TheBanyanTree: I hope this will work this time! PT.1

[MFV]

Brother Paul tells me I have not posted this to the new address
correctly (I thought I did!) so here goes. This went out through
the Yahoo pipeline last week, and I know it got to the Tree as I've
received mail regarding it since, though some have told me they
only got half, which like half an avocado and peanut butter and
anchovie sandwich ain't anywhere as good as a whole one!

At any rate, here it is again, half today, half tomorrow. . .with
appologies for any duplication.



                                     -0-0-0-


Hi Banyanaroonies!

Hey! I'm back! Marched into Denver about a week ago, and kinda
hoped they'd set up a ticker-tape parade or something like it to
celebrate my return. They did even better. They held a blizzard!
The biggest, most snow-laden, most vicious since 1913! Better
than nothing, I guess; and I do love weather, but this was
ridicules!

Naturally I've been writing every chance I've had. Below is some
of the latest verbiage along with all of my love and kisses.
Sorry I've had to be gone so much but things have been a little
crazy lately and there's lots to do elsewhere.

So, John in Wales and Emu-Paul and Cecil and Tom, Tobie and Tabby; 
Jan and Rosie, Nancy Lee and Red Pepper and Peter Down Under; 
even Pecan Papa wherever you are, and a whole bunch of Tree 
People I'm trying hard to remember and name's of (it's probably a 
good thing I'm not accepting an Oscar tonight!), this story's for you!

                                     MartyV



               ONE OF THE BEST MEALS I'VE EVER HAD!


     There's a highway that runs the length of the Baja along the

far western side of Mexico, the desolate though often tropical

promontory which lies directly across the Bay of California from

the mainland. It extends from the U.S. border at the North end, 

all the way to the "Cabo"; the Cape of St. Lucas, where the tip

of the peninsula meets the Pacific Ocean on one side and The Sea 

Of Cortez on the other.

     Along this highway, the "Camino del Pacifico", at regular 30

kilometer intervals, an innovative and forward-thinking hotel

chain of Mexican/American ownership has erected a series of

comfortable inns catering to the weary "tourista"; beckoning them

to relax and enjoy and make these wonderful retreats his/her Baja

headquarters, if only for a day or two. Each presents a worthy

example of what hospitality is supposed to be.

     One of them, a beautifully laid-out oasis in the desert beside 

the roadway about half way down the isthmus was doing just

exactly that to me when I had this particular adventure.

     I had just wrapped eight weeks of editing sound on an espec-

ially exhausting TV film project which had four sponsors behind

it, each conceiving the assembly-end of motion picture prod-

uction as an exuberant exercise in high-level anxiety and pan-

demonium. Now, exhausted, I was really looking forward to a

couple of weeks of uncomplicated vacation. I hadn't even brought

a friend along; I often run at my best when alone.

     Being a rather talented amateur photo-bug (well, at least I

think so!) I was requiring a bit more image in my viewfinder than

the progress of shifting sand and the variety of cactus here at

my inland bivouac, picturesque as it may have been. Therefore,

earlier that afternoon I'd requested authorization from the hotel

front desk to borrow one of the many multi-colored dune buggies

lined up outside their main entrance for the convenience of the

sport fishermen who were their principal patrons that time of

year. 

     Were one to stand directly in front of the hotel, one could

easily observe the "Highway of the Pacific" looping off in u:e6

another, entirely different direction as it crossed the main

entrance. Then, observing a little closer, the visiting tender-

foot would become aware of an extraordinary hodge-podge of dirt

trails shooting off to at least a couple dozen different compass

points; a seemingly mindless pattern of primitive paths which, I

trusted, had led to various destinations of import to somebody or

other over the years. . .but to whom I wasn't to find out until

later that evening.

     In Mexico, along the West Coastline, a strange and un-

expected phenomenon occurs almost every evening of the clear and

hot months. Simply, there is almost no twilight. The day is

bright and warm, then there's a few minutes when the sun is

either halfway down on the horizon, or half above it, and then

WHAM!, everything goes black all at once and a cold, direction-

less night is upon you and you'd better be ready!

     The instruction course to operate the little buggy was not

really very extensive. Mainly a directive not to drive into

ditches, pot holes or off a cliff, culminating with a cursory

lesson on how to operate the 2-way radio each of these little

motorized wagons have stashed under their dashboards.

     These were all tuned to the frequency of the hotel base

station, and only to be activated in case I committed the

greatest misstep of all and found myself out on the trails at

night. To counter this possibility, I was directed to start back

to "la Fonda", the Inn, while the sun was still at least two

fingers above the horizon. Three would be even better.

     If I screwed up and at the same time was incredibly for- 

tunate, they would be able to successfully dispatch a specially

designed Toyota SUV sporting a couple of twenty-million candle- 

power searchlights mounted on the front-structure above the

driver. Perhaps if the ancient Aztec spirits rumored to be

lurking about, decided that I was a good guy and that they liked

me, I would be found and led back to civilization. A big "per-

haps" in view of the fact that more than one guest had been

forced to spend the night huddled in their dune buggy wrapped in

a thin blanket (found under the seat) and being serenaded by what

seemed like an army of coyotes in the surrounding darkness being

either furiously romantic or more likely, seriously hungry. I

thought better than to ask if any of my fellow travelers were

still out there awaiting rescue.

     Off I went.

     I wanted to get a better look at this part of the coastline

with its monolithic boulders and ear-splitting waves crashing in

upon them, sometimes hurling forty feet into the sky! The beach

lay only about two thousand meters to the west of the hotel but

the terrain always kept it well hidden behind its high, sandy

parameters, though one could easily smell the salt and taste it's

tang in the wind whenever it was gusting from a seaward dir-

ection.

     I planned a refreshing swim (hopefully there would be little

or no undertow this day), then to take about a thousand pictures,

maybe a million! After that I looked forward with shameless lust

toward returning to the hotel and assuaging the rampant appetite

I'd have been generating all afternoon on one of their giant

Northern Mexican-Pacific lobsters; "la especialidad de la casa".

I didn't know it right then, however, but that night I was going 

to do even better in the gastronomic department. Better than I'd

ever imagined! 

     Yeah. Of course you guessed it. I went all the way and man-

aged to get myself lost in the darkness! The Whales were coming

up from Scannon bay at Guerrero Negro a few miles to the south

where they go every Spring to do whale things and conceive their

babies in the warm waters before returning to the icy Alaskan

seas of the north.

     Cetaceanic gestation requires about a year, so they make a

reappearance to deliver their progeny in those same genial

Mexican waters the following Summer. A large pod traveling in

either direction at worthy speed, blowing enormous spumes of

water as they paraded by, was a majestic thing to behold. I guess

I beheld a mite longer than was prudent!

      It was so dark that were it not for the little buggy's

headlights skittering along before me I would have been totally

inoperative; I literally couldn't see two feet when they were

turned off and there were no reference points available at all

until I recognized the north star and worked from there.

     It was at that exact moment, that wondrous instant when I

looked up and totally free from city-shine or reflection of any

kind, gazed upon those millions upon millions of stars that it

hit and registered. I realized that this very small individual

(me) was in fact not really alone at all, for I was peering

directly into the fiery face of God Himself, and it was one of

the few remembered times in my life that I'd been afforded an

emotional impression that literally took my breath from me!

     Reluctantly I finally lowered my eyes to the horizon, and

there, in very little time, decided to cease my fruitless u:e6

searching for the hotel lights where I was hoping to bravely show

up under my own steam and sit at the bar following my lobster 

feast, reminding a world of uplifted, worshiping fellow Gringo

faces that a true adventurer is always aware of where he is and

what he is doing every moment he is out there in the cold. By

gollies, I'd be a pretty poor example of a Seasoned International

Traveler otherwise, wouldn't I? They would applaude wildly, and

buy me lots of drinks!

     Finally, with no other option, I broke down and extracted

the radio, holding it beneath the weak dashboard lamp provided.

I quickly discovered that when the on/off switch was flipped

nothing happened. Nada! Sin todo pago! A World-Class Bummer!

     I opened the battery door. The spider who had taken up

residence in the empty compartment peeked out at me. . . then, as

I obviously was bearing no edible offerings, he closed his little

red eyes again, sighed, and if arachnids yawn, I swear that's

exactly what he did as he nestled himself back into slumber.

Not wishing to further disturb, I closed the portal quietly

leaving him to his rest. I'm a thoughtful guy.

     There were others around here who were not so thoughtful, I

was thinking! Obviously somebody had wanted to operate a fan, a

portable radio or a vibrator out here in the hinterlands and had

purloined MY batteries to do it! I hated that "someone!" I hated

that "someone" VERY MUCH! I prepared to spend the night!

     The blanket was there right where they said it would be so I

wrapped up and considered myself blessed that there was little

night wind to cut the temperature even more. I gazed upward again

and started looking for satellites.

     I knew by this point in time that there were supposed to be 

hundreds of them up there, but on this particular night a pretty

scanty selection was presented. Indeed!. . .Well, maybe I just 

wasn't looking in the right directions at the right time or

something.

     Eventually, mainly out of boredom, I got out on the sand and

scanned the horizon. Every quadrant was identical to the pre-

ceding one. There wasn't even a hint of man-made light or any-

thing else that said "humanity" or "hotel" or "Hoo-HAA"!

     My stomach made a very rude sound. It was deeply concerned

that it might never again taste anything. Siempre un vientre

vacio! An empty belly forever! ARRRGGGHHH!!!

     I wasn't scared necessarily, though a couple of times I know

I heard something moving around out there in the dark (not

licking its lips, I passionately trusted). My most prominent

emotion was one of just being very pissed off. I was fervently

wishing that the peon who stole my batteries might accidentally

touch the wrong wire on his or her cocktail mixer or whatever,

preferably while sitting in a full bath tub, and. . .

     WHAAAAAA! What was that?

     A reflection against the seaborn sky, now black as mud

again. My eyes or mind or something was getting adventurous and

playing tricks!

     THERE! ANOTHER! IT HAPPENED AGAIN! Dammit, that was NO

delusion! A flicker ricocheting off a low cloud, maybe! This was

very real! A huge, spastic, super-quick flashlight splashing

across bushes and rocks and. . .and everything but me!

     I quickly swung back inside my noble steed, and cranking up

its sewing machine engine began inching along the nearest path in

the direction of the beach from whence the reflection seemed to 

originate. I was hoping against hope that it might be that

searchlight-equipped utility vehicle dispatched with me in mind.

     The sun had been completely down for well over an hour now

and, I mean after all, it IS kind of embarrassing as well as

lousy public relations to misplace a paying guest; even a dummy

who failed to check his batteries before he took off!

     I observed the phantom reflection intermittently as I

approached the final dune that separated me from the ocean. The

reflection behind it was now pretty steady against the incoming

fog.

     What the hell was it?


             END OF PART ONE - PART TWO TOMORROW
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