We talked about aborting the trip and doing something more fun. One possibility was to talk the fishermen into taking us with them when they go home to El Rosario in the evening. As we were trying to decide if we really wanted to quit the Pacific, the fishermen started piling into a beat up pickup truck. They were leaving early for the Easter weekend and this was our last chance for days! Konstantin ran over to ask them about a ride and suddenly our decision was made. I had to go because my name was on the insurance documents for the car. Konstantin had to come with me because he was the one who spoke Spanish. I dashed around and collected my wallet, a key to my truck, (Sid reminded me to bring a key at the last moment) and a few other items. I remembered to bring some toilet paper, Konstantin remembered to bring some water. Neither of us thought to bring a sleeping bag in case we didn’t make it back to my truck by nightfall.
Most of the preparation turned out to be unnecessary. The fishermen dropped us at the gas station in downtown El Rosario. Within minutes a kayaker (named Bob) on his way home to San Diego took us 61 kilometers north to the Old Mill road. Then three sport fishermen picked us up on their way back to their hotel, which turned out to be the Old Mill where my truck was parked! Konstantin and I raced back down to El Rosario and braved the dirt road in the dusk. The local fishermen had roared out this road in an hour laughing and joking and skidding around the turns for our benefit. We took it slower, only got lost twice after dark, and made it in two hours arriving by 8:30 PM. We drove up and shined the headlights at Sid’s tent and I said (in my worst Hollywood Mexican accent) “Senior Gringo, you must show us your tourist card”.
