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Monday, November 21, 2016
Safari Club Presenting Sponsor KING of BAJA 1000 2016 LIVE! ONLINE BajaRacingNews.com
**MONSTER Mike's GARAGE KING of BAJA 1000 ONLINE PARTY! Thursday, November 17, 8PM-MidNight LIVE! From Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico**
Safari Club Celebrates 1966 as Presenting Sponsor of KING of BAJA 2016
Safari Club 1966 Destructs Baja Mexico
Everyone wanted a road trip. We knew all the road houses from Hollywood to Ensenada and out East to Needles. We decided, “Well, there is this funky and small bar and restaurant called Concheria at Lecerito or Cerito beach,” someone mentioned.
“Lecerito, Cerito Beach … where the hell is that?”
Oh about 20-30 miles south of our usual hangout, Tijuana's Long Bar. Great spot, local joint, nice bar, nice beach, good street tacos, burritos, and chili rellenos. Sounds good?
Another Safari Club! Call the band, lets A-GO-GO!
Sure, made a deal with the owners, gave them a ton of pesos to buy 15 kegs and said we would be down this weekend with some nice and mellow friends. Oh yes, we told them we would supply the paper cups and bring a rock and roll band.
Hummm … sounds like a bitchen time …
The first thing one must do to start any Baja Convention is to pop the kegs – Eber (RIP) knocks out the plug while Mike Wilson supervises and Buddy Lundy gives the two finger salute. Check out the wooden spigots and kegs.
So you spread the word … pass out a pickup truck of fliers with directions that you made off the copy machine when the teacher was not looking. And didn’t give a shit if the cops heard, in fact they were breathing easier that weekend, knowing a Convention was going to held out of country!
Then you packed every vehicle you could find with every 'bitchen' person for a road trip down south. We were but a mere small fraction of our brothers and sisters, Mac Meda.
The results; one huge, insane, blowout beer-drinking Convention that included pushing cars over, falling down drunks and bottle rocket and firecracker wars that finally ended up with the Federales coming (slang Gringo term for the Mexican Federal Police) that wanted everyone OUT of the fricking country …
… which is was not a good thing to do, considering there was 200 plus Gringos and a few of them.
So, things started getting out of hand, the next thing that happened, the walls started to be ripped down, a car got turned over, and they lit the place on fire …
Just boys and girls having a bit of fun….
The start of another Baja Safari Pre-Run, around 1966
Safari Club at the Long Bar, Tijuana
Breaking beer bottles! We went through so much beer back in those days! By the time we starting saluting each other, we were lit. clinking turned into breaking. Glass on the floor and beer all over, get the mops!
Coffee cans played a major role in a road trip to Tijuana, Mexico. When Folgers came out with their one gallon cans, it set a new trend in date night to the Long Bar.
It took a pretty savvy and opened minded girl to head to TJ and bar hop with her boyfriend. Most only went there one time because it was just plain disgusting. Men’s toilets were bad enough, but the restrooms for girls had zero privacy and had no attendant who would sell them bun wad, or splash on cheap perfumed so you wouldn’t walk out smelling like the burrito some girl just puked into the toilet next to yours.
One of the biggest drawbacks was waiting at the border to cross back into the U.S. At 2-3am on a Saturday night the wait could be as long as several hours. Many a car over heated, so it was common to see steam bellowing out from under the hoods. Or guys and girls pushing cars to save on gas or trying to prevent the over heating.
The Long Bar Entry on Avenida Revolucion, Tijuana, Baja California, Mexico
However, the need to pee after consuming many gallons of green beer was the problem, especially when it was date night. A guy trip it was okay, all they did was stick Mr. Wiggle in some container, let loose, then roll down the window and empty the container while waiting in line. No problema.
It was pretty funny looking down the long lines and every once in a while an arm would stick out, and shake the last drop out and the constant splash when tires rolled over puddles of pee or in some cases chunky puddles of an even mixture of regurgitated, stale beer, tequila, street tacos and burritos.
Back in the original Safari Club days, the cars were not these tinny, compact pieces of shit, where ones knees would be cramped up into ones chest sitting in the back seat. They had plenty of room, and lots of it. One of my '57 Chevy Sedans had a back seat like a concert hall.
So when the gallon coffee can came out, girls had a nice porta potty. for their adventure down south. They literally could place the can on the floor board, some chick would make sure none of the guys would watch and she’d let loose. When done, they were a bit more casual and secret about dumping their pee. The can also provided a wide opening to puke in. It was not lady like to just stick the head out the window, as the guys did.
Usually they waited until the car was going about ½ mile an hour, open the door and slowly pour it out, thinking that no one would notice. That way, they were sure not to step in it, if the car started to overheat and their services were required to help that 1964 4-door Ford sedan that your parents thought you were going to the Clairemont Bowling Alley.
However, there were always those that would hold it until their faces turned blue, and looked like they were going to explode. As soon as they passed immigration/customs, the first stop was a Denny’s like 24/hr diner called, Sambos, just 100 yards away. Sambos had a sign, “Restrooms for Customers Only,” and made a ton of money on selling ten cent coffee and/or a soda pop to go.
This is what women had to deal with went they went on date night to TJ
Unfortunately some just could not hold it, and you were riding home with a pee smell in your car. The smell you could handle, it was explaining to your parents of how it got there became the problem.
Those who knew the routine (ex girl scouts, so they were prepared) would slip in a roll of bun wad in their purse and lots of perfume.
Even to this day, bar hopping in TJ on date night was the answer to the age-old question,Why is it that pairs of girls always go to the restroom together?
Answer is simple, One to guard the door, the other to do her thing.
When three girls went, you just knew the restrooms were bad, one guarded the door, the other helped the one straddle the toilet as the other did her thing – a girl thing and tradition that continues to this day.
(Courtesy our pals at the Destruction Company)
We always take our surf boards when prerunning. It's not a Baja Safari without 'em!
What started in La Jolla at my folks house, ended up in Hollywood and Cabo San Lucas as the Safari Club. Fun is our middle name, Since 1966!
Back in the early 1960s, everyone in California knew there was something different about the La Jolla’s WindanSea crowd and surfers like Mike Anthony, Curren, Mike Diffenderfer (RIP) Tiny Brain Thomas, Billy Graham, and Butch Van Artsdalen (RIP).” Pat Curren and Mike Diffenderfer were known to hang at the the PumpHouse and Birds Rock’s.
When some of the Mac Meda stayed on the beach bombed, the 'Club' went off-road. For more Baja, deeper, longer lasting. Much more satisfiying! We continued making more friends, way before F-Book. The club became known with the "L.A. crowds, pagans, drawing down the moon". Jim Morrison of the Doors, told us how he dug taking our blue bus to Mexico. "What a psychedelic country", he said. The Day of Dead became a major fascination. Jim's short time in San Diego county, in Coronado, exposed the youngster to a whole new world, outside his fathers US Navy community.
The group, the Safari Club, morphed in so many directions with all of our friends, it confused many of our early paying customers! We all ended up on the dunes at Glamis, the American Sahara and Bahia San Lucas, at Baja Sur, Mexico.
For a time, south of Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico we became co-creators with the 'Life's A Beach' crew, exploring everything Baja Norte-Baja North.
Rakestraw and Curren had similar trends, both were regulars at local watering holes near La Jolla and many times shared temporary living quarters in a San Diego jail, so much so – Rakestraw used to write Curren little messages on the jail walls.
The Mac Meda crowd started the phrase “Surf Nazis,” where they would dress up like Nazis and ride down the storm drain on their Flexy Flyers that started at the top of Bon Air Street. What a bitchen thrill that was!!!
Mel Brooks style Nazi parties wound up bursting into local restaurants, having Nazi parties in the bunkers up on Mt. Soledad and they even became guests at the Jewish fraternities at U.S.C.
One time the La Jolla, California elite got scared, thinking there was some new Aryan group that was infiltrating their community. They called the three lettered suits.
Jack was then working in the Post Office when his supervisor came up and said, “Uh, Mac…the suits are here to talk to you.” So he sat in a car with two suits, G-Men. He then told them they were just having a good time on their flexy-fliers, screaming down a dark drain pipe and shooting out at WindanSea.
The suits started laughing and said something like, “It does sound like a good time.”
“The most rebellious group of people I ever met,” said legendary big wave surfer Fred Van Dyke. “They were like wildanimals!”
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Gary Newsome Publisher
About Gary Newsome, Publisher
I am a retired US Veteran and Voice of America Editor, Living in Ensenada, Mexico. Also raced with the Balboa Datsun Team in the early days of Rally and Off Road on the west coast, in National City, California.
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