The work was done. We were done. There was nothing left to fix, sand, paint, or rewire. After four long, hot, dusty months in the boatyard in Puerto Peñasco, we were more than ready to be floating again. We’d been dreaming of warm swims, sandy beaches, and lazy evenings at anchor on the mainland.

It is no secret that we are not trust fund babies or magically independently wealthy from selling feet pictures. We work. For most people, that still sounds like the dream, and in many ways it is. But we are not working from a beachside bar or tucked under a palm tree with a cocktail in hand like most people imagine. This is how we actually spend our time working while cruising full time.

There’s a strange comfort in boatyard life—everyone’s a little tired, a little broke, and a little sunburned. But we’re all in it together, trading tips, tools, and beers. It’s the kind of shared misery that somehow turns into great memories later.

The climb involved scaling narrow rock cracks and trusting frayed ropes that looked like they’d been installed sometime during the Steinbeck expedition itself. We got stuck, got scratched, but made it to the top. And, more importantly, back down alive.

Fuel concerns returned. With only one jerry can left, the next refuel points were La Paz or Puerto Escondido. La Paz was logical, but we preferred to avoid it.

Our plan: drop the stern, motor forward, drop the bow, and snug everything tight. Reality: wrap the stern line on the prop, drift awkwardly across the anchorage, and scramble to recover.

Of course, that short trip came with drama. What started as a calm sail quickly turned into a full-on retrieval mission when our dinghy wheels went overboard. Of course, the wind decided to ramp up to 25 knots just as we tried to fish them out. Yes, we had all the sails up. After 45 frantic minutes, we managed to retrieve the wheels—along with the realization that if either of us ever goes overboard, we’re probably not getting rescued.

We may have lingered in town a bit too long. By the time we got back in the dinghy, the wind had picked up and the bay had turned… sporty. One of us bailed water as waves poured over the sides, while the other tried to steer around the worst of it. We arrived back at the boat soaked and salty. Lesson learned.

We left our anchorage the morning after a lively carnival celebration—slightly hungover but eager to sail. A nine-hour, 30-mile trip south sounded like the perfect hangover cure.