Date:         Sun, 18 Mar 2007 20:07:11 -0800
Reply-To:     Mark Drillock <mdrillock@COX.NET>
Sender:       Vanagon Mailing List <vanagon@gerry.vanagon.com>
From:         Mark Drillock <mdrillock@COX.NET>
Subject:      Baja Syncro Chronicles vol 113, long
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People seem to wonder at times if Syncros are worth the cost of
ownership. A fair question for sure. It all depends on what you need the
Syncro for.

A week ago today, I was down in Baja with one of my Syncros. A friend
and I drove it down a few days earlier to stay in a campo where I have a
small travel trailer permanently parked. At night I stayed in my trailer
while my friend stayed in the Syncro. It is a mostly stock passenger
model with center seat removed for carrying capacity. He had never slept
in a Vanagon before and was very impressed with the experience compared
to tent camping. Roomy and comfortable, almost luxurious.

The sun was up brightly about 6 am and we were also, since we planned to
take my inflatable boat out for some fishing. The day was calm as could
be and the water was dead still with no waves and very little sound even
at the waters edge. We packed a few bottles of water and snacks,
launched the boat, and headed a ways south to a place where I have had
good luck before. Baja is a volatile place weather wise and the frequent
strong winds and threat there of normally keep me withing a few miles of
camp while out in my little boat. Since the night was so calm and the
day dead still we decided to go to a place about as far as I ever
ventured by boat. After cruising at speed for about 30 minutes we
arrived at the intended fishing hole, expecting to slowly fish our way
back. A ways farther down the coast was visible a small rock islet where
I sometimes drove down and kayak fished, by 14 miles of rough dirt road.
We looked at each other and decided what the heck, it does not look that
much farther and the day is so calm. In a flash we were up to speed and
20 minutes later arrived at the islet.

We put on some lures and trolled slowly twice around the giant rock with
only a small released bass to show for the effort. We pulled up on the
exposed side, stopped the boat motor, and started casting some small
metal lures toward the islet and fast retrieving them. On about the 3
cast my friend's rod bent over and line went out from his reel. He
hollered and the fight was on, or so we thought. Seconds later the line
was going straight down and appeared to be caught on the bottom. He
started testing to see if he could work the fish up some when suddenly
the line gave way, cut off on some deep sharp rock. Ah well, that's fishing.

As he rigged up for another try, I looked off in the distance and my
heart sank. Way off to the north where we had come from I could see a
dark line in the water across the horizon. WIND!! I told him we had to
leave NOW and he knew I meant it. We fired up the outboard and headed
back north as quickly as we could. It was still quite calm where we were
but off in the distance it was changing fast. Soon the strong breeze
reached us and the boat started hopping over small swells. We were not
even back to the spot we had originally intended to fish and spray and
more water than I liked was sweeping over the bow of the boat every 30
seconds or so. Then every 20 seconds, then 10... We were not going to be
able make it back...........

The shore line we were passing was very rocky and exposed. I knew of a
place just ahead where if we could get to we would have a chance to get
the boat up on shore and at the very least be safe ourselves. It was a
solitary hidden beach where my wife and I used to camp 15 years ago. We
fought on and I told my friend not to worry we would be ok, in spite of
the waves that were drenching us both. We made it to the rocky beach,
lowered our landing wheels, and I quickly shouted my plan. I pointed to
the best path I could see through the boulders and gunned the motor
toward the shore.

We nosed up into the rocks and killed the motor. We both jumped out and
pulled the boat up till it was wedged in the boulders, small waves
crashing around us. Then we started carrying everything higher up onto
the shore to get the boat light enough to manhandle up too. A few cuts
and bruises but we managed it all fairly well through the slippery
rocks. We collapsed onto the sand and my friend looked over and asked
WHAT NOW?

No sweat said I, I know this place and I will walk for help. He looked
around at the barren landscape and shook his head. No really, I said, I
have camped here before and the main "road" is just over that small
hill. We divided up our snacks, eating some of them as we talked. Only 7
miles back to camp by the dirt road I said, over the mountain. Maybe 2
hours of hard walking into the stiff wind and I should catch a ride
anyway since it was Sunday and people would be heading north to return
to civilization. 2 bottles of water each, a couple beers left for him, I
should be back in 3 hours at the most.

I started up toward the road, wishing I had brought socks as sand and
sharp bits of gravels were being kicked up by the wind and getting in my
shoes. This was not going to be fun if I had to walk the whole way. I
walked hard for long while, made it over the mountain, and stopped to
clear my shoes for the 3rd time. I heard an engine in the distance so I
jumped up, hopeful. Just a motorcycle, going the wrong way for me. Then
another, and another and some more. Hardcore types but without any gear
so a sag wagon must be bringing up the rear. About a half hour later the
4wd SUV appeared. They slowed and asked if I needed water but I waved
them on. Another half hour and I heard another motor, this time from
behind. A ratty mini pickup with some very scroungy Mexicans in the
front was coming. They knew right away what was what and the passenger
slid over in the front seat to make room before they even reached me.
The door opened as they slowed and I jumped in. We said our hellos and
headed up the road at not much more than a fast walk. Too rough for the
tired old truck and it's baldish tires but a ride is a ride.

They took me the last 3 miles to my place and I got out with a smile and
thanks. I have found Mexican people to be very helpful and kind once you
get out of the cities, like most places I think.

Reaching the trailer, I gulped down a cold soda and cleared some stuff
out of the Syncro to make room for the boat stuff. Then I drove back to
where I hoped my friend was patiently waiting. He was laying on his back
dozing as I pulled down to the other end of the beach from him and he
did not notice the Syncro over the wind. The spur road had ended at some
deep sand and rocks so I parked and walked the rest of the way along the
shore to him, looking at the ground for a way to drive there without
getting stuck.  The beach was a no go but the flat area above it had
enough small rocks that I thought the Syncro could likely make it at
least part way. I told him my plan and we started carrying the boat
stuff up to the top where I expected to soon drive the Syncro. I walked
back to the Syncro and pulled out my tire pressure gauge. Time to let
some air out, lots of it. Nothing improves your chances in sand like
soft tires. I went down to 25 front and 30 rear. I could have done more
but I wanted to leave some room to go down more if I got stuck. Then I
would back out and we would just have to drag everything for a few
hundred yards, trip by trip.

I pulled the knob for the rear locker and started off in G gear. The
Syncro slowed and spun the tires a few times here and there while I kept
the gas floored. I made it most of the way to my friend and then decided
not to push it any further than a high spot where there would be room to
turn around. We started making the short trips with our stuff to the
Syncro and finally pulled the boat itself up to the back hatch. 12'
inflatable with wood floor... my friend says, what? aren't we putting it
on the roof? this thing won't fit in there!.....

We lifted the nose of the boat up into the back hatch and sure enough
the largest part of the boat was a couple feet too wide to go in. We let
air out of the boat until the sides were soft enough and then shoved it
the rest of the way right in. The deflated ends of the pontoons folded
in and I closed the hatch. We jumped in and started to pick our way back
to the dirt road, 400+ pounds heavier than when I drove in. A little
dicey in spots but we made it back to the road and headed back to camp.

Sandwiches, a few beers, SIESTA TIME!!!

Mark
87 Syncro, stock motor and trans
215/75/15 Mich AT tires
aggressive VC