May 2003
[Jim’s pictures of the trip are here, Jerry’s pictures of the trip are here]
Jim Deitschman
Impressions of the Rookie
(RIDING MOTORCYCLES FOR 53 YEARS AND 1 MILLION MILES)
For whatever reason, I was assigned to be the historian for the motorcycle trip to Baja, and I relish the pleasure. Being one of, or the rookie on the trip, I suppose it is only fitting and proper that I pay some dues for entering on a trip that others had forged ahead of me. As I contemplated how to write this, it came to my attention that one of the forerunners of the SMBC, Frank Simmons, had always wanted to make this trip. Frank also had his special knack for writing his monthly newsletter in a fractured sentence structure and his own personal style. With that in mind, I want to dedicate this memoir to Frank, and his memory. Maybe I made the trip he always wanted to make. If I wrote this in proper prose style, I know it would go pages well beyond that which you have the patience to read.
The contestants are: Dave Gallegos on his GL1200 Baja bike, Jerry Grey on a Harley, Jerry Granger on Honda ST1100, Helmut Frank on a BMW, Roberto Clema (The Italian Stallion) on his Moto Guzzi which he called his Tractor on Steroids, Reggie Sherman on a BMW, and me on my Kawasaki KZ1000 Ex-Police bike. Included also were Alex King in his Land Rover with a 12-foot sea kayak on top, which we called the 12-foot pickle, with passengers Jack Balleto (Gerry Grey’ss cousin). They were a great help for they carried a large ice chest with plenty of liquid refreshments and goodies.
We pretty much start at San Yasidro where we got the mandatory insurance, then the toll road to Ensenada, arriving at the St Nicholas hotel mid afternoon. Great security for they had installed a high, fenced, padlocked area with guard, especially for motorcycles. After short initial wetting of the whistle in the designated booze room, it was off to dinner at El Cid. After plentiful rounds of Margaritas, the dinner was topped off with flaming Mexican Coffee (impressive waterfalls of alcohol into a glass). Next it was off to Hussan’s, however it was closed on Monday. So was Pappa’s and Beer. What a bummer night.
0800 departure from St Nicholas for Catavina with additional passenger, Victor (Gallegos???) in the Land Rover. Breakfast in Santo Tomas a few miles down the road. 275 miles ahead of us with sparse gas stations, so it was gas in San Quintin and El Rosario, arriving Catavina, a spot in the middle of nowhere, late afternoon. No gas here except from the back of a pickup if you really need it at $3.00 per gallon. If it is supposed to me hot, why am I still wearing my leathers top and bottom, and still cold?? More margaritas by the pool where we swap lies and listen to the bet of $100 by Jerry Gray about whether it was Sunday the 4th versus the 5th. It was the Cinco De Mayo that got him so excited it threw him off a day. At dinner, there was a lot of talk about Dave offering to buy an airplane, then retractable gear, full IFR equipped, then up to seaplanes. Guess it was more of the margaritas.
After a vigorous start, (no hot water in the shower) for Santa Rosalia at 0730, it was miles of emptiness and numerous wrecked cars. Thousands of cars stripped of every removable thing, turned upside down and stripped more, then burned. Each car with a story of it’s own. Maybe lack of gas. An accident, or maybe just a flat tire. Then there are the crosses. Maybe just a simple wooden cross, or some very elaborate shrines as large as the largest doghouses with crosses on top and a lattice metal fence around it. Again, each one a memorial to a death in that spot, and there were thousands of them on the whole trip. One of the very first things you learn about are the TOPAS. Oh! Yes you do learn about them. Just miss seeing one and hit it going 40 or 50 miles an hour and they will launch you into the ozone. They do not need speed zone signs in the little towns to slow people down. You will creep through their little spot of the world whether you want to or not. What are TOPAS??? SPEED BUMPS, and they get your attention real fast. Like putting speed bumps on a freeway in the middle of nowhere. We were graced with a few SPEED HUMPS occasionally, but the bumps were short, elevated, and you had to cross them at a very slow pace. You begin to know where to look, but occasionally miss one, and then look out. Road signs are another matter. There might be ONE showing the road number, and not another one for 150 miles. I guess like being on an island, you can’t get lost. There is really only one road, providing it’s the right one. We ended up going 45 miles in the wrong direction one morning because we missed the road sign. The roads are actually much better than the roads in California. There were only few places of a mile or so with bad areas or potholes. They also build their roads a little differently. It is an elevated road about 4 or 5 feet above the local terrain, with NO shoulders. The blacktop drops abruptly down about 6 to 12 inches, then slopes down from there. Flat tire?? You change it ON THE ROAD. No wonder there are so many wrecked cars for if you go off the road, you can’t get back up on it again and you don’t dare drive at night. Around the next twisty, curvy middle of the mountain road, might also be a wild burro, mule, wild horse, cows, goats, dogs, sand or gravel, and often there were. Width?? If you take your RV or whatever down there, take extra left hand mirrors for the vehicles pass just inches from each other in opposite directions. When it gets really tight, the right rear outside wheel of the semi’s are ridding off the pavement. You do learn very intently the word “Trust”.
They have a custom when you want to pass, the truck will put his left turn signal on indicating the road is clear ahead, or is he really signaling for a left hand turn???. What really puts the fear in you, when you pass the truck on the left while it is making a right hand curve and you can see nothing beyond the front of the truck. Intense planning is a must for those contemplating such a trip. Lack of a spare fuse, a can of tire-flate, spare can of gas could mean disaster for it is often 160 to 180 miles of nothing between gas stations, and then there are no real services. Just gas. Which brings up another point. Don’t buy the premium. There are no real regulations, standards or checking, and they possibly dump regular in the premium tank and you pay bigger bucks for regular thinking you are getting premium. The pumps and meters are not checked either. You might pay for and put 12 gallons in a 10-gallon tank.
Initially leaving Catavina for the Guerrero Negro gas stop, we have breakfast about 9:30 in Punta Prieta. Where’s Jerry Gray?? He rode back thinking Helmut was behind when Helmut was actually in front and chasing his leather insert. 60 miles from nowhere; not a living thing in sight, I see a man walking beside the road?? What in the world is he doing here?? And where is he going?? No water, food, or anything. In another case, you see a nice house out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing in all directions. Like Death Valley and Scotties Castle. How do they survive?? Strange. The highway is like the old west. Telephone poles with just the two wires and the glass insulators, fading off in the distance. We gas at Guerrero Negro where some take advantage of a street vendor’s Birria, (goat soup).
Yes, we ride as a group. For safety and other reasons. Still, as the miles and miles and more miles come and go, you’re still alone. Alone with your thoughts. Each in his own way. There surely isn’t much to see except more miles of desert, 3 or 4000-foot barren mountains. Surely over the next ridge will be the goal. There has to be something besides this miles and miles of lonely desert. We couldn’t have come all this way just for this. You might also be physically alone. We had a procedure to keep the headlight of the guy behind always visible, but that didn’t always work either. If you did not see the light for about 5 minutes, you should stop and wait. As often happened, the group ahead would be out of sight and you might be the last of the group, yet, you were expected to catch up. Ok unless you had a problem then it might be quite awhile before someone came looking for you and you hope you were not in a ditch capsized or dead..
In this area, we approach yet another military check-point and need to get our Visas to enter the southern end of Baja (Baja California Sur). After showing the registration, passports, visas etc, we get the necessary papers, for which we have to pay about $24 at a bank someplace before we would be allowed out of the country. To pay at a bank is one of the necessary steps to prevent corruption. Regarding the military checkpoints, you will stop. There are no real police other than the military, and checkpoints that are set up at strategic points of intersections, etc. These guys all have M-16’s or Russian what-evers, and don’t look old enough to shave. Before most checkpoints in either direction, is a machine gun nest or pill box (manned and ready) and there will be a rope across the road, the other end of which is tied to a spike strip to punch out tires. They barracade the middle of the road with sand bags and you have to drive around, usually on a very rocky dirt path, during which they may stop you and ask you questions. I understand many of these are Rent-a-Cops, but who am I to argue.
So far, the ever-changing terrain has dumbfounded me. I expected Baja to be like Florida. All flat and desert. This terrain is all volcanic with many cinder cones and old lava fields. Many miles of hilly desert, with more miles of twisty and curvy roads. Temperature wise, because this is early May rather than June or July, we hit it right. I do not think the temperature during the whole 16 days got over 85 in the day. Nighttime was another story. At one motel, I was given 5 blankets on my bed. In all this desolation, there must be a green oasis someplace, and low and behold, just over the next rise, we find it in San Ignacio. Date palms, greenery, water filled lakes from an artesian spring. We make a rest stop and take in the sights of the church built about 1716. This is also the half-way point of Baja, and we get to turn the map over. 3 miles down the road; it’s more of the same desert. All the way from Ensenada to La Paz, we have been seeing workers installing some kind of tubing which we assume is their effort to come into the 21st century with fiber optic phone lines or some form of communication. We see them often digging the 3-foot deep ditch by hand, or mixing concrete with shovel and wheelbarrow. Often in the towns, there is no electricity, phones, running water or amenities we take for granted. The big new thing is the large; round plastic cisterns placed on the roof so they can have some semblance of running water. How they get the water up there is beyond me. For the old timers, this entire road is like it was about 60 or 70 years ago on old route 66 in Arizona, New Mexico or Texas. Primitive and just enough to get by. After a few miles of high desert and getting warmer, we go through narrow, twisty, steep downhill road to the Sea of Cortez and on to Santa Rosalia. What a change. Almost seems like Moses leading is people out of Egypt and seeing the ocean. A favorite stop is the Fresh Orange Juice in Santa Rosalia by the town square.
We check in at the beautiful El Morro Motel by the sea in Santa Rosalia. Another communal dinner and fish was the specialty, however, Montezuma’s revenge hits most of the group. Never did figure out what was common to those who fell ill. Next morning, most (except Jerry Grey) were awaken by the 6:00 rooster chicken alarm. I think that chicken woke every chicken in the city. Off to Mulege for breakfast, but we lost track of the 12 foot pickle. They got separated from us in the many narrow one-way streets. We did all catch up with each other about 1:30 at the La Pinta Hotel in Loretto. Beer and relaxation all around was a welcome change. In the early P.M. it was a short walk down the beach to George and wife Carol’s house for a Bar-B-Que dinner prepared by Victor. George is Alex’s cousin and neighbor from Monterra CA, and the one to whom he was delivering the sea kayak. After a great carnitias, beer, more margaritas, discussion centered around solving the worlds problems, which led to heightened debate, which led to the end of an early evening. Most wanted to hit the sack for the fishing next day. Not realizing we had crossed another time zone, Helmut was up at 4:15 rather than 5:15 for a 5:50 ride to the harbor. Helmut and I with our guide in one boat, Alex and George in another. After a bait stop outside the harbor, we go out about 5 miles and catch more mackerel for bait. We were supposed to be within eyesight of each other for they had the water and lunch; however, we speed off about 30 miles north. As it turned out, Helmut hits first with a nice 10 to 15 lb skipjack that we throw back because it is a black meat and not really desirable. We end up with 4 nice yellowtail (total maybe 40 or 50 pounds) by 11:00 or so, and head in. The others blank out except for a large rockfish. Our fish are cleaned, filleted and taken to a local restaurant where they prepare a feast fit for a king. Since the fisherman provides the fish, the cost is a whopping $2.50.
What day is it?? I think it is Saturday. We are off at 0700 for Cuidad Insurgentes and La paz, and first off, 5 of us head for the gas station. Where are the other 2, Jerry Gray and Reggie?? Off we go down the road thinking they will be catching up shortly, when in actuality, they were ahead of the group, and they meet up 100 miles ahead. 34 miles down the road; I realize I have forgotten my camera charger at the motel. I decide to return to get it. I realize the group will stop about 100 miles down the road for breakfast, taking about an hour. For me to go the 34 miles back and return, I will be about one hour behind them and I believe I will catch them at breakfast. The best-laid plans don’t always work out. After retrieving the charger, I’m again about 60 miles back down the road coming up on a high desert plain. It’s cold, so I want to stop and put my leather jacket back on. I misjudged the crown of the road. My bike needs to lean to the right quite a bit before you can put the kickstand down. Being a nice guy, I pulled over to the right as far as I could, and as I leaned to the right, my foot gave way, and down me and the bike went. Me, head over heel and the bike upside down dripping gas, 60 miles from nowhere, and no one in sight. I tried to upright the bike, then, I felt my back go out. Now I am in deep dodo. I can hardly stand, yet I try to unload all my gear from the bike and upright it, but still no success. Here comes a truck. I flag them down, and they help get the bike upright again. I reload my gear and set off, every bump like a whiplash of pain down my back. Now I’m more than an hour behind and all alone. As I approach Ciudad Insurgentes I see a lone biker pulling out. As it turned out, it was John and Nhu Vanschie from Vancouver Canada. After flagging him down, I learn my group left about 10 to 15 minutes ago. (Thanks for waiting fellows. So much for riding as a group). John and I rode together the rest of the way to La Paz, both going about 80 and 90 miles an hour trying to catch the bunch. As we rode into La Paz, Jerry Granger had stayed behind to direct us on the right road, and we were only about 5 minutes behind at that time. We stopped at the one and only Honda dealer to drop off a motorcycle jack as a gift and gratitude for prior yeoman effort in locating parts from a previous trip.
In La Paz, our hotel is right on the esplanade overlooking the harbor. One does not want to miss the sunsets from the balcony. Margaritas optional. As this is the ultimate destination, many times we separate into the various shops, restaurants etc, for this town is fairly large and offers what ever you need. Some of us head off for the local Laundromat, however it is closed for Mothers Day. Well, we put mother to work the next day, and for $5.00 they wash, dry, fold, and bundle up your laundry. Not too bad a bargain. John, Nhu and I decide to take a day ride down to Cabo San Lucas, going down highway 1, making the tour through town, and back up highway 19. Again, a beautiful day. Apparently Cabo was a sleepy end of the road about 15 years ago, but now, the commercialization is really taking over, with multiple, high-rise condos, luxury homes etc filling the landscape, say nothing of the football sized yachts in the harbor. All the usual fast food joints are there from Burger King, Dunkin Donuts to Little Caesars Pizza. A short way down the road is Cabo Jose Del Cabo. Again, that area is rapidly expanding into a modern tourist Mecca. We see a sign that says we have crossed the Tropic of Cancer. Did we?? We arrive back in La Paz late afternoon, and all in all, it was a nice day trip to see how the other half-lives.
I think its Monday, and decision time. Jerry Grey and Roberto will go Cabo to drop off Jack for a plane ride home. After an overnight, they plan to return to Loretto, where Alex and Reggie have already gone for fishing, then return for home up the Baja Peninsula as we came. After banking, a breakfast of shrimp and or fish tacos and last minute shopping at the local jewelry store, Dave, Helmut, Jerry Granger and I, along with John and Nhu, decide to take the ferry to Mazatlan and return up through the Copper Canyon area, which leads to:
PART II
Dave Gallegos, Jerry Granger, Helmut Frank and I, along with John and Nhu Vanschie wanted a new adventure and planned to catch the overnight ferry to Mazatlan, with further travels to the Copper Canyon area. Checkout time was supposed to be 11:00 and we wanted to be on the dock by 12:00 P.M. Jerry misunderstood, and it was 12:15 before we headed off for the 20 minute ride to the ferry dock. The ship was to sail at 3:00 P.M., and arrive the next day about 0900. Sounds too good to be true?? It is. We get in line to buy tickets. You can’t buy tickets because you do not have a weigh ticket. How do you get a weigh ticket?? You stand in the next line and register. Register?? You can’t do that because you need three copies each of your registration, drivers license, passport, and birth certificate and visa, and this window closes at 1:30. Copies?? Not here mate. We don’t make copies. Not over there either. Upstairs?? Their machine is broken. Time now: 1:00 P.M. We hear there may be a machine down the road about a mile at a local office or hotel. Off we all go. Yes!! The wonderful secretary makes all our copies and at no charge. Back to the registration window. This one finger whiz is a master of time consumption and public servitude. I’m the last one to get the registration, and it’s now 2:15 P.M. Next window is getting the sticker based on the registration that essentially says you will not leave your vehicle in Mexico and take it with you when you leave. Now we get the sticker, and it’s off to the scales, where we finally get the weigh ticket. Back to window #1 to get the ticket. Dave and Jerry have theirs and are off to the dock. As I get to the window, down goes the computer. It’s now 2:35. The computer crashes. After error and after error correction, it’s back to basic DOS, correct the mistakes reboot, reload the program, and hopefully it works. Helmut gets his ticket and is off to the watery unknown. Me?? It’s now 3:10 P.M. I think I hear the boat whistle, and still do not have my ticket. AHHH!!! The computer is working, and they need 1840 Pesos. I have 1200. Pay the rest in American Greenbacks?? Yea!! And they soak me at about 1/2 (?) the exchange rate. Got my ticket to ride, on the bike, dash off to the loading ramp, and they are about to bring up the gangplank and only one or two more trucks to load. WOW!!! That was too close. We tied the bikes down with chain or whatever, and head topside. We weigh anchor at 3:50. For the 20 Pesos more, we get a stateroom with 4 bunks, and I get the top bunk. Dinner was beer washed down with trail mix, can of pineapple, cashews, square crackers and more beer. Very nutritious. Is this a great country or what??? As the sun sets, we see another ferry directly behind us and the sun directly behind him. Made for a great shot although he was a distance away.
In the morning it takes me about 10 minutes to get out of bed for my back is still talking to me. We arrive Mazatlan about 0830; unload the bikes and head of for Durango and a new adventure. So far, the mileage has been 2085 miles. It’s 184 miles to Durango and no gas in between. The first 100 miles are incredible. The twistiest, curvy, up one mountain and down the other. Floorboard pegs hitting all the time. Big trucks or a bus on your side of the road on the hairpin turns. Thousands of 10 to 15 mile per hour curves with danger at every turn. The road makes the trek to Kings Canyon seem like a freeway. I am reminded of the song from “Those Magnificent Men in their Flying Machines” —- They go uppity up, they go down tody down down. Up one mountain, and down the other, with goats, mules, wild burro at every potential turn. We rise to almost 9000 feet and get into the lodge pole pine and some spruce and fir. As a result there are lumber mills and log trucks to contend with. We stop at a state border viewpoint and have lunch (tacos) from a roadside stand.
The second half of the journey smoothes out to high plateau with steep canyon walls. Very similar to that around Alturas or the high Sierras. Beside the road are primitive furniture factories. Many just a lean too, but good looking furniture. I drive through a swarm of bees (I’m allergic), and then it is time for a thunderstorm, lightning and a rain shower which we get caught in, so it’s time to put on jackets. The rain is just enough to wet the roads and the oil turns to foam and is like soap. We make Durango about 4:00 P.M and find what appears to be an abandoned and half built motel. It is, but the rooms are clean and there is running water, one towel, no soap, no TV, all for $20 per room double bed. It’s actually better than some we have had for $68 a night. Dinner at a taco stand, and on the walk back, Dave runs into a local dentist who has several bikes and volunteers to lead us on a new and shorter road to Parrill and the Copper Canyon area but not shown on any map. Geographically we see we are actually East of El Paso Texas, and South of Alamogordo.
The dentist, his wife and a friend offer to meet us at 0800. They no show. We give them a courtesy 15 minute wait, then depart, taking the road shown on the map hoping they will meet us at the turn off. Still they no show. We about clean a roadside stand out of fresh oranges, papaya, carrots, and pineapple at breakfast, and with my limited Spanish, I somehow ended up with a double order of Huevos Rancheros.
The terrain is now more flatter, rolling hills, rolling desert with high mountains in the background, and like parts of Southern Texas with mesquite, some orange groves, cultivated land with alfalfa. We actually see a man with horse and plow tilling the land. Bam!! Something hits my windshield and blows back and gets lodged between my sunglasses and my eye. I think I hit a humming bird. I drive with one eye for several miles.
Now, here again in the middle of the desert, we see an older woman with a bundle of laundry on her head walking beside the road. Where could she be going?? There is nothing for miles in any direction. Strange. We hit Parral about 3:30 and check into a real motel with pool and hot running water. My back is killing me. I spend 30 minutes trying to get off the floor. A bang on the door. I crawl to the door. No one there. I find out its Dave. He wants the goodies to go with the beer. I crawl to bed, spill my drink and watch Animal Planet. Is this a great trip or what?? Later we all walk to a Chinese restaurant for pork things in a red sauce, rice, grass looking stuff and the usual trimmings, plus of course, more beer. (You don’t dare drink the water), and in this vast restaurant, we are the only customer save for a man and woman having passionate love in the corner.
I think it’s Thursday, and we plan to start at 0600, but fail to realize we have crossed into another time zone. We are now two hours ahead and we start out at 0515 in the dark. Because of that, we miss a sign and go 45 miles the wrong direction. Road numbers do not equal what is on the map, there are roads that are not on the map, but we get straightened out and are on our way to Copper Canyon. It’s not copper, just a red color, and the canyon is a cross between Bryce, and Grand Canyon. As we drive through the canyon, they consist of steep walls and rock formations, and not really impressive after having seen Bryce and the Grand Canyon. Again it’s up one mountain and down the other. Curves left and right, one after the other. High plateaus (8000 feet elevation) like the high Sierras or near the base of the Sierras near Oakdale, logging, lodge pole pine, Douglas fir. We get to Creel then on to La Junta. The road signs don’t give adequate directions, and the local police give us an escort with lights flashing, around a detour. At La Junta the rooms are $250 pesos, nice and clean with limited amenities. I get my enchiladas Montadas and can’t eat it all.
As we depart from La Junta, it’s cold as all get out. (I had 5 blankets on my bed). As we ride, our hands about freeze. It’s high desert and many miles of it. We take the wrong roads; the map is not clearly defined. In towns there are no directions, no markings, but we carry on. The topography is like the central valley with mountains in the background, alfalfa fields, and citrus groves. We head for the border and cross at Douglas. A real American dinner at the old hotel, then on to Tucson for the evening. In the next couple days, it’s home and all over.
Conclusion?? And it it’s only my opinion. It was great to have gone along with those who have trail blazed in prior years. They knew where to go, which roads, how far, what to see, spoke the language, and all that made for a lot less hassle than have gone alone for the first time. For that I am grateful. I sure would not recommend an amateur make the trip without a very lot of planning and preparation. There are just too many potential safety issues for one to contend with for the first time, with all the barrenness and miles of empty desert. As I said before we left, deserts are not my thing, but I wanted to see for myself. It’s doubtful I would make the trip again Money wise, it’s not any cheaper in Mexico that a lot of other places. The destination cities are ok, but personally, if you want to see Mexico, see it from 30,000 feet out the window of an airplane.