poorwhitecrippledboy

If I had an Altimeter

2008-04-10T16:21:00.000-07:00

I would guess we are sitting well above 8000 ft above sea level. (it took us nearly 11 hours of driving to get here) Much driving, poco reparation, and mucho grande Montanas, we climbed off the beach today on a road that seemed to be one long brutal uphill run, as we rolled up and up and up, the truck got hotter, and hotter and hotter, we spent at least an hour maybe two, just letting her rest, then we decided to stop and have her checked out considering we had much more mountain to climb, the culprit was a bad thermostat, after less than an hour and 200 pesos (less than 20 usd) we roll uphill, the car is good, we are tired, Ed is getting sick, (I just hope it doesn’t last long as my sickness did), we stop along the road a couple hours after dark and camp under a small grove of ancient Avocado trees. Its is cold outside, damn cold, (I suspect ed will be buying another blanket before he buys his guitar), and I need to evacuate my system, I sit under the trees on my commode chair literally freezing my balls, ed is snoring 12 feet away, I am frozen as I poop, the silence is shattered every few minutes by the Braaaappp, Braaaaappp of huge trucks using their compression brakes, I hear a babbling brook, and something rustling around in the bushes, quite possiblly it is the resident who lives at the end of the road, it could also be a giant rat, no se, its best I just finish my business and get in the warm comfort of my tent. I lay down and seem to have trouble getting my breath in the altitude, its not long before I drift off, it is certainly peaceful up here, we are among the volcanos, in the highlands of Michoacan, it is the Sierra Madre Sur Range according to our maps, (which are questionable at best, it seems there is a Canadian conspiracy to put only worthless information on these maps that does not exist on any road sign, nor in the memories of any local you may ask), small towns that are hardly a blink are on the map are represented, and medium sized towns that are thriving little places full of people and business are no where to be found, so plotting a course is a worthless idea, and trying to get directions to anywhere on the map is a complete waste of time as well, no matter really, its all part of the adventure.

When I wake the cold is history, the peaceful pastoral setting in which I slept is shattered by the loud purr of trucks con bombas, they are pumping 400 gallon buckets with fresh water, I don’t know whether its sweet to drink but I do know its a loud process that seems unending. There is shade, coffee and fruit, the unofficial boss of the pumping operation comes over and chats with us, we glean invaluable local info from him as I sit in fear that he will unwittingy step in last nights thinly covered business thankfully this does not happen, we gratefully thank him and continue our climb headed for the little town of Poracho, its a town chock full of master craftsmen who build amazingly beautiful guitars...

Tastes Like Chicken?!

2008-04-10T16:14:00.000-07:00

For me, Tamales remind me of Christmas in California, my family is not from Mexico, but for a good part of my life I have lived in areas that were if not a majority Mexican then pretty close, and Tamales are a decidedly Christmas fare in these areas, the basic tradition as I remember it was for all the women in the family to be in the kitchen making huge mounds of Tamales on Christmas Eve, (while all the men drank until they passed out).

Tamales are a labor intensive food, you boil the husks, prepare the filling, and take mounds of wet masa and form it into Tamales, then wrap the corn husks around the filled masa and steam them, sound easy? my guess is its not, but really I cant say for sure, the one and only time I was lucky enough to be invited to one of these fetes I was forced to display my Machismo and Bravado with the Men by drinking way to much and passing out in the yard. (freshly made Tamales do make an excellent hangover food that I can say for sure)

there are so many types of tamales, there are sweet corn, pineapple, queso, pork, chicken, you name it, and every single one seems to explode with flavor when you bite into it, they are a simple food, and when you bite into your first one you are hooked, your teeth easily cut through the soft masa, and when the filling hits your tongue its a little taste of heaven.

Oaxaca, Mexico, its an amazing state, so much beauty and such a laid back atmosphere, I really love it here, when I leave my house there are mangoes everywhere, just pick one up off te ground and eat around the birds bites and breakfast is ready, so as I sit eating my mango, I spy the nephew of the owners of the little beach shack we stayed at leave the palapa armed with a slingshot, its sort of odd, but there are lots of odd things happening down here (like people eating fried grasshoppers) anyways he leaves with a slingshot and returns less than a mango later carrying two very large, very dead iguanas by the tail.

If you know anything about me you know I am curious about nearly everything (I always have a million questions about the most unimportant things)so I ask how they are prepared and he says en Caldo (soup) it sounds really good to me and I want to try it, so there I sit a few minutes later, washing my clothes and out to the cistern comes the Jefa (boss), she quickly begins to gut the iguanas and I ask if I can watch, she warns me of blood, and I tell her its OK I am brave (what possesses me to stare mesmerized at an indigenous woman deftly butchering Iguanas I do not know) what I do know is that I really want to taste that soup. Unfortunately for me an invitation never materializes, but in the back of my head somewhere I make a mental note to try these guys (iguanas) at my earliest opportunity (whenever that may be).

If we fast forward a couple days I am sitting in a great little Cafe in the town of Mazunte Oaxaca MXI have chosen to stop here and stay a month or two, and Edward has connected with friends from Tadousac Quebec, and a new friend from Copenhagen Denmark, two of these folks happen to be restauranteurs (all of us share a passion for food of all types), as we all eat lasagna made with fresh pasta we talk of local flavors in the Mexican style, the restauranteurs are still a little hung over from their first Mezcal experience (which I thankfully missed out on) we talk of Grasshoppers, Iguanas and Mezcal, and we all decide that our next chance we are ready to try Iguana (tastes like chicken?!)

We finish our meal and say our goodbyes, they are headed back to the cold of Canada, and I am sleeping in my new house for the first night, Ed and Tini are exploring their new friendship, the world is right tonight.

I sleep well, when I wake I do my dailys, check my e mail, eat something and head for the beach, the water could not be better, the sun is scorching, the water is cool and refreshing, I float solo, letting the gentle currents cleanse my soul, I am not sure I could be much more content, I swim and float alone for an hour or so, then I am joined by some of my new friends, we float happily together and appreciate all the gifts we receive, (I for one am not adept enough at mathematics to count all my blessings), lets just settle for life is good! as the tide begins to rise its time for me to get back on the beach and move my chair so the sea does not swallow it whole.

We are 3 as we head up the beach, Nzingha (a captivating well travelled african goddess who’s smile is totally mesmerizing, she is here writing a novel) (an industrial engineer from France who is great fun and speaks spanish faster than a local) and I we make our way to where our new friend Tini (or danish goddess if you prefer) is sunning herself, as usual I am lucky, I am on an amazing beach, accompanied by 3 new friends, we sit laughing and talking music, there are vendors of all types, hammocks, jewelry, clothes, a little of everything, we respectfully decline all offers until I spot the Tamale vendors, the two women approach us offering tamales of all sorts for 5 pesos (less than 50 cents) they have pina (pineapple) dulce (sweet corn) queso (cheese) pollo (chicken) and Iguana, I think to myself (excellent, I can be brave, Tamales are filled with a soft center, the meat inside is generally stewed, so I wont have to face my fears of eating things that look like living things yet again), at first I am the only taker, evidently no one is feeling brave today(despite my words of “encouragement”), Tini declines, then decides to order one so we can discuss the experience, Nzinga is discussing her first experience with Iguana in great detail, talking of how when she tried it she really enjoyed it without knowing what it was, it was fried and she believed it to be fish (until she pulled an obvious shoulder joint from her mouth) when I open my husk, I see what appears to be any one of the many hundreds of tamales I have eaten in my life, I am feeling brave, I am trying something strange, something new (that I am told is delicious), something that just may become a new favorite food (like caribbean fish head soup). So in my hand I hold the Tamale and before I can bring it to my mouth a picture of a prehistoric looking Iguana flashes through my head (not good) truthfully sometimes chicken even freaks me out (pull it together man you have two beautiful women and a man in your company, dont be such a wuss) I clear the thoughts from my head and tentatively have a little nibble off the side (not bad, certainly not amazing and delicious, but not all bad) I am feeling OK about this, I decide that a nibble is not really the way to go and get ready for a big bite, about that time I look down and notice that in fact the dark substance oozing out of my first nibble is covered with scales (I see this and think about my friend Randy cooking up crispy salmon skin, which I LOVE) so here goes, my hand brings the tamale to my lips, now its all mind over matter, I imagine the flavorful salmon skin, crispy and crunchy, an explosion of taste in my mouth, my teeth sink into the soft corn, and into the dark skin ( no gagging, bite down) about that time I hear (and feel) the sickening crunch of tiny bones in my mouth and sorta slimy scaly skin on my tongue (this aint no chicken wing, and its certainly not crunchy salmon skin) what is in my mouth is a slimy, mostly flavorless bit o nasty, my bravado is gone, I am silently gagging, wondering how mortified I will actually feel if Tini enjoys hers, so I look up to see this beautiful blonde woman in her late twenties, or possibly early thirties wearing a black bikini, she is fit, she fills the bikini perfectly, her smile is contagious, she is smart, fun and laughs easily! Her classic beauty turns heads on the beach, she has taken a small bite, and before I can think (its hard to think when you are dry heaving) I look down at her tamale and say something like OMG are those feet? OK so now its her turn, she is kicking her legs trying to get her gag reflex under control, it looks something like the exaggerated gross out that you so often see with teenage kids, but I know this is no exaggeration, (I would have kicked my feet if it was possible), no this is nasty, I set it into motion, and now I have elevated it to the next level, I wonder if we are about to have barf o rama, me, i am lucky I am not covered in my own vomit, we try and calm down and are successful, no one has blown chunks, now its all about disposing of the evidence before the tamale vendors get back, luckily a beautiful brown dog shows up and is happy to eat my Tamale, (I saved Tinis for photos). We need liquid refreshment, gotta get that taste out of our mouths so we head for the palapa to try another new taste sensation, a Michelada (something that vaguely resembles a red beer or clamato, but is basically bad beer made hot with picante, whe it hits my stomache I secretly vow revenge on Nzingha, (she recommended the drink and spoke fondly of eating iguana and must be stopped before she strikes again) after trying unsuccessfully to pass my Michelada off onto a newly arrived Edward, I order a lemonade, and think better thoughts....

The trouble with fruit

2008-04-04T09:33:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I know its April fools day, this is not a joke though, its not a prank it actually happened to me yesterday and not today, I wasn’t going to write about it but I find I have no choice other than to get the whole nasty episode out of my head, So pardon my verbosity and the graphic nature of what follows, (if graphic scenarios aren’t your thing you might just stop reading this now.)
I have been spending a fair amount of time on the various highways of Mexico this winter, none more than Mexico 200 and when you drive down Mexico’s Highway 200 you slowly wind down the coast of Mainland Mexico, at every village there is a tope (or 3) topes are essentially giant speed-bumps meant to slow you down when you are driving through the small towns that dot the coastline here. These topes generally mark the main areas of each village or poblado.

Commerce springs up around these markers, in the form of fruit vendors, abbarotes (convenience stores) and vendors of all types dependent upon what may or may not be manufactured in the area, so things are slow here down south and we are driving stoned (which slows you down enough to see and really appreciate the beauty all around, as well as allowing you to more easily flow with some of the slower vehicles on the road) what we generally seek out when we see another town (drive over another tope) is food or drink, our usual fare includes fresh fruit, or fruit juices, Mango, Avocado, Peanuts con chili’s, Cold Beer, Coconuts you name it! Its a snackers paradise! On this particular day it is hot, and we need refreshment, a small watermelon goes for about 5 pesos (40 cents or so) a plastic cup filled with watermelon chunks is more than double that, so we go for a full one and spend the next hour devouring it in the car, at the next town the mangos are going off!, so we buy some mangos and eat them while driving (ripe mangos behind the wheel are just wrong, they get all over the steering wheel, radio buttons, hand controls, everywhere! a mango should be savored not devoured while dodging buses) anyhow we drive slowly, our faces sticky from the juice of watermelon and mango, in the next town they have an incredible juice from a fruit I have never seen its served over ice in a giant cup so we drink that too, then comes the little coconut candies (similar to crack cocaine if you like sweets) We bought a bottomless plastic jar of them, thinking they would be around a couple weeks (wrong) these little disks of pure coconut are definitely addictive (they should be labeled like cigarettes and controlled by Philip Morris...hmm maybe they are?!),
Anyways we drive and eat, eat and drive, we shove the slices of watermelon into our faces and feel our cheeks getting sticky like kids at 4th of July (it still feels really good) we belch and belch and chuck the rinds through the open windows (kinda like how the locals toss their trash and plastic bottles) It feels good since we dont litter, you almost fit in. Mi Gusta de Fruta! I am sweating, it is hot, my fingers, cheels, neck and shirt is sticky from the watermelon and mangos, it seems that I have a serious case of the munchies today, time to try something savory like Peanuts!, we devour the shelled peanuts laced with the dry chile de arbol, and soon we find a spot to camp, when I see the little beach front cabanas the first thing I always look for is a wide bathroom door, or at least a flat approach so I can bump into the bathroom easily using my shower chair, I think I am hallucinating when I see the 30” doors with a flat concrete pad leading up to them, they are actually deep enough to roll into and maneuver my wheelchair inside (sort of), so we decide to stay, for me the bathroom access alone is well worth the 50 peso price, especially since there is electricity to charge my power chair and computer yes, this is the place, as we settle in people are friendly and nice, they go out of there way to accommodate and all is well, its dark by the time we get all set up, we walk into town and have an overpriced Margarita and get the lay of the land head back to camp, I read for a bit, do a little writing and make my way to bed relatively early, looking forward to a simple shit and shower in the big bathrooms.

I sleep like a stone, and wake up covered in urine (one of the many joyss of Paraplegia) I wake and things are slow, but still there are people around the beach, cleaning up after the holiday, basically going on about the day, so I head to the shower hoping none gets a good whiff of me. I get there and the bathroom is full, so I hit the shower, its a concrete vault, really well built, its actually cool inside with one of those shower heads that is directly overhead and actually drops a little water out of it, I get clean, wrangle my hair into submission and spend several minutes mashing another perfect Mango into my pie hole (The shower is the Perfect place to smoosh a mango into your mouth, while the conditioner is doing its thing you can leisurely enjoy the flavor without having to worry about the mess its pure ecstasy and you should try it at least once,feed me mangos in the shower and I will love you forever) anyhow I thoroughly enjoy the mango and the shower, the mango is just a seed as I rinse my hair and get ready to greet the new day. I head out to my power chair, it is sunny, it is warm, I take full advantage and dry off leisurely, happy as can be, I do a little primping, shave, tie my hair back, trim my nails, just a little maintenance, get in some fresh clothes and I am ready for action I drop something, bend down to pick it up and I hear an ominous rumble from deep inside, I sit up (feeling kinda scared) and realize I haven’t been to the Bano for at least 4 mangos time (actually 4 mangos, half a watermelon, a giant Juice of unknown origin and about thirty coconut candies time, lets not forget the peanuts, it was a big bag! (I am not even counting the banana I had for breakfast on la dia de fruta). As the fruit count flys through my head Danger signs are flashing, my brain goes on full alert, and I do the only thing I can, I head for my other chair, and pray its a simple blotch, (I sense that its not) I get close, but that last mango must have been my bodies final straw, somebody I love once told me a fart was just a turd whistling for right of way, if thats true then the sound I heard was a trains whistle, not the Amtrak either, this was the sound of an overloaded freighter, overloaded with the no longer sweet fruit which was derailing under me at that very moment, flying past the waistline of my shorts, which were covering maybe half my butt at the time (imagine that) so the power chair has a slick, non porous seat (thank God) This acted as something akin to a slip and slide!

I had heard stories of things like this happening, I had experienced plenty of bad accidents in 28 years in a wheelchair, but this was different, as I tried to transfer into the manual chair I saw just how bad the damage was, shit was everywhere, you’ve heard of the proverbial shit storm, well this was Katrina! I look at the scene in horror, I honestly am at a loss, I am sitting in the manual chair, looking at the power chair and it is entirely covered with shit, I am covered with shit, I have one towel, the soiled shorts I am half wearing and a freshly laundered T shirt (not exactly the proper tools for the job) this is not the United States, there is no convenient hose waiting to just hose it down into a storm drain the nearest laundry is easily miles away, the seat is a slick mess, there is fecal matter on the brain box, covering the electrical connections, in the mechanism that lowers the seat back, on the ground. In the dirt there is literally a trail following me from the truck to the bathrooms, My first thought was do something quick, there are people everywhere, (wheres your dignity man? Wanna get away? No Southwest airlines in the vicinity) all I can think to do is just start grabbing handfuls of sand just to disguise the shit on the chair so I can go inside the shower and clean up, I turn on the faucet and the water slowly trickles out, (oh no, this cant be happening) living in small indigenous communities teaches you if nothing else that water is a precious resource that needs to be used wisely, if there is no water, there is no water period, The camp we are at has a plastic rotoplast cistern on the roof, it is fed by a well, if it runs out of water the pump needs to be switched on to refill it, (my mind is already forming the scene, I have to leave this shower smelling of shit and trailing brown water to the front porch to ask Francisco for mas agua, not pretty) at that moment the shower returns to full strength (insert the sound of angels singing here), I spend the next several minutes huddled under the water, using half a bar of soap to try and get the stench gone, (the pleasure of eating my mango in this shower 30 minutes before has left my memory entirely at this point) anyways I get the job done and slink outside to see how many people (and flies) have gathered around the shit and sand covered wheelchair thankfully the people are not as quick as the flies (which already number in the high double digits) so, armed with the shorts that got washed in the shower I begin the tedious task of cleanup, then I use the clean T-shirt, I am sitting nearly in the street of a tiny pueblo on the beach, naked except for a big pink towel, sweating profusely and trying to clean the contents of my bowels off of a chair on the sly, I am almost done when I spy two of my camp neighbors with their 18 month old (who loves my chair) headed my way with the daughter of the owner in tow, I maintain my com-poseur as they walk directly through the minefield of shit I trailed from the truck, missing every bit (as if guided by some sort of miraculous new navigation system) as they pass me the woman asks if I need Ayuda (help) I choke out a no, and thankfully there are no further questions, they are gone, seemingly unaware of the scene they narrowly avoided, I can now go to the truck, grab my laundry tub, and get some shorts on, now I have the pink towel at my disposal, and that and a couple three gallons of water seems to get the job done, I am thorough and the chair is good, I hit the Bano, and I am good, all thats left is the laundry, I only have a gallon water jug, it has to be filled at least 6 or 8 times before I can even think of headed to the washboard and the ground level cistern, luckily now I am just dealing with laundry, this place has a cistern on the ground as well, half the town seems to do their laundry here the father of the 18 month old (Olmos) is back and sees me struggling with gallon jugs and offers me a 5 gallon bucket from the cistern, this is a gift from god, It gives me several rinses before filling up, many many rinses are necessary when washing shit covered clothing by hand, so its pour the water in the tub, stir it around with a stick, drag the tub to the empty lot across the street, drag back, wash rinse repeat, after a solid hour of this sort of action I fill the tub one last time, I drag it to the cistern and there is barely three inches of water in it (the cistern) , I shove the tub under the truck to soak until more water gets here and try to find the feeling I had as I emerged into the sun clean and happy, thankfully its still there...

2008-03-14T17:06:00.000-07:00

As I write this I am sitting on the beach in my tent in Michoacan MX. an amazing coastline full of tiny indigenous pueblos that are beginning to change ala the California of my youth (gone baby gone).

In Ticla the indian girl of maybe 15 years old sits behind the counter of the abbarotes (convenience store) I am buying Cacahuates (peanuts) Mangos, Bananas, Coffee, and Condensed Milk, I ask a simple question but she doesnt seem to hear me, inside my head I check Mi Palabras (words), and I check my pronunciation, feeling fairly sure I am speaking correctly I try again,this time louder, she looks in my eyes, reaches for her ear and pulls out her I-Pod headset and answers me in the affirmative proving once again that things are not exactly as they seem down here.

She sits behind a well stocked glass case filled with stickers and sex wax, the selection is a stoners paradise candy, ice cream, and red bull I see the well stocked store and think its a shame that here in Mexico the things that we import are just that things, consumables, belongings, stuff, when we could offer so much more. Still its a simple sweet life on this coast, hiding from the sun and swimming in the sea, wonderful old women bringing handmade delights to you by your hammock.

Walking through the pueblo at night, this is something I love, no street lights, people sitting on the stoop, Buenas Noches from everyone you pass, this is my speed, a slow stroll through the town square, sitting near a bench, this is what I want as my nightly social scene, no trip to the bar is necessary its simple social interaction, catch up with your neighbors on the events of the day, flirting with the woman who sells the tuba (not found in the brass section of an orchestra, this one is juice from the coconut tree served with peanuts) this is how communities flourish, this is an authentic life!

Heading back toward la playa, the stars brighten as I near the dark coastline, only the sounds of a quiet night fill my ears, the gentle sound of sand under my tires, nightbirds. My reverie is shattered as I hear the unmistakable sound of gunshots ring out (that sounds like an automatic weapon!), then screaming and more shots being fired, there is an eery glow as the darkness slowly gives way to strange blue hues, and then I see the horrible scene of destruction, there are maybe 6 people down, all local indigenous, they are sprawled on the ground or lying across hammocks and chairs, faces that smiled at me an hour ago are now devoid of life, their smiling eyes are just dead sockets. I cant take my eyes off the horrible scene that is unfolding before me. I move forward in slow motion into the blue light and I see the perpetrator, he is not going to run and hide, I am afraid this one is here to stay. The man with the gun is Al Pacino, he is on a color TV screen and he is talking tough “first you get the drugs, then you get the money, then you get the women”, Scarface is in the house. I am repulsed, all of our riches and “advanced” technology that what we export is TV complete with its false values and mind numbing advertisements, whats for sale on tonights program? (greed?, violence?, power?, sex?) on the other hand, Michele Pfeiffer is looking pretty hot in that white bathing suit, and its early, I wonder where they sell that Microwave Popcorn...

Somewhere north of La Paz

2008-02-24T22:04:00.000-08:00

When one decides to drive to a remote beach deep in the baja there are may things one must first consider, such as; Is there air in the spare? Do we have enough water? How about beer, should we grab some? How much gas do we have? Tires are solid. Will there be food? Quanto Kilometros to la playa? Donde es la calle de costa. Many questions, yes many questions indeed.

For me I prefer to do a cursory map check (it’s usually the tiny squiggle I cant even see) Then turn to mi amigo Eduardo and ask aya or aqui? So tonight 60 km of crushing dirt roads later it is nearing sunset and we sit on el Pacifico, our kidneys bashed, the Toyota is hot, the waves crashing on la mar, we are in a small valley that drains onto the beach, sunset is a golden glow of liquid light, we are semi stuck in deep sand but no matter, there are many whales spouting off shore and its absolutely incredible its un perfecto campo (except for maybe the deep sand and low charge on the power chair that effectively leaves me motionless) manana we dig, la noche es para tranquillo.

Taking stock we are well stoked, we are packing a bag o naranjas (to ward off scurvy), dos boteles de agua (if absolutely necessary), bolsas de te, one can frijoles (sin grasa), tortillas con harina (handmade), one bottle seven mares salsa (mmm) dos bolsas de mota, 2 cold beers (and 3 warm ones), two paks o delicados and fuel and cooking gear and a bag of sweet dates.

We are set, the night is right, we only lack female companionship we have a smoke, drink a warm pacifico then eat canned beans on fresh tortillas with salsa, there are dates for desert and still half a can of beans for desyuno, it would only be better with hielo for the beer and coffee for manana it is a lesson in simple pleasures and a time to give thanks for this amazing life.

La Chingadera heads for home

2008-02-04T13:49:00.000-08:00

Its not often in a persons life that an opportunity arises to drive a 1973 Volkswagen thing from California to Costa Rica and get paid for it.

For me the call came in July of 2007, I had more or less forgotten that I had even put the car up for sale, and I was sitting at my sisters farm in beaver creek Oregon when it did come, I don't remember the exact words that were spoken, but it went something like this; I want to buy your car, will you take 8000 for it? would you be interested in delivering it to Costa?

Yes seemed like the right answer at the time so thats what I said.

Between monsoons, hurricanes, and missed connections, some months passed before we had all the details worked out, agreed on a plan of action, and money and titles changed hands, but somewhere near Thanksgiving of 07 I found myself planning the details for the Sunday drive of a lifetime.

Trying to get out of the country was not the simplest task for me, since having fought a bout with cancer a couple of years ago I have found myself more than a little financially challenged, its only due to the kindness of family and friends that I have been able to maintain the lifestyle to which hard work made me accustomed to, (oh and selling off every asset I owned helped too) so I gave up my apartment in early December and surfed a series of couches for nearly a month, and tried to live on the cheap (something I hardly excel at), I have an eclectic group of friends to say the least, so my couch surfing was a drug, alcohol, and fiesta based month, too much to describe in one post here, lets just say it was a long strange trip that included Kalashnikov's being built for a militia in god knows where, manicuring marijuana for market, and generally celebrating the holiday season with that strange group of people I call friends.

When I finally did hit the road, I had what I thought would be plenty to get me to Costa Rica, well it took a couple three trips to western union, some creative financing and some definite aches and pains along the way, but this was after all the road trip of a lifetime, that was many months in the making, many years in dreaming and many days of driving, Rolling down the road was a ride on Pete Townsends magic bus, 4000 miles of twisting turning roads that ranged from nearly perfect to almost non existent, I met people from over twenty countries, almost used a crocodile as a speed bump, carried marijuana unknowingly through a military checkpoint with a crazed German Shepard and spent time with so many great folks that its just one giant blur of love, light, and laughter. I bought a bag of horse shit (literally) spent Australia day drunk with a bunch of cool kids, scoped out perfectly deserted beaches and drove drove drove, I drove through two wheel bearings, a set of oil seals, three high pressure oil lines and a broken brake line, three speedometer cables, and 2 throttle cables and 6 border crossings. I Played cards with 5 men carrying sidearms in El Salvador (and won) and met a litany of characters, creeps, lovely young goddesses and gods, hung out with artists and surfboard shapers from South America and born again christians from Mexico, and lost a wheel, a knife, and my proto breaker bar in Nicaragua.

When I was just 50km from my destination, I was completely out of money, patience, and oil, the transmission was a bit touchy, and the cd player was on Hiatus, I bummed the use of a cell phone and got my new friend Jim to get me twenty dollars (the new friend I still had not met) this got me the oil I needed and into the mountains I roared, the stereo returned from its vacation, the transmission seemingly smoothed out, I kicked up a live Jackmormons disk and prepared to hand over the car I spent much money, blood, sweat and tears building, the only thing that rang in my head was one of Jim's only questions (will it go fast on Dirt Roads) The stereo blaring, there was no more babying the car down the road, with little or no regard for my safety or the safety of those on the roads, I gripped the accelerator, felt the front wheels lighten, and drove that twisting turning dirt track like a man possessed, through the river, over the hills to Jim's house I go, it was a liberating and free feeling, not melancholy or bittersweet in any way, it was the end of a long journey, and the beginning of another.

When I pulled into the driveway, I realized I may have arrived at one of the coolest beach houses I have ever seen, when Jim and his friend Hazer walked out and greeted me with a Rum and two big smiles I knew I was in the right place, we smoked, laughed and drank rum I knew I had done the right thing, La Chingadera had the perfect new home, I had some amazing new friends, and I didn't need to drive for at least a few days...

Nuevo Amigos

2008-01-20T16:48:00.000-08:00

There is something that I just love about meeting new friends, particularly its great to meet people who speak a different language than you do, there is a purity and warmth when two people are doing there best to communicate simple thoughts using rudimentary language skills that is simply unmatched in same language communication.

After all, if you believe the idea that we are vibrational beings (i know I do) then regardless of our language skills, we pull the people to us who have the lessons we need at that time, so for me, the inner work I have been doing is to practice non judgement, this is no simple task, we are trained from birth to make snap judgements about people, I have been in sales virtually all my life, and commisions live and die based on your ability to read someone (judge) so as I travel this amazing journey, I am always amazed how quickly the attraction of vibration serves me.

I have done a fair bit of picking up hitchikers this trip, the first of which was a born again christian from the state of Jalisco. He was traveling light and found me at a roadside restaraunt, when he got in the car, I asked if he liked music, (Tu Gusta Musica? when he reacted in a negative manner, I chalked it up to mi malo espanol, when he began to get preachy, I did what I always do in these situations, and that is to talk about religions history, to try and get that person to demonstrate to me what good religion is in the society, not to be confused with spirituality, but religion, as the business of fear and control, killing in the name of God we rode together for several hundred kilometers, he spoke almost entirely of judgement, of fire and brimstone, and most interesting was how many things he hated, Hate, hate, hate, this taught me an amazing lesson in Love, Love, Love, we split up in La Paz, shortly after he had a minor fit when a beautiful young surfer girl ordered chicen tacos con Queso for her dog, I explained to him that many people in estados unidos actually cook for their dogs, and to accentuate the shock value of this statement, I told him of how my friends (tia y tio Saldita) not only cooked for the dogs but often shared a fork, (if only I was as lucky as Phred) for him this just wound him up, (I am not labeled The instigator for nothing) Lesson learned praticing non judgement takes patience and is mucho trabajo... Next was the four surfer boys from the earlier post, Lesson learned If you can dream it, you will live it. On the ferry to La Paz I met a substitute teacher from San Diego, his life was devoted primarily to raising two children as a single father, he traveled with music, and took near orgasmic pleasure (or so it seemed) from the rituals of smoking his Cigar, there was a level of peace and tranquility that pervaded as soon as he began the smoking ritual, he was immersed in pleasure, not unlike swimmimg in a cool river on a hot day he literally bathed in it, the smoke washing over him, to hear him speak of his children was pleasure enough, but to hear him speak of his work was a cherry on top! Lesson learned love your work, revel in your pleasures and be thankful your feet are not a size 14! next was Miguel, he volunteered his time helping to save La Tortuga, we smoked, laughed and drank our way through the day, I forced my music on him at high volume, and we just laughed as I butchered the spanish language, he is spending his life looking out for mother earth and all her children. Lesson Learned Love your Mother! Next was the 8 young kids schoolboys, they jokingly threw out there thumb, I stopped and they were aglow, standing up on the inside of the roll bar, yelling at there friends as we passed I dropped hem in town a kilometer or four up the road, Lesson Learned: laugh hard, live sin fear Enjoy! This brings me to Puerto Escondido, where kindness reigned supreme, we can talk about that later...

Sin Ventana

2008-01-20T10:20:00.000-08:00

One of the really cool things about driving La Chingadera is the ability to drive with no windshield, it is similar to riding a motorcycle and makes 50km an hour seem closer to 90mph, so you drive at a safe speed, but still satisfy that ever present need for adrenaline. While the rush is nice, what I really like is that sense of flying, as the wind rushes past you you feel free, content, and connected, the connection comes from the smiles that are ever present, the laughter of children and adults alike ( I am pretty sure the laughter stems from the hairstyle that only wind and a beachy bed head can acheive though), in any case its a sublime infection, and the Klicks pass effortlessly.

So there I am, driving a seemingly never ending track of twisting turning asphalt. If you look on a map they call it hwy 200, but quite often it is less a highway and more akin to a thin line of broken surface connecting enormous pot holes.

This track seems to have multiple functions, The primary purpose seems to be to ensure that an endless string of Llanterras (tire shops) stay fiscally solvent. I am not entirely sure, but I believe the secondary idea is to allow you a surface upon which to gather just enough speed to effectively smash your suspension to bits on the ever present topes that loudly announce the beginning and end (sometimes the middle as well) of every pueblo, cuidad, and colonet in Mexico. The only two other functions I can think of is the great source of entertainment for the residents, (you would be suprised how often there are folding chairs, and a half dozen people chillin at the local Tope), and last but certainly not least this cracked trail allows travelers like me a somewhat safe, and debatably sane way to effectively travel up and down the coast without 4 wheel drive.

So, by now you should have a picture, of an aging hippy boy rolling down a rough road, in a car with no windshield with a giant grin plastered on his face, on this particular day, I am rolling down the road relatively slowly, I am in a particularly amazing area where steep mountain peaks are on my left, and an azure sea is to my right, the tiny valleys, and box canyons are too beautiful for words! I roll in full appreciation. I am one with the universe, and Santa Tierra Madre is fully embracing me, nurturing me and giving me a feeling of wholeness that I have been missing a long while, I am remembering joy, I am remembering how easy it is to just play, lately I am in a constant state of gratitude for all the gifts I am continually recieving, The sun is strong, my marrow is warm, my dream is being realized, and I have nothing but love in my heart.

So as I round a particularly gut wrenching curve, there is a cliff to my left, and a huge precipice to my right, somehow I sense impending doom, I slow the car, heading into the corner braking hard, at the apex I let gravity help, and there, just outside the margin of my periphery is the beast that just may be my undoing.

I had heard stories of danger of the roads of Mexico, cows, burros, and any number of road hazards, banditos, scared street dogs, psycotic taxi drivers, insane truckers, drunken tourists, and a litany of car parts and potholes that could easily smash you to smithereens, but never, in my greatest fears did I expect to go like this.

I can already see the powerful wings of the beast, wings that can flap once, and cause hurricane strength winds a world away, I am riveted as the scene unfolds, I cant turn away, I see the powerful wings flapping and it is coming straight at me, Already I can hear that deafening roar of twisting metal on impact, I wish I had worn my seat belt! I wonder if I will feel the impact, or will it happen quick and painless, I make a final attempt to slow the car, the collision seems unavoidable so I brace myself, the beast is riding on invisible currents of warm air, how it can remain aloft challenges conventional science and here I am piloting a clumsy steel box on wheels(one that wouldnt even pass the front end crash test in 1975 mind you) things switch to slow motion and I realize avoiding an impact seems futile, so I try and decide which impact will be the worst, smashed into a mountainside, or plunging to my death on the rocks near the sea, neither seems like an option so I swallow hard and point the car in a direct line with the beast, with a flap of its wings the butterfly sails past my ear, it is over, the butterfly heads of to do whatever they do when they are not being smashed by cars on highways, and I get to ponder just how odd my imagination is...

La Placadita

2008-01-13T09:44:00.000-08:00

For me to awaken on a deserted beach is about as close to heaven as I can get, the vibrations are perfect, the music of las olas crashing fills my brain, the stars fading away to a golden sunrise, it is peace, it is paz. I pulled into town around dark, and followed my nose, they say the olfactory system has the easiest access to memory, and the smell of fresh tortillas and perfectly prepared carne is something one can never forget, I took a few minutes to breathe, give thanks and organise myself, have a quick sponge bath and just enjoy the stillness of my surroundings.

I popped out of the car bouyed by the promises of tasty delights, there were seven or eight tables on the street, each table holding un grande plato, on the plate was a cornucopia of fixin´s, guacamole, salsa, frijoles, cabbage, limon and chilis, I took a table with a local man named Tony, we spoke of where we lived, and where life was taking us, at the table to my left sat 4 young travelers from Napa valley, they carried a guitar, a shade sructure and very little else and had the glow of a youth being lived to the fullest, young Gods and Goddesses in training... inside the small concrete building a beautiful indio girl rolled the largest corn tortillas I have ever laid eyes on, she never slowed, and rarely stopped laughing ang giggling at the goings on outside, she was a model of efficienct and was obviously enjoying every moment. The owner came and took our order, Carne Asada, or Carne Asada? it came in tacos or by the plate with tortillas, two sizes, el medio, or grande? para mi, medio es perfecto! they meat was perfectly seasoned, the four tortillas would have made a meal solo, I ate slowly, savoring each bite, giving thanks for the simple pleasure of perfectly prepared food.

Before the meal ended I had shared La Mesa with 4 people, speaking only in my broken spanish, we were all able to communicate, andeach of us was the richer for it. this is what I consider the perfect life, a little food, a little conversation, love, light, and laughter. es muy bueno!

Off I roll in search of sand and sleep, the stars are brilliant, the waves sound big, my sleep is that of the dead, I awaken to the sunrise, golden light turns pink, cold fading quickly, I get in the car and look for a spot to bathe, I open both doors of the thing, and wash between them, its a perfect shower, the sand is gone, the smells are fresh, and I eat the sweetest bananas ever, the watermelon from the day before, and a handful of nuts, a press of strong coffee sends me down the road in anticipation of the days ahead...

My life is sweet!

2008-01-11T19:45:00.000-08:00

I dont even know where to begin, what an amazing adventure this is, well worth the wait, I find myself in a tiny puebla in the state of Michoacan, just above Lazaro Cardenes (see map) there is just too much beauty to put into words, there is really no way of blogging it as it happens, (or there would be no time for it to unfold)so I will just try and share a few tid bits here and there the rest will have to wait for a rainy day...

I woke this morning to the sound of laughter, I was at a little hotel on the coast south of Puerto Vallarta, and a tour bus of Vacationers from Guadalajara took the place over, it was time to get up anyways, so I got rolling, to the music of people checking in for a weekend of tranquility and playing on the sea, it doesnt get much better, i showered, and jumped in the car excited to see what lay ahead, I pulled slowly onto the main drag of town, waved at the kids and shop keepers then stopped and grabbed some Watermelon from the Fruteria, found a secluded spot, had a little toke, and blared Stephen Marleys latest and dropped into such an amazing groove, driving slow, singing loudy, my senses filled with sites and sounds, no stresses no worries, just a simple morning of driving, appreciating the amazing beauty that is my life.

About an hour down the road I spotted these four kids hitching, well, I spotted one (the other three were trying to lay low and out of site) anyways, apparantly there was a mis-communication with a bus driver and they were at least another 10km to the spot they wanted to go, so we decided to do a little suspension check on La Chingaders, loaded the boys and the boards and bounced on down the road.

Our destination was an old abandoned Hotel, that was meant to have a great wave, just me, my gear, 4 surfers and boards, we weaved slowly down an amazingly well kept road, the surfers were as happy as I was when we got out to the coast, and what looked to be a completey deserted golden beach lay ahead, I drove down to the seaside and the 5 of us just marveled at what a cool spot it was, the wave where we were wasnt all that, so we headed north a bit and were blessed with a grinding right break that was easily double or triple overhead, with no one in site they were totally stoked, I considered hanging around to watch them surf,but I have a car to deliver so I rolled out, when I last looked in my rearview 4 happy kids were ready to paddle out for a solitary session that is destined to be a moment they will never forget... Thanks for needing a ride boys..

People who live in glass houses.......

2008-01-03T13:45:00.000-08:00

You know the rest, so about 2 hours out of Loreto am headed down the road, I have Manu Chao Esperenza on the box, all is well, and then comes the noise, a high pitched grinding sound, I have heard this before, somewhere, I realize it is my speedometer cable, so I pull of at the next wide spot (which just so happens to be a fantastic little restaraunt) pretty much the moment I pull up there is a guy on the most Badass KTM (motorcycle) I have ever seen, he has apparantly run the Dakar in it (a Rally), and its covered with Stickers from all over the world, he steps off the bike and heads in for Breakfast, I take out the one screw that holds the dashboard in place, and hop out of the carlooking for lubricant, as I roll to the rear of the car to grab a dipstick full of oil it occurs to me that anyone with a trick machine like that must have spray lube he

South again

2008-01-02T18:08:00.000-08:00

So for those of you who are interested I find myself back in Mexico again headed for Central America, the meat of it is I sold La Chingadera and am delivering her to the buyer in Costa Rica...

As many of you reading this already know I have had several attempts to get myself out of the states and down south, regardless of my intent, something always seemed to go wrong, generally it has been a mechanical issue that stops me (read previous blogs, or buy me one too many tequilas and you can get the details...

That said, if my adventures begin with mechanical problems this one dropped right into place, my intention this time was to leave on Christmas Day, I was as ready as ever, the car gassed, freshly painted, and in perfect mechanical order.

Since this trip is essentially a delivery, I packed light. A sleeping bag, mosquito net, thermarest a couple flashlights and some clothes, my toolbox, some music an extra fuel tank and thats pretty much it. So with all that crap in my 4Runner I grabbed a driver and had her follow me over to where I was storing the toyota (Kudos to Richie and the boys at the Adobe for babysitting the truck) anyways, I jumped on the highway and headed the couple of miles to Montecito as I revved her up the feeling inside me was one of great excitement, time to get outa town again, I was on the road for less than two miles when out of the corner of my eye a great plume of blue smoke billowed out behind me, showering the cars behind me with a bath of freshly changed motor oil, I immediately pulled of the highway and idled to a stop, got out of the car, rolled around the back and was relieved to see oil still pouring profusely from the engine compartmant, seems that the remote oil cooler hose had given up the ghost (a much simpler and less costly repair that the blown engine that screamed through my head as I saw the smoke) Merry Christmas to me!

So then, here I am, with just enough cash left in my pocket to run the Baja before the next check arrived, no matter really, its Christmas and no parts stores are open, then I called my good friend Star, a local wrench who stays at the shop he works at, worth a try anyways, he answered! Yay! he was at the shop less than a mile from my car, anyways he wasnt doing anything and after dropping Kim possible (the driver of the toyota) off at her car, I went and picked up Star, we grabbed a chunk of hose and repaired La Chingadera.

So one would think, no problem, hose is on, if the car was perfect before the hose blew it should be perfect now, well fear is a funny thing, given my history of pushing too hard to do what I want to do and the history I have heading south ( by boat, car, or whatever) I took some deep breaths, and decided that before I left, I would touch, tighten, torque, replace or do whatever was neccesary to each and every bolt, nut, tire, wire, basically even though I believed everything was in order it was time to step back, chill, get my hands dirty and do whatever it took to be absolutely sure that everything was proper before my departure...

So I did, and when everything was right I waited for a sign, where that sign would come from I had no idea, all I knew was I had already given up my apartment, so I was technically homeless, and the idea of not leaving was tasting pretty bitter, but I had promised myself to await a sign, it wasnt until Thursday that it came, I went to breakfast, grabbed the latest copy of The Independent and turned to the Rob Breznys horoscope column, Rob always seems to peg me every week, this particular one was a gem, I didnt bring it with me, but the gist of it was imagine a Morose Lion, with a wounded roar, tied to a string and feeling like a captive, and not realizing he is not captive at all, he merely needs to break the string and is free to roam.

So I broke my string and down the road I roll, at the moment I write you from Loreto in Baja California MX I am over 1000 miles from Santa Barbara and all is well, I wish all who read this peace, love and prosperity in 2008, more to come...

Back in the land of fluorescent lights (repost)

2007-06-27T13:58:00.000-07:00

MONDAY, MARCH 12, 2007

This was formerly titled Motel Sanchez, but after I somehow hit the wrong buttons it was gone, so I am back in the sparkling clean Internet Café, awash in fluorescent lights, it’s got about twenty stations, and primarily it seems to serve as IM heaven for all the teenagers in town but it’s close and the boxes seem to work properly.

I have been living at Motel Sanchez for nearly ten days now, it’s clean, cheap, and simple (so it should not be confused in any way with “the dirty Sanchez”), at first I was just happy that the bathroom door was big enough to roll through but it has proved to be a great little home away from home. It’s safe, comfortable and secure, there is no real need to lock the doors, and my car has been entirely unmolested since its arrival.

Primarily people stay there on the weekends and traveling through town, with a few notable exceptions, it fills completely when the wind blows, (we are taking about 6 to 8 bodies to a room on those nights}. The most noteable exception is room 3 which is apparently a sin bin for the local chief of police, and as much as I miss sex with a partner, I have to say the ho dujours that he is rolling through there make life alone seem satisfying indeed! (my guess is that they are in room 3 working off the fines for being nasty individuals with high self esteem who treat the staff and everyone in their path like shit.

When I say that is has become a home away from home, I really mean it, as most of you know I am somewhat of an expert at life on the road, and in general hotels are fairly cold sterile environments but here everyone is like family, they have meals together and have been working together for between 7 and 16 years and treat it like it was their own. It is set up mission style, only the front wall of the mission is a giant candy store, “La Dulceria Maylu” it’s essentially the Costco of teeth rotting substances, where all that candy gets sold is a mystery to me but if ever you wanted a tacky piñata this is certainly the spot to find one. The motto emblazoned on the back of the delivery trucks is La no es Drogas, La Si es Dulci, or something to that effect, (when I see the screaming children being dragged out the front door by their parents I am thinking a little drogas in their wax soda bottles might be a good thing) though the other three walls are rooms, there are 30, and there is a beautiful old pepper tree in the middle of the big gravel courtyard/parking lot (which btw the owner rakes using an old VW Baja Bug with two old rakes dragging behind attached to a 2x4 frame, it’s very rube Goldberg, definitely no OSHA approved, buts it’s efficient and quite a sight to see.

Speaking of owners, they have been really good to me, Eduardo and Estella. Estella’s father arrived in Vincente Guerrero in 1961 selling candy to the farm workers from the back of his old Buick. Evidently don Sanchez was good at what he did and when he passed he left her and her brother a pretty sizeable chunk of town. They spend half of their time in Chula Vista (near San Diego) and half of their time here. Judging by the way people react when they see them in town. They are really good people. They have 33 years of marriage and still act like newlyweds, to hear them speak of each other is just what we all wish for.

Saturday Eduardo gave me a tour of the place, He is a really proud guy, showed me all around, his little shop, the boiler rooms, all the inner workings of La Sanchez. It was a really nice gesture. Then we jumped into his little Baja Bug and went for a long drive on the beach. It was so refreshing, not to just drive to the beach, but be able to actually drive on it.
On the hill there is a big group of gringo mansions, they run a cool little restaurant right on the sand, it’s built of ancient timbers and driftwood, very funky and quite possibly the best margarita I have ever had, but the real scene is La Playa. It is just a cool little local scene down there. All the families are having picnics, clamming and surf fishing. I reminded me of clamming with my dad in Ventura when I was young, that was a welcome happy memory.

As soon as La Chingadera is operational again I am going to drive the beach to San Quintin. There are 6 volcanoes that you can drive right up and onto.
Eduardo knows all the fisherman so we picked up some fresh barracuda which he made into an excellent cerviche that he shared with the entire staff and I for lunch on Sunday.
As far as having an operational car goes that will hopefully happen by Wednesday or Thursday with any luck. First they wrote down the wrong credit card number so that delayed the shipment, then we got that straightened out and I gave them the wrong address, hopefully they will be able to redirect or are back in their hands by now. I am sure it will all happen when it happens though.
My new friend Genarro went and I picked up my trailer today and brought it to me so now I have my power chair, my thumbs are happy and I can get out and explore the town without looking like pigpen.

So I did what any sane individual would do… Went to sleep!(repost)

2007-06-15T00:14:00.000-07:00

I think when last I wrote; I was headed down the road with Christian and Jesus about 80
mph in a car that felt as though it would burn up upon re-entry…mind you, I love a
roller coaster, and adrenaline is definitely my friend, but I prefer a small measure of safety involved into my forays into the land of speed… like good tires at least, but who am I to complain.

Our destination San Quintin, land of the Internet, bank, and jonke yards…

Before rolling north we made a quick stop in El Rosario to inform the espousas that the boys were headed to town, I was given a wink and a giggle by Jesus’ youngest who was about 5 and had some sort of black finder paint covering half of her face, (she was spinning like the Tasmanian devil), then Christians overly young wife handed me one of the sweetest oranges (naranja dulce) I have ever eaten.

We left El Rosario in a cloud of dust, it was wild, I kept saying despacio, tranquillo, (which in my limited Spanish means slow down, relax…but it evidently to a vaquero it actually means “you are driving too slow you stupid little girl”). All I got was a crazed laugh, so I did what seemed appropriate at the time; I closed my eyes for a nap…

It worked perfectly, I woke to Christian saying (Primera) which means first, or where first? I chose the internet café, got the number of the shop I needed, then to el telefono publico and ordered the parts, everything was smooth as could be, I got a little cash at the bank, then headed to scour the yonke yard for an old hub to roll in from the desert, with no luck at all, three junk yards in town, and not a car older than 1980, and not a single air cooled VW, we did meet a mecanico who spoke English, (learned it living in Portland of all places? The gifts, they just keep coming!) His name is Gennaro, he took us to La Tienda Bimbo (the shop of bimbo, not to be confused with Bimbos, but both are sweet). Anyway Bimbo is the Mexican equivalent of Hostess and all their delivery vehicles are VWs so he thought they might have something.
No luck,

It was around dusk at this point, I offered to buy the boys dinner, I was looking forward to some nice seafood, they chose hot dogs, I tried to talk them out of it, but they wanted hot dogs, good for my wallet, not so good for the pallet, we just needed somewhere to sit and plan, the idea of leaving the car in the middle of nowhere wasn’t particularly appealing, and the thought of staying in the desert until the parts arrived worked except for the giant semis, particularly using their air brakes on the particular section of road I was on.

I was about to jump a bus to Ensenada when Genaro committed to coming out with a tow dolly and picking me and the car up, he said it would end up costing around $150.00 and he needed $50 up front for the dolly rental, he would do it tonight but his friend had his truck in Tijuana, but he would be there at 6 am, Christian said “perfect I get up around 10” they all laughed, so did I after Genaro explained it to me in Inglas.

Genaro used to live in El Rosario so his plan was to come out that night, throw back some cold ones and get an early start.

The ride back was scarier than the ride out, we weren’t going; any faster, but it’s the whole anticipation thing, what you don’t know you aren’t afraid of, what you do, well that’s another story entirely. We arrived back at the car and thankfully everything seemed intact, I gave the boys my two remaining Hammock chairs and thanked them profusely.

I spent the evening staring at a huge moon listening to the coyotes, I lashed a tarp over the roll bar and that made an amazing difference warmth wise, right before I lay down some big bird swooped over me (I think it was a bird). I have no clue what it was really, maybe a big owl, who knows? Whatever it was it was moving a lot of air.

As I lay there going over the days events I felt happy and thankful for the safe ride, the new friends, and just life in general.

I was up at the crack of dawn, thankfully it wasn’t quite as cold, I made coffee and pulled out my skillet to cook up some bacon, when I opened the ice chest I realized that everything was not completely intact, apparently someone was hungry, I took a closer look at my skillet, and realized it had been washed, the bacon, yogurt, peanut butter and jello shots were all gone, there was a lot of stuff worth a lot more, but apparently someone just needed food, and they were nice enough to use the stove, and return it to its original spot, then clean the skillet, my only remaining question is how drunk did their children get on the jello shots?

About 10 am Christian was rolling south to feed the animals again, he seemed visibly angry at Gennaro that I was still stuck there, apparently Genaro hadn’t made it to town last night, I said tranquillo,(relax) he offered to call him and I said OK but the funny part was I knew he would get there whenever he was supposed to be there.

I dozed off reading around 11 am and was woken by Genaro and Saul pulling up laughing with a dolly and a ice cold Corona.

POSTED BY POORWHITECRIPPLEDBOY AT 7:10 PM 1 COMMENTS

A cold night in the desert, or mucho frio (repost)

2007-06-15T00:12:00.000-07:00

First let me apologize for my butchering of Espanol, and my horrendous grammar, lack of punctuation, and bad spelling, I will try and do better.

I am pretty well prepared for any weather, I went to sleep under the light of a huge moon (Las Lunas Grande). To say it was cold is definitely an understatement, I slept in the back of the open car on my Thermarest, wearing silk thermals, under a sub-zero sleeping bag, thick fleece blanket, and a couple flannel sheets, one would think that would have been sufficient, but lets just say if I needed to cut some glass, my nipples would have done the job nicely.

I awoke as the sun was rising; it took about an hour and a couple cups of thick coffee to get my blood pumping again. When my nipples began to soften, and my thumbs seemed almost opposable again I began organizing the car, preparing it to spend the day (or more) alone, I kept considering what was vital and what was expendable, mostly my stuff is secure, but not everything can be locked down.

Once I felt secure that everything was as safe as it could be, I packed a bag of essentials, and headed down the road. The road between has little or no shoulder in most spots, and lots of twists, turns and elevation and sundry sharp stuff.

I decided rolling against traffic would be the best way to travel because at least I could see death coming at me and there were less giant trucks headed South. I can hardly remember being scared of much of anything at any time in my life, but thinking about rolling down that road had be more than a little nervous, and it took some time to get my courage up.

Once I began rolling down the hill, headed north a pickup truck with a giant bull in the back stopped and asked if I needed help, I explained I was headed South not North and they wished me luck, and handed me two ciggarros. As I started down the road again I saw a small car headed fast in my direction, it was maybe half a mile ahead over the next rise, giving me plenty of time to swap lanes, (provided a semi wasn’t headed North at that moment), I stayed close to the center lane so at least I had options. The car saw me and came to a screeching halt, the two men inside the decrepid old Nissan asked if everything was OK (esta bien?). I began to tell them what was up, and they told me they were ranch hands (vaqueros) and need to go feed some animals (comidar los animales) but when the finished they would take me wherever I wanted to go for gasoline.

I happily jumped in the car, and we tried our best to communicate in my bad Spanish and their worse English, (thank God for “lonely planets” Mexican Spanish book) anyways after about 30k we pulled off onto a tiny dirt path headed towards El Rancho, I don’t know what I expected, but when we arrived all I could think of was that place in Kill Bill where Uma Thurman go buried alive. A couple of dogs, a broken down motor home, a pig pen with a giant sow and maybe a dozen piglets, lots of old tires, chickens and goats. One of the goats were lying dead in the hot sun, not yet bloated but no one seemed to mind, expect maybe the living goats, they seemed a little nervous (either they could sense how long it has been since IU have had sex or maybe they didn’t want to end up like their compadre, who knows, if I could have spoken goat I would have assured them they weren’t my flavor). The rest of the ranch was a dozen plastic drums of water and a pallet of feedbags, all of it was owned by a man from Bakersfield.

As minimalist as it was it could definitely sustain a person down here, and was really beautifully if you sat looking in any direction but the actual ranch itself which was pretty well a trash pit.

I played with the two nameless dogs (who seemed more interested in attention that the kibble they were fed) while Jesus, and Christian mixed slop for the pigs and fed and watered the other animals it took less than half an hour, we filled the radiator with water and headed North, fast.

The Nissan began to shimmy and shake somewhere around 70 mph, I think it may have been the steel belts that were showing through the rubber trying to meld with the hot blacktop, somehow it smoothed out around 85 though but I can’t be sure, we stopped back at my car for beer and jello shots, the icy cold Sierra and the processed horse hooves laced with alcohol made the shimmy seem less dangerous for sure…

Sunday in Vincente Guerrero (repost)

2007-06-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

It’s only been a few days since my adventure began, and I am sitting in an internet café with a broken car, I crossed into Mexico nearly a week ago, I got through Tijuana and Ensenada quickly, stopped about 80km outside of Ensenda to organize the car and proceeded South by way of MX hwy 1, I saw a sign made of an old surfboard and headed off down a bone jarring dirt road towards the coast road, or (Camino de Costa). After about 40 minutes of ruts, bumps, washboards, and may cattle, I came upon a ranch house with cattle dogs everywhere chasing me off, there was nobody in sight so I headed South completely off of any real road until I reached a fairly well known surf spot name Shipwrecks. The place was deserted more or less except for some men doing construction work I shared a Sierra Nevada with a man named Beto, he gave me a brief history of the place, evidently it is owned, or rather leased by a bunch of Gringos from San Diego, and the ship that lies rusting away was beached by a Captain from La Paz who fell asleep at the helm about 25 years ago. There was an old camp dog named Sting, he greeted me by pissing on my front wheel and then having a shit a few feet from Beto and I, classy guy Sting…I drove to the top off a high san dune and Sting and several of his pups came with me, I turned off the car and they surrounded me like we were old friends. I considered staying there for the night, but the wind was howling and the waves were non existent so I headed South down the Coast road, road does not adequately describe it more of a scar in the Earth that cars can travel down if properly equipped. I was thinking how I should have brought some firewood and almost immediately began finding small pieces along the road side. About 30 km down the road I found a perfect spot where they were building a little hotel, there was a truck stuck up to its axles in the mud, evidently they were using wood for traction so I was able to scavenge the broken bits. I got past the construction site down onto La Playa and found a tiny camp ground, right on the beach. I pulled in and payed a very official looking man (official in the sense that he could have easily been a rent a cop at any Wal Mart in America). 500 pesos or 5 bucks to stay, he directed me to a spot about ten feet from the pit toilet. I chose to roll up the bluff close to the end far away from his shack and the bano. I set up camp feeling happy and looking forward to an amazing sunset, the wind was blowing clouds in every direction and the light was amazing. The place was all sandstone sheer bluffs, and a rock shoreline, there was a light offshore breeze, and the tiny waves looked perfect, the water was like liquid gold. I had some food, then opened a sacred space, and used the wood I found to perform a fire ceremony. I was the best one yet, a few feet from the waves, it felt pretty powerful indeed. I was very much at peace when I snuggled in for the night. When I awoke I was making coffee when the security guard walked over to see how I was. I offered him coffee which he refused and we began to chat as best we could considering how bad my Spanish is and his non existent English. I was enquiring about the price of fish while eating yogurt and trail mix for breakfast. He looked at my bowl like I was eating grubs or something. An hour or so later he brought me a bowl of the tastiest fish soup I have ever eaten since living in Dominica. I wasn’t at all hungry but enjoyed every bite. I thanked him and broke camp and headed down the road back towards the Sonoran desert. When I reached San Quintin the top soil off the strawberry fields were blowing across the road so thick you could hardly see. Once I got past El Rosario I was back into the desert upon entering Los Valles de Santa Teresa I was a beautiful coyote scavenging for food from a trash can in the middle of nowhere. I also had a couple crows show up several times seemingly keeping an eye on me. The further South I drove I began to hear a slight squeak from my left rear wheel. I proceeded to get louder, so I pulled off to check everything off, it was an hour or so before sunset so I pulled in at a de4serted trailer park and pack of starving dogs descended on me as I checked the car. I fed them a loaf of bread, and a couple of bagels to tide them over and decided it was best to roll back North to a llanterra (tire repair shop). I had past about 40k back North. The moon rise was powerfully huge even though there was very little scale to judge by. I got to la llanterra and journaled a bit then asked the owner Urbano if I could park for the night so I could look at my car in the morning. His response was no problema. It was bitter cold by now so I unloaded the trailer to sleep in shelter. I slept like a rock and woke at dawn, when I awoke I saw a woman standing outside staring toward the rising sun with binoculars, I offered her coffee and I think she thought I wanted her to make me something. She looked a bit annoyed until she saw me heating the kettle, about halfway through my first cup Urbano appeared dragging his floor jack. I explained I didn’t need a mechanic. May be some grease and he laughed at me. I explained I didn’t have money to pay, and again he said no problema. He went looking for something and by the time he returned I had the caliper and hub apart. He seemed fairly amazed and decided I was a mechanic. What we saw upon close inspection was not pretty, my rear disc and hub was about 50% destroyed. Remember I was in the middle of nowhere, plenty of trucks and tourist traffic, but nothing else. My plan was to hitch back to El Rosario or San Quintin and try and find parts, leaving my car with Urbano but he convinced me that with a little jury rigging I could crawl back to town. My instincts said no but I didn’t listen and we put everything back together, omitting a spacer and disabling the left rear brake purposely. I headed down the road in the early afternoon, made about 70 or 80km before the hub complete ate itself up. I was on a treacherous winding road with nothing around for miles. The rear wheel was groaning terribly. I crested a ridge and saw a small turnout. The car and trailer barely made it but I was safely off the road in the middle of nowhere with a giant moon high above…

Welcome Home

2007-04-21T02:50:00.001-07:00

I am back in the US, its not by choice I assure you, but when the universe speaks, all we can do is listen, then act accordingly, its no problem to resist, (as long as you enjoy a steady rain of blows falling on you), and its been my experience that the universe can pack a wallop when you choose a course different than the one she has plotted for you.

So after attempting (yet again) to follow my own agenda (as a replacement for whatever the universe seems to have in mind for me) I relented after much deliberation and pointed myself north, stashing the trailer and magic carpet temporarily at my new friend Rolando’s.

I had a last order of Tostados at Antojitos and drove north against a virtual gale force wind (the final blow to strengthen my resolve I assume) The wind made sure I took it easy and had plenty of time to decipher exactly what was missing from my equation, my list ended up something like this:

4 wheel drive truck (or no magic carpet)
Laptop Computer (or no blogging)
Sell Boat (or no 4 wheel drive truck)
Pay ALL debt (or no more travel)
Set up hammock sales program (see above)
Procure donations for Mission (no empty promises)
Have thumb X-rayed (try living in a wheelchair with a bad thumb sometime)
Find Lovely Goddess (optional)

My dreams are vivid, luckily my dreams are also fluid, and can change like the tides, otherwise I would look on this as a failed adventure, but the truth is I am happy, I am content and know things are as they should be, and my adventure although not anything like what I envisioned was an amazing adventure nonetheless.

I hit the border in the late afternoon, and as usual, I made a litany of wrong turns in order to take yet another unscheduled tour of Tijuana. Somehow I found myself in the express lane (which I have no pass for), not good, luckily, at the last moment there was a small break in the barricade separating the privileged from the non, being a confirmed non, I took the opportunity to use La Chingaderas off road capabilities to do a little concrete crawling, and in seconds I was out of the pan and into the fire (aka the madness we call the US Mexico border crossing), I decline the chicles, pay the international Red Cross, pass on the virgin mother statues, I almost bought the bloody Jesus crucifixion piece but at the last second decided on a bag of luke warm churros (hmmm horribly graphic facsimile of the son of god being punished for my sins, or fast cooling rancid oil and dough mixture coated in sugar and cinnamon mmm churros) I eat the entire bag, I am listening to Jack Johnson (slow down everyone your moving too fast) I am relaxed, I feel immune to the toxic effects of the exhaust fumes, I almost enjoy the honking horns of the angry masses and I drink deeply the nasty vibe being thrown off by the tired angry drivers and smile, its worse than O’Hare in an ice storm (no gate agents to blame) my only real concern is for the car, La Chingadera is idling rough and gobbling heat as only an aircooled engine with no wind passing over it can do.

I am sure I am in the wrong lane, all the other lanes seem to be moving much faster, the guy I slipped in front of when I jumped the divider still looks pissed so I let him pass, my acknowledgement of his problem is rewarded when he flips me off and they open a new lane directly in front of me which he misses in his haste to get ahead of me.

I made my way to the booth and pass over my sparkly new passport, it’s the post 9/11 model, the one with the magnetic stripe with immediate access to all of my past indiscretions (and apparently the indiscretions of many others blessed with the name David Moore) and I watch as the customs agent begins to read my record, his face sours and launches into the usual line of questioning;
Where were you born? Burbank, California.
What is your purpose for visiting Mexico? Play.
Play what Golf? No play around, in the water on the beach, I point to the surfboard and Kayak above me.
When did you cross? February 26th.
Do you have anything to declare? No.
You bought nothing, in 7 weeks? Well, I have receipts for lots of car repairs and rooms at Motel Sanchez, a couple bottles of seafood salsa and the better part of a carton of delicados…. I do declare I had a lot more money in the bank when I left here though.
He walked briskly to the back of the car and closed the newly opened gate behind me and asked me to accompany him to secondary search.

On the way across the sea of people the secondary questions began, they are more like accusations than questions though
What type of work gives you 7 weeks of vacation? I no longer work, Why not? and I explained to him that I had quit my job in September, when our commander in chief decided that bottles of water were too dangerous to carry on airplanes. He asked if it was a lucrative job, I said it payed the bills, then he got all self righteous and raised his voice “why on earth would you quit a good job in times like these?!” (This was the last friendly question, he knew it, and so did I) So I told him that being constantly scrutinized by a bunch of mindless sheep who work for homeland security wasn’t an optimal use of my time here on Earth (I figure if you’re headed into secondary search and have nothing to hide you may as well enjoy yourself while you sit in limbo)
So he starts turning red and doesn’t talk much more to me (which works for me) I drive slowly alongside him wondering if all of my cavities are still safe, he guides me into a parking spot and demands precision parking, I wonder if I am being x rayed as I watch him walk off with my passport and car keys to a sort of mission control zone that is filled with more sheep, (I mean US Border patrol agents) the sheep are visibly agitated by the action happening to my immediate right, it is a Mercedes, that is completely torn apart, a child sits on the curb (looking very scared) as a man is being led away in handcuffs, they are holding the back seat up and upon close inspection there appear to be two small packets of white powder strapped underneath, I wonder what kind of sick person would cross the border loaded with drugs and carry a child along for the ride?
The sheep are pacing back and forth giving high fives and acting in an entirely unprofessional manner (similar to the way teenage boys act in a locker room after winning the big game) It dawns on me as I sit waiting for my turn, it seems like an awfully small package to risk prison for, He was either stupid or the decoy (my guess is stupid), but if he was the decoy I wonder exactly what amount of the white substance has actually made it through the border while these guys are standing in a group high fiving?.

After a relatively short time (in geological terms) one of the sheep has his fill of the high fives and meanders over my way and begins poking, prodding, and generally fucking up my not so methodical organizational structure, he doesn’t open the wooden lock box that is what used to be my back seat, he just kinda pokes and prods everything on top of it, then he opens the engine compartment, and seems surprised that it is an engine, (the blistering hot tail pipe might have tipped me off) then when he gets around to the front of the car he orders me out of the car. As I begin to lift my wheelchair out of the car he says if you need that to get out, just stay in, (Excellent!, another perk o plegia),

I pop the trunk and he can’t find the safety latch, he asks where it is, I explain it specifically, do you see the center corrugation on the hood? Yes, well, it’s just to the right. He says my right?, no my right, on the passenger side… its not here! Yes, it is there, its kind of hidden, would you like me to come and show you? No, just tell me where. Behind the spare, on the inside edge of the hood, its just off the edge of the corrugation. I can’t get my hand in there. Yeah it’s a little tight for sure (put down the doughnuts and step slowly away from the soda pop) its there, its kind of tight, why don’t you let me help you, NO, now I feel it, it wont move, which way is it supposed to move? It lifts up. No, it’s stuck, it won’t move. If it wont move then the hood needs to come down a little bit, Its probably easier for me to do than explain, let me help you, NO, stay in the car sir, (I know this reaction, its what happens when you mix testosterone and failure, add a little bit of authority and this is how it works, it doesn’t!
The lamb is desperately trying to open a simple latch mechanism, (on his terms) I am trying desperately not to blurt out, why don’t you admit you are beaten and just let me help you, when he finally gets it open, an audible sigh of relief escapes him, he then opens the hood about halfway, and hurriedly closes it as if he saw a ghost inside, and didn’t want to let it out. He is desperately trying to re gain his air of authority as he hands me back my passport and I am just looking forward to him waving me on, he is polite and welcomes me back to the US, then turns and walks away. I have to yell to get his attention again, Excuse me sir, how do I get out of here, brusquely he waves straight down the center, I say no, my keys, and he sheepishly yanks them out from where he caught them in the hood as he slammed it.

I feel safer knowing these men are guarding our borders!

Repost of initial post

2007-04-20T11:11:00.000-07:00

It seems a little surreal that it is almost the end of February and I
am finally in San Diego ready to cross the border to Mexico once again,
driving down past the Military encampment at San Onofre yesterday I
couldnt help but remember the last time I attempted to flee the good
ole USofA.

That time the route was by sea, after months of preparation on a 40'
Trimaran, fairly well hungover from a night of ecstatic loveliness,
surrounded by a crew of like minded creatures.

We completed our magical 30 hours on the sea when we came upon Point
Loma, got entangled in the kelp beds, cursed by the local fishermen,
overheated the motor and rounded the point only to be greeted by a
nasty show of military might, zodiacs packed with well trained killers
practicing thier craft, helicopters swarming like locust overhead, and
the Jen Sue limping slowly into a port she would never leave, but that
story can be told another day.

Today its the same only different, there is no hangover, no crew, and
mechanical malfunctions are thing of the past, (written one handed as I
vigorously knock my head) I am the solo pilot of my old trusty steed
"La Chingadera", with her ample rubber firmly planted on the road she is
widely recognized as a 1973 VW Thing, with my Surfboard Kayak, Dive
gear and Magic Carpet in tow I head for adventure, it is true that opposable
thumbs are almost a thing of the past after spending the last couple of
months completely rebuilding the beast, but having touched every nut
and bolt on her many times over the last several months I feel secure and
safe knowing she will take me where I am supposed to be(a little r&r
should cure the strained thumbs or maybe they are just training for a
long hitchhiking adventure.).


I intend to roll slowly back in time down the length of Baja California
to get my Surfing groove on and get an up close and personal look at
Grey Whales calving while escaping the consumer model that is the USA.

I am feeling entirely prepared and ready for a humble and simple
adventure.

I will be away from computers, phones, and most advertising images for
the next couple of weeks until I am able to post again, hopefully with
pictures and stories for you my friends and all other interested
parties as well.

Until then may you all experience toxic levels of Love, Light, Laughter
and Joy.........

My Blog is Dead.... Long Live My Blog

2007-04-16T13:17:00.000-07:00

So here I sit at another in a series of internet cafe's, I decided while I had a few minutes I would change some stuff in my profile, and do some editing on some of the unpublished stories I had written...Evidently I hit the delete button (gotta love computers) if any of you had the bright idea of saving any of my ramblings please send em on to my edress, if not stay tuned for more exagerrations, lies, and partial truths coming soon....