With our newly welded Boler frame holding up well, we followed Mex 1 away from the coast towards the interior of the peninsula. Near Cataviña the flat desert suddenly sprouted a gigantic rock garden. A jumble of huge boulders, some bigger than cars, rose out of nowhere. Strewn about here and there, and in places piled on top of each other, these boulders didn’t seem to belong here. The same cactus-like vegetation grew in the sandy areas between the boulders, but the rocks lay grouped together, like a little town of rock houses. In a flat section surrounded by boulders, as if it were the town square of Rock City, we camped for the night with our traveling companions.
“Circle the wagons,” one of the veteran campers said. “Everybody have your door facing into the middle of the circle. It’s safer that way.” There wasn’t a soul in sight so we weren’t worried, but we weren’t that far from the highway. It didn’t hurt to take precautions.
The temperature went down to near freezing that night as we were too far from the ocean to benefit from its balmy breezes. A brisk morning hike got our blood circulating again and we marveled at the life in the desert. Coyotes that had yipped and howled that night, slunk out of sight as daylight became stronger. Quail called back and forth, passing word from boulder to boulder, of strangers sighted—intentions unknown. Songbirds flitted here and there as the warming sun rose higher. Lizards of various sorts played hide-and-seek with chipmunks.
I would love to have sat on a boulder and watched the cool night desert come alive with the heat of the day. But we had some distance to go that day and on returning from our walk, we heard our friend call, “Mount up.” We were on our way to the next adventure.