It was 3:50 p.m. We were 24 hours late, as Justin and Debbie, Linda, and I, the last two vehicles of the "Baja Winter RV Caravan," stopped at the campground gate in Los Barriles, Baja, Mexico. Justin, and his wife Debbie, the Caravan Tail Gunners, had stayed with us while we had our broken trailer springs repaired in a desert workshop outside of La Paz.
At the campground gate, Kathie from our RV Caravan group was waiting.
"Supper is ready; follow me. It's 5 o'clock somewhere, and the caravan wants to hear about your adventure.”
After supper, I began the story…
We located a mechanic. He explained – “It’s the Baja roads; they keep me in business.”
They quickly put the axel roughly in the right place with blocks and chains.
All I had to do was a slow "U" turn across four lanes of traffic, then make my way down the road leading to their workshop.
Their workshop was a wall, sand pit, derelict trucks, and giant cactus, with turkey vultures waiting for the next carcass to arrive. In minutes the trailer had the wheels off and was sitting on blocks while still connected to the truck.
The mechanic told me while he lay under the trailer, “You should go for supper; call me for the estimate at 7 p.m., and you can sleep safely in the trailer overnight.”
“It’s OK,” said Justin. “We can trust him, and we’ll all fit in my car.”
Justin and Debbie’s tent camping equipment took half the back seat. They also had a dog, and we had two.
“Imagine this – Four adults and three dogs sharing three seats of a Suzuki Samurai.”
Justin told us he knew a steak restaurant that would allow dogs.
“We will pay,” I said.
So, we squeezed into the Suzuki.
Justin’s driving technique is foot hard down on the gas, or brake pedal, with passengers, flung about against their safety belts. Oh! What safety belts.
To our surprise, we reached the restaurant safely and had an enjoyable meal.
We phoned the mechanic, and I agreed to the repair price.
Back at the trailer, two suspicious-looking men were sitting beside a fire. Justin and I approached them.
The two men were playing Mexican rock music and drinking beer. They told us they were sons of the mechanic sent as our security for the night. I talked with them using Google Translate for a while until they tried to sell me a black pearl of immense value.
Linda tried to sleep but failed.
“Mexican Rock music,” she said, “being played below your pillow, should be classified as torture under the Geneva Convention.”
The trailer was ready by lunchtime the next day. Again, we thanked the mechanic and paid his bill with a generous tip.
“We must go now!” Said Justin. “We have an appointment with Kathie at 5 O’clock at your campsite.”
That’s how we became the last two vehicles of the caravan to arrive at our destination – 24 hours late.