, sipping beers, and making small talk. It certainly was a refreshing change from the day's events on the road. I decided not to cook, but to eat out tonight.

About five thirty I made my way over to the restaurant. I wanted to get an early start in the morning, I plan to visit Scammon's Bay for some whale watching, perhaps find a campsite there and spend the next night. I was pleasantly surprised by the restaurant, it was very nice, the interior had a nice ambiance. I seated myself, ordered a martini and studied the menu. I decided on a seafood platter. While I am enjoying my martini, one of the RV couples, a nice pair in their early sixties came in and took the table next to me. They were very nice, their home was in Beatty Nevada and although we sat at different tables, we might as well have been at the same table, we talked easily and comfortably about Mexico and things in general, they reminded me of Uncle Art and Aunt Elaine. I finished dinner and made my way back to the Volkswagen. I poured myself a nightcap and had no trouble falling into a deep sleep.

DAY FOUR, THURSDAY

Again I awake to find a beautiful day filled with sunshine, this time I did not assume that it would continue throughout the day. I got off to a nice early start and headed for Scammon's Bay. Scammon's Bay received its name from Captain Scammon. About 1857, he was the first whaler to find the narrow mouth into the lagoon where great numbers of gray whales gathered during the winter months. Whalers in the latter part of the 19th century nearly drove the gray whales to extinction by 'whaling among the breakers,' a term that describes the taking of whales at the mouth of a bay, or in the shallows. A good profit for the whalers but not so good for several species of whales.

About ten miles outside Guerrero Negro I took a dirt road toward Scammon's Bay. The going, although easy at first, became somewhat treacherous about two or three miles in with the road becoming muddy and in some places flooded. It was difficult to see if the road was safe without going ahead on foot to check for soft spots, or possible sink holes. It would have been easier with another person walking ahead checking the road. After about an hour and a half, I gave up and decided to go back to the highway and continue south and east across the peninsula to Santa Rosalia.

The pattern from the day before started to repeat, as I gained altitude the weather again turned miserable; wind, rain, and tough going. Definitely not an easy drive, but at least no fires. I pulled into San Ignacio and fueled up. I noticed a well dressed young couple in their early twenties checking me out from near the office of the Pemex. After I paid the attendant for the gas the man approached and asked if I could give them a ride to Mulege. They looked okay, but because I was alone I wasn't sure, I also had to gain altitude to cross the mountains. I asked if they had any luggage because in my mind it might be too much extra weight. I was somewhat surprised when they did not. Hell, they looked harmless, so I said okay. They were very happy, it was cold, windy, and rainy, and they didn't even have warm clothing. I rearranged the back of the Volkswagen and indicated that the girl sit in the back and the man sit in the front. I'll have to admit that for just one moment, paranoia did strike, they would kill me in the desert and steal my stuff. I recognized it immediately for what it was though and we chugged off down, (or more accurately, up) the road toward Santa Rosalia. I could see the girl in the rear view mirror and she wasted no time in falling to sleep, I think he wanted to also, but did not. We spoke a little but not much, I felt a little self conscious so I put in a tape. (Dire Straits)

Happily, the Volkswagen ran strong even with the additional weight, and the drive thru the mountains was mechanically uneventful. The country side was beautiful all the way, although I did wonder if the beauty would be the same in the dead of summer. As we reached Santa Rosalia, the couple came to life in anticipation of their journey's end at Mulege. They talked a little and when we reached the outskirts of Mulege they indicated the spot to drop them off. They thanked me very much and hurried away. I felt good at being able to help them. I decided to drive into Mulege and check it out. It was raining again and the dirt roads of the town were a veritable mud track, I could tell that it would be a nicer town in drier weather. I saw a lot of Americans, it appeared as though many lived there and they seemed to be in a hurry to get their errands done and get back home out of the rain. Who could blame them? After cruising through town, I stopped at a small cafe to get something to eat before I headed back out onto the highway south. I felt kind of depressed and dreary, it was the weather I told myself, just pull it together and see what lies between here and Loreto. I had heard so much about this area, I was determined not to let the rain get me down.

I drove south and pulled into a half dozen or so campground/RV parks just south of Mulege, finally deciding to gas up and drive on to Loreto to spend the night. This turns out to be the worst decision of the entire trip. The first part of the trip, the section of highway that runs along Bahia Conception is absolutely beautiful. The views out to sea with dolphins swimming in crystal clear green and turquoise waters are just breathtaking. There are great campsites too, Playa Coyote, El Requeson, but they looked just a little too wet. From the highway, it runs high above the beach, I could see that a lot of the roads were washed out and where they were not, they looked treacherous. I decided to continue south, I could always catch this place on my way back under better weather conditions.

South of Bahia Conception, I headed into the mountains. The road is winding and very narrow with rainwater rivulets forming pools and puddles along both shoulders ominously narrowing the roadway further. After another ten miles or so, it really begins to rain and blow, and I mean really hard, I mean really, really, hard, and then it starts to get dark a little early. The sky is virtually black with storm clouds. I see only one other vehicle all the way to Loreto and that is a police car parked next to the worst of the flooded out spots. And there were plenty of them, the flooding was horrendous, I shouldn't be here, but there is no place to turn around without getting hopelessly stuck, so I was committed. I say a little prayer and keep moving.

Believe me, I was scared, it was without doubt, the most nerve wracking fifty or sixty miles I have ever driven, but I did make it into Loreto, a little shaken, but unharmed. I turn off the main highway, it is completely dark now and the six volt headlights of the Volks supply just barely enough light to see the road, going is slow. I make it to town determined to head for the most luxurious hotel I can find. I follow the signs to 'Luxury Hotel Row', easier said than done though, that part of town is completely inundated, they are under two feet of water. I didn't stand a chance of making it to hotel row. I pull into a closed Pemex station and try to regroup my thoughts. Should I sleep in the Volkswagen parked at the gas station? Should I find a side street and street camp? Christ, I was incapable of making a decision. I reached for the bottle of Early Times and pour myself a stiff drink. Easy does it I tell myself, don't throw fuel on the fire by getting drunk, stop and think. Just then the bourbon does its job, I calm down. I could think. I drove to a little store just down the street from the Pemex station and went in and bought a coke. I asked the clerk about hotels in the area, and she told me that the flooding had almost everything closed down, but there was one, and she gave me directions. Hell, I had driven right by it on my way into town but did not see it.

As I came out of the store two Americans pulled up, they were driving a big Ford four wheel drive rig and towing a middle seventies vintage Volkswagen bus. They were heading south to Villa Insurgentes, but were distressed to find the Pemex station closed. We talked for a few minutes as they tried to decide whether to wait for the Pemex to reopen or to continue south. They thought they had enough gas in the truck to make it but were not sure, they could however, siphon from their Volkswagen if necessary. They asked if I would like to caravan with them, I politely declined, I wasn't going anywhere until at least the next morning. I left them and checked into the hotel I had passed earlier, I could see why I had missed it, the sign was not lighted and it looked pretty run down. I went into the office and gladly paid ten dollars for a really lousy room. The good thing was that I could park the Volks right next to it and keep an eye on it. Not that I thought someone might steal it, but I just felt better knowing that it was right there. I grabbed the magazines, a book, the bottle of bourbon, some clothes, and went into the room. I laid down on one of the beds and tried to relax, I wanted to get a good nights sleep and be ready for the next day.

After a few minutes I noticed something I should have noticed before, the glass in the movable part of the bathroom window was broken out, they had placed a small hefty bag over it and simply cranked it shut. Now that the wind was starting to blow, it made quite a noise and the rain just blew in, great, but what the hell, it really didn't matter. At least the ceiling didn't leak. I heard thunder and moved out onto the porch to sit for a while. I poured myself a good stiff drink and sat outside, protected from the rain by a large overhanging roof. It was warm and raining very hard, with thunder and lightning putting on quite a show. I sat there for about an hour sipping bourbon, enjoying it all before deciding to turn in for the night. As I reentered my room, I saw that the ceiling was now leaking, and quite a bit, right down the corner of the wall, under the bed, and across the room. That was it, I'd had it. I went to the office and told the manager that I would be sleeping in my car, he offered another room, but I thought I would be better off in my car, I think he was glad that I didn't ask for my ten bucks back. I moved everything back into the Volks and went to sleep for the night. What a day!. . . . . . .

DAY FIVE, FRIDAY

The next morning I awoke to the sounds of a Ford pick up truck trying to start, but it wouldn't, normally this wouldn't be too bad, but it was very early and the starter motor was about five feet from my sleeping head. I sat up, pulled back the towel that was serving as a curtain, and came eye to eye with a Mexican man fooling around under the hood of his truck. We smiled self-consciously at one another, I turned away and was up for the day.

I rustled around inside the bus getting everything straightened up, went inside my hotel room, showered, shaved, put on clean clothes, and was ready to face the day.

It was a morning like all the mornings had been since I had come to Mexico, bright sun and very nice. I wouldn't be fooled though, I knew it would rain later. It was still early, six thirty or so, as I went out to the Volks. The man with the Ford pick up now had enlisted the aid of a friend who positioned his truck so they could jump the dead battery.

I straightened up gear, inspected my vehicle, and nosed around in general, after all, I couldn't go anywhere until they got out of the way. I planned to get breakfast, check out the town and head over across the peninsula south to Villa Insurgentes. I was at least halfway down the Baja now, but I'll have to admit that my enthusiasm was waning. If this weather continued, this trip would turn into a real nightmare. There is no weather report with the big satellite picture, no Fritz, no nothin', I was on my own as to weather prediction, and what the hell did I know about winter weather in Baja? Suddenly, the Ford fired up, the men smiled as they raced the engine to ridiculously high RPM's, either trying to completely recharge the battery in two minutes or teach that thing a lesson for not starting, either way, I was happy as they closed the hood, put the cables away and drove off. Good, I slid behind the wheel of the Volks, pumped the gas once and turned the key. The starter turned the engine over, but my fate was the same as the man with the pickup truck, it just wouldn't start. I ground anxiously on the starter for about five minutes, at one time I thought it was going to start, but no luck. Now I sensed that the battery was losing some of its power, I would give it a rest. I didn't like starting the day like this at all.

I walked down the street looking for a cafe, I would eat some breakfast and then try the Volks again. There was one cafe that looked right but they hadn't opened yet. I went back to the hotel, waited ten minutes and tried the Volks again. At first, same result, but then she started, hesitantly, but she did start, I must have flooded it, or it could be cheap gas gumming up the carb. Anyway, it started, I was both delighted and relieved.

I returned the room key to the manager and drove toward the beach area, the streets were still flooded, about six inches to a foot, and the worst part, you couldn't see the potholes, and I just knew they were there, you could hide a television set in the big ones. I turned around and retreated to higher land. The cafe was now open and I parked directly across the street where I was able to keep an eye on the Volks.

The little cafe was typical of a million that I'd eaten in all over Mexico, family run, home cooking, clean, and very slow service. I was in no hurry today, I needed to think, to establish a game plan, to get myself organized for the rest of this trip. The twelve-year-old waitress brought me black coffee and took my breakfast order. As I sat and drank coffee four Americans came in, men in their middle to late twenties, they also ordered coffee, and orange juice. They were all looking very hung over, sporting a few days growth of beard, and looking unkempt in general. I remembered when at about the same age I had traveled to Mexico with friends and we did the same thing, in a way it was like a time warp, as though I could look at myself twenty five years ago. Was that what I was trying to relive on this trip? I realized that it wasn't too far from the truth, but I was not twenty-five or thirty, I was fifty-one and I had already done that. I remembered the old saying,  you can never go home, oh well, maybe you can never go back either. At least these guys had something to do here in Mexico, they probably fished, surfed, maybe skin diving, and no doubt plenty of party time, that's what we did twenty-five or thirty years ago.

Just then the waitress brought the food, I started to eat and continued to think. Maybe I should just head north, there was nothing more for me here in Baja. I originally thought I would do some thinking, maybe some writing, but I was so busy just surviving there was no mental energy left over. Hell, the way things had gone so far, even just heading north left a lot of travel and adventure time. I decided, I would head north.

Immediately, my spirits were uplifted 100%, I felt as though the trip was just starting, I could take my time, I could see a few things, do a little fishing, maybe a little writing after all. I knew that the Volks would thank me, she was already starting to show wear from all the hard driving. I finished my meal, paid the bill, and went out to the Volks. She started right up, I think maybe she was glad to be heading toward home as well. I pulled into the Pemex and gassed up, checking under the deck, as well as the tires, wires, etc. I put it out on the road heading north.

The driving was slow, the roads were full of water, the low spots were small lakes that had to be carefully driven through or around, and in many places, water just ran across the highway like a small river. The weather was beautiful though, no rain and no wind, a far cry from the day before.

As the highway approached Bahia Conception, I was amazed at the overall beauty. The still, turquoise green and blue water looked like something you might see on a travel poster, or in a travelogue on TV. Looking down onto white sandy beaches with wonderful places to camp, I could see where one would come here and stay for quite a while, and people were, they were camped in motor homes, vans, and trailers. However, I did notice that those who were in were not getting out, and anyone out was not getting in. The dirt roads leading to the beaches and campsites were flooded out, there was even one unlucky soul who had tried to make it out and was hopelessly stuck. I guess, in the long run, I had made the right decision not to camp there, but if one were to be stranded, it certainly would be a great spot.

I pressed on, determined to make it as far north as the weather would permit, I had a good idea of the distances now and if the weather held, this would be a great travel day. The weather did hold and the driving was easy with the Volks running strong. The desert was magnificent beyond description, the greens were so green they looked fluorescent, there were great puffy white clouds in the sky, and great shafts of sunlight poured through them creating a clarity and separation of colors that made each and every rock, plant, and cactus brilliant in its own majestic existence, each piece fitting together to create an unending scheme of color and life. This indeed, was a definitive statement of our great living planet.

The miles flew by, San Ignacio, Guerrero Negro, I decided to try to make it to a small town along the Pacific coast I had heard of from some surfers back home in Santa Barbara, a town called Santa Rosalillita. Checking the map, I found the turnoff just north of Rosarito and headed west toward the ocean. The road was gravel and dirt, but it was wide and I was not afraid of getting stuck, there was even some local traffic. After about ten miles of very slow going, there was a fork in the road, I stopped to consult my map, it was still only about two o'clock so I had plenty of time. Just then some American surfers pulled up and asked if I needed help. I thanked them and asked where the best camping might be. They gave directions to the town, and advised that the best camping was just north of the town past the dump, and then just pick a spot. I followed the directions and soon found exactly what I wanted, the perfect camping spot, far enough away from the ocean, but just close enough at the same time. This place was prime, huge waves with an inside and outside break, surfer's paradise. For the very first time on this trip, I set up a real camp, bringing out all my gear and getting really comfortable. It was a little cool, but still very comfortable, I spent the rest of the day beachcombing, looking at the surf, and just enjoying the solitude. I cooked a great dinner and sipped bourbon as the sun went down. This was the best day of the trip, this was what I came to enjoy.

Here's looking from the campsite at Santa Rosalillita.	Breakfast at Santa Rosalillita

DAY SIX, SATURDAY

The next morning brought fine weather again, I was enthused, I would spend another day here, maybe two. I cooked a nice breakfast, got everything cleaned up and went for a long walk down the beach, the tide was out and there were plenty of tide pools among the huge rock formations. The waves were big and fun to watch. I walked a couple of miles down the beach and started back, I wish Pat were here to share it all, and Aretha (our Bassett) would love it here. It seemed just a little hollow by myself. I had been missing Pat, but due to the fact that so far each day had been a disaster, I was glad she wasn't here, she likes things to go a bit more smoothly. Anyway, as I returned to camp, I thought that maybe today would be a good day to jot down a few thoughts and write a little, after all, the weather looked as if it were going to hold and I was starting to feel pretty content. I noticed a station wagon loaded with surf boards coming toward my camp from up the beach, I waved and they waved back, I guess they were searching for even better surf. I thought maybe I should start the Volks and just warm it up to make sure all systems were go. She wouldn't start, I tried and tried, I let it rest and tried again, nothing, the battery was starting to lose power. What a shot of reality, from Shangri-la to paranoiaville instantly. Goddamit, I liked this place but I didn't want to be stuck here. I looked toward town, I could see it from here, a sleepy little fishing village about five miles away. I could walk there and find someone to come out and give me a jump, or there might be some surfers camped north of here, that was the direction from which the station wagon had come.

I was reasonably sure the Volks would start with a jump, it has a six-volt system, with a twelve-volt jump the engine would turn over very fast. I knew nothing had broken, hell, I drove it here and it was running when I turned it off, probably just a gummed up carb jet at most. I would only take it apart to clean it if a jump didn't work.

I thought about nothing but my predicament, until luckily, here come the same surfers who had given me directions the day before. They drove a four-wheel drive Nissan pickup, definitely twelve volt. I walked to the dirt road and waved them over, they were glad to give a jump. I had cables and the Volks did start, not right away though; it took quite awhile, they waited a few minutes to make sure it kept running before they left. Nice guys, and they had bailed me out of a jam. I left the engine running as I broke camp and packed everything to go, this place was very nice, but I didn't want to be stuck here, just a little too isolated. I drove out slowly on the ten or twelve miles of dirt road, and made it back to the highway easily enough.

Heading north up Highway 1 the bus ran fine, and I felt better, but I knew it would be a battle every day to get her started in the morning. Once she warmed up though, she should be fine for the day. I pulled into the Pemex station just north of Punta Prieta and fueled up. This would be a small test, would she restart, she did, easily, as though there had never been a problem. Now I was tempted to head for Bahia de Los Angeles, I was at the junction and it had been one of the goals on this trip. It was not as isolated there, so even if I had starting problems there would be someone to give me a jump.

It was an easy drive over to Bahia de Los Angeles, somewhat downhill all the way, and took only about an hour. Upon arriving, I was delighted to find a very nice place, it was a beautiful bay with large islands visible out into the Gulf of California. The pastel desert colors and light blue sky contrasted sharply with the deep blue ocean water, creating a peaceful, almost enchanting, feeling. There was a small town with stores and supplies. There also was a large RV park complete with restaurant and bar, with plenty of spaces available, it was almost empty, but I really did not want to camp in an RV park. I saw a sign that said camping, it pointed north, I followed. I was rewarded with a great campsite about two miles up the beach, virtually isolated only two other rigs nearby, a large RV and a smaller one, there was plenty of privacy for everyone. The site was near the water, but far enough away to allow for the drastic tide movement of the gulf side. I set up camp and immediately wondered how starting up would be the next day, but what the hell, a lot of Volkswagens needed help to get started in Mexico.

The rest of the day was very pleasant, I tried a little fishing, but no luck, not even a nibble, Christ, I can't even catch a fish in the Sea of Cortez. After about an hour I tried starting the Volks, and she fired right up, I let it run a few minutes and felt more confident. Now I knew for sure that it was only a starting problem, not something more serious. I gave up fishing as the wind started to blow, went back to the Volks and sat down to relax a little before dinner.

  Then along came John, Big John, an American, about forty, big guy, huge beard, two teeth missing right in front, and looks like he's been 'rode hard and put away wet'. He explained how it works here, it costs two bucks a night to camp, payable to him, and he lives in the RV right down the beach, and he pointed, it was the bigger one. He also had a sack of freshly caught fish, of which any or all were for sale, I bought a bass, he charged me fifty cents. I offered him a drink of bourbon and he accepted with a huge smile. I pulled the bottle out, we had enough for three drinks, one for me, and two for Big John. I was glad he saw the bottom of the bottle because as we spent the next half hour talking evidently drinking and fishing were Big John's favorite pastimes. He was known as Grande Juan here, and had lived here for three years. He had a long story, one that would make a story in itself, so we won't get into it here. He offered to take me fishing in his boat the next day (Sunday), but I would have to buy the beer, hell, that was fine with me, he said he'd be by in the morning. With that, he continued on his rounds of collecting the days rent from the other campers. I cooked my bass and went to bed early.

DAY SEVEN, SUNDAY

It rained a little during the night but not enough to make me think the killer storms had returned. The wind was blowing a little, but no rain, or even clouds, the next morning. The wind was offshore and the day, although a little cool, was nice enough. I felt encouraged.

After breakfast I cleaned the Volkswagen inside and out and put most of the camp away, I left out my ground cloth, the table and two chairs. I didn't plan on leaving until the next day (Monday), but in case I changed my mind I wanted to be ready to go on easily. I decided to try starting the Volks, and much to my surprise she started up, a little hesitantly, but she did start. I let her run for about fifteen minutes and thought that I might start it occasionally throughout the day. I was hoping Grande Juan would keep his word about going fishing and had left my tackle out to that end, but I wasn't going to count on it.

I took a little walk down the beach and talked to another camper who had been there with his wife for about three weeks. He, of course, knew Big John and said he was a good fisherman and if he said we were going fishing then we probably would. The offshore wind was not favorable for Juans boat though, he had a rubber Zodiac powered by only a five horse motor. Normally this is not a problem because the prevailing wind is from the north east. If the motor fails, rowing it in to shore with the wind at your back is easy, but with today's offshore wind, rowing it into shore would be impossible. One could be blown out to the deserted islands, or worse yet, into the open sea of the Gulf. I went back to my camp and waited to see what the day would bring, the wind was picking up, but the air was still warm.

 Soon, the day brought Juan, and sure enough, he also thought it was too windy for the Zodiac today, however if it let up later, we could go then. He suggested that meanwhile, why don't we get a case of beer and drink? Well, Grande Juan reminded me of a lot of guys I had known in my life, don't get me wrong here, I'm no goody two shoes, but I sure didn't want to get in trouble. I was direct, I said sure, but I am not a fighter, those days are long gone, if we could have a good time and a few laughs, I was all for it, but if he wanted to raise hell, count me out. I guess it was the right thing to say, Juan laughed, said "A deal" and gave me a high five. We jumped in the Volks, she started right up, a good omen I thought, and headed for the beer agency in town.

It was great fun going to town with Juan, he knew everybody and everybody knew him, he was the jolly fat man, the local character, we did some shopping, got a case of Dos XX (I paid) some ice, and returned to his camp.

He lived in a twenty eight-foot motor home on the half acre he leased from the local family. They loved to lease beach front lots, about a half acre for six hundred dollars a year, two for a thousand, payable on January 1st, of each year, ten year renewable leases. Juan introduced me to the owner and I got all the information, don't think I'll lease though, two bucks a day is fine with me. Big John paid for his leases by collecting the rents and keeping the trash cans emptied, a good deal if that is where you want to live. I could not help but notice that although Big John seemed to have everything, rent free, fish every day, no bills, no stress, social acceptance, he still did not strike me as a happy man. In actuality he was a man on the run, as we drank the beer he told (admittedly with a little prompting) his story, but I won't get into that now, that's also another story in itself. Well, we spent the entire day drinking the beer and shooting the shit about life and things in general. The wind did not die down, in fact, it picked up a little, so fishing was taken off the days agenda. Another guy even showed up, guy named Steve, just pulled in, in an RV, a smaller one, we invited him to join us and he did. He was about forty-five, heading south, a TV news anchorman from San Francisco, just lost his job and heading down the Baja, sort of a sabbatical. It was a little weird between Steve and I because we were doing the same thing, just observing and observers don't make good observees. It drove home to me the fact that I should keep this thing heading north and not lose track of myself as we drank. Toward evening, we all got hungry and decided to pool our resources and barbeque right there at Grand Juan's, we did, and it turned out excellent.

After dinner things got pretty relaxed, Steve produced a couple of joints, which we promptly smoked, but we also continued to drink. Grande Juan introduced his two cats, Mongo Jerry and Angelica, both had their front claws removed, but it didn't seem to slow them down at all. They loved to hunt and like all cats, they bring their captured prey home, right into the RV, alive of course. The problem is they hunt poisonous scorpions, so there was always the danger of live scorpions inside and around the RV. I don't know if it was paranoia from smoking the pot, or the thought of scorpions, but I was a lot more careful where I sat down after that. Well, overall, the day was a success and I had the presence of mind to leave before all the beer was gone. Steve had even brought some from his RV so there was plenty, I told Grande Juan and Steve I was going to be leaving early in the morning so I would say my good byes now. We said adios and parted company. One small note; I felt the conversation during the day had been extremely candid and honest, we all knew that probably we would never see each other again and I think that accounted for all the soul baring. I felt a little like a character from a Steinbeck novel. I would be glad to get on the road the next day, maybe with a little luck I could make the border.

DAY EIGHT, MONDAY

I awoke early the next day, a little before sunrise; I heated water and made coffee, I hurried, I was anxious to get on the road. I sensed the trip was over and I wanted to be gone, out of Mexico and back to the good old USA. No more magic, no more romance, no more adventure, just cross that border and get home. I was a little nervous as I tried the starter. I very much wanted the Volkswagen to start, in fact, if it didn't I was going to be unhappy because I would have to wait for Steve or Grande Juan to get up and that could be hours. I knew I was a little hung over and assumed they would be too. I was absolutely delighted when she did start, and relatively easy. I put her on the road and pointed her west to the junction at Highway 1, then north to the border.

The sunrise was beautiful and the Volks was running strong. We joined the main highway in no time and humming right along, made it to Catavina by eight o'clock. I gassed up the Volks and went in for a nice breakfast at the cafe.

I met some people heading south there, or more accurately, I should say the Volkswagen met some people. They asked if I was driving the Volks, when I replied that I was they went into a long tirade about how they used to have one just like it, blah, blah, blah. Now don't get me wrong, normally I'll talk old Volkswagens with the best of them, but my mind was of a single purpose, get the hell out of Mexico and get back home. Come to think of it though, my Volkswagen bus was the oldest I had seen in Mexico on this trip, I saw plenty of Volkswagens but none as old as mine. Come to think of it further, none of the other drivers were as old as me either, both a couple of dinosaurs, I guess.

Back on the road, running strong and making great time, on through El Rosario, and into San Quintin. More gas and the miles are still flying by, Colonia Guerrero, Camalu, Colonet, San Vincente and 'pedal to the metal' all the way to Ensenada. My heart turns to home, Pat, Aretha, and the Klingon cat, Molly. I stop downtown Ensenada and try to find a present to bring home to Pat, Ensenada is nice, I realize that I haven't been to Ensenada for over twenty years, of course it has changed. I finally settle on a big tee shirt that says Ensenada and has a big parrot on the front. Pat likes big tee shirts to use for pajamas.

I want to get home, I look at the time, I can actually make the border if I hurry. I do hurry, and in spite of getting lost in Tijuana, I am in line to cross the border by six o'clock that night. Geez, over twelve hours on the road, I check the speedometer, four hundred fifty three miles covered. I wait, and wait, and wait to cross the border, it takes over an hour just to reach the inspection booth. In that hour I have not purchased over ten thousand items which have been pushed upon me by desperate people trying to eke out a living. The only people who can get me to part with my money have nothing, and have nothing for sale. They are the hollow eyed mothers carrying their babies on their backs; they are begging and anyone can tell they are poor beyond belief, they are grateful for the coins tossed to them by rich Americans crossing the border. Finally, I reach the inspection booth, to my amazement, they won't let me cross without going to the secondary inspection area. I think it was the fact that I went all the way to Loreto and only claimed one tee shirt, or maybe it was the Volkswagen bus. Now I really don't know what to expect. I wait my turn, another thirty minutes go by, finally, an inspector, I am prepared for the worst. I am pleasantly surprised, the inspection is easy, I open the doors and the back hatch, he noses around a little and sends me on my way. I made it, I'm on the American side! Every trip I have ever taken to Mexico ends like this, completely elated to be back home in America. I realize that I am famished, I have not eaten since Catavina that morning, look, a McDonalds! You guessed it, a pig out. I go to a phone booth and call Pat, it is great to hear her voice, she is glad I made it safely, etc., etc. I hang up and get back on the road, after all, I am not going to spend the night in San Ysidro, I press on to San Diego and check into a Holiday Inn. I am happy to throw that plastic up on the counter and check into a room that costs almost a hundred bucks a night. Remote control TV, room service, the works.

I call room service and order two martinis, I draw a nice, hot bath as I wait for room service, I hear the knock on the door, the martinis have arrived. The bath is ready, I sit and soak away the road dust and enjoy the martinis in total luxury. I call Pat again, we talk for a while, I can sense that she is happy that I am back home, well, almost home, at least we're in the same country. After we hang up, I watch TV for a while and have no trouble falling asleep.

The next day I drive straight home to Santa Barbara, I'm home by two o'clock in the afternoon. I've only been gone for a little over a week, but it feels more like a year. In closing, what can I say, was the trip a success? I really don't know, I really didn't have much fun, however it was an adventure and I did learn a lot, but it certainly was not what I thought it would be, but I know one thing, the next time I go I'm taking my family with me. And we  will not be going in the Volkswagen, one dinosaur run is quite sufficient.

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Copyright 1996 by R.P. Folsom. All rights reserved.