Smokey and the Bandit go to the Baja

Towing a trailer 3,500 kms from Canada to Baja California Sur, Mexico

George’s sister Mary and her late husband Neil spent six months living in a trailer by the ocean in the Baja nearly every winter for the last twenty-plus years. Neil recently passed way but Mary still migrates south for the winter. We’d threatened to join them for years but never got around to it. This was the year.

Southbound and Down, Loaded up and Truckin’

We hit the road early on Day One to cross into the U.S.A. Not long into the trip, multiple warning lights started flashing. We ignored them and focused on Montana’s epic scenery. Okay, we didn’t exactly ignore the warnings, we just held our breath until we found a GMC dealership. The mechanic assured us it was okay to keep driving. On we went for 860 kms all the way to Pocatello, Idaho. (The warning lights never did stop flashing.)

Day Two was an uneventful 800+ kilometre drive to Mesquite, Nevada. The next day things got interesting. We were cruising along in the sunshine south of Las Vegas when George heard a loud pop. We’d blown a tire on the trailer. It looked like a disaster but luck was with us. While we were burrowing through six months worth of supplies to get to the bottom of the truck where the tire jack was stored, two Nevada State Highway Patrol happened to come along. They carry industrial jacks specifically so they can quickly get dimwits like us out of harm’s way. We were on our way in less than ten minutes. Thank you Nevada Highway Patrol!

Into Mexico

The next morning we were up at 4:45 to get to the border at Mexicali bright and early. Access to the immigration office parking is through a serpentine road. Getting in was easy. Getting out after paying for our entry permit – not so much. We had to exit the way we entered. That meant turning the truck and trailer around. George said he’d never backed a trailer so Mary would have to do it. Mary admitted she’d never done it either. While we were scratching our heads, the border guards saw our dilemma and kindly moved a vehicle out of the way so we could avoid backing the trailer. Whew.

Except for getting lost in Mexicali (never a good idea) and nearly running out of gas, the next 200 kilometres went by smoothly. After the town of San Felipe, the highway gets worse – much worse. So much so that Mary pulled out her file folder containing road reports with the locations of the most dangerous potholes. The highway is so narrow – with barely a few inches of shoulder – that we had to pull in the extended rearview mirrors to avoid being clipped by passing semis. After 11 hours on the road and another two hours to go to our intended destination, and dusk approaching, we came upon a brand new motel. That was it. We called it quits for the day.

Day Five we only had another 450 kilometres to go, our easiest day yet. Easy that is except for the head-on collision between two semis we saw at the bottom of a mountain pass, and the death-defying drive down the steep, winding, narrow “Cuesta del Infierno“, literally the “Hill of Hell”, into Santa Rosalia.

At 4 p.m. on Day Five we pulled into the beach at Playa Los Cocos, Baja California Sur, Mary’s home for the next six months. George’s days of pulling a trailer were officially over.

Playa Los Cocos, Bahía Concepción

As we pulled onto the beach we saw what has been drawing back Mary for so many years. Playa Los Cocos is on a quiet sheltered bay within the larger Bahia Concepción. The white pebble beach looks out onto shimmering aquamarine waters. There are less than 20 sites on the beach, of which about half are occupied by friends who have all been coming to the beach for years.

We stayed at a B&B at the nearby Posada Concepción resort. When not working we kayaked, played pickleball, checked out the nearby beaches and the quiet town of Mulegé, enjoyed happy hours with Mary’s friends and dined on fresh fish nearly every night.

Guadalajara

After two weeks relaxing at the beach, we flew to Guadalajara, Mexico’s second-largest city. National Geographic and other travel magazines have rated Guadalajara one of the top places to visit in 2025. We expected it to be jammed with tourists. To our surprise there were very few foreign tourists. We had the city to ourselves.

The historic centre is rough around the edges but filled with historic colonial buildings, including the imposing cathedral. We spent a Sunday strolling the artsy suburb of Tlaquepaque. The neighbourhood is full of art shops and restaurants. It’s a festival atmosphere on Sundays. Next we headed to nearby Tonalá for its massive street market. We pushed through throngs of shoppers up-and-down miles of stalls and only saw a fraction of the market. It’s mind-boggling.

We got away from the city bustle with a daytrip to Ajijic and Chapala. Ajijic is an affluent, quiet lakeside town. Many of the buildings are painted with street art or in brightly-hued colours. The square was a perfect place to relax with coffee and people-watch. In contrast, the nearby town of Chapala is bigger, more developed and touristic.

With closed out our week in Guadalajara with dinner at Antojeria Xokol, one of Mexico’s top restaurants. We gorged ourselves on the 12-course tasting menu. The dishes are based on ancestral foods and heritage corns cooked with modern flair. Spectacular.

Puerto Vallarta

The last ten days of our trip were in Puerto Vallarta. We were last there about twenty years ago. There are more apartments and hotels, but the vibe is still the same. Streets are filled with tourists, beaches are packed with sun worshippers, beer and margaritas flow freely at happy hours, and (we were told) the late night scene is as crazy as ever.

We had an apartment in the Zona Romantica, the busiest party and bar area, but were a few blocks back from the beach. Our street was quieter after dark; locals outnumbered tourists. A fresh vegetable shop and terrific local butcher were just down the street. The best street food stalls in town, usually lined up with locals, were steps from our apartment.

Festival of Guadalupe

We happened to be in Puerto Vallarta for its biggest annual festival, the twelve-day Festival of Guadalupe. Processions of pilgrims make their way to Our Lady of Guadalupe Cathedral where they are met by canon bursts and church bells pealing. We expected a massive procession as we’d witnessed in cities in Spain. We were disappointed to learn that the main procession only takes place the last day, after we’d be gone. Early in the festival, processions are limited to small family, business and community groups. For the first eleven days, the huge street party in front of the Cathedral is the big draw.

Local buses took us to nearby towns. We started with Sayulita – a hot, crowded, bumpy two-hour ride. When we last visited, Sayulita was a sleepy little town with one dirt street lined with authentic art shops, and a few beachside restaurants. Now it’s a hectic tourist town packed with foreigners riding up and down the streets on golf carts. Instead of art shops, the streets are lined with the usual selection of tourist bars and restaurants.

More fun was our trip to the mountain village of El Tuito. It was a 1-1/2 hour trip along a steep, narrow, winding mountain road. For most of the trip we were the only gringos on the bus. El Tuito was the last stop. By then there were only four passengers left. The town is a little farming community with one main street, a small square and of course a church. The Sunday market was in full swing – all 10 stalls, mostly selling street food. We wandered the streets, fed some stray dogs, bought a kilo of fresh homemade cheese from an abuela (grandmother) and lazed over lunch at a sidewalk cafe.

For our final evening we had dinner at a hilltop steak house overlooking Bahía de Banderas. A perfect end to the journey.