I can’t just leave you hanging on the last time I camped in Mexico. Easter weekend 1989 started off with a bang, for sure, with our almost destroying the car or ourselves and possibly finding our way to a Mexican jail. I should have known that things could go south because the year prior, I chose to go to Mexico for Easter and that’s how ended up getting kicked out of my mom’s house for good, but that’s another story. That’s part of the “How I ended up living in the Polka Dot Pad” story.
So, Brian and I parked on the beach near some of our friends and headed to the Reef for a beer (or ten). We were feeling pretty good to be alive and on LSD and by this point, everything seemed to be pretty funny. We ran into some girls we knew, just friends, and recounted our harrowing travel tales. By this point, getting a $75 ticket for littering seemed like a blur.
The second tabs were doing their magic and we decided to hitch a ride to JJ’s and keep the party going. When we got to JJ’s, we ran into more friends, and the beer was flowing. I have little to report on what was said, but eventually, it was my turn to buy a round of drinks and shots, so I went up to the bar.
“Ocho cervezas y ocho tequilas, por favor.”
“Si, senor. $32 dollars.”
I put two twenties on the bar. The bartender scooped up the money and, in an instant, or so it seemed, there were 8 shots of tequila in front of me. I turned and started distributing them at the table near by and went back for the beers. When I got there to pick up the beers, I only counted seven.
“Ocho? I wanted Ocho.”
“Si, senor. Ocho.”
I counted again. “Siete!”
This went on for a few minutes and I slammed my hand on the bar. The next thing I knew, there were to Rocky Point police on either side of me.
“You need to cool off, senor.”
They led me out of the back of the bar and down by the shore. I thought for sure I was either going to jail or getting thrown into the bay. Had my luck run out for this day? I wasn’t sure. All I knew is that I was too high to go sit in a jail cell.
Apparently, my new companions decided the same thing. They walked me down the beach for a while and then said, “Don’t go back to JJ’s tonight. Go home and sleep.”
They were two older gentlemen, probably making a few bucks to protect JJ’s and I was more than they wanted to deal with, I’m guessing, on Easter weekend. My luck had not run out. I wandered back to the front of JJ’s and by some dumb luck, found Brian outside. We celebrated my luck and decided to go back to the Reef.
No one we knew was heading back to the beach at that point, so we decided to hitchhike. There were plenty of cars and trucks driving around and within a few minutes, a truckload of sorority girls (or so I thought at the time) pulled over and said, “You guys going to the Reef? Hop in the back.”
Brian and I looked at each other and had that, “This is getting good” thought. The girls stopped long enough for us to hop in the back and then sped off. They were listening to some music we didn’t approve of, so we started making requests.
“Got any Jane’s Addiction?”
“Got any Motorhead?” (That was Brian’s)
“Got any Butthole Surfers?”
The girls started to look worried. Brian and I picked up on this and started shouting the opening lyrics to the Surfers song, “Sweat Loaf.” This took us up to the point where we were pulling into the Reef parking area and just as we came to a stop and their music turned off, we yelled, “Satan, Satan, Satan!” at the top of our lungs.
“Can we buy you a beer to say thanks?”
We didn’t see them again. We had some drinks, though, and hung out with friends. After a while, we decided to call it a night and stumbled out of the Reef trying to figure out which way the car was. Outside, we ran into some people Brian knew and they asked if we wanted to smoke a joint. Of course, we did, and off we went to their car. Their weed was excellent and when they offered us each a joint for later, we said, “Hell yes.”
Brian stayed behind and talked to them for a bit, and I stumbled off to lay claim to the passenger side of the car to sleep in before Brian got there. As I was walking down the beach, I ran into a young lady who looked a little bit like Lisa Bonet. She asked if I had any pot and lucky for me, I did. We sparked up the hooter and began to talk. I thought, wow… this is turning into a really lucky night. It seemed to me like this girl was game for just about anything.
Being that I was single at the time, I was free to do whatever (and whoever), I wanted. The conversation was flirty and fun, and I didn’t think much of it when Brian stumbled up. The spell in my head was broken when it was revealed that they knew each other. My cock got pretty quickly blocked and, again, I ended up stumbling back to the camp alone.
The rest of the weekend was pretty mellow. Brian and Jo, the Lisa Bonet looking girl, hooked up and I didn’t see him again until that next day. I was cashed, so I stayed mellow for the next couple of days and just enjoyed hanging out with friends at the beach. When we went to leave on Monday, the car was not wanting to start, but eventually we got it going and got it unstuck from the sand and got on our way.
A few weeks later, Jo stole that car while Brian and I were in California on another adventure and ended up soaking Brian for a fair amount of cash. I dodged a bullet, but I didn’t go back to Mexico for over twenty years. I figured my luck had run out there and it probably did.
See you tomorrow.
Probably around the time of this trip, too. Maybe a little after.