In thinking about my last day at this most perfect of beach camps I was thinking of a post with few words and more pictures.
Tenacatita Bay. A dog walk. A Panasonic FZ1000 around my neck.
Mexicans get time off and they bring their families to the beach with the household car or motorcycle.
I walk my dog just like I used to in the Keys. Rusty spends our days chasing different shady spots in between doing some sun bathing. He walks down to the beach when we go swimming but he doesn’t get into the water himself.
Our tiny beach is around the rocky point from the main restaurant row, whence come our delivered lunches. We get the smoothest swimming waters thanks to the ring of rocks breaking up the swells.
It’s a lovely spot but we are running out of supplies. Our water is now below ten gallons, our pesos are below 2,000 ($100) and the sunscreen situation is critical. Friday we drive and resupply for the weekend.
Our van neighbors, the New Mexico Sprinter, mentioned a couple of locations down the coast and one might be an interesting campground for us. If their large undisciplined dogs were welcome Rusty should be fine there. We shall see.
Layne has been toying with an idea that we should try renting a house or bungalow in the area. She’s keen to live in a community for a few weeks and to be integrated, rather than being on the edge of local life in a van. I take her point though we do both enjoy living in the van. Our travel plans have always included the notion we might enjoy stops along the way in rented accommodations that might … accommodate a traveling friend. Airplanes fly all over the place and make catching up with us easy. All plans are tentative.
Our days flow by like you might expect, swimming reading eating and chatting. In the morning Rusty and I walk the beach and in the evening we walk over the hill and walk the restaurant row. Except yesterday when Rusty and I got back there was a problem. Layne saw a GMC Yukon in trouble in the soft sand.
The American in the back was helping dig the vehicle into the soft sand but it must have been easier in his estimation to be jumping on the bumper than doing something sensible like hard pushing. He had a half empty tequila bottle in hand so his judgement may have been impaired. I don’t doubt his driving was as he left the beach later in his pick up. Meanwhile Layne pointed me out to the Mexican father who was driving the Yukon as his potential savior. That I was the solution to his problem might not have been immediately apparent but I was probably a better bet in any event than the cheerful inebriate clinging to the back of his sunken vehicle.
I had the orange Go Treads in their bag. I had my highly rated collapsible sand shovel. I got them out in seconds and approached my first stuck car with my shiny brand new equipment and the intriguing notion this all might just work.
I was curious to see if my tools would save the day and let me say here they were perfect. It became a textbook recovery. I was astonished by my air of competence lent to me by the perfect tools. Extraordinary.
Done and dusted. The family had a great evening at the beach and I had the glow of satisfaction of a job well done. I was particularly pleased my tools were packed such that they are easy to get to in the basement locker of GANNET2. Plus next time I pull them out they won’t look shiny new. I shall reek of eau de experienced hard core overlander. A result all round with none more astonished by his prowess than me, the savior
Another great day at the beach.
