Sunday, July 22, 2012

Baja Mexico

Note: Catch-up post, we crossed into Mexico on May 4.

Leaving San Francisco on May 2, we made a path south to Tijuana. The first night was rough, with getting used to how different things looked, the different way people talked and the different food - we left Bakersfield, CA the next morning and headed to San Diego. Approaching the border, traffic gradually thinned out to an eerily quiet multilane expanse, the typical freeway construction was augmented by extra high fencing on both sides, and a large sign warned any American gun nuts that they need proper permission to bring their toys into Mexico.

The border crossing was a nonevent and we made a pit stop in Ensenada and at the Old Mill in San Quintin before hooking up with some motorcyclists that were headed to a house they have in Bahia de los Angeles. One of the guys in the group looked over my moto and generally approved but remarked that it had pretty low ground clearance. In the literary world, I believe they call that comment foreshadowing.

The next day we did about 50 miles of 4x4 dirt road from the Bahia to Mision San Francisco Borjas, rejoining the pavement at Rosarito. I'd be lying if I said the off-road riding wasn't great, but I'd also be lying if I said it went entirely well for me. The minor falls in sand were a cakewalk, it was the turbo stealthrock that gave up its life in the name of punching a gaping hole in my bash plate and stopping my bike cold that did a number on my right ankle, an injury that only got more enjoyable with two additional falls in deep sand that imparted a feeling reminiscent of when I pull and twist off the drumstick from a piece of cooked chicken and feel the softened tendons give, allowing the bones to move and separate freely. We made it to Guerrero Negro that evening. Putting on my boot the next morning over my swollen, plum colored ankle to go to the hospital, I was reminded of that scene from the beginning of Dances With Wolves when Kevin Costner slowly and painfully pulls his boot over a gunshot wound in his leg, to return to the front line of a civil war battle. Two x-rays, two doctor visits, a shot of hydrocortizone in the butt, a bunch of little pills, and a few hours later, an initial diagnosis of an ankle fracture was overturned in favor of a severe ankle sprain and I was instructed to give it a week of rest before continuing. Bless Erik's patience, as a forced full week in Guerrero Negro is not an experience I'd wish on someone under normal circumstances.

Hungry to get some miles under our tires, we left GN and stopped in the quiet palm shaded oasis of San Ignacio before lodging in Loreto. The coastal drive was a stark mix of bone dry and oppressively hot hilly desert, and a chain of quiet white sand beaches with turquoise waters and shade provided by the occasional palm frond palapa.

Arriving in the relative metropolis of La Paz we stayed at the art hotel Yeneka, which sported friendly resident cats and an artsy feel that tended to focus on ancient rusty car parts that both provided a good vibe and made one thankful to have a current tetanus shot.

Our last stop in Baja, Cabo San Lucas, was as it has been for years ever since it experienced the explosion of growth from sleepy fishing town to tourist trap. As with many of the tourist towns in Baja there seemed to be a subtle undercurrent of decline, most notable in the closed or empty businesses that withered when their tourism lifeblood was stanched by the economic slowdown and/or increase in violence in Mexico.

On the ride back to La Paz to catch the ferry to Mazatlan Erik saw his first dead horse on the side of the road - little by little we're achieving milestones in the trip. The ferry ride to the mainland was a fitting closure to Baja, a clean break from the unique culture and geography of the peninsula and a transition towards the heart of Mexico.

Picture of sunset: A little slice of desert paradise in Bahia de los Angeles.

Picture of dirt road: The desert road to nowhere awaits us.

Picture of x-ray: An intimate look at my right foot, courtesy of the Mexican Seguro Social.

Picture of salt flats: Guerrero Negro does boast one of the largest salt factories in the world.

Picture of truck: Step 1 to starting an engineering business is spelling "engineer" correctly.






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MEX-CENT-SOUTH MOTO TRIP

PRELUDE

Darren here (el mecánico from the original 2005 Landcruiser trip). Not content with surviving that trip, my feeble mind was ripe for manipulation into again leaving the comfortable insulated womb of mother America under the power of the internal combustion engine. Unfortunately, Brendan, the most mature of the original three, was fully occupied with some sinister plot while living under the plausible cover story of being a respectable consultant with a wonderful fiance. Worse yet, he convinced Kiki, the Landcruiser hula girl doll that another trip was a bad idea. As for Colin, his exact whereabouts were unknown; he was presumed to have dedicated the remainder of his days to attending to the daily needs of an enclave of blind leper ferrets in the remote mountains of Colorado.

Salvation came in the form of former college housemate and renaissance man Erik Innocent, who shared his idea of a motorcycle trip from San Francisco, California to Ushuaia, Argentina. The seed was planted and nurturing of the tender shoots of the plan began. Approximately one year later on May 2, 2012, the noisy, messy and somewhat unripe fruits of our labor were harvested when Erik and I departed San Francisco on two grossly overladen 650cc motorcycles, headed for points south. Picture of stick figure: I am pleased to introduce Mr. Erik Innocent. Picture of moto: Behold the 2006 Suzuki DL650 (Wee-Strom), a bike I'd describe as a loveably ugly moto that's a reasonable compromise between capability and cost. Her name is La Gordita Rojita.


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