En Mexico by jingo...

swing the bolo! That phrase recurs to me from my childhood. That was about all I knew of Mexico--bolos and jingos, whatever a jingo is. I'll have to google that. It's been a looooong drive to get here, Guerrero Negro. And we aren't even THERE yet. We might get to Mulege by tonight. Our average highway speed is 40 mph. These aren't four-lane freeways down here, at least south of Ensenada. In fact, the Transpeninsular Highway is a narrow two-lane road with a lot of curves and grades. It is the only highway that runs the length of the peninsula. It was paved in 1974. Before that, it took an unimaginably long time to do this route. Passing through a small town yesterday, where our guide book said in the old days (the 60s) they used to measure out gasoline in a five-gallon container and filter it through a felt hat or a towel, we saw a guy doing that very thing. His trailer of 55 gallon drums of gasoline was positioned strategically across the road from a moribund Pemex gas station. I guess they tried gas stations and they didn't take off.

Last night we stayed in a little hotel in Guerrero Negro. Ahhh, hot showers! And a comfy bed. Our first night out of Tucson, we were looking in Yuma for a state park I saw on the internet. I wanted to stay near the international border so we could get up early, cross the border and jam south. When we discovered the park was closed, we opted for the desert. We found a turnoff from I-8 that led to a dusty dirt road that crossed some railroad tracks. A couple miles out into the desert, we pulled over and set up to sleep in the boat with the cover only partially over us. We were happy we did because after a while it started to sprinkle and all we had to do was pull the cover over top of us. The next night, we spent in Lazaro Cardenas, and it truly rained. We tried the same stunt, sleeping in the boat. But the rain kept dripping on us and the boat cover filled up like a swimming pool, pushing down on my legs. Tim had to get out in the middle of the night and get the water off and tighten the tarp. From then on, it was like sleeping in a sarcophagus, with the tarp about one inch off our faces. I am not generally claustrophobic but I had to work on myself to not freak out. Getting out of that spot next day, an inlet of the Pacific called Bahia de San Quintin, we had to slip-slide on the mud for kilometers back to the main road.

Tim is doing the driving. It's like threading a needle all day long. The boat trailer is just a little wider than the car, so he has to constantly think about positioning the rig in our lane so we don't scrape the semis going by in the opposite direction. Today, more of the same.

The scenery is magnificent, although it rained off and on all yesterday. I am following a geologic field guide that necessitates keeping track of the mileage markers and landmarks. I am juggling a map, a field guide, the GPS, and my field notebook on my lap. And the camera. Now and then, when the fog lifts, we stop to shoot a few photos. Today it's sunny, fortunately, so the driving should be a little easier.

Last night we crossed into Baja California Sur. It's kind of disturbing to cross a state line and go through a military checkpoint and get sprayed with insecticide. We had to pay 10 pesos for that privilege. I felt like saying, "No, I don't want the spray." Military checkpoints are everywhere down here as they fight this losing battle against the influx of drugs into the US.

More later when we get to a stopping place. For now, the whales in Scammon's Lagoon will have to wait for us as we head down the peninsula.