Danger Will Robinson!

 It happens every year (Covid excepted of course) that a bunch of wild eyed Yankees come to Baja to race the Peninsula using two and four wheeled vehicles that might not be out of place in a Mad Max movie. They avoid asphalt and raise vast clouds of dust to envelope the eager spectators. They call it the Baja 1000 in respect of the distance traveled. You can look it up to enjoy the details as it's not my thing.  I mention it here because this year a competitor driving across the peninsula from Ensenada to San Felipe in his nice shiny truck got stopped at gun point and the robbers took off with his vehicle. Bummer. Consequently Highway 3 has become one of those black holes of fear and loathing among the non traveling segment of observers who seem to retain lists of places where tourists get mugged etc...

I was ready to mug the nice tamale lady sitting in her hut roadside selling the most delicious moist tamales at a buck apiece. Of muggers we saw not one of course on our three hour journey across Baja. We saw a bit more desert,

...and as we climbed into the mountains the desert gave way to granite boulders and a winding road, still not much traffic and not one robber. They must have taken the day off, or more likely they weren't hanging around on the off chance of some tourist happening by.

In its way it was beautiful if arid country and the road, though somewhat rumbly was not littered with topes as there were very few communities requiring speed bumps to slow passing traffic. We played leap frog with this Idaho registered trailer which we passed while he was parked and then he passed us while we were buying tamales and then we passed him again when stopped later. No idea who what or why, but seeing gringos around here is normal.

Baja is a tremendous playground for surfers, off roaders, and outdoor enthusiast generally. We are in a world of our own traveling without the toys of entertainment, no surfboards, bicycles, motorcycles or climbing gear or even serious hiking gear. 

There were however endless numbers of military checkpoints, supposedly hunting for drugs. On the mainland we were routinely waved through 45 checkpoints by our count. Here in Baja I have to get out and open the back doors to expose my bed to their fascinated gaze. In case you are wondering we travel with neither narcotics nor armaments. If that comes as a surprise you haven't been reading this page very long. One camper we met told of a secret compartment he has to carry a handgun. The Mexican authorities will be quite severe if they find it. God help him if he uses it because no one else will. I crack a couple of jokes with the military guys and we go on our way.

The other great myth of travel in Baja is that there is no gas. Gas is everywhere and people will shoot me down for saying that. On the eighty mile drive on Highway 3 we saw three Pemex. gas stations serving the surrounding communities. They even take dollars!

It's not a great rate of exchange but that's the price you pay if you are too lazy to buy pesos. We also needed water so we entered the usual "aqua purificada" search into Google maps and there we were, parked in front of a purified water shop selling the stuff at 75 cents (14 pesos) for five gallons. I siphoned four jugs into our 30 gallon tank, ready for the desert reaching out to us from either side of the highway:

One. thing I have discovered on the road in Baja is aqua stores offer hoses to fill RV tanks direct, so when I show up wanting to empty five gallon jugs one at a time they get confused. "I don't have a hose" is their first reply to my query about filling my tank. I have a hose is my reply but it leads to confusion until I take time to explain the weird siphon method I use. 

And if you needed to get rid of used water at this spot they had a bathroom behind the yellow notice charging 5 pesos (25 cents) for its use:

All services are available on this road.  Layne was bored by the desert, missing the roadside color and life of mainland Mexico. The habit of speaking English first to us got on her nerves a bit. It's not that the Mexicans are being rude or overbearing, quite the opposite, but the sense of exploration is diminished when Mexico is turned into Arizona.  For my part I was wishing the road could be a bit smoother but I liked the scenery, the farms, the sudden bursts of green, the sweeping curves through canyons with backdrops of massive cliffs. 

And then the tamales.  They call this the cheese road, Ruta del Queso and she had cheese for sale too, aged and rich and delicious.  Layne limited us to a large slice off the whole.

The tamales were some of the best we've had, moist and packed with meat and cheese.

We bought the tamales for dinner but it was noon and it wasn't a bad place to stop so...we had them for lunch. The crispy tortilla we had for pudding, slightly sweet and smoky from the grilling it got.

It was good enough for us so Layne went back, amid gales of laughter and got some more tamales for a future dinner.

It was a lovely spot, warm at just over 80 degrees, sunny and no humidity at all. Our resident expert decreed this was an excellent stop.

The resupply lady showed up with her assistant. Had Layne been up for it I think we could have hijacked her truck and made off with half a lifetime's worth of cheese. My wife lacks initiative sometimes.

That was when the fun dribbled out of the day and we entered the suburbs of Ensenada a large city filled with people vehicles and enough poverty to remind us of our privilege.

Soriana! Supermarket to the masses, we have missed you!

Our plan was to stop long enough to buy blueberries, walnuts, salad and a few other odds and ends and then take Highway One south to a little visited National Park in the mountains. I felt like I was back in a mainland city dodging potholes and traffic and pedestrians with Layne barking out directions with as much warning as she could give me, dodging through lanes and turns until finally we got on the highway south aiming back in our original direction of travel up the peninsula! Originally we had planned to head north directly but we got bored and tried the long way round the coastal route in our usual haphazard style. The streets of Ensenada were horrible, full of holes, topes, rough surfaces, and sharp drop offs. I was swearing like a trooper and wishing we were somewhere else. We slowly got somewhere else in fact.

South on Highway One took us out of Ensenada on the most torn up road we'd seen in a while. I was busy dodging traffic and potholes and swearing up a blue streak. I had a full on gringo moment "Why can't they build a decent highway...?" kind of thing. That's why I like traveling in the van, after a tough day I can reset inside my home surrounded by my things needing to explain nothing to anybody. Layne has heard all my grumblings before.

Ensenada served its purpose but our plans to relax just outside the city failed completely. The campground was closed, we had no desire to sleep on the cliffs overlooking the ocean not least because I was starting to really want to see the National Park in the mountains. I figured we could get there or pretty close before dark. We drove south.

In Mexico I seem to have more patience than I do in the US but these military checkpoints are a bit too much. This was number four for the day and they were creating quite a hold up for traffic. How this helps commerce or quashes the drug trade I don't know. They were nice and professional, took a quick look in the back and that was that. Still, I'd be mad as a wet hen if I were a local putting up with this intrusion day after day. You haven't seen any signs we're winning the drug war have you? If so thank the Mexican Army for inspecting every damn vehicle on the roads around here.

Wine country! Northern Baja is littered with wineries we are discovering. Our plans call for a visit to some established and known wineries in the Guadalupe Valley north of Ensenada after we visit the  National Park but we found more wineries on our way south.

Naturally this being Mexico advertising was nowhere to be seen. We didn't need billboards necessarily but a couple of signs at entrance gates listing opening hours or something. All we saw were closed entrances, and Layne was looking because her plan was to taste some wine and ask if we could spend the night. No luck.

The coastline appeared after we left the wine valley and we saw cultivated fields that reminded us of the coast north of Santa Cruz where we used to live in California. There was miles of cultivation up to the cliff edges overlooking the Pacific Ocean and we droned on through it all. We were looking for a left turn that would take us up to 9,000 feet in the mountains at Sierra San Pedro Martir. No chance of missing the junction, it turned out:

Up the road we saw tremendous views as you might imagine and found an extraordinary oasis in the High Sierra,  a place with a pool, hot showers, clean bathrooms, WiFi and delicious hot breakfasts. And Nicole and Jeff. Tequila by firelight, a full moon and cold snuggly nights. Van Life excursions continue.

Rancho El Coyote Meling.  It blew our minds.