When Does the Fun Begin? Repeat After Me; “It’s An Adventure”; Dry Camping (Emphasis On “Dry”)
At this point, we all deserve a medal saying “We survived the Baja”. If we had had any idea of what the day would bring, none of us would have gotten out of bed. As we turned east and climbed into the mountains, the skies, which had been threatening, turned absolutely black, the wind picked up, and the thunder and lightning began in earnest. The rain was torrential at times, but we continued bravely onwards for a few hours, in spite of the hazards:
As we finally negotiated the steep descent and tight curves down to Santa Rosalia on the Sea of Cortez, we found that the fun was just beginning. As we drove into the town, we encountered numerous washouts caused by
As we crossed the one in the picture above, I could actually feel the water pushing at the tires, even though it only came up as far as the door steps. The going was extremely slow as we threaded our way through several more, trying to avoid rocks and trying to guess at what might be lurking below the surface. We kept looking for the pairs of animals awaiting the arrival of the Ark.
We finally arrived at the RV park we were supposed to be staying at, but actually continued on past it and gathered in the parking area of a PeMex gas station, where many of us wanted to top up our tanks while we were waiting for our Wagonmaster to drive down the hill to the campground to check in and begin calling us down. Do you want the bad news or the bad news first? The bad news was that the gas station had no electricity, hence no way to pump fuel. The other bad news was that the campground also had no electricity, but more importantly had been flooded out. The good news was that they were planning to bring in a guy with a tractor the next day to push the mud around and try to make it habitable. Meanwhile, we were left with little choice but to circle the wagons and stay in the parking lot overnight. At least the storm had largely passed by that point.
The day, however, was not without its better moments. While awaiting news from the Wagonmaster, several of us had an impromptu tailgate party in a clear space among the rigs. At 5:00, taxis (using the term loosely) arrived from town to take us to dinner at a local restaurant, which, with great music from a keyboard magician, great food and great service, lubricated by great Margaritas, turned into a wonderful evening of dancing, singing and general revelry, complete with the cooks dancing in the kitchen.
To add to the milieu, we were joined by a complete stranger, who left her boyfriend at the table while she danced, sang, and kissed either sex indiscriminately, as if she had known us forever. A bit of a bizarre performance, but as we say down here “What happens in the Baja stays in the Baja”. We reluctantly poured ourselves back into the taxis and made it back to the rigs unscathed.