Taking the baja down the Baja

To really tell this story, I must first tell you how the Green Meanie came to be.  Edgar and I had been to Sayulita quite a few times, and each time paid a pretty steep amount to rent a car.  You pay for the rental, but also for the Mexican insurance (check out VdM), since your insurance in the states is not accepted there.  This addition doubles the cost of the rental.  We talked about how it would be nice to have an older car there just to run around to restaurants, surf breaks and the airport… maybe something like a VW bug.

The idea sounded good, and it quickly moved from mere conversation to an internet search, and to a specific seller who appeared to have just the thing posted on Craig’s List.  It was green, mean, a little beat up and a lot loud.  It was a baja bug.  Our new friend had been working on it with his grandfather, and had even taken a trip to Mexico in it already.  It fit our needs and the price was right, so we made the deal.  The seller even towed it to my house, since my stick shift driving now is weak at best, and at that time, was non-existent.

I kept the bug at my place for a while, and taught myself to drive it on weekends.  I practiced taking it to the gas station, waving folks around me as I stalled at lights.  Edgar came to visit and we added gas and water cans, a high-lift jack, shovel, pick ax and all-terrain tires.  We ordered a few spare parts, and then a couple more, and stocked up on zip ties and black tape.  A stall mat made for a handy back seat cover, and I got my first drilling experience putting in some second-hand head rests.  We threw in some floor mats, ammo boxes for the glove compartments, and made sure we had a gallon of oil at the ready.

The Green Meanie was ready to go home.

Day One:

We left Sacramento with a back seat filled with tools and backpacks, and a roof rack topped off with surf boards.   I thought people might give us a second glance, but we were surprised to see how much people were really digging it.  We saw lots of thumbs up and plenty of cell phones out for photos as we rumbled down the highway.

Our first stop was Santa Cruz and the Ripcurl store.  Edgar wanted to pick up a wet suit for the cold pacific water, and I found a shorty that would be perfect a little farther south.  Our rig was drawing attention in the parking lot, so we figured we’d let people know where they could read more about our travels, and borrowed a sharpie from the shop.  We wrote our web address on masking tape and slapped it to the back windows on both sides.   Cheap, but effective.   (We actually have TSY stickers, but I neglected to bring them along, so the tape had to do.)

We stopped every couple of hours for gas and to check the oil.  The gas gauge was sort of a guide, but not an exact one.  If it got to half, that was more like empty.  Did I mention we had a big gas can on the side?  We were prepared for long stretches without a gas station, and for pretty much daily guesses at how much we had left in the tank.   For a trip like this, the proper mindset is key.   Even though we had a mechanic go through it before we hit the road, (thanks FIDS of West Sac!) we understood there might be challenges, and we were ready to roll with them.

The first evening was a chilly one, and we threw on a few extra layers as we cruised into Ventura.  We knocked out about 400 miles for our first day, and we were pretty pleased.  We had hoped to find a restaurant open, but Saturday night was surprisingly sleepy, and we ended up ordering pizza in.

Day two began with a shocking theft, and moved on to a strange encounter with a surfer who sold coffee out of a VW bus.  Stay tuned….