Sunday, February 06, 2005

g0 south y0ung m@n

... ever driven to the 32nd parallel and puked on it?

in baja california there are a couple of ways to do things. your way or the mexico way. remember mexico doesnt need you , you need it... badly. 10 hours on the road and guerrero negro is in front of me. the jeep is newly tricked out and the tires are hot with mexican dust. i'm rollin with my dad. the boojum trees are poking out of the hot desert like horny teenagers. then it happens...

'are you o.k.?'
'no. hold the wheel.'

i'm haulin ass across the mexican desert blowing projectile chunks out the side of the car but, mostly on it. i heaved so hard i think i shit my pants. my dad is trying to hold back the laughter while he attempts to hold the car on the road. i gotta pull over. wiping the puke off my lips was not my main concern. the real issue was stopping that car before the event repeated itself from the rear.

the mexican desert is full of death and you gotta respect that. we pull over to the side near one of the many roadside shrines to lost loved ones who have died on the highway. i blow a couple more chunks as my homage to the dead and the death that i am feeling inside me. my head is spinning and i think i am feeling the spirits and they dont feel nice.

the land south of the parallel 32 is a magical and unforgiving place. the sun, the wind, and the sky owe you nothing. at any monent the grand god of the sun quetzalcuatel himself could fly down from his home in the sky and swallow me whole with one firey bite.

'you got something on your face there buddy'
'funny guy. funny guy.'
'do you still have that gatorade from TJ?'
'sure buddy here ya go' ... manly hugs all around.

80 miles to the 'bahia de concepcion' where for thousands of years the most immense and gentle creatures on the planet go to have thier babies and sing to the sky and moon. the whales always pass my house and spout a fine hello as they do but, i never see where they go. now it is time. being here with my dad is just as important as watching the whales make whales.

'i feel like shit man'
'you look like shit' we laugh and joke in the afternoon sun.

i dont remember what happened next. the problem was that i passed out in the sand and woke up covered in reused gatorade from TJ. it was official i didnt have the respect i owed the land and it paid me back with its vengeful hand. sun poisoning. big Q was having his way with me and his way was the hard way.

needless to say we missed the whales but not the point. the 'bahia de concepcion' means 'bay of birth'. thats is still true. that day a story was born and nourished under golden rays of the sun god. there aint nothing like vomiting blazing a hot trail across the deadly sands of southern baja california with your dad and a hot jeep.