It is said that good things come in threes. Between Star Wars, three egg Omellettes and the Hanson brothers the world is constantly overwhelmed with good things. One can not imagine a monday morning without Denver Omellettes, trampoline light saber fights and the hard rocking sound of Hanson’s hit single “mmmbop”. I certainly can’t imagine two good things happening without a third following up immediately after, although the drummer of Hanson is kind of ugly compared to the other two.

In late February there was no hot water, the toilet was clogged and I remained in Ensenada/San Miguel without a licence plate. Each day’s activities would be interfered with by planning time and place for bowel movements and watching for neighbors while urinating in the garden. However the surf was great and the cold showers weren’t so bad in the warm Mexican climate. Most importantly my surfing was improving and good times were rolling.

The transition from February to March presented three good things. A toilet plunger was found, the hot water connected and my licence plate was on its way. No longer a public urinator, I surfed and it was good. I tracked my licence plate online which was also good. As I arrived at the beloved post office to receive my package of freedom all was good. The good became fear minutes later upon the realization that my new plate also had a new number on it. A new number meant I needed new registration.

An extra five days wait was written in the stars. I stressed, whined and complained for the whole time. Never before have I acted like such a spoiled brat. Billions of people who work 18 hour days for under a dollar a day and have never taken a vacation will surely feel my pain?

Departing from San Miguel allowed me to reflect. I had met mostly Americans. All of them generous, some of them story telling alcoholics. One of those alcoholics directed me to Campo Cuatro Casas. Knowing first hand the intricate relationship between drinking, storytelling and short term memory loss, I questioned the director’s credibility. I questioned it not due to prejudice, but because he polished a case of Cerveza Del Pacifico that day. Nonetheless the man meant well, gave a great deal on surf gear and saved a bunch of money on his car insurance.

After reading online that Cuatro Casas exists and is not the destination of an alcoholic’s practical joke, I set off from Ensenada on March 3 2009. The ride went smoothly, but Cuatro Casas was empty and had very little surf going on. It was still a beautiful place to be and I took a dramatic photo of an old set of free weights. Realizing that my chances of someday governing California were slim, I decided against working out.

March 4 2009 took me to Santa Rosalita. In Northern Baja, this empty fishing village is close to a surf break known as “The Wall”. Failing to find the wall allowed me to run into friends from San Diego. A few beers ahead, they spoke of the inconceivable. They spoke of a myth. They spoke of a girl driving around Baja looking for surf who happened to be camping on the point a kilometre away. In movies, dreams and strange lands such as British Columbia women like this exist. In most realities they can’t attend a public washroom without a friend going with them. Knowing first hand the relationship between drinking, storytelling and short term memory loss, I questioned the credibility of the story tellers.

The next day she appeared from the hills. A white van with surfboard and kayak strapped to the roof drove passed my camp. Her story of breaking down, running five miles, swimming a couple more and climbing onto a fishing boat to ask for help is not mine to tell, but is definitely worth mentioning.

In La Paz succesful tire changing and import permit purchasing occurred in quaint harmony with intrusion on tattooed men viewing homosexual fetish pornography on the hostel’s public computer. With the momentum of these three good things I left quickly to tour the southern cape of Baja California.

First stop was Pescadero. Thanks to great surf and awesome people I stayed for five nights, pitching my tent at Pescaero Surf Camp. Since the area has more theft than if the Cookie Monster lived in a girl guide camp, I was more than happy to spend 100 pesos a night for some security. During my time spent in Pescadero four of my friends were robbed five times. After witnessing three break and enters into trailers and two into cars I was glad to have avoided camping alone on the beach. It would later be made clear that the cookie monster owns property in the area and his love of sugar led to love for a different white powdered substance. With his pension from Sesame Street dwindling he has resorted to robbing tourists to support himself. He will soon star on the hit TV show “Intervention” in an episode titled “Snow Monster”. It is still unknown to the public whether or not he intends to clean up his act.

From Pescadero I headed South to San Jose Del Cabo a day late to get massive surf that had just passed. Most surfers still spoke of the day before and those who didn’t obviously had a bad day on the ocean and could no longer talk or breath. Looking at my intended campsite, I calculated the probability of theft to be higher than the Cookie Monster. Instead of risking it, I asked around about shipwrecks beach.

Enter American generosity. Or is it West Coast generosity? Three guys from California and Washington took interest in my travels and offered a place to sleep two miles from shipwrecks. As self proclaimed funmakers of those who are undeserving, the identities of Wight Rodd, Dickr Hardbern and Roty Turd have been disguised using pseudonyms. It should be clear that these three certainly do not deserve to be made fun of. Great surf and great laughs were had with them and I won’t forget their west coast generosity.

I waited at shipwrecks for a climber from Squamish and two Aussies with a motorbike. They arrived with thousands of Pesos in beer and demeanor that spread beach parties like wild fire. I had met the trio in Pescadero and upon their arrival we partied like Scientologists along the East Cape of Southern Baja. We found surf, snorkeling and camping the whole way and thoroughly enjoyed this group of three good things.

Now hanging in Mazatlan, I’m happy to be on the mainland. I’d like to tell everyone that with Australians I’m in good hands, but I don’t want to lie. They are currently generating travel income by attending paid time share sales presentations.

I should also mention that I’m thinking of getting a tattoo. If anyone has suggestions for what to get please keep them to yourself because I already have Carpe Diem on my neck and a chick with a laser gun defending a moon on my back.

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