I was never one to linger long in Tijuana or even Ensenada if I was on a roadtrip. Those were places I came for a weekend soiree to party, play, surf, fish, and do things that grew legendary as I grew older.
The object, however, on a road trip was to get as far and quickly away from the border as possible. To me, those towns weren’t Baja. No disrespect meant because I’ve had a lot of fun there, but those were almost an extension of San Diego. Baja meant…”out there!” Not “ right across the border!”
Drive all night if you had to. But drive. Get away. Get down there. Everything’s strapped down. Extra water. Can of gas. Throw in some 10/40 oil. Rods and boards. Don’t forget the rope and shovel.
And somewhere with the lights many hours behind you the Baja show starts. Or rather it unfolds. Some say it reveals itself.
The horizon starts to glow and silhouettes the cactus soldiers that suddenly materialize gently out of the darkness. Boojum trees, desert scrub and rounded boulders catch the orange rays peeking over the eastern mountains. An empty road ahead that curves to vanishing point across a desert plain. The last vehicle you saw was hours ago. A rusty old pickup with one headlight seemingly moving no faster than time itself in this timeless place.
The cities are somewhere “back there.” And your phone hasn’t rung since San Diego and there’s no signal out here anyway. You chuck that iPhone into the glove box with a grin.
You open the truck window and inhale. The city smells are replaced by an earthy freshness tinged with salt from the ocean you know must be just over the hill. The desert chill of the morning causes you to pull your over-sized hoodie a bit tighter around your collar. Pour another warm cup of coffee from the thermos jug between your legs. You smile and realize you’re finally miles from nowhere.
Your buddies are curled up in a jumble. Junk food wrappers from the Jack-In-The-Box peek out from under jackets and an errant French fry or two are on the floorboards. Will stop somewhere along the way.
The low rumble you hear isn’t your all-terrain tires thumping along the Transpeninsular Highway anymore. Your tummy is waking up along with the rest of the Baja desert. Blues and purples now mixing with the sunrise orange make a beautiful palette to greet you. Sure beats the 405 freeway and staring at brake lights.
But gonna have to stop for grub along the way soon. Mmm…steaming huevos rancheros, fresh cheese and tortillas. Maybe they’ll have some of those great tamales. Must be someplace coming up ahead.
Should look at the map soon. So many little pueblitos. Find some place with a big rusty Corona sign out front and a Coke logo painted on the wall and a bunch of plastic chairs. Someone’s mom is the cook. No menu, but the best food on the planet. Those are the best.
Look for someplace with some truckers parked outside. Me and Rob ate at a really great place last time. Bunch of kids running around and laundry in the yard. Jerry’s never eaten road food before. It’ll blow him away.
Wake up the boys? No matter. They’ll wake soon enough. Everyone has been so juiced getting ready for fishing and surfing. Musta spent 2 weeks packing gear and five minutes packing the clothes. Shows where our priorities are! Hope we didn’t forget nothing. Sure got enough strapped to the roof racks.
A crumpled bag of Doritos reduced to crumbs and some CD’s that bounced off the dashboard when you hit the speed bump in San Quintin are on the floor. Nah. I guess we got everything we need. You got your fish brothers on a roadtrip.
The Eagles greatest hits is in rotation on the changer. The first power chords of “Take It Easy” make you grin as you take another sip of coffee. Fingers tap the steering wheel…
“We’ll I’m a running down the road tryin ta loosen my load…”
Si, Senor. You got everything you need and a wide open road ahead.
“…Such a fine sight to see…”
That’s my story. If you ever want to reach me, my e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com.
That's My Story 
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