Dead Car Canyon
Once again, I headed south of the border for a
weekend of fun in Baja California. Our destination
this time was Guadalupe Canyon, an oasis in an
otherwise parched and dusty region east and south
of Tecate. There, hot mineral springs bubble out of
the mountain, feeding man-made hot tubs in a
variety of secluded camp sites nestled under palm
trees.
From Tecate, we headed east across a wide
plateau, passing through the rural town of Rumorosa
before descending down a long, steep toll road into
a vast desert basin. The road curved and twisted
back and forth down the mountain side, dangerous
cliffs on the side of the road poised like jaws
waiting to swallow unwary automobiles. Glancing
over the side, we saw many past victims rusting at
the bottoms of the ravines. It wasn't long before
one of our teenage companions dubbed the area "Dead
Car Canyon."
Safely reaching the bottom of the grade, we left
the asphalt behind and plowed across Laguna Salada,
a dry lake bed where, oddly enough, opera star
Luciano Pavarotti had performed just one week ago.
As we crossed the dry sand, leaving huge clouds of
dust in our wake, Lory pointed at the mountain
range to the east. Despite her persistent attempts
to get me to see the optical illusion of the
"vanishing mountains," I just couldn't see it.
As soon as I could after arriving and setting up
camp, I changed into my bathing suit and jumped in
the hot tub. After four hours on the road (two of
which, technically, were off the road), I was ready
for some heat therapy on my sore back. After a week
of back pain and chiropractic adjustments, I was
ready for a weekend of soaking in hot mineral
spring water. And oh, how sweet it was.
©2003 Michael
Strickland ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
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