The Baja 2000

The Baja 2000


Whittier-

The first time she caught my attention was in the post office of the small, strange, surreal town of Whittier, Alaska. To arrive in this twilight zone, you had to take a train through a mountain and several dimensions of reality.

Upon arrival, you find a city that is barely 50 years old and that up until recently had no road access. It was created by the U.S. Army during World War II as one of its "secret ports" and most of the older buildings date back to its days as an Army post. The majority of the population live in one of these building called the Begich tower, which used to be the tallest building in Alaska. The town was built to house 30,000 people at its peak. Now there are only 300 characters calling this place home year round and of course the wayward characters like me that worked here seasonally.

Located in the towers were all the essentials to a thriving ghost town. You could find the library (open with very limited hours), the mayor’s office (never saw him), a bowling alley (it was broken), and the post office (where I met Sunny).

I loved the post office. I wrote to friends from various adventures along the way and eagerly looked forward to hearing back from them. It was one of the highlights of my “city days,” when we were in port after spending 8 days in the backcountry.

That summer I found myself again working for the Alaska State Parks and living some of the best months of my life in the backcountry of Alaska. Between stunning wilderness experiences, forging new friendships, learning how to build trails, and running into beautiful woman in strange, exotic places, I was convinced this was a slice of heaven on this bread of earth I danced on during the summers.

Sunny was a kayak guide, the daughter of our “boss”, stunningly gorgeous, and absolutely bonkers (as I would find out later in the episode). Her real father was a native, and she had all the beautiful characteristics that ran rich in that blood line. He, however, was not in the picture, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. Her “adopted” father was a big dog in the state park command and we all respected that from a distance. At least at first…

When I saw her in the post office I felt like I had been knocked off my horse. The combination of light, lust, and a deep hunger for a woman zipped and zapped its way through my body like a course of electricity looking to blow a part of me out of the way so it could escape.

I didn’t say anything to her in that brief moment, but some ancient communication unfolded and I knew it wouldn’t be long until a series of events linked us between here and a tent on a late summer night.

She was like a wolf. She wrapped herself around me and rolled me several times in our sleeping bag, out of the tent, and into a meadow. It was late summer, which was really early fall, or for us lower 48 types, early winter.

We were at one of her favorite places in the Chugach Mountains just north of Anchorage. I had quit my job early, just as the torrential rains were soaking in, and was living the good life. My boss had issues with this decision, but quickly balked when he found out who I was going to be spending my time with. Unspoken, I felt like he said, ‘great, have fun, show her a good time. It’s the boss’s daughter!’

Her crazy ways had the perfect balance to the summer, and I rolled with it, and with her. I had no idea to what depth her madness lived and before we parted ways we made plans to meet up in Oregon, and go to Baja for New Years Eve, 2000.

A few weeks out of Alaska and submersion back into university life sobered me up a bit. When I finally met up with Sunny, I could see the cracks in her shell, and the mad light that was starting to spill out. Her thoughts bounced around like bits of popcorn, and I tried my best to hunker down into her tractor beam and make sense of the strangeness that dribbled from her lips.

They were sweet yummy lips that I was eager to taste again. I think that got in the way of a few layers of logic, and before long, and despite a thousand and one warning signs, I fell back into a pattern with her. Of course she was in love with someone else as well, and that was quite the distraction. But the rains were coming, and she was going to Mexico. I had the time and nothing better to do, so off we went.

All of us: Sunny, her beautiful malamute puppy dog, me, and all my bullshit. It was a hastily laid plan that was spilled out over a night of wine, sex, and arguing. Luckily we had a map of the Baja that my step father Mike had written years of adventuring and discovery on the peninsula into.

The map helped us find sweet camping spots well off the beaten path. But they did nothing for the mounting tension, dysfunction, and escalating weirdness that were filling up the space between Sunny and me.

Seemed the only cure was a nighttime drowning into Ballenas- giant 40 ounce bottles of beer. We fell into a ritual of making camp, eating food, drinking large quantities of beer, and fucking like a couple of mad hyenas.

Up until our last night before hitting the bottom of baja, and the bottom of our downward spiral, her squirrely malamute puppy had been nothing but a good charm. At multiple military checkpoints, the young men with big guns were in awe of this beautiful, sky blue eyed puppy that looked like an arctic wolf. Instead of a series of demanding, suspicious, stabbing questions about what we were doing and where we were going; we were instead met with the sweet side of human nature.

The boys in green put their weapons down, gathered around the car, and took turns petting the sweet puppy from the north. They asked all kinds of curious questions, and looked more like a pack of school boys, than army soldiers with an attitude. The dog charmed its way thru every checkpoint and we rallied behind its cuteness, and almost bonded back into a dysfunctional family. I was a big fan of this puppy until that last night.

Puppy Love-

We must have been under a full moon spell. Or maybe it was the tequila. We tore into each other with a passion that was almost sweet. Then I ripped her underwear, she screamed with delight, and our mad animal spirits took over. We tumbled to the ground, rolled around on the sand until all of our clothing had been torn off. She was dripping wet when I entered her- I remember her juices running down her legs, down my mouth, onto my fingers. She was about to explode and I rode every precious moment I could. We were lost in the moment, drunk under the moon, fucking like we were possessed by some wild, carnal spirit.

When I felt a tongue in my ass, I thought momentarily that this woman was absolutely amazing. Somehow she had flexed in some gravity defying way to access that special place that most men don’t like to talk about. It was a new experience, but seemed to fit right into the night. Then the tongue was on my balls, and a few physics calculations told me something wasn’t lining up here. When I looked back, under my own legs, I saw the puppy. He was excited, he was inspired, he wanted to be a part of this, and all of a sudden we had a three-some.

It was a hot moment that I didn’t want to ruin, so I tried to slyly kick the puppy away from the scene. Sunny wiggled underneath me, completely oblivious to her mischievous dog and his curious ways. She was on the way to an explosive moment that I wanted to keep intact as long as possible. I changed my focus back to her, lowered my kicking legs, and figured a good kick had taught him a lesson about place and time.

It must have been Sunny’s cries, or maybe he was just moved by the carnal memories that ran deep in his DNA, for once again the puppy wanted in on it, and he went straight for my ass.

I tried to fuck and kick at the same time. A few minutes stretched into several lifetimes and one little death as we both came and collapsed into the sands. It was one of those powerful, bonding; I think I am in love with you moments. And that is about exactly how long the feeling lasted. We held each other on the sand, and I tried to forget about the strange ways of her puppy. It was the last night of any semblance of sweetness between us, and I tried to soak up every last drop of it.


Not My Drama-

When the dust settled and dawn had washed away the night, we realized we were almost in Cabo. It would be a few more hours of driving and then we would be at the tip of the peninsula. The where and why part of the trip that had been skipped over in previous discussions starting bubbling, or perhaps boiling to the surface. Turns out that Sunny’s ex-boyfriend, the love of her life, was living and working down here- with his girlfriend.

Before long, I got caught up in this drama as it got played out in our first encounters. I was that guy, at that party, who was kissed by that girl, who was hoping that other guy would see. It was a scene right out of a movie, so familiar, so dirty. I only let that one play out once, before I walked off the set.

Our next stumbling was at a dinner party arranged for the “two couples.” I sat with the dude’s present girlfriend and tried my best to console her as she burst into tears over this mad twist of fate that was tearing apart her world. As I started to fathom the dimension and details of what was going on, a sick feeling washed over me and the beautiful scenery that should have been paradise, but instead felt like a prison.

I backed out of the house, out of the drama, and back onto the beach. Reality crashed into Sunny like a massive freight train. I caught up with her and a box of booze on New Year’s Eve on the beach. We fucked one last time; she rolled off of me, and down the beach to meet some other guy.

I lay under the stars on New Year’s Eve and waited for the world to end. It was 2000, and anything could happen.

On January first, I learned that the world had survived. And I had no reason to still be on this beach- with this debauchery, this mad woman, and her lustful dog. Plan B was formed, a bag was packed, a hasty goodbye was made, and a thumb led me back out on the open road and whatever might come my way.

In Search of Jesus-

My first and only ride was from a group of young Canadians. They were classic Canadians with a white VW bus and giant red maple leaf on the back. They reveled in the northern culture and even sang me their national anthem. The oldest one couldn’t have been more then 19 and they smelled like they’d been living in the bus for weeks. The alpha male of the pack said he could get me home to San Diego if I didn’t mind stopping over at an orphanage to volunteer for a few days. With no reason to say no, I jumped in with two feet and joined their circus.

The orphanage was just a bit south of Ensenada, and was an impressive site. There were over 150 kids and a mostly Canadian volunteer force running the project. Apparently, one of my companions had an aunt that was living and volunteering down there, and that was our bridge into the cafeteria, bunk housing, macadamia fields, and baby sitting some little ones.

I really had no idea what I had gotten myself into. The orphanage was definitely under the watch and payroll of Jesus Christ and Associates. I remember the cafeteria having a huge sign that said “Your life will be changed forever…” as you walked out its door. Everyone there floated on some kind of light that seemed to bounce about the place, making even cold, dark corners dance with some celestial sparkle of hope.

I had never seen kids so well behave, so appreciative of cafeteria slop, so happy to just be. I watched, ate, and then fell into the routine of being a “volunteer”. We swept and mopped the floors and were then led out to the macadamia fields. The whole operation was funded by a combination of Canadian goodwill and the marketing of a variety of yummy macadamia treats. They had grafted macadamia trees onto hardy, drought resistant, native desert trees and had a huge orchard. We gathered nuts, ran them through a skin cracking machine, and then finished the job with our fingers. It was tedious, but bonding. I had a chance to soak up the character of my Canadian counterparts, and was relaxing into my new world of stable, sane, good natured people. It was the other side of the dark world that I had been rolling in with Sunny during the last week and a half, and I was most appreciative of this calm place and the feeling of giving to something beyond me.

Our last day at the orphanage brought me as close to Jesus as I’d ever been. Everyday had a religious service of some sort at the orphanage. This last day was special for a reason I can’t seem to remember- perhaps it was just a Sunday. We were each given a baby to care for during the service and invited into a large banquet room. They wanted the kids to be exposed to the love of JC right from the get go, regardless if they could walk, speak, or understand. I sat there with a little toddler in my arms and watched the scene unravel.

It started out just like they usually do: Some praying, some bible reading, some singing. But then it took a turn into a deeper place. People started to stand up one at a time and share some real deep struggles and how Jesus, or the bible, or maybe it was Mary had stepped and given them inspiration. The sharing was deep, real, and moving. And then the instruments were brought out.

I don’t know who these people were, or where they really came from, but damn could they play some music.

I felt like I had been transported up to the Appalachia Mountains. Someone was playing a saw, a woman was on the piano, a whole bunch of stringed instruments started appearing, and before I realized it, there was a full on JC inspired hoe down going on. The music was gorgeous, the songs had something to do with god, and that glossy eyed feeling of love, connecting, and perhaps the spirit started waxing over the congregation.

The baby I bounced on my knees fell for it, and before I knew it, so did I. I felt the love, I felt a connection, I felt something that seemed to be other worldly. I thought to myself, ‘maybe this is Jesus….or the spirit of Jesus. There had to be some reason people jumped on his train, and if this was it, I might just hop on board for a while.’

That all lasted until the baby started crying, a wet spot appeared on my knees, and that funny baby piss smell got clogged up in my nostrils and shook me from the moment. I gathered up the now shaking baby in my arms, found a path to the door, and set a course for the nursery.

I had walked with the man in sandals, or at least his spirit, or maybe it was just the madness of his possessed people. Whatever it was, it was sweet, and helped float me back to friend’s house in San Diego, and a train ticket back to Oregon. The computers had survived the big 2000 scare, and now it was time for me to plug back in.