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Rides Around: Love Bug

June 13, 2018 Edgar Edgar, Travel

We’ve received some great feedback on the “Baja Down the Baja” posts. Thank you all for your comments, and for coming back week after week for the next day’s adventures. We’re working on the final leg of it now, and have some great information and pictures to share with you this weekend.

The comments on the TSY page and the Facebook page have given us good insight. This community enjoys interesting vehicles, and particularly Volkswagens. This was also extremely evident during our trip, as people would honk and hoot and photograph the bug as they saw us roll by them on the highway. So we’ve decided to feature a different rig weekly, and would love some participation from the tribe.

I’ll go first, but if you see a cool ride, please snap a photo and tell us about it. If you have a special connection to your personal mode of transportation, we’re interested in that story too. Maybe it has a name. Maybe you remember your first car, your dad’s truck, the plane that dropped you in the Amazon, or that bike you always wanted and finally got. It’s great to see how folks get around, and hear the stories behind the ride.

The first rig we want to feature is the “love bug”. We found this flowery ride cruising the streets of Bucerias in Nayarit, Mexico. It appeared to be a daily driver for the man behind the wheel, who was not afraid of expressing himself.

The Rig: 1960 something Beattle

The Location: the main drag of Bucerias, Nayarit

The Driver: a sensitive stranger

The Special Circumstances: We were in a bug, when we spotted this bug, and appreciated it along with a guy driving behind it, who was also… in a bug. Random VW parade.

Edgar~

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Eight

June 9, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Surfing, Travel, Yoga

Note: This is a recap of Day Eight of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day seven here.

Ferry day! This was the most unpredictable part of the trip. When we made our plans, the driving part had some wiggle room, but was overall pretty clear. The ferry leg wasn’t, and we were excited to see what it would bring.

In the morning we walked to a coffee shop for delicious coffee and cookies. The girl at the register told the guest ahead of us she worked 14 hour days. She must have put all that time into her recipe for blonde brownies, because it knocked our socks off. We spent a few minutes happily sipping coffee, shaking our heads and saying things like just how good is this brownie…

Once properly sugared up, we got back on the road and headed to surf Cerritos. It was a family-filled beach with a lot of kids getting up on big foam boards wearing baggy rash guards and grins from ear to ear.

We rented two boards – an egg for Edgar and a pink foam long board for me. We headed right out, and I promptly got clobbered on the first wave and banished myself to white water. Edgar paddled out and got into some better waves. We were glad we had wet suits, because the water was still pretty chilly.

After the quick surf session we headed for Cabo, intending to surf there too, but traffic was building and we didn’t want to risk missing the ferry. We gave Cabo a glance and turned back toward La Paz, stopping for some pizza and coca lites. I thought the restroom signs were hilariously clear.

The ferry guys put us back in line to be inspected and weighed, so note to readers, the dry run is not necessary. We had the same guys at the inspection and weigh stations as we did the day prior; the only difference this time was a fee after we were weighed. That seemed a little suspect, and we made a few noises in that direction, but in the end we paid it and got in line to drive on the boat.

Only one person was allowed to be in the vehicle during the loading process, so we split up and Edgar drove the bug on board, while I filed in with the other walk-ons in the passenger line. We met back up at reception and got escorted to our room. Bunk beds, bathroom and a separate living room area. Pretty snazzy!

Dinner was being served on the upper deck, so even though we weren’t all that hungry, we went up to check it out. It was kinda like the dining area on a cruise ship, but buffet style. We had chicken, tortillas and banana pudding for dessert.

Back in our room, we tried to watch TV but couldn’t get it to work, so I checked at the desk to see if they offered movies for rent. They did, at no cost, and they had some in English! We floated across the sea of Cortez while watching the epic struggle to climb Everest, then turned in. Edgar says he slept like a baby, but I had a bit of a hard time with the rock of the boat, and doors nearby opening and closing.

Miles traveled on day eight: 250 by road and 260 by boat.

On Day Nine: Sayulita and home sweet home.

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day 7

June 2, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Surfing, Travel, Yoga

Note: This is a recap of Day Seven of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day six here.

Our search for coffee in La Paz took us to a shop just a block away from the hotel, with Shakespeare quotes on the wall. We enjoyed our flat white and mocha outside, next to the Sea of Cortez, and took a few moments to catch up on some work. Then it was time for the big event of the day: getting ferry tickets.

When we mapped out our trip, we knew we needed to catch a ferry ride from La Paz over to Mazatlan, and main land Mexico. We found some information online, but we weren’t 100% sure on the details. Did it only go to Mazatlan on weekdays? Was the Saturday trip just to Topolobampo? (Still need a pronouncer on that one but it’s fun to try!) How quickly would it fill up?

Finding the ferry dock wasn’t too tricky, and we asked the man directing traffic where we needed to go to get a ticket. He motioned to the building and parking lot. We parked, walked inside, and took a number for the ticket counter. The office was filled with what appeared to be local families, on their way to or back from vacation. I’m pretty sure we were the only Americans driving our ’68 bug across the country for kicks.

At our turn at the window, we learned we needed to be inspected and weighed first, before a ticket for the vehicle could be issued. We went back outside and got in line for that. The agent in our lane asked about our paperwork, which we had, and our VIN number, which we could not point out for him. I’m sure it’s on the car somewhere, but we had no idea where. After a few words of explanation, and absolutely no inspection, he waved us through to the scales.

The bug weighed in at around 1500 pounds. Back inside the building, we purchased two passenger and one vehicle ticket for the ferry the next day, and got instructions to show up two hours before departure.

Feeling confident about the next leg of the adventure, we headed off to celebrate with some waves at Todo Santos, which basically involved driving straight south to the Pacific side once again.

Lunch was on a nice patio in town, with two stray dogs snoozing nearby. Before we ate our meal, dessert arrived via a woman and her children, selling donuts for five pesos. We got two.

The key to burning off chocolate icing is paddling out, so we hit the surf shop in town to pick up a leash for one of our boards. The woman running the store was happy to sell us the leash, but cagey about the local breaks, clearly pretending not to know much about La Pastora, which we’d heard was amazing, and steering us more toward Cerritos. But we wouldn’t be detoured so easily, and double checked the online descriptions for La Pastora, which was rumored to be a good place to get barreled if you hit it on the right day. (To be clear, only one of us was looking for that sort of thing.)

The bug was a trooper and pressed on through all kinds of sand, brush and hills. Several times we spotted farms and fences, and surmised this might be La Pastora, only to walk down to a flat beach. Finally, around sunset, we saw an opening in the brush and turned off — there it was! The waves were once again no match for my skill level, so Edgar grabbed a few while I flowed on the beach.

When the sun went down, we headed to a hotel I had booked online, but when we got to the gate no one answered. There was a note and a giant bell to ring for the clerk. We gave it a couple pulls… nothing. Called the number…nothing. The neighbor came home and mentioned the desk kept “crazy hours” and that if we kept trying someone “might answer.” Rather than being stranded at dark in the street, we decided to press on into town and found the Maria Bonita. The young girls working the counter enjoyed some giggles at our Spanish, but they did have rooms available, and we had ourselves a place to rest. Dinner was sushi with a hot pepper Mexican twist…. an unexpected and tasty fushion!

Miles traveled on day seven: about 50 from La Paz to Todo Santos, plus a good amount of wandering in search of La Pastora.

On day eight: We watched the struggle to climb Everest while traveling through the night on the Sea of Cortez.

Rooted in Beauty

May 30, 2018 Edgar Edgar, Travel

Mr. Kilmer’s 1913 poem still resonates today. It is a lovely and classic piece that brings reverence to wondrous creation and our journey through it.

“I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a

tree.”

-Joyce Kilmer

Memorial Day Observed

May 28, 2018 Leigh Travel

On this Memorial Day, we pause to remember those who fought for our country, so that we can enjoy the freedom and the beauty they helped to preserve.

“The trail ahead leads into wilderness. It is a place where wild plants and animals live out their daily lives, and where natural processes prevail. It is an area for people to be spiritually refreshed, and physically challenged. It is an area to enjoy. From our visits, we gain rich experiences, and memories, but in return we must remember to give this area another day of unspoiled wildness.”

-Henry David Thoreau

Quality

May 23, 2018 Edgar Edgar, Surfing, Travel

We (as individuals) are responsible for our actions. That being said, we also own their knock on affects. Every action we have affects others, directly or indirectly. Simple physics, “for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” The world around us is changed by our presence in it.

Pause, and consider the gravity….

Not too long, we do not want sucked into a black hole.

In construction there is a saying, “Today’s quality is tomorrow’s safety.” People that are building nuclear facilities say things like that, well..,we hope. We should all carefully consider the quality of our actions before executing them, because we are ultimately defined by our actions, not our sentiment. The road to hell was paved, by masons, w/ good intentions.

I am a hurricane survivor and so is my motorcycle. My motorcycle (a KLR 650) was nearly perfect before hurricane Harvey. It had 2300 miles on it and not a chip of beautiful orange paint was missing. When the system was spinning up into a cat 3, I decided I would be spending my hurricane days in Mexico (surfing). The storm shifted, so all of the Texas surf was going to be blown out by gale force on shore winds. No reason for me to stick around (and Mex was firing off), so I “secured” my things. As any (first world) natural disaster survivor knows, the best way to “secure” is to insure. (I should probably trademark that one.) I know that now, but pre-Harvey I didn’t. The bike was uninsured (liability) and unsecured, but physically I did what I could. I put it in a 7’x7′ Lowes plastic shed next to my 38′ 5th wheel and locked the door. This, my friends, is NOT secure. Harvey whipped up into a real nasty little creature, and I went surfing in Mexico. As I was traveling out of town, the storm started tracking more easterly (towards mi casa). Less than ideal.

Before leaving, I had the bike in the shed and next to the porch. I had several boards outside, and “secured” under the camper. I decided to up my level of security for the boards. I put 5 boards in my bathroom and shut the door. My longboard went in the shed w/ the bike.
When the storm blew through, it flopped my 5th wheel over and onto my shed, presumably crushing my beautiful, orange, uninsured, dual sport. Again, our actions dictate a lot of things, and some things we would/could never consider.

Texas is not known for surf. I tell people I surf in Texas and they ask, “is there a ocean in Texas?” I don’t get into the whole geography thing, and how Americans are notoriously poor at it, as are Australians, but I do mention that the Gulf of Mexico touches Texas.
Anyone who surfs the Gulf of Mexico appreciates longboards and their necessity. I got mine in Galveston (the stoke in this town is incredible). It was shaped by Mark Wooster. I bought the board off a used rack at a local place, and the shop owner bragged on Mark and his boards. He said that Mark took care in building a solid board. Quality. The shop owner was right, and Mark is a stand up guy.

Mark Wooster saved my KLR.

When the storm knocked my 5th wheel onto the shed, the 5th wheel contacted the northwest corner of the shed first. That is where the elevated nose of my board was. As the shed crushed from the weight of the trailer, it rotated the board counter clockwise and lined the board up perpendicular to the shed, spanning over the bike like a joist carrying the trailer’s weight, and keeping it off the bike.

To the layman, it looked like a pile of crushed rubbish, but after some creative rigging and tow truck operator finesse, the bike was recovered virtually unscathed.

I dressed the bike out w/ panniers and a surfboard rack, and now it resides in Mexico. It is great transport, but every time I see it, my heart thanks Mark and his attention to detail. I am convinced, a lesser board would not have taken this load. The board did sustain some damage to its fin box, but is still rideable, and so is the KLR.

Thanks Mark. You do good work, and I appreciate that.

Edgar~

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Five

May 19, 2018 Leigh Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Note: This is a recap of Day Five of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day four here.

The first thing we did on Day Five, was get out the toolbox and give the bug some attention. Well, the very first thing we did was get coffee. I ordered from the hotel restaurant, and used my weak but growing Spanish to say “Cafe con leche. Dos. And….(I mimed walking fingers) vamose!” It’s rough, but people seem to appreciate the attempt. The waitress returned with two coffees to go and asked me for 35 pesos. I handed her 40, and she handed them back to me and shook her head. I looked down and noticed I had given her $40 Canadian. Travelers’ problems

We spent about an hour in the hotel parking lot checking oil, reattaching fenders and getting the LED bar to work. Then it was time to set our sights on Scorpion Bay. We drove for a while before deciding to stop for lunch at a roadside restaurant. Tacos, a torta and two coca lites really hit the spot. The bill was a whopping 131 pesos, or $7.

At a gas station stop, Edgar filled up the tank and I went inside the little store for snacks. I spotted a little bag of something called Choco Retas and decided we needed to try them. They tasted like tiny little peppermint patties. Addicting!

On the way out of the store I spotted a small dog, and of course stopped to pet it. “You like dogs, amiga?” the man sitting in front of the store asked. I admitted I did. “I have puppies for adoption. You want one?” I said no thank you and held firm, but I had to speed walk it out of there.

We’d spent some time researching the drive to Scorpion Bay, so we knew we would be a while on a dirt road, then take a left at a fish camp, and then we’d have the option to take the salt flats, or the north road. There were warnings included with both. Don’t stray from the path. Don’t go alone. Take a short wave radio…. and so forth.

We decided to go alone and take candy and a good attitude. The north road needed a grader and it needed one badly. It was washboard the whole way. We tried to weave to a “better” part of the road, but better never really came. A few times we would run into really soft sand, and we’d have to get a run at it to stay unstuck. Other times we had to slowly rock crawl and rattle our way across stretches with no sand at all. It was pretty exciting and we always made it up and out.

A few hours in we spotted a van coming the other direction, and the driver slowed to talk to us. It was a couple from California and they were coming back from Scorpion Bay. The driver offered us directions that included go straight, pass a goat farm, keep going, drive through the creek bed…. “How much farther is it?” we asked. “Oh at least two more hours,” came the reply. We waved our thanks and put the bug in gear.

All told, we were about seven hours on the north road. We passed lots of cows, and a group of wild horses. Of course I wanted to get close, but they were skittish and had foals with them, so they stuck around long enough for a couple long-distance clicks and then took off. The scenery changed from the salt pools to sand to brush and then tall cacti. We got a good long look at all of it, since the road conditions only allowed us to go about ten miles per hour. (by ear)

Finally, we saw lights, and Scorpion Bay was just a right turn away. The town is lovely… small, and developed just enough to have a few places to stay and one selling gasolina. The Scorpion Bay Hotel still had rooms and the upstairs restaurant was open. One note about the temperature – because Mexico is typically hot, the places we stayed had air conditioning but not heat. If you travel during cooler weather, you might want to bring along an extra blanket.

After dinner, we took a walk and craned our necks to see a sky lit up with stars.

Miles traveled on Day Five: 194, including a decent section of the Baja 500

Coming up on Day Six: Scorpion Bay delivers on its dependable reputation, and we meet a group of VW enthusiasts with an enormous amount of stoke. Stay tuned (bro).

Everyday Adventures

May 16, 2018 Edgar Edgar, Travel

Traveling and adventure are defined by our perspective.

Indiana Jones had some of the most marvelous adventures that an on-looking thrill-seeking adolescent could ever imagine. When he wasn’t teaching class, he kept us captivated by roaring through the jungles in paramilitary vehicles, rescuing people in peril, and claiming booby-trapped riches for himself; what a wonderful existence. It makes us wonder what his average day was like. Was it hum drum monotony around the university? I don’t think so. I believe he found wonder in it. Professor Jones did not get bored because of his perspective, not his profession.

Most of us live fairly routine lives, and certainly all of our lives are common to ourselves. We are used to our own activities, and this can be misunderstood, by us, as boredom. This can lend to looking for greener pastures, and distract us from appreciating the beauty and adventure we are surrounded by daily.

A lot of us take on a different persona on vacation. We appreciate a meal, are more outgoing, linger at a sunset. Why not do that daily? It’s free. It’s fun, and it’s simple.

Just a slight redirection of light, and the form is changed.

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Four

May 12, 2018 Leigh Surfing, Travel

Note: This is a recap of Day Four of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico. You can catch up on day three here.

Do you ever eat a dinner so delicious, you wake up thinking about having it for breakfast? We greeted the two ladies in the kitchen on Day Four and used our poquito Spanish to explain where we’d stashed our leftovers, and to request they crack an egg on each one for breakfast. Smiles and nods confirmed they understood, and they threw in some tortillas for extra measure. We drove away munching happily on lobster tortillas, and knowing we needed to get some surf time in pretty quickly before our travel pants wouldn’t button.

It was time to fill up when we reached San Quintin, and since we were told there was no gas station for a couple hundred miles after that, we filled up our gas can too. We ran into a few other Americans and Canadians at the gas station, and fielded some questions about the bug. We did some rough math, and figured we could make it to Guerrero Negro if we took it easy. The gas station employee advised Edgar to keep his foot out of it. (Even if he had suggested a max speed limit, we couldn’t have adhered to it. The Green Meanie doesn’t have a speedometer. You gotta drive by ear and feel.)

Before the trip, we’d scoped out a few surf spots we really wanted to see on the way down. One of them is called The Wall. The internet will tell you that this beach is remote. That doesn’t really do it justice. We drove and drove and asked around everywhere we stopped, and at a couple friendly-looking security military checkpoints. (We were never searched, or even paused more than a few seconds just to ask where we came from and where we were going. Eye contact, smiles and polite greetings go a long way, and are always recommended when speaking to men with tactical rifles.) Some of the roads south are great, and you can clip along at a speed that sounds to be around 60 miles an hour. At other times, a swarm of potholes come at you out of no where, and at other points, that swarm contains bees. Real ones. Lots. We smacked into them and left an interesting group of smudges on the windshield, and a group of live ones buzzed right into our open windows. Luckily, they did not appear out for revenge. For some reason they were drawn to the gear shift, and one after the other crawled up the shifter and onto Edgar’s hand. We devised a release method. When the bee got on Edgar’s skin, I would hold us into fourth gear, as the car was still slipping out, and he’d keep one hand on the wheel and use the other to set the bee free. We repeated these steps a few times until the remaining bees had been sent on their merry way. We thank them for their non-stinging cooperation.

Our bee kill-and-rescue mission and our search for The Wall nearly had us forget our need for a gas station, but signs for Santa Rosalillita brought us back into reality. It was a neat little fishing town with a couple of stores and homes. The first shop lady we spoke to didn’t know about The Wall, but she did know her neighbors sold gasolina just down the road. Sure enough they did, out of jugs stored in their shed. While Edgar got that handled, I made sure all the dogs in the neighborhood didn’t miss out on a good scratching.

Gas station, Baja style

An American pescadora who happened to be doing her shopping was familiar with The Wall, and explained the possible routes to get there. “Is that your bug out front?” she asked. We nodded. “Oh, take the coastal road. You can go anywhere in that.”

This was a refrain we heard a lot, but knew to take lightly. The bug has some great tires, and a lot of heart, but she is a ’68. We gave the coastal road a good once over and decided it was indeed the way to go. It was sandy, bumpy and seemingly forgotten. It traveled along the beach, through some ravines and a little inland. We saw some tire tracks, and got a chance to get up on three wheels, but we didn’t see any other vehicles in the action. We did see what was later confirmed as The Wall, but it wasn’t working because of two much onshore wind. What we didn’t see, was an exit.

After bumping along for an amount of time that was just beginning to be concerning, we spotted a camper in the distance. We cruised up to it and were greeted by a man with a beard, hat, open bottle of red wine and purple teeth. He put out his hand and introduced himself as Fibber McGee. He said it like it meant something, but he could tell by our faces that it didn’t click. “Fibber! From Fibber McGee and Molly in the morning!” Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell. Fibber told us he was part of a very popular radio show in LA, and that he’d been on the air for years before they let him go over “something stupid”. He offered us wine from his bottle, and a plate of the chicken and potatoes he was cooking. “I’ve been here six months,” he informed us. “I pay a local $100 a month and I live in paradise.” We declined his kind offer, and he was visibly disappointed, but agreed to point us toward the way out. Literally. “You see that feather ridge, over there?” Fibber pointed at a spot about two miles away. “Take a left.”

It was thinking seriously about dark when we finally saw telephone poles, and then a paved road. It was at this point we realized Fibber’s nickname wasn’t entirely accurate. We turned south once again and set our sights on Guerrero Negro. The bug was really hitting its stride when we hit a stretch of mean potholes – swerving away from one just meant smacking into another, and we heard a dreadful noise that sounded an awful lot like a flat tire, less than an ideal situation for 9pm on a Mexican highway. We found a turnout and grabbed our flashlight for a look. The tires held up, but the fenders took a hit on both sides. Thanks to our stash of zip ties, we were able to zip them back on temporarily, and roll into town. The Halfway Inn had rooms and a restaurant that was open for 15 more minutes. The waiter explained this when he met us in the parking lot. He also recommended the surf and turf, which was pretty good, and we turned in with a plan to get up at a decent hour and spend an hour or so “mechanicing” our little hearts out.