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We're leaving Mexico tomorrow. "What? How the hell did that happen?" Well, thank you for asking, reader. Allow me to continue answering that question.

PUERTO VIEJO

(That's what Joe keeps calling Puerto Vallarta). After we had our stellar beach day despite the most regulatin'est efforts of PV's chubbiest narc, we had two nights left. The first I spent satisfying my parent's unquenchable lust for blog posts. The second we spent at an adult theme park that travelers and maps and the government refer to as "Sayulita." In between we rented waverunners. I weren't fast. Tim went fast. Joe and Kali went fast. Then Kali went to the beach, because Joe injured her. I was confused when I looked for them and only saw an empty waverunner chillin' by its lonesome. I was less confused and more concerned when I saw one long-haired figure rescue-swimming a second long-haired figure. The concern that replaced said confusion was waylayed when I saw that Kali was not dead, but rather just in too much physical agony to continue. Don't worry, parents, it didn't last and Joe has gone the four days since without hurting Kali even once.

Puerto Vallarta is right down the coast from Sayulita. We knew a little about Sayulita. Namely that a friend of mine had just been there for a while and loved it, and that people are less generous with their property there than in other parts of Mexico. Our Couchsurfing host Samy was also fond of the surfing town and successfully talked us into spending Saturday night there. I definitely don't regret it, but there was nothing Mexican about the experience. We walked by a burger joint where the pony-tailed blond surfer said "weh muustly duh buhrrgers." Pretty sure whatever he mostly does is not food and not legal. We checked out a few more places before returning to our live-in-the-moment beach bum friend who informed us that "we muustly duh buhrrgers." Fully. The burgers were amazing, a sure sign of foreign presence. I also have to admit to misjudging the amount of " bum" on our beach bum server. He didn't even smile when we asked for the leftover piña coladas from the neighboring table. (But in my defense, when we asked for his opinion of the women who order them, he described the, as "owknow, thurr mellow.") It is a paradise in ways. It's beautiful and clean and totally supportive of any addiction you can think of. We drank top shelf tequila in the street and called it a night.

MOVE OVER EL CHAPO

We said goodbye to our new friends on Sunday and headed north to Mazatlan, which is where the ferry from La Paz dropped us off, making it the only city we will have seen twice on the trip. It's also the city in which legendary druglord El Chapo was arrested while cooking beans in his hotel a couple weeks before our arrival. The building was surprisingly modest. Respect. We, on the other hand, sprung for an expensive but pretty regular hotel right on the boardwalk. This and the neighboring hotels seem to be doing a good job preying on the travelers who are too tired to continue farther down the boardwalk to the nicer, cheaper hotels. We had an ocean view room and a dirty swimming pool. They couldn't tell us where to rent kayaks, but we figured it out on our own (on the nicer, cheaper end of the boardwalk). We paddled to Deer Island and played volleyball with less coordination than I've done anything since I took a bunch of opium and tried to tie my shoes with my hands behind my back. Ooohh Singapore. 

The next day was our longest ride yet, and a healthy chunk of our push toward the border. Things were going well until we reached our destination and decided we could put an eighth hour in. As we pulled out from making the decision, Tim was hit by a car. He is no longer with us. He's fine, but he's in the other room. It was a low-speed kiss from a litte pickup. Tim is fine but Kali's luggage setup took some damage. We'll have to get creative with it for the rest of the trip, but we made it that final hour without much concern. We are now in San Carlos, a retirement suburb outside of Guaymas, about 5 hours south of the US. We heard about San Carlos from this greasy old creep at our hotel in Mazatlan and for some reason trusted him. It's fine, but nothing special. We've had some good food, we've balked at getting tattoos, and we've had some solid lounge time. At this time tomorrow we should be somewhere in Arizona, but there is still plenty of time before we're home. The Mexican part of the trip wasn't what I had imagined, but I don't regret any of it now and don't imagine regretting any of it in the future, unless of course when I get home I discover that my roommate Matt has stretched out my jeans. I'VE OFFERED YOU ENOUGH HELP WITH YOUR OWN JEANS, MATT!

CALM BEFORE THE STORM

So, our plans will need to change, and maybe some of you can help. We will still be in Joshua Tree for the early days of next week, but the rest of the trip has been murked by inclement weather. It's freezing in Yosemite and raining everywhere else in Cali for the next ten days. As poetic as it would be to start and end our trip to paradise in sloppy wet misery, well, nobody likes that poem. Other options include camping at Big Sur or going through Vegas. As long as we can reach the Bay Area by the 5th (where we left all our rain gear) so Kali can catch her flight to Nicaragua we will consider anything. Ideas? Recommendations? Southern California REI locations with the best rain gear selection? Holler at your boys (in the gender neutral sense).

The next blog will come from the motherland, and will thus include tails of independent wealth and the safety of automatic weapons. See you then.

Love,
The Dirty Riders


BERG'S EYE VIEW

-Sorry, gotta pack!






-okay fine Joe saw two more dead dogs and tacos are great