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A Mexican Weekend

By John McCauley

Interstate 5 comes to an anticlimactic end at the southwest corner of San Diego. For most of my life, with the exception of an occasional frat bro bender on Revolucion, The San Ysidro border crossing was a cul-de-sac, a U-turn between structure and chaos, safety and danger. Over the past five plus years, with some help from my friends, I've pushed aside the stereotypes (all totally exaggerated) and explored some of my favorite places on earth in the last frontier of Southern California. Last weekend was no exception. #vivabaja.  

A special thanks to our friends at for keeping us on the road.

The Santo Tomas Valley.

RIP Juan Aldana

The only left in Baja. 

Never too old to jump.



Looking for dinner. 

You should have been here yesterday. 


What she lacks in tract homes and strip malls, she makes up for in beauty. 

San Diego circa 1896 (less satellite dishes and solar panels). 

We were stoked to have perfect weather. 

The last night rolls around and the anticipation of Monday morning meetings in the office begins to haunt you. 


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