It’s a funny thing to go looking for nothing. Try explaining it to most people and chances are you sound crazy. Maybe you are.
We keep looking anyway, this time in Baja.
We found nothing last time and we found nothing this time. We found no traffic jams, no shopping malls, no cell service.
What we had was what we made: pan-fried yellowtail, low wagers around a fire, and a bed on the beach with a blanket of mezcal. We made clouds of dust that hung high in the desert and tracks in the sand that were erased by the tide.
The sun was our alarm and the ocean was our bath. Crashing waves were our soundtrack. In the land of vaqueros, we were a band of wrist-twisting misfits on modern-day horses. Aimless rovers looking for something not on a map. What for, we’re not sure. Maybe it’s behind the next dune or over the next craggy ridge.
Only thing we’re sure of is that we’ll keep looking. In no place in particular, with no sense of time. You could say we do it to get caught in limbo.
It’s a strange way to find comfort, and we’re a strange breed. A couple of photographs and a case of the Baja blues are all there is to show for it.
If you’re asking “what’s the point?”, then maybe we aren’t the ones to explain it. We never had much of a way with words, anyway.
Bruce Brown already said it best years ago, and we’re not in the business of trying to outdo a legend:
There’s something about going riding with your friends – a feeling of freedom, a feeling of joy – that really can’t be put into words. It can only be fully shared by someone who’s done it.
- On Any Sunday
Photos by Drew Martin