"Wasting away in
Margarittaville" - Jimmy Buffett"Wasting away in
Margarittaville" - Jimmy Buffett
We pushed on down the very narrow roads to Cataviña, and
arrived at late twilight. It was butt-fucking cold. There
is nothing to Cataviña; it's just a government campsite
(although there is a fancy looking hotel in the national park
there).
We were about the sixth group out of 25 to arrive before total
darkness. Crazo and I rode our bikes around to check out the
place. No hot showers (The AAA guide, otherwise perfect lied to
us this time). Crazo decided to take a shower anyway. He emerged
blue while the rest of us Bar-B-Q'ed it up and watched videos on
the motorhome's set. It's one hell of a long drive from Milpitas
to Cataviña! We did it in a single haul!
Crazo and I were determined to get an early start, because we
couldn't go as fast as we had planned; road
conditions warranted 70 KPH max. Abe drove that next morning
just before sunup. There was some interesting foliage present
everywhere - the AAA book called them Ciori trees. We quickly
dubbed them "silly trees" (yes we were drinking at the
time, but the name stuck).
Up and over the hill from Cataviña, we stop at the junction to
Bahia Los Angeles for gas. We heard some horror stories from some
wind surfers whom had been at this gas station for days
waiting to fill up. Apparently, they don't deliver gas to it on a
regular basis.
Interesting cafe in the gas station, dead dog too. Apparently it
froze to death in the cold of the previous night. More disgusting
bathrooms. What is it about Mexican bathrooms anyways? Why are
they always so fetid?
As we drive through the desert, we begin to realize just how
accurate the AAA map is. It marks every microwave tower,
abandoned building, rock pile, and empty beer can on the highway
(I guess we made the next AA cartographers job a nightmare, with
all of the beer cans we left behind).
So, we now come up to the monument demarking the border with Baja
California Sur. It was not nearly as majestic as the guidebook
said. The border cop asks us if we have any fruit. We lie. Then
he asks for a donation for the Red Cross (Mordida in disguise no
doubt).
So, we have arrived at the world famous Scammon's Lagoon!
Scammon's Lagoon is the bay that you see in that funny shaped
knee halfway down the Baja peninsula's western side, near the
town of Guerro Negro. It is famous as the site where every single
California grey whale goes to breed in January. We were hoping to
break out the dive gear here and have a look see at what a
spawning grey whale looks like, but no amount of pleading with
the natives to show us the way to Las Ballenas Gris eluded
directions. The best buy on beer in town was at El Deposito near
the Army base. His already cheap prices were discounted for La
Navidad.
We left town and hoped to make it to Loreto by nightfall.
Between Guerro Negra and Santa Rosalia (276K) there is only the
Oasis of San Ignacio (pictured here). Crazo and I wanted to stop,
but were overruled as we knew that we had a long trip ahead of
us, and needed to make tracks. On the way out of town, we saw
Mexican troops on maneuvers; children really, some were only 13
or so. Russ drove like a madman. Even though the road was barely
wide enough, with lots of oncoming traffic, with signs demanding
"No Rebase!" and "Este Camino no es para alto
velocidad; es por la developmente economica del region" Russ
still pulled out to pass other cars with oncoming traffic! Glad I
was half asleep, or I would have shit my pants. He pointed out
that this was one of the few straight sections, and that we
should take advantage of it while we could.
We started to climb into the mountains again, and Russ read ahead
in the guidebook about the steep grade to come; a 1000 ft drop to
the sea in a very short span. This road scared the piss out of
us, most of all Abe. A Volkswagen bug with Mexican plates lost
their roof rack while coming up the hill. We hit it dead on and
kept on moving without even slowing down. If it was an American,
we would have stopped, but we did not want to deal with
translation and the possibility of authorities. What a
spectacular view! This stretch also convinced us to take the
mainland route back, as we didn't want to deal with that hill and
the twisties again. There was a little airport at the bottom of
the hill that was cool looking, wedged between our first view of
The Sea of Cortez and the cliff. Marvelous. We continued on to
Santa Rosalia and stopped for gas.
I needed to take a shit, and prayed that the bathroom was
cleaner than the disgusting one at the Pemex in San Quintin,
which by now seamed half a world away. I opened the door on this
poor Mexican taking a shit. I'll never forget how he looked,
pathetically squatting there hairy legs and all taking a shit.
The (coed) bathroom here was simply a row of holes in the
concrete floor, over some kind of running water. Well, beggars
can't be choosers. I take up a hole between the aforementioned
squatting man, and a very fat, elderly looking Mexican woman
holding an infant, and go about my business.
After buying gas - Nova because the motorhome was not old enough
to need unleaded, I stepped across the street to a small
loncheria for some fish tacos. Talked to an old Mexican there who
claimed to once have lived in Sacramento. He told us that the
fish was very fresh indeed, and tried to impart the Spanish name
of the type of fish it was. Heviche? Couldn't understand.
It turns out, that whilst I was buying lunch for the crew, Crazo
checked out the H2O; He claimed that it was cold. This was
the Gulf Of California; a shallow backwater whose only inlet is
in the tropics. Crazo is in up to his neck, when he starts
complaining that the water is filthy. Something mysterious floats
by. My hackles raise, as I look past Craig, and notice that this
little stream flows out from under the gas station's bathroom,
and empties into the inlet that Crazo was swimming in, not more
than 15 feet away.
We don't let Craig back into the motorhome until we thoroughly
spray him down with the hose from the petrol station.
The fish tacos were good. They are different in Baja than they
are in Jalisco; In Baja they are battered and deap fried before
going into the tortilla, almost like a tempura burrito.
The only thing between us and Loreto to break up the rugged
monotony of hard rock and desert was was the RV park of San Lucas
(Beutiful). Lots of prime sandy beach, good surf, white sand, and
warm, clear water. Good Shit Mainard. We decided to stop in
Mulege (Mu-Le-Hey) and check it out. Sleepy little village. Our
first sight seeing since the aborted trip to Scammon's. It was
quite boring, as everything was closed in this being Sunday in
scuba diving Mecca. We walked the loop once, and bought some more
beer in the Supermercado before we were back on the road. South
of Mulege is the most beutiful bay in the world, Bahia
Concepcion. Numerous pleasure craft ply these pristine waters. It
would be glorious to spend some time sailing here.
Tijuana,
Ensenada, and Points South! (Part I) |
