It was our fourth day in Mexico, and we had decided to explore what the map described as a graded dirt road that appeared to head east along the coast from San Jose Del Cabo, at the foot of the Baja. There were no roadsigns, so we had to hunt around a little, but soon found a road that seemed to head in the right direction, and we were on our way.

But the road soon became pretty rough, full of holes and riddled with washboard, and after quite a few miles of shaking and shuddering and bouncing along, we didn't seem to be getting anyway near the coast. Below is a shot of the road snaking away through the cactus, seen through the windshield of the jeep.

The going was slow, and we weren't even sure we were on the right road, so I felt obligated to at least raise the possibility that we might be in over our heads, and should consider turning back. After all, we were not prepared for a lengthy sojourn in the "Death Valley" heat of the Baja desert. We only had a small amount of water with us. But the kids were in full adventure mode, so my trepidations were overruled, and we carried on. A few miles further, we were glad we did, because the road finally emerged from the desert, and there was the Baja coastline, virtually deserted and untouched, stretching off into the distance. It was, to put it mildly, quite a sight. Below is our trusty chauffeur, son Adam, beside the Mexican Skies rental jeep.

Immediately all three of us knew we had stumbled upon one of those most extraordinary places on our planet, and there was no more talk of turning back. We weren't sure exactly where we were going, but we were in the grip of the Baja, mesmerized by its power and its beauty. Mile after mile went by, and it just kept getting better and better. Words like awesome, and overwhelming, only touch the surface. In a way it reminded me of the wilds of B.C., the endless majesty of mother nature, as far as the eye can see. Only this was the wilds of the Baja, with forests of cactus, instead of pine trees.

But as amazing as it all was, my paternal instincts eventually clawed their way through to the surface of my psyche, and I found myself calculating when our point of no return would arrive. The latest time we could safely turn around. It was coming up fast, as our water was running out, and the merciless Baja Sun relentlessly beat down upon us. If only we could find a restaurant, or at least a place with some shade, and maybe some cold cervezas! But that was like hoping for a miracle. We were far away from any electricity, or phones, and aside from coming across the occasional unfriendly looking walled compound, there was virtually no sign of life. Then we met Geoff.

He was hitchhiking, in the middle of nowhere. When we picked him up he said his truck was broken down, and he needed to get to work at a restaurant ten minutes down the road.

A restaurant? Way out here? Really?

You bet, Dude. Even has satellite internet. Run by a cool lady from the States.

Does she have cold beer?

Sure. Good food, too.

Geoff, pictured below, was quite a free spirit, and more than generous with his supplies, his knowledge of local lore, and his opinions of George W. Bush.

And sure enough after about ten minutes, we came across a humble little sign we might not have even noticed if not for Geoff, and we turned in the driveway of the Crossroads Country Club, one of the hidden treasures of the Baja. Proprietress Joan Hafenecker was a charming lady, making us feel right at home, and before we knew it we were sitting down with three ice cold Pacificos in front of us. Her modest palapa, pictured below, sits on a small rise, overlooking the ocean, with sweeping vistas of the surf rolling in over miles of white sand beaches on either side. A surfer's paradise.

And the food was some of the best food I had eaten in Mexico, at some of the best prices. It was so good and affordable we ordered seconds. Turns out Joan's place is more than just a restaurant and bar for hungry and thirsty adventurers. It's a meeting place, a home away from home for the scattered residents, Mexican and gringo, who live (on and off) in the area. Along with satellite internet service, there is a book exchange - a little library, so to speak, out in the wilds of the Baja.

The Grateful Dead were playing in the background, the view was outrageous, the breeze was soft and cool, the company was outstanding, and the beer was ice cold. The three of us agreed there was only one word that properly described it, and that word was perfect.

Oh, I suppose it's not for everyone. If you're looking for air conditioning, carpeting, American cuisine, Lawrence Welk, and pictures of Ronald Reagan on the wall, then it might not be for you. But for three vagabonds from the Great White North, it couldn't have been more perfect. We spent most of the afternoon there, soaking up the ambience and the beer, and thoroughly enjoying ourselves, as you can see in the photo below of your humble author and daughter Melissa.

Eventually we forced ourselves to leave this wonderful establishment, and headed a couple of miles down the road where we enjoyed some of the best body surfing waves I've ever seen. It was the perfect end to a perfect day. And yes, we managed to make it back once more two days later. And that day seemed to be even more perfect than the first. The extremely talented Jeremy was good enough to play us some tunes on his guitar, and we got to know the very lovely and delightful Summer, pictured below. The next day we were on a plane heading home to Canada, just like that. But you can rest assured we'll be back.

There are rare, elusive moments/places in the time/space continuum that are full of magic, and soul. The Crossroads Country Club is such a place.

And you'll notice that although I've given you more than enough clues, I have not actually told you its exact location.

Think of it as a treasure hunt. If you are meant to find it, you will.

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