In 1996 he and two buddies took a 1978 VW Camper on surfari down the Baja Peninsula, following that same rutted and dusty trail of his surfing forbears of the 50's and 60's. Spots north of Ensenada are waist high, crumbly, unremarkable. San Miguel looks very pacific.
Air is cold.
South of Ensenada, we start hitting paramilitary checkpoints along the road. Polite, friendly nineteen year olds with submachine guns slung casually over their shoulders are bored in the middle of the desert and are eager for us to entertain them. Mostly they are interested in checking out our camping gear and chatting. Light offshore breeze combs lines in golden, late afternoon sunlight. We camp after dark rather close to the road under a giant cardon cactus and crazy looking boojum trees.