THE WANDERERS #17
BLUNDERING THROUGH BAJA WITH CARL AND EMMA
By Rick Sieman
When we last left Carl and Emma, they had just crossed the border heading into Mexico. While chatting with the border guard, Carl found out that the Baja 500 race was being held the upcoming weekend and jokingly said that he just might enter the event. Or was he joking?
We join them now as they wave goodby to the border guard and head in to beautiful downtown Tijuana.
Carl looked up at the signs with the foreign names and arrows pointing here and there, and said to Emma, "Hokey dokey, the trick here is to ignore all those other signs and just look for the town we’re headin' for. And that town is Ensentango.
Emma peered at the map. "You mean Ensenada, dear."
"At’s what I said. You got bean dip in your ears, woman? Now just keep your peepers peeled for Enchilada. I don't want to take a wrong turn and end up in Texas.
The huge Whale lumbered through the streets of Tijuana, sharp contrast to same of the aged taxis and oil spewing cars that roamed the streets. Emma sat on the edge of her seat like a nervous bird and pointed out the correct turns and lanes.
Remarkably, Carl was able to navigate the twisting lanes and turn-offs, and reached the main highway that flanked the beautiful Pacific Ocean, heading south.
Carl bit off a plug of Red Man tobacco and moved the wad over to his left cheek. "How 'bout that, Emma? Got through that border town clean as a whistle."
"Yes, dear. You did real good."
"Yeah, didn't I though? Ya see, Emma, the secret is being able to read the signs. Like that one up ahead that says CURVA PELIGROSA'. That means DANGEROUS PELICANS, so you gotta watch out for large birds that nest here close to the ocean and …”
Emma shrieked and pointed straight ahead! A sharp curve was directly in front of them and The Whale was going way too fast. Carl slammed on the brakes and the big tires howled in protest. At the last micro-second, Carl got off the brakes and pitched the steering wheel hard left.
The Whale slewed sideways like a dirt tracker and Carl sawed at the steering wheel, trying to keep control. Inside The Whale, loose items started to obey the Law Of Gravity. A half-eaten bowl of Sugar Frosted Flakes slid across the sink top and blasted into the side of refrigerator. A small radio fell off the shelf and landed on the head of Ace the Wonder Dog, who was busy sleeping and dreaming of big bones at the time.
Ace yelped in stark raving terror and leaped into Carl’s lap, which did not help steering accuracy. The Whale left the edge of the paved road and hit a nasty rut. More things flew around inside the huge Suburban.
A copy of the World Wrestling Federation Magazine fluttered though the air and landed on top of Carl’s head, effectively cutting off his vision. Forty or so empty beer cans split open a paper bag and danced around the cab like popcorn in a popper. A half dozen knitting needles flitted through the air and ended up quivering like arrows in the back of the seat cushions.
The Whale bounded into the air and Ace the Wonder Dog howled
mournfully and slobbered a whole bunch of dog spit all over Carl’s
face. Emma clasped her hands together and started reciting the Lord's Prayer.
A loud popping sound told Carl that a tire just blew, and The Whale teetered sharply over. Through sheer instinct, Carl steered hard on opposite lock and The Whale thumped back down hard on all four wheels and, thankfully, came to a stop.
Carl switched the key off and let out a sigh of relief. Ace the Wonder Dog quivered with fear, then his kidneys sort of lost control arid he wet all over Carl’s lap. Carl pushed the dog off his lap, and let out a long sigh. "Emma? We got three things to do here. First, I gotta changed a busted wheel. Second, I gotta check out The Whale and get us back on the road. Third, I gotta get my shotgun out and kill this mutt extremely well."
Emma got a tough look on her face and pointed a finger at Carl. "If you touch one hair on Ace's head, I will get very mad and I will stay very mad forever, Carl. And one more thing. That sign back there did not mean DANGEROUS PELICANS, it meant DANGEROUS CURVES. I read that in the book the AAA gave us about driving in Mexico. That's the book you didn't want to read.
Remember?"
Carl sighed. "OK. OK. I got the message, but I ain't too happy about life in general right now. Think about it. I damn near crashed The Whale, I ruined a wheel, maybe tweaked somethin’ underneath, made a mess inside the cab and the mutt slobbered spit all over me and then took a leak on my lap. To top it all off, I just swallowed my tobacco and I think I'm gonna be sick."
It was Emma's turn to sigh. "Well, you just go ahead and do what you have to do dear, I'll tidy up inside The Whale.”
A half hour later, Carl and Emma were rolling down the highway once again, with Carl looking a little pale around the gills. A few minutes later, a toll booth rolled into view. Carl reached into the little tray on the dash for some coins and then did a double take. "Emma! They want 1200 bucks to use the toll road! I'm headin' back to the states quick as I can!"
Emma thumbed through her handy dandy little guide book. "Don't panic dear. That means pesos, not dollars."
"Pesos, dollars, what's the difference? We're talking big bucks here."
Emma got out her pocket calculator and smiled. "One dollar is worth 2700 pesos, dear. That means that 1200 pesos is worth about 45 cents."
Carl got a puzzled look on his face. "So, you mean if I give a Mexican bank a couple of quarters they're gonna give me over a thousand of their dollars back? Emma, if that's true, we're rich!"
"No dear. The buying power of a peso is quite a bit different than the dollar. Let me give you an example. How much would a new Suburban cost?"
"A stock one, with four wheel drive? I dunno... maybe $25,000.”
Emma punched some numbers in her calculator. "That Suburban
would cost you... oh, about sixty seven million, five hundred thousand peosos.”
"What! That's outrageous! Where do they get off asking that much?”
"Never mind, dear. Give the nice man at the toll booth two quarters, please.”
Carl leaned out the window and handed the tollkeeper two quarters. "Hey, buddy. I'm payin you in good old U.S. money. You ain't gettin any pesos out of me."
The man gave Carl a nickle back in change and smiled.
"Whatever you say, senor. Enjoy your stay in Mexico. Buenas dias.”
"Yup. And buenas airhose to you."
They rumbled slowly south, keeping the ocean to their right and marveling at the contrast. On the ocean side, there was greenery, white beaches and brilliant blue water. On the left, baked dry mountains and hostile-looking desert terrain.
Carl looked off the to left. "Ya know, Emma, there's some dirt roads over there that are just beggin' to be explored. And it looks like some of em head south in the direction we're goin’ . Let’s give it a shot; I'm gettin' tired of this pavement."
Emma fidgeted in her/seat. "Now, dear. We could get lost. Remember the time you got us lost in Ohio. Then there was that time in West Virginia... and three or four times in Texas and once in Nevada and..."
"Jeez, put a lid on it, woman. There's no way to get lost here. All I have to do is keep the ocean on my right side and I'm headin' in the right direction. Only a pinhead could get lost with an ocean in sight."
Thirty minutes later, Carl was hopelessly lost. He was in a canyon with tall walls all around him. The terrain was brown and the only vegetation was stunted scrub brush and the odd cactus.
Emma had a concerned look on her face “Carl, what are we going to do? We're in the middle of Mexico and we're lost."
Carl smiled. "What else? We eat. Let's have us a good meal and see if maybe we can catch some wrestling on the TV. Tell you what... you start the cooking and I'll crank the satellite up. But first, let's park The Whale right in the middle of this here fireroad. That way, when somebody drives by here, they gotta stop and then we can get some directions out of here Hey, if worse comes to worse, we just camp out for a few days. Now, quit jawin' and fry me up a pound or two of bacon and somethin' to go with it."
All things considered, they had a delightful evening. The meal was simple, good tasting and filling, and Carl sucked down a 12 pack of beer while Emma sipped a small glass of wine. Then they watched Wrestlemania on video tape (for the fourth time) and folded the bed down for a good nights sleep.
It was dawn when the sound of a snarling engine woke them up. Carl peered out of the window and saw a very odd looking truck sitting there. It sat poised high in the air and sported a whole bunch of shocks and big, gnarly tires.
There was a roll cage visible and inside the cab sat a man with a helmet on. He waved at Carl. Carl pulled on his sweat pants and stumbled outside. "Hi there. Name’s Carl and we're sorta lost. Think you might point us in the right direction?"
The big man inside the truck got out. "Sure thing. The name's Ivan Stewart. Be glad to get you to the highway."
"Thanks, Alan. Appreciate it. Why don't you take a break and have a cup of coffee with us first."
"Sure thing, Carl. The name is Ivan."
"Yeah, I heard you the first time, Evan. Come on in and meet the missus."
The two men stepped inside the roomy Suburban and Ivan let out a whistle. "Nice set-up. Looks like you’ve got most everything you might need for camping out."
"Thanks, Elvis. Say hullo to Emma."
"Pleased to meet you. The name is Ivan. Uhh, here's my card."
Emma studied the card for a moment. "Oooooh! Why, you're Ivan Ironman Stewart. I saw you on those Toyota commercials. Carl, this here is the famous racer Ivan Ironman Stewart."
"Hey, this is quite a thrill. Imagine meeting Ironjaw Stewart in the middle of Mexico. What you doin down here, anyways?"
"The name is Ironman, Carl, and I was down here practicing for the race. We call it pre-running."
"Wow, that's neat, Ironbutt. Tell me a little bit about this here race."
"The name is Ironman, and the race is the Baja 500. It starts in Ensenada, wanders around for about 500 miles, then ends up back there."
"Ensenada? Is that anywhere near Enchilada? That's where we're goin'."
Emma sighed. "Carl, the name of the town is Ensenada, not Enchilada."
"Whatever. Say, listen Ironhead, I was thinkin' of entering the race. What class would I have to run in?"
"What would you be racing?"
"What else? This. The Whale. My Suburban. It’s got a 454 under the hood that runs about 550 horsepower. Course, I realize that I'd have to take the boat off the roof and remove the satellite dish, and maybe duct tape the stove and fridge door shut..."
Ivan's eyes got real wide.
"Uhhh, yes, and you might have to take those two trail bikes off the bumper racks, and most of us racers usually remove the outside awnings before we roll up to the starting line. And I'd probably leave most of the fishing rods somewhere before I hit the first turn. And there will probably be some modifications needed to meet the rules, so maybe you better check with the race promoters before you start ripping stuff out."
Carl scratched his chin. "Yeah, you might be right, Ironlips. Say, do you mind if me and Emma follow you in to Enchilada and maybe you can introduce me to the race promoters?"
Ivan smiled. "No problem. Let’s have that coffee and then head for Enchilada."
Carl poured some coffee. "You mean Ensenada, Irongut. All you racers have trouble with names?"
Emma sighed. This was going to be a long trip.
