A hint of things to come. Looks so soft and inviting. Looks ARE deceiving...
Today was one of the tougher days I’ve had on a motorcycle. Also one of the more rewarding. Funny how that works.
(Note to readers (all five of you and my mom): Yes, I am using a lot of Hipstamatic for photos. It saves me editing time, and it’s just so damn easy. A photo of a tin can looks like art. You may get sick of the style, but while battling wifi every step of the way, it’s the only way. Get off my back.)
I awoke in darkness to the sounds of waves crashing and seals “playing” (at least that’s what they were doing in my mind). I left early, and the first half hour on the bike was made up of that often frustrating feeling of trying to get out of a waking city at rush hour after getting gas and finding an ATM – there’s a hold like molasses that’s hard to break. Stop light after stop light after stop light.
It finally opened up into rolling, scraggly hills and amazing riding with EVERYONE going way too fast. Speed limits are merely suggestions. As I started to climb, 1000, 2000 feet, the temperature started to drop 60, 57, 55… By the time I hit 3,500 feet, it started to rain, and the temps were now 45 degrees. Yikes. This was now the kind of cold that sneaks up on you by freezing you from the inside out. It starts in your marrow and freezes your bones. Then your muscles lose all their heat before your blood goes cold. When your fingers lose all feeling, you now know you’re cold.
I pulled over to do the rain gear dance as much for warmth as wetness. By the time I reached 4,000 feet, I had my seat heater on, which has two settings – off and ass-fire – and I was lucky enough to ride into a cloud that made visibility very limited and raised the humidity so that my facemask was fogging. Now, I was freezing (one of my fingers felt like it had fallen off), my ass was on fire, AND I couldn’t see. Awesome. At least it wasn’t too windy! Just jinxed myself.
Where I sat and pondered my route - dirt, or no dirt?
I finally made it to San Felipe, and what a cool town. Now, this is not a cool town like Playa del Carmen is cool. More like, well, hard to describe. It’s run down, sort of random, and helter skelter, but beautiful there by the torquoise water.
Acros the street from my cafe a la norte.
As I’m finding throughout Baja, I end up talking with an expat retiree for a bit. He actually knows Glen Heggstad! (See “Two Wheels Through Terror” or StrikingViking.net. Actually, don’t – you’ll think I’m a pussy after reading his stuff.) Anyway, we talk about the road south. I had been told by another rider not to take that road due to narco traffic,
Across the street from my cafe a la sur.
bad road, etc. Good thing I don’t always listen to advice. Supposedly this road south is paved for about 85 miles before turning to “dirt,” which lasts about 50 miles before it reconnects to Hwy 1. After discussing for a bit, I make my decision. I’d really already made it when I left Ensenada since not taking it would mean riding back the 90 miles I’d just ridden. Really didn’t want to do that.
I start off, and within minutes, the wind kicks in. Fabulous. Apparently, Mother Nature Mexicana has found a way to create a vertical wind in Baja. You see, I ride with a motocross-like helmet with a big visor off the front. It stops rocks and sun from hitting you in the face, but it seconds as a sail in the right conditions. These are those conditions. One of these rogue, upward winds ripped my helmet off until the mouthpiece was up around my ears and my head was nearly forcibly removed from my body. So maybe there are decapitations down here. Fortunately, the chinstrap held, and I was able to yank my head back down through the wind and make the necessary adjustments. Had I forgotten to affix the strap, which happens sometimes, the helmet would have been off (with my ears). Whew.
The first 85 miles south of San Felipe were in fact paved, and then the pavement just stops. Abruptly. And I am looking at a TOTALLY impassible section of road with a few monstrous earth moving Caterpillars playing like toys in a sandbox. Whoowhat? No way. At first, denial. Then, something else. Not sure what. All I could think of was, holy shit, I have to backtrack 160 miles through insane wind, rain, cold, and all over roads requiring top focus. And I HATE backtracking.
I just sat there as reality started to tap me on the shoulder. I tried to tell it to go away. It wouldn’t listen. It rarely does. Three to four hours to get back to where I started this morning. Oh man. Really?
Through the fog of my waking reality, I see something moving above one of the earth movers. It’s an arm waving at me. I almost missed it due to the scale of the machine dwarfing the man. Oh great, I’m in their way. The stupid gringo is out of his element again. Funny how that’s where the mind immediately goes. I guess I better get out of the way, turn around, and start heading back. No, wait. He’s trying to tell me something. Huh? I should go to the left? Where? There’s no road! Oh wait, I guess if I look really hard and get really creative, there might be a path of sorts there through the scrub brush. Really? He seems pretty confident.
Desert plants vary every couple miles, and I really liked these. Unfortunately, as usual, the photo doesn't do justice.
So, I wave my best long distance muchas gracias (still not fully believing him) and push through the sand and brush, and in about 50 meters I can make out a “road” up ahead around the work they’re doing. Holy shit. Is this going to work?? Yes! That was just a section they were preparing to extend the road south! I’m back in business baby!!! Granted, I now have to negotiate a very steep downhill through thick sand, but I can see a hard, dirt road just past the hill. I think I can make it. Spirits lifting with my newfound opportunity.
Cactus are just plain cool. At any angle.
This is one of those unique travelling moments. Keep in mind, it’s Satuday, and there just happens to be a crew working, and one of the guys just happens to care enough to wave me to the road. He could have just waited for me to move my dumbass and get back to work, but no. He helped me instead. Anonymously. Had he not been there, I would have (after crying a bit) turned back for a miserable backtrack and not experienced the rest of my remarkable day. It’s these coincidences in travel and in life that must be appreciated and exploited. Funny, I was just saying that the other night. Of course, an hour later, I had other thoughts…
And these cactus are HUGE. Like the own the place. Or are at least standing sentinel.
To describe the next 50-60 miles is difficult. Imagine one of those paint-mixer machines at Home Depot or Sherman Williams. Now imagine grabbing hold of it for 3 hours and refusing to let go like your life depends upon it (because it does). Add to this vibrating nightmare by standing on a pile of marbles on a metal floor. Oh, and add a freakish wind and suntan lotion in your eyes. You get my point. It was absolutely awesome, and I’m glad I went the way I did. I’ll never forget the ride or the day. I’d love to have more pictures of all that I saw, but hey, I was sort busy. Next time I’ll bring along a camera crew…
A few photos of my road.
Looking north. From where I came. Desolate.
Facing south. To where I'm going. Just as desolate.
The road rattled off a PIAA light cover. She's not winking at you. Unless you're into it.
Just because I like the photo.
Just because I like it in black and white too. And this is sort of how it felt.
This road beat on me and then beat on me some more. I have ridden a lot of dirt roads, but this one was covered in rocks, boulders, and washboard and sand and tires. Tires everywhere. Tells you how unforgiving the surface is.
A nice couple stopped while I was pulled over to see if I was ok. About half an hour later, I passed them, and this was their tire. The road was unforgiving this day my friends. Perhaps this was their travel karma for not stopping to say hi to Coco? I hope not, they were good people.
The washboard is pounding me, but the rows of sand in trenches keeps my front tire squirreling about forcing absolute concentration every minute. For 3 or 4 hours, I’m really not sure how long it took, I pounded along this unforgiving surface until I came to Coco’s. Coco is a retired crop duster (or maybe fisherman?) from Ensenada. He’s super famous in the world of adventure motorcycle travel, and probably for any kind of overland travel through Baja. He lost both legs below the knees due to diabetes, but he soldiers on with amazing kindness. We had a nice talk. “You’re famous Coco,” I said. To which he replied simply, “I know.” I had a beer, walked around and took photos, and he offered me a place to stay for free that night in one of his trailers. He thought the weather was coming any minute, and looking up at the sky, I couldn’t argue. “Weather’s coming. It’s up to you. Your problem, not mine,” he tells me. But, I wanted to get further down the road today, so I accepted the sticker he gave me that I will proudly put onto my bike when I can clean the bags, and I put a Hollander sticker on his wall and signed his book and added a Centraal sticker there, and I started off again. What a place. He lives a unique sort of life out there. Here are a bunch of photos. You just gotta see this place.
An oasis in the desert. A much-needed break.
Coco and me.
Coco posing next to the Cafe Hollander sticker.
Coco's bike art, and a few of his legs.
Pretty descriptive. I think I know what this is. Wait till you see the glamorous inside...
I mean, really, what else do you need? It works. Why fix it?
TV anyone? Just grab a seat. What, you don't have a pot to piss in? It's no matter. Coco's got you covered.
One of the funnier parts of the day, was about half an hour later when I finally made it back to the 1 and pulled over to throw on rain gear again. Two Mexican guys pulled off the road and a couple minutes later, I was giving them directing, in Spanish no less, to Mexicali. I’m local now. Couldn’t help but laugh.
Prior to pulling off of 1 to head to Bahia de los Angeles, I come across two “gas stations.” One with gas, another without. Guess which is which. Quiz later.
Gas station of the past.
"Gas station" of the present. A dude with a barrel. Hey, it pours gas. Again, what else do you need?
Entering Bahia de los Angeles. Done.
Finally I pull into Bahia de los Angeles, and the views coming into town off the water and mountains that I’d read about did not disappoint. Unfortunately, I couldn’t really get a good picture because the wind was now howling so badly that I was afraid it would knock my bike over if it put it on the stand. It was time to find a hotel. I was done.
We'll both sleep well tonight, but she deserves it more than me. Poor thing, sleeping outside. Doesn't seem right. But, the gymnastics I had to do to get her up there? Yowza.
The first hotel I went to was full. What? Shit. I do not want to sleep outside tonight. The second one was 450 pesos, and fit me perfectly. Thank god. Even the gristle was done just the way I like it – meat free.
I’ll be pulling that out of my teeth for weeks. But I didn’t care. I was feeding upon the savory flesh of adventure and accomplishment. Tired to the bones. Feeling great. A few limes with Tecate poured over them, and I was content listening to the wind whipping this sleepy village apart at the seams.
And an update of my route:
The Road. Travelled. 
Crap. Did my first comment post? Darn iPad. Basically I just wanted to say glad I am subscribed to your blog. Had no idea you were off to mx until I saw your first post come through. Be safe. I have a feeling you really love blogging. No pesky people to interrupt your diatribes. 😉 I mean, your very verbal journalling xoxo
The first one didn’t post Ali, but I’m very happy you’re subscribed and reading it. And they aren’t diatribes! Well, maybe they are… And no one can stop me!
Thanks for reading and posting.
I know how that Baja washboard road feels. Well, sort of. I was in a pickup. I did a 10 day surftrip in Baja many years back. Back before digital cameras and cell phones. My buddy and I drove about 4 hours south of Ensenada and turned right (go West!) for a 30 mile washboard road that took about 3 hours to cross. That cold, blue ocean water is a beautiful reward for that punishment.
We camped on a cliff over the Pacific and surfed all morning every morning. We found out right away that the wind picks up to a howl every day around noon and gales for the rest of the day. Crazy shit, that wind. My buddy was a windsurfer, so he did that all afternoon while I hiked in the mountains and caught lobster in the tidal pools at lowtide. Lobster cooked over a camp fire with cold Mex beer for dinner…not a bad way to live. We probably saw 5 people in 10 days–maybe the same person over and over again.
Baja is a magical place. I’m very envious of your trip. Que lo vaya bién, amigo!