Playa Santa Barbara
One day we anchored for lunch and a couple hours of exploring at the remote Playa Santa Barbara, 3 miles south of El Burro Cove. On shore we found a marginal road winding inland though the estuary, probably to the Highway. Aside from a lone trailer, two tent-like yurts were the only residences on this beach. New-looking with crushed-shell pathways to the water, they seemed deserted, maybe rentals or a yurt vacation compound? Whoever owns it built the coolest outdoor living space just steps from the water…complete with trestle table, wooden chairs, an outside kitchen with sink, a grill, even an outdoor shower. Napping beds on the beach as well as a hammock under a palm tree oasis completed the ideal retreat. No RVrs, no restaurants, no highway noise. Perfect. Too bad we can’t stay.

While we were on the beach, the wind picked up (as it always seems to do when we want to go back to the boat). This cove is open to the NE and the wind was coming from that direction and pushing in wind waves up the long narrow channel. No fun. So we broke camp and headed back to our peaceful and protected Santispac for another few days of relaxing in the sun. And waiting for more wind to blow through before we can move south!

El Burro Cove
We moved over to El Burro Cove for a change of scenery for a day. The wind was set to die down a bit, so we motored out after a leisurely breakfast around 9am. It’s a LOOONG trek of 2 miles. So we were already there at like 9:30. My kind of day trip! Technically, we had the bay all to ourselves…the other trawler nearby was moored and unoccupied.

Playa Coyote
Before exploring El Burro though, we got the yak in the water to paddle next door to Playa Coyote, about a mile away. This was the larger, more common anchorage, but again, no other boats.

NOLS
In our coveted cruising guidebook “The Sea of Cortez”, written by Heather Bansmer and Shawn Breeding, they indicated a NOLS facility in Playa Coyote. We wanted to check it out. NOLS stands for National Outdoor Leadership School and is renowned worldwide for its expedition courses in darn near everything from wilderness medicine in the Rocky Mountains to mountaineering in India. After parking the yak on their beach, we were greeted by its administrator who happily gave us a short tour of the place.

”Compound” more accurately describes this multi-building, multi-employee campus where they specialize in extended courses on sea-kayaking, hiking in the mountains and open-boat sailing. In fact, an sailing course was currently out on the water. They use 22-ft open sailboats (Drascombe Longboats). When I say "open", that means no cabin/no protection. We had heard their group earlier on the radio net asking about weather conditions… they were taking on wind of 30kts and seas of 5ft at 5 seconds, surfing down waves and loving it…wow. Bad. Asses.!! This is something we readily avoid in our much larger and heavily outfitted 34ft cruising sailboat. We were veritable sissies compared to these guys.

We ended up at their “store” which is more like a mini-REI. They were stocked with Nalgene bottles, Patagonia swim suits, shirts and fleeces, small Pelican cases, carabiners, packable toiletries… all kinds of back-packing goodies. Typically there only for student outfitting, I was able to buy 10 candy bars at $1/bar from the store. Snickers, Milky Way! You can’t always find that stuff. Plus, I needed treats: my large jar of mini M-n-M’s had transformed to cocoa dust after 2 months in the heat!

After kayaking back to El Burro, we headed to the beach to do some more exploring. We ended up walking, or more like bouldering, the “trail” up above the anchorage. We were rewarded with a spectacular view of the cove and our boat. Starved by then… this all before 1pm, mind you… the local restaurant wasn’t open yet. What to do?

Geary the Weatherman
El Burro Cove is famous for one thing – Geary of the Sonrisa net. Every morning around 7:30am, we listen in on his weather broadcast for the Sea of Cortez, which he transmits from his palapa home steps off the beach in El Burro Cove. Geary is known to every cruiser who plies the Sea because his is the most reliable weather info available without internet or sat phone service. So, while we waited for the local restaurant to open, we walked the beach and just so happened to casually walk by his house (it’s pretty obvious – he has more satellite antennae than any other house). Well, Geary also just so happened to be on his porch and invited us in for a chat. Great guy. We were surprised to find out he had arrived here over 20 years ago and was the only house on the entire beach (in this cove, houses are completely off-grid: solar panels, composing toilets, personal generators, trucked in water…). We thanked him for his service to all cruisers and went on our way to lunch.

Thunder!
We spent a mildly rocky night in El Burro as the wind switched to the NE for which this cove is not protected. While we were watching another episode of “The Shield”, it started to sprinkle and then… lightning. Thunderstorms? A shock of horizontal white light illuminated the black night outside our cabin. So bright it beckoned to be seen…and heard. And oh my, did we hear it. We sat outside, half-mesmerized by the scene… and also a touch uneasy since our tall, pointy stick of a mast makes a perfect lightning rod.

I had heard thunder thousands of times. Never like this. Thunder cracked so loudly and so vehemently, I felt it in my bones. Centered within the half-moon bowl of steep-to mountains, our little boat was, in effect, inside a colossal amphitheater. We received, in full resonance, a thunderous roar reverberating off the surrounding peaks. With no trees to absorb the sound, only mile upon mile of bare rock towering above, each crack devolved into an earth-shattering, God-fearing, gut-wrenching, rumbling that continued for what seemed like an eternity. The thunder didn’t just emanate from the sky, but from deep within the mountains… like the bowels of the earth just opened up and was preparing to swallow us whole. The words “Ho…ly…Sh#$” and “Coooool” at the same time, come to mind. Awe-inspiring.

The storm wandered off after a half hour to wreak its wrath on some other unsuspecting neighbor and we barely got any rain to wash our windows down. Too bad. But I am thankful we didn’t get the kind of rain and windstorm that probably SHOULD come with thunder that powerful. Count ourselves lucky.

Playa Santispac
Upon arrival to the Baja side of the Sea, we hunkered down in Bahia Concepcion for nearly two weeks. Waiting out two separate “Northers” (high northwest winds) was easy in Playa Santispac, which has THE best northwest wind protection we’ve found so far… other than being in a slip. The 20-30kt constant blustery weather didn’t phase Indigo a bit as this ‘bay within a bay’ is so protected that we barely felt the chop… and zero swell. It is so well sheltered we had a hard time leaving our little bay of paradise.

During the super-windy stretches when we couldn’t go to shore, we read books, watched DVDs, I made corn bread and apple muffins and we watched the wind surfers. On calmer days we got out and paddled to various beaches to explore, chatted with some RVers on the beach and we sampled the two beach-side restaurants.

Playa Posada
One day we kayaked to the adjacent beach, Playa Posada Concepcion… where the “rich folks” live. While Santispac consists of 2 restaurants and a bunch of RV sites, Posada is a civilized “sub-division” with 65 houses along the beach. Folks can get internet and satellite TV… but for cell service, one must travel to Mulege, 12 miles north. So we hear people with houses calling each other on VHF just like cruisers.

What? Actual Running Water?
I say “civilized” because for a $400/month utility bill, Posada residents enjoy all the amenities out here in the boondocks: consistent running water (people in other coves must truck theirs in), electricity (all solar everywhere else), etc. The town generator runs from 6am to 10pm every day. So you’d need a battery bank and inverter to run anything after 10pm, but mostly everything shuts down here come dark anyway.

The gigantic generator runs from Oct 1 to May 31st. Why? Everybody who can’t take the heat leaves for the summer… and that’s just about everybody. We learned only about 6-7 people stay through the entire year… that’s over all three residential coves combined: Posada, El Burro and Coyote. So we don’t feel so bad for not being able to hack the summers here!

Hot Springs
Posada is fortunate to have two hot springs, one just off the beach in town and another literally adjacent to the sea shaded with a cute palapa roof. Both are lined in stone just like an in-ground hot tub. The water was definitely warmer that the sea, but a little suspicious… bug-wise… so we only dipped our feet. We chatted up an 80-yr-old woman who was selling her home right on the beach in front of the hot springs for $78k. She had lived there every winter for 16 years and absolutely loved it. You can’t beat it for price and amenities and most of all…peaceful living. With all the chaos that’s happening in the world, this sure feels like paradise.

Leaving...Finally!
Leaving the docks, my back-out technique was picture perfect. Just like I knew what I was doing! It was a good start to the long slog. We motored into San Carlos bay with little wind, but as we turned southwest at its mouth, the wind picked up in full force and we charged forward. Indigo was yelling at us “Let me SAIL, dammit!” “You haven’t let me out in MONTHS!”

It was Sunday, Nov. 8th and the winds were slated to be 15-18kts all day. Normally, that’s pushing it for comfort, as seas can build quickly here with that small amount of wind. But it was either that or wait ‘til the next day when there would be no wind at all and we’d end up motoring the entire way. That’d be fine by me, but not for the captain who gets irritable when we have to motor. Plus we wanted to be anchored securely in Bahia Concepcion by the time Wednesday rolled around when a 30+ kt “Norther” was to be with us for several days. No one’s going anywhere in that.

Bat out of Hell
To obtain weather info, we used an app called SailFlow combined with Geary’s Sonrisa net predictions; both were accurate. Indigo enjoyed 15 kt winds all afternoon. We consistently sailed like a bat out of Hell, at 6.5 up to 7.4 kts with a reefed mainsail and reefed jib. This is ridiculously fast for us. Seas were only supposed to be 2ft at 4seconds but I figured they were at least 3-4ft, just on the verge of being super uncomfortable and causing me to get a little green. But I did OK, glad to have taken that Bonine. I had made sandwiches and packed a bag of snacks for the trip so I rarely had to go below.

We bashed into the waves, almost beam-on (when waves hit you broadside), but not quite. As we’d slice through one wave with the bow, it would smash onto our rear quarter and cause us to fishtail. My nicely cleaned windows and deck were inundated with salt as the water sloshed the decks (and us). Chuck Norris (our Monitor wind vane) steered us nicely most of the way, allowing us blessed relief from hand-steering in the constant sideswiping motion.

When NOT to Trim Sails
Nearing dusk, we were almost halfway across the 80 mile sea already. We’d totally underestimated how far we’d get with this amount of wind. We normally average about 4-5 kts, but today we were averaging 6-7. Arriving at the mouth of the bay close to dawn was the objective. At this rate we’d make it to the other side at 1am! Not cool. We needed to slow down. I was napping and heard Brian mess with the sails. Then I heard him mutter…”Crap, why did I do that?” We had started to go faster. Me: “Yeah, why’d you do THAT?” Stop trimming sails!”

Tonight there was no moon, but the stars gave us the tiniest bit of ambient light, enough to barely gauge the fine line between dark sea and shadowy sky. The seas mellowed out, thankfully, and the wind died to a consistent 10kts. That helped to further slow us for a few more hours.

Chuck Norris & Marya Throw a Hissy Fit
At 2am, the wind started to die. And Mr. Norris was pitching a fit – he wasn’t keeping up with the low breeze and kept waddling upwind. So we gave him a break and started to hand steer. Big mistake. Although I had done it before, at night, in pitch black, the waves were so much bigger that I could immediately feel my corrections in the wheel and rudder… so I could sense what input to make and which way to turn. Or maybe I was just “on” that night.

“Off” Night
Tonight, I was the polar opposite of “on”. Yes…that would be “OFF”. I just couldn’t get it. I would constantly over-correct, steer too far upwind, luff the sails… or fall off too much, losing ground… or even worse, start to steer the OPPOSITE way I should. Acckkk! Why my brain would work backward in the dark abyss is beyond me. The wind and waves were weak enough that I could not immediately feel the results of my wheel corrections. In daylight (even moonlight), you can see the outcome of the bow turning. In pitch black, I can’t tell the boat even moved except to look at the instruments. So I’d wait too long to put in another correction and then I’d be off. My eyes could not scan the wind indicator, the compass, the chartplotter fast enough.

Brian reminded me to look for a star and line it up with a window or stanchion. Even that was only marginally successful. I had difficulty just keeping the star in focus - when I looked away I lost it again. Eventually I used the bigger lights of Mulege as a guide which helped, yet I still could not keep Indigo consistently on track.

Once a Marine…
In his former life, Brian trained many a Marine to fly helicopters on instruments in the dark. It’s easy for him. And he tried to help me, he really did, in his unique pilot instructory sort of way. But I was super frustrated and exhausted at 3am from getting zero sleep (not for lack of trying). So hearing “Turn right, turn left, left…left…left!, you’re falling off, no that’s too far, turn faster” did not help. I couldn’t do it fast enough. I couldn’t do it right enough. I wanted to give up. Or at least be left alone in my misery. He refused to let me give up.

Cranky-Pants
Soooo… I was bitchy, like a snapping turtle. I was. No doubt. I admit it. My brain wasn’t working, I was tired and cranky as all get-out, and unable & unwilling to listen to direction. Yup, unemployable. That’s me. Except this was so bad, Brian said if I was his flight student he’d give me a “down” for that flight for my attitude towards him. (Basically a “down” is a “fail”; a fail is a huge deal - 3 fails and you’re out of the flight program.) Wow. Wwwwow. Harsh statement. So that’s how it’s gonna be, eh? I was mad. He was mad. Everybody was mad. The only one who could save me at that point was Chuck… and he was still throwing his own hissy fit… the jerk.

Brian finally took his nap, leaving me alone on watch in my miserable misery. In the end, I DID figure it out, although still not consistently enough for either of us. Of course we made up later. And the truth is, I’d have to agree with him… I’d give me a “down” too… IF I was a Marine, which I’m NOT, because I would have been kicked out the first day for either bawling like a little baby or insubordination. Or both.

Arrival
We arrived outside of the bay at 4:30am, tacked veerrry slowly about for 2 hours until dawn, then motored down into the narrow Bahia Concepcion. In the burgeoning dawn’s light, a couple dolphins escorted us as we drove 1-1/2 hrs to our first anchorage, Playa Santispac. Anchoring after almost 24 hours at sea is the best thing in the world. And the feeling you get as you slide in that warm bed and close your eyes is…ahhh… pure bliss.

Realization... I have to do that again, several times this year.
The good news is that I wasn’t afraid of sailing in the dark. Well, the physical act of “sailing” in the dark was a problem this time, but I wasn’t scared or really even nervous about “being out there” at night. Now I just have to work on that cranky attitude stemming from no sleep. The next crossing will be from La Paz to Mazatlan next month…and twice as long…we’ll see how THAT one goes!

Atlanta to San Carlos
Our trip back to San Carlos on Oct 29th was uneventful, just the way we like it. We left for the Atlanta airport at 5:30am, flew to Phoenix at 9, got there at 10, taxied to the Tufesa bus station, bought one-way tickets for the next bus ($70pp), waited 2 hours, got on the bus at 12:30pm, stopped at the Nogales border and got new visas, arrived in Guaymas at 10pm (the bus actually arrived early), taxied back to the boat by 10:30pm. Incredibly, the trip went like clockwork. 20 hours later (including time difference), we finally got to sleep in our own bed. Ahhh the bed.

No More Sleepy San Carlos
We slept in the next morning and awoke to a completely different San Carlos than the one we left. Not only was the temperature juuust right at 85deg, but where did all these PEOPLE come from? And Boats! Everywhere! While we were gone, the marina had been busy splashing sailboats from dry storage left and right. All the empty slips were now filled with boats, their owners hard at work getting them cruise-ready.

The entire atmosphere of San Carlos had transformed from a run-down, sad little hamlet to a surging, cheerful marina finally coming back to life. Businesses on summer hiatus finally re-opened for the cruising season. Two restaurants had permanently closed, unable to make it over the meager summer months, yet two more opened up in their stead… sometimes filled to capacity! The VHF radio net was bursting with boat chatter. The parking lot jam-packed with cars and motorhomes. I no longer had my own personal restroom!

Boat-Prep Buzz
People began milling about the docks at 6:30am, coffee in hand. The distinct sounds of sailors mid-prep-work surround and inspire us to get our own work done (it’s hard to be lazy when literally EVERYONE else is working): the chugging of an engine being tested, the buzz of an air-compressor blowing up a dinghy, the distant whine of a vacuum cleaner, anchor chain spilling onto concrete docks, the rattle of roller furling, the vinyl slip-n-slide of sails, water spraying and brushes scrubbing on fiberglass, a squeaky winch squeals in protest while halyards are raised. A mix of ‘Hotel California’ and Mexican mariachi competes for attention, helping to pass the time.

One day, we awoke to the melodious sound of harsh, metallic shredding… what on earth??? It was our neighbor tearing off all the bits of aluminum foil (over and over and over) that he had wrapped around various parts (like roller furling drums, winches, blocks/tackles) to protect from dust invasion and sun damage over the summer. Everywhere, cruisers could be found pontificating on solar panels and weather. The universal question: what are your cruising plans for this year? Anticipation filled the air.

It took us 5 days to get the boat ready at a relatively relaxed pace. Our pre-flight plan goes a little something like this:
•    Put up sails (must do this at 6:30am, we have a half-hour window before the wind kicks up)
•    Check engine (gotta make sure it works before heading out for a month)
•    Change prop zinc (Brian gasped when he went in, the ocean is no longer bathwater warm)
•    Wash the boat (a 3-hour process whereupon which we fall into the boat dying from lack of exercise)
•    Clean dodger windows (another 3-hour, 3-step process…wax on/wax off)
•    Polish stainless (a never-ending pain-in-my ass, but it looks so pretty when shiny)
•    Clean/vacuum the inside
•    Fill up composting toilet (what? no…with peat, not #2…we emptied/cleaned it all out prior to leaving, now we need to make it usable again)
•    Trip to the laundromat to clean clothes/sheets (we have breakfast at Barracuda Bob’s and get on the internet during this 2 hour event)
•    Grocery shopping (thank goodness for our friends on Opportunity who took us to Walmart, saved us a TON of time)
•    Stow all the food (I had purchased all my dry goods a month and a half ago when we had the truck, so all I needed to buy/stow were refrigerated items: lunch meat, salchichas, fresh veges and cheese…and more cheese)
•    Bank (get more pesos - there are no ATMs where we’re going)
•    Get gas for the dinghy (our motor only eats premium)
•    Climb the mast (why? just to make sure nothing is going to surprise us later)
•    Write blogs, compile photos, upload (tons of time)
•    And a million other little things.

And we wait…
By Oct 4th, we were ready to go but the weather wasn’t cooperating exactly to our specs. Too much wind equals a mighty uncomfortable crossing. We don’t want that. We also don’t want to leave too soon after a blow to allow the seas to level out. 6ft seas at 5 seconds apart is NO FUN. And we are supposed to be doing this for fun, right?

So we wait. We visit Guaymas and get a look at the old church and Malecon. And we wait. We peruse the first boat swap meet of the year, just in case we find anything we “need” (thankfully “we” don’t). The boat is all ready, we just have to top off water tanks, do one final load of laundry and check out of the marina. And we wait some more.

Another good weather window occurs on Sunday the 8th when we’ll finally leave San Carlos in the dust. We’ll cross the Sea of Cortez once again, 80-some miles to Bahia Concepcion, which we were cheated out of exploring due to hurricane Blanca earlier this year. If all goes well, we plan on taking about a month to get to La Paz, stay there a few weeks, then cross to Mazatlan around Christmas and hopefully Puerto Vallarta by March. Back up to San Carlos in April. Of course, all subject to change in a heartbeat…

We won’t have internet for a couple weeks, so don’t despair… we’re out there somewhere!

It was a dark and stormy night...
No seriously, it was. It had rained for three days straight but thankfully let up just enough for our farewell evening in the U.S. We journeyed to the rural, upscale village of Serenbe, GA where an interactive playhouse lies concealed in the forest...out in the middle of nowhere. We are supposed to be going to an outdoor play. I’m thinking small open-air Shakespearean type playhouse. I was wrong….dead wrong. Dun.. dun.. duuuun.

At dusk we park the car and trek on foot a 1/4 mile through a mud-soaked field surrounded by nothing but trees and silence. Our path is illuminated only by torches staked in the soggy ground every few hundred yards. At the edge of the open field we are greeted by an ornery woman wearing a long, black, hooded cloak who checks us off her guest list. It is completely dark by now and as we enter the woods down the torch-lit trail I can't help but wonder what is going on... Wiccan ceremony? Episode of Survivor? Who knows. I thought we were going to a play???!!!

At the bottom of the hill awaits a shabby-chic, scrap wood/corrugated metal outdoor pub draped in Halloween lights. Rude English-accented ghouls dressed similarly to our greeter, with ghostly white faces, exclaim "Wha’ you wan’ ta drink? I ‘aven't got all day!" They grudgingly serve up Oktoberfest, spiked cider and caramel popcorn, after which muttering “Get outta my face.”

We've arrived at our 1/2-acre open auditorium: a thick copse of trees provides a ceiling of bony branches silhouetted by the moon, the wet, leafy ground is our floor, there are no seats. The dim space, lit only by torchieres and paper lanterns, is sufficiently creepy. We cross a small stream and wait for the show to start while the rest of the 70 or so people filter into the tiny 1-bar hamlet of...Sleepy Hollow.

The “experience” begins with the introduction of a nerdy and skittish Ichabod Crane, his giggly and shallow paramour, along with three other characters. This play is entitled an "immersive experience" and IS such. We stand up most of the time and are led by the actors to 4 separate small wooden stage areas. Each area utilizes a minimal amount of actual stage lighting to retain proper spookiness.  One such stage is a makeshift covered bridge made out of shipping pallets, the haunted “Church Bridge". Another stage area sports crude benches and hay bale seats, akin to sitting around the campfire telling scary ghost stories. A superb sound system is hidden amongst the trees.

The only annoyance is that we are herded like sheep to each stage site every 15 minutes and it is slow-going due to the dimly lit paths, stepping carefully to avoid tree stumps and stray branches. But the actors walk among us, throwing out derisive jabs here and there, aiding in forgetting the few minutes it takes to assemble. "Move along people. Cows move faster ‘an you. Watch yer step, if ya fall I'm goin’ ta swipe yer beer ‘an laugh." At intermission one can buy more alcohol or play old fashioned games: ring toss onto pumpkin stems, corn hole or bobbing for apples (which they alternately called ‘bobbing for a head cold’ – I wonder why no one played).

Throughout, we are treated to not only beautiful singing and rich comedy, but mandolin, guitar and accordion music as well. It was far and away one of most interesting venues I have ever seen with outstanding acting to boot.

The play culminates once again at the Church Bridge. We are rounded up and squeeze shoulder-to-shoulder into the narrow walkways on either side of the bridge where they finish the tale of Ichabod crossing the bridge, never to be seen again. And as we peer through the wooden beams, awash in a reddish glow, we witness the headless horseman galloping by...yeah...on a real horse. Cool. Since when did the last play you went to feature live animals?

Tramping back across the open field to the car, I realized we could not have asked for a more ‘Sleepy Hollow’ eve...a bright full moon hovers, a slithering mist conceals whatever hideous creatures hide beyond the tree line, a damp chill sets in our bones. Last one to the car gets eaten by a werewolf!

Click below to watch the professionally done trailer. It’s worth it…
Trailer
Serenbe Playhouse

We bought the van on a Monday. Coincidentally, we were actually going “camping” with my parents on Friday. When I say camping, that means they camp in the trailer and we visit all day at the campground “pseudo-camping”, then stay in a hotel at night. Now we were going to be camping right next door.

Brian will be the first to tell me this is not REAL camping. And I agree. As kids, my family camped A LOT, first in tents, then in a pop-up. The pop-up, comparatively, was a luxury with its heater and sink. But this van is like a 5-star resort. Not only is there a heater, but we actually have air-conditioning, a refrigerator and a bathroom for gosh sakes.

I’m not sleeping on paper-thin foam or a ½” thick, leaky air mattress; I don’t need to worry about raccoons rummaging around our tent and eating all the oatmeal cookies; We’re not heating up rocks and wrapping them in newspaper to keep our sleeping bags warm; I don’t have to put up with fabric walls that rain on me at the slightest touch; I can actually sleep at night unafraid of a bear clawing through the thin cloth. And we don’t actually NEED to cook hot dogs and marshmallows over the fire since we have a stove… but we did. ‘Cause that’s what you do when you go camping.

Walk-Through
But before we get to the camping, we need to pick up the van. There were a couple minor items we noticed on Monday that needed fixing. The rear door latch was missing, the bathroom door was broken, plus they needed to detail it, etc. So, 2 days to prep should work out. Our walk-through was scheduled at 9am Thursday. Turns out the van had more issues than the dealer want to deal with, so they brought another identical van over from a sister company, one that had not been in an RV show. But it hadn’t been prepped; they’d just received it the night before.

Mechanic Madhouse
So when we arrived, ten mechanics were crawling all over our van, furiously prepping. Adding water, propane, gas, washing, vacuuming, charging, etc. We finalized financials instead, while they completed their checklist. 3 hours later, they were ready. Our service rep went through each and every system with us, thoroughly. No stone was unturned, no question unanswered. He was great. What we assumed would take about an hour took another 3 hours! But we didn’t care, we were floored that they took so much time and attention to detail.

We learned the new van’s TV had an annoying line though the screen, plus the cab floor carpet & front blackout shades were missing. We had them touch up a scratch and repatriate carpet, shades and the good TV from the other van.

Yeti Swag
Our salesman noticed us sitting in the lobby waiting for the rest of the walk-through items to be fixed. He felt bad we were still there at 3:30pm. “What do you need for the van? Anything specific?” I had been eyeing his stainless steel Yeti mug he claimed would hold ice for 2 straight days. Hmmm, that would be awesome for my Starbucks iced tea habit and Brian’s coffee. We got two gigantic ones-perfect for a trenti-sized iced tea. A $90 value. Oh, and 3 folding chairs.

A Disturbance in the Force
At 4pm, finally, we drive off in our new van to a nearby Dick’s Sporting Goods to look for sleeping bags. Almost immediately, we (Brian) hears a noise. Brian HATES unnatural noises. Detests them. He hears things I never do and gets so irritated when I don’t know what he is talking about. Whether on the boat or in our truck, they drive him crazy…I mean CRAZY. He will go to ALL manner of lengths to stop them…occasionally so disturbed as to climb on other people’s vacant boats to tie off a wayward, clanging halyard. (Now, you just don’t go climbing aboard OPB willy nilly, it must be a dire emergency. Either the boat is in danger, ooooor that loud, tink, tink, tinking line is severely damaging the mast… now that deserves a climb-aboard.)

“You hear that?” “What?” (I don’t.) “That noise.” “What noise?” We wait for it again. “THAT!” “Oh, yeah, I hear it.” (I actually DO hear it, I’m not trying to placate him…this time.) “What is it?” “Dunno.” The noise is a metallic, rolling sound. Like a ball bearing or a socket. I get up while Brian is driving to source the annoyance. I open cabinets; they are completely empty. It stops when we turn left, rolls again when we turn right. We switch spots.  I start driving donuts in the mall parking lot.

Some loose object is rolling around in the 2 inch dead space below the overhead cabinet base and above the recessed lighting panel where the wiring is located. Of course, there is no way to get in there, no access panel. So, the VERY first day we own it, within the first 5 miles, we now need to fix something. Oh goody. Brian’s first van project. But he’ll just have to ignore it until we can get to Atlanta to use his dad’s tools.

Headed to The Hoffmaster
The next morning we drive Winndigo to P.J. Hoffmaster State Park in Muskegon, along the wind-swept shores of Lake Michigan. (The entire time, that THING is rolling around. Brian is ecstatic.) We navigate the complex call-in system of after-hours campground check-ins. Luckily, my dad is an expert and had already scoped out our spots.

Let me just say this right now…Thank God we had a heater. Had we built the van we would not have installed a heater, at least not initially. We’re supposed to go camping in summer weather, not freezing temps. For our initiation night in the van it was 28 degrees! 28! But the Truma heater was the bomb. We kept toasty warm all night long.

Despite the cold, our 2-night camping experience was a success. The beds are super-comfy, far superior to usual camper mattresses. The fridge holds pizza leftovers perfectly. And the stove worked great for making coffee in our new $6 teapot. Then someone asked, “Why didn’t you just use the microwave?” Our brows wrinkle, lips pursed. Huh. Didn’t even occur to us. We ALWAYS make coffee using a teapot on the boat. Microwaves are foreign objects. We forgot we even had it! Score!

Overnighting at CB
A week after our first camping test, we traveled our final leg to Atlanta, staying overnight at a Cracker Barrel in Kentucky. Who knew that many Cracker Barrels, Walmarts, casinos and other places allow RVs to stay overnight… for free!  While a bit strange the first time, our stay was uneventful; the parking lot was quiet with about 4 other RVs spending the night. Our blackout curtains work great. The next morning, we got up, had breakfast at CB and headed out early. Easy. $120 saved on hotel. Let’s see, we have to do how many more nights before we make up the cost of the van? Mmm… let’s not go there.

Project#1: Extracting the Annoyance
At Brian’s dad’s house, we finally do the first project: find that rolly thingy. Brian uses a powerful magnet to determine its metallic-ness and how far he can move it. Not far, there appears to be structural baffles inside the dead space. He drills a 3” hole inside the cabinet, just barely missing nicking a bunch of wires. Out comes a beat-up driver bit extension. Thanks, Winnebago. You could have at least given us a new one for our troubles. He screws a blank light-switch faceplate over the hole.

Project#2: Leaky Roof
Two days before our flight back to San Carlos, we discovered a roof leak. Van project #2 within the first two weeks….mmm…not a great sign. We are extremely lucky it had rained for 3 days straight and we noticed the leak before we took off and left it there for 6 months. This should be covered by warranty, but when we call the Atlanta Camping World for service, they say they’ll call us back…and then don’t until several hours later. By then, Brian had already gone to an RV dealer to get roof caulk…no time to loose. He gooped the crap out of the AC unit, we hopped on our flight the next morning and hoped for the best. It hasn’t leaked yet!

All in all, we are satisfied with our purchase and are looking forward to really using the Hell out of it next summer. Most of all, we can escape the torrid humidity of San Carlos, see some sights and visit people along the way.

Too much research
We spent hundreds and hundreds of hours researching RVs this summer (whiling away our time in the air-conditioned boat). A class B van was our best option. We will not be staying put in a campground for a week at a time, so we don’t need a 40-ft house with 50 pull-outs. We’ve got too many people and places to see, so we think we’ll be on the go all the time. A van is easy to drive, can park in a normal parking spot, is relatively “under the radar” as far as appearance and gets superb gas mileage compared to all other RVs (we averaged 17 mpg on our first 1000 miles).

We wanted to be self-sufficient so we could “boondock” or go unplugged for several days at a time. This means we’d need solar panels on top and a battery bank…similar to boat living. Road Treks and Pleasure Way vans were too expensive (even used), some layouts were unlivable, and we’d still have to add lots of money to make it “boondockable”.

The new Travato
Winnebago just started making the Travato a couple years ago. While cheaper than the others due to economies of scale and some lower-quality materials, enticingly, it included 100 watts of solar and a 12v fridge. But it was still too expensive; and used ones, since they are new to the market, are on short supply and hardly discounted. In July, we stopped by a Phoenix dealer before our flight just for kicks and were laughed at after we told them what we were willing to pay.

Build an RV?
So we then determined we could build an RV out of a new van cheaper than we could buy one. You’re joking right? Nope. And more people do it than one might think. Just Google “van conversion” or “camper van”. We decided on the Ford Transit van, mainly for its rear-wheel drive and V6 Ecoboost engine which is supposedly a real powerhouse.

Diesel was out completely. We met a guy here in San Carlos who was in the process of building out a Mercedes Sprinter diesel. He had to carry extra diesel jugs in his van because Mexico does not sell the ultra-low-sulfur fuel that the new Mercedes vans require. Not only can you not buy the proper diesel in Mexico, but it is illegal to transport fuel across the border. When he was eventually caught with the jugs he had to explain to the Mexican border agent “What am I to do, you don’t sell the right fuel here?” He let him go, but what happens the next time he gets a stickler agent? So for that reason AND the fact that many people have had expensive to fix problems with the Mercedes, diesel is not an option, despite its slightly better mileage.

We’d planned on purchasing said van next year and building it out in about 2-3 months. We would eliminate some major luxury items like an air-conditioner, water heater, generator and built in heater. But while Brian is adept at all the necessary electrical, woodworking, appliance installation, etc., the intimidating factor was time. How much time is this REALLY going to take? And it could become a monthly money drain until it was finished.

At the dealer
When we were in Michigan, Brian’s step-father asked if we wanted to go to an RV dealer. We thought, sure, why not? We’ll show him the various van models so he can picture what we are going to build and we can scrounge for ideas. We inspected the Travato again and liked it even more the 2nd time around. Our salesman was super nice, low-pressure and when he finally got around to asking us if we wanted to talk further, we were skeptical.

Low-balling
“You don’t want to hear my price”, I said. It was a low-ball price. We weren’t committed, just throwing it out there. We said it, but he didn’t laugh. Hmmm. He brought out his manager, as they always do…. “We can’t go that low.” He writes down a number significantly higher, well out of our comfort range. “What do you need your payment to be?” I hate that game. We only want to deal in hard numbers. No, I want to pay X, including tax, title and license.

Now I’m paraphrasing here: “Hmmm, OK since we certainly can’t do your low, low number, knowing you need to go up some from that, give me your next best low number. At that point, we will have to call the store owners to see if they are willing to stoop to your price. The good news is, winter is coming and they are looking to get rid of vehicles since we drive many of them down to Florida to sell. They may very well take it.”

We went back home and thought hard for 2 days on our “next low price” and whether we should do it at all. Crunch time. Make a decision.

Man, it sure would be nice to have it already all finished.  Just walk away with the completed vehicle? No van-buying hassles, no components research on a hundred items, no wiring, insulating, woodworking, plumbing, installing of sink, stove, fridge, toilet, shower, water tanks, batteries, solar panels, no thousands of Home Depot runs… no headaches. Wouldn’t it be nice to just have it already done? Isn’t that worth the several thousand dollars over our budget? Well, when you put it THAT way…

We returned on Monday and gave him our revised (still low) price. Done deal.  On Oct 12th, we officially became snowbirds.

I know what you’re thinking…

What????!!!! You bought an RV!!!!???? You’re quitting cruising? After only one year? Aha! I KNEW it.
No way, Jose. Look, can’t I have my cake and eat it too? We have lots of reasons to do this and have been agonizing over it all summer. Here’s why…

Originally, we had wanted to keep Indigo in Puerto Vallarta next hurricane season. Word is PV NEVER gets hit by a hurricane. Well, guess what just happened. Hurricane Patricia. That’s what. Now, it didn’t sustain major damage due to the protection of surrounding mountains, but still.

Staying in PV will almost triple our insurance cost… add to that major anxiety living in a hurricane zone, hoping we won’t get schwacked. Since we’re still new at this cruising thing, we’ve decided to play it safe and head back up to San Carlos next summer. Again.

But if the boat has to be in San Carlos… we aren’t. It’s just too damn hot. And boring. No way, no how. We will put it on the hard and get the heck out of dodge. Like 99% of the rest of the cruisers.
So the new plan is 6 months of the year in an RV, the other 6 months on the boat. This coincides with hurricane season (May into November)…as well as Mexico’s 6-month visa limit. I blame our friends on Cuba Libre for instigating… I mean inspiring… this madness; we didn’t even know this was a thing until we started talking to them. But now we’ve learned it is nothing new, as hundreds if not thousands of cruising Americans and Canadians follow the same migration pattern, whether to their houses or an RV, each summer.

We don’t plan on leaving Mexico (on our boat) anytime soon. There’s just too much to explore. Yet it takes a lot of time, money and effort to get back to the States. So once we make that trek, we’d kind of like to just stay for a few months at a time.

There are two driving forces behind doing this RV thing…

1. We'll be visiting lots of people.
We both have friends and relatives scattered all across the country. Some we haven’t seen in years, some we only had a mere hour to visit the last time we were together. We spent so much of the last two decades working that any spare vacation at home with family was too short or non-existent. Our quest to go cruising had been an all-consuming goal and it still is... But the farther away we get from our personal connections back home, the more we realize we need to keep those ties strong. Plus now we actually HAVE the time to reconnect. We’ll do this ‘snowbird’ thing for 2-3 years, at least as long as we want to keep our boat in Mexico, and then decide what to do from there.

2. Find a place to live.
We have no idea where we want to live, ultimately, AB (after boat). Another dilemma. Eventually, we want to buy property so Brian can build himself a gigantic pole barn woodworking/welding shop and me a tiny house. We’d like to explore various towns for living potential in Wyoming, Alabama, South Carolina, Florida, Michigan, Tennessee, Georgia, (not Alaska)…see the problem? I can imagine the hotel and restaurant bills compiling already. Not to mention I still haven’t seen the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Yellowstone or the Black Hills, etc. Brian keeps threatening to make us through-hike the entire Appalachian Trail. Now we can do it in an RV. That’s sooo more my style!

We were bored. After installing the new refrigerator and our super-fun Cancun adventure, we puttered around in the sweltering San Carlos September heat like lazy zombies. We watched a crap-ton of DVDs, read, napped and surfed the excruciatingly slow internet. Wanna go to Guaymas? We do have the truck… Nah. Too hot. Can’t move. Need more naps… Holing up inside our air conditioned boat-coffin was getting old. Fast. This is why NOBODY stays here during the summer. Duh.

We have to take the truck back anyway, why not leave a week early and spend more time up north? So September 17th, we left the boat secured for hurricane season once again in San Carlos and headed north.

Our goal? Visit the VA in San Diego, see friends, drive to Wisconsin and Michigan and Georgia to see family, then leave the truck and fly back to Mexico from Atlanta on October 29th. I already had return tickets from our earlier trip in July. No planned sightseeing this time. Our focus this trip: people.

San Diego
We spent just over a week in sunny San Diego where everyone complained about the "unbearably hot" 90-degree/zero humidity weather! Oh, those ungrateful Californians.  It was wonderful to reconnect with a few friends we hadn’t seen in over a year. We had fun sailing on OPB (Other People’s Boats - it’s the best way to sail!), BBQing, swimming at the beach and paddle boarding. OK, I SUP’ed while Brian worked on our friend’s boat. I sense a pattern here…when we go back, there’s always another boat project for him to inspect. Conspiracy? No matter… not my boat…that means I don’t have to be the “assistant”!  

Wisconsin
We then drove 2200 miles northeast to chilly Wisconsin to visit Brian's sister. We sampled the requisite Wisconsin foodie trifecta: beer, brats and cheese. We played board games and puzzles with our super-cool nieces and nephew. We even visited the local Kohler Art Museum and the Kohler Design Center, where bathroom fixtures are beautiful works of art.

And then we found out the kids had never seen Raiders of the Lost Ark…What??? We were forced to remedy the situation. Apparently we need to visit more often to ensure they remain on the proper ‘Brian-approved-movie’ track. Anyway, what did they think? “Eh, it was OK”. Sigh…kids these days. But later we caught Jack humming the theme song. “Aha!” we say. “You just can’t help singing it!”  Dah, da, da, daaaa…dah, da, daaaaaaaa.”

Michigan
Onward we traveled to Michigan, skirting across the Upper Peninsula. Our drive meandered along the sandy shores of Lake Michigan, past towering pines, red and golden maple leaves and quiet towns. Maybe we could live here...land is cheap...it is gorgeous and remote and peaceful...except for the mountains of snow 6 months of the year. Hmmm...maybe not.

Mmmm Pasties
Aside from snow, the UP is famous for two yummy "Yooper" treats: Mackinaw fudge and pasties. A pasty is a deliciously-savory-flaky-crusty-folded pie (think overgrown hot pocket). Filled with beef, onions, potatoes and rutabaga, drenched in brown gravy, this delicacy was originally a lunch staple for the Cornish and Finnish miners of the region. I MUST have one. It's tradition. At the restaurant I notice a new invention: the tofu/vegetarian version. Seriously? Can we just STOP with the tofu? Some things should just be left decidedly un-tofu. I have not been able to find pasties anywhere else except the UP; but we were recently told there is a Yooper-themed restaurant in Mazatlan of all places…we must find it!

Here’s another Michigander tradition...apple cider mills. Our families always made the trek each fall to Uncle John's Cider Mill where you can pick your own apples, enjoy a hayride, watch apple cider pressed through an old fashioned mill, and nosh on the best cider donuts in the world. Donuts so good...this year we went twice.

We visited with our families in Fowlerville for two weeks. Moms and dads and grandpa and brothers and wives and nieces and nephews and uncles and aunts and even a cousin from Florida! We sat around the kitchen table and talked and ate and watched Kelly Rippa and Tiny House Nation on TV and played with the cats and saw a couple movies and played cards and board games and talked some more. It was nice to just…be.

Never enough time
Still...There are too many cousins and aunts and uncles and friends we didn't get to see this trip. Never enough time. For the last 20 years we've lived far away. Returning one week a year wasn’t enough to really reconnect. Now we are in a different country altogether. And though Facebook and texting and phone calls are relatively easy, it's still superficial. The personal connection is somewhat lacking.

Even my own mother chided my dad for sorting through mail while I was chatting with him at the kitchen table. "Stop that, you have company!" So now I'm "company", is that it? Sigh. Apparently we're not here enough... My mom considers our visits a novelty. Wow. That's an uncomfortable realization.

We'd already been feeling this way ourselves though, without her confirmation. We are perfectly capable of visiting more often, there's no Marine Corps stopping us now. Just our cruising dreams. How do you reconcile that dichotomy? When you want to see so much of the world, yet keep your peeps close...how does that work?

For the same reasons we wanted to go cruising...to live life and see the world and have adventures because life is too short to be stuck behind a desk (or a helicopter) forever…it's the same reason we find the need to retain close connections to friends and family...because life is too short to ignore that side of things too. So how do we accomplish this when our boat/only home is so far away?

We'd been contemplating this dilemma all summer. Planning and scheming and Googling. By the end of our time in Michigan we had our solution.

To Be Continued…