Attempted killings and zombies near Mulege
As we entered town of Mulege, “Barbara” (Kerri’s Garmin GPS which she insisted on bringing even though it can’t speak a lick of Spanish) told us, in that monotone synthetic yet somehow demeaning voice, to exit the highway to the right. I do not know why I still listen to this stupid thing, as once again it lead my off a nicely paved highway and onto a steep gravel road that led to nowhere safe for Big Blue. Barbara insisted, with Kerri supporting her all the way. I gave up, lacking the constitution to argue with two women at once, even if one was very, very, bad with directions… and the other was a computer.
Eventually, after navigating another half-mile on the sketchiest back-alley dirt roads through some who-knows-what-that-smell-is kinda mud and just barely clearing a tree and a power line and nearly rolling Big Blue on it’s side, we made it to the other side and to another paved road. Wouldn’t you know it, it connected to the main highway just a few hundred yards from the dirt road Barbara sent us down. In another instance of her repeated attempts to kill us – I can’t prove it, but I know it – she chose the shortest (and most dangerous) possible path while ignoring the fastest, safest, paved, and commonly used path… Grrr.
Finally back on paved road we quickly found the turn off to start the two miles of dirt road to the campground we were hoping would work out for us. Not a quarter mile down the road we were on some sandy path with a dead dog, a dead couch, and a dozen vultures circling overhead as if waiting for us to sit on the very couch with the dead dog on the side of a path that Big Blue most certainly, and once again, does not belong. A scary, yet lucky, u-turn without getting stuck in the sand and two miles of the correct dirt road, finally brought us to Ray’s RV Resort where we were met by no one at all, just like some zombie movie. We parked anyway.
And to both our surprise, Ray’s Resort turned out to be one of the coolest places we had stayed in Baja (to date). With a large open grassy area, orange trees dripping with those big orange balls of goodness, and still no one else around. We settled in for the night, then the next day, then the full work week and still no zombies appeared. 
Freshly squeezed orange juice accompanied every meal. Hot showers were the order of the day – uh well, every other day anyway – and the dogs had free reign to run and run and run. Speaking of which, I finally got off my ass and did a little running as well, and even a few short workouts, knowing that if I didn’t workout here then I’d probably never start up again.
During our 6 day stay we did meet the owner and was able to pay up for the camping and thanked her for all the free orange juice we could muster. I could have stayed here for many more weeks, but adventures just down the road does beckon like a siren singing to the unknowing sailors in the sea. That siren’s name; Barbara, I just know it!
