Time is relative but stretches to its limit during a car accident. I can still recall the five flips, the crunching, the weightlessness, and Mexican Coke flying through the air as if we were aboard the International Space Station. My co-pilot Joey and I thought the whole thing was a minor setback, and as soon as we stopped flipping, we would be back en route to our next surf spot. However, when we climbed out of Joey's Honda Element to survey the damage, we realized the car was totaled, and our carefree surf trip was cut short.

How did I get here? Four months before the car acrobatics, I was wrapping up my life in Seattle, Washington. A combination of a delayed quarter-life crisis and feeling that I had plateaued in most areas of my life had me yearning for a bit of adventure. Pius, my C3 coworker and roommate, and I decided to bike from Seattle to somewhere in Mexico, with surfing being the main focus. We were delighted when Coal Headwtripear (part of the C3 family we had just left) offered to help sponsor our trip. We spent the following months biking and surfing our way south, with a small but engaged audience following along on our adventure. We encountered some world-class people, uncrowded breaks, and more rear flat tires than I can count. Our trip ended just south of Todos Santos, Baja California. Pius flew home, while I stayed for a few weeks to relax and explore more of the southern peninsula. 

I had just spent months biking on the narrow shoulders of the 101 and 1 with a BoB trailer and surfboard in tow, where I encountered more than a few close calls from RVs and giant trucks. As my  was winding down, with just a car drive home with my friend Joey, I had thought the most dangerous and difficult portion of my grand adventure was in the past.  

At the time of the accident, my Spanish was rudimentary, consisting mainly of simple greetings and the ability to ask for another beer. None of these were helpful when trying to explain to the police how we managed to total a car on the straightest road outside the Midwest. Thankfully, Joey knew some Spanish, so while he talked with the police and other people who stopped to help, I started gathering the most critical things we both owned, strewn several hundred feet from where we first came off the road. 

Among the few who stopped to help, one man caught our attention as he told Joey and me that he would be back in 30 minutes with his truck to help get us and our belongings to the junkyard. Armando Villavicencio arrived precisely 30 minutes later in his well-loved and eye-catching blue ’90s pickup truck and helped us sort and load everything that came off/out of the car. Armando even encouraged me not to leave behind the bicycle that had been so important to my journey even though the frame seemed bent beyond use (it wasn't somehow, and I still bike on it today). 

We hopped in and began following the flatbed that carried Joey’s now-totaled Element with picturesque desert landscapes zooming past on all sides. While consumed reluctantly at first, the beers started to flow, and our adrenaline subsided as we discussed our options to get back to the border, some 8 hours away by car. Without the immediate help from Armanado and his family and friends, our ability to return to the United States would have been challenging. 

Five years after the crash, Joey and I (plus another friend, Tyrus) wanted to say thank you to Armando and his family and, of course, surf along the way, and so the story of our return began…

"Los Gringis Regresan"

Tyrus pulls into the San Diego Airport arrivals lane with my car. The previous week, Tyrus drove my 2003 Subaru Forester down from Bellingham, Washington. I was keen to use some of the more off-road features of my new-to-me-used car. A two-inch lift, a skid plate, traction pads, and a full-size spare decked out the Subaru, and if that wasn't enough, the previous owner even installed a snorkel.

Joey arrived a half-hour later, flying in from his home in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We quickly made it to Encinitas, where I bought my first longboard from a dear friend. My doctor didn't want me going on this trip due to ear issues, so a log would have to be an acceptable compromise. With that, the camp and surf adventure commenced with all the necessities packed up and strapped to the car.

The transition at the border from California to Tijuana is always abrupt, but the agent swiftly waved us through, and like that, we're in. Though plenty of well-known surf spots are lining the coast from Tijuana to Ensenada, Tyrus suggested a spot a bit farther south through San Quentin, where “the ‘real’ Baja begins.” A series of right-hand point breaks and an empty lineup greeted us. 

I paddled out, only to see a grouping of fins head my way: Dolphins! A good omen, perhaps, since our gamble to surf during shoulder season was already starting to pay off with a decent-sized northwest swell forecasted for our trip. We surfed until dark and settled in for our first night. 

After a few days of surfing, camping, harvesting mussels, and exploring the quiet lobster fishing village, we packed the car and continued heading south to our destination of Villa Jesus Maria, a town rarely stopped in save for a quick gas stop. This small town off Highway 1 at the end of Sebastián Vizcaíno Bay is where our host and roadside savior, Armando, lives with his family: Gabby, Dharyna, and Mhatteo. Mexiican hospitality is legendary, and this was no exception. Armando welcomed us with ceviche, oysters, and a barbecue. As stated previously, on my last visit to Mexico, I only knew a handful of words in Spanish. This time, I was better prepared, and for the first time, which I was reminded about quite often by our host, I could fully participate in conversations with Armando and his family in their native language.  

With drinks flowing and oysters cracking, an impromptu baseball game started in the street. There are few things of greater importance here than baseball. Mhatteo is up to bat and an absolute slugger for seven years old. For the final night with Armando's friends and family at a big fish fry, Joey boldly connected to our Bluetooth speaker, playing his favorite songs from Latin America. The first song elicits some groans and moans from our Mexican friends. Joey quickly switches to the preferred Norteño artists. We spent the night laughing, dancing, and sharing some of our favorite throwback songs. The standout was “Zombie” by the Cranberries, forever holding memories associated with the party host, Abhram, as he sang the chorus in broken English while his wife rolled her eyes. 

As our visit neared a close and we learned more about Armando's life, one thing continued to stick out. Armando has always been a generous and helpful man, well-known and respected in his community. Gabby, his wife, explained, “he is always helping others in need on the road.” Armando prefers helping Gringos, as they are usually on vacation, friendly, and like us, desperate for help. Though I'm not here to invalidate the crimes and struggles that can and do happen, this stands in contrast to most of the reported news, and we want to highlight the absolute generosity and care some Mexicans, especially Armando, have for the stranded tourists.

We're now hours north of Villa Jesus Maria, where we run into two men bike-packing their way down the Baja Divide route. They declined our water offer, but before we parted ways, they handed us some stickers, recalling similar meetings I had with strangers five years ago when traveling by bike. 

The next few days were spent surfing deserted breaks far from any paved roads. We had over 100 gifted and fresh oysters in a cooler and a flathead screwdriver as our only shucking device. The point we decided to camp at offered an exposed reef break and 80-foot dunes that helped shelter the waves from the wind. We often watched waves break and run along the point, mind-surfing the wave since we were too tired to paddle out. A trip like this only comes around once in a lifetime when the waves, weather, and everything lines up to the point at which, if you were not afraid to jinx it, you would exclaim at your luck out loud.

Our time spent with the community in Villa Jesus Maria will stick with us forever. Few are so fortunate to be welcomed back years later after a terrible crash, only to find laughter and great memories. The same road that almost took our lives also connects everyone and everything in this part of the world, including us five years later. This trip was a celebration of life, passion, adventure, and culture. The yearning to experience Baja in a new way was now satiated, while also gaining closure to nearly traumatic events and to the story I began telling with Coal in 2019. 

Our return to cell service was greeted with texts from our new bike-packing friends, who shared their excitement that they just so happened to have stayed with Armando and his family as they regrouped for the rest of their ride south—Que loco.

Written By: Cooper Thomas

Photos By: Joey Sackett