We left the family and the plush rented beach house and for the first time retraced our steps up the coast north from Zihuatanejo. We’ve circled around this area for a while but now we were ready to think about spending some time in Baja. To get there we have to drive to the ferry terminal on the mainland coast near Los Mochis. We started our driving north.
Our first stop was at a campground which was on our radar but was closed when we drove down three months ago, in early February. At that time the American owner and his Mexican wife were sick with Covid and Rancho B ( Bugambilea) was closed. On this return trip up the coast orchard open and it was our target for the day.
We ate breakfast en masse, we showered and packed the van. It was not an early departure but by ten o’clock we were rumbling down the dirt road once again by ourselves, all the noise and chatter of three generations silenced by sudden distance. 
Highway 200, the coast road, took us over a river and in the middle of the bridge we said goodbye to Guerrero State and were welcomed in to Michoacán once again. We passed through the traffic of the industrial port city of Lazaro Cardenas until, in one suburb Layne shouted “Stop!” and I pulled up in front of an Agua Purificada store.
We had about five gallons left in our thirty gallon tank so we paid for five jugs at 70 cents each. I used my new siphoning house as suggested by Bruce months ago and supplied to me by my nephew in his vacation luggage!
It worked!
And the only water I spilled was on myself on a 90 degree day. The van stayed dry:
The road was not busy once we got into the country but I was ready to arrive. We stopped once to drop off some food for two dogs by the side of the road who presumably lived in a house in the forest. For the rest we wound slowly up the mph rains and across the valleys occasionally in sight of the sea.
We listened to a Ruth Rendell mystery on Layne’s Libby app download and the miles passed by at an average of maybe thirty every hour. There were topes and a few potholes and lots of rough patches along with the turns and the inclines all accompanied by hardly any people by the side of the road in this area of under developed Indian reservation. Local gas stations:
Layne reminded me to stop at the Pemex at the beginning of this long empty stretch of coast and we filled up but after that all we saw were a few home made signs offering fuel mostly to locals on their motorbikes. We carry a special marine fuel filter funnel (a Baja Filter was the brand name) which we used when sailing to clean water and debris from diesel. So far we haven’t had to use it this trip. Which is good.
We made a couple of stops to stretch our legs but mostly we drove.
I noticed on one stop our skid plate has a few scratches. That sheet metal under the engine and transmission designed for a Promaster and able to protect our second alternator as well, has been worth its weight in gold for the peace of mind it delivers.
Not forgetting the brilliant winch of course. Both options installed by FreedomVanGo, of Jacksonville, Florida.
There weren’t many trucks but those there were could be very slow and smoky. I made a couple of passes in the winding road, to Layne’s delight.
Finally around 5:30 we reached the dirt road turn off marked by Google Maps’ blue line. The mapping app is really excellent, not perfect but even off line it shows us the way with 99 percent accuracy. Sometimes it confuses dirt with pavement but not often.
Google promised four tenths of a mile of dirt because we haven’t switched the van to metric measures. We still think in miles and gallons. And then the locked gate appeared.
Sandy the owner appeared on his fort bike after we honked and he told us to park in spot five where we had privacy, power and a sewage drain.
Layne set to making dinner while I got the Christ’s out and put up the moonshade awning. It didn’t get dark till 8:30 as we are on the edge of mountain time here on the Pacific.
There is a middle aged Mexican couple living here long term in their home built Ford Trandit with their dog Napoleon who is a little too aggressive for Rusty.
Sandy’s home where he’s building an apartment for rent. All in the middle of his own ten acres.
The coconut grove belongs to a buddy of his and there are no neighbors so the beach is totally deserted. Too bad the surf is so big it’s not a swimming area.
This is a nice spot with a strong phone signal and hot showers
… which Layne loves…
…and friendly dogs who put up with Rusty’s neuroses.
Sandy is from San Diego and has sailed and surfed this coast for forty years before putting down roots here.
He’s a happy man and I can see why. This isn’t a bad place at all!
