The sleep thing again:  I woke in the middle of the night absolutely freezing in my tent, and had to do the unthinkable and leave my relatively warm sleeping bag to knock at the door of the manor house and beg for a blanket.  Typically, the rich folk inside turned me away (they did offer to let me eat some cake though), and so it was back to my tent, which was caked in frost, and into my "sleeping" bag.  I found an extra tent and wrapped it around me, and was almost warm enough.  Morning came at last, thank god.

We hoisted anchor and made way, stopping at this gas station,

where the gas containers were strapped to the back of the guy's pickup truck.

And yes, it was full service.

We played dueling digital cameras with a tourist from British Columbia.  He had an RV pulling a jeep, motorcycle, bicycles, and I'm sure a few other Baja toys.

Here's the view from behind his camera.

And then we made it to the isolated town of Bahia de Los Angeles, no relation to its northern cousin.  It's a small town on a small bay on the Gulf side.  In its first incarnation it was a mining town, then it turned to fishing, and now by some stretch it could be called a resort.  But it's not in the Club Med mold:  the only thing that makes it a  resort is that a few of the signs are in English, and if you're so inclined you can rent a little cabana on the beach for $2/day.

We stayed at Daggetts.  The "slow" at the bottom right of this sign is vigilantly enforced,

and Roby is never one to break any laws.