Riding Baja -Diary of El Americano Estupido
Story and Photos by Nick Cedar
For years I have wanted to ride the long rugged peninsula of Baja California on my dirtbike. I'd endured too many stories of other people's adventures, and I finally had the elusive combination of enough time, and a big dual sport bike to make the trip.
Reeling from months of Terrorism TV, a trip to Baja seemed just the ticket. A local group I know had planned out an 8 day trip, which they graciously allowed me to tag along on. Mike and Richard had done a similar trip a few years ago, and Bob, a good friend of theirs, was as eagar as I was to sample Baja. Bob and I would be in luck, as Richard and Mike were equipped with GPS units, stuffed full of handy way points from their previous trip to the peninsula. It seemed my main concern would be staying on two wheels, and opening beers without twist offs.
My mount for the trip would be my battered but much loved Yamaha XT600. It wouldn't be the prettiest girl on the beach, but least likely to be stolen was fine with me. A trip to Baja would be a superb addition to my old bike's long resume. Bob would bring down a new DRZ400, Mike his XR400, and Richard would ride his mighty (big) KLR 650. We all chose Pirelli MT-21 tires to deal with the rough roads of Baja.
Day One: Having completed a four wheeled blast down I-5 from our northern California haunts, we unloaded the bikes nearly spitting distance from the border in Tecate. With far too much crap finally strapped onto the bikes, we fired them up at the crack of noon, and rolled the short distance to Tecate. This was a smaller and much more user friendly crossing than Tijuana. My first impressions of Mexico? It's crowded and humble but full of character. Rolling through the streets of Tecate, we stopped for a traffic light in front of the main town park. A quick glance to my left revealed Bob's bike gugrgling a generous pool of gasoline on the pavement below him. I gestured to him to have a look at his bike. His response was to kill the bike and dismount. His dismount I now call Robertos' Tecate Two Step. This was a maneuvre which somehow culminated in him and the bike on the ground. This was quite entertaining to the spectators in the park. We had been in the country only ten minutes, and already we looked like stupid Americans! He quickly collected his bike, demonstrated the true beauty of the electric start, and we proceeded without further incident. It ain't easy being El Americano Estupido.
Today's destination was Hacienda Santa Veronica, less than 40 miles away, and we'd be catching a twisting dirt road on the way to increase the grin factor. The weather was gloomy, and rain threatened. Adding to the gloom were the dead animals and wasted out vehicles which seemed a normal Mexican roadside attraction. I was happy to leave the paved road, as our navigators led us down a winding, sandy two track, which would deposit us at Hacienda Santa Veronica with smiles on our faces.
Hacienda Santa Veronica
Just as we pulled up, the rain started. Our rooms arranged, we retired to the dining room to sip on beers, and take in the bullfighting memorabilia which hung everywhere here.This is a large and well equipped resort considering its location. After a satisfying meal, we retreated to our rooms, to find the only source of heat was a small fireplace. Our group demonstrated our firebuilding skills, and quickly were able to engulf both rooms in smoke, but it was warm smoke. Oh well, it was a nice thought. As we laid back in our beds, I noticed the large dark stain above Bob's bed, indicating a leak in the roof. This could get interesting. It rained like hell all night long.....
Day Two: We awoke dry and rested to clearing skies. Our first of many platos of Huevos Rancheros fueled us for a ripping ride south. From the Hacienda we took the fast dirt road which would deposit us South of Ojos Negros after skirting around Parque Nacional Constitucion De 1857. The rain had provided us with outstanding conditions. The road weaves past quaint ranchos, through tranquil pine forests and gorgeous rock formations. The hidden beauty of this route is avoiding the big cities of Tijuana and Ensenada and still winding up southbound on HWY 3.
Uhhh, which way?
Being back on pavement was a letdown, but we quickly made it to Valle De La Trinidad, a small town which promised a Pemex (gas) station. This was of course closed, as it seems are most Pemex stations in Baja. On our way into town we passed a group of fellow dirt bikers hanging out beside their trucks. We returned to seek their advice on obtaining gas, and discovered that they were natives. These guys were well into several bottles of tequila and various beers when we rolled up. One of them spoke English well, and we were able to get directions to one of the backyard gas stations on which we would come to rely. This operation was a humble but well run one. A wheelbarrow full of 1 gallon milk jugs filled with gas awaited our arrival. $3 US per gallon. Each bike's tank was carefully hand filled by the quiet older man, his wrinkled hands often splashed with the caustic stuff. With full tanks, we were off to our final destination for the day, Mike's Sky Ranch.
Mike's is a mecca for off roaders, and I was totally psyched to be finally headed up into the hills, bound for the Sky Rancho. A ride to Mike's gives the motohead a chance to bounce around on some great mountain roads, even on the Baja 1000 course, ending with a relatively luxurious accomodations at the end. After the turnoff from the pavement, I was giggling like a school kid as we pinned it through the fast initial dirt straight. Seeing another sign for Mike's come up, I pulled off for a photo, into what seemed like the shoulder, in some deep sand. Estupido! Bob, back behind me, thought I was taking the fast inside line, and figured he'd give it a go too. He nearly collected me right then and there. His deft skills prevented a premature end to our trip though, and after a few relieved laughs, we both tore off again.
Richard and the mighty KLR
The road rolled up through broad hills and down though sandy canyons, up over humps of granite, through gullies, around switch backs, and slowly up towards the stunning Parque Nacional Sierra San Pedro Martir. This was part of this year's Baja 1000 course. Pretending we were Johnny Campbell wasn't realistic with 50 pounds of crap lashed to the bike, but it still was a thrill. I stopped several times to admire the ever changing views of the mountains. This section I wanted to last forever. I continued on with an ear to ear grin.
Water crossing at Mike's
We splashed though the water crossing and bounced up the final rocky ledge to the entrance of the Rancho. This place is pretty big, with about 40 rooms, a large dining room, a small but well loved bar, all surrounding a huge tiled courtyard with a massive swimming pool.
Tommy stands guard...
The dogs, Pinto, Tommy and Kahlua greeted us out front. We were all buzzing from our ride, as we strode into the courtyard. Our consummate host for the evening, Rafael, immediately opened up the bar for us. A round of cold Pacificos and tequila shots was icing on the cake for our already buzzing brains. We chatted with Rafael, reveled in our ride, and in the layers of history which literally hung everywhere around us.
The bar at Mike's
Mike's is like a living museum of off road racing and touring. Every visitor has left some kind of memento on the walls of the main room and bar, making this place reverberate with gearhead history. We soaked it all in, as well as a few more beers. We had the place to ourselves this night. We enjoyed our simple but plentiful meal from the hard working kitchen staff, and retired to our rooms for much needed sleep.
Day Three- "Diary of a Dumbass" Leaving Mike's was hard to do. Our original plan was to lay over here and explore, but our mood was to move on, and the cold temperatures helped motivate us south. We confirmed our return in a few days, and headed out. The road was just as fun going out, but with a long day ahead, the temptation to blast around was gone. Back to the pavement, we'd drone south for a short while, and peel off onto another section of the Baja 1000 course. This would head us toward Laguna Diablo, and eventually San Felipe.
The sand whoops
This section of the course was a tough one. Immediately we plunged into a section of fairly deep and loose sand whoops. This is the kind of section where you pity the bike racers more than the four wheelers, because the fatigue must be crippling. I'd just survive at my own modest pace, trying not to death grip the bars as my overloaded bike weaved back and forth, and pogoed up and down through the whoops. Not being able to see much past the mound in front of you makes it difficult to "pin it" like you should. The XT and I survived without a spill, and soon, an intersection with terra firma came up. Here I performed the "get the hell out of all this damned gear" dance. Whew!
Laguna Diablo
Now conditions would change dramatically, as we soon found ourselves on the hard, flat and stupid fast surface of Laguna Diablo. How fast do you want to go? There is no limit here. If you've ever dreamed of taking your dirt bike flat out, this is the place. Since we were on a long term mission today, we'd clip along at a quick but sane pace. Little did I know, we were headed for yet another long section of deep sand. This would take us out of the lake's valley and eventually point us east toward the Gulf coast. I was consumed trying not to crash into the high rimmed and rocky shoulder of this sand pit . The road eventually turned from pure sand to sand covering rocks, to just rocky double track. While processing the changing conditions, I failed to see the awesome change up on the horizon. Suddenly it hit me. The cobalt blue Gulf had seemingly risen from the earth, and now dominated the eastern horizon. This was an awesome sight, and soon, we were on flat smooth road, headed for San Felipe, and fresh fish tacos.
San Felipe pit stop
Our stop in San Felipe would be brief but satisfying. Situated right next to the water, our restaurant of choice offered cold beers, great tacos, and a good selection of pictures and posters of various off road racing heroes. We swarmed on the nearby telephone to call home. This would be one of the last phones we would see for another three or four days, something our spouses would be less than pleased to hear. We remounted the bikes with the intention of riding all the way to Bay of San Luis Gonzaga, quite some distance south.
A short way down the road, our first military checkpoint was of little bother. Being on bikes is a major benefit when encountering the "War On Drugs" in Baja. Instead of lots of questions and a vehicle search, like the four wheelers got, we'd get waved through as almost a nuisance.These were the stereotypical 16 year olds with M-16's which seem to fill the ranks of Mexican military. They were also the only real sign of any "law enforcement" we'd see.
We scurried along the coast, mesmerized by the deep blue water, and myriad islands dotting the horizon. Too bad, because every time I'd look off to see the view, I'd miss seeing one of the hundreds of potholes which lurked amongst the "vados" on this road. These are the kind of obnoxious craters that will get you to swear off pavement riding altogether. Fearing pinch flats, or blown fork seals, (one of mine had already started weeping) I'd weave around like what must have looked like a drunk. The pavement finally, and thankfully ended in the modest coastal town of Puerticitos. It not only ended, it got downright rough here. The scenery continued to be outstanding though, as we raced the receding sunlight to try and make Alfonsina's resort before nightfall.
Fat chance. This stretch was home to hundreds of "hidden" rocks. These small but effective rocks had me convinced my forks were history. I felt better later, when Bob, on a new bike, told me his forks felt the same way. Every hundred feet or so, a spine jolting impact would send the bars up and back toward you so quick it would make your head spin. I pulled off several times to check my tires, forks and all other running gear. I'd look back at what I thought must have been Plymouth rock back in the wheel track, to see basically nothing. It was almost as if these rocks were popping up, and retreating whenever we were looking.
Soon, darkness was falling due to the slower than expected pace, and I was loudly cursing each impact. Clearly I was rattled, because I soon made a stupid mistake I still regret. In the falling light, I saw a sign, the first for many miles, which had "Alfonsina" on it. I looked off in the direction of the water, saw a number of lights, as well as a flashing beacon. Tired of rocks, and hungry, I stopped here and waited for Bob, thinking, "is this it"? Bob pulled up and I shouted over to him, "Is this the turnoff?" Bob pulled up at the intersection, saw me and thought I said, "They turned off here!" He nodded, I nodded, and we headed down the small road. This turned out to be a lightly traveled and very sandy road which led to a small encampment on the beach. The beacon I'd seen mysteriously disappeared, and soon we were at the water with no resort in sight. Now we were being swirled around by a small pack of dogs, wondering what the hell happened. Estupido! A quick replay uncovered my mistake, and we tore off back into the sand pit, to the main road. The real turnoff emerged just a few miles later, but strangely, neither Mike nor Richard were awaiting us. Now we were really confused. It would take several sorties to regroup us, as Mike had gone out looking for us at precisely the time we were off the main road. An hour of anxious waiting had me cursing my stupid mistake. When it was all over, we buried the anxiety with lotsa beers and an awesome plate of Camarones. It was all good, after having looked pretty bad.
Wind and clouds over Gonzaga
Day Four- We awoke to a grand display of clouds, wind and waves in the Bay of Gonzaga. Alfonsina's is perched on a sand spit which splits the bay in half. Our vantage from the middle was glorious, with wind whipped waves churning one side of the bay, and relatively calm and serene waters on the other half. A hearty plate of huevos did the trick as always, and we were southbound again.
Gas station?
We rolled past the closed (hell, it had never been opened!) Pemex station, and proceeded to get overcharged for 10 gallons of gritty gas at the nearby mini mart. Hey, at least it was there. After some minor haggling, we tore off South, headed for Coco's.
On a windswept and desolate stretch of road, lies Cocos's Corner. Named for it's keeper, Coco, this place has to be seen to be believed. Coco, an elderly Mexican fellow, maintains the modest encampment. It is dedicated to hospitality to the fairly frequent passers through. He has constructed an artful camp, surrounded by beer can "trees", miscellaneous salvaged "object d'art", all encircled by by a small fence of salvaged wood. It's hard to imagine someone of his age living out here alone, but his friendly face belies any hardship.
Coco
He welcomed us into a small open sided structure to get out of the wind, and had us sign into his "books" These journals contain notes, cards and stickers from hundreds, maybe thousands of visitors over the years. After you write a short note in the designated space, Coco later draws various decorations and illustration depicting the persons vehicles and travels. He keeps these journals, and if you've visited before, he'll show you your last "sign in", and you can see the fruit of his labors. This kind of peoples' museum is a treasure, which we can only hope is maintained or preserved after Coco's passing. He's already come close several times, as he told of his most recent brush with death at the hospital in Ensenada. We were thankful for Coco's hospitality, but unfortunately, had to move on. We presented him with several toy cars and bikes for his "collection", and with a wave, left him and his tough little Gato to stand guard to history and loneliness in this little corner of Baja. From here, we would partake of one of our best rides. The choice from Coco's is either West to the Highway in short order, or east and south through a spectacular canyon, through Calamajue historic site, and across and further south to the highway. We of course did the longer dirt route.
Bob in the gravel trap.
This ride had it all, water crossings, a lush canyon with endless twists and turns, and eventually a slow ascent out into an open plain full of massive cardon cactus and Boojum plants.
Desert dessert
It also included long sections of deep gravel and sand, which I finally came to terms with, which means, I kept it pinned! While congratulating myself on surviving the sand, I almost crashed on a huge washout in the road. I was in the wrong wheel track at the wrong time. I nailed the rear brake, skidded the bike over into the other track, and narrowly avoided a major stack up. The deep sand however was having it's way with our KLR pilot, who's heavily loaded bike proved to be a bit too much, resulting in several low speed but exhausting tip-overs. By the end of this stretch, he was shedding off all his gear, and spread out in the sun trying to dry off from the workout. The overall results however, were four smiling faces.
Our only mission now was to drone down the road into Bahia de los Angeles. This route passes the three way intersection of Hwy 1, Hwy 1 and Hwy 1.It seems they ran out of numbers here in Baja, and couldn't spare another one for the segment in to Bay of LA. So as Mike said "whatever you do here, make sure you take Hi way 1". After the turnoff, the road featured some of the worst potholes we'd seen since Puertecitos. Combined with awesome views, and the need to swerve about to avoid tire calamity, this seemed more dangerous than my near cactus inspection back in the sand.
The overlook at Bahia de los Angeles
I survived however, and descended into the expansive Bay, with the promise from repeated signs of "filtered gas". Indeed, this particular vendor was setup with a real gas pump from which we gladly topped up. He also had some friendly dogs.
The dogs of LA
We settled on staying in the towns new Costa del Sol Hotel, which indeed was one of the best fitted establishments yet. Our meal was exceptional as well, as our hosts treated us to excellent local seafood. An expatriate old guy named Gene kept us rolling with laughter with his stories of living in Baja. His American perspective on all things Baja was a riot. Bahia de los Angeles seems to be a popular spot with folks like Gene, offering many civilized amenities like electricity and a "supermarket" but still being quite isolated and out of the way, all on a gorgeous bay of the Gulf of California.
Day 5-Our final leg south, from Bay of LA, would take us via dirt road to Punta San Franciscuito. This stretch again provided stunning vistas of the Gulf Coast, and huge tracts of massive cactus.
Cardon cactus
We'd been warned of severe road conditions due to a major washout, but telltale signs of road equipment and a large section of newly graded road meant we'd come after the repairs. Bob and Mike explored a side loop, which provided them with a nice technical section, as well as a few good laughs. They collected quite a few cactus spines on their clothing and equipment from a few close encounters on this route. We all arrived at the "resort" by mid aftermoon. Our host at Punta San Francisquito was Genaro, who treated us to an excellent fish taco lunch. Afterwards, we rested beach side, on one of the most beautiful sections of Gulf coast I can imagine.
Francisquito Cabana
The modest cabanas, thatched roof three sided huts with cots, were the crudest accommodations we'd experience. Combined with a steady and fierce wind at night, we'd not sleep well, but this was still better than anyone could expect so far from anywhere.
Sunrise east coast style.
Day 6-In the morning, a gorgeous sunrise and lack of wind greeted us. I promptly headed for the water, having been itching to plunge into the warm Gulf. I was not disappointed, and my brief but satisfying soak was the highlight of my day. From here, we'd retrace our route back through Bay of LA, all the way up to the Highway. A long day this would be, as we'd end up blasting hundreds of miles up Hwy 1 all the way north to El Rosario. While at times cold and somewhat dull, there would still be excitement along the way, including almost running out of gas, and a very heart stopping four bike pass of a swaying two trailer quarry truck. This would provide for a stunning demonstration of Bob's panic braking technique. "Nice save Bob! Never seen a knobby smoke like that before!"
We pulled into El Rosario running on fumes, but happy and content to be staying at Mama Espinoza's, an off roader friendly motel / restaurant. Here we'd cross paths with several of Malcolm Smith's scouts, who were out finding new routes for Malcolm's annual Baja group ride. They provided us with valuable information for future trips, and plenty of temptation to try one of Malcolm's tours.
Day 7- From El Rosario, we'd take more paved highway, but our goals for the day included plenty of dirty deeds. We'd approach Mike's Sky Ranch from the back side, on the only stretch for which we had few GPS way points. This was by far our most challenging day off road, as we ended making the ubiquitous wrong turn. Merely 5 Kilometers from Mike's, we missed one silly little right hand turn. Estupido! The result was an extra 20 Kilometers of riding. The good news was that it mostly on the Baja 1000 course, which was a lot of fun. It's hard to imagine the four wheelers traversing some of this terrain, as some of the wheel tracks have huge elevation differentials. We'd luckily chosen a predominantly downhill section to get lost on, since we were already tired, and the terrain was brutal riding for the big KLR
Bob muscling the KLR through the whoops.
The big green beast would end up being passed around to spare some of the fatigue of muscling it around the technical terrain and deep water crossings. The DRZ must have felt like a motocrosser to Richard, as he proceeded to rip it up once he got off the KLR. We eventually would end up on the "front side" route for Mike's, barely half way in, so we got to blitz this section again, which I didn't mind at all.
Mike heading to Mike's
We arrived at Mike's exhausted, but happy to have survived our mishap in directions. The "big cheese" Mike was here this time, and it was a good thing. Although the place was empty, and we'd supposedly made reservations, we'd spend the next two hours in a surreal haze of grim faces and shaking heads as we tried to secure our rooms. It seems upwards of 40 people were headed this way, all but maxing out the available rooms.
Glad to be done riding for the day!
We waited by the pool in our dirty wet riding gear, sipping beers, watching bikes roll in, and waiting for a few no shows to provide us with some rooms. Luckily, it all worked out, and we enjoyed the real Mike's for a night. This time it was full of boisterous, drinking Americans, bench racing and generally carrying on until the lights were switched off for the night.
Mike Jr. tends the bar.....
Day 8-Our last day was a combination of delight and sorrow. Our ride would take us over familiar territory, but most of it was great fun. But we'd be leaving the peninsula behind. The stretch of dirt road to Santa Veronica was highly entertaining, as Bob and I rode much of it side by side, ripping around the wide open turns and pinning it in the sandy straights. We'd laugh out loud at our near misses on the hidden washouts and potholes. Somehow we kept it safe, and were all too soon faced with our last stretch of pavement through Tecate, and back to the US. By this time however, I was ready to be back home. Tecate seemed like a let down after so much stunning scenery and great riding, and I was eager to cross the border, and return to the land of 24 hour gas stations and pothole free hiways.The culuture shock of being back in the US was surreal. We slowly loaded our bikes back into the waiting trucks. We realized at once how much we had, but also, how much was lacking in our pampered and highly developed surroundings. Go to Baja, and you'll see for yourself, a little can seem like a lot!
Story and Photos-Copyright Nick Cedar 2002