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better known to Baja travelers as the last outpost of civilization before the infamous gas gap between Baja California Norte and Baja California Sur, a 240 mile stretch through the desert with nothing to save your ass but you. Like the Gringos that we are, we had run our tanks low in anticipation of a total fill up in El Rosario for the next days ugly, rugged run. This is always a hyper risky play in Baja because gasoline, a government monopoly, can never be counted on, no matter where the hell you are. When one town runs out of gas, the vacuum created sucks all the towns on both sides dry within hours. And you know what? Sure as shit, we arrive in town and the pumps are dry. Cars, buses and RVs are lined up down the block, waiting for a supposed shipment from San Quintin, 78k to the north. We decide to bed down for the night and eat a good meal, hoping to fill up on petrol and hit the pavement right at sunrise. Well... the morning brings more than just obnoxious rooster calls... it also brings a Clipper that won't run. Johnny heads off to locate a mechanic as I curse almost everything on the planet while searching for a manual, or something, that will tell me exactly what to do. Geraldo arrives by 7:30am with his tiny son and we get to work. Within an hour and a half, numerous problems are solved. The thermostat is removed, the gas pedal adjusted and ignition module power grounded. Before we know it we are back on the road and on our way south through the desert. With only a screwdriver, a wrench, and his bare hands, plus a language handicap on both our sides, we were able to narrow my problem down, fix it and get back on the road. Geraldo charged us $10 for the house call. It was most likely the only $10 RV repair I will ever see, and my confidence in his work is as high as I have ever had in any mechanic*. |
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