“You know you are truly alive when you’re living among lions.” ― Karen Blixen, “Out of Africa”
On the way down the Baja Peninsula we were driving at least 12-hours a day, and often traveling after dark in unfamiliar territory. After getting recommendations from our friends in Los Barriles of dog friendly places to stay on our way back, we decided to back off the long days and take full advantage of our remaining time in Mexico. We had officially adopted the laid-back Baja attitude of enjoying every moment. Quite a contrast from our 4,000 mile journey from Alaska south. The unconscious driving to click off the miles as quickly as possible was drudgery, especially with all the ice and snow. There had to be a better, more fun way to travel and we were ready to find it.
The Rice & Beans Hotel was an ideal place to stay for the night and it was only a little after 5 when we arrived, the magical cocktail hour. Dogs were welcome and there was a restaurant and bar. I ordered shrimp tacos and a margarita to take to the room. I watched as she made the rita with lots of key limes, a splash of Cointreau, mucho tequila and a salted rim. It was unquestionably the best one yet! Our neighbors were friendly bikers from Oregon, and a couple from Vancouver, BC. Good food, good drink, good company, and good sleep was had by all.
I had learned my lesson or so I thought, about watching the gas gauge while driving out of Baja, and as I passed through the larger town of Guerrero Negro early the next morning I had a little over three-quarters of a tank. I had spent the night here on the way down and had no desire to return. The road was dirt with huge ruts and the first hotel I stopped at left me waiting for 20 minutes (after driving 12 hours) before telling me they had no rooms available. The next hotel was questionable but it was already after 9 PM so I didn’t mention the peros in case there was a problem. Exhausted and spent, we just needed a bed. We got a room for $28 with a latch on the door that sometimes worked. After an extremely long day of driving from Rosarito, we didn’t care. The sheets and towels were clean, and it was a place to sleep. We quietly got into our room without being detected by the front desk guy who was busy watching Jeopardy on the TV.
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| Sleeping Peros |
After getting through Guerrero Negro we started looking for a Pemex station as we headed into the mountains. We passed a few towns and they all had hotels, cafes and restaurants but after a few it occurred to me that I had not seen a petrol station at all. We continued driving for several hours and watched as the needle slowly moved closer to the halfway mark. Driving in the desert is lonely, and long. There are few cars and even fewer towns, and the road goes on and on. It’s easy to go 80 MPH on the open road, and sometimes even 90. I wasn’t that concerned until the needle began approaching a quarter of a tank as we passed through yet another town with no services. There had been no cell service for hours so it was hard to know where we were exactly and where we were going. Maps do not show most of the desert towns. I tried not to panic, but nevertheless could not believe I was once again in this situation, cursing under my breath as the dogs slept on. Remembering to practice yoga deep breathing to calm myself from the stress that had been building now for over an hour and there was still no relief in sight. By the time I got down to almost a quarter of a tank the dogs let me know that it was indeed their time to poop. Rather than drive on as quickly as possible and get it over with if we were going to run out of fuel, I decided it was time to stop for a break in the middle of nowhere. We pulled over and walked as I thought about what to do, and again cursed myself for getting into this dilemma again. Two days in a row! Shit!!!! I reassured myself that it was going to work out the way it was supposed to, and it was all part of the adventure. Relax, breathe and accept the natural flow as it presents itself. Watch the dogs, as they relieve themselves without a care in the world. They are my teachers.
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| SHIT! Not again. . . |
At that moment I saw a car coming toward us and raised my hand in an attempt to get him to stop. His car began to slow down as he pulled across the road and in behind me. The Mexican people are always so helpful. Ole! He said as I rushed up to his window saying mucho gracias for stopping. He spoke some English so I asked him how far it was to the next gas station. He said something amazing—beautiful music to my ears, only 15-20 more minutes ahead, he replied; how much do you have? I said about a quarter of a tank. Oh you will be fine, he said. He continued to give me direcitons in Spanish but I could not understand anything but the name of the town. But just to be sure, I confirmed that gas was only 15-20 minutes away, right? Si, he said. That’s all I needed to know. Mucho, mucho gracias, Señor. He smiled, Hasta Luego, Señorita. Buena suerte!
The weight of the world had just been lifted off my shoulders. I felt the anxiety leave my constricted chest and could once again breathe easily. We still had a quarter of a tank so we would make it to the station, no problem. As we came into the town we saw hotels, cafes and restaurants but where the hell was the station? I’m frantically looking as I continued on, the anxiety once again building when I realized we were going back into the desert without fuel. No way were we leaving this town without gas! I quickly made a U-Turn in the middle of the two-lane highway behind an 18-wheeler. The road was not wide enough to complete the turn so I had to back up, stopping traffic to get turned around. There was an RV behind me so I rolled down my window and asked the driver if there was a gas station that I had missed. He said there were full gas cans on the side of the road, it’s very expensive but they had it. Just look for the Pemex sign written on plywood he said. I could have kissed him but he was in his RV and I was in Toyota Lander and she desperately needed a drink (and so did I). Instead, I said thank you so much. Obviously the Mexican man had tried to tell me about the gas cans, if only I understood Spanish!
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| Where the hell? |
Cruising back through the 2 block town, I finally saw the sign with the hand-written word Pemex—nothing resembling a station or pump, only some 5-gallon drums sitting on the side of the road. Who knew? I pulled over and a Mexican man came out of the hut across the street and sauntered over our way. He could speak English and that was a good thing! He sold gas by the gallon, and could sell me 5 gallons for $33. I didn’t do the math or even blink an eye because, well, I didn’t give a shit. I just needed some fuel! I said I would take it as a young boy came over and began siphoning the gas with a hose into my tank out of a 5-gallon can that probably wasn’t full to start with but again, we didn’t care! It took forever before the needle began to move upward, I remember saying over and over that the needle wasn’t moving. The Mexican man just smiled. When he finished we had half a tank and I wondered if we needed more. His response was: “You want more?” And then I reconsidered.
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| Soon to be. . . |
Lander was now back on the road with half a tank of gas and we only had 120 km (approximately 75 miles) to the next real gas station. We were so grateful. The stress had finally left me, and I was able to relax in the moment just like the dogs, my role models. When you’re in the middle of the desert you can drive for miles and miles and miles and see nothing but more desert. We are happy to say we are on the road headed north, and the gas issue has been permanently resolved. Things worked out exactly as they were supposed to, when they were supposed to. Sometimes it takes more than once to learn a lesson.
Living on the edge
Living on a Prayer (Bon Jovi)
The times you know you are truly alive!
― Karen Roush, “Out of Baja”
