RV CARAVAN TO BAJA -- PART I
Thursday, Friday --January 28 & 29
Arriving in Chula Vista and being compelled to make further repairs to our motor home, we arrived at last at the KOA meeting site, to find that we were the last ones to join Good Sam Caraventure #2. After settling into our assigned space, we sought out the registration table and arranged for our Mexican Tourist Cards, Mexican auto insurance, and the conversion of $600 worth of pesos. The Tailgunner's wife, Pat, greeted us warmly and provided Good Sam caps, plastic name tags, arm patches and a very informative packet of materials pertaining to the trip.
I'm ashamed to say that I was not feeling at all jolly or connected at that time. Departure from home had involved breasting through many barriers. We had dealt with a household water well breakdown, the grading of a new parking site, the breakage of a major household window, inevitable business and church secretarial work, RV servicing and repairs - all of which had shortened our preparation time and frustrated my packing efforts.
Fatigue and tension were considerably exacerbated as we descended our first steep highway grade and our brand new brakes responded by putting out a lot of noxious smoke. A toilet waterline failure followed. So sniffing brakes, and sopping water, we arrived in Chula Vista needing help and TLC. We located a fine RV service center, South Coast RV, and spent time in the shop getting put back together. At that juncture, my spirit was less than freewheeling and wasn't fortified by the Tailgunner's kind suggestion that our dual tires looked somewhat ballooned and probably should be checked before the long, uncertain trip ahead.
However, we braced up and made our way to the Big White Tent on the KOA grounds where other folks were chattering and gathering for lunch. We worked on polite conversation and tried to focus on the Wagonmaster's important briefing. Introductions were made and various elements of the trip clarified. Folks were pleasant but preoccupied, as we were, with final preparations. We went back to our rig, had a much needed nap and crept off alone to Anthony's for a last Chula Vista dinner.
There were eighteen rigs in the group, several towing, some very impressive outfits and a few as small as we were. Richard and Frieda traveled in a regulation van with bikes on the back.
The next day we received our official rig decal and number. We finalized stores, had our tires checked, and purchased a window-mounted antenna for the handheld CB. We'd never even seen a CB radio before and could not at that time conceive that it would play such a useful and enjoyable part in the days ahead. Dinner that night was a group affair back in the Big Tent. More briefing, more tentative conversation, and early to bed.
Saturday, January 30
The alarm wakened us at 6 a.m. The caravan rolled out at 7 a.m. sharp, still dark. We lined up, as directed, at the park entry and turned onto the freeway, headed south for the dreaded border crossing. At that point, the CB first came into play. How funny to press a button and speak directly to seventeen other parties on the road. Miraculously, after all the fussing, it worked!
The Wagonmaster kept us on point. We trundled toward Mexico, through the border without a hitch, and into the maze of Tijuana. There indeed we negotiated twists and turns and signs leading us on toward Ensenada and points south. First fumbling with pesos happened in order to pay three separate tolls on the "Scenic Road". Mexican coins turned out to be nice to handle and easy to use. The exchange rate was close to 10 pesos per $1, not difficult to calculate, after all.
We found, to our surprise and pleasure, that caravanning was comfortable and fun. Rigs stayed well spaced out along the highway but close enough to follow the leader. During the several rest stops south, Bob and I continued to catch up on much needed rest. We flung off our shoes and napped at every opportunity.
The first long day's travel ended on a doubtful note as we followed, one by one, into the long, rocky, dusty, road that spilled us into Don Pedro's RV Park at Colonia Vicente Guerrero. Hookups were obscured in deteriorated concrete dividers but, surprisingly, they worked!
Another surprise. There was a nicely developed restaurant located right on the grounds where the group gathered for a prearranged meal and enjoyed its first round of margaritas. Full blown mariachis turned out for the event and everyone began to relax. In view of advance warnings, Bob and I had been dubious about ingesting anything at all in Mexican restaurants, but nobody else seemed concerned, least of all the staff. So we plunged right in, as we did from there on out, enjoying delicious Baja meals with never a gastric disorder.
Some first day of travel impressions: Plastic and glass litter spoiled the towns and roadsides. Shanties and junk were a disorienting contrast to recent construction by more affluent homeowners. We learned that prickly pear farms market the "ears" for food.
Having been pursued by rain, the dry weather was welcome but it wasn't yet warm. No spectacular desert plants yet. (Sonoran desert plants were what we were after). Roads were better paved than we'd expected, narrow but good. Our Wagonmaster was very firm and very efficient, keeping us aware of highway hazards, stopping places and other travel elements. Each rig displayed its assigned number back and front, a very practical way of identification. The CB continued to be a great boon. Road information and conversation was fairly continuous.
Throughout the trip we would come suddenly upon military checkpoints. We were admonished to put on our yellow Good Sam caps and look as groupy as possible. In any event, most of us were waved right on through.
Sunday, January 31
Superbowl Sunday with much CB chatter about the game and its outcome and speculation about who held winning numbers. Smeary sky in the morning and fairly cool weather led to the AC by afternoon. Bob and I committed a grave faux pas. We left the lineup for a Pemex station, our first fill-up, thinking to catch up with the group later. But to our embarrassment, the entire caravan lumbered to a halt in order to wait for us. Gil Wagonmaster was not pleased. The caravan turned off the road to reach a beach for a group pancake breakfast, and we received our well-deserved dressing down. We didn't make that mistake again.
Finally, in the afternoon and after a long, dull pull, the caravan crossed into vegetated desert. The rest stop at the famous boulder area was spectacular with pink granite rock and many desert plant species: Cardon, Old Man Cactus, Candelabra Cactus, Cirio (Boojum), Barrels, Cholla, Ocotilla, Datilillo. Late in the day we arrived at Catavina. The RV park there used to have hookups, now out of use, but we rejoiced to discover that the sewers still worked, a major blessing. By this time, Bob was becoming testy about finding a place to see the Superbowl; so he broke for the nearby La Pinta Hotel. (La Pinta Hotels, a chain throughout Baja, we found to be very adequate, some very nice). I was still not able to relax, was bone weary, hungry and homesick. But at the La Pinta, Bob became a hero. He rented a room for the day, to share the TV broadcast of the Superbowl with anyone interested. Jolly folks joined his party and provided an array of snacks and beverages. It was a very dull game but a very pleasant get-acquainted time.
Monday, Tuesday, February 1 and 2
Fine desert vegetation increased. We marveled at sizes and shapes of indigenous desert species. We had entered the real Baja at last. Then followed another long drive to Guerrero Negro located on the border of Baja California and Baja Sur. The day culminated in a windswept, dusty campground, even less probable than the last one. It was located on the highway adjacent, on one hand, to a desolate military installation and, on the other, to a nice La Pinta Hotel. We rejoiced, however, that hookups worked and we could shower and shampoo. Once settled in, we became a community and the campground seemed fine.
In the evening we were introduced to our first "palapa", a palm frond shelter where we awaited transportation to nearby Mario's Restaurant. Enterprising Mario was there in person, all bows and smiles, restaurant owner and operator of local whale tour boats. He had recently moved his restaurant to the out of town location near the campground. As in many other cases in Mexico, his building was still under construction - sand floor, still largely open to the sky (and wind), dark, incomplete restrooms and kitchen. Nonetheless, Mario's cheery staff managed on small burners and card tables to provide a rather splashy meal, albeit not in haste. At the end of the meal, I was not in much of a party mood, was cold and tired and ready to take the van back to camp. I confessed to Bob that I was very apprehensive about the whale boat tour scheduled for early the next morning and might pass it up.
Another 7 a.m. rising in the morning and a resigned bundling up against the cold. We set off by van over a number of bumpy miles into Guerrero Negro and out onto the salt mine docks to embark in small skiffs for whale watching in Scammon's Lagoon. (So named because Scammon found and harpooned so many hapless critters in the whaling days).
The dreaded skiffs, however, turned out to be nice snug fiberglass boats with comfy, spongy cushions on the seats. The boatmen were enthusiastic and happy to see us. The day brightened and was reasonably warm, the sea calm. There was much whale "sky hopping" or "spying out", breaching, blowing, calves leaping. A totally satisfactory experience. The whale show was fabulous and definitely the turning point for me, the last vestige of my anxious, fussy spirit was dissipated, at last.
Wednesday, February 3
7:00 a.m. and getting used to it, we departed Guerrero Negro and approached the immediate challenge of the agricultural spraying station. After paying a small fee, each undercarriage was sprayed with some carcinogenic stuff by a man in a yellow plastic moon walk suit. Each received a receipt and we moved on.
Our day's travel took us southeast through heavy fog toward the Tres Virgenes volcanic area. Its surround is noted for its Elephant Trees, the only vegetation upon the lava. Areas more remote had less litter and were a noticeable relief. Our rest stop at late morning was at San Ignacio, a small village about half way to our night's destination. Bob and I walked into town, around the square, and into the fine old Spanish mission church which dates way back to Jesuit days and is mostly original construction. The square was shaded with huge Mexican Laurel Trees, for all the world identical to Ficus, surely closely related. It was warm and sunny and windless, a lovely change in the weather.
From San Ignacio, we grouped up, numbered off, and proceeded toward the Sea of Cortez and down the "Devil's Grade", an impressive curving drop to the town of Santa Rosalia and the sea.
Some parenthetical thoughts regarding our new experience of caravan-style travel: We were being carefully led and watched over. Our Wagonmaster was a very youthful seventy-four and admirable for his stamina and leadership abilities. His wife was unwell and unable to accompany him as she usually did; so he was doing double duty without her valuable assistance. The Tailgunner and his wife were filling more than their planned slots and were seen to be very special people.
At this point in the trip, the caravan was on track and doing well. We continued practicing names. Bob had a good handle on the men. I could identify all of the women. The men still all looked alike to me in their Good Sam caps.
Bob found the driving very relaxing. The pace was modest (average speed about 45 mph), and it was easy to follow the rig ahead, with no responsibility for where to stop, where to fuel up, where to overnight. We really appreciated not having to make those decisions. We managed our screwy meal schedule by eating breakfast each day at the first rest stop, while others stretched and walked their dogs and cats. (Yes, there were a surprising number of pets making the trip).
Dwellings along the entire route were usually in the building stage. Going up or coming down, we could not tell. So called "Ranchos" along the road consisted of concrete or wooden boxes with no doors or windows, corrugated tin or palm frond roofs. They were usually surrounded by a number of cast off autos and assorted junk, a few dusty Mesquite or other plants, all set on rocks and sand. Some had most elaborate arched and embellished gates and walls. Many had small Tecate stands, offering beer, meals and snacks. Lean ranch cattle with long, beautiful horns wandered freely along the roadways.
We marveled at road signs that pointed off to nowhere along impossible dirt tracks: "Manzanita 67 kilometers". Who traveled there? Towns of any size seemed to have a single paved main street. Cross streets, leading off to modest housing, were gravel, washboard, dust. Independent and mild mannered camp dogs were ubiquitous. All mongrels and all sleek and happy. They visited and were interested in our resident dogs but seemed very self sufficient. We didn't see one unhappy critter.
Likewise, the Mexican people in Baja, though often living very humbly, were well-dressed and well built. The kids who swarmed around in batches, sometimes looking for money and sweets, were not at all needy. Tourists seem to be a form of recreation, good for handouts.
Wherever we stopped, we drew vendors of one sort or another. They proffered all manner of handcrafted goods - trinkets and blankets and rugs and jewelry - some good things and a lot of shabby merchandise. I'd noticed hand woven rugs; a number of quite nice ones. It was understood that the seller named a high price and then the buyer bargained until a mutual agreement was come by. It took me awhile to overcome my hesitation and to undertake a purchase.
After the warmth of San Ignacio, the temperature on the east coast dropped to chilly, then cold. I clung to my flannel-lined jeans and sometimes added long-johns. The wind continued biting. We dry-camped on a beach that night at a place called El Requeson, the very beach and sand spit pictured in our Baja book. The road in was even less probable than those previous, the bumpiest yet.
There was, however, stark beauty there. Mountains and islands dropped directly into the sea, bearing their incredible Cardon and assorted desert plants. Thick green Mangrove grew along the shore. Clam and scallop shells were everywhere. Frigate Birds, Pelicans, Heron, Egrets, black gulls put on a continuous show. The Wagonmaster carefully circled some of the bigger rigs to form a protection from the wind, and we had a group potluck meal, until driven inside by the cold night air.