Rescue mission
by Marilyn Martin
About 8 p.m. while we were collapsing in front of the TV, the telephone rang. On the other end of a frequently disappearing connection was Neal Johns describing a Baja horror story. Of course, when we had the facts, we agreed to start an immediate search and rescue mission.
First there were our own problems to be dispensed with. We had been in Victorville all day making one of Marilyn’s all too frequent trips to Kaiser for yet more tests. As we live out in the boondocks any trip to town entails completing the list of things that need to be done there in addition to the main mission. To that extent we had a car load of items, some needing freezing, acquired at Costco. Marilyn had announced when we got home she was too tired to cope with them and would do it in the morning - famous last words.
We had not been to Baja for some time so immediately a list of to do items was started. Again living in the country causes a few inconveniences, not the least of which is acquiring cash. We have a MacDonalds but no bank. We had no Mexican auto insurance. Our membership in Discover Baja was long-expired. The dog had no international health certificate. ( No, we have never been asked to show it; however, we had friends who were asked for one, and their horror story of acquiring one in Mexico so they could get home really impressed us.)
Luckily John Page was available and volunteered, not only to go with us like the Lone Ranger, but to seek out the needed part described by Neal so Bob could get the stuff we needed while Marilyn coped with the Costco groceries and the loading of the truck and notifying our sons to be on the lookout for us in case we needed additional help. Bob also checked with the local mechanic, who has worked not only on our truck but Neal’s as well, to see if he needed any additional tools. “Just a big hammer”, was the answer - “nothing else”.
Somehow everything got done and we were on the road about 11:30 a.m. Friday morning. The wind in Cajon Pass was awful. It never stopped being awful all the way to San Diego. There were lovely wildflowers south of the 91 all over the hillsides.
The proper part was waiting for us at Toyota in San Bernardino. Once again Bob asked if we needed any special Toyota tools. Once again, “No, just a big hammer.”
We had to stop at Discover Baja in San Diego as they could not guarantee that we would receive our policy in time to leave Saturday a.m. (Once more the small inconvenience of living where the air is pure and the views go on forever.) Naturally the traffic was stop and go, and we took a “wrong” turn. That was number 1.
KOA San Diego was a welcome sight. John Page was an even more welcome sight. Going into Baja alone did not appeal to Marilyn to say the least; and having someone to help Bob and Neal seemed a really good idea. Not only that, but John appeared with a lovely seafood salad to share for dinner.
We crossed the border about 6:30 a.m. and were told no matter what we had been told we had to pay the $21 U. S. each for our Tourist Permits. We were in no position to waste time arguing. O.K. so we forgot to take the route marked Scenic and had to take a detour through Tijuana. Luckily it was early morning, so we found the right route without major mishap, and Marilyn got to try her limited and mostly forgotten Spanish.
In Ensenada we decided to very carefully follow the highway signs and wound up going the wrong way again to take the former, and luckily still open, go-around down by the harbor. There have been changes and a lot of growth in Ensenada since our last visit. John took over the lead, and no more wrong turns ensued. He couldn’t seem to stop the wind, however, and it was the worst we have encountered in a long time. The gasoline gauge decreased at an alarming rate. At one point we actually saw zopilotes flying backwards. Believe it! There were lovely wild flowers along the highway, and everything was green.
A lunch break at Misión Santa Isabel restaurant was greatly enjoyed. This place is really clean! The food was good, and we were inside out of the wind.
Finally we reached the place to start our GPS search. We had agreed to let Neal think we couldn’t find him. This was great fun for a while as we could hear Neal on the CB and continued to ignore him. Soon, however, we came to some unmarked intersections, and the fun ceased. The place Neal broke down is a warren of dirt roads. You could easily get into the wrong canyon. Then you would have to back track and start over. Luckily Bob guessed right (no wrong turns this time), and we finally found the sought-after blue tape.
A sorry sight greeted our eyes. How they managed to sleep in that truck is beyond me. The only comfortable one was Tessa. After all, sled dogs like bad weather. The men worked on the truck with no luck until dark then everyone crowded into the Martins’ camper to eat supper. At least the company was good.
The wind blew very hard all night, and at one time it got our attention when the blowing sand or leaves woke us up sounding like rain. Luckily it was a false alarm. That would have been the last straw.
As we drove prayerfully out at 5 miles an hour to Catavińa we got a chance to enjoy the lovely cardon and cirio garden that surrounds it. Some of the cardon were blossoming.
Pancho, whom Neal and John were darned lucky to find, and who understood a lot more English than he would admit, had the truck ready to run in short order. Some teasing ensued about all we needed in the first place was a real man - not to mention a really big hammer. A single-jack is not a big hammer!
As Neal, Marian and John hiked in the wind to see the palm canyon, Marilyn and Bob elected to set up camp and called time out. We noted we are none of us getting any younger and no one should go into Baja’s back country without some sort of a back up or at least a means of summoning help. Cell phones do not work. Neal’s and Bob’s ham radios were never heard, and even Marilyn’s voice did not carry far enough in the wind.
The trip home was nice, if hurried. The wind was down, and the wait at the border was only 40 minutes. The Thousand Trails at Pio Pico where we were to spend the night was a welcome sight. At 6 a.m. Tuesday we gratefully headed for home thankful that the trip had gone so well, and, except for Neal’s pocketbook, no real harm was done to man nor beast.
