Dusk on the tidal flats

Wimping out and helping out

There aren’t many things that can make me cry. One of them is washboard roads. So after driving the tooth-rattling mile from Papa Fernandez’s out to Highway 5, I was in no mental or physical state to tackle twenty-five miles of it to the junction with Highway 1.

“Oh, go on and do it,” my inner tough guy said. “Prove you’re bold. Prove you’re a man. You’ll have a better story to tell.”

My outer reality-based self countered, “You’re crazy. Why would I want to intentionally make myself miserable? I don’t buy into your ‘no pain, no gain’ crap. I say, no pain, no pain. But I’m turning south anyway because I want to go to Alfonsina’s.”

Between the turnoffs to Papa Fernandez’s and Alfonsina’s is a military checkpoint. I looked unmanned, but as I approached, four soldiers moseyed from the building to take up their positions. Ok, I thought, let’s see how this goes.

“A donde va?” one of them asked. (Where are you going?)

“Alfonsina’s.”

He waved me on. They moseyed back to the building. And that was it.

About a quarter mile ahead I saw three guys pushing a pickup. I immediately recalled stories I’d been told and had read about Americans being stranded in Baja with a flat, no gas, engine problems or whatever, and locals coming to the rescue, even feeding them and putting them up for the night. I thought now it was my turn.

I pulled around them, stopped and got out. One of the guys looked at me hopefully and gestured, “Rope?”

I gave him a thumbs-up and got out my tow strap. The eye-bolts I’d installed on the Rolling Steel Tent a while back had finally come in handy. We hooked up and I pulled them the rest of the way to Alfonsina’s. Doing my small part for US-Mexico relations.

Alfonsina’s is primarily a hotel, restaurant, store, marina and air strip. They also have a camping area—a row of palapas along the shore of the bay. There was no sign of Alfonsina’s personnel there, so I asked one of the RVers what the deal was there. “It’s mighty expensive. Twenty-five bucks a night. For that kind of money I’d expect full hook-ups, but there’s nothing but the palapas. I complained and they gave me four nights for the price of three, but the two rigs that used to be there left after one night.”

“Thanks for the info,” I said, and left. I had imagined Alfonsina’s would be my cheap paradise by the sea, but it wasn’t cheap, and even if it were, something about the place just seemed off to me. Oh well.

Insane detour, or just seeing more of Baja?

So, back at the highway I had to decide whether to turn south and suffer washboard hell, or turn north and go… where? Back to San Felipe? Give Puertecitos another look? Do the crazy thing and take Highway 3 northwest to Ensenada and then Highway 1 south again—a five-hundred mile detour to avoid twenty-five miles of dirt road? I chose north and told myself I’d figure it out on the way.

Back at the checkpoint, the soldiers moseyed to their stations again, but this time one of them had a bit of signal flag action going. The guy who’d spoken to me before recognized me and waved me through again.

Puertecitos looked just as unappealing as before. I kept going.

Between Puertecitos and San Felipe are a series of campos, which are small villages or vacation home developments, not campgrounds. However, sometimes the signs will also say “camping.” I saw such a sign and made the sudden decision to go check it out.

Two miles down a washboard road later (ergh), I pulled into a place with a restaurant, picnic area, playground and, sure enough, camping spots along the shore. The place looked deserted, but there was an RV in one of the spots. Its occupants filled me in and I decided to stay a couple of nights. The guy in charge came by later to collect my money.

So, sometime tomorrow I need to decide whether to stay here longer or… something. Meanwhile, I’ll rest up for the washboard drive back out to the highway.

Love and money

The Mexican five-hundred peso note serves pretty much like the US twenty. (Today it's equal to $26.) The previous version featured a picture of General Ignacio Zaragoza, who defeated the French at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862, which is now celebrated by gringos drinking way too much Corona.

The current version, though, features everyone's favorite Mexican artist couple: Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera.

Given the stormy nature of their marriage, it's probably appropriate that they're on opposite sides of the note, with Diego looking as if he's asking, "What did I do wrong?" and Frida answering, "You know perfectly well," to which Diego retorts, "Oh, like you're Señora Sinless."

Papa Fernandez's

My original plan had been to spend some time at Puertecitos, but I changed my mind when I saw the place. Totally unappealing. So I continued south to Bahia San Luis Gonzaga.

There are two campgrounds there. Since Papa Fernandez's came first, I decided to check it out, maybe stay a couple of nights, and then move to Alfonsina's on the other side of the bay. It was only 100 pesos (about $6.00) a night. Good deal.

The camping area is over the ridge that forms Punto Willard (the shapely leg reaching into the Sea of Cortez). The road there is steep and very gnarly. You'd need to be bold/crazy to try it in an RV or towing anything. But the mighty Rolling Steel Tent got the job done.

There are eight palapas and four outhouses. There's a dune between the first group of palapas and the sea, so I went farther along to the ones with a view of the water. Nice, secluded, quiet.

Low tide

Low worries

Like 50 miles of adequate road

What’s Highway 5 like south of San Felipe? It depends on who’s reporting, how long ago, what they’re driving and which particular stretch they’re taking about.

The first fifteen miles or so are narrower than most Americans are used to. And there are no shoulders. That can be scary if you’re driving/pulling something large. But it’s still wide enough for semis to pass. The pavement is lumpy with pothole patches, and it pitches from side to side, up and down, but it’s far from bone jarring. It just isn’t Interstate smooth. The speed limit is low, anyway, so just get your mellow on and don’t push it.

By the time you reach Valley of the Giants the road is wider, smoother and has something resembling shoulders. But this is where the vados (drainage washes) start. Most are just mild whoop-de-doos, but some can bottom you out and launch you airborne if aren’t paying attention and take them too fast. Some English-speaker has spray painted comments on the road, but they’re a little late to serve as warnings.

The pavement used to end at Puertecitos. From there it was a slow vehicle- and body-destroying crawl through the mountains. But now there’s a brand new highway as far as Bahia San Luis Gonzaga. Piece of cake. Except there places where small rock slides encroach on the road.

The last twenty or so miles to the junction with Highway 1 is still under construction. It’s not a fun drive, but it’s doable. However, I chose not to. More on that later.

On watch

I was staring at the sea. Because that’s what one does in a place like this. A cluster of gulls was having a feeding frenzy on the surface. Pelicans were dive bombing. Yum, sashimi brunch.

Off in my peripheral vision, something dark broke the surface for a second. It was about the size of a pelican, but it was gone. What was it? Had a ray done a bit of flying? That would be cool to see.

Then there it was again, about twenty yards farther along. Black, shiny, rounded but a little pointed. A dorsal fin?

I hurried to get my binoculars. The trouble with binoculars, though, it that you need to know the location of the thing you want to see. I could only guess where the creature would surface next. I scanned the water. Oops, just missed it. Missed it again. Is that a dark shape cruising just below the surface?

Then, ah-ha! A sea lion. Sticking his head up, getting air, looking around, startling a gull, down again. Too bad I didn’t get a photo.

San Felipe: Day 5

Low tide, 7:30-ish AM

El jefe inspects the Rolling Steel Tent

This chihuahua believes he owns the RV park. Perhaps he does.

Trouble in paradise

Last night, someone walked away with my sandals and extension cord. They left half a can of Tecate behind. Not a very good exchange rate.

The sandals were old, but I needed them for the shower. I'd left them out to dry. The extension cord was one of those heavy duty orange type. I was using it to run my battery charger during those times I'm in the shade.

Neither loss is a tragedy, just an inconvenience. And a lesson.

Catch of the day

A shrimper comes around every day selling some of his catch. The shrimp are huge! Almost as large as lobster tails. I bought eight and cooked them up with nothing more than some olive oil and salt. Heaven. I wonder how many days I can do this before getting tired of shrimp. I'll have to find out.

The shrimp boats just offshore

San Felipe: Day 1

Crossing

Consensus opinion on Baja forums is that if you’re going to San Felipe and points south along the Sea of Cortez you should cross the border at Mexicali and jump on Highway 5 right there. But I wasn’t in the mood to deal with a busy port of entry and the crush of a large city.

So I started my grand adventure at Los Algodones. It’s probably the least busy crossing in the region, even with all the snowbirds getting medications, dental work, eyeglasses, shrimp tacos and tequila. I’ve been there dozens of times. It’s familiar and laid back.

Even though I had all my documents in order and at hand, even though I knew I had no contraband, I was still a little nervous as I approached the crossing. Foreign country… different language… different procedures… different cultural assumptions… different possibilities for misunderstanding… I had never driven across before.

I rolled through the Nada que Declarar (Nothing to Declare) lane and, as standard, two border guards directed me to the curb. I parked, grabbed my papers and keys and got out. One of them motioned for me to open the van's back doors. He took a quick look, poked at the end of the mattress and said, “It’s like your house?” 

I motioned like game show model and said, “Mi casa.” He chuckled.

I started to say, “I need…”

He said, “You need a permit? Park in front of that truck, then go in the building with the green sign.” So I did.

There was no line. I placed all my paperwork on the counter and the clerk said, “Just your passport, please.” He fiddled with his computer a bit then handed me a form—the same one I’d filled out before on various flights to Mexico. 

“Twenty-seven dollars, please.” He was happy I had exact change. He stamped my passport, tucked my copy of the tourist form inside and handed it back.

That was it. The Rolling Steel Tent and I were officially in. Bienvenidos a Mexico.

Set to go

Passport? Check.

Renewed vehicle registration? Check.

Mexican auto insurance? Check.

Bank notified I'll be using my ATM card in Mexico? Check.

Phone plan modified for use in Mexico? Check.

Laundry done? Check.

Stocked up on supplies? Check.

Contraband consumed or stored elsewhere? Check.

I think all that's left is to go to the border, get my tourist card and continue down the road like the happy vagabond I am.

I've been to Mexico more than a dozen times before. It's not the scary unknown to me. I've driven in Mexico four times—once on a rented Harley. That's not scary either. What's different this time is the length of stay and taking my own vehicle/home. That means more preparation, more hoops. I think I have everything covered.

Since cell service isn't ubiquitous in Baja, I don't know how often I'll be able to get online. But I'll post reports as often as possible. Adios, amigos.

Change

Last week I called my mail forwarding service to find out if my new vehicle registration had arrived.

"Yes, your new plates are here. We'll send them to you."

Plates? Did they have me confused with someone else? Because the standard procedure is that the state sends out stickers. Or did she mean stickers when she said plates? I would find out once they arrived, which was today.

Sure enough, there were plates. And stickers and the card. And it had my name and vehicle on it. The design of the plates had been revised a bit. It's different, but I wouldn't say it's much better. Mount Rushmore is clearer, the numbers are bolder, and the other type is navy blue instead of red. (I never liked the combination of red and sky blue, so that's an improvement.)

Since I don't spend any time in South Dakota or follow South Dakota news, I hadn't expected this. But I found the following:

PIERRE, S.D. (AP) - State officials in South Dakota have unveiled the design for 2016 license plates. 

It’s similar to the current Mount Rushmore plate design, with different coloring.

The current plate design has been in use since 2006, and the state Department of Revenue Motor Vehicle Division says many existing plates are succumbing to age, damage and loss of reflectivity. Those issues can make the plates hard to read. 

The new license plates will be issued beginning Jan. 1. Department of Revenue Secretary Andy Gerlach estimates about 1.5 million will be sent out. 

The license plates will continue to be made at Pheasantland Industries at the South Dakota State Penitentiary in Sioux Falls.

Okay. But would it have been too much trouble to give me the same number? Evidently, yes.

I'm covered

I bought my Mexican auto insurance today. Lou (an old pro at this Baja stuff, having once owned a place there) recommended Lewis and Lewis. I compared them with other brokers and their rates were, indeed, lower. And whereas some vendors offered only 6-month and 12-month policies, Lewis and Lewis offered shorter policies, too. I signed up for 90 days, because I might stay more than a month, or I might want to return later—like for my birthday in April. The policy goes into effect tomorrow at noon, so I can leave as soon as then or, given the 90 days, whenever I'm ready. Like Wednesday, maybe.