A lil something for me fans. El Patron

350px-Flag_of_Baja_California_Sur.svgThe day’s heat finally broke and the crew began  winding down as the last rays of now pink and gold sunlight drained out of the Baja sky. A typical surf trip in the remote, beautiful point breaks of Baja sur. Exactly where the Tropic of Capricorn divides Northern and Southern Baja  The cicada in full riot, performing a unique symphony added their touch to the orchestra as did  the surf, crackle of a wood fire and the low voices of the crew. They were everywhere and nowhere. The cicada.

One lone surfer, spun around, took several well timed strokes and eased his foil into a chest high right hand peeler as I poured a cup of  joe, inhaling the aroma,  savoring all the flavor and elements of  each and every nuance of said experience. I can’t say exactly why, however I had more than an intuition this would be my last trip to Baja Sur.

Huddling around the camp fire as the evening set in, we spoke in low tones.The desert and cold did as well, it being deep into September. We scored sampling a tasty late season south swell.  Pouring  a bit of Tequila, I had purchased in El Arco. I lifted the tin cup and sipped, sucking the mixture through my teeth.  “Ahhh yes, yessssss.” I mumbled to myself. Reminiscing how I found my self in El Arco for the very first time. Awol from the army. I could not take the war any longer and when my 5th deployment orders came down the pipe. I took off headed south to a point of no return. In a dusty saloon, he spoke to my broken heart. “Yo no tengo una familia. Todos estan muertos.  narcotrafico. De aquí en adelante tu eres mi hijo . Sabe?  Seems to be everybody has a war to fight. He taught me how to pray and meet the Lord Jesus our savior.

El Arco, a one horse town if there ever was.  El Arco a  pueblo specializing in producing the best of the best. A very special blend of almond infused Reposado. I met El Patron  several decades ago, and I am sure to bring him the items he needs in exchange for the Reposado. He must be about 90 now, his wrinkled and aged face reads like ancient parchment. It is a mystery unless you have been taught to read the scripture. Dig? El Patron keeps his cowboy hats as neat and tidy as his one room shack and corral. His prize possessions are kept there as well. A Palomino and a fire engine red Dodge 250 4×4  complete with Cowboy Up sticker on the back window. A present from his son.

The desert became still except for the surf, bugs, and critters. As the crew closed ranks around the camp fire, the inky blackness of night set in and the stars shone brightly in the evening sky. Diamonds all around. It was just then I heard the very slight snap of a twig underfoot as my senses went full auto. Like I said they were everywhere and they were nowhere.

Suddenly we were surrounded. Not a chance to even get at our stashed pistol. The banditos  laughed and whooped it up as they looted our belongings. “Estupido pinchy gabachos. No sabe nada. We followed you from El Arco. From the old mans place. Watched you surf and cook.”  Hahaha what the fuck is this gringo shit you eat? The shot caller said between bites of chow. I could see his rotten teeth and smell the alcohol on his putrid breath.  They rounded us up in a tight circle, holding their weapons close enough to see what they were packing, a .38, a shotgun and a mini 14.  They began torturing us in a simple enough and effective way, hooking up the truck battery to jumper cables.  Jon Jon passed out as the cables were applied to his testicles. The banditos thought that was hilarious.  They soon tired of  the electrocution, pouring water on Jon Jon’s face  and slapping him awake.  He was bad off.

“Eschuche me pendejos. Yo tengo 2 bullets in the revolver.” He said while removing three. Smiling a perfect shit eating grin he then said,  “You putos talk it over because two of you gabachos are gonna die. Who is gonna get some dental work? He guffawed loud and long.


to be continued…..



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