Oct 16 - Oct 20 : Ensenada: Coffee shops, travelers, and an MRI

We left the Bellinghausen brewery that morning and started towards Ensenada at the direction of our old friend Mauricio, but only after indulging in an overpriced tourist breakfast on the main drag of Valle de Guadalupe. Driving around the afternoon prior, we had noticed the growth, the development of the past six years. Everything was the same and everything was different. Where there had once been a single development of modern micro-casitas in the valley, now multiple properties boasted flocks of yurts, glass faced stand alone bedrooms, and pop-up geodesic domes, with more tiny foundations showing the continued growth of the trend. Where there had once been a couple incredibly polished wineries in a valley of dusty ranch estates, now there were modern monoliths dotting the thoroughfares. The amenities of downtown had been mom-and-pop restaurant store fronts, little shops selling basic desayunos or birria or tacos, but now there were well-faced restaurants with freshly washed patios and waiters running around in pressed black slacks and stiff white aprons. Lots had changed, little hand changed, and change is neither good nor bad, but it was all evidence that we had been away for six years.

A breakfast of chilaquiles in Valle de Guadalupe.

Hobbling back to the brewery-turned-camp-spot, intent on getting some answers about Chelsea’s back very soon.

When offered the chance to order an affogato in a beautiful vineyard, you must order an affogato in a beautiful vineyard.

One of the many stunning views from the excellent coffee shop.

We got ahold of Mauricio via WhatsApp and he wanted to see us. A little confusion between us meant that we went to go check out his sister’s new coffee shop in the Valle before we realized he was actually waiting for us at his wife Abigail's new coffee shop on Ensenada’s Malécon, which meant my morning was going to be a series of shots of espresso. His sister’s coffee shop was wonderful, an airy, clean, artsy spot with fresh herbs growing on the veranda, but Abi’s shop was on the other end of the Ensenada spectrum - urban, artsy, busy with local art on the walls and design details that felt very at home on the city’s front step, as welcoming to workers grabbing to-go coffees as it was to discerning gastro-tourists looking for the best lobster croissant in Baja.

Mauricio was waiting on the street for us, defending a parking spot just for us, welcoming us with the open arms of a close friend and professional tour guide. If we were in the US, I would refer to him as the next mayor of Ensenada, but not knowing the socio-political weight of that role in Mexico, it has to suffice to say that he promotes Ensenada because he is Ensenada - a vessel that contains an otherwise unlikely mix of excellence. The city, like him, is as at home with world-class motor sports racing as it is with award winning multi-generational vineyards, comfortable showcasing both traditional street food and modern, borderline urbane fine dining, welcoming of the single day cruise line tourist and the multi-year overlanders, and those like us, somehow caught in between it all. He and his wife are explorers, tour guides, adventurers, and thankfully, our hosts in Baja. I hesitate to call him a fixer, but I believe he’s got a guy for everything, and it was our mission after that third cup of coffee to go find one of his guy’s that he had set us up with years before: Dr. Fong, Chelsea’s neurosurgeon.

We had been trying to contact Dr. Fong on the way down, hoping to get an appointment with him and a referral for an MRI to check on Chelsea’s back, both to see how the old surgery from the first Mexico trip was holding up, and to see if there was any obvious injury causing Chelsea’s new symptoms. Some contact information had changed, six years had gone by, and we weren’t even sure if Dr. Fong was still practicing, but eventually we got through to him after confirming a few phone numbers with Mauricio. We exchanged WhatsApp messages, got our point across about the recent onset of pain and numbness, and had an “order” for some MRIs in no time (“order’ may be a overstatement, as all we had was text message from him, asking for lumbar and pelvic images and directions to show it to the receptionist at the imaging center.)

Over caffeinated and hopped up on adrenaline from driving a RHD van around the busy streets of the city, we found our way back to Burboa Radiológos, the setting of one of our favorite stories to tell about our first trip to Baja. When describing the travel magic of our first trip in 2016, or when trying to persuade American acquaintances to not fear Mexico and to think “outside the box” when it comes to searching for less expensive solutions to high skill services, we often tell the story of Chelsea’s back surgery. It’s a story of two scared kids, their old cat, and their big Swiss Army truck, looking for an inexpensive diagnosis for some back pain. We were advised to visit a doctor, who directed us to an MRI center which was easily identifiable due to the giant carcass of a spent MRI core sitting in the parking lot. It’s a story of a $238 medical bill including the MRI and 3 x-rays that happened after we were given profuse apologies that the center was running behind schedule, and they couldn’t fit us in until 10:30AM despite it being only 9:45AM and despite us not having an appointment. It’s a story that has become myth even in my brain, and I was there for it. It’s also a story that I thought was partially a one-off: surely the memory of the MRI core in the parking lot was a little fabricated, the MRI core couldn’t have just been sitting there, that is too storybook, and surely the promptness of the appointment was a fluke, no office runs that well. It couldn’t have been as easy as I remembered, and if it was, it must have been luck, the kind of luck that doesn’t come twice.

Well, it wasn’t luck, or if it was, luck it showed up twice. The offices of Burboa Radiológos was right where we remembered, carcass of an MRI and all. We paused for photos before heading inside, where we were met by a receptionist with a sweet smile that didn’t fade when she realized we couldn’t speak or understand Spanish, but did entirely disappear when she learned that we didn’t have an appointment. As it was our first day in Ensenada, our plan of attack was to head straight to the MRI office unannounced, and either try to get an appointment for that day, or make an appointment in person, as it is a lot easier for us to communicate in person than over a phone. Using a translate app, the three of us hastily typed out messages back and forth, the receptionist now scowling with disapproval at our lack of an appointment.

I do not have an apointment. I need an MRI. Pelvic and lumbar,” we typed.
No appointment?” the receptionist responded.
"No appointment. We can wait. We can return tomorrow,” we explained.
Ay dios mio…” sighed the receptionist, shaking her head at us, the uneducated, needy Americans, “… I will get you the next available appointment,” she typed into her computer’s text translator.
We can return tomorrow,” we replied, repeating what was already on our screen.
Your appointment is for 1:40PM. Go sit over there,” she directed, with an air of exasperation and I-did-what-I-could energy. I glanced at my watch, it was 1:29PM, and Chelsea’s appointment was in 11 minutes. I love Baja.

Three of my favorite things: Walter the Delica, Chelsea, and private healthcare in Ensenada. Posing outside Burboa Radiológos

Our overall strategy for getting a diagnosis on Chelsea’s back was “hurry up and wait”, and we did the hurry up part, the driving through the US and the arranging of an MRI in the first 30 hours we were in Mexico. Now, we had to wait for Dr. Fong to read the images and get back to us with a diagnosis. Mauricio and Abigail had graciously offered to put us up in the parking area of their rental house on the coast, and we graciously accepted. It was a little like coming home, or returning to a dream, as this was where Chelsea had recuperated after her back surgery. We weren’t the only travelers being welcomed that day either, and soon we were in the good company of Noré of noregomez.oficial and his three very good dogs. Between Gracie, Nore’s border collies, and Mauricio and Abigail’s canines, we were surrounded and outnumbered by a veritable pack of salty, wild dogs.

We played fetch, we blogged, we met some of Mauricio’s other guests, who invited us to a evening of tuna head tacos by the fire, and we enjoyed a local multi-brewery cervecería that had sprung up next to the compound since we had been there last. Chelsea took to sleeping in the passenger seat of the Delica, fully reclined, as that was the only way she could keep her back from worsening. That adjustment was bittersweet for me, as I was terribly worried about her when I was awake, but I wasn’t often awake when I had the bed all to myself.

We got some errands done in Ensenada - I needed a haircut and Mauricio had a guy for that, and we needed some fish tacos, which were luckily located directly next to the barber. Walter needed a bath and wipe down, and our laundry bag was full, so that gave us something to do. We spent a day bumming around Ensenada, waiting and hoping that Dr. Fong had gotten Chelsea’s films to review. We heard from him late in the afternoon and set up an office visit for the following day, giving us time to see friends and family around the town, and enjoy more meals and coffees and beers than necessary. We caught up with two of our favorite tour-guides-turned-family, Mariana and Alex, and Chelsea even got to meet her long lost uncle Jay, who’d been living in Ensenada on and off for years.

Chelsea’s office visit went well, with Doctor Fong squeezing us in moments before closing up shop and going on a vacation (… travel magic?). He had set up the office visit directly with Chelsea via WhatsApp, which gave his receptionist quite the surprise when we walked into the mostly abandoned neurosurgical practice at 4:55PM. Chelsea’s spine looked fine, with the current acute pain coming from a badly pinched nerve, likely near the original surgical site from six years ago, and the next disc up that we were worried about was still intact, and wasn’t the cause of the pain. We were relieved, as surgery wasn’t recommended for the current problems, but that left Chelsea still in pain. Dr. Fong wrote some prescriptions for steroids and an anticonvulsant to treat the neuropathy, and convinced us that Chelsea would heal and the drugs would help, and until then to limit any activities causing her pain.

Back in Ensenada, Camping at mauricios

Travelers are like rashes, if you catch one it will probably spread and then you will have two.

It was a dog and traveler party, never a dull moment.

Generations of campers in the sunset.

Gracie playing keep-away with her disc. Quickly, this disc would be torn in half during the heated rounds of fetch, leaving us with only TWO intact discs for the remainder of the trip!

Set up for camping on the coast.

Blogging, writing, napping, resting, waiting, at Mauricio’s.

Tuna head! Tacos!

A local feast with a table of travelers.

Chelsea had been relegated to sleeping in the passenger seat of the van. We were doing the best we could.

My two best friends resting in our rolling home.

Haircuts in downtown ensenada.

Fish tacos in downtown ensenada.

Doing laundry and some online work, I am hiding in the shadows.

Getting the van washed, killing time waiting for a diagnosis.

Dinner and vino with Mariana and Alex, it had been too long!

F(r)amily photo with MAriana and Alex

F(r)amily photo with Uncle Jay.

Waiting for a doctor while waiting for a diagnosis.

Meeting with Dr. Fong, reviweing the most recent MRI.

On the morning of our departure we met Mauricio and Abigail at their new coffee shop, Barra Mineral, for breakfast, coffee, and advice. We were working our way around their menu, with Chelsea’s favorite being “Cafe de la Bruja”, a house americano with cinnamon and cardamom. I spread a paper map out in front of us and asked Mauricio, “So how do I get from here to there?” pointing at Mazatlán and Veracruz. He had some ideas, and I started circling cities on the map, adding pops of context to the otherwise completely un-contextualized land mass of central Mexico. We had been to the East, driving through Tamaulipas to Veracruz to the Yucatán, and we had driven the west, through the 1000+ miles of Baja, but we hadn’t driven through the middle, connecting the two coasts. At least now I had a fold-out map with a few cities circled in ink, and a travel mentor whispering in my ear “Go there, its the center of the universe…”

Coffee and breakfast at Barra Mineral.

Discussing routes.

Discussing routes.

F(r)amily photo with Mauricio and Abigail!

Oct 9 - Oct 13 : Lone Pine to San Diego

We rolled into Lone Pine, CA, as the day was fading into evening. Dre, our host and old friend from guiding in Glacier National Park (and even older friend of Chelsea’s from her college years), had given us advice bordering on orders to arrive while there was still daylight. The views were not to be missed even if it meant delaying by a day. She certainly wasn’t wrong, and a mandatory detour around the semi-famous Whitney Portal Road took us along the stunning Tuttle Creek Road, an adventurous piece of single lane pavement both smooth and steep, like a roller coaster track, surrounded by fantastic polyps of granite, some oblong and smooth like giant dinosaur eggs. I am incredibly grateful for Dre’s advice and for the roadwork on Whitney Portal - we had reached the point in the trip that I would have been tempted to drive through late evening darkness to get to a known, safe driveway, or pass up a pretty, 20 minute detour for a direct, 3 minute route. The drive was worth it, and I hope we were able to capture even a fraction of that landscape’s majesty.

Dre gave us a tour of our camp spot, their new property, that evening, and we settled in under the stars. The next morning’s light really made the place shine, and we spent hours by the pool editing photos, stretching, writing, planning, and watching Dre’s two retired sled dogs teach her newly adopted dog how to act right. Gracie learned her place in the micro-pack and behaved herself, a welcome change to the anti-social behavior of her younger years. I’m not sure what gets credit for the change: her advancing age, the wisdom of the road, or the light dose of anxiety meds she gets with all her meals while we travel. Whatever it is, it’s working.

We spent a morning “exploding” part of the van, unpacking everything from a few of the compartments and repacking for maximum efficiency. The first aid kit got torn apart, labeled, and put back together. The duffle bag that hold our odds and ends got a similar treatment, as did part of my tool box, and some of the kitchen pantry. That evening we went for a walk with all four dogs leading all three humans through the desert vistas of the Shark Fin Trail and Movie Road. The Sierras put on a show, turning the sky bright pink with the last of the day’s light, and Chelsea’s back tolerated the two miles, barely. The next day she woke up feeling the activity, despite taking a slower pace and staying on top of her steroid regiment. Her back was responding to the drugs, but not as miraculously as we’d hoped.

The rest of the time was spent taking cool dips in a rad, retro, kidney-shaped pool (and feeling very California about it), making final prep lists for our stop in San Diego before the border crossing, cooking dinners, eating out, and generally carrying on like two late-thirties travelers hanging out at their friends’ beautiful property. Many thanks to Dre (and Caleb, but he was off on a work mission for the duration of our stay), a shining star of a host in what was fast becoming a long line of shining stars.

Fall colors greeted us along the route.

Gracie has really taken to road life.

Views for days at every mile we drove.

Storms over the mountains.

Our kind of road!

Mount Whitney and its friends greeted us on the drive in.

The road in felt like a fairytale.

The rock formations were so beautiful.

The views on the drive in blew us away.

As far as driveway camping goes, this spot certainly didn’t disappoint!

A tour of the property with Dre and the dogs - walking down to the orchard!

Their orchard and garden basked in the evening light.

Impressive sunset over the Sierras.

Basking in the glow of the sunset by the pool.

Dre and two of her three very good dogs.

A blissful evening in the fading light by the pool.

Exploding the van to reorganize and make a list of any last items we needed to add.

Afternoon cool-down in the kidney-shaped pool.

My walking abilities had progressed to at least not needing walking sticks to get around.

Our second night treated us to some beautiful views during an evening walk.

The backdrop of the Sierras were impressive.

Fen, front and center, finding his place in his new pack.

A pack of wild animals, and the dogs.

Dre admiring her new home’s beautiful landscape.

Family photo!

The last of the cotton candy sky over the impressive landscape of the Alabama Hills.

After Lone Pine, we headed south to San Diego, with a quick stop in between to visit some over-landing legends and turn internet friends into real friends. We took a short detour off our route to meet Micheal and Yvonne of Wabi Sabi Overland fame, and see their latest box-on-a-Jeep creation. We had followed each other on the social medias years ago because we were both Pinzgauer owners, making us part of a small club of rational people owning irrational vehicles. Their vehicles and travels had kept us intrigued for years and we had to take the chance to meet them, as who knows when our paths would cross again. They graciously gave us a tour of their new projects, and we left their workshop mouths agape and imaginations spinning.

Inspecting Michael’s impressive build.

Christian gleefully exclaimed “Take a picture, this is SO cool!” as Michael opened the hangar doors.

From there, it was south to San Diego, returning to the familiar feeling of being far from home, but only just barely on the doorstep of the next chapter of adventure. Driving from nearly the northern border of the US to the southern border is an adventure in itself, as hopefully these last few posts has shown, but for us it felt once again like a chore ticked off a list. The US is amazing and full of invaluable overland opportunities, and it would take a lifetime to see even half of what this beautiful country has to offer, but if what you want is international adventure travel, then you must realize that you simply can’t get that at home, no matter where home is for you.

We arrived, slightly frazzled by the rush-hour traffic we’d found ourselves in, at the driveway of our friends Ricky and Ashley, in the heart of the San Diego suburbs. We had stayed here both before and after our last Baja trip six years ago! They had graciously put us up as we were panicking and preparing to adventure in Mexico the first time, when we really didn’t know what we were in for, and then once again after the trip when Chelsea was recovering from her back surgery in Ensenada.

We had much less to prepare this time around, as we had learned a thing or two since we were last there. We had a short shopping list, and we needed to make a bunch of copies of paperwork and arrange our documents, so we spent about half of a day doing that. We integrated ourselves into the family dynamic for a few days, gladly being part of the bustling household, a welcome respite from the road. I attempted a repair on my solar panel mount, realized the repair would have required fully removing part of the roof rack system, and instead swapped two little zip ties that I used as a trail fix for one big zip tie. With little holding us back, we did one last load of laundry and got ready to leave.

Our hosts made us a big Saturday morning breakfast for our send-off, complete with homemade thick-cut peppered bacon and fried eggs. On the morning of our departure a partial eclipse waved us goodbye. I can’t tell if I wanted that to be an omen of some sort; I’ve been contemplating how to fit it into the narrative for the past hour. Was it an unusual break of a natural cycle, mimicking our own? Was it a reminder that there are larger forces at play, and that the story of two middle-aged, washed-up adventurers, their old van, and their crazy dog just isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things? Who knows. Who cares. Let’s ride. Vámonos.

Christian helping to install some carseats into Rick’s Scout that he bought in Idaho with our assistance several years ago. June, the walking teddy bear, in the foreground.

A hasty IPhone photo of the partial solar eclipse. We were busy packing/prepping to leave…we couldn’t be bothered to take any other photos.

Our gracious San Diego hosts preparing a delicious breakfast. Their home was such a welcome refuge in the past as it is now. We don’t get many tastes of domestic life wheil were on the road, and our stay there was an absolute treat.

A slightly-too-sunny-for-the-kids selfie with Ashley, Rick, Remington and Loralai.

Mexico, Part 4: Mike's Sky Rancho, Sea of Cortez, Coco's Corner

Mike's Sky Rancho

We left Ensenada reluctantly, saying our temporary goodbyes to Mauricio and Abby (and Vini the dog and the '61 Land Rover). Mauricio repeatedly told us that he didn't want us to leave because once we realized how excellent Baja really is, we'd never return to Ensenada. Don't worry Mauricio, we'll be back, we promise.

Our first destination outside Ensenada was Mike's Sky Rancho, a little backwoods ranch popular for dirt bike and off road trips. It's got a long history that we don't really know much about. The winter seems like the off season, as the pool was not full (or clean) and most of the rooms were unoccupied. One medium sized dirt bike tour was at the ranch when we arrived, but other than them, a few ladies running the kitchen, and the Mike tending the bar, we were alone in the woods. The ranch is 31 kilometers in on a decent road with a handful of small, washed out climbs that could be handled by a stock Ford Ranger, but perhaps not by a Subaru Legacy, if that makes sense. Honestly, a Legacy could probably get to the ranch, but might drag a skid plate here or there. We stayed one night, didn't love the price or the accomodations, and left the next morning.

A sweet Ensenada sunset saying goodbye to us.

A sweet Ensenada sunset saying goodbye to us.

The team, animals included, on the morning of departure.

The team, animals included, on the morning of departure.

We could hardly get out of our seats before being surrounded by the folks from the dirt bike tour checking out our pad.

We could hardly get out of our seats before being surrounded by the folks from the dirt bike tour checking out our pad.

Loulou exploring new heights while we peruse the map for our next destination.

Loulou exploring new heights while we peruse the map for our next destination.

4-wheeling with a cat!

4-wheeling with a cat!

We drove through mountains and over small desert passes until we reached the Sea of Cortez at San Felipe. San Felipe is the northern-most city on the Sea of Cortez on Mexico 5, and marks the point where the highway begins to follow the beaches. The town is small, but set up for tourists, complete with a crowded merchant block, and many small RV parks and hotels. We continued south and camped at a forgotten RV resort that never took off. The whole scene was quite dystopian, and even though the security guard was charging too much ($300M) for nothing (nearly no facilities), we spent a nice night and got to cook over a fire, which is always a plus.

The next day we made it to Puertecitos, a small community split nearly 50/50 between locals and expatriates. Puertecitos not only boasts excellent beachside camping, but also a tidal pool hot spring that is a perfect temperature right as the tide is coming in or out. At high tide the hot pools are blown out and filled by cold sea water, and at low tide the pools are hot enough to boil you alive, so the window of opportunity is fleeting and ever-changing.

There we met some other travelers, including one nice Californian who swapped a Chevy 350 small block into his Land Rover. It makes a GREAT sound, and the roar is totally unexpected when you see the rig. We spent New Year's Eve soaking and dining at the community potluck, and headed out the next day.

Desert mixed with beach in Baja California.

Desert mixed with beach in Baja California.

Our camp spot in the forgotten RV resort.

Our camp spot in the forgotten RV resort.

Super slow service at the poolside bar... let it suffice to say that the bartender didn't get a tip.

Super slow service at the poolside bar... let it suffice to say that the bartender didn't get a tip.

Camping and cooking at the forgotten RV resort.

Camping and cooking at the forgotten RV resort.

Free fuel, collected from the beach. The dish in the foreground is a pie plate heaped with coals, acting as a dutch oven to bake the corn bread within.

Free fuel, collected from the beach. The dish in the foreground is a pie plate heaped with coals, acting as a dutch oven to bake the corn bread within.

Our new friend francisco and his Land Rover with a 350! Sounds so good!

Our new friend francisco and his Land Rover with a 350! Sounds so good!

Seaside hot springs in Puetrecitos.

Seaside hot springs in Puetrecitos.

Testing the tidal hot spring water.

Testing the tidal hot spring water.

If you bring your own hose, a convenient water spigot becomes a shower!

If you bring your own hose, a convenient water spigot becomes a shower!

Puertecitos even had a library and a post office! And a yet-unnamed project building.

Puertecitos even had a library and a post office! And a yet-unnamed project building.

South of Puertecitos we followed a highway project back towards Mexico 1, and we had about five lanes of space to use. We dodged ruts and washboard as best we could, but it was tiring. We had heard of a fabled spot, run by a guy named Coco, Coco's Corner, and folks had said camping was free if you bought a beverage. How could we refuse?

We found Coco hollering "HELLO! HOLA! HELLO! HOLA!" over and over and over again. He's nearly 80 years old and a double below-the-knee-amputee, so when a car arrives he's a little slow to greet them, but calls out greetings in different languages in hopes that whomever entered his compound will stay and chat. He's fantastically giving, even though at first glance it looks like he doesn't have much. He lives in a well built, although mostly uninsulated plywood home. Most Americans would call it a shack, but its a step above that. Everything in his house is fit for him. The kitchen counters are too low for me but at the perfect height for his wheel chair. His workshop is the same, with workbenches built just for him. His compound is mostly powered by a few solar panels, but at night he fires up the generator so he can watch movies and turn on the flood lights of the lot. He offers help to EVERYONE, and even gave us a round of beers for free. If you're in the area, stop and see him. His generosity will warm your heart. He is a gift from God for the traveler. (And his 80th birthday is February 25th, so if you're in the area, give him a big birthday hug from the both of us!)

Using not only the whole road, but all the roads.

Using not only the whole road, but all the roads.

Signing Coco's guest book. HEY PACIFICO! SPONSOR THIS GUY!

Signing Coco's guest book. HEY PACIFICO! SPONSOR THIS GUY!

Had to draw Little Foot, for all the travelers of the future to see. (He makes you sign the book with your given birth name name and birthplace!)

Had to draw Little Foot, for all the travelers of the future to see. (He makes you sign the book with your given birth name name and birthplace!)

Cooking with Coco. He told me that I am NEVER allowed to open my own restraurant, as I'm much too slow for his liking.

Cooking with Coco. He told me that I am NEVER allowed to open my own restraurant, as I'm much too slow for his liking.

Glamour shot with Coco. He gets around in his chair, but he also walks on his knees pretty well, hence the hefty leather "boots".

Glamour shot with Coco. He gets around in his chair, but he also walks on his knees pretty well, hence the hefty leather "boots".

Do not feel bad for Coco. He's happier than you. Figure out what he has figured out and you will be happy forever.

Do not feel bad for Coco. He's happier than you. Figure out what he has figured out and you will be happy forever.

Little Foot posing.

Little Foot posing.

Heading on south! 244 kilometers to go until... somewhere?

Heading on south! 244 kilometers to go until... somewhere?

You meet the nicest people on Craigslist.

Last week we left you on a bit of a cliff-hanger; lets pick up where we left off. We rolled into Portland's Union station about 15 minutes early, which was good because we figured we needed every second to secure funds to make our next greatest-ever purchase. 

We were busy, but we had time to snap some quick shots. Union station is beautiful.

We were busy, but we had time to snap some quick shots. Union station is beautiful.

Chelsea looked remarkably good for spending a night in a train seat. I didn't.

Chelsea looked remarkably good for spending a night in a train seat. I didn't.

We played physical sudoku on a board Chels picked up at a curiosities store down the block from the bank. Only in Portland?

We played physical sudoku on a board Chels picked up at a curiosities store down the block from the bank. Only in Portland?

We hailed a cab real fast and drove a few miles away to a Wells Fargo bank. The daily manager, Mr. Trevor, was BEYOND helpful. We were there from just after open until just after closing (on a Saturday!) trying to manage access to some of our funds at a different state in a different bank, but alas, it didn't work out. We knew we would be heading to meet a gentleman by the name of Toby to discuss our purchase of a Swiss Army Pinzgauer truck at 2 o'clock when the bank closed, but we also knew we wouldn't have the cash in hand to buy it. The bank could process our request first thing on Monday, but that was two days away. We shrugged, phoned Toby, and (unbeknownst to us) started a GREAT weekend away.

Toby and I (and one of Toby's neighbors who is looking under the truck) checking out the Pinzguaer.

Toby and I (and one of Toby's neighbors who is looking under the truck) checking out the Pinzguaer.

So much shop talk. SO much learning. I was/am in heaven.

So much shop talk. SO much learning. I was/am in heaven.

It drives like a completely mechanical Austrian army truck. OHMYGOSHSOMUCHFUN.

It drives like a completely mechanical Austrian army truck. OHMYGOSHSOMUCHFUN.

Toby picked us up from the bank after waiting for ages. We were very afraid we were shooting his weekend in the foot, and man we felt bad, but he was cool as a cucumber. Over the course of the afternoon (and then the weekend!) Toby told us all about his Pinzgauer.

A Pinzgauer is a breed of Swiss cow, but more importantly, its a highly capable off-road vehicle built by the Steyr-Puch company for the Swiss and Austrian Militaries. They are commonly 4x4s and more rarely 6x6s, and originally powered by air-cooled gas engines, but more recently by turbo-diesels. We found a 1982 6x6 with a rare "workshop" fiberglass box attached to the back listed for sale a few weeks ago. After doing some research and realizing what a find it was, we spent every subsequent day thereafter talking ourselves into and out of buying it. Long story short, it's got low miles, great tires, and a fiberglass house/box on the back. Its drivetrain is designed to be both sturdy and serviceable, it has reasonable gas milage, terrific clearance, and incredible traction. It's well designed, over built, and underused, and that's why we're planning on taking it overland from here as far south as we can go. Mexico? Central America? Tierra Del Fuego? Who knows.

We were sold, and Toby liked the number Chelsea and I offered him (third offer; we totally lowballed the poor guy at first and he took it in stride). The only problem was, we didn't have the cash to back up our talk. All three of us were sitting on the curb thinking when Toby's wonderful wife Nicole walked up (after chasing their dog around the block, whom we had let out of the house by accident). Toby glanced at her sideways, saying something about us finding a hostel, and she cut him off saying:

"Of course they can stay with us."

That's me on the left, Maya the pate queen in the center, and Nicole in the striped pullover on the right.

That's me on the left, Maya the pate queen in the center, and Nicole in the striped pullover on the right.

The symphony plays in the distance as Toby and I talk shop about Swiss/Austrian trucks.

The symphony plays in the distance as Toby and I talk shop about Swiss/Austrian trucks.

The rose garden went nearly completely unappreciated that night. Portland's parks (or at least this one) are beautiful.

The rose garden went nearly completely unappreciated that night. Portland's parks (or at least this one) are beautiful.

What unfolded over the following two days was the most wonderful weekend away that we didn't know we desperately needed. Nicole and Toby kicked off our weekend with a free symphony concert at a nearby park. We had a charcuterie plate that rivaled the offerings of a fine restaurant, homemade pâté, fresh fruit, fresh bread, and fresh beverages. It was freshly excellent. We met some more new friends, and learned that the next day (Sunday) would feature a full-on brunch, and eventually went back to Toby and Nicole's house, fat and happy.

Measuring and dreaming.

Measuring and dreaming.

It has levers! And Rifle holders! (We actually removed the rifle racks and donated them back to Toby, who will be able to use in another vehicle of his.)

It has levers! And Rifle holders! (We actually removed the rifle racks and donated them back to Toby, who will be able to use in another vehicle of his.)

This is about as "American Beauty" as I get.

This is about as "American Beauty" as I get.

Here I am checking one of the ELEVEN fluid levels in the drive train. ELEVEN. That's one more than 10.

Here I am checking one of the ELEVEN fluid levels in the drive train. ELEVEN. That's one more than 10.

The next morning we got acquainted with our new vehicle; Chels started taking measurements of the box and organizing a small portion of its orignial interior outfitting, and I started checking and filling its 11 chambers of gear oil in the drive train (six portal axles, three differentials, a transfer case and a transmission). Toby and Nichole's neighbors are awesome, and we eventually had an audience of onlookers. Apparently Toby's eccentric vehicles are no new thing to his neighbors. We worked for hours, but in the early afternoon we were pulled from our pursuits to have the most outstanding brunch ever.

You're looking at Halibut Cheeks, eggs, fried zucCHinis, fresh fruit, and a newborn dutch baby. Don't worry, the Bubbly is on the Table.

You're looking at Halibut Cheeks, eggs, fried zucCHinis, fresh fruit, and a newborn dutch baby. Don't worry, the Bubbly is on the Table.

I am a huge fan of strangers. (sorry for the mishapen heads…panos don't always play well with moving objects)

I am a huge fan of strangers. (sorry for the mishapen heads…panos don't always play well with moving objects)

Straight up: brunch was nearly as excellent as the Pinzgauer parked out front. The whole conversation, hours of it, was spent on talking about traveling. From Asia to South America to Europe, it turns out we had found some new, very well-traveled friends. I left knowing two things: Halibut cheeks are superb, and there is a beat-up motorcycle named "The Chupacabra" that I need to rescue in Panama. Hopefully both topics will feature in further posts.

Reading up on important stuff.

Reading up on important stuff.

We acted like good gelato wasn't a big thing for us. Its a big thing for us.

We acted like good gelato wasn't a big thing for us. Its a big thing for us.

Walrus time!

Walrus time!

Later that evening Toby and Nicole took us on a tour of downtown Portland. We hit up Powell's used book store (you gotta go) and then Pinolo Gelato, and man they both were amazing. Check 'em out. We bought a book on camping, seeing as we'll be doing only that once we move into the Pinzgauer full time and start traveling.

Amazing food. New Friends. Austrian/Swiss vehicles. Really well designed furniture. God, is this heaven?

Amazing food. New Friends. Austrian/Swiss vehicles. Really well designed furniture. God, is this heaven?

Just killer food. Nicole can cook.

Just killer food. Nicole can cook.

Dinner was as good as brunch. more Halibut (yessssss!) more fresh bread, more delicious salads, all set before a fantastic backdrop of European design, retro American art, and Austrian vehicles. I want to take this moment to well and truly thank Toby and Nicole. You two are unparalleled in the world of my travels. I sincerely hope we can stay friends, if only for more of Nicole's cooking.

Happy dance at a rest stop!

Happy dance at a rest stop!

The next (Monday) morning, Chels and I ran to the bank and waited eagerly for them to unlock the door. We secured some funds, took some selfies, packed the Pinz and headed off for 600+ miles of straight driving back to the headquarters of Montana Raft Company. We both had work the next day, and couldn't dilly-dally. We would have loved to stop along the shores and vineyards of the Columbia river valley, or explore some of the side towns and rivers, but alas, those weren't on the docket for today. We had to boogie.

If you don't need hearing protection when you drive, you're driving the wrong vehicle.

If you don't need hearing protection when you drive, you're driving the wrong vehicle.

Toby was with us every step of the way. (That's him on the phone with me as I attempt to mess with the timing.)

Toby was with us every step of the way. (That's him on the phone with me as I attempt to mess with the timing.)

We drove and drove and drove, until I heard a rattle that I couldn't ignore. Something didn't sound right about the Pinz, but it may have been the hours and hours of driving ringing in my ears. I phoned Toby to rule out the possibility of pre-ignition (pinging can damage an engine fast), and we decided everything was probably OK. With a little confidence, we drove on into the night.

11 is a lucky number. Always stop/pump at lucky number gas pumps. Its doesn't cost extra.

11 is a lucky number. Always stop/pump at lucky number gas pumps. Its doesn't cost extra.

Where is that rattle???

Where is that rattle???

We drove further until the rattle darn near drove me nuts. I couldn't imagine that the sound I was hearing wasn't causing trouble, so Chels and I took the seats out (so easy) and removed the doghouse covering the engine (also easy) to make a diagnosis. It's real nice having the engine in the cab because it's totally covered and you can work on it from a standing position. We figured out that the only belt on the engine was vibrating laterally under a specific RPM, and probably needs replaced, but luckily it could wait until West Glacier.

As we were waiting, a gentleman by the name of Steve Hannah walked up to us, blown away by the coolness of the Pinzgauer. I was tired, beat up, and a little scared that the truck I had just spent a lot of money buying was already rattling itself apart. That attitude didn't last for long, as Steve bombarded us with compliments and positivity. In a kinda dark moment, Steve was the kick in the pants we needed. He told us that we gave him his biggest smile in five years, and kept exclaiming, 'Who does that?," but not in a condescending, parental, critical kind of way. His cries were those of someone who understood what we were doing, and loved it, but loved it in a way of just now realizing that a dream could come true. 

And so that's that. Our dream is to drive all over the place. We want to travel overland, for a long time, cheaply. We don't need a $350,000 EarthRoamer or custom Unimog. We need a sturdy truck and pocketful of dreams, and now we have both.

Give it all up and adventure all over the world. Who does that? We do, and so can you.