With mixed emotions, we’re off, driving north to our unknown life because cancer has come to call. We’ve driven the Baja many times; we know all the check points, gas stations, which restaurants to avoid, which hotels accept dogs, and the roads are familiar (and dangerous in many places). Our senses are heightened and we are consumed with our own thoughts. What the hell? Cancer? Really? There is this tiny, itsy bitsy idea in my head: maybe it’s not cancer. Maybe it’s okay. I guess it’s my natural state to be a positive thinker, but some would label my thinking nothing more than denial. I wonder what’s going on in Greg’s head?

We’ve haven’t gone very far when Greg starts talking about updating our will. His idea of making plans clearly includes the real possibility that cancer will get its way. Take his life. “No. No. No. I don’t want to talk about this right now.” But I have to acquiesce, because he needs me to focus on what he wants. He is Mr. Practical. And I think somewhere in his normal way of doing things–his modus operandi–he finds relief. That might sound odd, but making some practical plans, doing something over which you have some control, just allows your fear to take a step back. Okay, let’s focus on what we can do.

We also discuss when and how we will tell our three sons, and other family members. So far we have not shared anything with them. Very few people know what we’re dealing with and that is how Greg wants it right now. In order to leave our home for an unspecified time, we request assistance from our neighbors, who generously offer to do whatever we need. Greg takes care of all those plans too. It gives him something to do besides think.

Antonio, our Mexican gardener, will water our plants weekly and do a general clean up once a month. Randy, our dear friend, will maintain our solar batteries, and our close neighbor, Aldo, is in charge of paying Antonio (who works for Aldo too) and keeping tabs on our water needs, ordering a truck of water when the cistern is low. Aldo is also keeping an eye out so we don’t have troubles of the thieving kind. Our alarm system is functioning well, and we are as protected as possible. Greg has even made sure that we have the correct increments of pesos to pay Antonio organized for Aldo so he doesn’t have to go to the bank to change big bills into small ones. This is a kindness on Greg’s part, as there is nothing “normal” about a banking experience here in this part of Mexico. Trust me. It sucks.

Driving the Baja can be a harrowing experience because the roads are so narrow and there are so many huge trucks carrying the goods that keep all of us who live here comfortable, fed, and happy.

 

 

There are many mountains to cross and you go from one side of the peninsula to the other and back again. (See red line on the map above). There are no coffee shops, no signs pointing out your next Starbucks. We need to be alert. Besides, coffee is mandatory for a road trip. So we have a small propane stove and all the fixings for making our own coffee.

Day one is a hard day of driving. We take turns, though Greg does the majority of the driving. At our stop in Santa Rosalia for gas we can’t find a hotel with a vacancy that accepts dogs, so we continue on an hour or so where we find a small hotel for the night. We sleep restlessly and are up at 5:00AM. Our goal is to get through the rest of the Baja drive on day two. It’s doable.

 

 

 

Our backs are sore, we are tired and hungry and need a break, but we continue onward to the Tecate/US border crossing after a stop in Ensenada. There’s a Starbucks there too. Coffee is our fuel. California here we come.

We plan to stop in San Diego where our youngest son and his wife live. They  care for my 100 year old mom, making it possible for her to live in her own home. (They are angels.) We called them last night giving them our “news” and it will be good to get some hugs and a quick visit with them, plus some sleep before we continue to Washington and whatever the fates have in store for us.

Oh and by the way: