Sometimes you just discover things

I figured Guerrero Negro would be the next place to stop, but I had no idea where I would stay. Well, I'd had an idea—a spot I saw at Campendium—but once again, I couldn't get net access when I needed it. (Tip: if you see useful/critical information online, at least get a screen grab before you head into a no-internet zone.) So I crossed into Baja California Sur, waved at the gigantic flag, got the Rolling Steel Tent's undercarriage sprayed with insecticide, then turned off the highway and cruised down the main street, looking for a clue.

I came to what looked like the end of the street, with governmental-looking installations ahead and to the left. So I turned right. A sign said something about an old lighthouse. Okay, I thought, I'll kill some time that way.

The pavement ended and turned into a levee through wetlands. La-la-la-la-la, I kept driving. A couple of cars passed the other way, so it wasn't like I was driving way out to nowhere, even though it looked like it. Nice wetlands, though. Oh look, an osprey with a fish.

Then, on my left, I saw a ratty old sign for a restaurant and...palapas! I turned. The road got funkier and all along the way were piles of shells. Billions and billions of shells. I pulled into the yard and was greeted by yapping Chihuahuas. Of course. There were five palapas right by the water, all unoccupied. My kind of place!

It ain't fancy, but it's purple, and has electricity

My first furnished palapa

Too bad I'm not into oysters

It was a gorgeous day. The tide went out, exposing oyster beds. Late in the afternoon people started showing up at the restaurant. If they'd drive all the way out here to eat, it must be a good place. It was. I had great camarones al mojo de ajo. Yum.

I could've stayed longer—should've stayed longer—but thick fog set in that night. It was uncomfortable. While I struggled to sleep, I formulated a plan. North. I'd head back north, but with as little Highway 1 as possible. I would gut it out and do the 20+ miles of unpaved Highway 5 I'd avoided before. Somehow that seemed less traumatic than taking Highway 1 all the way back to the border.