BY THE UNKNOWN GRINGO
COMPARISON IS THE THIEF OF JOY
Comparison is the thief of joy. You know who said that? Theodore Roosevelt, the U.S. President from 1901-1909. And I get his point. If I compare myself to another man……. younger, handsome, beautiful house, in better shape, Italian sports car, whiter teeth, doesn’t have hair growing out of his nose or ears like I do…… then I start looking for the mezcal. There is always someone doing better than me.
But over the years I have compared myself to people I know who have a passion for a place that is as strong as mine is for Ensenada. And what it takes for them to get to that place versus what it takes for me to get to Ensenada is interesting.
I met my best-friend-from-college, Dan, when I moved to Oregon. He met Ruth there. They got married and live in a small town off Highway 5 between Portland and Salem. And they are absolutely in love with Newfoundland. This started in 1998 and they fly there two times a year out of Portland to either Minneapolis or Atlanta, then to Toronto, then to St. John’s, Newfoundland. It takes them about 16 hours from their front door to the hotel that they like. 16 hours.
Dan says Toronto is the worst part of the trip. The flight regs for Air Canada say that if there is lightning in the area you have to wait in your parked plane on the tarmac a full hour until after that possibility passes before you can pull up to the jet way and exit the plane. They have sat in their plane for hours before the lightning leaves. And they have sat and watched their connecting flight take off without them. It’s called a ground stop.
Now they have also fallen in love with New Zealand. Wanna guess? Their home to Portland to LAX to Auckland to Christchurch airport is 27 and a half hours. And finally to their B&B destination there’s a 3 and a half hour drive in a rental car. That’s 31 hours from bed to bed. 31.
Let’s compare. I had my best-friend-from-childhood’s daughter come to live with me for two years from her home in Utah while she pursued a career as an actress. Her heaven on earth? Disneyland. As a child her whole family would drive a full day to get to Los Angeles for the beach…..and Disneyland. Just 35 miles from where I live. Kelly bought an annual pass and sometimes went there twice a day…… with a friend and then maybe by herself later on. From my house to the House of the Mouse? An hour maximum if traffic is slow on Highway 5. Maybe an hour.
Now. Me. To Ensenada. On a motorcycle. For years I used to drive my cargo van when I was buying solid wood rancho furniture in Rosarito and Ensenada. A comfortable room on wheels that I could fit anything into. And drive in the middle of the night if I wanted. No more. You’ll read why. Now I leave on the motorcycle before the sun comes up to avoid as much traffic as possible in LA, Orange, and San Diego counties but NOT when it’s real dark because I don’t want to hit a peeled off big-rig tire tread or a handyman’s ladder on the 5. The natural resting position for a motorcycle is laying on its side and not up on two wheels. You defy gravity when you ride one. It’s 213 miles to my hotel down there. I will gas up before I cross the border so I can ride all the way to Ensenada and then all the way home on that full tank of gas. My bike has a large gas tank. Crossing the border going south is fast and then I take the toll road along the coast. I can do this in 3 and a half hours.
Going north is different. No need to get more gas but I have to cross into the United States and that can take more time than crossing the border going south. Now, I am on a motorcycle. I do not have to wait in line at any of the crossings, Tijuana or Tecate. No two to three hour, mind-grinding waits because motorcycles can “bounce” the line by going in between the cars, around the concrete barriers, around the vendors and beggars, and sometimes on the sidewalks. I call it the “culture” of the border. The people in the cars expect it. I have never had anyone yell at me. The vendors expect it too. This dates back to when all motorcycles had air-cooled engines. They had to keep moving to prevent the engine from over-heating and locking up. Nowadays, most bikes have radiators or oil coolers to prevent that. My 1986 bike? Air-cooled. But I have to tell you……bouncing the line going north has always made me feel like a king. Yes, I am exposed to wind, heat, cold, fog, rain, oil and debris on the road, bugs hitting me….. but bouncing that line? Sweet. By the way, motorcyclists have a name for people driving protected in their cars. Cagers.
How long to get home? About the same. I do leave Ensenada just as early as when I leave home and stopping for gas going south chews up a little less time than crossing the border going north, but at the most it should be maybe 15 extra minutes to get home. There will be a little more traffic since I am going through Los Angeles county in full daylight but this is almost always on a Sunday morning. Can’t complain.
But I can compare. I have friends in better shape and worse shape than me. I’m 71 years old now and definitely feel the effects of my age. I can complain but I have three close friends who have passed on. I’m alive and they aren’t.
Should we compare at all? I’ve got an idea. I’ll take you to my four favorite taco places in Ensenada — Los Originales, Tacos Don Zefe, La Avioneta, and Tacos Lily — and you take me to your four. We’ll compare. And if I lose ……well, I will actually be happy to lose, won’t I? Adios, amigos.
