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The sun rose on Bahia de Los Angeles,

 

as did we.  Here's an aerial view of our camp.  The lords of the manor slept in the Manor House while us field hands slept around the fire.  As always, the lower classes had the most fun.

 

Somehow we manage to bridge our class differences.  From left to right in the front that's Roby-Wan, Hugh Mann, Mabelita, Dr. Cyber Sam Malone; and in the rear that's Slick Rickles and Rina the Quina.

 

And that's John, our neighbor with the good Baja toys.

 

He guides sea or river kayak trips pretty much anywhere, and if you're interested ask for Baja John at kayak.com, they'll know who you're talking about.

 

  
 

 
       
   
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That sunrise over the water was spectacular!The sudden and breathtaking beauty of the universe, it can make you forget who you are for a few moments.

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is that a nicotine stain on those "friday's"?

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Never eat an oyster in a month with an "R" in it.

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I wanna give a shout out ta all da fREaKS out there! Yall Gag ME! xxxxiiiitante*

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That sunrise is just beautiful. To be there... :)

Is Baja John a werewolf or something? That picture of his face just looks like hair and nothing else. I guess he must've eaten a hearty meal the night before because you all got out alive.

[steevbishop.com]

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While we were breaking camp Rina's friend came by to say goodbye.  He asked as an aside, "Do all of you have your passports?"   We didn't.  "Well, I don't want to rain on your parade or anything, but you're fucked."  According to him, there was absolutely no way to cross from northern to southern Baja without a passport or birth certificate.   We begged and pleaded for some chance that we'd be allowed through, but he was steadfast.  Over and over like a mantra in his 73-year-old voice full of cigarettes and soul:  "You're fucked".  Turns out the border from northern to southern Baja, 100 miles away, is a full-on border crossing, with inspection and passports and the whole deal.  And they're cracking down on gringos travelling without passports.  Shit.  We contemplated mountain biking through some forsaken desert valley patrolled by army jeeps.  We paced and chewed nails.   Ryk and I (the passport-less ones) decided if worse came to worse we'd leave the trip so they could continue on.  Ugh.  

When we stopped for gas the gas guy said "I like America, but you have too many regulations.  Here, there's nothing $100 won't fix."  He suggested we offer the border guy $10 if it came to that, but warned to do it very carefully since it's a felony to offer bribes.  He suggested leaving the bill visible in a pocket or something.  So we set out to the uncomfortable task of being tactful in a language none of us really speak.

 

  
 

 
       
   
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Nothing in America flashing some tit won't take care of.

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I'm sure $100 would fix a helluva lot. You'd get a decent hooker for that I guess. That "you're fucked" line must've been a hint, right?

Seriously guys, good luck at the border

[steevbishop.com]

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