And Back Again

  The final surfing experience in La Ticla made it difficult to accept the thought of leaving Mexico.  Floating on the warm waters of the Pacific, feeling the rythmic pulse of the building swell and the explosive feeling of catching a wave.  This experience is becoming apart of me, slowly etching itself into my periphery and reminding me why I will seek waves in near and far off places for the rest of my life.  

On the day of departure I woke up to the familiar alarm clock of roosters at dawn.  Once I packed up my simple living  into the previa I went to pick up David, my co-pilot from France who I agreed to give a lift up to Santa Cruz, California.  We set out to begin the six day driving saga.  The first night we arrived in a town called San Blas.  The town had hoped to make its mark on the map as a major tourist destination, with a friendly beach break,  many restaurants and shops and a friendly atmosphere.  The tourists ended up staying away due to a huge bug population.  It wasn't bad at all compared to northern BC.  The next day we drove up through Mazatlan past the Sierra Madre Mountains and ended up in a town called Los Mochis.  

The third day of driving brought us to the US border, this time we passed through surprisingly quickly.  We entered into Arizona and ended up in Tucson for the night.  Luckily we arrived just in time for the American Thanksgiving and we found a little cafe downtown that was serving Turkey dinner and the portions were typically american ...huge!  The next few days were spent dodging cars through six lanes of traffic in LA, drinking Rockstar energy drinks and

 grinding on through southern California to reach Santa Cruz.  After four and a half solid day of driving we arrived to one of the crown jewels of the California coast.  We parked the van and David was almost extatic to show me all of the surf beaches in town.  There was swell at the time (big waves) and at every point we checked there were around 200 people in the water, no thanks.  
The atmosphere in Santa Cruz was pretty sweet, not quite Mexicoesque but lots of surfers and outdoorsy people.  We stayed with a buddy of David's just outside of Santa Cruz who house was situated in a redwood cedar forest.  After a full day off from driving I felt a yearning to be done with driving so the next day was a big one, bringing me just south of Bend, Oregon.  Bend is a hip little town with a bit more of a mountain culture.  We spent time there a year and a half ago when we were climbing in Smith Rocks, just north of Bend.  I spent the night at a RV campground shivering underneath my comfortor dreaming about my feather duvet at home.  Day six brought me through Washington and to the Canadian border at around 8 pm.  The friendly Canuck border patrol man seemed content with my story of seeking warm waves in Mexico and after I told him I worked for the BC forest service as a firefighter he seemed pleased and waved me through without so much as a peep into my van.  Finally, the road home was a little less snowy than I'd hoped however life is good as friends and a warm fire were awaiting me.