shahram
Adventurer
Get there fast...Take it slow...Get there fast...Take it slow...
Sunrise at Campo Beluga
Packed the Land Cruiser and the Tacoma with supplies and gear. Left the San Fernando Valley at 04:00. Burned rubber past Pasadena, Cucamonga, San Berdoo. Watched the sun rise over Palm Springs. Maddeningly long stop to get that last venti iced coffee at Starbucks, and last minute supplies at Ralph's. Gassed up in Calexico. Ate breakfast in an Arco parking lot. Tore ass through the border and into the traffic, sewage and diesel smell of Mexicali. And just like that, we were in Mexico.
Road to San Felipe
Mexico's relatively low speed limits are a great antithesis to California's limits. There is something inherently unnatural about a fully laden SUV going 80 on the highway, sandwiched between a semi-truck and a subcompact car, and everyone on their cell phone, watching movies, applying makeup, eating, or reading. But in Mexico, bumping along at a controlled 50 miles an hour with epic scenery all around, I couldn't help but notice the logic in slowing down. So, why was I so nervous? Maybe it was residual stress, maybe it was the barely-held-together Mac trucks whizzing by in the opposite direction, a few feet from where I sat. Maybe it was the venti iced coffee. We were a couple of hours south of Mexicali before my clenched fists began to relax on the wheel, and my heart rate slowed a bit.
This is me showing Troy why I call the Jumping Choya the "************ of the Desert".
A minute later, he was pulling a ball of spikes out of his left foot with a multi-tool.
We stopped off for a lunch of mediocre tacos and cold beers along the cheesy malecon of San Felipe. Apprehensive of the drive south to Gonzaga and a rapidly descending sun, we laid down extraction strategies, counted our financial resources, and made last minute purchases of tequila and beer.
Road to Puertecitos
The road south from San Felipe to Puertecitos is a brand new strip of pure Chinese silk; deceptively smooth and wide for a Mexican two-lane highway, you are lulled into a false sense of complacency before being rudely thrown into the "zona de vados". Vados are dips so low and so abrupt that, if hit at speed, launch the vehicle into the air in a spectacular fashion. We're talking serious air time here. Frame-cracking, driveshaft-breaking, Waylon Jennings colorful commentary, bluegrass and YEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HAW!!!! air time. At the trough of each dip are several gouges, where various low-hanging car parts have tattooed their pain into the tarmac. Vados suck.
Road to Gonzaga
The "road" south of Puertecitos is a very, very bad road. Let me reiterate this: it is a very, very bad road. It's not a trail, but it sure does want to be. It is 55 miles of the most heavily corrugated, bone-jarring, part-rattling, hard packed sand and large, loose gravel I have ever driven. Mixed in are ancient, cemented vados, hard-packed clay creek beds, occasional surprise craters, sheer drops, and just about the best views you can imagine.
Isla Muerta in the distance
It is doable in 2WD, hell, it's doable in a Nissan Sentra, but it's not about whether or not it's possible, it's whether or not it's logical to put your vehicle through that at all. It would have been a good day to drive just that road alone, but after thirteen hours of travel, a gut full of Starbuck's coffee and jangled nerves, it was punishment. Pure torture. Which made that first fresh shrimp taco, beer, and shot of tequila at Alfonsina's just about the best I've ever had.
Halfway there...
We arrived in Alfonsina's Restaurant and Hotel in Bahia San Luis Gonzaga just as dusk turned to dark, at about 20:00. The place was surprisingly busy, with a mixture of moto riders, four-wheelers, fishermen, and rich gringos who fly in their small planes and land right in town. It should be said that Alfonsina's is expensive by Mexican standards (~$13.00 for a shrimp dinner), but is well worth it, boasting some really great food, the freshest ingredients (don't be afraid of the veggies), and incredibly friendly service. The staff are true bajacalifornianos, just the nicest people you'd want to meet. They surely don't have to be--it's the only restaurant for miles, and it's basically a monopoly, but they still seem to do their very best to make their clients happy.
Runway Terminus at Alfonsina's parking lot.
Please remember that in town, airplanes always have the right of way.
Alfonsina's also serves as the unofficial town center. Need a panga with a captain to go fishing? Ask at Alfonsina's. Radiator sprang a leak? Ask for a mechanic at Alfonsina's! Windstorm ripped a hole in your tent? Get a seamstress to repair it at Alfonsina's! Since it was after dark, Antonio, the go to guy in charge, suggested that we go to Campo Beluga to rent a palapa with a toilet and shower. We did just that, and for $20, we got just that, and a pile of firewood to boot.
View from the beach at Campo Beluga
We had the place to ourselves, with no other campers in sight. The campo was very clean, no serious trash piles or broken-down vehicles to camp next to. Just a pristine beach, a great view, and a little market, where we purchased rotten eggs and moldy tortillas. Word to the wise: if you need supplies, skip the gut ache and go to Mercado Rancho Grande, where the supply turnover seems to be more frequent. Other than that, Campo Beluga was great.
Entrance to Campo Beluga
Sunrise at Campo Beluga
Packed the Land Cruiser and the Tacoma with supplies and gear. Left the San Fernando Valley at 04:00. Burned rubber past Pasadena, Cucamonga, San Berdoo. Watched the sun rise over Palm Springs. Maddeningly long stop to get that last venti iced coffee at Starbucks, and last minute supplies at Ralph's. Gassed up in Calexico. Ate breakfast in an Arco parking lot. Tore ass through the border and into the traffic, sewage and diesel smell of Mexicali. And just like that, we were in Mexico.
Road to San Felipe
Mexico's relatively low speed limits are a great antithesis to California's limits. There is something inherently unnatural about a fully laden SUV going 80 on the highway, sandwiched between a semi-truck and a subcompact car, and everyone on their cell phone, watching movies, applying makeup, eating, or reading. But in Mexico, bumping along at a controlled 50 miles an hour with epic scenery all around, I couldn't help but notice the logic in slowing down. So, why was I so nervous? Maybe it was residual stress, maybe it was the barely-held-together Mac trucks whizzing by in the opposite direction, a few feet from where I sat. Maybe it was the venti iced coffee. We were a couple of hours south of Mexicali before my clenched fists began to relax on the wheel, and my heart rate slowed a bit.
This is me showing Troy why I call the Jumping Choya the "************ of the Desert".
A minute later, he was pulling a ball of spikes out of his left foot with a multi-tool.
We stopped off for a lunch of mediocre tacos and cold beers along the cheesy malecon of San Felipe. Apprehensive of the drive south to Gonzaga and a rapidly descending sun, we laid down extraction strategies, counted our financial resources, and made last minute purchases of tequila and beer.
Road to Puertecitos
The road south from San Felipe to Puertecitos is a brand new strip of pure Chinese silk; deceptively smooth and wide for a Mexican two-lane highway, you are lulled into a false sense of complacency before being rudely thrown into the "zona de vados". Vados are dips so low and so abrupt that, if hit at speed, launch the vehicle into the air in a spectacular fashion. We're talking serious air time here. Frame-cracking, driveshaft-breaking, Waylon Jennings colorful commentary, bluegrass and YEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HAW!!!! air time. At the trough of each dip are several gouges, where various low-hanging car parts have tattooed their pain into the tarmac. Vados suck.
Road to Gonzaga
The "road" south of Puertecitos is a very, very bad road. Let me reiterate this: it is a very, very bad road. It's not a trail, but it sure does want to be. It is 55 miles of the most heavily corrugated, bone-jarring, part-rattling, hard packed sand and large, loose gravel I have ever driven. Mixed in are ancient, cemented vados, hard-packed clay creek beds, occasional surprise craters, sheer drops, and just about the best views you can imagine.
Isla Muerta in the distance
It is doable in 2WD, hell, it's doable in a Nissan Sentra, but it's not about whether or not it's possible, it's whether or not it's logical to put your vehicle through that at all. It would have been a good day to drive just that road alone, but after thirteen hours of travel, a gut full of Starbuck's coffee and jangled nerves, it was punishment. Pure torture. Which made that first fresh shrimp taco, beer, and shot of tequila at Alfonsina's just about the best I've ever had.
Halfway there...
We arrived in Alfonsina's Restaurant and Hotel in Bahia San Luis Gonzaga just as dusk turned to dark, at about 20:00. The place was surprisingly busy, with a mixture of moto riders, four-wheelers, fishermen, and rich gringos who fly in their small planes and land right in town. It should be said that Alfonsina's is expensive by Mexican standards (~$13.00 for a shrimp dinner), but is well worth it, boasting some really great food, the freshest ingredients (don't be afraid of the veggies), and incredibly friendly service. The staff are true bajacalifornianos, just the nicest people you'd want to meet. They surely don't have to be--it's the only restaurant for miles, and it's basically a monopoly, but they still seem to do their very best to make their clients happy.
Runway Terminus at Alfonsina's parking lot.
Please remember that in town, airplanes always have the right of way.
Alfonsina's also serves as the unofficial town center. Need a panga with a captain to go fishing? Ask at Alfonsina's. Radiator sprang a leak? Ask for a mechanic at Alfonsina's! Windstorm ripped a hole in your tent? Get a seamstress to repair it at Alfonsina's! Since it was after dark, Antonio, the go to guy in charge, suggested that we go to Campo Beluga to rent a palapa with a toilet and shower. We did just that, and for $20, we got just that, and a pile of firewood to boot.
View from the beach at Campo Beluga
We had the place to ourselves, with no other campers in sight. The campo was very clean, no serious trash piles or broken-down vehicles to camp next to. Just a pristine beach, a great view, and a little market, where we purchased rotten eggs and moldy tortillas. Word to the wise: if you need supplies, skip the gut ache and go to Mercado Rancho Grande, where the supply turnover seems to be more frequent. Other than that, Campo Beluga was great.
Entrance to Campo Beluga
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