Baja Honeymoon

by Roland Graeme

  In the midst of all this desolation, though, were numerous fertile valleys hidden away between the peaks. These pockets of irrigated land supported small farming communities, which seemed to thrive like so many green oases dotting the sunbaked earth.

  “Now this looks more like a foreign country,” Rick commented, sounding happy.

  “Welcome to Mexico, señor,” Ken quipped. “Your American money is welcome here. Hire me as your guide, and you won’t be disappointed. I know how to show a handsome tourist like you a very good time, señor.”

  “I’m sure you do, my fine lad. But I think I’ll keep it in my pants, for now.”

  Ken, too, could feel himself relaxing, shedding the cares of urban life. It was a good feeling, and he luxuriated in it.

  As the afternoon wore on and the sun dipped lower toward the western horizon by imperceptible degrees, they had their first glimpse of the Sea of Cortez. At first the body of water was a thin silver ribbon far off in the distance, obscured by a shimmering haze of heat rising through the still air. As the highway descended from the mountains onto the dry coastal plain, the landscape seemed to become ever more desolate and truly desert-like, even as that tantalizing gleam of water in the distance grew ever broader. Soon they could smell the unmistakable tang of salt water permeating the hot, dry air.

  They located a campground off the main highway, a few miles outside of San Felipe. To reach it, they had to drive for a mile or so down a sandy dirt road leading to the beach. The terrain was a bit rough, but Ken had to admit that the pickup was up to the challenge. Rick made a good investment when he purchased the vehicle, and Ken told him so.

  The campground, to Ken’s surprise, was deserted, and in fact had a neglected if not totally abandoned look to it. They definitely had the place all to themselves. The tide was out, and a wide mudflat stretched for several hundred yards until it met the water. Birds wandered restlessly over the mud, pecking at it in search of insects and tiny stranded sea critters to devour. Some beach shacks and picnic tables, all in bad repair and bleached by long exposure to the sun, stood on the beach.

  There was also an outhouse, which could be glimpsed through a palm grove. Armed with a roll of toilet paper, Ken went to investigate. The outhouse had a concrete foundation, cement block walls, and a thatched palm roof. The latter was badly in need of repair, and so for all practical purposes the facility was open to the sky. Nevertheless, the interior was reasonably clean, and the smell was well within tolerable limits.

  The inside walls, predictably, had been decorated with obscene drawings and graffiti by previous visitors. Among the many captions in English and Spanish were a few in other languages. The English-language scrawls included such classics as Show hard cock for blow job and Looking for 10 inch plus dick to fuck my ass good and hard.

  “You and me both,” Ken muttered.

  Ken returned to find Rick already busy setting up their camp. He reported on what he’d found.

  “Now I know why I made sure to bring along a shovel,” Rick declared. “I think I’ll opt for the open-air bathroom experience, myself.”

  “Suit yourself. Here, help me break out the tent, and then we’ll set up the cooking facilities.”

  “It’s so warm, I’m not even sure we need to put up the tent,” Rick said.

  “Yeah, but the temperature will probably drop during the night, and we don’t know what kind of insects might start flying around here once it gets dark. We’d better play it safe. We can always sleep out in the open air some other night.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Rick’s tent, Ken had already discovered when he’d inspected it back home, was a bright-orange affair, so easy to set up that one person could have easily done the job. Inside, it was just roomy enough for two people to lie down next to each other with a little space to spare for storage. The walls and roof of the tent featured large mesh areas that could be left open for ventilation or covered up with panels of transparent plastic to keep out wind or rain. Either way, the occupants of the tent could look out. For that matter, anyone standing outside the tent could look in. It wasn’t exactly conducive to privacy, but they didn’t anticipate sleeping right next to any other campers’ tents.

  The two men covered the ground cloth of the tent with their sleeping bags, in effect creating a wall-to-wall expanse of mattress. Ken’s ancient sleeping bag, designed for a single occupant, was badly worn and stained but still serviceable. Rick’s double bag, on the other hand, looked brand new, very high tech, and luxurious.

  “Look at you with the fancy sleeping bag,” Ken teased him as they threw a couple of pillows down to complete the accommodations.

  Rick grinned at him. “I refuse to go without any of the amenities of civilization. At the very least, I’m going to have a warm, soft bed.”

  “It looks as though there’d be room in that bag of yours for two.”

  Ken had intended this as no more than a mildly suggestive joke, but Rick’s face fell a little. “It was originally intended for two,” he said tersely.

  “Sorry. I forgot. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Forget about it. It’s okay to talk about it—to talk about Eva, I mean, and our engagement and the big breakup and all of that media crap. You don’t have to dance around it or start censoring yourself. There’s no point in pretending that this wasn’t supposed to be my honeymoon. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that or anything else spoil this trip.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “Come on, let’s rustle up something to eat.”

  Rick unlocked one of the pickup’s storage bins and unpacked his cooking utensils and a little portable flat grill that could be fired with charcoal briquettes. He soon had the coffee pot set on one half of the grill and a frying pan heating up on the other. Ken watched as Rick extracted crab meat from a can, formed it into two crab cakes, and sautéed them in olive oil in the pan, alongside some corned beef and hash.

  “I’d offer to help, but you seem to know what you’re doing,” Ken said.

  “You can pick out which kind of fruit you want for the first course.”

  Ken opened a can of peach halves.

  “We won’t have to eat canned food all the time,” Rick promised. “Tomorrow we’ll have to stay on the lookout for somewhere we can buy fresh things that’ll be okay if they’re not refrigerated for a few hours.”

  “Oh, don’t apologize. This looks tasty.”

  Their equipment included two folding canvas camp chairs. They sat in them and ate out of their mess kits while being treated to the evolving spectacle of a dazzling sunset. It began as a display of fiery orange in the western sky, reflected off the rivulets of sea water that meandered across the tidal flat. The hues deepened to red, followed by an intense rose-magenta as the blue of the sky gradually shifted to a deep indigo overhead.

  “Beautiful,” Ken commented.

  “Yes, isn’t it?”

  For dessert, Rick opened an airtight tin and offered it to Ken, who recognized the familiar look and scent of Rosa Sereni’s anise-flavored cookies.

  “Oh my God,” Ken exclaimed.

  “A little bit of Italy by way of Culver City, even here in Baja,” Rick said. “I made a trip to the bakery and stocked up on goodies yesterday afternoon. I made sure to get things that don’t have to be refrigerated.”

  “You think of everything.”

  “I didn’t want us to leave civilization behind altogether. Not at first, anyway. I thought I’d better wean you away from its comforts gradually.”

  “Do I strike you as being such a city boy?”

  “Well, you’re undeniably urbanized.”

  “And damn proud of it. But you’ll see, Rick. I’ll prove to you that I can rough it.” Ken waited a beat before delivering the punch line: “In or out of bed.”

  Rick let out an exaggerated groan of mock disgust.

  They sipped their coffee and munched on their cookies as the sunset yielded to twilight.


  “I just realized something,” Ken said. “Except for when you called me first thing this morning, neither of us has used a single piece of electronic equipment all day long.”

  “You’re right. It seems strange, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but it also feels good. It’s kind of refreshing to get away from all that technology.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to break down eventually and see if either of us has received any texts or e-mails.”

  “Yeah, but not now. Not tonight. You go ahead, if you want to.”

  “No, I promised myself I’d try my best to get away from all that on this trip. I plan to hold out for as long as possible. Technically, though, this camping lamp I’m going to switch on is battery-operated.”

  “Oh, batteries are permissible, if not indeed indispensable.”

  Rick turned on the little camping lamp, which cast a warm yellow glow in its immediate vicinity.

  “I’m surprised by how tired I feel just from being on the road most of the day,” he remarked.

  “Well, it’s been a long day because we got such an early start. Since you did the cooking, let me tidy up. And then we can start thinking about hitting the sack.”

  “I’m going to have a nightcap before I go to bed. That seems appropriate, somehow,” Rick said. “Want one?”

  “Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  “I’m in the mood for a shot of tequila. We might as well start going native.”

  “Perfect.”

  Rick filled their aluminum cups with rather more than a couple of shots and proposed a toast. “Here’s to our first day and night in Baja.”

  “And to many more just like this one, or even better.”

  Ken had pulled out a little notebook and a ballpoint pen, and was writing by the lamplight. Rick observed him for a moment.

  “What’re you writing?” he finally asked.

  “I’m going to keep a journal of our trip. And keep a running tally of our expenses.”

  “Oh, that’s a good idea. Have you written anything about me?”

  “No.” In fact, Ken had just scribbled Rick is easy-going and a lot of fun to travel with, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s so fucking sexy. “Have you done anything newsworthy lately?”

  Rick laughed. “Not since before we left home.”

  Ken finished his journal entry, and they got ready for bed.

  “It’s going to be a warm night, from the way the air feels right now,” Ken said. “I’m going to sleep in the nude, like I always do back home. Do you mind?”

  “Mind?” Rick retorted. “What makes you think I care one way or the other? I don’t care if you somehow manage to rig up a hammock in here and swing back and forth in it with your dick hanging out all night long. It’ll be totally wasted on me. I’m so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  As they undressed, Ken noticed that Rick kept his baggy undershorts on—whether as a concession to modesty or because he ordinarily slept that way, Ken wasn’t sure.

  They bedded down in the tent, but taking account of the warm night air, they left the large, square zip-entry flap open. Through it, Ken could see the full moon hovering above the water. Aware of Rick’s presence so tantalizingly close to him, he felt a vague stirring of desire. Firmly telling himself to get his mind off sex, Ken closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE VALLEY OF THE GIANTS

  “I’M HAPPY to report that you don’t snore,” Rick informed Ken over breakfast in the morning.

  “Oh, I could have told you that,” Ken said.

  “I assume I don’t, either.”

  “If you did last night, I’d never have known. I was dead to the world. And as a matter of fact, I don’t really mind sleeping next to a man who snores. The sound can be kind of pleasant.”

  Rick, Ken noticed with a certain malicious pleasure, looked a bit flustered at this revelation. “Well, I wouldn’t be in any position to know.”

  “Pity,” Ken said airily.

  Eager to get back on the road, they packed up and got ready to leave, taking care to collect all of their trash and leave the campsite as they had found it. With Rick behind the wheel, they headed out to the main highway and turned toward San Felipe, which turned out to be a colorful little town much smaller than Ensenada and obviously visited by fewer and less affluent tourists. Instead of luxury beach resorts and piers for cruise ships to dock, San Felipe was known for its recreational vehicle parks and its local fishing fleet. The economy might be boosted by an influx of tourist dollars, but the place had managed to retain much of its isolated, small-town character and charm.

  They had been looking forward to visiting the Valle de los Gigantes, or the Valley of the Giants. This sounded as though it ought to be the title of a science fiction film, but in fact it was an area with a dense concentration of huge cardón cacti that had been turned into a nature preserve as a result. The entrance to the park was marked by a faded, hand-painted sign that looked badly in need of refurbishment or, better yet, replacement.

  After turning off the main road, the cactus hunters proceeded to a gate with an ancient trailer home parked nearby. A rusty windmill creaked as it turned lazily in the light breeze, and the water it coaxed from deep underground gurgled into a watering trough. Several scrawny cows stared impassively at the two intruders. The park’s caretaker, a lean and tanned man in jeans, a plaid shirt, a cowboy hat, and cowboy boots, stepped out of the shade of the trailer and walked over to greet them with a smile and a “Buenos días.” They paid the eighty-pesos-apiece admission fee and were handed a grainy, photocopied map with a brief history of the Valle de los Gigantes printed on the backside. The caretaker mentioned that they were the first visitors so far that day and warned them to watch out for any free-ranging cattle that might cross the road. He unlocked the gate, and they drove through.

  Ken couldn’t help thinking of the small prickly pear cactus he’d given Rick. It was hard to believe that plant, and the other ones in the shop where he purchased it, were related to the monsters they now saw. Some of these cardón cacti had grown to over thirty feet in height, with thick, olive-colored trunks that sprouted from the ground and grew clustered close together, reaching for the sky. Each trunk was covered with rows of sharp white spines, and flower pods the size of tennis balls sprouted near the tips of the trunks. The sheer size of the plants was visibly overwhelming and made for a terrific photo opportunity. They took turns posing for pictures standing in front of the most impressive cacti they could find. Inspired by the shapes of the cactus trunks and stems, Ken also regaled Rick with a steady stream of phallus-themed comments and jokes.

  After a pause for a picnic lunch, it was time to press on and make their way back to the main road.

  The road rose and plunged unpredictably as it clung to the coastal cliffs. On one side they were flanked by the shoreline, and on the other by rugged desert mountains. The Sea of Cortez was a steely bluish-gray color today, and the surf crashed against rock-strewn beaches. They passed mile after mile of unspoiled scenery with no hint of human development or habitation.

  When they did drive through a sleepy, ramshackle little town, they were delighted to find a butcher’s shop where they could purchase fresh steaks. With the meat carefully wrapped up in brown paper, they continued on their way, feeling as though they’d won a jackpot.

  When they found a nice campground area at the northern end of Bahía de San Luis Gonzaga, they decided to call it a day. The camp they chose was situated in a sheltered cove surrounded by tall cliffs on three sides. To get there, it was necessary to drive up a steep dirt road that went through a narrow cleft in one of the cliffs, and as a result the beach seemed very secluded and private. It was covered with marble-sized pebbles worn smooth by the sea, and vast expanses of broken shells. Taking care not to get stuck in the soft sand, Ken backed the pickup right up to the beach, and they began to unload the equipment they’d need for the night.

 
Tonight they shared the cooking duties. Soon the two men had steaks sizzling over the briquettes, next to potatoes baking in foil wraps, as they watched the sun set over the cliffs. As the sun sank lower and lower, a deep shadow crept down the beach until it covered their camp like a blanket, and it was time to get out their trusty little battery-operated lamp. Once again they found themselves camping alone, with all the privacy they could possibly desire. While they devoured their steak and potatoes, they watched the sky turn dark and the tide come in.

  Rick sighed. “What a perfect day. The second in a row. Do you think we can keep this up without something eventually going wrong?”

  “We can try. Anyway, I flatter myself that I’m the resilient type, who’d know how to handle anything Baja chose to throw at me. And so are you.”

  “I wonder. Just how resilient I really am, I mean. This really would have been a perfect place for a honeymoon. Imagine making love here. It’d be a perfect setting for outdoor sex.”

  Ken was tempted to make a retort to the effect that Rick didn’t necessarily have to limit himself to imagining it, if he so chose. That might lighten the mood, but on the other hand, Ken didn’t want to risk saying anything that might offend the other guy. Instead he asked, “Are you feeling depressed?”

  “A little. Don’t worry about it. I’ll snap out of it sooner or later. You’re very good company, by the way. If I haven’t told you that before, I’m letting you know that now.”

  “And I’m enjoying being here with you. I’m glad I came along.”

  “Are we beginning to get a little sloppy and sentimental?” Rick’s face was in fact partly obscured by the darkness, so Ken couldn’t see his facial expression clearly, but Rick’s voice sounded more lighthearted to Ken’s ears than it had a moment before.

  “Um, just a little. And we haven’t even been drinking.”

  “Never mind. We deserve to let go with our emotions every now and then.”

  The stars sparkled overhead, and they fell asleep with a gentle ocean breeze blowing across the beach.