MacGyver
When one travels south of the border, the
potential for adventure rises by an order of
magnitude. While Mexico certainly has the amenities
one expects in an industrialized nation, the
extremes are more extreme than in the United
States. The natural beauty is more untouched, the
external stimuli more raw, the events more
unpredictable. Add in the human element—from
colorful vendors who just won't give up to
stone-faced, machine gun-toting
federales—and a trip to Mexico can have
the experiential effect of wandering into a Fellini
film.
Having said that, however, our weekend in Baja
more closely resembled American television than
Italian cinema. "MacGyver" emerged as the theme of
the weekend, at least with regard to those of our
group who camped down by the stream. Despite the
good times we had on Saturday, the weather proved
unpredictable. After we returned from our hiking
expedition, the already-cloudy skies darkened and
soon began to pour down rain. Those of us staying
at the ranch either retreated into our rooms for a
nap, or took shelter in the bar (always a good
choice on a rainy day). The campers, however, had
to contend more directly with the inclement
weather.
 Necessity
being the mother of invention, MacGyver was reborn
at Mike's Sky Ranch. Parking Drew's Land Rover
alongside Christian's Rodeo, the campers strung out
a tarp between the two vehicles to provide
protection from the rain. Since this solution only
provided cover, not comfort, they adapted
Christian's REI cot, standing it on its end to
create an A-frame structure for the shelter.
MacGyver still wasn't done, however. Extending the
cot's legs and putting some firewood to creative
use, they built a small counter area where they set
up the camp stove. The net effect was a slick
little kitchen and living room area, a comfortable
haven out of the rain. MacGyver would indeed have
been proud. As we would find out later, however,
the rain shelter was just the warm-up act.
Sunday dawned clear and bright. On the agenda
before our return to the States was a visit to the
L.A. Cetto winery in Baja's emerging wine producing
region, in the Guadalupe Valley northeast of
Ensenada. Eager to allow enough travel time to
ensure a leisurely wine-tasting experience, some of
us got an early start. Splitting up our caravan,
two vehicles—Lory, Sirpa and I in the 4Runner,
Tom and Mike in the Toyota pickup—headed out
while the others broke camp and prepared to depart.
Our group made for Ensenada, following an alternate
back road back to asphalt.
We made good time on this graded dirt, stopping
for a photo op here and there amongst the chaparral
and cacti. As we rounded one bend, we picked up
speed on a straightaway. Suddenly, a group of armed
men emerged from the brush to one side of the road
like dusty phantoms. Adrenaline instantly surged as
I caught sight of automatic weapons being turned
toward us. We were in the middle of nowhere, and at
first glance, these Mexicans looked like they'd
been living in the bush for days. Were they
bandidos? It certainly didn't appear to be a
normal checkpoint. In the lead behind the wheel of
the 4Runner, I slammed on the brakes as one of the
men raised a .45 in both hands. As we came to a
stop alongside the weather-beaten group, we
recognized the fatigues and insignia identifying
the men as federales. I breathed a little
bit easier, though the glazed, half-wild look in
the eyes of the man who questioned us kept my
nerves jangling. After the briefest of
interrogations about where we had come from,
however, he waved us on through. Before the
adrenaline rush had peaked, we were on our way once
again.
When we arrived at L.A. Cetto ahead of the
others, we relaxed on the winery's sunny veranda
while we waited. As time passed, and the others had
still not showed up, we bought and shared a bottle
of chardonnay. One dead soldier later, still a
no-show. By this time, we were growing concerned,
as our rendezvous time had passed over an hour ago.
So worried were we that we decided to join the last
winery tour of the day.
After buying some wine and getting back on the
road without meeting up with the others, we knew
something had happened to prevent them from joining
us. Since we lacked cell phone coverage, however,
we had no choice but to head for Tecate and points
north. As we crossed the border, Lory's cell phone
beeped. Several dropped calls and voice mail
messages later, we pieced together the story of
what had happened.
Somewhere on that same dirt road where we'd
encountered the phantom federales, Drew's
Land Rover lost a small but crucial piece of the
ball joint connecting the steering control arm to
the center tire rod. One of the front tires started
wobbling like it was going to come off, forcing
them to a screeching halt (if one can screech tires
on dirt). The group weighed options: tow the
vehicle, try to get the vehicle fixed in Mexico,
leave the vehicle and come back in a few days. None
were appealing.
Fortunately, MacGyver was still riding shotgun
in spirit. Amazingly, Drew and Nate scavenged a
bolt here and a part there from the Landy's many
accessories and fashioned a temporary fix that
enabled Drew and Karen to drive all the way back to
San Diego—even if they had to do so at under
40 miles per hour. An exciting—if
nerve-wracking—end to an exciting trip. Surely
it must have been more thrilling than our rather
mundane tour of a rather mundane winery. As I
commented to Lory, such events cause untold stress
at the time, but create unforgettable memories. We
made lots of such memories over the weekend, but
Drew's and Karen's will probably be remembered the
longest.
Photo credit: Dana
Williams
©2003 Michael
Strickland ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
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Previously...
5/3:
Mike's
Sky Ranch
5/2:
Baja
Bound
5/1:
Ice
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