We woke up to find La Gigante parked in by some government truck. On Saturday. Hmmm… Oh well, we’ll take a walk and assume it will all get worked out, as it always seems to in Mexico. A morning walk down to the harbor laid out the waking sun rising over surfacing dolphins, loud birds, and fishermen heading out in the new light. A beautiful morning.
After a nice walk, we found an awesome breakfast spot – Lolitas. Incredible food. Great hosts.
After stuffing our faces, we thought we’d try and find the police to help us with the car. The truck wasn’t actually “illegally” parked since the bike was actually parked in a house’s courtyard, but maybe the police could help. We were lucky enough to meet Francisco, who drove us back to the house and waited with us until the hotel owner found the owner of the car and had it moved. Pretty sure Francisco was just happy to have something to do. And I sorta knew that at some point I’d be riding in a police car. Check.
Like most of the spots I’ve stayed in Mexico, it was hard to leave Loreto. I’d love to spend more time there checking out the great restaurants. But the road awaits. And it’s a HOT road today. By the time we got gas and found an ATM, I was soaked, and it felt good to get up to speed as we pulled out of town. I told Ton that I ‘d be serving scrotum soup later. Is that gross?
The ride was stark desert for about an hour before we made it back to the ocean for wonderful views of blue green water and open beaches. Wanting to stop and see my Swiss friends, Mark and Anita, we stopped by Playa Requison south of Mulege, where they were planning to be. As we pulled down the sandy beach on the bike, we see some bare-chested, beer-holding guy waving us down like he’d been waiting for us and we’d finally arrived. He says, “Do you know some German people?” To which I reply, “Uh, I know some Swiss people.” “Oh yea! Swiss! Well, they made me promise that if some guy showed up on a big BMW that I would tell you that they left this morning. There were very concerned that I tell you that.” Bummer they left, but I knew I was coming in a day late.
You gotta love the old-school way that word passes among the traveling world – by word of mouth through strangers.
We headed over to Playa Coyote and parked the bike by the beach for a while for swimming and devouring our extra sandwhiches from Lolita’s. We just missed the chance to swim with whale sharks as one 15-20 feet long had just left the harbor. Shucks.
We left the beach and took a quick spin through Mulege for a beer and water. We’d run out of water on the beach and were parched. We had walked the length of the hot, shell-strewn beach shoeless because I thought I’d remembered a bar at the end of the beach. Oops, wrong beach. Good memory Eric. An hour walk on hot sand and shells felt great. Not. By the time we hit Mulege we were parched.
We arrived in San Ignacio around 5, and were promptly shown to our funky yurt! This place is run by a Canadian family from northern British Columbia, and it had its own kind of weirdness to it. Dinner was family style with all 20 or so of the night’s inhabitants joining in for dinner. If you have never stayed in a foreign land at a B&B, then you might not understand, but I’d say that the weird factor of people traveling like this is in the 80-90% range. We were lucky to sit next two two sisters (Scotty and Charlene) down from Esnenada, and a farmer from outside Guerrero Negro named Susie. The rest of the crew at the other end of the table was headed by Horst, a German living in British Columbia who immediately said upon meeting us, “I want to grill you guys,” with his sausage- and beer-fueled toothy, full-mouthed smile. Oh great. Gonna be a long night.
The B&B-ers across the world must have some civil rights agreement that gives them carte blanche when it comes to getting in your shit. Well, I never signed that. But, we were honestly pretty lucky with our crew this night. At least when you’re doing the B&B thing in Mexico, you meet some pretty interesting people. It’s not like in Wisconsin where you’re typically surrounded by needle-pointing, antiquing, bore-the-shit-out-of-you-with-stories-about-their-garden-at-home Ethel and George. In this case, it’s usually fairly adventurous travelers who, while still aggressive in their questioning, are at least interesting in their stories.
All-in-all, we escaped without too much pain as Horst was quickly distracted by others, and plowed our way through rotisserie chicken and a red “beet-ish” combination. Back a the room early for a long night’s sleep. Until the bass kicked in at 3:30. Some local was either having a party or was trying out his new bitchin system in his car. Judging by the carry of his bass, I’d say it was money well spent.
Our updated route (now at “L”).