****/////LUCHO'S JOURNAL -- ROCKS DON'T MOVE…or DO THEY?\\\\****

Lucho

Well-Known Member
Posts
2,710
Reaction
271
ROCKS DON’T MOVE…OR DO THEY?

Years ago, many years in fact, it might have been in the early 80s, I was pre-running on my bike to La Paz. I’ve been on the bike for two days, starting in Ensenada with three other guys. I believe it was the Dempsey brothers and one other fellow, yes, Bill Friant. We’ve been running steady, with me usually bringing up the rear. We had just gone through the Saguaro Forest, heading towards the Pacific, maybe 120 miles from La Paz. It was hot and I had my six-day jacket on. I could still see the plume of dust ahead of me so I was not that far back, but enough that to try to catch them would be a feat. I decided to ride my bike to the top of one of those sand dunes. As I got to the top, I looked at the panoramic view of the sea. There were thirty miles to my right (north), of beautiful white, sandy beach and thirty miles to my left (south) of another large stretch of solitary beach. What a paradise. There was nobody on the beach. I would give up my left testicle to have a place on this place, on this beach at least. The view was spectacular!
Then I looked down in front of me and saw this gorgeous beach; however it was dotted with rocks for at least a half of mile either way. I must have been tired, or maybe the heat got to me because I could swear the rocks were moving. I took off my goggle and wiped my eyes clean and looked again, and still, those rocks were moving, albeit slowly, but moving nonetheless. I wanted to go down there to see what was happening but then I realized that I was way too far behind the guys. My friends would begin to worry if I didn’t arrive with them, not because they thought I might be hurt or broken down or something, but once we reached La Paz it was my turn to buy the beers. If you ever been around the Dempsey brothers and Friant (no longer with us), you know these guys can swallow a beer faster than you can say Tecate.
So I decided to get back on the course. I rode part of the sand ridge, and stopped again. Still, I could see those rocks moving. “Man, I must be hallucinating. I definitely need a beer.” So I dashed back on the course, trying to keep up with the boys. When I got to La Paz, the guys, including our chase guy, were already sitting at the pool bar of the Grand Hotel and I already owed for twelve beers!

While they were on their fourth beers and me on my first, I tried to tell them what I saw on the beach. Needless to say, they kept saying, “You’re trying to run another on us, man, you’re full of s h iit, you always see stuff we don’t see. Have another beer.”

Five hours later, still sitting at the bar, still with our riding gear on, I had lost control of the whole situation. I didn’t know how many beers we had drunk and basically didn’t care. We were having a good time, although I remember that I was trying to figure out how to jump into the pool when the water was upside down. –Don’t ask--, but I know that the waiter came over with a check for ninety-plus dollars.
So figuring out how many beers we had at fifty-cents each (remember, these were the eighties), and a few baskets of chips, dips and stuff—it appeared that we may have had plenty of Tecates. The table looked like a lemon grove, covered with salt. I gave the waiter $100 and never saw him again.

Then we all decided to get something to eat. This time it was Gene who was supposed to buy dinner. I’m going to hit that bastard good at dinner, I said. I’ll have the biggest, thickest steak ever on him.

The next morning I woke up in my room, still with my riding gear on, a terrible hangover, dry mouth and hungry. I guess I had missed dinner. Dam! To be honest, I don’t remember much after I paid the bar tab got in the elevator and then it all went blank. However, in my head, the only thing I could still remember was seeing those rocks move.

We all met at the restaurant about Noon. I found out that Gene had slept on a pool chair next to the pool, the other two went to get something to eat and puked it all out at the restaurant. They slept on a park bench, and of course me, at least I made it to my room.

We decided to leave that afternoon and drive back to Ensenada. I kept talking about the moving rocks, but they all were shouting, "Shut up, you friki'n drunk. You didn't see anything move!"...
 

Bill

Carlos Danger
Posts
6,477
Reaction
157
another it could only happen to Luo classic.see you next weekend Lou
 

troyharper

DA Meatball
Posts
3,234
Reaction
1,090
Lou ! i waste too much time re-checking to see if you posted, FINISH WOULDYA!?!?
 

Lucho

Well-Known Member
Posts
2,710
Reaction
271
Lou ! i waste too much time re-checking to see if you posted, FINISH WOULDYA!?!?[/QUOT

Hang on to your shorts. Anything that is good is worth waiting for, is in it?
jajaja!

Besides, you won't believe it. No I was not abducted, no I was not shot at, no I didn't almost died. This one is a good one and it has nudity in it. So get those kids off the computer and you ACee/Ducees, you might be embarassed.
 

dhjeepgeek

Well-Known Member
Posts
530
Reaction
313
sea lions or seals .I had the same experiance out on san nicolas island. But I aint got the drunk excuse, at least at that time. When we got down by the water we could see the darn sea lions or seals,(I aint no biologist). Now had I been bump drunk from riding all day I could see were you could think that.
 

cbrdoll

Resident Cougar
Posts
213
Reaction
54
Lou ! i waste too much time re-checking to see if you posted, FINISH WOULDYA!?!?[/QUOT

Hang on to your shorts. Anything that is good is worth waiting for, is in it?
jajaja!

Besides, you won't believe it. No I was not abducted, no I was not shot at, no I didn't almost died. This one is a good one and it has nudity in it. So get those kids off the computer and you ACee/Ducees, you might be embarassed.

I've got no kids........ so lets get on with it would ya??? :p Its Friday nite and I've been down with the "Mint"flu so some great entertainment would be good! :D
 

GunnSlinger

Captain Backpack
Posts
4,875
Reaction
702
....... another GREAT STORY !!!.......

great to meet you at the mint as well!!..you are prob one of my favorite people that post here on rdc.... ! :)
 

troyharper

DA Meatball
Posts
3,234
Reaction
1,090
Lou ! i waste too much time re-checking to see if you posted, FINISH WOULDYA!?!?[/QUOT

Hang on to your shorts. Anything that is good is worth waiting for, is in it?
jajaja!

Besides, you won't believe it. No I was not abducted, no I was not shot at, no I didn't almost died. This one is a good one and it has nudity in it. So get those kids off the computer and you ACee/Ducees, you might be embarassed.

Shorts are still on, just checkin.
 

Lucho

Well-Known Member
Posts
2,710
Reaction
271
(Contd.)

Several months after the Baja 1000, I’d thought about those rocks I saw near the beaches of El Conejo. I just had to get back to them. You know how it is, when you think about something you saw and can’t get it out of your mind; you just have to do something about it.

Eureka! I found a good excuse. My wife and I were going to celebrate our 27th anniversary (I think) in January, and my birthday was the day before that, so I talked her into going to La Paz for about four or five days. She thought it was a great idea. Little did she know what was behind this devious mind of mine. Nonetheless, I was the hero of the day.

We took Air Mexico which dropped us in La Paz. An hour later, we were in a “cabana” of the Hotel La Posada, located next to the Grand Hotel, also on the beach. Man, it was outrageous. The temperature in January was like 88 degrees, no wind, the water was about 81 degrees, the first thing we did after we checked-in was to get in our bathing suits and order two “Grande Margaritas” on the rocks (no salt, no strawberries, mangos, berries, nothing), with none of that touristy crap. The margaritas were just like they were supposed to be. It was Wednesday evening and we sat by our cabana for a few hours planning what we were to do in the next few days. I know what I wanted to do but how would I broach the subject. Should I just say, dear, I want to take you on the Baja course and show you a beach, a desolate beach with lots of rocks, but I don’t think they are rocks at all because I saw them moving? Right, she would just look at my near empty, third round of “Grande Margarita” and like the others had said before, “I think you’re too drunk or out of my mind. You want to go off-roading on our vacation?”

For those of us who have been married a long time, you finally learn how to play the game. We were there for our anniversary (and my birthday, but that really didn’t count for much); I had to come up with something she would really like first. She wanted to visit the 20th Parallel, so we did. She wanted to drive south on the Pacific side to look at the sites and eventually get to Cabo and maybe stay there one night, we did and tried to do that.

Thursday, we left early from La Paz and by early afternoon we were about to check-in at the hotel at the furthermost point of the peninsula, the Fiesta Resort. It was a buck and half a night, so I said OK. What the heck, I’m the last of the big time spender. It will earn me points. We walked through long halls, made a right, made a left, then another right. It was stuffy, it was strikingly hot in the halls, and it smelled like a cheap motel in Las Vegas. The bellboy opened our room, and we might as well have been in Las Vegas, because there was no uniqueness to the room: Small windows with a view of the bay, but not exactly what we wanted. There was a small, dinky bathroom, where nothing fit right. A Motel 6 in Mojave was ten times better. We looked at each other and she said it first. “Let’s get out of here! This isn’t Mexico. We might as well be in L.A.“ Yes!” I said. I was off the hook--save $150.00 for sure.

We left Cabo and I suggested we drive back along the Sea of Cortez side, maybe we’ll find a nice restaurant and maybe a more typically Mexican hotel.
We drove about an hour and then we came to this absolutely grand entrance to a place. It was called Hotel Palmilla. Today, presidents and heads of state stay there for vacations. Back then it was still spectacular but perhaps not as expensive as it is today. Firstly, it looked like Mexico. That was point one, with a palm-lined driveway leading to the main building. Secondly, it faced the beach, every room with a magnificent view of the Sea of Cortez. Thirdly, just as you entered the lobby to register, to the left was this grand bar and a person was standing by the front door. She said, “Welcome to The Palmilla. Please come in, your free margaritas are waiting for you.” I’ve never been known to turn anything down that is free and especially a free margarita. So we walked into the Crab Bar. There were only a couple of people at the bar plus my wife and me. We sat in one of those large, deep, very comfortable chairs, watching the beach while the waiter showed up with two large margaritas. One sip and we knew we were in the right place.

Immediately I thought, “We’ll stay here tonight, we’ll have a great dinner, take a walk down the beach, get her all excited (if you know what I mean), and by tomorrow, I can ask for anything.” That was the plan.
We sat for about 45 minutes and went through two of those tasty margaritas. The room was starting to get filled. I started prepping her about the Pacific side and how beautiful it was, except that there were no hotels, no campgrounds, no villages—nothing--just serenity and miles and miles of empty, white, sandy beaches waiting for us—like Paradise. “Where’s this place again?” she asked. I told her it was on last year’s Baja course, through the Saguaro Forest, which is also an incredible site “that you must see.”
Then she said it, (can you believe she said it?) “Maybe we can go and check it out tomorrow. Do you want to?” she asked. I said, only if you want to, my dear, this is your weekend. (Jejejeje!)

It was all set, the next day we would drive back to La Paz on the rented VW bus, pick up some supplies and head north, find the racecourse and then turn left towards the Saguaro Forest and drive to the beach--the place that I’ve been thinking about for almost three months now. You see how smart you have to be?

As we were about to get up and go register, a lady came into the bar and told us, your dinners are ready in the grand dining room. We thought it was odd, we hadn’t registered yet and we were offered our dinners? So I said to the young lady, we hadn’t ordered our dinner yet, but we would like to return later. She said, “No, your dinner is ready. Would you like to join your other friends?” “What other friends?” I thought to myself. We followed her nonetheless.
We entered this massive dining room located on the mezzanine of the hotel. The view was truly spectacular as every table (there must have been a hundred or so), had a terrific view of the ocean. Wow, I said. This is one hell of a place. My wife then said, “I think we’re not supposed to be here. We don’t know any of these people. It must be some kind of private party or a convention.” I told her to relax, we’re in Mexico, we’re in Baja, anything can happen.

Indeed some guy got up and said welcome to everyone, who, by the way, were mostly Americans. We were on our third margarita by now, so I wasn’t listening that well. Everyone applauded and I got up and cheered. My wife pulled me down and said, “Are you crazy? None of these people know you. We’re going to get kicked out.” I said, “Relax, babe, everything will be fine.” No sooner had I said that, they started to bring the first round. It was pea soup for goodness sake. Pee soup in Baja? You’ve got to be kidding me? I took one taste and pushed it aside, she did likewise.
Then came the salads, your typically, basic, COSTCO-type of mixed salad with ranch dressing. It was awful. So I called the waiter over and asked him, we didn’t order this salad. I would have preferred ripe red tomatoes with olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic, you know?” He told me that salad was not included in the American plan. He walked away and we both stared at rabbit trash. Maybe we should get kicked out. So far, dinner had not been anything to brag about.

Then the main plate came. Remember, we are in Mexico, in Baja, land of fish and crabs, and lobsters, and shrimp and shark stakes and incredible tamales, tacos, fish tacos…The waiter brought our plates, which contained a slab of roast beef, a scoop of mashed potatoes with gravy, about twenty-five green peas rolling on the dish and a basket of rolls. That was the main course, in Baja, in Mexico!
While the other senor citizen “gringos” were devouring their plates, she and I made a hasty retreat out of there. We’ve had at least three margaritas for which we didn’t pay, and tasted bits and pieces of some of the worst food I’ve ever stumbled upon. We ran out of the restaurant, past the front desk and made a bee-line to our parked car. We peeled out of there and we were back on the road again, just laughing our heads off, like two high school kids, pulling a prank on the teacher. Can you believe we almost had that crap for dinner? In Mexico?

She was in a great mood as was I. Things were looking pretty good by now. While driving I was already planning the next day’s trip to the Pacific.
It was getting dark by now, about 6:00 p.m. and we saw a sign on the highway, pointing east, that said in Spanish: “The best food and drinks in all of Baja!”
We made a quick right turn and headed down on a dusty, rough trail for about five miles. We looked at each other several times thinking that this may not be the right move but we had already seen two other signs saying the same thing: “Best food and drinks in Baja.” Our curiosity got the best of us, we needed to see this place.

We finally arrived at the beach. There it was; another gorgeous beach, a cove actually, but where was the motel and the restaurant? We saw no signs except for a little sign over the door of a large Quonset hut, which said “entrada” (enter). We parked and entered the place. It looked like a church made out of tin. There must have been over a hundred tables with every kind of table cloth you can imagine and every kind of beer being advertised on the front and on the back of the folding chairs. At one end, there was a bar with about 10 seats and behind the bar there was an Altar, a genuine Catholic Church Altar, except this altar had rows upon rows of booze. All kinds of “licores” from Mexico, the United States and liquors from around the world.
An older gentleman behind the bar told us to sit wherever we like and he’ll bring us the menu. Within five seconds he was there also asking what we’d like to drink. We said beer, and he said, in perfect English, “You’re from the United States? Yes? Look at that bar; does it look like I only serve beer?”

Indeed, upon closer inspection, he had every bottle of liquor that I knew and then some. So then he dared us to ask for whatever drink we’d like, and he would bet us that if he didn’t have it or could not make the drinks, everything we drink would be on the house. How’s that for a challenge? I told my wife, “Ask for the weirdest drink you can think of.”

The wife asked for a Crystal Pilsner beer from Peru. She had had it when we last visited my home country. She loved it then. He wrote it down on his pad and never said anything more. Then I wanted to be a smart ass. I’ve tasted a special single-malt scotch whisky from Scotland, which is sold in England and as far as I know, it has never been exported out of England. The reason I only have had it is because it was brought to me from England by family. I said I’ll have a double shot of “Isle of Jura,” with a seltzer-water chaser. He then asked what we wanted to eat, and I said two tamales, rice, beans, and my wife asked for lobster. Being a smartass I also asked for “concha” (conch) as an appetizer. He wrote it all down, turned and went into the kitchen. I said to her, at least we’re going to get free drinks. There’s no way this guy will have what we asked.
A minute later, the old guy comes out with a cold Crystal beer from Peru, and not only a double-shot of “Isle of Jura” scotch, but the bottle next to it, which I immediately recognized. Holy shhiit, you have the stuff!
With a cocky, proud look in his face, he said, “Si senor. You want to try for something else?”

Dinner came and it was delicious. Best we’ve had anywhere. Her lobster was huge. My “conchas” were perfectly dressed up, spicy, hot, tangy and absolutely delicious. We had hit pay dirt.
Once dinner was over, we paid $12.53 (in dollars) for the entire bill. I thought it was wrong, that he hadn’t added correctly. I asked him to please check the bill, that it didn’t seem right. He took it back and using his old, hand-cranked adding machine he came back apologizing. “I’m sorry! I overcharged you. You are from the U.S., so you don’t have to pay our local taxes. Here’s your bill, $11.97." I found it incredible. I thought we would have to pay a lot more!

Then we asked the old man where is a motel/hotel. “Right here, senor,” he said, pointing towards the beach. Indeed there were ten “palapas” in front of the water, probably twelve-feet in diameter, no windows, but all covered with mosquito netting where windows would be, a bathroom and a queen size bed. Torch lights on the outside and a kerosene lamp inside. He lit one and showed it to us. They were clean, the bedding looked clean and the bathroom was big enough to take a shower. She said, “This looks great, let’s take it.”

I know my wife, if she were to see a spider, a “cucaracha” (cockroach), a small little field mouse; she would jump through the ceiling, crawl up the walls and want to leave immediately. I asked her to think about it, we could drive an hour or so and be back in La Paz. No, she wanted to stay there, so we told the old man, we’d take it. “How much?” I asked. He said, “For you my friend (sounding more like a Jewish vendor from New York), $7.50 per night and it includes breakfast.” Wow!
We agreed but then he invited us back to the bar. “It’s too early for you to go to bed, let me show you something.”
We followed him to the bar and sat in front of his altar. For the next three hours he made us taste just about every strange liquor he had up there. He had bottles from Russia, India, Bangkok, New Zealand, Sweden, Scotland, even from China. Every time he filled a half of a shot-glass for us to taste, and there was a story behind each drink; how he got it, where and when. Three hours went by in what seemed to be just fifteen minutes. Finally he said, “Listen, I’m sleepy, but you guys can stay. Drink what you want and just leave the money on the counter.” With that he left.
We sat there looking at each other, already well lubed, and wondered; who would leave a bar-full of drinks without supervision? There was no one else in the bar. I walked behind, grabbed a Bohemia beer, she wanted a Martini, and we sat there listening to a scratchy old radio. Another hour went by, and we finally decided to end this night. I stood up, left a $20.00 bill on the bar and went to our beach “palapa.”

Next morning we took a walk on the beach first and returned to the Quonset for breakfast. The old man, greeted us, asked how we slept and what we would like for breakfast. “Huevos Rancheros for both of us,” I said “and, yes, thank you, we slept terrific.” After breakfast the bill came and I went to pay it, when he said, “No you don’t owe me anything, the breakfast comes with your room. And here’s your change back, $6.50.” I asked why? And he told us that we had only drunk $13.50 the night before and that was our change from the $20.00 I had left.
This crafty old man, knew exactly how much we had drunk. Apparently, he knew the level of each of the hundreds of bottles behind the bar and he could tell which ones we had drunk out of. Amazing!

We left early for Las Paz. Went into La Posada, changed clothes, grabbed a few extras, then stopped at a liquor store and picked up beers, tequila, lemons, chips, sandwich meat, ice and a cooler to take with us. Two hours later we were at the course turnoff near Las Pocitas and on our way to the Pacific and the sand dunes and vast beaches. It took us another hour to get there, maybe more because we stopped to look at the Saguaro Forest. It’s incredible how many of these tall cacti lined the dirt road. They looked more like giants standing over, watching the road. She was impressed, but a bit worried. “Are you sure you know where you’re going? She asked. Needles to say, I said, “Of course. I know this part of Baja like the back of my hand.” She worried about what I had said the night before. “What if something breaks on the car or we run out of fuel or something, you said there’s no one around here. Maybe we should go back.”

I stopped, open the cooler and got out two cold beers. I told her to relax that we would be at the beach soon. It didn’t help. All the way down the trail to the beach she kept insisting that we ought to turn back. That it was foolish for us to be all alone. She kept saying that she had heard of gangs of robbers who prey on tourists. She kept reminding me to drive slowly so nothing would break on the bus. “You’re going too fast, you might wind up with a flat. Do we have a spare? Is the car running too hot?” I pointed out that a VW is made for this type of terrain and no, it’s not running too hot, because it doesn’t have any water to heat it up! “No water on the radiator! Are you crazy?” she yelled.

AT THIS POINT: I won’t take up too much of your reading time to go through the explanation I gave her about a VW air-cooled engine. She was convinced…well almost.

I had to do something about the situation because she was growing unsure with every turn. So I stopped and went for a couple more beers, and she said, no to the beer, she was already bloated; in fact, she had to stop and relieve herself anyway. She walked away from the car with a handful of tissues. She kept asking, “Are you sure no one is coming this way” I assured her that we hadn’t seen anyone for over an hour since we left the highway (Oops!), which didn’t help, because now she had something else to worry about. Oh, dear.

It took her all of fifteen minutes to find the right bush to squat behind. If I had to go, I would have just unzipped and done it right there, but ladies, have been raised differently, I guess. She finally came out of a bush with a wide grin on her face. In the meantime, I had poured a double shot of tequila on one of the glasses we’d borrowed from La Posada, cut a lemon in half and gave her the salt shaker. I said, “Take this, it will stop you from wanting to pee for a while, it’ll also soothe your nerves and you will be a happy camper.” Hehehe!

Although she rarely has anything strong to drink other than wine or beer, she was game for it and before we got to the beach, we made several more stops to not only soothe her nerves but to take care of mine as well.

Now at this point, I must tell you that I’m purposely telling you this story from the very beginning of our vacation, so you would get the full gist of our trip to La Paz. I believe it will make more sense once I get to the moving rocks. So relax, more is coming…
 

troyharper

DA Meatball
Posts
3,234
Reaction
1,090
Excelent! This story has me so fired up about my May Tecate to Cabo trip next month.
Thanks Lou.
 

Lucho

Well-Known Member
Posts
2,710
Reaction
271
(Final segment…)

We may have been two or three miles from the beach when suddenly we got into some real lose stuff, a combination of silt and sand, remnants from the Baja 1000 race last November. She panicked, as I knew she would. I, on the other hand, told her not worry, this was nothing. No sooner had I said it, the VW bus was stuck between two sandy/silty rails. So close, yet so far. Nonetheless, I calmed her nerves down by saying, “This happens some time, I know what I have to do.” Yeah, right. I had an inkling and hope that it would work.

Got out of the bus and immediately lowered the tire pressure on both rear tires, almost down to 5 lbs., then tried to get out again, and it moved, but not by much. “Hum!” I said to myself. She kept looking at me as if I had no clue. Not true, I knew exactly what was about to happen if I didn’t do the right things. I got out again, lowered the pressure on the front tires as well, not too much so they wouldn’t plow but enough to be able to steer out of it and then I grabbed two of our beach towels, laid them in front of the rear tires, and asked my wife to get behind the wheel.

For those of you who are married or been married, you know how the next exchange goes: “I can’t drive this thing,” she yelled, “it’s a stick shift. I’ve never driven a stick shift and in sand, what if I get stuck?” At that point I thought that I should mention that we were already stuck (but because I would never admit that we were really stuck), I decided not to paint the moment so gloomy. “Dear, you are going to do alright, it’s really simple,” I coached her, “you start driving slowly, the towels will be under the wheels, we’ll get traction, I’ll be pushing from behind to make sure we get out, and that’s it.”

Let me cut to the chase here, it was thirty minutes before she learned how to pop the clutch, feather the throttle and get the VW bus moving. I cannot tell you how many times she tried and killed the engine. But I knew that I had to be delicate during this time, or she’s just liable to get out and refuse to do anything else.
I was hot, sweaty, pisssed while trying to hold back my anger, and worried that we will run the battery down from having had to start the bus over twenty times. I needed a beer.
“Are you really going to have a beer while we’re stuck here?” she questioned my judgment. I said that it would help me tremendously. It would help me in ways she wouldn’t know. I drank that sucker faster than you can say, ‘where in the hell are you, dummy?’ and I got my second wind.

I once again told her to start the bus, rev it up a bit, and slowly release the clutch while giving it a little throttle—“not much” I said “but just enough to start rolling while I push.” Then I also suggested that once she got going not to stop on the soft stuff but try to find harder ground. I even pointed ahead to a spot where I thought the ground would be more firm. “Remember, dear, don’t stop, and just keep going until you get to that spot ahead. OK?” She replied rather timidly, not sure of herself, emotionally tighter than a condom—(I don’t know if I should use that analogy here), maybe; tighter than a C-bra on a Double-D chest. There you go! You get the picture?

“OK,” I yelled, on the count of three, you pop the clutch, give it a little gas and we’ll be out of here. One, two, three!”
I’ll wait a bit until you can visualize what happened next…can you see it?...can you imagine it?... OK. Well you probably already figured this out. She popped the clutch and gave it full throttle, the two towels were now hanging over my head and I had about 200 pounds of sand all over me. The bus had moved maybe five inches!

Normally at home, I would be ranting and raving and cussing. But I held it back. I walked up to her and said, “That was a good try, dear, very good. We moved, but we could have moved a bit further if you hadn’t given it so much throttle. Your clutching was fine, really fine; just hold back on the throttle, OK?” She nodded yes, while she had her hands locked on the steering wheel, which seemed to be turning blue by now. I told her to relax, that we’ll get out next time. I shouldn’t have said “relax” because she came back with, “How can you ask me to relax? You’ve got us in this mess, there’s nobody around, this is supposed to be our anniversary vacation not one of your racing or pre, pre, pre-whatchamacallit thing you do.”

I immediately pulled her out of the bus, hugged her, kissed her, apologized, told her how she was doing just fine and I reached for the cooler, opened the bottle of tequila, I took a swig and I made her take one too. She refused at first, but women like to be kissed behind the ear, so she relented and took a swig—a big swig. I gave her some lemon (couldn’t find the salt), and hugged her again. (Are you single guys learning this?)
Then I asked her to get back in the bus and let’s just do it, this one time. I placed the towels in front of the rear wheels, dug them in, actually, got behind the bus and went through the same ritual as before. This exercise went on for three more times, with each time, my little darling, becoming more frustrated and angry. Fortunately, we had a big bottle of tequila and I offered her to take another sip. By the third time we had tried it, she was the one asking for the shot, and “forget the lemon,” she was now saying things like, “We’ll get this friki’n Kraut car outta here.” Once again I reminded her to keep going until she got to the spot and then park and wait. Right!!!

“OK, dear, one, two, and…” she popped the clutch, gave it just the right amount of throttle and she was moving! I grabbed the towels from the ground, while running behind her I kept yelling, “Keep going, don’t stop. Great, keep going, stop just ahead.” She was swerving all over the place, the bus looked like was driven by a drunken sailor, as it careened from one side of the sandy rail to the other. I kept yelling, “You’re almost there, babe. Doing great, honey! Pull over there, pull…I said, pull over, no don’t keep going, pull over! Oh, crap, shiite, goshdarn, you missed the spot! Don’t stop now, keep going.” All the while I’m running behind her trying to catch up but to no avail. She eventually disappeared from site, as she meandered from pucker bush to pucker bush. I could hear the VW but I could not see it. She was gone!

I walked for about a mile, with the towels over my head because it was hot, probably in the mid-nineties, or so it seemed. At the end of the dirt road, there they were: the dunes and the ocean on the other side. But where was the bus? I looked around and saw the bus parked between two sand dunes on hard ground. Sitting where the sliding door opens was my courageous wife, with this satisfied look of great accomplishment holding the tequila bottle. She said, “You want a ride big boy? Let me take you for a long, long, ride!” as she took another sip out of the bottle.
Oh, my God, I had unleashed a person I had never met before! Gone was this quiet, reserved, very proper mother of my three children. Suddenly I had Rita Hayward, in the movie “Gilda” (those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, Google it.), trying to seduce me. I’ve been walking for a mile or more, so the last thing I wanted was to be seduced. I needed water, beer, ice, not a gorgeous vamp.

I’m not going to be too descriptive at this point because she reads everything I write, but I can tell you this, we found ourselves laying on our beach towels, the cooler next to us, on this beautiful dune, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, just about ten feet from the beach and 40 feet from the surf, with no one around, bear-arsed naked! It was truly Paradise and we were like a modern-day Adam and Eve! (Hey, I was 45 years-old then, still a lot of hot-sauce in my veins.)

She then asked, “So where are these moving rocks you’ve been talking about?” I told her that we were very near the spot where I had seen them before, but they weren’t around, which proves the point that maybe they weren’t rocks but some type of animal. “I know you,” said laughed, “you just wanted to get me here naked, all by ourselves, didn’t you?” as she began to move in for the kill. That had entered my mind, but I really did see moving rocks.

We had sandwiches, chips, beers, with tequila chasers, and before we knew it, there we were, snoring the afternoon away, as this gentle sea breeze caressed our naked bodies. (Oh, boy, I’m beginning to sound like one of those Harlequin novels.)

About an hour later I woke up, I lifted my head to look out at sea, and there they were, the entire beach was covered with black rocks. I sat up and yelled to her to wake up. No sooner had I yelled, almost as if unison, those black rocks disappeared. She woke up and asked what’s going on? I told her that I saw the black rocks but they disappeared. “Yeah, right!” she said. “I think you’ve had too much to drink. There’s nothing out there.” I rubbed my eyes and thought, maybe I had been dreaming with the aid of all those beers and tequila shots. We both laid down again, and soon she was asleep once again. I sat up and walked towards the beach and saw nothing. I dug into the sand at various places and nothing. It must have been a dream, I thought to myself. There was no evidence that anything was there. Disappointed I returned to my towel, not yet convinced, I decided to sit up for a while.

Sure enough about 15 minutes went by with absolutely no sound on the beach other than the pounding surf. Suddenly, I saw little black things beginning to creep up from under the sand. Within a minute or so, the once white, sandy beach was black, for a mile in each direction. Once again I jumped up, shook her from her nap and told her to look. Just as I yelled “look,” they all disappeared, once again in unison. Amazing how creatures can be so in-tune with each other to act exactly alike.

“I know what those rocks are,” I howled, “those things are sand crabs, black sand crabs!” The mystery was solved. She didn’t even bother to comment, just went back to her nap. I slowly laid down and whispered, “Don’t go to sleep. Let’s wait for a while, very quietly and I’ll bet you we will see this whole beach teeming with sand crabs.” She decided to go along, so we waited, ten, fifteen minutes, nothing. Suddenly, little tentacles started showing up on the beach. Within seconds, there were hundred, no thousands of crabs. I quietly said, “Don’t make a move, don’t say anything, let’s just watch.” We did. For the next half hour we didn’t say a word, nor make a move. We just watched one of the wonders of marine life. We had a camera but it was back in the bus but one move, they would all be gone.
Then, out of the water came out about twenty seals, ready to pounce on the crabs, burying their snouts into the sand, picking crabs. Mother Nature at work and we were witnessing one of the rituals of life.

How often can you claim that? But if you are in Baja, you can. I’ll bet you’ll experience more unique things there than at many other places.

It was a terrific anniversary weekend for us, full of wonderful adventures and one we will not soon forget. Today, she still tells that story to friends of how she rescued me out of the desert in Baja.

# # # # # # # #
 

troyharper

DA Meatball
Posts
3,234
Reaction
1,090
Yep, she saved your butt Lou. Now I wany to hear her side of it.
How big were those crabs?
Thanks for sharing,
Troy
 

Lucho

Well-Known Member
Posts
2,710
Reaction
271
Yep, she saved your butt Lou. Now I wany to hear her side of it.
How big were those crabs?
Thanks for sharing,
Troy

She'll come out with her on book. After 48 years, I'm sure she'll have plenty to say.

Honestly, the crabs had to be six to eight inches in diameter. If you have the opportunity, ride the course to the beach before El Conejo and just sit on the beach, quietly. I'll guarantee you'll see them.
 

Attachments

  • 09-Luchos-Journal-CrabCity.jpg
    09-Luchos-Journal-CrabCity.jpg
    246 KB · Views: 102
Top