Screw You, Rudy

Traversing the peninsula once more, I arrived at the idyllic Bahia Concepcion and grabbed one of the last palapas on the beach. With an air of entitlement, my neighbor attempted to buy me out so that his friends could take mine. "I'll pay for your palapa tonight, then you'll leave in the morning." I was only planning to spend one night anyway, but I stayed another out of spite. I have a price, but it's more than 150 pesos, Rudy from Colorado.

On Valentine's day, as a gaggle of retirees cut up the dancefloor in slow motion, I sat reading a book at the nearby restaurant. A guy came over to talk bikes, and soon I was sitting with Stan and Stephanie for dinner. As is practically tradition at this point, they generously insisted on paying for dinner. They did so again the next evening, and even invited me over for breakfast the following morning and let me take a much needed shower. I'm well accustomed to the kindness of locals just about everywhere in the world, but skeptical of other travelers. But here in Baja, everyone is beyond friendly. Except for Rudy from Colorado.

Andy and Lisa from my last post had lent me a chair at the whale reserve, but forgot to retrieve it before leaving. It was too large and cumbersome for the bike, but I carried it with me like Frodo Baggins on the off-chance that our paths would cross yet again.

From Bahia Concepcion I decided to leave the pavement, and down 30 miles of rough dirt road that took me to a remote beach, whom should I find but my friends Andy and Lisa. They are by no means the personification of Mt. Doom, but returning the chair to them felt as if a heavy burden was lifted from my shoulders and, perhaps, that the world was saved. And despite my actually sincere declinations this time, they still insisted on paying the fisherman for the night's victuals.