Photograph by Matthew Suárez
I spotted a tire mounted on a pole with white letters that read “Punta Final.” It opened to a dirt road that stretched for more than ten miles until it reached the Sea of Cortez.
We arrived at Punta Final Saturday at dawn after an arduous seven-hour trip. We left Tecate before midnight after packing the green Durango with camping gear and a shit ton of beer. The driver, a 22-year-old named Gerardo, kept himself awake with a baggie of cocaine he snorted during a bathroom pitstop at a gas station somewhere in San Felipe. In the backseat were Elmira (Gerardo’s sister), Juan “Johnnie,” and Natalia (the cousins). The García family. I acted as co-pilot, making sure Gerardo stayed on track as he sang reggaeton, corrido, and American country (the likes of Alan Jackson). Gerardo was a great driver and what in Mexico they call a “