(No) cool wind in my hair…

I was in the desert but this was not a highway – rather a dusty road with a rutted surface like a washboard. But it was dark – and getting darker. And I was lost.

I’d passed a hitchhiker a couple of miles back and I’m thinkin’, “Maybe I should pick him up and he can help me figure out where I’m going?”

But I digress.

Let me start at the beginning.

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It had been one unforgettable day. At 6 AM I crawled out of my bed at the chic boutique hotel, Rancho Pescadero in Baja, Mexico, which I’m inspecting for a group I’ll be bringing here in April. I drove for about 15 minutes to Todos Santos where I’d been instructed to wait in front of the landmark Hotel California (reputed to be the inspiration for the classic Eagles’ song, although Don Henley says not so). Also waiting there were Susan and Brian, a nice couple from Calgary (I’ve yet to meet anyone from Calgary who isn’t nice!).

At 7 AM, right on schedule, our driver-guide, Hernando, picked us up for what was to be an extraordinary day beyond anything I’d imagined. We were headed off for a full-day excursion to the Sea of Cortez.

By 10 AM, I was swimming next to a monstrous whale shark! Big as a whale with a fin like a shark, this is the largest species of fish on the planet. We swam alongside each other for several minutes. I was close enough to touch it, though I didn’t. I marveled at its massive bulk, wide mouth and polka-dotted skin – which looked like someone had gone crazy with a white sponge marker. I was in awe – as I had wrongly assumed one had to go to the Maldives to have an experience such as this. Finally, something spooked him, and with a powerful kick of his tail he headed down into the watery depths. As he swam out of sight, I was amused by the little sucker fish hanging onto his tail.

I didn’t have an underwater camera, but here is a video from the company who offers this amazing experience, Todos Santos Eco Adventures.

I calculated him as about 80-ft. long, but Hernando tactfully corrected me, suggesting it was only 25-30 ft. Still, a whale of a fish!

At about 11:30 AM, I was snorkeling with a sea lion pup who frolicked gleefully underwater, playfully biting me and begging for a belly rub, just like a puppy.

At 1 PM, we lunched on a deserted stretch of sugar-sand beach and then cruised past a rocky island colonized by Blue-Footed Boobies. Once again, my assumptions were incorrect: I thought one could see them only in the Galapagos! Who knew that such experiences were available just a short distance from LA?

Hernando delivered us back to Hotel California just before sundown. He’d been insistent that we get back before sunset because it’s dangerous to drive after dark when cows wander onto the roads. I offered to drive Carol and Brian to their hotel a short distance out of town. I wasn’t paying close attention to the twists and turns involved – and obviously zagged when I should have zigged somewhere on the way back to Todos Santos.

So that’s how I ended up on this dark desert highway.

My internal compass is hardly ever wrong. I’m really good with maps and directions. So when I’m wrong, I don’t know it. So I just keep going and going until I am hopelessly confused about which way is north, south, east or west.

My inner navigation system failed me tonight. The map function on my iPhone can’t locate me. The city map I picked up at the airport is no help. The sun set so long ago that I can’t tell which way is west. The paved road turned to dirt a couple of miles back – like so many roads here once you get off the main thoroughfares.

I’m really lost.

NOTE to parents: Teach your kids how to read a map and how to navigate via their internal compass. (For example, if you’re going north and make a left-hand turn, which way are you headed? That’s a really helpful skill for every traveler to have.)

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Todos Santos was founded by the Jesuits as a mission town in the 1700s and prospered from the sugar industry in the nineteenth century. Eight thriving sugar mills helped finance many beautiful colonial-style buildings and handsomely-built homes. In the 1950s, the water table dried up and crops began to fail. Compounding this, prices for sugar dropped after WWII and Todos Santos was virtually abandoned for decades.

Today, the rich farmlands have been revived and the town prospers from an abundance of Poblano chili farming, avocado, papaya and mango orchards, organic farming and fishing. It was discovered by artists, surfers and hippies, who always find the best places first. The developers who follow with their timeshares and hotels haven’t come here – yet.

Everyone I’ve met here is laid-back and very cool. It feels safe. Which is why I’m considering picking up a hitchhiker at night on this dark desert highway. Have I mentioned that I am alone? And that I have never picked up a hitchhiker in my life?

When I passed the guy I got only a fleeting glimpse of him. He looked like a gringo. An old hippie. I’m not afraid, just a little anxious. I don’t want to hit a cow. I’m needing a shower after a day of salt water and wind. I don’t want to miss a dinner. I just want to go home to Rancho Pescadero!

So I do a 3-point turn in my Nissan Versa four-door sedan and go back to search for my hitchhiker. I drive to the place where dirt changes back to pavement. I’ve not passed a single vehicle on the road in all this time. No cows, either, fortunately. My hitchhiker’s still there. I roll down my window, “Do you speak English?”

“Yeah,” he answers.

“I’m lost. If you help me get my bearings, I’ll give you a lift.”

He doesn’t hesitate. I’m his last best hope. Jumping into the passenger seat he says, “If you just keep on going on this road for another couple of miles, you’ll be in the center of Todos Santos.”

“Okay, great,” I respond. The smell of alcohol is unmistakable, but I note his weathered face and long gray beard. He looks pretty harmless. “So where are you headed?”

“I live eight miles that way,” he answers, gesturing in the direction from which I had just come.

“Eight miles that way?” I ask, incredulously.

“Yeah.”

I let out a long, audible sigh. “Eight miles?” My rational mind is spinning: “That’s 16 miles – mostly on a dirt road. Surely I don’t owe him a ride under those circumstances. You could say no.”

But it’s been a magical day and I’m feeling magnanimous. I’m in love with life and all is well with the world. As my mother rolls over in her grave, god rest her soul, I hear myself saying, “Sure, I’ll take you home.”

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Obviously, he wasn’t an ax murderer. In fact, he told me a dozen times what an angel I was for giving him a ride. He explained that his relationship had soured and his woman had sold his truck out from under him. (I didn’t ask any questions.) He didn’t explain why he was hitch-hiking on that road so late at night with virtually zero chance of catching a ride. (I deduced that he needed some alcohol.) He told me that he’d traveled all over the world as a surfboard shaper to the stars. (I didn’t know what that was – but believed him.) He told me his name was Chris Mc(something) when we said goodbye and he thanked me profusely.

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Naturally, I was curious. The next morning, into the Google search bar, I typed: “Chris Mc surfboard shaper.”  Sure enough, he apparently is a legend. Originally from San Clemente, he popped up on a number of websites. The following posts reveal a bit of his story:

• • “McElroy is from San Clemente California. His was the board to have in the 80s especially at Trestles. Archibold and Christian Fletcher rode his boards as well as lesser mortals. What happened after his run I don’t really know. Some say he crawled into a bottle and never came out.”
  • “He’s also a musician. We used to rock out down in his beach mansion in Mexico. He actually built his surfboard shaping shop on top of a great big basement that he converted into a music studio with all the tools of the trade. We used to rock out old school … Good times!”
  • “He lives in his beach mansion in front of one of the best surf breaks in Mexico, where the beer is cold and the beaches are pristine and still virgin. He lives 30 mins from a beautiful oasis town in the middle of the desert were he gets to surf and hang out with good friends. He still will shape an awesome board for a good friend or a talented enthusiast.”
  • “Sad to say, I lived with him also, 15 years….. Love of my life. But I can’t compete with the bottle.”

He was my one and only hitchhiker – I promised my husband as much. I’ve no regrets, though – and I’m glad our paths crossed however briefly on that dark desert highway. He’s the kind of guy about whom Don Henley might have written these lyrics: “You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.” 

Chris McElroy, surfboard shaper.    (Photo credit: shapyr.com, Jan 2015)

 

So …. from dawn to waaaay after dusk, it was a very, very good day.

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As always, love your comments!