Observations in Motion

Part 4, Back in the U.S... oops!

Brian and I awoke at our hotel at 0830; sleeping 7 hours straight through was wonderful.  We cleaned up, walked toward the train, and found an Italian restaurant whose servers looked kind of Italian, but again mostly spoke Spanish among themselves.  We had a great breakfast, drank gallons of coffee, and headed to the train station.  On the way, I felt a rumbling like Jimmy Dean's 'Big John' did at the bottom of the mine.  It seemed either Mexico was not done with me, or the Italians were declaring war, and the revenge was assessed in my Levi's.  Yup, right on the street, and in front of a full glass window, Houston had a problem. 

Fortunately, the station bathroom was not crowded, and Brian had an extra pair of shorts.  Incredibly fortunate.   Also fortunate that skinny Andy had a belt, so I cleaned up for the second time that morning, contributed my Levi's to the trash, cinched up my belt and continued Commando style to the train.  Do you have a good visual, now?  While I swore Brian to secrecy, I felt compelled to share this anecdote with the Sauvage Delivery Boys so they can enjoy my discomfort, even at this late date.

Now on the train from San Diego, I did not have to share a seat, so I will use the 'fortunate' word again.  The open space vistas were not changing that much.  Smaller rocks, but the same adobe color as the Mexican rocks, with more sage-type brush.  Oh yeah, a MUCH smoother ride, like on rubber wheels, vs. that shuttle van on the dirt road from Turtle Bay.  Now in view is Solana Beach, another of my adulthood surfing spots.  Wow, there is Swami's too, still a classic point break for regular foot forward surfers to make frontside turns… ok, the waves are Rights.  Saw the Especial Norte restaurant in Leucadia my brother took us to a few years ago, with no line yet for lunch.

Nice to be on the train with a planned schedule, and feeling back in control.  Now riding past where we walked across the tracks to the beach when Brother Ken and Helen lived in Carlsbad.  Did you know the Village Tavern in Carlsbad used to discount beer when the train rumbled by?  Interestingly, the cars parked in the beach communities here aren't any nicer than those in San Quintin; still Beach-funky.  Our train is now passing the cars driving past Pendleton.  "GI Beans and GI gravy, gee I wish I'd joined the Navy"… that got me through Boy Scout Devil Pup training with marching routines with the Marine Devil Dogs.  "I left my wife and forty-eight children alone in the kitchen in starving condition without any gingerbread left".  The military's open space is welcome relief, and still damn similar to space surrounding Ensenada.  Past San Onofre power plant to the surf spot Trestle's, that civilians had to sneak into down the creek with the dead seal, but my former roommate Hugh Brown and brother Allen got a pass from their father, Colonel Brown, to access restricted surf spots.  Allen cherishes a picture of Hugh by his car, a REAL Woody, there on the bluff.  The same clean waves roll on (RIP, Hugh).

Now approaching San Clemente, where we used to pile 12 year olds with surfboards into a slat sided work truck, way before it was outlawed by safety and good sense, but still great fun shivering in the back with your buddies.  You can still ride in these trucks in Mexico, observed there just yesterday.  Now passing San Clemente Pier.  Amazingly, Diana and I in our twenties were chaperones for her sister Denise' high school sorority weekend party.  I just kept pushing out the horney little peckerheads who kept trying to climb in the windows.  Good thing I still had my football weight back then.  Funny, the best ocean access and view homes are either multi-million dollar customs or 'grandfathered' mobile homes.

Andy and Brian’s Excellent Baja Adventure Part 3

2100 We come into the big city, Ensenada, with increasing numbers of stop lights and cars.  The population of Ventura County is 846,000; Camarillo 65,000; Ensenada and surrounding area is 280,000.

Departed Ensenada 2130 (did I tell you the bus displayed military time, and if the bano (bathroom) was occupied?

My seatmate spoke no English, and never learned to read or write, but in the end we were communicating and smiling by her home town stop. 

A third Gringo on the bus had crashed his motorcycle at 70 in the desert and broken his shoulder, preferring to head for his own doctor in San Clemente; he shared a meal with us, stayed off advil, but did use Tequila as his painkiller of choice.  We are still not sure how we make it from the TJ bus station to the border, whether to cab or walk through the alleys.  Hope it is a non-event. 

Turning away from the 5^th movie (or is it the 6^th) we reach the detour for the ongoing road repair (say, does that mean we are in LA?).  The crescent moon is close to half, so this ensures the Sauvage delivery boys will also have a brightening moon… unless they have coastal fog or a herd of Jack Sparrow's buddies that block the light.  Now we see lights and new high-rise condo's in Rosarita from the backside.  Past the toll booth, glad I didn't have to scramble for the toll change, and now onto the smoother highway, but we are now as we began from Turtle Bay, with but a few cars in the darkness. 

2300 Bus ride terminated in TJ at the bus terminal (now that makes sense).  Brian, adopted friend Motorcycle Crash Chris took a $6 cab ride to the border which we walked across by ourselves, grateful there was no line.  Customs recognized us for what we are; Gringos returning kind of stinky from some sort of recreation that the locals are smart enough to not do.  Brian explained that we had shortened our race, gone to Turtle Bay, and the rest of our unregistered crew were returning the boat.  I just said "I was with him" and they waived us through, past the relaxing dope dog who stayed relaxed.

Good we adopted Chris; he had a friend at the Jack in the Box on the US side, who dropped us at a hotel in San Diego, walking distance to the train station.  Happy with clean sheet, Brian produced a bottle for a night cap and it was sweet dreams off the bus, back in the USA.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

Yes, I did utter those immortal words just prior to our spinnaker wrap.  I believe these were first spoken by the captain of the Titanic as he directed his helmsman to go forward into the ice field.  I somehow thought they would be appropriate and inspiring to the crew.  No response.  In retrospect, probably because each crew member was overwhelmed by the number of possible answers to this question.

 

But truly that night at sea was extraordinary for me.  Relative to the Transpac where, for the most part, I experienced relatively long, predictable swells, strong but steady trade winds, on this night we found ourselves in sea conditions that resembled a  washing machine on steriods with breaking waves and with strong, gusty winds.

 

There was talk of the boat being 'out of control' and of something breaking and if we should continue racing.  So, I figured well what the heck, if I, the least experienced and qualified helmsman could handle these conditions we would be OK.  And, if something on the boat broke, it would be on my watch and, hey, it's my boat.

 

So for what seemed like 45 minutes (probably closer to a 1/2 hour) or so, I struggled to keep the boat from either rounding up or broaching.  At least 5 minutes before the wrap I consciously realized that I was getting mentally exhausted.  In retrospect, at that point I should have turned the helm over to someone else.  But I foolishly persisted to 'prove that I could handle it'.  I let my ego get in the way of good judgement.   When the boat did round up I was slow to react.

 

We realized that we had a serious wrap and John and Jeff courageously went forward to try to unwrap it .  Driving for the next hour even with just a mainsail up was one the longest hours I have ever experienced.  I was overwhelmed by a tremendous guilt, my body was in a cold sweat and I was now physically tired as well.  "Don't compound your mistake…." Was my only thought.

 

Lessons learned or "A mans (sailor) got to know his limitations"

 

o I assumed that this race would be easier and with basically similar conditions as the Transpac.  We shouldn't have any problems.  Therefore there was no necessity to talk prior about conditions, what if's, decision making processes, etc.  I've seen this happen in my business career on construction projects where teams who have worked successfully together before on similar jobs are not inclined to ask 'hard' questions of one another.  Why?  It can imply a lack of confidence in your fellow team members.

 

But several things were different on the Cabo race. Number one, we had a lousy rating which made us unlikely, regardless of how well we sailed, to get on the podium.  I had asked the question of the team earlier, "if they don't change our rating, are we still committed to sailing and racing?'.  The answer was 'yes'.  The better question would have been, "how hard are we committed to sailing given this rating?".  And "if we do encounter conditions that might make us inclined to drop out, who and how will we make that decision?"

 

Because on this race, unlike the Transpac, you did have the option of retiring --- as we did -- and finding immediate landfall.

 

o I am not a good downwind spinnaker sailor and, at this stage/age of my life, will probably never be one.  There are times I enjoy it but in a race, I will never acquire the 'touch' and intuitive skill of most of my crew.  What I have learned is that there is a lot I don't know that I don't know about downwind spinnaker racing in challenging conditions.  So, I'm now I'm more than happy to continue fast cruising.

 

o  I've also learned that this was/is an extraordinary team.  There were no recriminations.  There was just a patient acceptance of our conditions and a very thorough consideration of our options going forward after the wrap.  The team then put the past behind them and made the best out of the remainder of our trip.

 

"An adventure starts when things go wrong", credit to Yvon Chouinard of Patagonia.

 

o And yes, of course in the circumstances we encountered, we had arguments and words with one another.  But I  believe we all realized many of these were under circumstances of sleep deprivation and general weariness.  And, we were willing to forgive and move on.

 

o Oh, when we arrived in Ensenada to refuel, we and the boat must have been a sorry looking bunch.  The receipt that I received from the fuel dock attendant gave the name of my vessel as "Salvage".

 

o I also learned of the opportunity of developing the village of Turtle Bay.  I'm working on an appropriate PR campaign with the slogan:

 

Visit Turtle Bay, where dirt, debris and deranged sailors meet the sea!

 

In retrospect, I am truly grateful for the experience, the opportunity to learn, deal with adversity and to have been in the company of extraordinary individuals.

 

Lord Jim (retired -- at least temporarily)

 

Andy and Brian’s Excellent Baja Adventure Part 2

1200.  More desert, couple of town stops, one stop for military to walk through the bus and look for something, but gladly not us.  For speed control where needed, they had hollowed valleys in front of the bumps (HVB's).  Very effective, and enforced by design, not a cop, so no ticket revenue for the town… nice they have not copied us that way. 

We sit in the seat assigned.  My seat was by a window, next to an existing lady, rather stout.  With a couple of bags on my seat, she slid them and herself to the window, and angled her sizable butt toward me, and now the elbow rest was denting my butt on the other side while her iron butt denting me as well.  If she had a cold with sneezing, I may have opted to walk through the desert and hitchhike; hope her stop is soon!  OK, still squeezed, but as we slow for the burros on the road she smiled and offered to share her nuts with me.  Now I am the asshole. 

S__t, I spoke too soon.  Now she IS coughing, and I think I smell germs!  Think she would accept one of my cough drops that I always carry?  And I don't think I have ever had one side of my butt without the other.

The two lane highway keeps winding through hillsides of cactus and red rocks.  Make that plenty of cacti.  Speed limit in curves is 60kmh (Brian will know the equivalent MPH), but this bus ain't close to speeding.  Driver keeps to the smoother side of the highway, even if that is the wrong side, but it is more comfortable.  I am guessing  'camiones' means 'curves' ahead.  S__t, it means TRUCKS!  And the reality is Trucks on Curves!  Arghhh!  Big Mother Trucks (BMT's).  A whole lot of them.  As we slow to zip for more hvb's, our Big Ass Bus (BAB) touches the middle line on one side, and the outer line on the other.  Oh yes, beyond the other side is usually a cliff down, so I love it when a Mexican BMT coming toward us , hopefully the road is smooth so they stay on their side of the road.

Whoa, my seatmate shifted again, and now My Boys are getting choked while my butt is still sweating on one side and dented on the other. 

Finally found a BMT going slower than we are; now crossing a stream.  The water comes from where?  All I see is rock.  Must be cactus juice, all I can figure.  Good, the BMT is now faster downhill.

Best news!  After 4 hours of choking The Boys, she just moved her cans.  I recaptured an inch and a half of butt room, and The Boys are rejoicing as we slowly wade through more cacti juice while a work crew (I know they are a work crew cause they all have orange vests) throw dirt into the cacti juice (water?).  Now I know where Cal Trans sends trainees. 

Holy S__ t! Our BAB just passed to the left of a BMT,  I mean the sides were within a foot, and the mirrors within inches, but we are back pushing 40kmh while an SUV passes going up a hill on a curve over a solid yellow line.  That guy must also drive the 395 to Mammoth. 

Just finished our second movie since the last pee stop… did I mention I am 65 now?  I can't believe we are starting a third movie, but at least the movie distraction calms my highway anxiety.  We just passed a pile of rocks with a cross.  Not a whole busload of rocks, at least.  So I shared the last of my empanadas with Brian and my seatmate.  She accepted.  Then, she reciprocated with a canned fruit drink for me (who already has to pee), but I can't offend the culture where I am a guest, so I take a sip, smile, and gesture to share.  She signals 'No', all for you!  So, I have maintained international relations, but REALLY have to pee.

We switched drivers and techniques.  We did slow for the HVB's on the curve, but went on the wrong side of the road to avoid the HVB's.  He did pull down a blind for the sun glare.  No sun, or even road vision, comes through.  Perfecto, Sigh.   

You know what I don't see?  Trash.  I think they made all the messy folks go to the US.  Or, maybe these locals take pride in their country.  Or, maybe it's too hot to roll down the windows and lose the AC so the trash just stays inside cars. 

Third movie not finished, at last a pee stop.  Behind even their schedule, so no time for food.  A guy who did get a quick taco just sat across the aisle from Brian, and Barfed!  Took off his shirt to wipe down… I can't make this stuff up!  I gave him my last paper towel from Sauvage.  Diana will vouch that I always keep a spare.  Fortunately, he has earlier taken off his long sleeve shirt so he just sacrificed his T-shirt.  More fortunate was his window seat was open, so he doesn't have to sit in his mess, but I hope that seat does not get assigned the next stop.  Oh yeah, I don't recommend the carne asada tacos with a peach drink.  FYI Brian says he just choked on his coke and spilled his taco; if I was sitting where he is, I would hold that thought, too.

Not sure where we are, but it is afternoon and we are back in sight of the coast.  The Sauvage delivery boys have to wait for the breeze and seas to drop more for their return.  Still muy malo.  The coast brings more towns, more traffic, and a lot more agriculture.  No mas cacti.  Who says only CA can change arid land to farmland?  Now, we are following a cement truck toward Ensenada.  Maybe they will arrive to finish one of those hotels so they can be charged taxes?  Not likely.  Towns still similar to my old- very old- surfing trips.  The tortorilla's and panderia's look the same.  Wonder if I can still eat them for 15 cents a day. 

Yeah!  Just passed a BMT uphill, even if our BAB was over the double line.

Andy and Brian’s Excellent Baja Adventure, Part 1

Observations in Motion

(or Andy and Brian's Excellent Baja Adventure)

Soon after anchoring to light winds and flat water in Bahia Tortuga, we hailed Enrique1 on Channel 16 for a panga ride from Sauvage to the fishing village for the crew.  This allowed Skipper Jim to clean and reclaim rule of his domain from an unruly crew.

At the top of the pier we met Enrique2, asked him about refueling, and how two of the crew, Brian and me (OK, Brian asked Enrique2, since his Spanish is better than mine), might travel inland to the main road to travel South to Cabo for our reserved room and prepaid flights home in a few more days, since our race had ended early.

Took a few minutes to stroll through the sand to the dirt roads through shore-side dwellings, found the Mercado for boat beer, then went to the porch overlooking the bay and ordered their beer, with ours for the boat at our feet.  We waited.  They delivered chips and salsa.  We waited.  They delivered limes and salt, and gave us dinner options.  We waited.  They apologized for the wait, but said yesterday a large group had drunk all of their beer, but they had sent for more, which should be here soon.  'Soon' finally arrived, and so did our beer.  We were 'off grid', and off of Gringo schedules.

We went back to the pier to check in with another Enrique, to line up our travel options.  There was a van leaving at 0300 that night/morning, that could take us inland for tres horas to Vizcaino's bus station.  We could then bus South 5-6 hours to Cabo, or bus North for 12 hours or so to Tijuana and The Border.

After a dinner at Brian's quaint restaurant (Brian has been god-damned everywhere already), the pesca was great, and they even had beer that was already there.  The gringo timeframe was non-existent and not appropriate as cruisers Beller and Spille knew.  Plenty of time to enjoy, unwind, and thank Jim for dinner!

We stopped back by the pier, and think we finalized our travel van with Enrique3, who confirmed with Enrique2, and probably Enrique4.  E3 drove the panga back to Sauvage for a short night.  No longer wanting beer, we took a vew crew nips of rum (RIP Chuck) and enjoyed the clarity of the stars and the cool night breeze.  I forgave Spille for putting the squid off the deck into my coffee mug, and wondered when Spille would wind the spicy dill pickle I put into his water bottle, then prepped my backpack for a quick exit, and set my alarm for 0220.

As promised, E2 arrived at 0-dark-30, and Brian and I jumped ship for the panga, then were escorted by E2 up the dirt road to a van.  We gathered at the van, thanked E2, then drove to some residences to gather more early morning travelers, then headed Northeast in the dirt road rattled van at max speed, being the only car lights on a straight road through the still dark desert to our next point of decision, North or South.  Brian and I both enjoyed how the really big bumps made the van's dome lights go on as the wires connected.

So we arrived at the Viscaino bus terminal at 0600, and with a brightening sky.  The 0700 bus went North; decision made.  Bought tickets, bought coffee and empanada cookies, visited a spotless restroom (really! Way cleaner than any Denny's) and departed on the 0700 bus at 0800 or so, destination Tijuana in 12 hours then a short walk across the border.  It stays open 24 hours; we checked.