Every Rocky Point trip is different, and every one is awesome. 95 degrees, 100% humidity and an angry ocean are preparations. There is no bad weather, there is only inadequate gear. G pondered our fate leaving Maricopa, that 3 is less spicy than 4. What would become of us without Mom? I am “Roger Clyne” level of Mexican expertise. I brought music downloaded to my device, exploding the girls’ minds about capturing the cloud. We had a constant soundtrack for floaties, foodies, poofy clothes and perspiration.
Fearless coyote walking the gas station in Ajo.
Several days of vegetarianism goodness presupposed our slow-cooker binge. Many trips we’ve tried and retried and rejected dishes we didnt remember the name, but put it all together this run to the deli. Appetite inspired by sunblasts and fatigue and wave jumping, hiding in the shade before laying in shadeless baking tide pools. Solo-dad did all the cooking and dishes and cleaning. It was not easier, but less stressful, to be the only cook in the kitchen.
this really happened, Alana finished a book! Because G and I ignored her entreaties to swim, and kept reading. Shade, music, book, beach and beer — why do I want to fight the crush with Alana and a broken boogie board? Positive reinforcement, or negative? There was more than enough time to fight the surf.
G’s 6 mile run to Tessoro and back. 6:30am was spectacular. Going upwind G was faster than me on the fat bike. I had to dig in to. Downwind I was twice as fast, checked my email in the shade before overtaking her. Signal in Mexico is spotty. Later after tacos we hung out in the shoe section at the Wal-mart to grab wifi.
Another workout and wave session followed by lunch in town. Pic sucks, but now I remember — on Sinaloa Ave a few blocks past the fruteria. Soooooooo good.
at one point Alana was playing in the wave blasts with a PFD, while G and i beachcombed for broken glass. I realized I was 3 or 4 minutes and 200 yards away. Could I be arrested while cleaning the beach? And she had a pfd? Solo-dad limitations.
After a week they figured out how much harder everything was solo-dad. Twice as much loading, and unloading, and carrying down and porting up, freezing bottles and working the thermostat. Solo-dad was their only hope. Their helpfulness evolved monumentally.
They hogged out on every leftover to clear room in the cooler for a massive batch of takeout pollo asadero before hitting the road. They passed out in the truck til hunger stirred outside Gila Bend. Never before have I used a roadside table. This was a great spotsfor sunset and windflow and unleashed dog 100yards from the road.
