Taking my 60 for a good long drive (1 Viewer)

[WideAngleWandering]

Howdy all,

I've been driving my 60 around, camping and taking photos. Canada, Alaska, the southwest and west coast, now Mexico and hopefully points further south.

Here are the photos I took on the northern leg:

• Canada & Alaska
• Utah
• Death Valley
• Yosemite
• Northern California

Now that you're caught up, I figure I'll start posting to this thread as my misadventures unfold.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

To Mexico

Post with photos:
http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/a-mexico.html

After several nights at the El Centro Motel 6 (recently renovated with new veneers and everything, quite nice) I was really ready to move on. The heat was wearing me out but I still managed to fix my broken a/c, a windshield washer line and hardwire the chargers for my various gadgets from the parking lot.

In Calexico I stopped at a bank to get some cash. As I stepped out of the truck I saw a young woman frantically trying to open the doors of her running car as her mother sat in a wheel chair in the sun. In Spanish she asked me if I had a stick that we could use to try and unlock the car door. Amazingly, I understood most of what she said. In the tailgate I found the perfect implement – a 3' length of aluminum flat stock, which I bent into shape and forced through the door jam and down to the lock button. While saving the day I noticed I had left my fuel cap back in El Centro.

An hour later I was back at the border, now with cash and fuel cap, and made the easiest border crossing of my life. Simply drive on through – no hassles! On the Mexicali side, however, confusion reigned almost immediately. My Garmin is nearly though not completely useless. Eventually I gave up finding my way in the truck, so I found a place to park and promptly locked my keys in the car. Unlike the woman in Calexico, I had planned ahead for this and used the spare from my wallet to get back in. I need to establish a routine or by the time I get home I'll have nothing left but the shoes on my feet.

While not necessary in Baja (norte), I wanted to get my tourist card at the border to avoid having to figure it out when I reached Baja Sur. I walked back towards the border until I found a Grupos Beta emblem, which I recognized as the sign for immigration from some photos on bajanomad.com. Determined not to get stuck with a 30 day visa like the first time I came into Mexico (requiring a confusing revisit to immigration for a renewal) I chatted up the officials, told them I was visiting Mexico on my “gran aventura” and asked for a 180 day visa. No problema. Next time I will just fill that line out myself but I couldn't spot it on the form before he snatched it away from me.

FMT in hand, I got back in the truck and set out to find my way to MX-2 to La Rumorosa. The Garmin insisted that the best route was back across the border, over to San Diego and down through Tijuana. I turned off the routing and ended up using it as a really small, really annoying map and compass. Between the compass and the mish-mash of signs for Tijuana I eventually found my way.

La Rumorosa is nearly a straight shot up MX-2. The only maneuver required came at the junction of the free (libre) and toll (cuota) roads. Even though I was on the free road I still had to pay 20 pesos to intersect the toll road. I passed through one military checkpoint where I was waved through after a cursory peek through the windows. Betsy was doing fine, for the most part, but I was usually forced to keep the a/c off and I had to stop several times to let the engine idle and cool down. It was 115f when I left El Centro so this was understandable, albeit annoying.

In La Rumorosa I found my turn-off to the Parque National Constitucion easily thanks to the one thing the Garmin does well – notify you of upcoming waypoints. Had I thrown it out the window like I considered earlier, I would have just stopped for directions and probably found my way just as easily.

I followed the dirt road past numerous ranches. The scrubby brush gave way to taller brush and then to pine trees – they look like the Ponderosa Pines you found in the southwestern U.S. There were myriad trails and paths leading off from the road I was on so I guessed which paths were most likely to lead to the park and after two hours I did find my way. I was surprised on arrival to see so many people camping in the park. I'd been forced into low range twice to climb over steep stretches of road to get up here and I didn't quite understand how the 2wd pickups and passenger vehicles I'd seen had made it. Perhaps with long running starts and Dukes of Hazard-style jumps. One of the inclines was so steep it caused my jug of diesel additive to leak through the closed cap. I got to enjoy that smell for a couple of days afterwards.

At 1600m it was still hot up here but the mountain breeze made it all quite comfortable. I built my camp, complete with a hammock strung between Betsy and a tall pine, had a snack and laid back to relax and reflect.

By about 11PM, however, it was too cold to stay out in the hammock, even with thermals, a fleece, heavy socks and a wool blanket. Reluctantly I retired to the truck for a more comfortable sleep.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Laguna Hanson

Photos: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/laguna-hanson.html

I woke up this morning with a splitting headache. I figured it was dehydration but drinking water didn't help. That headache didn't go away until I had a cup of coffee. Apparently my daily visits to the Chocolate Fish in Sacramento left me a caffeine junkie.

After coffee I moved to the hammock. I lounged all morning. The last week in the heat of the Sonora really wiped me out. Once the sun had reached an annoying height, I erected an aluminet shade over the hammock and went back to napping.

While camping in Canada and Alaska, I found I had forgotten how to tie some of the knots I find most useful, like the bowline. I brought a book of knots with me for reference but for the life of me I could not translate the diagram into a proper bowline. The only way I can tie a bowline is one-handed and around my waist as I'd learned to do in rescue training as a Boy Scout 20 years ago. It is strange what one remembers and one forgets. All I have to do from now on is pretend my left arm is broken whenever I want to hang my hammock. These days I wish the scouts weren't being directed by a bunch of bigoted ultra-right religious fundamentalists. Why should one have to stand on the wrong side of history just to learn to tie knots?

With camp set and napping taken care of, I set out to explore the park on foot. This late in the season, the lake was more of a mud flat, though still intriguing with the huge granite boulders scattered in and about. A herd of cattle wandered through and then a group of horses, leaping and snorting and generally making a fuss over nothing. I saw raptors flying overhead and a pair of feral dogs hiding in the grass with only their ears poking up – looking more like coyotes than dogs.

The people were the real novelty. It seems that when Mexicans visit a national park, they like to pile into their pickup trucks and drive around the park honking and yelling and waving at each other before returning to camp to crank up their stereos. I was bombarded by norteña, ranchero and banda music by day and latin electronica at night. Occasionally some classic Madonna was thrown in.

During the day this didn't really bother me but as night fell and I lay back in my hammock I was dissuaded from night photography by the trucks driving around with blinkers flashing, the people shining flashlights in every direction and the moron across the lake playing with his high-powered spotlight. This went on well into the night.

Instead I just lay back and looked upward. As the sky turned black, a dusting of stars was revealed and to my delight, the satellites and meteors that one never sees when a city is nearby. I counted nine shooting stars - some faint and in the periphery, others bright but momentary and a few so brilliant they were like tracers from a celestial machine gun, each destroyed by the atmosphere, leaving a bright trail.

Come morning I resolved to move on to a quieter and more photogenic location – the National Observatory to the south. I packed up the truck, got some directions from a neighbor and hit the road at the crack of noon. The Garmin, even loaded with their official maps of Mexico, doesn't show any of the roads in this area so I just started driving south. I made it to MX-3 in an hour, only 10km off course to the west.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

San Felipe

Post with Photos:
http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/san-felipe.html

There was a seemingly large storm coming up behind me as I reached MX-3. As lightning flashed in the distance, I turned west towards Ensenada to get some diesel at the Pemex. I drove through another military checkpoint to get to the Pemex 100m further on. The soldier waved me through without much of a glance. At the Pemex I found the big diesel sign was a lie. The attendants weren't sure where I could find some.

I turned back towards the checkpoint. Although they had just seen my oddball vehicle pass through 2 minutes before, the soldier working the eastbound lane was curious about me and directed me aside for a search. I chatted him up, both to distract him from his poking around and to try and figure out where to find some diesel. He wasn't sure but figured there'd be something an hour or so to the west. Betsy is full of gear in all her nooks and crannies. Between my mishmash of random stuff and my constant questioning he didn't get very far before passing me on with a smile.

I hadn't acquired any provisions yet on the trip. While camping at the national park I used my emergency supply of spam and ramen noodles (mmmm). Feeling quite peckish, I stopped for a coconut and asked the coconut lady about diesel. She figured there'd be something about an hour or so to the west.

By this point the storm had caught up with me. Lightning strikes, thunder and giant raindrops cut visibility to nothing but Betsy handled it with aplomb. At one point the road was pretty heavily washed out and a line of traffic was backing up on either side. If I'd been alone I probably wouldn't have tried to cross the torrent but I watched a less capable vehicle than mine make it. I pulled out of line, bypassed all the pansies and plowed through sending 10'of muddy spray off each fender. It was a glorious scene.

At this point I decided to scratch my trip to the observatory. I wasn't sure how far south the storm would move, making for potentially ugly roads on the climb up and a cloudy sky once I got there.



I nstead, I pushed on to San Felipe. I wandered around town and found most of the hotels were in the $550MX range. Not wanting to start blowing my budget on fancy hotels this early in the trip, I opted for a $250MX spot in a campground, 50 feet from the water, with an electrical hookup and wifi connection. It seems I'm the only idiot visiting San Felipe in the dead of summer so I've got the place all to myself.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Mike's Sky Ranch

Post with Photos:
http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/to-mikes-sky-ranch.html

Last night was tough to sleep, even with the fan. The fisherman use the beach access from the campground to launch and retrieve their boats, I assume with the tides. Between the heat, the noise and the fish smell my campsite was becoming less desirable.

San Felipe, for travelers, is a town past it's prime. This much is evident by the table dance bar and the shuttered nightclubs on the malécon, the trash-strewn beach, the dearth of budget accommodation and the greasy soup, shrimp and cheese sunk under a mass of tomato broth, I found for dinner.

Ramón, the waiter who brought the fatty bowl of soup last night, spoke exuberantly about his life. Between trips to other tables he stopped to show me pictures of his infant son and to talk about his tortilla business. On one pass he asked why I was in San Felipe and I told him I was escaping the thunderstorms but that soon I'd be fleeing the heat. Eventually I wanted to be on the mainland. He told me about his last roadtrip through México and with a smile lamented that he wouldn't be able to take another, on account of his son.

This morning I woke with sunrise and was driven from the truck by the heat around 8AM. I had breakfast at a cafe, took a swim (dodging diapers and plastic bags on on the beach) and then set off for supplies and to re-attempt my trip to the Sierra Pedro Martír park and national observatory.

On my way back north I re-crossed the military checkpoint. This time I went through the most invasive search yet but it still wasn't that thorough or inconvenient. I know the military in México are the good guys but I still bristle every time I approach a checkpoint. Whether it be police, military, border patrol, TSA, at home or abroad, I resent the intrusion. To keep my blood pressure down I make a game of it. I ask questions, distract the soldiers, answer their questions with a smile, try to get information out of them, crack jokes, whatever it takes to feel less like I'm being examined by an authority looking for an excuse to up the ante. This time I spent a good while talking about my first-aid kit. I explained that I wasn't a doctor, just “bién preparado,” to which the soldier pointed out that I didn't have any snakebite anti-venom. Not so preparado after all.

Driving west on MX-3 I saw a local police truck on the side of the road with it's lights flashing. The officer waved me on and I passed by a semi that had flipped on it's side. It looked like the truck just drove off the side of the road and flipped over for no apparent reason. It was probably overloaded. Just past the truck was another officer, who looked me over as I drove by. He whistled and through the rear-view mirror I could see him waving. Did he want me to stop? I figured he wasn't too likely to leave the scene of the accident to pull me over so I just kept driving. Betsy is about as far from non-descript as it gets in México so I'm hoping I don't drive by that guy again.

If I do get pulled over, assuming I've done nothing wrong, I have a multi-step plan for avoiding the gringo shakedown.

1. Speak and understand no Spanish. Since many folks down here know some English, I'll use the only German I know to keep the officer confused. “No, no, apple strudel with ice cream. Two beers please. Airport. And no eggs!” Once I run out of German I'll use the only Thai phrase I know: “I'm an American. I like big boobs.” If desperate, I have one Cantonese phrase: “my kung-fu is better than yours.”
2. If that fails, I'll pull out my Guía Roja and ask for directions to random places in the area. "Do you know how to find the road to the place with the hot springs and the good tacos?"
3. Next I'll start taking notes and perhaps pull out my camera and take pictures while smiling like an idiot. No cop wants to be photographed asking for a bribe.
4. If the officer won't have it, I'll hand over my old spare driver's license. As long as he doesn't have my real license there's no leverage.
5. If he still insists on extracting a bribe, I'll call his bluff and offer to follow him to the police station to sort it all out.

Fortunately he didn't give chase. I turned off the a/c to continue climbing to the turn-off for Mike's Sky Ranch, about 30 minutes up an old dirt road. It used to be a popular stop for pilots but they say the military made Mike shut down the airstrip (or post a 24/7 security guard). Now the place serves off-roaders.

The drive up was good. The road was just rough and steep enough to require low range and while 4wd wasn't needed it gave me an excuse to try out Betsy's new autolocking front differential. I pulled into the ranch around 5. The place was empty aside from the three folks who run it.

Since I was the only guest, I opted against a room. I didn't see a point if I wasn't going to be staying up and socializing. Instead I got a $10 camping spot in the parking lot and asked them if they could make something for dinner, which they seemed willing to do.

An hour later I sat down to a well lubricated fried steak, surrounded by gobs of semi-solid beef fat, some rice and vegetables. In some ways it was my first decent meal since arriving in Mexico. Although it was strange to dine alone in a room that could have easily served 50, with only the ticking clock to keep me company, I imagined the place full of loud tourists who would have arrived on dirt bikes and quads and appreciated the solitude.

At sunset I retired to the truck, to read from Paul Theroux's Patagonian Express, and fall sleep early.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

All Part of the Adventure (i.e. carry a spare birf you dolt)

Post with Photos:
http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/all-part-of-adventure.html


Last night I asked Pedro to wake me when the coffee was ready in the morning. At 7AM he knocked and I crawled stiffly out of the truck and found a new vehicle in the lot, belonging to Chris and Lucky, father & son returning home from a fishing trip in Baja Sur. The staff offered us breakfast, but with the caveat that it would be $10 each. They seemed surprised when we accepted. I did so for the chance at an English conversation.

Lucky had been working in Montana until recently, and spoke fluent Spanish from working with hispanic laborers. He and his father, from San Francisco, told me about spots along the coast of Baja where the fishing is fine and the villages free of gringo resort homes.

After our mediocre breakfast of scrambled eggs, potatoes and tortillas, we asked Pedro about the road and routes out to the national observatory. He told us that the road would be rough, with loose rocks at first, but then it would smooth out. I paid my tab (somehow they extracted $40 USD from me on top of the camping fees) and organized the truck for the drive. Lucky decided against it since he didn't want to waste the day if his Volkswagen didn't have enough clearance to make it.

As he and his father drove off, Lucky told me he hoped I would find what I'm looking for. I think he was speaking philosophically because at this point, nobody thought I'd actually get lost looking for the observatory.

Following Pedro's directions, I set off for the observatory via Rancho Coyote. For two hours I followed the road, which quickly degraded into a 4wd trail. I climbed up over loose rocks, followed ridges overlooking brown valleys mottled with green shrubs, crossed arroyos smeared with dried waves of mud, drove through quartz deposits erupting from the roadbed and found occasional oases.

Eventually the road ended in a washed out creek bed. I never found the turn-off that Pedro had described, through the cattle gate, to Rancho Coyote. As I made my way back out to look for the gate, Betsy let out a squealing and crunching sound that surely indicated a problem. Nothing critical looked awry, though the steering stabilizer was hot to the touch and had a sizeable dent in it. Satisfied that this was probably the cause of the noise, I resolved to ignore it and continue on. Further up the trail I hung up one of the rear leaf springs on a rock but freed myself with a traction mat and a pile of stones. Getting out was a bit harder than getting in.

Back at Rancho Mike Sky, Pedro laughed and insisted I had missed the cattle gate. He didn't seem to know anything about the washed out road but since trucks went back there every few days and usually didn't return, the way through must be possible. He described two other routes, one a rough road through a neighboring ranch where I'd be charged by the owners to cross (a reasonable requirement given the number of off-roaders who pass through here) or a longer route across easy dirt roads via Valle Trinidad. I opted for the latter route in case Betsy decided to start squealing again.

At the turn-off for Valle Trinidad, I discovered I could no longer turn more than a few degrees to the left. Instead, I continued slowly up the road to a driveway marked by beer cans overturned on the cactus plants. Fortunately it was on the right and I eased my way in.

Inside I found Juan, the owner of this ranch. I explained my problem and he grabbed a tarp while I got my tools from the truck. He too suspected the stabilizer but after removing it we found I still couldn't steer. I said this must be some bad luck but Juan replied “No, no, this is part of the adventure!” While we pondered the problem, I gave him and his friend Emilio some of the beef jerky I had brought from California. Juan gave me a roasted ear of corn and a handful of fresh pine nuts.

We decided that the best thing to do would be to drive slowly up to Ensenada, two hours away. Since it was already late afternoon, I speculated that the morning would be a better time to go, to which Juan unreservedly offered to let me camp on the ranch. “Very tranquil here”, he said, before going back to work. Emilio showed me around the ranch, a ramshackle collection of structures surrounded by goats, geese, roosters, fields of beans and vegetables, apple and pine trees. The roosters, he said, were for cockfighting. I declined to share my opinion of blood sports at that point, yet he went to explain with a shake of his head that “that's what people want, so we raise them.” The largest of the fighters, he said, was always sad in the off-season but perked right up when it came time for combat.

Emilio too had work to do so he left me to relax in an easy chair under a corrugated tin roof where I munched on pine nuts and read from Dove, Robert Graham's story of circumnavigating the planet alone at the age of 16. In between pages I thought about how to fix my steering. At nightfall I went to sleep early, to the sound of barking dogs and growling roosters.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Embedding photos in all the various fora is a bit of a hassle so I don't do it often. Hit up the blog or Flickr if you dig the pics.

Yukon Rainbow
​

http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5444/7163749142_3bbc9651c9_z.jpg
​

Looking for Rancho Coyote in Baja
http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7107/7800704592_14f5bb72eb_z.jpg ​

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Ensenada

Full post with photos: www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/ensenada.html

Freelensing Ensenada Ships

I left the rancho in the morning. Before pulling out I checked my turning radius. Now left turns were ok but right turns were limited. Then neither were limited. The problem seemed intermittent but my troubleshooting wasn't as deliberate as it should have been either.

The drive back up to Ensenada was uneventful, though I found that nothing concentrates my mind more than a mountain drive with the prospect of limited steering. As I approached the city, the sprawl of squat square buildings laid out over the surrounding hills came into view.

Not knowing anything about the city other than "it's bigger than San Felipe, you'll find a mechanic there for sure" I elected to stop and ask around at the first mechanic I could find. He looked and listened and declared the problem was with the steering box. I wasn't convinced by his confidence but it didn't matter - he said I would have to find and bring him a steering box as he couldn't get one. I moved on.

I drove down to the central area, near the waterfront, and found a hotel offering rooms for $29 a night or $149 per week. I checked in for a week and hit up bajanomad.com and and my friends and mechanic in the states for advice via hotel wifi. In the evening I walked the malecón and sought out fish tacos. Most of the stalls in the fish market were closing early, but one, the best one as it turned out, was open. 10 pesos for tacos and each was better than the last.

On Friday I spent the day talking to folks in the states and trying their suggestions. A further range of diagnoses brought me from stabilizer to power steering pump to steering box and finally to an axle.

I jacked up each wheel and found that with one hub locked, it was binding and hard to turn. This would be a clear sign of a problem with the axle except that I have an autlocking front differential - a noisy contraption on a good day. Clearly I was going to need to take it apart to go any further.

Fortunately, bajanomad.com came through with a recommended mechanic in Baja, but I would have to wait until Monday to connect. Over the weekend my notebook gained two more contacts and hand-written maps. It seems that everyone has a favorite mechanic down here.

I spent the weekend wandering the streets of Ensenada. I had a fantastic molé at one of the many small joints away from the tourist district, tried fish tacos at several places before deciding the first really was the best, photographed the malecón in the evenings and found two bars with decent draft beer. By Sunday night I was getting quite bored with this pleasant, easy routine.

 

[bkcruiser]

Love reading about your adventure! Keep denting those sliders

 

[WideAngleWandering]

I'm thinking we should have made those sliders into a cage.

I think I dented a rim too. Nice slow leak. Until I find someone to beat it back into submission, at least I've got two spares.

Trail scars!


Baja Sierras Take Their Toll by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Now's probably a good time for a shout out to the fantastic folks in the west coast rock crawling / wheeling / landcruisering / modifying community.

• bkcruiser - did a wicked job welding all sorts of metal bits to Betsy, sharing essential beer and tools so I could get the final bit of work done
• George @ Valley Hybrids for fixing all the stuff I couldn't or wouldn't do myself as well as helping me coordinate parts shipments to Mexico
• Steve and his crew @ EBI for a valiant attempt at figuring out my charging problems and sorting out some driveline slack as I passed through BC
• Tor @ Torfab for his pre-purchase advice and smoke diagnostics while I was in Seattle
• Jim @ 4x4Labs for advice on bumper parts and structural supports. I still kinda wish I'd gone the next step and splurged on his jerry can & tire mounts. If I had I wouldn't be dragging my ass on the trails out here.
• The good folks at Lehr Auto Electric for building the custom charging system I needed to fix all the stuff that the friendly but incompetent folks at Capital City Alternators destroyed
• Mike @ Audio Solutionz in Sacramento for lending me tools and finding the parts I needed for the sound system
• The folks at Auto Radio Stereo in Sacramento for building my custom hidden sub box in the rear quarter.
• Jan and his friend Mike from West Coast Cruisers for pointing me at the birfield as the source of my current woes

I'll have a shout out for Marlin Crawler, who shipped the upgraded birfs to me in Baja. I say "will" cuz I'm still waiting for the parts to arrive

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Rite of Passage

Full post with photos: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/rite-of-passage.html


My First Broken Birfield by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

For some roadtrippers, the foreign breakdown is sort of a rite of passage - albeit one I really didn't think I would experience. I chose my vehicle carefully and pre-emptively tackled all the maintenance that might have reared it's head in the next 30,000 miles. I planned to stick to roads and occasional trails - nothing too technical.

Still, the birfield joint, mechanical marvel that it is, is a weak point in the Toyota solid axle setup, especially if you abuse it (uhm, yeah, we'll just leave it at that). The trailside birfield replacement is also a rite of passage for Toyota solid axle owners, or so I'm told. I didn't carry a spare birf in my box o' parts so it doesn't matter for me - instead I limped out, spent the night on a chicken farm and drove to the nearest town in 2wd the next morning.

With the support of the good folks on www.bajanomad.com, I made contact with a trusted mechanic who pulled the axle apart and all looked fixable. I settled in for a few days of fish tacos and Tijuana draft beer while waiting for Betsy to come back good as new.

Unfortunately nothing goes according to plan in Latin America. The plan is more like a rough outline of what might happen. Since I didn't know how to say "birfield" in Spanish and the mechanic didn't know how to translate the Spanish equivalent into English, I was confused when he called to tell me I had a broken housing. A broken axle housing? "Bad luck my friend, he said, this part is not available in México. Can you get one from the states?"

When it comes to international parts shipping and diagnosis, I am developing a less-than-stellar reputation. One wrong part was ordered and another almost ordered before my mechanic in the states insisted I get him a photograph of the damaged part. The local mechanic dropped it off for me and I was surprised to see a simple cracked birfield. I suppose it does house some bearings - that's where the language confusion kicked in.

The next decision was where to find the replacement. My local mechanic was right in that a 60-series Landcruiser outer axle / birfield would be an unusual part in México, but he didn't know that '81-85 Toyota pickups use the same outer axle. Using that information he located a part but I'd already come up with a better plan. I would order a couple of upgraded outer axles. Any time something breaks I become a neophile - why use the same old boring Toyota axle when I could get a shiny new upgrade?

Finally, I had to figure out how to get it to me. I could either have it shipped to San Diego where I could pick it u after a two-hour bus ride and a two-hour walk across the border or have it shipped directly to me in México while I indulged in the aforementioned tacos and draft Tijuana Morena beer.

I chose the latter and one week after limping into Ensenada I thought I had it all figured out.

I didn't realize the package would be coming via US Mail, however. That would mean no tracking after the hand-off to the Mexican postal service. I wonder how long that will take ...

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Charmed Living in Ensenada

Full post with photos: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/08/charmed-living-in-ensenada.html

2012-08-29


Ensenada Marina and Sky by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

My days in Ensenada have settled into an easy routine with few disruptions. This doesn't sound like vacation because really, it's not. It is charmed, privileged living and while pleasant, I am ready for some sort of challenge. Something to struggle with. Some kind of tension.

I've settled on the best place for machaca (dried shredded beef or fish with peppers, onions, beans and hash browns at Cazuelitas). The best place for fish tacos (the first stand on the left as you walk down Miramar past the 7-11 and towards the fish market). The best place for seafood coctail (raw octopus, clams, oysters, scallops, fish with onions, peppers and avocado in a spicy tomato lime broth at the stand on Lazaro Cardenás and Avadero). I'm still undecided on Tijuana draft beer at La Taberna or Negra Modelo on tap at Louie's Tequila Bar. I have yet to find a decent coffee but at least it's not all nescafe like I remember from previous trips.

Pleasant, easy, sometimes dull. Fácil.

In the afternoons I walk the town. Outside of the tourist district I haven't found much in the way of distinct neighborhoods or enclaves. Ensenada strikes me as a town that may have grown up quickly, fueled by fishing and tourism. From the marina, it seems to have sprawled in a homogeneous fashion as far as the land would permit. Away from the bars and restaurants near the malecón, I found houses interspersed with hair salons, tire shops, schools, taco stands and used junk stores in every direction. One one walk I passed a woman carefully sweeping and grooming the dirt in front of her house. On another, a bride posing for photos in front of the graffiti along the dried out estuary (avante garde?). Most people are simply going about their daily business - shopping, paying the bills, shepherding the kids.

The tourist district changes character towards the end of the week. The shopkeepers that are snoozing in chairs on the street on Tuesday are determined to get your business on Friday. The streets that were quiet, with occasional Mexican and expat families in the cafes and restaurants, start to fill with tourists by the weekend. The hotel prices double. The conversations around me become more staccato, more insistent. Pudgy kids wear their giant, gaudy sombreros with red uppercase print "MEXICO" as they walk back to the cruise ship.

In the evenings I walk the malécon until twilight fades to dark. This is my favorite time for photography and for people watching, as the sun, and it's reflection from the white pavement, is far too bright during the day. It also gives me a chance to walk by my favorite fish taco stand, where they call me amigo and make small talk. "Do you live in Ensenada?" No, I'm visiting while I have my car repaired. "Do you like it?" The people are friendly, and the weather is nice. "Where are you from?" California. "Aren't the people friendly there? I think it must be different, people don't really live together in the states." Sometimes that's true.

I often spend a couple hours in one of the bars nearby. There is some good beer to be drunk and my most interesting conversations have started here. On my favorite topic, what is there to do in Ensenada, the conversation follows one of two themes: boredom or enthusiasm. Boredom if you're not easily entertained by nightclubs and enthusiasm if you are. Extra enthusiasm for whoring.

At all my favorite spots they ask, "Hola amigo/joven, are your parts here yet?" My answer is always the same - not yet, but maybe tomorrow. "God willing, but I hope you like Ensenada!"

 

[Devils Paw 80]

Excellent photos, but only 2 of Utah?

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Aye, unfortunately I did Utah in one day - at that point I was hauling ass back to Illinois to visit family.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Locating Toyota Birfields in Mexico

Full Post with Photos: http://disassemblyrequired.wideanglewandering.com/2012/09/locating-toyota-birfield-in-mexico.html

A year ago I decided to drive my HJ60 Land Cruiser to México and start my great Latin Roadtrip. I spent the last year working out my plans, upgrading and modifying the vehicle and doing maintenance.

I considered upgrading the axles but decided against it. It just didn't seem necessary for my style of driving. In hindsight, after experiencing my first broken birfield, I realize that was a mistake.


Birfields by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

This is my story and my advice. Don't do what I did, unless you really like fish tacos and beer.

The first piece of advice I can offer is - upgrade before you leave. It's pretty easy to break a stock Toyota birfield joint, especially if reversing in 4WD with the wheels turned and obstacles in your way. Unless you're the sort of person who enjoys breaking things on the trail for the challenge of fixing them, upgrade before you leave.

If you are the sort of person who enjoys breaking and fixing things in remote locations, then you already have a spare birf in your kit and you've swapped out birfs at trail-side a few times before.

I neglected to upgrade and didn't carry a spare so I had two choices at thas point - find one locally or order one from the states. Finding the part locally is entirely possible but I had trouble locating one searching by make & model. The 60 series was never sold in México so there are very few of them around. My initial search turned up one wrecked 60 in a yonke (salvage yard) but they would only sell the complete front-end.

At this point I decided to order parts from the states. That led me to my next decision - ship to México or make a border run? I chose the former. That was a poor decision.

While waiting for shipping, I talked to some knowledgeable Land Cruiser folks in the states and learned that the outer axle on a 60 series is the same as you find on '81-85 Toyota mini trucks (before they moved to independent front suspension in '86). This vehicle was sold in México and parts are plentiful. I gave this information to my local mechanic, along with the part number (43405-60015), and he quickly located a new unit which he could get within a day. Since the parts from the states were already on their way, I called this Plan B.

If you've opted to get your parts from abroad and you can get yourself to the border, the best thing to do is to import them yourself and not rely on the post office or private shipping. In my case, I could have gone from Ensenada to Tijuana, walked across the border, picked up the parts from a friend willing to hold them for me and returned to Ensenada in a day. Walking across the border you're unlikely to have your belongings inspected by customs and even if you are, it's unlikely that any duty would be imposed.

In Baja, there are many people traveling back and forth from San Diego. I turned down several offers from people willing to bring the parts down here to me, which would have saved me from even having to take the bus trip.

My parts were shipped via USPS Priority Mail with delivery confirmation. When I first heard this I figured I would never see that package. I talked to many folks in Baja, both locals and expats, and no one had any confidence that the package would arrive, or if it would, when it would be here. The consensus is that USPS Priority is hit or miss, Express is more reliable and DHL/UPS is the best way to go.

On the 2nd business day, the package was in San Francisco. On the 3rd, the confirmation number showed the package had been handed over to México. I assumed it was in Tijuana and had only to make the short trip to Ensenada. The 4th, 5th and 6th days showed the package in Mexico to clear customs. I didn't realize it at the time but the package was sent first to Mexico City. The status didn't update again until the end of the 8th business day. Earlier that day I had given up and ordered the local part. The final update showed that delivery had already been attempted on the 7th business day.

Priority Mail International Parcels Attempted Delivery Abroad MEXICO

No further updates appeared on the USPS site and there was no sign of the package at the hotel where it was destined. I took this as validation of my decision to order the local part. On the 11th business day, on a whim, I tried plugging the USPS confirmation number into the SepoMex web site.

AP Ensenada, B.C. Puesta en ventanilla

While I speak conversational Spanish, I also rely on pitiful looks and wild gestures to get my point across. That wasn't working on the phone so I turned to the hotel receptionist for help. After several phone calls she gave me directions to the Mex Correo office on Lazaro Mateos and Florestra, only a few blocks away.

It seems I had been lounging around Ensenada waiting for a box that was in fact waiting for me just down the road.

Outside the office an old man sat on a chair with a typewriter, taking dictation from people who wanted to send letters but couldn't write themselves. Inside, they located my package and after showing an ID, signing a bunch of forms, and handing over 800 pesos in import duties, I finally had the box - two weeks after I'd ordered it, one week after it arrived in Ensenada and the day after I'd already installed the local part.

The package made it to Ensenada remarkably quickly. I can't say whether or not the expected $60 USD in import duties helped it along but I don't imagine it hurt.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Escape from Ensenada

9/7/12

Full post: www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/09/escape-from-ensenada.html


Forbidden Cargo by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

The past few weeks were a blur of walking around town, eating in cafes and restaurants (a reprieve from my usual camp stove fare) conversations with strangers, oddballs and new friends and finally my escape from Ensenada.

On Thursday, I was sitting in the last table at a bar, listening to the Santana-ish cover band, drinking a beer and wondering what it would be like to spend the rest of my life in Ensenada waiting for auto parts to come in the mail. While I sat and pondered, the waiter came by and asked if I'd mind having some people sit at my table.

Mind? Hell no I wouldn't mind. Please, for the love of your favorite deity or natural process, put some people here. What's the worst that could happen? I have to listen to more advice about giving bribes and finding the best whores in Mexico?

The waiter came back with a group of people, some software developers from a Mexican IT company and a guy from Canada. They were here on business but I kept them distracted from IT talk as well as I could. A few minutes into the conversation and my story, the guy from Canada looked at me and said:

"Hey, are you the guy that George sent those axles to?"

This is how I met Ritchie, a 60-series Landcruiser owner from Canada who happens to be living and working in California and uses the same mechanic that I do in back in the states. George told Ritchie to keep an eye out for a guy in Ensenada with a broke down hi-line 60 and I just happened to be occupying the last table at the bar that he and his coworkers chose. Serendipity.

The following Saturday I joined them for a trip to see the Bufadora (a natural water spout / blow-hole), Ensenada's most famous tourist attraction. I will spare you any photographs. The Bufadora is a carnival of all that is terrible about Mexican culture and tourism, all packed into a small street at the end of Punta Banda. The blowhole does it's job and is a reasonably interesting natural phenomenon but the aisles of cheap Chinese caricatures of Mexican handicrafts, the pushy Viagra salesmen, the awful restaurants and the caged animals subjected to loud club music in those restaurants really turned me off. You can pet a baby tiger, however, and that's kind of cool. I am told the people running the tiger booth are the real deal, genuinely raising money for animal protection, but who knows.

I had fun, but only because I was hanging out with some good people. After we visited the blowhole, we stopped at several beaches along the way. Most of them wanted a ridiculous amount of money to access their beach, so we didn't actually hit the water until the public beach just outside of Ensenada. It wasn't all that bad for a public beach - minimal trash and no touts - but the water is chilly up here and the waves have some energy.

On Sunday I joined Ritchie, Gabby and several others from the software company for a little Labor Day party. Being so close to the border, every three-day weekend in the states brings the bars and clubs in Ensenada to life. The night started off easily enough but ended, several bars later, with me going on drunkard auto-pilot back to my hotel, via one or more taco stands. The smartest thing I did that night was discarding the uneaten bag of tacos on the floor when I collapsed into bed.

On Tuesday, once recovered from Monday's cruda, I walked out on the malecon to photograph the ships again. This time I was ordered off by the security guards for taking photographs that were "too serious." For your enjoyment, I've included the forbidden photo on the cover of this post.

The following Thursday, as I was packing up and preparing to leave town, seeming to have learned a hard lesson about finding auto parts in Mexico, I decided to make one last stab at finding my axles. This time, with the help of the hotel receptionist, I learned that they had been at a local post office for over a week, waiting for me to come and pay the exorbitant import duties.

Once that was sorted, I made arrangements with Monchie Fernandez, champion Baja racer and mechanic, to have them installed. I settled back into the hotel for one more night.

Today I drove back out to Punta Banda, gave the axles to Monchie, and lounged around Campo La Jolla until the job was done. Monchie made quick work of it and by early afternoon, I was free to head up the hill to buy a drink for Baja Doc, who put me in contact with Monchie and was generally very helpful in negotiating the local scene. At Baja Doc's place, I enjoyed the hospitality and conversation with Doc and his Japanese neighbor. I didn't even have to buy him a drink as his box of Pacifico was nearly full.

I really enjoy meeting people who've abandoned or avoided the rat race and this part of Baja is full of folks like that.

After a couple of hours of cold beer, tasty almonds and enjoying the view from Snob Hill, I headed back down to La Jolla to find a camp site for the night, determined not to go back to Ensenada.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

San Pedro Martír National Park, At Last

Full post with photos: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/search/label/San Pedro Martír National Park

2012-09-11


With my new hardened chromoly axles from Marlin installed, I set off to make my third attempt to reach the San Pedro Martír National Park. At over 10,000 feet, the park promised beautiful skies, a respite from the heat and a landscape with flora and fauna not found in most of Baja.

My first attempt was foiled by a very ugly series of thunderstorms. My second by the great axle disaster near Rancho Coyote. This time, I was determined to reach the park and shoot some starscapes.

I started south from Punta Banda, this time following the highway to the park. With only two roads to navigate, there was no chance of getting lost, and being paved, no risk to my axles. On the way up, however, a heavy rain set in. Did I want to camp in the mountains in a heavy rain with no stars in sight? Was there any reason to continue? Would my third attempt be foiled as well?

I stopped at Rancho Meling to grab a bite to eat. In the dining room, I met Ana, who offered to make me a burrito, which I gratefully accepted. Of course I was the only one at the ranch, other than a few workers. Ana didn't have anything else to do but sit and talk, and I was grateful for the company, so I told her about my plans to see the stars from high in the mountains and how this was my third attempt to do so. Ana didn't think the rain would let up and I briefly considered spending the night on the ranch ($50US for a room, $10US to camp on the lawn).

While we waited out the rain, she told me about her life in the Unite States. She had worked for years as a housekeeper in California and Nevada hotels. Her family had been separated between Mexico and the United States due to immigration issues. Once the housing market crashed and the economy in the states faltered, it made more sense to return home and find work in Mexico. There were more people than jobs in the capital and so she ended up in the Baja sierras, working at this ranch.

Late in the afternoon, the rain started to slow down and I decided to make my move, arriving in the park around 6PM after a steep climb. There would be no RVs here. I paid 54 pesos to enter, took a short drive through the park and then set up camp. I saw one other vehicle arrive behind me but I never saw them or anyone else in the park after that.

I built a small fire from wet wood and pine needles, ate a simple meal of tortillas, beans and tomatoes, and put out the fire so I could see the stars more clearly. Within a few minutes, a blanked of clouds spread over the sky and I retreated to the truck to read and sleep in the damp chill.


I woke up early and stared out of the tailgate at the rain. Around 8AM I crawled stiffly out of the truck, donned my rain gear and ate fruit and yogurt for breakfast. As the rain faded, a bright, grey, diffuse fog drifted through the trees and over my camp, covering me, the truck, the trees and everything around me in cloud-stuff. It lifted after just a few minutes but it is a sight I will never forget.

I spent the rest of the morning hiking the trails, amongst the clouds and the cows and woodpeckers and pine trees and some sort of bird whose wings make a turbulence that sounds almost like a small helicopter when it takes off. I crossed sandy trails flanked by granite boulders, dry arroyos dampened by the fog and gazed out over wide expanses of valleys and the lower peaks.

In the afternoon sun, I drove the short road through the park to a museum and visitor's center. It was closed. Inside, through the windows, the displays looked new and modern, as if it had been built and promptly closed, never exposed to the wear and tear of visitors. I continued up to the observatory but the gate was locked and a sign said they only take visitors from 10-1PM. Along the way I saw a man, the only person I'd seen in the park, walking down the road and kicking fallen rocks onto the shoulder.

Back at my campsite, I took some of my supply of Ray's Own beef jerky and walked out to the park entrance to share it with the rangers. I talked to one man who'd been working at the park for 16 years. He told me about a British author who had spent 3 months in the park researching his book. He too had brought them beef jerky.

That night I built another wet fire, ate another simple meal and retired early when the rain and clouds obscured the sky.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

Mike Sky Ranch, Now With Less Axle Damage

Full post with links and larger pics (see it in all it's glory): http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/11/mike-sky-ranch-now-with-less-axle-damage.html

2012-09-11


From Rancho Coyote Heading North by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

This morning I packed up the truck under a clear blue sky with the clouds racing overhead, emphasizing the effect of altitude on one's perspective. This might have been a good night for stargazing in the park but after three days I was ready to move on.

I set off at 9AM, a pretty early start for me, after first tracking down a ranger to open the gate and let me out. The view was not too different from what you might see on Tioga Pass in California, but steeper and with more rocks washed out over the pavement, including one new boulder that would surely take heavy equipment to clear.

My goal for the day was to finally cross the trail from the observatory road to MX-3 via Rancho El Coyote and Mike's Sky Ranch, ending in San Felipe. The only other way was a long loop west to MX-1, north to MX-3, east to MX-5 and south to San Felipe.

As I drove down the observatory road, I couldn't see the turn-off to Rancho El Coyote so I stopped at Rancho Meling for advice. The owner looked up and asked, "Are you alone?"

Yes, I said, and pointed at Betsy, but I can make it.

"I wouldn't recommend it. That road is pretty bad."

I almost made it once before, I told him.

"Did you get over the hill?"

Yep.

He shook his head and knelt in the dirt, drawing me a map. "Good luck then."

The turn-off was just west of of the ranch. The El Coyote sign was covered in Rancho Meling advertisements but now that I knew where to look I did spot it. El Coyote was closed but I got more route advice from one of the workers. I asked what the road condition was like. He looked up, then down, and said "I don't know. There's been a lot of rain."

Hah, I scoffed, and set off again.


Oasis by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

The trail was a bit confusing near El Coyote but once I was on the right path, it was easy going. There were very few spur trails and while I didn't see any other vehicles, I did see some motorcycle tracks that I followed through lush areas just past El Coyote.

Once the trail reconnected with the main path to Mike's Sky Ranch, the terrain became much more rugged, with many recently washed out arroyos and a few rocks that had to be moved from my path.


Climbing to Mike Sky Ranch by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

Most of the trail didn't require 4WD but I did need low range for some of the hill climbs. Fully loaded, Betsy is kind of a pig. With 18 gallons in the tank, another 15 on the rear bumper, 6 33" mud terrains, a plywood/2x4 bed to sleep on and my set of tools, I suspect she's a bit overweight for this sort of terrain.


Descending to Mike Sky Ranch by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

The descent down the hill yielded many more stunning views, but I left the Contour on auto as I was paying far too much attention to the road to stop and take photos.

Eventually I reached Mike's, crossed the stream, traversed some more rough terrain and reached the sandy trail out to the highway. Along the way I stopped at Juan's ranch, where I'd spent the night after the great axle disaster, and gave him a recipe for apple marmelade. Nomads - keep an eye out - there may be a new jelly man on the peninsula.


Exiting the Trail to MX-3 by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

From the pavement to San Felipe took another couple of hours, plus 15 minutes at the army checkpoint at the junction of MX-3 and MX-5. From this point on I'm going to start being difficult with these checkpoints (forgetting all my Spanish and making them work a bit harder) as this guy asked me a million random questions, rifled through all my stuff and generally made a mess of my packing.

 

[WideAngleWandering]

2 Became 7 in San Felipe

Full post, with links and captions and full-size pics and all that jazz: http://www.wideanglewandering.com/2012/11/2-became-7-in-san-felipe.html

2012-09-18


How I Felt By the End of the Night by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

Those who know me will not be surprised that I stayed in San Felipe longer than I'd planned. One might blame my propensity to linger, dawdle, drift and amble but in this case I am not to blame. I just met some cool cats on my way out of town.

I arrived late on Tuesday, feeling quite grungy after 5 days of mostly damp camping in the sierras and on the Pacific coast. I just wanted to do some laundry, sleep in, sort out the truck and hit the road. Thursday morning I was ready to do just that. I pulled the truck up to the hotel office, went inside to pay the bill, and came out to start pulling away when I heard someone say, "hey, I like your truck." Betsy really is a looker. I get this all the time.

I looked over and saw a shirtless Oregonian sitting in a camp chair outside his hotel room with his girlfriend nearby. They offered me a cold beer, my kryptonite when I'm hounded by the relentless Baja daystar, and soon my plans to hit the road had faded like billboard in the Mexican desert.


Found Some Mud by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

They stayed until Sunday. The next four days were a blur of Tecate Light, steamed clams, lounging on the beaches ($20 per car to use the beaches south of town - outrageous!), terrible music, chasing iguanas, driving around in the sand and mud and all around good times with them and their geriatric shepherd/collie mix.

Saturday would have been particularly memorable as this was Mexican Independence Day, a time for national pride, drunkenness and fireworks. I enjoyed just enough, or perhaps precisely too much, delicous Mexican beer to recount any details but I was able to operate my camera, so this story will be told in pictures. It must suffice to say there were big sombreros, tasty food, fireworks and a strange conversation with an arsonist-turned-bartender.


Can't Focus by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr


Military Displays by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr


Independence Day Fireworks by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr


Power Saving Bulb by WideAngleWandering, on Flickr

I did eventually get on the road, after a day of recovery and another cleaning the mud and grime out of Betsy's starter solenoid. Today I head back out into the desert.