THE IDEA

Like many of the grand adventures, this one also started as an idea while having drinks. Somewhere in 2019, my friend Jonas said something like: “You know, one day I wanna ride the Baja 1000. Not doing the rally, but riding the route in a week, staying in hotels and motels on the way and possibly just camp in the middle of nowhere a night.” Naïve as I am, I only said: “Let’s do it.”

Once you have an idea, you keep chewing it over. Neither he nor I have been to Baja California. I have done little dirt riding at all, having been a road rider since I started riding in 2007. Jonas just got me to get my feed wet ...eh... dirty, having convinced me to buy a Suzuki DRZ400E.

We got more knuckleheads like us involved. Simon, Kike and Brandon. While Simon was an experienced off-road rider, Brandon and Kike were as green as I when it came to dirt riding. Jonas took us out on local trails and we also practiced on a small motocross track. Whenever Simon was in town, we did some rides, too. Still, none of us had been to Baja California.

The Idea: Bienvenido

THE PLANNING STARTS

In the early stages, we even contemplated to book a trip through one of the experienced tour providers. The pros were undeniably tempting. You rent the bike, have a guide, mechanics look after the bikes every day after finishing riding. Hotels are organized and even some meals included. You had nothing to worry about. The tour provider would deal with all issues. All you had to do is handing over money and travel to the starting point. It seems like the logical approach to get a first impression of Baja and, most important, get some experience. The downside was that it wouldn’t be “our adventure”. It’s basically a commercial trip, more suited for people enjoying all-inclusive resorts, for example. There is nothing wrong with that, if you prefer playing it safe. However, here we had a Swede and a German living in Mexico. Two Mexicans that lived in the US for years. One Mexican that still lived in the US currently and was just preparing to return to living in Mexico. None of us had played it safe in their lives. None of us did 9 to 5 days. We just couldn’t see us following a guide all day, open a bottle of beer in our prearranged lodging and feel adventurous, while the mechanics made sure our rides were ready for the next day. Next day would repeat the previous one in a different location until the end of the trip. Fly back home with a bunch of pictures and go back to daily routine. That’s just not us. We wanted to do it our own way, make mistakes, have some struggles but also get to know the local people. You can’t make contact with locals if you have a guide around at all times. It’s just the nature of tours. You are kept somewhat isolated.

It was decided: we do our own tour, starting from scratch.

The Idea: Bienvenido

MORE PLANNING

At some point, we had 3 DRZs. The idea was to ride the same bikes. This way, we could share the tools and spare parts, keeping luggage lighter. We got maps, because the most famous Baja Almanac was out of print for years. Everyone holds on to the almanac. I found one in original packing with a ridiculous price tag attached. Remember, it has been out of print for years and dirt roads change all the time, be it for erosion, developments, ranchers or rallies.

We looked into GPS but besides pricey; we aren’t that up to date on technology. There aren’t many options for off-road GPS. More to GPS with some anecdotes further ahead.

We looked into gear, luggage options, tire options... We contemplated shipping the bikes to Ensenada, ride to La Paz, cross on the ferry to Mazatlán and have someone pick us up to get back to Puerto Vallarta. That would be the most similar Baja 1000 route. The point of concern was the shipping. If something goes wrong, we start with a damaged bike in Ensenada. Why not do it the opposite way? Puerto Vallarta to Mazatlán, cross over to La Paz and ride the route south to north. Then shipping the bikes home and if there was damage, the trip was already over. The further you look into this, the more challenges you come across, like shipping companies, prices, locations, destinations. Then you need the truck options to move between Mazatlán and Puerto Vallarta. Simon was still living in California. If we started North to South, he could have ridden down. South to North would complicate his life. That was solved when he simply bought a bike in Mexico and left it at Jonas’. Jonas’ garage became our headquarters. We had many evenings sitting over maps and discussing ideas in different levels of drunkenness, except for Simon, the strict no-alcohol guy.

In the end, considering our non-existent experience of Baja, logistics and costs, we decided on doing a loop through Baja California Sur only. Get two trucks to bring the bikes to Mazatlán. Leave the trucks behind and cross only with the bikes on the ferry. Ride a nice loop from La Paz going north, crossing over to the Pacific side, looping further south until crossing back to the Sea of Cortes.

Everything came together. We figured it all out, at least most of it. We set the dates for the end of April 2020. High season would be over in Puerto Vallarta and it was still not too hot in Baja. Great! What could possibly go wrong now?

The Idea: Bienvenido

COVID

February 2020, Mexico was hit by the pandemic. The first lock downs came. Nobody knew if the world would end. Jonas had booked our first hotel rooms. I was checking regularly if the ferry was still operating. I really wanted to go. I needed a break from my job challenges. The Baja trip had become something. I was looking forward to it like a life-changing event. At some point, we had to postpone. The ferry was still operating but most hotels, restaurants and other businesses were closed. Camping in the desert with a can of tuna might sound romantic, but looking forward to that scenario for 10 to 14 days in a row doesn’t. Postponed. Indefinitely. COVID wave after COVID wave hit Mexico, same as most of the world. Nobody could tell if we would ever go back to life as we knew it.

I changed my DRZ for another DRZ, then a KTM. I quit dirt riding basically entirely, only doing some light off-road on my KLR. Kike changed to a Beta. Brandon bought a CRF450X. Jonas kept his DRZ. Simon still had his KTM in Jonas’ garage.

Finally, by the end of 2021, we could pick up our plan to ride the Baja. I bought a XR400R, which I then replaced for a Beta. I thought the XR has been the perfect Baja bike for a reason. No radiator, no stator, no regulator, no battery. Only kick start. What could break on that machine? Well, I broke the kick start lever. What an irony. It was impossible to start until the replacement part arrived. So, I sold it and bought the Beta.

The Idea: Bienvenido

PUERTO VALLARTA TO MAZATLAN

We chose dates, booked a house in Mazatlan for a night, and reserved the ferry. Brandon arranged for safe parking at his friend’s house. We would leave the trucks at Herman’s house, in a gated community, until we return from La Paz to Mazatlan at the end. Gabriel rented us his truck, which fit 3 bikes in the back. 2 bikes on Jonas’ truck. We loaded bikes and luggage on Friday, April 29.

Saturday morning, we started our long awaited Baja adventure. Everyone had breakfast at home. We met at Jonas’ place and left around 10:30am. Finally! The road to Mazatlan, especially going on the toll road, is nothing spectacular, if not boring. We were in high spirits, though. Gabriel’s truck was lacking power, apparently from a slightly overheating transmission. So, we took it easy and nursed the truck at about 100 to 110kmh max. When we became hungry, we found out that the toll road has nothing to offer. All towns with restaurants were along the freeway. We did a gas station bathroom stop. Jonas couldn’t find a dustier place to park, right off the tarmac in the silky sand. Might as well inaugurate my white tennis shoes right here. I took the wheel of his truck now. Since there was no food option in sight, I left the toll road in Acaponeta. I turned around the main plaza and went back to the road exiting the town. Right there on the right-hand side were a few small restaurants, and we just picked the nearest. It was one of these small places without a menu, just the waitress giving you the options. It was mainly a seafood restaurant, and they really tried selling us the shrimps. Not getting the hint, we stubbornly ordered some steak. Some of us ordered beer and one waitress hopped on a scooter to buy a six-pack. Service was definitely good. The steak, though, turned out to be a slow down-breaking protein. The chewing was tough. That cow surely reached some impressive age. Obviously, at the end of that road and before going back on the toll road was a much nicer restaurant that none of us saw coming in.

We reached Mazatlan in the afternoon, only stopping for gasoline and at toll booths. The Airbnb host had a lady hand us the key to the house. It had a big garage to guard the bikes safely. After storing the luggage, Brandon called Herman, and we went to leave the trucks. Herman had just returned from a boat trip with friends. His house entrance was full of BMW GSs. We had great chats with the group, while Herman served us beers and water. We really didn’t want to intrude long. The gated community is in a quiet suburban area and on the way, Jonas was thinking how to get a cab back from there. Herman’s hospitality solved it unexpectedly, as he insisted that his friend and neighbor Temo would take us back in his Suburban. We tried to convince him it was absolutely not necessary, but he had none of it. Suddenly, we were driven in leather seats and air condition like some famous stars. Our Airbnb was no fancy place, neither was the neighborhood. We just needed sufficient beds, baths and a safe garage for 1 night. I wonder what the neighbors thought when we returned in limo style.

For dinner, we went to Plaza Machado upon my recommendation. It’s a beautiful square surrounded by different restaurants to choose from in the heart of old town. That part is very picturesque. Everyone agreed with me when we arrived there in one of the famous “pulmonias”. These open air vehicles are fiber plastic bodies on a VW beetle or Safari or it’s a pickup truck with benches. Most are equipped with sound systems to blast music and some colorful LED lights. We took a big one for us 5 to the plaza but could only find a 4 seater to go back to the house. It worked out well.

Jonas brought his firestick, and we watched some Moto GP. Small talk was going on until after midnight. Tomorrow would be the boarding of the ferry. A first for each of us.

The Idea: Bienvenido

MAZATLAN TO LA PAZ

Sunday 1st of May. The ferry was going to leave at 5:00pm. We were supposed to arrive 3 hours earlier. We knew we had to bring our own tie downs to strap them to the boat. But that was pretty much all we knew. Well, and that it takes 13 hours to cross, which is why we booked a cabin with a balcony.

First a breakfast at one of the Panama restaurants. One was conveniently within walking distance. Panama has a variety of dishes that makes it hard to choose. After that, it was basically hanging out. We strapped our luggage on the bikes. Since the gear takes up much space, I put my shoes in the saddlebags and wore my boots and my protector skeleton. Together with my shorts, I made no points in the fashion industry. That’s for sure. It’s a hot day and a brief ride to the ferry, where you have to pass several checkpoints and then strap your bike to the boat. I would not sweat any more than necessary. At least, that was the idea.

We arrived and had to wait in line with trucks and cars. No going up to the front on a motorcycle. It was stop and go or push and wait. However, you preferred doing it. Each vehicle and operator passes a weight scale and you receive a ticket. The different weights of our 5 bikes plus operator made not much sense. The weight scale doesn’t seem to be very precise on low weights.

From there we passed some other check point. We showed the printouts of our bookings at each. Next was the ticket booth, although that wasn’t made clear, and we ran around for a bit. They printed our official ferry tickets. Then back in line and waiting until they told us to ride up the ramp. The ferry loading is like a horizontal Tetris game. Containers and vehicles are loaded up to make most of the confined space.

We were directed to a railing beside the ramp. A lady instructed us to turn the bikes around for easier departure. While strapping the bike to the railing and some anchor points in the floor, trucks are parked right next to you. And I mean right next. If I wouldn’t have pulled in my butt, I might not be writing this. Once done, you are directed up deck. You cannot return until arrival in La Paz and departing the ferry. That makes you wonder how well the bike is tied down. At least, it was impossible to forget anything on our bikes, since all the luggage came with us.

The cabin has 4 bunk beds, and we rented a mat for the floor, where Brandon spent the night. The balcony was extra space but all windows were sealed shut and if pried open, you would be fined. If the windows would at least have been cleaned in the past 30 years, we could have seen the water. As it was, we could only differentiate day from night.

We spent the 13 hours with hanging out on deck, seeing the ferry leave Mazatlan. Then we went for food. We found a tiny bar as well. In the end, you just try to sleep as much as possible to get it over with. It’s not a cruise ship, and entertainment isn’t a priority on this vessel.

Luckily, we woke up just at the perfect time to repack our luggage and leaving the cabin. Don’t throw away your ticket when you are on board. You show it again upon departing. They write a letter on it that shows with which group you depart. The times you show that ticket is ridiculous and very inconvenient on a motorcycle.

We were glad to find the bikes as we left them. Tie downs worked well. I left first and followed the traffic out. “Welcome to La Paz. $93 Pesos, please.” I’m still not sure what that is for. In Mazatlan, we paid nothing. Anyway, once we were all together, we headed towards La Paz and our next hotel.

The Idea: Bienvenido

LA PAZ

We took Highway 11 from Pichilingue, which is where the ferry actually arrives. 19km to our hotel Hacienda Bugambilias in La Paz. A short ride, but boy, these first views of the coastline. It seemed unreal. Green water, empty beaches. We were all excited.

The hotel has a big gravel parking lot. The compound is walled in with a gate to the street. I don’t think they ever close the gate. Nevertheless, it felt safe to leave the bikes. Later, we were welcome to park right outside the lobby window, going up a ramp from the parking lot. We chained the bikes together over night.

But first, we registered at the front desk and luckily; the rooms were ready and clean even hours before the official check in. We took showers after the 13 hours on the ferry. Then we took the bikes down to the malecon, the boardwalk. There are many bars and restaurants on that oceanfront stretch. After riding the length and doing a U-turn, we parked on the sidewalk and went into Rivet restaurant for breakfast. La Paz is exceptionally clean. In fact, there were 7 people sweeping the sand off the bicycle lanes just running along the malecon. Shortly after, we noticed that there were no street vendors like in Puerto Vallarta. It was simply a relaxed atmosphere in a clean, neat place.

Brandon’s bike had an oil leak, and we had a mechanic check on it. We found one and while they laid the Honda onto its side to seal the clutch cover, Kike noticed oil leaking from the top of the cylinder head of his Beta. After removing the tank, we saw one screw on top of the engine was loose. It was a torx with a security pin in the middle. The sight glass showed no oil at all. The mechanic that worked on Brandon’s bike didn’t have the right oil but mentioned another mechanic a couple blocks away. Kike ended up pushing his bike there. I followed on my bike. He made a trip to Auto Zone to get the right tool to tighten the screw. The screw was missing a washer and thus not tightening enough on the seal. A washer was placed, and all tightened up. Oil was filled up to the top of the sight glass, actually a bit more, but it didn’t seem way too much. Leaning the bike slightly showed the oil level. Brandon’s bike was finished even before Kike’s and Simon, Brandon and Jonas showed up at the other mechanic.

Later that day, we had lunch at another oceanfront restaurant, after taking some pictures at the La Paz letters on the malecon.

We had to decide where to ride to tomorrow. The route that Jonas had put together meticulously was not possible. At least, it wasn’t possible without serious risk. A few days before our trip, Jonas found out that the Norra rally was on. It’s like the Baja 1000, going from Ensenada to San Jose del Cabo, but for 5 days, averaging 200miles per day. They had all the categories, from motorcycles to trophy trucks and anything in between. Norra was running different routes for different vehicles and using both coast lines. Doing our original route, which was going north from La Paz, would have meant running head on into race vehicles. Jonas and I tried to gather the specific routes from the event organizer, but he was adamant about revealing his exact routes to anyone not involved in the rally. He only said that we would be fine if we wouldn’t be going north from La Paz to Loreto on May 4th. It was too late to reroute our entire trip, so we tried doing it reverse, going south first. We decided going to Todos Santos tomorrow, crossing the peninsula. We didn’t know what we were in for.

The Idea: Bienvenido

LA PAZ TO TODOS SANTOS

On Tuesday, May 3rd, we started with breakfast at the hotel. Since we were returning to La Paz at the end of the trip, we left our tie downs and some other things at the front desk. No need to carry the extra weight.

Our start wasn’t great. Brandon’s bike didn’t want to start. Neither electric start nor kick start worked. Simon pushed him down the ramp to jumpstart the bike, which failed. A few more attempts failed as well. Not a good start for crossing the peninsula through the desert. The Honda came to life, and we went to the first gas station to fill the tanks and extra fuel bags. We had all our camel bags with water and Simon had an extra bottle of water as well. I asked Jonas if I should get additional water at the corner store. His response was “whatever” and I decided to buy some later, further ahead.

Brandon’s bike started up after some kicks, and we left. Simon and Jonas were leading. Simon had a GPS and Jonas a cell phone mount on the handlebar. Kike, Brandon and I just followed, assuming that they had it all figured out. Coming out of La Paz, there were lots of dirt roads leaving from the streets. Yet, we kept going on pavement until we stopped in a corner. Jonas and Simon debating over the route. An elder man with few teeth passed on the sidewalk and someone asked him. He gave quite specific directions: “Follow Highway 1 until you see left 2 antennas on a hill. Right after you turn left onto the dirt road by km 35 or further ahead by km 38. Then all the way straight. That’s part of the Baja 1000 route.” Cool. Let’s go. We see the antennas and stop right beside the road. Exactly opposite across the highway was a dirt road. We were at km 33 though. While taking leaks and debating if we go further and check km 35 and/ or 38, we concluded that this must be it. 2 antennas on the hill and a dirt road to the left. What difference does it make if it’s km 33 or 35?

We followed that road and went down natural rock steps. Before it made a left turn and getting steeper, we stopped and took in the view. It was mesmerizing. Empty barren land all around. We were on a high plateau. Like I mentioned, the next part was a lot steeper and some of those natural rock steps dropped like half a meter. I was slightly out of my comfort zone until I realized the bike handled it like nothing. Down we went. When we reached the bottom, there were whoops, but what whoops. These were a meter to a meter and a half high and went on for what seemed like forever. Kilometers and kilometers of these whoops. Our thighs were burning. We got into a rhythm, rolling the throttle according to the ups and downs. Remember, we had luggage and doing some jumps didn’t seem a good idea. After the whoops came deep sand, then rocks, some dirt road. We stopped under the only shade available, drank some water. We still just followed Jonas and Simon, basically.

We kept going and came upon a crossroads. 4 directions, including the one we came from. There were white cow bones in one corner, not a strip of flesh on ‘em. The complete cowhide lay next to it. That’s where the first debate over directions started. It was like in an oven. No wind down there and no shade at all. The relentless desert sun sucking moisture out of us the whole time. A direction was decided, and we went. More crossroads, stops and debating.

That’s where we started riding in circles and coming to dead ends. Simon’s GPS came up with straight dotted lines that crossed the desert contemplating no path. It wasn’t doing off-road but pointing to the nearest paved road. Cell phone signal was sparse. As time went by, our water became sparse as well.

We kept riding, stopping and starting many times. My hydraulic clutch overheated and I had moments without clutch. Then my bike didn’t want to start anymore. Battery had little power left. Brandon’s on the other side, always started up now, after a few kicks. Once I had to jumpstart it going down some steep long hill. That’s when I worried a lot. We were running out of water, my bike started failing, we lost direction and not a single soul to be seen, only more dead cows and cow bones. We came to the same cross road a couple times. Jonas tried to figure out where to go on his cell phone. Simon couldn’t get valuable info from his GPS. We were riding for hours in the heat. That’s when I suggested to Jonas: “I don’t want to be an ass, but maybe we should call 911.” My idea was to get help from the authorities before it got dark, because no rescue team would start in the dark. Jonas just looked at me like I lost my mind. Looking back, it makes us all laugh. In that moment, though, we knew our situation could become critical soon.

We committed all the rooky mistakes at the first off-road ride in Baja. We went without a guide, without functioning GPS, with no clue and with insufficient water into the desert. The hilarious part was that first, we couldn’t get into the dirt from La Paz and now, we couldn’t get out of the dirt.

After riding some more in circles, we followed power lines. These usually lead somewhere. Brandon started calling his friend Alex. Alex lives in La Paz and is president of a motorcycle club. The combination of phone directions and following power lines lead us to ride into a couple of dead-end roads, which were simply service roads leading to each tower.

At one point, we came to a cattle gate. After passing that, we came to another. Then I thought we had made it. There was a house on a hill. Upon getting closer, it became apparent that it was uninhabited. We were higher up again and had 360 views. They all showed empty barren land all around us. Not a single vehicle in sight or audible.

By this time, Brandon and Alex had an almost constant phone communication. Alex tried leading us to the Pacific side. Cell phone coverage broke off in parts and we had no hands free devices. We did 5km runs in one direction, called Alex to see if we were going in the right direction still. We sent him our location through WhatsApp in real time, so he could follow us. More often than not, we had to turn back, just to turn back again afterwards, wasting gasoline and not gaining any ground. When we finally thought we were on the correct dirt road that we could follow all the way straight to the Pacific, Alex had bad news. We wouldn’t make it before sundown. It was way too far. Our headlights would do little to get us forward. Besides, even if we made it, that road would make us pop out far from civilization, just on an empty beach. We had to make it to a location closer to us. I heard Centenario mentioned a couple times. Simon and Jonas were fiddling with the phone and GPS. We already rationed the last water bottle from Simon, wetting our lips carefully when it seemed unbearable. I took out my iPhone, punched in Centenario and it showed me we were only 13km away. I showed it to the guys. It seemed to show directions. Jonas mounted it on his handle bar and off we went. At some point, Jonas stopped. My phone kept telling him to make a left turn that wasn’t there. By then, though, Simon’s GPS lead us further on in the original direction from my phone. We kept going.

Finally, we came upon 2 houses. We pointed our bikes towards the first one. There were 2 ladies with a child and they were obviously scared of us. An elder, sturdy rancher came out of the other house, watching us approach him now. We were indeed at the beginning of El Centenario. The man gave us beer and water. We drowned each 2 bottles instantly. It felt like heaven. A young boy offered water too and then brought even more water bottles. We made it! The man did not accept any money for the water, so we ended up giving the boy a nice tip. Shortly after, we made it to a road and an Oxxo, the popular convenience store in Mexico. I drank an alcohol free beer, an electrolyte and a bottle of water, one after another. Alex met us there too.

Jonas suggested we return to La Paz, but the rest decided to continue to Todos Santos. It was a paved road, but that didn’t matter. 90km of highway. It was dark soon and with it came the cold. I had snot flying off my nose onto my lips. It was bitterly cold. I pressed my teeth together and kept the throttle open. Simon and Brandon were leading. Kike was behind them, then I and Jonas bringing up the rear. About 30km to Todos Santos, Kike looked down, got slower. Something didn’t seem right with his bike. Jonas passed me and got level with him. Kike raised a hand in an I-don’t-know-gesture. Then he got faster for a moment. Soon enough, he pulled off the road and killed his engine. There was only a Six convenience store, and we pushed the bikes into the light there. His engine had oil all over. The owner of the convenience store turned out to be originally from Puerto Vallarta. When he heard we came from there, he got almost nostalgic. Kike asked if he had a phone number for a tow truck, but luck was on our side. 100m from the shop was a mechanic. Kike went to talk to him and he and a helper agreed to drive him and his bike on a pickup to Todos Santos. We called Simon and Brandon to go ahead to the hotel and wait for us there. We pulled into the hotel Miramar compound by 10:30pm. What a day.

The Idea: Bienvenido

TODOS SANTOS TO SAN JOSE DEL CABO

There isn’t much going on in Todos Santos at that late hour. I asked Luis at the front desk where we could find a restaurant for dinner. No restaurants, only taco and hot dog stands. I asked if he could get us a taxi, but that was impossible, too. He simply drove us in his SUV. The specialty of the taco stand he took us to was “chorreadas”. It was a corn bottom like a big “sopes” with cheese and different meats to choose. They were delicious! And they stuffed you pretty good. I couldn’t eat more than two, neither could Jonas. Back at the hotel, we called it a night.

Next morning, we checked on Kike’s bike. The motor was bathed in oil but yet, the sight glass was all the way to the top and no matter how much we leaned the bike, it stayed full. Did we overfill it in La Paz? We walked into town for breakfast and then do an oil change, filling the correct amount in.

By the gas station was a motorcycle mechanic. We talked to him and it turned out that he was also doing guided off-road tours. He didn’t have oil to sell, because what he had was for scheduled services. He told us where to find oil. The first shop didn’t have the right one but told us where another store was. Kike bought oil. We passed by the famous hotel California, which was closed due to remodeling. A shop owner for souvenirs across the street pointed us to a restaurant around the corner he recommended. We ate breakfast and went back to the hotel.

Brandon’s bike was still leaking. He had bought some sealant and sealed a couple of side cover bolts. Kike performed the oil change, but the bike would not start. It turned over and pumped out some air through the exhaust, but wouldn’t fire up. We wanted to check the spark plug to get an idea about its combustion, but didn’t have the right tool with us. Kike pushed the bike to the mechanic. It was a couple of blocks uphill to the paved road and then sailing downhill to the mechanic. The mechanic couldn’t get the spark plug out either. He took off the cylinder head cover to have easier access. That’s when he found cracked engine parts. The Beta had serious damage and Kike wouldn’t be able to continue the trip. The mechanic agreed to take Kike’s bike to La Paz on a pickup on Friday, May 6. Kike could take the ferry on Saturday and leave the bike with Herman and the trucks.

We went back to the hotel. It was a sad moment. We all knew that it could happen to any of us and it was contemplated before the trip. That didn’t take away the sadness, though. It was Wednesday, May 4th. We decided to go to San Jose del Cabo. We couldn’t go north because the Norra rally was on its last leg, coming down to San Jose del Cabo as well. Kike would join us and take a bus ride to San Jose. No need for him to hang out alone in La Paz until his bike arrived and he could go on the ferry. The rest of us packed up once more, and we took Highway 15 and Highway 1. 108km paved road again. Before leaving, Jonas booked us rooms in hotel Boutique Plaza Doradas.

The Idea: Bienvenido

SAN JOSE DEL CABO AND CABO SAN LUCAS

When we arrived at the hotel, Kike was just carrying his luggage inside. Perfect timing. We installed ourselves, took showers, and regrouped. I texted my friends Susana and Elmar who live in San Jose and asked for dinner recommendations, inviting them to join us. We met them nearby at another Oxxo. Luckily, the hotel we chose was within walking distance of the town’s center. San Jose del Cabo turned out to be another picturesque town, at least the downtown area is. Lovely streets. Restaurants are on the expensive side. After dinner, Susana and Elmar took us on a walk past the church and to the main plaza. They took some picture of us in front of the San Jose del Cabo letters. Jonas was intrigued by a rooftop bar and coffee called “Garage”. Susana and Elmar parted ways from us and we sat in the Garage for a while. Once again, we had to decide how to continue. Norra had a live map on its website and we could see dozens of race numbers coming our way. We still tried to avoid ending up as a hood ornament of one of the trophy trucks. We decided to hang out another day and watch the rally come in. Might as well see the ones responsible for screwing up our trip.

Next morning, we had breakfast at the hotel. We wanted to drop off dirty clothes by a nearby laundry and then go to the Norra finish line, which was conveniently within walking distance, too. I suggested letting the front desk know we would stay another night first. Good thinking, because they were booked solid for the following night. All the race participants and crew members filled up the hotels. Norra kept screwing up our plans.

Jonas searched on his phone for hotel options. I recalled Susana mentioning an Airbnb. I asked her about it and it was her sister’s. The house had sufficient rooms, beds, baths, and safe parking. We kept winging our trip and somehow all fell constantly into place. We dropped off our dirty clothes and went to see Norra arrive. The motorcycles came first. Within these was a Canadian on the same Beta as Kike’s. There was even a couple in its seventies, the only one riding two up! They added foot pegs and additional support to the rear end of the bike. That was amazing. There were some stunning trucks and cars coming in as well. A Jeep with a pickup bed that was broken off and hanging at an angle came over the finish line and a Rothmans Porsche. Everyone got a beer at the finish line and they all looked beaten. All except that one guy on a Suzuki. He took off his helmet, chest protector and jersey and did the longest dance ever. Where he found the energy after riding 5 days 200 miles each through tough terrain was a miracle. I absolutely admired that guy. All the pilots were quite of age. They took off their helmets, and all seemed way older than us. It sure made me feel humble. Here I was doing some off-road with little skills and those guys just raced through all the obstacles while having to navigate with a road book. It sure put things in perspective. One guy made it with a Honda XR350 with no second gear anymore. The most needed gear in these conditions and he just finished 1,000 miles through the desert. I have nothing but respect for these pilots. That’s the real tough breed. Instead of going on a vacation, they just challenge themselves to the limit and further. Most of them just spending extensive amounts of money on their passion with nothing but a smile and satisfaction in return.

Elmar came to the hotel at 4:00pm and guided us to our next temporary home. It was convenient to throw all gear and luggage in his car and just ride the bikes over. The house is delightful. It has a queen bed in one bedroom, a king-size in another, and 2 bunk beds in the last bedroom. 4 beds. 5 guys. Well, there was a sofa bed in the patio, but why bother bringing it in? What happens in San Jose, stays in San Jose. I’m sure Simon and Brandon had a good night.

That evening, though, we took 2 Uber to Cabo San Lucas for dinner and to get to know it. I instantly disliked Cabo San Lucas. It looks dirty and run down. People were hustling in the streets, pushy to sell something, be it a dinner, a souvenir or drugs. It was clearly catering to the party crowd, preferably from North America. Dinner at the Giggling Marlin was just serving the purpose of not being hungry. Service was poor and the entertainer with microphone making the drunk gringos doing embarrassing contests didn’t help. Well, Jonas probably enjoyed the drunk girl falling boobs first into him. I was just glad that nobody vomited on us. The Marina was kind of nice, but every few steps was another hustler trying to be our amigo. We finally left that sin city and spent hours sitting on the ground by the bikes under the stars, smoking cigarettes and cigars. Next day, Kike would take the bus to La Paz and we would head to Barriles.

The Idea: Bienvenido

SAN JOSE DEL CABO TO BARRILES

Thursday, May 5th. We went for another breakfast at hotel Boutique Plaza Doradas. Susana and Elmar came to say goodbye and receive the keys of the house. Leaving Kike behind was not a good feeling. Good thing was that we finally continued off-road. We rode sand and sand and more sand for kilometers. The dust from the ones in front is blinding. It’s the finest powdery dust you can imagine. It settles even on the inside of your goggles. I sat as much down as possible to save energy. As soon as the bike started to wiggle, a sign of being in deep sand again, I stood up, pinched the seat with the knees and pointed the toes inwards. The bike immediately stabilizes. You keep on the throttle, weight over the rear, and basically float on the sand. You drift left to right but keep the straightforward direction. When trucks came the other way, you wrestled the bike over to the other side. I think I got pretty good at it. There came that one deep gravel section, when the handlebar became violent. With the dust, I had no anticipation and my indicator was the violent handlebar. I stood up and kept loose on the grips. The bike settled well, although at one point; I drifted to the far right side. I thought I was going to fly off into the low, mostly dry bushes, but got back on track. At the next stop, I could pick out leaves from the radiator and my mirror. The trickiest part was the bends. There was equally no anticipation with the dust and I wrestled the bike through, trying to stay in my lane.

We stopped at a beach. Simon, Jonas and Brandon rode to the ocean and dug in their rear wheels. No side stand needed. I preferred not adding possible struggles and kept the bike in the not so deep sand, happy to take more pictures. Brandon had a harder time to start up his bike. The coastline makes for amazing views. That is, when you are not in a dust cloud for a change. The beaches, the cliffs, the color of the sea... Simply amazing. We made a stop at a hotel and restaurant in the middle of nowhere, right on another beach.

Later, we rode into Los Barriles and the hotel with the same name. It had a pleasant pool area. Los Barriles is a quaint little town that seems to be what Sayulita might have been some 40 years ago. The population is mostly retired expats. The beach is so wide, it’s used as part of the road system. We walked a bit and then a lot more to a restaurant that seemed promising on our cell phone map. That restaurant was part of a condo compound and there was a collection of classic cars at the main entrance. Food was okey. The view was spectacular, as always in Baja.

On the way back, we stopped at the most popular bar. At the hotel, Jonas connected his firestick at the pool palapa and we watched some motocross. Some enjoyed some wine and I another cigar.

The Idea: Bienvenido

BARRILES TO LA PAZ

Next morning, May 7, we walked to have breakfast 2 blocks down the road. Afterwards, we checked the bikes. My air filter was as nasty as my riding gear. I replaced it with my spare clean and lubed one. That’s when I found my battery cables loose. That explained the hard starting. I tightened both down and would have no more starting issues from then on. Once again, we loaded the bikes. Every day a new place, a new bed, unpacking, then packing again. That was our daily routine.

Part of our routine by now was to wait until Brandon had his Honda started. This morning, though, he was kicking until he could no more. Simon did some more kicking, to no avail. Push starting didn’t work. Simon would pull him and Brandon would jumpstart it and let go of the rope. Just before we went out on the street, a pickup pulled in with a Suzuki on the bed. It was the happy dancer from Norra rally. I gave him two thumbs up and shouted “the happy winner”. His wife confirmed he was that indeed. He was still all smiles. Well, we couldn’t hang around and chitchat. We needed to get Brandon’s bike going. The first attempt looked way sketchy. For a moment, it seemed Brandon and Simon were going to bounce off each other, all while traffic was passing. Further down the road, the CRF finally fired up.

We got more spectacular coastline, more sand and more gravel. The path also included long stretches of vibrators, little hard packed sand waves formed by the traffic. It rattled your teeth fillings loose. I stopped because I didn’t see Jonas in a while. However, it didn’t take long for him to catch up. He fell behind to get over the vibrators with more speed to keep the rattling low. When we continued, Brandon stalled his bike. Simon and Jonas didn’t notice and took off while I waited with Brandon. He kicked and kicked, but nothing. I suggested trying the downhill. I went ahead, waiting for him to pass. He did not appear in my mirror, nor did I hear him. I turned around and saw him down by some houses. There was a cobblestone street going steep downhill to some real fancy homes. There was even a private landing strip and a small airplane. By the looks of it, the Honda didn’t start. I waited above for Simon and Jonas to return. When they arrived, we went all down to Brandon.

The bike wouldn’t start. Simon pulled him again, but as he made the roundabout at the other end, the bikes were still not straightened out completely, when Brandon let the clutch out. The handle bar went sideways and Brandon took a hard dive onto the cobblestone. Luckily, nothing happened except for a swollen thumb and a scratch on the forearm.

Simon towed him back up the road and along. His cooling vent never shut off. We tuckered along the road. One of the house owners told us that there was a mechanic some 15km ahead. A mile of pavement would appear and then the dirt road would continue to Alamo, where the mechanic was located. We came to the paved part and stopped for drinks. A pickup with 5 shady looking guys was there and Jonas suggested asking them if they would take Brandon’s bike to the mechanic. I explained in Spanish, but they weren’t too enthusiastic about it. When I mentioned paying, they asked for $1,000 pesos. It was quite a bit for only 5 more kilometers. We didn’t seem to have much choice, though. However, they weren’t confidence inspiring, and we told them we would continue to tow the bike. Close to where Brandon and Simon parked was another guy with a pickup. Brandon talked to him. His name was Pedro, and he is one amazing guy. He not only offered to take Brandon and his bike to the mechanic, but all the way to La Paz. Pedro also insisted on tying down the bike in the back of his truck. He said: “I’m responsible for it, so I tie it down.” What a great guy. He would not accept a single peso. Brandon bought some beer and off they went. Simon, Jonas, and I continued riding the coastline. Soon after that paved part, the road went into the mountains. It became steep up and down on loose rocky ground. Rocks of all sizes and shapes, some sharp. That day, I did my best off-road riding ever. We wound up and down with the cliff on one side. It narrowed in parts and it showed that it was eaten up by the Norra rally participants. Not a single moment did I feel out of my comfort zone. Even Jonas and Simon commented I did some good riding. That meant a lot, especially coming from Jonas. On top of one of the hills, I stopped. The view was once again mesmerizing, but I also needed a moment to catch my breath. We took some pics and drank some water before continuing.

We arrived back in La Paz and checked again into hotel Hacienda Bugambilias. A well-deserved shower later, we went for dinner. Brandon took a while to get to La Paz. He dropped his bike at Alex’ and they started working on it.

Our plan was to ride to San Evaristo the next day. One night in a cabin on the beach, back to La Paz. One more night and back onto the ferry. Our trip was coming to an end. Nothing went as planned, but we winged it best we could.

The Idea: Bienvenido

LA PAZ TO SAN EVARISTO

Yesterday, Kike went back to the ferry. We didn’t get to see him before leaving. The ferry leaves at 7:00pm and you should arrive 3 hours earlier. With Kike pushing his bike through check points, weight scale and on board, he was there early. Once he explained his bike’s situation, a crew member asked him to wait until all the other vehicles were on board. He would be the last to board but first to leave. So, he spent 2 hours sitting in the shade.

Brandon got late to the hotel. He went back to Alex, where mechanics worked on the bike. His stator was fried, and the bike produced no spark. The stator was taken to get fixed. The idea was to get his bike started to at least ride it to the ferry on Tuesday.

Simon, Jonas and I packed once again and left towards San Evaristo. Jonas could book us 2 cabins on the beach. At least, that’s what he was told. We had 130km to go, one third was Highway 1 and the rest off-road. We filled up tanks and extra fuel bags on the way out of La Paz. Leaving the pavement, we once again rode long, straight, sandy dirt roads. Much of it was along the coast. We came to a stranded old sea vessel leaning over close to shore. There was one section inland with cacti on both sides. Jonas slowed down, left the road and rode towards a cactus. Finally, we took some pictures of the famous Baja cactus. Simon cut a piece out of it to see how much water you could get. It was fairly dry and tasted bitter. Alex told us later which cacti are filled with water.

It was all easy riding with a short, rocky section. The last 20km became more interesting. We passed again hills with loose rocks and very narrow in places. The cliff was right next to us. Norra rally destroyed that road, too. We passed a pickup with gasoline canisters in the back. It looked sketchy as it wound its way crooked over the rocks. Luckily, we could pass by soon. An encounter with one of these going steep uphill would be challenging. After the hills came some more deep gravel and finally, we arrived in San Evaristo. Simon got scared for a moment, when he heard a terrible noise and had no forward momentum. A rock became stuck between sprocket and chain. Once removed, it was all good.

The cabins on the beach turned out to be simple plywood huts, like tool sheds. Each contained 2 beds in L formation with one nightstand. One corner was curtained off. Inside was a faucet and a plastic basin. You could wash your teeth, hands and face and then throw the water outside onto the dirt. The window was a plywood square on hinges that you could open for ventilation. Everything was soaked in old oil to make the plywood last and possibly to keep scorpions out. I had to step outside and take a picture through the window. It was that tiny. The view was towards the outhouse toilets. The restaurant/bar/convenience store was part of the compound. It was rustic. We’re not sure if it was a step up or down from camping. The restaurant tables overlooked the beach. It was a small enclosed bay, really idyllic.

As simple as the accommodations were, the service from Lupe, Maggie, and their 2 staff members was outstanding. The food was delicious. That was all we could do, eat and watch time go by. We could buy the Internet for $100 pesos per person per day. The connection was intermittent and slow. Various sail boats anchored in the bay and most of the people came to Lupe and Maggie to eat, drink beer and chat. We had great conversations. Instead of a shower, we went for a dip in the shallow, crystal clear water of the bay. The power is solar. Only one outlet to charge cell phones in the convenience store. Jonas charged up his. I did the next day during breakfast. My cell phone was completely empty at night. I couldn’t know the time it was waking up at night. I decided it was a suitable moment to use the outhouse toilet. A short walk under a sky full of stars only seen where there is no light pollution. I sat on the crapper and heard someone pass by the door. It was Simon, and he just went to use the ladies’ room next door. Sounded like he was well hydrated.

The Idea: Bienvenido

SAN EVARISTO TO LA PAZ

Next morning, Sunday, May 8, we had another tasty breakfast prepared by the owners. We loaded up the bikes again. Maggie took a picture of us for her website or Facebook page. Lupe sold Jonas and Simon 4L of gasoline. I had filled my Beta tank the day before with the fuel bag. It would be our last dirt ride on this trip.

The way back was yesterday’s route in reverse. The harder part was right in the beginning. I struggled with it. My hands got sleepy, and I had to shake them out a lot before attacking the next uphill. I was not in my best form. Therefore, I took it slow. I didn’t want to risk a flat tire from hitting a rock or going over the cliff. Not on the last dirt ride. It’s part of motorcycle riding. Some days you are one with the machine, another day you are sitting disconnected on top of it.

The sandy, straight sections were no challenge at all, though. At one point, 3 trophy trucks came our way. After the first, we stuck to the right side of the road, no longer separating out to avoid each other’s dust. The last truck came sliding around a corner, which made us increase precaution. On the way to San Evaristo yesterday, we passed a small saltwater pond. Now on the return it was a bit deeper and we were probably faster. We got all soaked up to the helmet. Stop, wiping cell phones, all good and go. Thing was that the salt on my goggles and mirrors decreased my vision to 50%. When Jonas made a stop, I cleaned my goggles. After doing the outside, I still could not see much. I had to clean off the dust from the inside, too. Where we popped onto Highway 1 was a gas station. We filled up tanks and had a drink.

Coming into La Paz, we made a quick stop at a car wash and had the bikes rinsed down. We wanted the salt off.

Once again, we arrived at hotel Hacienda Bugambilias, for the third time during our trip. It felt like our headquarters by now. Brandon met us later. Alex borrowed him one of his bikes, a Ninja 250. Later, his Honda was ready. It produced a spark once again.

The Idea: Bienvenido

LA PAZ TO MAZATLAN AND TO PUERTO VALLARTA

May 10, Mother’s Day in Mexico. Jonas didn’t want to get up early at all. Simon and I rode to the malecon. We were going to have breakfast at Rivet restaurant. Upon arrival, we were told that they were booked out. Mother’s Day. We checked options on our cell phones and I picked “We Fit”, a restaurant catering to the fitness crowd. I figured that few people would eat healthy on Mother’s Day. We got a table indeed, although they had various reserved. Food was good. We saw Brandon ride by on the Ninja 250 on the way to Alex. The Honda fired up again and Brandon rode it to the hotel.

Baja California is a free zone. You don’t need to import your vehicle, not even temporarily. When you cross over to the mainland, though, you had to pass customs. We knew that and the importance of having the right papers with us. It could easily happen that you cross over from Mazatlan but can’t return with the same vehicle, if it was an American model that had never been imported properly. That’s why we carried copies of the titles (facturas) of our bikes. These showed the import info. We weren’t sure about Brandon’s paperwork, though. Even Alex thought it would be a problem. So, when we rode to Pichilingue, we had mixed feelings and Alex was on standby, ready to pick up the bike. First thing though, we had to pay $93 pesos each again. People say it’s a right to floor fee, a payment to use the harbor. Why doesn’t Mazatlan charge any then? Anyway, we’re all well accustomed to Mexico’s mysterious bureaucracy.

It turned out that all was fine. All bikes made it through customs after the official reviewed the papers. Boarding the ferry was easier and faster this time. A lot fewer people traveled to Mazatlan. Our cabin had no balcony this time, but we were only 4. After tying down the bike, I was soaked in sweat and took a shower first. Then, I caught up with the others on deck. Killing 13 hours again. Actually, it took longer this time, like 15 hours. Nothing interesting happened. All went smoothly.

We left the ferry. Jonas put Herman’s address into his cell phone. Herman was out of town, but Temo would be there. We crossed Mazatlan, loaded the bikes onto the trucks, and Temo guided us to breakfast restaurant “La Curva”, The Curve. Temo’s breakfast was on us, of course. We bid farewell with hugs and were back on the toll roads towards Puerto Vallarta.

A couple pizzas in Jonas’ garage with Kike and we parted. I did my moto fashion thing one last time: shorts with boots and protector vest. Back home at last.

The Idea: Bienvenido

AFTERTHOUGHTS

We did it, and we did it on our own. Nothing went as planned, but we still had great times. Our friendship became stronger. We had not a single moment of anger, not a single discussion. We looked out for each other every step of the way. For whatever went wrong on the trip, the friends were the right ones. That’s the most important part of the trip.

As to the mistakes, yes, we made plenty. Not carrying enough water into the desert was the biggest. Relying entirely on one member of the group for planning and routing was another. I’m guilty of laziness in that department. I just trusted in Jonas’ abilities and planning. Each one should have a working off-road GPS. If we got separated for whatever reason, that could be crucial. Simon received his GPS just the day before the trip and wasn’t familiar with its settings. It does indeed serve off-road purposes. It was a mistake not being familiar with it. Not knowing ahead of time regarding Norra could be counted as a mistake or simply as bad luck. Brandon’s bike, not being in top condition, was a mistake, but Kike’s was the newest and blew the engine. Not much to prevent these things. Brandon is undoubtedly the hero to many of us. His attitude never took a dive. He kicked the bike like no other could. He sure made the most of what he had.

We had all different luggage solutions, and the mix showed us which one worked better than others. Jonas and I took too many clothes, while Brandon carried Jerry cans that took a lot of space unnecessarily.

In hindsight, it would have been easier crossing over with the trucks on the ferry. The bikes would stay on the trucks, already tied down. Our gear could stay in the truck cabins. We could wear comfortable clothes the whole time and just carry our luggage without the sweaty task of tying down the bikes on board. Hotel Hacienda Bugambilias has sufficient parking space to leave 2 trucks until we return to La Paz at the end of the trip.

On the sunny side, none of us had a fall while riding. There was no real riding mistake.

Baja has one of the harshest environments but some of the most amazing people. It’s like the friendliness of its people compensates for nature’s brutality. It’s a beautiful, raw nature, though. Our thanks go out to Herman, Temo, Alex, Susana, Elmar, Pedro, Luis, Angel and many more whose names we didn’t catch.

Looking back at how things developed and fell into place, I can only think that the universe watched over us. Kike’s bike broke down once we were out of the desert. Brandon’s bike stopped right before the most difficult section, where kicking it to life would be a challenge, to say the least. In both cases, wonderful people were right there and went out of their way to help. When we had no more hotel room, Susana’s sister’s Airbnb came right up. Coincidences? You decide.

One thing is for sure, we all came back with the desire for more of Baja.

The Idea: Bienvenido

JONAS

Swede

Jonas runs a real estate company in Puerto Vallarta. His ride was his 2006 Suzuki DRZ400E, a bike that has been with him for many years and is probably the best maintained motorcycle in Mexico.

The Idea: Acerca de