Greatings! We’ve done a fair bit of riding and what-not since I last updated… yes, yes, I know I never got around to doing the second part of my update. Tonight, I remidy this. Im typing from a youth hostel in a city called Zacatecas. Zacatecas is (according to Pat ) as mexican as you get. We rolled in to the city around 5pm and set ourselves up, tomorrow I get to explore. Zacatecas is an old city, beautiful cobbled roads and joined building, it is very Spanish. But more on that later.

We’re in Zacatecas!

Our Route through Baja for reference (clicky):

Continuing the story - more San Felipe

Whilst in San Felipe my musical itch became unbearable. My scratch came in the form of a tiny (and incredibly shitty) spanish guitar, bought for $40 dollars. I overpaid, but what the hell. Torsten said I was crazy for trying to take a guitar traveling on a motorbike, and at his advice I left my old cheap nylon string guitar with him in San Francisco. Fellow musicians came empaphise with me i’m sure, after having a great jam out in San Diego on a borrowed guitar, I needed to take one with me. This is the tiny guitar you can see strapped to my bike haphazerdly in the photos of the ‘Road’ to Gonzaga bay. As my good friend Ben says, a guitar is like a third arm for people like me. This particular guitar lasted aproximatley 5 days.

After one night at the RV park in San Felipe, we hit the road to camp on the pourch of Torstens house, around 50 k’s south. We arrived late the first night, and preceded to scare the neighbours completley by rolling up and`pitching our tents. The tension thawed the following morning when they got to see us in the day light, and find that we were not evil thugs people but charming young men of virtue. We set up camp for 3 days or so, and unwound on the beautiful beach.

Our first nights meal of fresh fish and shrimp (provided by Dave) was so tasty we thought it would be a great idea to catch our own for the next night. About an hour in to my carving of a stick into a spear (to catch fish Survivor style), Torstens neighbour Randy took pity on me and leant the use of his Fishing Rod, bait, and a case full of hooks. For the next 5 hours I cast off the beach and relaxed. After 5 lost hooks, and possibly one bite (I guess i’ll never know for sure), I gave up for the day and we settled for canned tuna (Yum!). Randy and Carol kindly took us out for dinner the next evening, and then feed us hot cakes the morning we set off to tackle the infamous ‘Road’.

The ‘Road’ to Gonzaga Bay

This was our off-road baptism of fire, and in hinesight we should have let our tyres down to 20 psi…. in all the excitment we had completley forgotten about this very very important task. This is a mistake we would pay for with many lost bolts, and numerous lost items. Some may have noticed my use of ‘’ around the word Road when I refer to this thing. Thing. Basically the ‘road’ consisted of loose sand and rock over washboard, and wound up into high passes where the loose stuff is replaced by huge rocks protruding from the mountainside. You tackle road like this at a decent speed only by standing up on your foot pegs, and for the inexperienced like us this can be very tiring.

After 2 hours of vibrations and frustrations, I glance down where my saddle case shold be… gone. Oh god. I do a quick mental calculation of what I had of worth in the case, compared to having to drive BACK along the road a distance I was unsure of. 5 miles? 20 miles? I turn around and gun it. Angry at myself for not keeping a closer eye on my posessions, my anger seems to improve my ability to handle the road…. Up and over a crest… and there it is, a few items strewn around the place but mostly still all in the case. Wicked! I strap the thing back on and we head back to where Josh is parked up under a piece of scrub reading a book. On we go at a far greater pace then before, eager to finish up for the day. Ultimatley it was a combination of the increased pace, and some hell deep gravel on a corner that proved my undoing. Coming around the corner the gravel deepend, and I gunned the throttle to keep control of the bike. At an awkward angle this resulted in my back wheel skidding out, and I low-sided at around 30 mph. The damage was a bent handle bar, and of course my pride, but thankfully I was fine.

Nearing the end of the road, the Pemex (petrol station) at Gonzaga bay came in to sight. Yes! No. I hear a klunk, see sparks shoot out the back of my bike, and suddenly my engine sounds like 40 lawnmowers hitting a roadside curb. Oh God, the trips over. The engines gone. I stop the bike, and to my horror (but also relief) my muffler has detatched from the bike and dropped down, lodging itself between the frame and the wheel - the three heavy bolts had clean vibrated out of the bike. Having re-attached the muffler with the help of the locals, we camp up for the night, and hang out with a bunch of mexicans from Tijuana and a crazy Canadian biker named Paul, who has spent the past few weeks cruising around Baja on his Honda XR. I play my new (slightly bruised) tiny guitar. One of the great quotes so far on this trip goes to Paul (in crazy Canadian accent):

When I tell people i’m going to Mexico, they say to me “I wouldn’t go if I were you”. I say to them, “yeah if I were you” I wouldn’t go either.
They say to me “Why? Is it the drugs?”
I say “No”
“Is it the crime?”
“No. If I were you, i’d spend my money on a big 200 inch flat screen TV, a nice new lounge suite, then go and fucking rot”

The next day we complete the road without further incident, stopping in to see a famous local named Coco at Coco’s corner. Boy, are we releaved to see pavment! We jump on to the main higway, then take the exit to Bahia de Los Angeles, a beautiful smooth road (pavement!) with huge cactus’ (cactuses?) protruding from the landscape. We arrive at the bay and marvel at the islands from the top of the hill, before winding down to the beach. We park up at a great camp spot where we find Dave, and an empty pallaba right next door to him… sleep!

The Mission at San Borja

The next day Dave is off again further down the road to San Ignacio, where we plan to meet him that night. We had a great tip from Paul the crazy Canuck on a cheap Bed and Breakfast to stay, but today we have an important diversion to make - the mission at San Borja. The road to the Mission snakes off from the road to Bahia de Los Angeles, and connects back on to Highway 1 further south. Very similar to the road to Gonzaga Bay (minus the loose sand) the road is tricky, but I tackle it with a new found confidence of dirt riding. Erm, shall we say over confidence. I gun the bike up a steep hill climb, but my line isn’t quite right - I hit a huge rut near the top… crap crap, stay up right, okay i’m good… not so good. The rut alters my line so that i’m going too fast at the top, aiming at a rather steep fall from the road to the rocks and nasty cactus below. I opt to lay the bike down rather then fall to a prickly fate, and I go down at about 20 mph…. ow. I’m okay again, but my crash bars have been bent to hell - altho it seems i’ve evened up my handle bars through going down on the opposite side My little spanish guitar is broken… in true rockstar fashion I hurl the thing into off the side into the desert, where it lands comically in the cactus. Take that, cactus!

We arrive at the Mission a little after midday, and boy is it hot. The mission is beautiful, built from stones that have been carved out of the cliffs that surround the valley. Why is it located in the middle of the desert? There is a fresh water spring located near by, and this is where an indian tribe lived until the Jusuites arrived from Spain, converted them, and promptly turned them into slaves to build the mission and mine gold (for the glory of Jesus). Later the Mission was run by the Franciscans, and the Domicans - each of there garb is on display in the Mission, and I snapped some photos. Inside the mission is wonderfully cool, the thick stones absorbing the heat.

Having finished up there, we connect back on to Highway 1 and make it to San Ignacio very late in the day. The recent hurricane has caused an outbreak of flowers throughout this part of Baja, coming into Gurero Negro in particular, the scent is amazing as we cruise along. The Bed and Breakfast is full, but we find a nice cheap hotel near by… and sleep.

The next day Josh heads out to the Pacific coast to check out the whales (I shall let him update you you on that), while I head to Mulege hoping to catch up with grizzly Dave.

mmmMulege! (and the Bay of Conception)

I will always remember Mulege. So much happened here that I felt like a local by the time I had left, and I knew the place like the back of my hand.

Mulege (moo-la-hey) is only a small town, but there are a fair amount of R.V. parks and camp sites around the place due to its location only a few km’s up the road from the beautiful Bahia Conception (Bay of Conception). A river winds its way down through the town, campsites and holiday homes, before meeting the bay. Along the river bank some seventy percent of the holiday homes are missing walls, windows, doors, and are covered in mud, due to the hurricane that swept through a few months back. The bay itself was spared most damage, but the hurricane had pushed into the mountains - dropping its payload of water which turned into a 30 foot wall sweeping down the river at 4 a.m. in the morning. Some homes are well under way to being repaired, some seem to have been abandoned.

The first night I can’t seem to find Dave around the place, and Josh is over on the Pacific coast for the night checking out the whales, I pitch my tent and head to the bar. I get talking to 4 lovely ladies from Todos Santos, who I then end up out at dinner with in town. The next night Dave rolls in to camp, and later Josh arrives from the coast. Dave suggests a kayak trip for a few days, camping out on a few of the Islands… sweet! Dave has two kayaks, we hire a third, and set out from a small bay known as Santispac quite late in the day.

Kayaking the Bay of Conception

We head out late in the day, swinging around two small islands before arriving at a much larger Island. I forget the names, but will make sure to hit Dave up for them the next time I see him. It’s it is getting dark by now, so we quickly through up our tents and start scrounging around for some fire wood. Josh and I visited a butchers earlier in the day and bought some Carne Asada (good meat?) to cook a stir fry with. Starting the fire is a little tricky, most of the wood is either green or a bit damp, but we get a smallish one going eventually. I will forever remember this meal is having promised so much, yet being so bad, so very bad, it is burned into my brain forever. It started going downhill when we discovered the corn on the cob we had bought to cook had sat for too long, and was too dry to eat. No biggy. With all the stirfry bits chopped and ready, out came the meat. What ever type of meat it was (goat?), that animal must have been hard to kill. It was tough. So tough, I don’t think I manged to bite off a bit to swallow, opting to eat the green peppers and onion instead. Dave quiped that we’ed wake up in the morning and find a vulture sitting by our fire. And it would still be chewing. Okay, okay, so i’ve had little bits of green pepper and onion for dinner so far. Not ideal, but at least now we have popcorn! Oh, no salt. Hey, we have Garlic salt - it can’t be that different right? Imagine eating crunchy pieces of garlic.

The next morning was stunning, beautiful. I woke before dawn and climbed all over island, its rocky slopes making ideal hand and foot holds. This became a little ritual for me actually, every day on the island I would wake before the sun, and make sure I was at the top for sunrise. That day we hung out on our private beach, drank coffee, and took a quick excursion to another beach further down the bay. Earlier that day we had visitors - a great guy named Mike had arrived on the island via Kayak, and had invited us for dinner at his batch on a bay a short paddle away. That evening we paddled out and had a great meal, drank too much beer, and paddled back to the island around 10 p.m, the moon high in the sky. Something strange happened.

I dipped my Kayak paddle in the watter, and it seemed to light up. Whaaa? Each paddle splash created a little pool of light. Streaks of light appeared in the water in front of us, as fish shot through the water. Wow… Dave explained that at a certain temperature, in a certain depth of water, algea generate bioluminesence when disturbed. Fish start jumping out of the water, and a couple end up in Dave and Josh’s kayak. Josh throws a fish at me, it hits me in the arm. We’re pretty drunk, full of good food, kayaking underneath a clear sky of stars… slicing through a bay of liquid stars, towards our own private beach. I can’t explain how I feel, words won’t do justice.

The next morning, beautiful. We have visitors in the form of three cute girls from a ranch a few bays down. We chat, then offer them some of the freah shellfish that we scooped out of the beach, and have steamed open with tequila and lime juice. After an hour they say farewell and continue on their journey. We ask ourselves how this trip could get any better. Suddenly, a boat appears from nowhere, looks like a thirty footer or so, and it anchors up close to the beach. Out of the cabin appears a 70 year old grey bearded man. Naked. We take it as a sign from God to leave asap. Josh remarked later that he had never seen a camp packed so efficiently.

Mulege, Kareoke, Pig Races and Presidential Retreats

Back in Mulege we return the kayak, and head out for dinner. After dinner we had planned to meet up with the girls we had met earlier that day in the local gringo bar. We round the corner and… catastrophy! The bar is closed, and has been for a few hours. Ah well, we buy some cheap beer and walk around for a bit, come accross a local bar where they are singing mexican kareoke. Awesome. It appears the regulars have three favorite songs, because we sang those same three songs over and over again for 2 hours (between beers). We stumble out of the bar, hop aboard Daves jeep and head back to Ecomundo.

Let me introduce Eco-mundo. Located on one of the small beaches south of Mulege, it was an eco alternative to staying in a hotel. Grass hutts adorn the beach, each with a solar panel to power a light and a fan, and a comfy bed with foam mattresses inside. It’s also abandoned - the owner had a tax problem apparently. A Federale tax problem. He split, leaving everything as it is, and is now trying to sell the place apparently. Dave had discovered the deserted complex, and had been camped there previously. We pull up and get a roof, nice comfy bed and toilets for free. The next day we head back to Mulege for the annual pig race, a fundraising event for the local *something*. Sadly it has become a haven for old gringos to drink beer and eat hot dogs. We say Hi to a bunch of familiar faces, and after the event we meet Tim and Loren for the first time. You know, those crazy cats with the 70cc scooter?

Also after the event I meet a guy named Dal. He’s a retired american, around 50 or so. After yarning about my bike for a while, and the fact that it needed desperate maintenance, he offered the survices of his garage and tools… sweet! Dave, Josh, Laren and Tim all head to Lorretto early the next day, while I head out to Dal’s ranch - Rancho La Vantana. It turns out this is an ex-presidential retreat, Dal produces photos of Ronald and Nancy Reagan standing in what is now his living room. He also shows me a photo John Wayne visiting the ranch. Dal himself used to train the FBI and CIA in hostage negotiations. He also blows a mean Jazz Sax, and while I parked up on his porch cleaning my bike, he introduces me to a band called ‘The Nightcrawlers’. These guys were some of the top jazz players in the world, coming together in a traditional New Orleans Brass Band format, which pretty much blew my mind. Guys, find their CD. Listen to it.

Having finshed up at Dals, I hit the road to Lorretto. It’s already dark, and the drive is pretty much uninteresting, I arrive around 11pm and meet up with the others.

La Paz…. Carnival!

We arrived the night before the weeklong carnival was schedualed to begin. This week is a bit of a blur. We found a nice cheap hotel room and between the 5 of us it worked out to around $3nz per person per night. This was good, as I pretty much blew my budget out on too much good mexican beer. Tim, Loren, Josh and I crossed over to Mazatlan via the ferry for the last few night of the carnival on the main land, while Dave continued his adventure further south. After carnival in Mazatlan we worked our way down the pacific coast, stopping at Caimanera and Mexicalitan. It was here that we said godbye to Tim and Loren, and tackled the road from Ruiz to Zacatecas.

… and i’ve run out of time! Today we leave Zacatecas, heading south to Guanajuato for 3 or 4 days, then down to Acapulco and the beach. I’ll try try try to get up to date when we get there, for now you can enjoy Josh’s account of our crossing over from the pacific coast to Zacatecas, and some new photos.

Day 1 Off the Beaten Track

Dawn in Mexcaltitan spurs the sandflies into action and by extension ourselves. Described by Lonely Planet as Mexico’s version of Venice, it is a small settlement of about 500 on an island surrounded by wetland. An hour’s drive from the highway, life for locals here means work in fishing the plentiful marshes. Bird-life is abundant also and the area stands as an isolated oasis among arid rolling scrub that otherwise dominates the small state of Nayarit.
A half hour walk satisfies our curiosity of the town - we have walked along every street. It is difficult to find a restaurant that is open; in a town like this, it is obvious they don’t eat out for breakfast often. People exit their houses with their breakfasts in tin foil pouches as the move to work. We have the choice of two stalls, opting for the school canteen which happily serves us toasted buns of ham and glasses of orange cordial. The sky is a clear deep blue and the temperature mild. I am glad for this and keen to get on the road. Jon and I are today leaving our travelling friends Tim and Lauren who we have met in Baja. A young Kiwi and his Australian girlfriend they are traversing Mexico on a Chinese scooter bought in a Mexican department store. And we thought we were daring! We made great friends but the call of the road beckons as does the knowledge that we need to cover some distance.

I look through our map, keen to venture inland where cities like Zacatecas bear witness to Spanish conquest and architecture. All reports of travellers comment on this region’s sense of history and culture. Having decided to spend more time in the small villages and bypass Mexico city, we felt we could not miss a flavour of the heartland of the country. Our map does not bode good news. Our route is blocked by a sierra necessitating a long ride north to reach our destination. The road into the sierra stops abruptly but on the map, resumes about 200 kms later on the other side of the range. I consider what this means; either the range is impassable or the road is minor and used by the local population. Given the distance required to reach Zacatecas by highway I am confident of a route.

*******

“Look, look un explorador!” A young boy jumps and points at me excitedly. Just 15 kms off the highway we are obviously the only tourists through the town of Ruiz today. Our motorcycles everywhere attract attention - it is rare to see a motorcycle larger than 200cc anywhere in Mexico. In town however people openly stop, stare and point. When off the bike, the reaction is similar. Comment has been passed that with my red jacket and motocross pants I closely resemble a power ranger. Thus I do not know if it is my garish outfit, white skin, unwashed and unkempt appearance or fledgling beard that provokes such bewilderment (in Mexico every month is Movember, the style of upper lip seems to be a mark of one’s station in life). I stop and ask a policeman about the road ahead who confirms it exists and easily passable by motorbikes. The day is now warm and I am told the drive is likely to be about eight hours before reaching the other side. I quickly find a fruit shop and stumble across a prize - fresh green peas and crunchy apples. We mount our trusty steeds and set off into the unknown road. I have nothing more than a compass and a map which doesn’t show the road or the town names but am assured, ‘there is only one road to follow’. “Did you see him, did you see him?, shouts the boy to his parents as we move on.

It is evident that we are in for an experience of spectacular scenery, such is the deep green country we pass through alongside the river. Obviously attracting some precipitation, the trees are tall, strong and green. The foothills of the sierra consist of steep ridges with rocky outcrops piercing through the forest and the tarmac winds gradually up. We stop by the river in the early afternoon for a swim. Two boys are swimming in the river and I jump in. They have spears for fishing rigged similarly to a sling and wait for a fish to cross their path. The water is beautifully warm but the current is weak and some form of algae is in the water. I move over to some rocks and wash in the running water. We stumble across an orange tree and pluck some fruit from the branches. The oranges are not fully ripe but some are edible. After this we are back on the road. Within minutes the tarmac ends and a graded dirt road begins.

Coming across a small village there is a junction which I pass through. I decide to stop and check our directions with a family whose house is on the corner with no windows. They re gathered together for their afternoon meal but ask where we are from and confirm the road pass. I thank them and ride on but have to return when Jon doesn’t follow. He is waylaid which turns out to be a lose battery terminal which gives me an opportunity to speak to the family. Rogelio and his family welcome me to sit down and impress on us to try some of their food. They are eating tortillas and nopal - a popular type of cactus commonly eaten by Mexicans here. Rogelio explains that this is largely staple food for them. With the nopal, I am served beans and the tortillas have a purple hue, from unrefined maize. He unashamedly describes this as their lifestyle due to being poor and how it will keep you skinny. I am struck that people openly describe themselves as poor but in a village such as this I suppose everyone is of the same class and no one is ashamed of the fact. Everyone seems able to eat and I see no evidence of real poverty. These people have no industry other than food production and live a subsistence lifestyle. For their obvious lack of money they do not seem to want for much and ask more about New Zealand and volunteer their insight into Mexican life.I could happily sit here all night with such a friendly family but we have barely started on the road and we set on.

Leaving this village the track gets rougher and potholes emerge from passing traffic. Signs proclaim the government is establishing a road further north and some heavy traffic passes the other way. For our part we are very comfortable on the bikes but would not want to drive the road with less than a four wheel drive. This theory is blown apart when four Mexicans in a two door Hyundai blast past us the other way presumably heading home after a day’s work. We are not fresh and drive at a gentle pace, knowing we will be camping today. The main reason to ride slowly however is the staggering scenery. Passing through high ridges we look down sheer gorges and up to rock faces hundreds of metres high. The bush is arid but rich, reminiscent of dense Australian forest.

With about a half hour of daylight we look for a suitable camp site. Traffic is light but a space off the road would be preferable. The road gets rougher and our bikes are in their element, yet I wonder at the state of mind of the light trucks driven through here. Descending a steep track, we find ourselves at the bottom of a gorge next to a river when we come across a truck and an old Ford pickup with Mexicans head-down under the bonnet. I ask them if they need help. ‘Are you a mechanic?,’ they ask, which I am not. Their fuel pump is not working and they can explain that the carburettor is not being fed gas. The owner of the truck speaks English and asks a little of where we are from and what we are doing. He explains that they will seek a mechanic in the next town and return. His two companions are quiet but seem friendly. One produces a half-full bottle of tequila and I have a swig. Smooth and warming, he smiles at my approval of the drop. The Mexicans do not seem in any hurry so I seek a camp site down by the river. I consult a passing woman who confirms that it should be safe to camp down by the river - there seems to be no question of permission. The site is currently occupied by cows who quickly abandon their position to my tent. I pitch the tent and while Jon is pitching his I walk to the truck which has started up and is heading down the road. They are going to eat under a bridge of the river before leaving and invite us along. I accept and tell Jon to come along. He is reluctant and voices a fear that they may be trying to separate us from our possessions. I dismiss his misgivings out of hand but when he asks me to return to the campsite for his cigarettes I happily comply. I disagree with his reading of the situation but when suspicious it’s best to follow your intuition. No one is near our gear and I return to our friends who share a roast chicken with us and tell us to eat as much as we want.

Although the men are not aggressive, there is a strange feel in the gathering. Otoniel introduces himself and explains he lived in Santa Barbara for some years where he learned English. He is erratic in his speech and I see that the bottle of the tequila is now empty. He explains his is from Tepic, 200 kilometres to the south and wants us to visit him there. The other men say nothing and I watch them closely more out of Jon’s sense than any feeling of ill-ease. Conversation shifts abruptly and Otoniel asks us if we smoke drugs. The missing piece fits and we do not say much. I merely nod as Otoniel sways from side to side. I am not comfortable in discussion with the men but there is no hint of aggression. They are obviously just interested in our company than harming us. Curiosity gets the better of me and I ask them what they carry in Spanish. Otoniel looks toward the sky and for the first time his strongly accented English stutters as he searches for a reply, ‘well, we are carrying, horse…stuff’. His companion doesn’t speak English and makes no bones about their cargo. ‘Mota’. Everyone laughs but the Spanish-speaking men shift a little nervously on their feet. It is time to cut our contact. The men are friendly but there is no assurance they will stay this way and Otoniel certainly appears to be wired. ‘Drugs are not so bad. I smoke drugs 20 years and I still work, every day.’ I ask the men about their plan for the mechanic and they decide they have stopped for long enough, to my relief. Otoniel who has been on his feet smoking a cigarette turns and says, ‘we will go now to find the mechanic and bring him back to fix my fucking… fucking truck.’ He reaches into his pocket, says he wants to give me a present and hands me a rock of crack. I am perplexed and what is going on but want no part of the drugs and give it back to him. ‘Man, we aren’t going to smoke this. It is better you keep it.’ Otoniel accepts his parcel back but the men give me the rest of the chicken, back their truck on the river rocks and disappear up the road ahead leaving a surreal situation and we comprehend exactly what has just happened. We have just tried to help broken-down drug runners who befriended us and offered us drugs.

We return to the camp and discuss moving on but there was no hint of bad intentions with the men. Out of sight from the road, we decide that drug-runners would have little to gain by hurting us but the encounter leaves us nervous. For their part they seemed to be genuinely interested in us.

We set a campfire more for interest than any warmth and share our remaining beer while Jon plays his guitar. We both relax and eat the rest of the chicken.
I estimate the time to be about 8pm when we are astounded to see a 5 metre semi descending the gorge. As stated before I was astounded at Mexicans driving their car on the road with deep potholes and large rocks and to see a truck cross this road was mind-blowing. Jon and I look at each other flabbergasted when another truck is heard. Then another, and another in convoy making about 8 in total. What could their cargo be, and why would you drive trucks through this road, at night? The conclusion seems obvious and we are glad to be out of sight but can do nothing about our campfire. Luckily the trucks pay us no attention but the consequences of being seen are unknown. It is 20 minutes before we relax and believe the road to be clear again. It seems in finding a road on no map we have stumbled across Mexico’s second economy. We douse the fire soon after and retreat to our tents not feeling threatened but a little puzzled at the contrasts of peasants and modern trucks. Dogs howl at one stage which echoes through the gorge and this sets off the seemingly ever-present roosters making a spooky symphony as we fall asleep.

Day 2 Through the Sierra
We get up at sunrise and pack quickly. Jon has been up for some time as dew wet his sleeping bag and I didn’t sleep well on a riverbed of rocks. We set off before breakfast and the scenery improves further. Essentially sheer rock faces and steep forested descents into deep gorges the sierra is complex and the road flanked by pine trees. We see more people by the road, walking to their tasks. The dress has gradually changed and the women are generally in indigenous dress, bright colours and wide dresses. The men still seem to have acquired baseball caps and grubby T-shirts but some wear the indigenous clothing also. They are attractive people, dark leathered skin but handsome. We pass through a small town and are uniformly stared at although people smile and wave in friendly fashion. Leaving the town, there is a working party repairing the road with lumps of dirt. Numbering about 100, everyone stops to see the spectacle of two large red motorbikes fully loaded. Moving on, the next village has working parties on the descent above the road. A group of three teenaged girls stand around shovels dressed in smart aqua blue, red, and yellow dresses. They are filling in potholes presumably caused by the trucks the previous night. I wonder what motivates these people to repair the road and wonder if they are doing this to allow their own passage or are doing this under some form of kickback from the convoys. Whatever the reason, it is a strange sight for a simple people.
I notice outside some of the stick huts solar panels so there is some commercial impact here. Pensive, I have no one to ask about the road or the trucks and it seems best to move on. We are still in the heart of the mountains and the temperature is mild, the air crisp.
We reach the town of Jesus Maria about 11 am, still deep in the mountain. We stop and purchase bread and fruit for breakfast and decide to push on. Traffic here is heading east towards Zacatecas including an ambulance and a police ute packed deep with hitchhikers on the back. Another ute stops by the store packed with people and they ask where we are from. They jokingly ask if one of the girls can ride with us and then set off on the road. When we catch up with and overtake them they are shouting, whistling and pointing out my would-be-companion. I blow them a kiss and set off on the road but can not relax too much. Although definitely ridable the road has several deep divots and troughs and I need to pay attention around sharp corners for nasty surprises lurking. Passing the ambulance, I get a deep feeling of irony and back off on the throttle a little. Thankfully we pass through unscathed and continue along the road for Zacatecas. I stop and confirm with a red ute that we are on the right road and they point us further on. 10 minutes later we come across a sign pointing ahead with distances for Jesus Maria and Ruiz - where we have come from. I check my compass but the ridge is heading south. I was sure we were heading on the right road. Closer inspection shows that the sign has been hit and swung around so as to point the wrong way. Only in Mexico. We climb steep ridges with large rocky sections. A fully loaded truck approaches from the other direction bouncing alarmingly along. I stop and stare at them, mystified at their progress. They wave back and I see they are loaded with 3 king size beds and many large beams. Hopefully delivery was included in the cost!

We stop at the next village by a fork in the road to confirm our choice and are temporarily responsible for stopping a game of volleyball. The red jeep swings through and explains that they are going to Zacatecas and we can follow them along the gravel. They then launch their vehicle down the road at about 90 km/h streaming dust everywhere. 5 minutes later they stop with a flat tire. We stop grudgingly and discover that it is their second puncture and they have no way to get to a ‘Llantera’ puncture repair in the next town. They ask if I can dub one of them in with the tire on the back. I am hesitant about how this can work. There is no real way to secure the tire as there would be no space for the passenger.

I unload my equipment, strap the tire on the back and my unwitting pillion Vicente gets on. Vicente works for the state government as an architect and together with his companions travels the state looking to assist the villagers quality of services. They have a vast distance to cover to do their job and it is certainly not easy. My immediate concern however is for my overloaded bike on the difficult road.

Riding over essentially dirt with large rocks jutting out, there is no gentle route through and I aggressively use the throttle to pull myself down the track and keep balance. The rear suspension groans in protest and I don’t like the abuse. I gradually slow down to lessen the impact but abruptly a hill in the road forces my hand. Deep dust to about 6 inches is up ahead and I must go full throttle over an unknown track. Bone dry, the dust resembles icing sugar coating a bed of unseen rocks. Suddenly the front tire rears to the right in response to a rock and the bike is beyond my control weaving to and fro with nothing to find traction on. I adopt full panic mode, keeping the throttle on as well as I can and kicking the bike back up where she seems about to surrender and lie down. Blessing that quality boots are, this kick rights the rear tire enough to gain traction and I am able to stop and keep the bike upright. I order Vicente to walk the remaining 30 metre climb and blast through the hazard - no problem by myself yet a trap with so much weight. We reach another section soon after and Vicente walks again as a precaution. An army truck full of soldiers in battledress passes the other way. Another reminder that Mexico’s drug situation is real.

I am dreading another 10 kms of riding two up but we are directed to a llantera only 5 minutes away. We enter a small village of about 30 houses and search out our man. Jose is a weather-beaten wiry man who sends us to the store because he ran out of patches. It says something about Mexico’s utilitarian focus that the one corner store stocks two sizes of car patches.

While waiting on the puncture repair, we are directed to the school ground where women and children are sitting at school desks in the concrete basketball court. Each has their own food, tostadas or tamales and are selling these as a fundraiser for the local school. I wonder who they are trying to sell to exactly but we oblige a snack. The tamales are ground maize cooked in corn leaves seasoned with chile in the middle. This simple food, high in starch is filling and popular through Mexico as a staple. It is becoming evident that the food in Mexico is based around a tight budget as opposed to Argentinians’ relish for steaks and fine wines.

We return to the tire repair and decide that I will carry the repaired tire myself rather than have Vicente accompany me on the rough road. I strap a ratchet around the tire and pull away. The day is coming to an end and I am thinking of where we will stay. I make good time back to the truck where we replace the tire and return to pick up Vicente. They are thankful for the help and linger for a photo, sharing fuel and a bag of peanuts with us. Jose the llantera offers us two bed in his house and we are all set.

Jose comes from the beach city of Veracruz originally and moved to the mountains when he married his wife. They have 3 sons living in Zacatecas and one teenage daughter still living with them. With space from the departed sons, they rent a space to the local schoolteacher and together we spend a night asking about Mexico and fielding questions about New Zealand. Jose confirms the drug situation and says it is particularly dangerous right now. I am thankful to be off the road away from any potential trouble. It is a Saturday night and we watch a game of soccer on a 14 inch black and white television. They have to carry their drinking water from the communal tap in the village and cook over the top half of an oil drum adapted with a chimney through the roof. We eat more tamales and share a coffee. Jose openly discusses being poor but again without any suggestion of embarrassment. Children go to school until 12 here. The village has no way of attracting a secondary school teacher. In their company, with a bed to sleep on, their generosity is indicative of people we have so far met on the road. I sleep deeply and relax after an amazing two days travel.

Hey People!

It’s been a few weeks since I did a proper update to my journal, and if not for the insistence of my mum, the next entry may well have been ¨yay, i’m in Rio.¨ Josh has filled you in on a bunch of we’ve been doing, so instead of repeating the story, I’ll try and give you my view on things right from the beginning.

Our trip so far has played out much like some crazy 80’s movie - think ‘The Goonies’, or ‘The Wizard’, only with lots of Spanish speaking people. And motorbikes. Honest to god, in the four weeks or so we have been traveling we have met some of the craziest, kindest characters anyone can hope to have met, and have made some incredible friends. There are ALOT of stories, some best left untold over the internet methinks.

Here’s a map of our route through Baja (clicky):

And a whole bunch of photos I just pulled off of my camera….

As I type, my 5 amigos I have been sharing a hotel room with are still asleep. Wait, let me revise that. I think there’s a better term for what they are. Erm, passed-out. Yes.

We arrived in La Paz on Wednesday evening, just in time for CARNIVAL! - myself and Josh on motorbikes, Dave and Loren in his Jeep, and Tim on his tiny 70cc motorscooter. At this point, let me introduce Tim and Loren (kiwi and ozzy respectively): we met them whilst attending the annual pig race in Mulege (baja), and hit it off immediately. They are driving this tiny wisp of a motorbike the whole way down to Acapulco, via the town of Tequila. In fact calling it a motorbike is stretching it. The thing isn’t even registered, no plates, no nothing. Tim says with a good tale wind, down hill, he can hit 90ks an hour. They get 150 k’s on a full tank (2 litres), and have been carrying petrol in drink bottles in order to get all the way down baja, then across to the main land. Say it with me…… ccccccrazy. I promise promise promise to get a photo of these two up soon. But first things first, its time I got everyone up to date in a nice ordered blurb.

California Blurb

This trip would not have been possible without the help, support and kindness of Torsten & Tineke, Patrick M, and Bob & Julianne in San Francisco. We are forever grateful.

From Walnut Creek, San Francisco, we departed on coldish morning down Highway 101, and then on to Highway 25 at Torsten’s suggestion. Torsten road with us for the first day, and together we leaned into the beautiful curves and took in the beautiful scenery. Highway 25 is well known among local bikers a great road, with ranches dotted around every few miles, it transitions between green trees/hills and dusty yellow grass. Tiny ground squirrels (with a death wish) scurried across the road in front of us. As the afternoon wore on, Torsten departed for home, and we made our way to the Corizzo plains to camp – a beautiful vast valley of nothing but long grass (there are a few photos of this in the California directory).

It was here that we ran into our first teething issues – our Coleman Dual-Sport cooker from Wal-Mart (hey, we’re on a budget) seemed to be designed to shoot Kerosene out it’s sides, like an angry squid. We opted for couscous and tuna cooked on the fire – yum! The next day we packed up and hit the road, aiming to visit a Wal-Mart in a main centre to fix our camp-stove woes. Unfortunately, this turned out to be Bakersfield – and we almost didn’t escape. An nice way to describe Bakersfield would be ‘pollution filled shit-hole’. The road to Bakersfield is a dusty one, with large trucks kicking up clouds. Oils pumps chug away slowly every couple of miles.

On the way to Bakersfield we had lunch at a truck stop, where we struck up conversation with a 70 year old trucker from North Carolina, named Shelby. Shelby chewed our ear for a bit, then bought us a shower each! He showed us his truck, then gave us 20 dollars to buy some breakfast - what a great guy! Took his mail address, and promised to send him some postcards

At the Walmart we swapped the stove for a new one, and figured we had better try it out before we took off. We filled it with Kerosene and let it rip. Uh oh. Within a minute the whole thing is on fire…. in the middle of a Walmart parking lot. Stamp stamp stamp sweet. We returned the remains for a refund and a dirty look, and decided to buy a propane element and a couple of canisters…. not really what we wanted (who knows where we can buy the canisters further south?), but we needed to get out of this city. It was then that Josh blew a fuse, and his lights went out - we needed to stop and fix it as it was pretty dark by now. We pull up in a parking lot to change Josh’s fuse, a half hour job as we need to pull bits off of the bike, and in the parking lot next to us is a monster truck doing wheelies. No one else around, just some guy who owned a monster truck and felt he should take it out and do some wheelies. We got out of that city faster then was strictly legal.

The next few days we arched our way up north east, into Death valley and down. Death valley was beautiful, in a desolite way. Very dusty, but calm. We lost a few hours on our way out there due to a slight detour to see some Pinacle shaped rocks in the middle of a high valley (which was at one time a lake). This is where we lay down our bikes for the first time, a few of you guys have asked about it. We were doing some dirt riding, josh went up a steep slope which curved right over the top, and couldn’t quite get around, so hit the brakes and jumped off - I did the same thing in an attempt not to hit Josh. This is the start of my chain issues actually - my chain slipped of the sprocket as it went down, it had stretched out a hell of a lot in only three days (my bad for not checking its tension earlier). I spent a half hour re-sesting the chain, then we were off again. As I type, I’m organizing a brand new chain after only 4000 miles - this one just hasn’t stopped stretching, even after keeping it clean and lubed.

We met a few cool people at our camp sites. I had had enough of desolate beauty by the time we had got on the road. We swung down highway 5 straight into LA, to meet a friend of Josh’s, and hopefully a free nights sleep and shower. LA is what I expected - big, commercial, eh. We got up early the next day and drove along Mulholland Drive, then through Sunset Strip. Eh, at least I can say I’ve done it I guess. We headed south down the Pacific Coast Highway, which heads through Venice Beach, Laguna Beach. Cool, at least I get to drive through a bunch more famous places. Oh look, another McKFCjackintheboxPizzaHuttWalmart. Dang, the traffic has stopped again. Disappointing, much.

San Diego was great, my favorite city in the US. It reminded me a lot of a city in Australia, had a very Brisbane feel. We stayed for two nights at a hostel called the Banana Bungalow, right on Pacific Beach. It was great - I rocked out with a great guy named Cory, a digital engineer from New York, and also a fellow guitarist. He had a tiny guitar/banjo with him that I played the hell out of it. Met some great people, and had a hell of a time. On our second day in San Diego, Josh took his bike to Mike Cawlishaw, the KLR king himself. Mike fabricates the famous doohickey fix for the KLR. With this fix done, Mike helped him adjust his valves, and then invited us out for dinner with himself and his wife Geneva, at ‘The BBQ Pit’. Mmmmm Awesome.

While Josh was tinkering with his bike, I wandered around the city, and ended up in walking right into the middle of an anti-war parade. Pulled out my camera, snapped off a bunch of photos and took a video - nice. It actually gave me goose-bumps when the 3000ish people all started chanting. Some old hippy guy handed me a newsletter for the communist party of the US, heh. They marched off down the street for a few blocks, I followed for a bit, then went back to find Josh.

Entering MmmMEXICO! My Impressions

Entering Mexico from the US was much like going through a tunnel and entering another world. Completely, utterly different, within all of 3 metres from the border. The roads are much rougher here, and trash litters the highway. In our travels down into Baja, it is not uncommon to see the wrecks of cars littered on the side of the road… but that’s the thing i’ve come to learn (and love) about Mexico. Totally utilitarian. Who cares what it looks like, as long as it runs and does its job. 95% of the cars on the road are 20-30 years old, with rust, huge dents. I’ve seen no less then 50 cars that look completely written off, but still cruise around the streets no problemo. An they can keep them running! Why buy a new one if you can keep this old one running for another 20 years. When they finally die, they are stripped, and left where they lay. Baja California at times looks completely post-apocalyptic…. think the Mad Max movies. Again, with trash… people just throw it away. I hear that they are trying to change peoples attitudes to trash in Baja by placing bins around the place. I have seen a few of then on Highway one, they hadn’t been emptied in a few weeks.

The streets are the same, with the exception of Highway 1, which runs straight down through Baja, most paved roads are crumbling a bit, and the dirt roads. Oh, those dirt roads. Calling them dirt roads would be a compliment. There’s a reason that almost every car in Baja is a four wheel drive. Someone along the way (I forget who) was telling me that dirt roads in Mexico are straight up the worst in the world. I would not disagree.

Despite this, Mexican people take incredible pride in their appearance. Even the poorest people are clean, tidy, always well groomed. I have seem virtually no one with stubble on their face. Because of this I have begun shaving as regularly as possible, and the fine crop of a beard I had grown in the states had to come off. I have carved out a fine Mustache and Goatee. That’s right, I am Mustached.

Tecate to Ensenada

We crossed over the border at Tecate, opting to avoid the craziness of Tijuana. Mexico has an open border, you just wander on in. No check, no nothing, except for a bored looking Federale officer standing around. Going out of Mexico is a different story I believe. Anyway, the Federale informed us that the guy who issues Tourist cards was ’sick’ today, and we should pick them up in Ensenada. We headed down Highway 1 for Ensenada.

We arrived in Ensenada, found a hotel, and parked up for the night. With the bikes and our gear stashed, we walked around the place in the evening, taking in the sights and the sounds. I must confess, I was not really at ease in Ensenada. It had a seedy element to it, plus the fact I was in a strange new country with no grasp of the language. Josh was the same, but faired better then myself, being able to switch into Spanish for the first time in our trip. I’ve heard Ensenada is a smaller version of Tijuana, there are quite a few strip clubs, plus signs everywhere offering cheap Viagra/valium/whatever. Josh described it as very gringo-centric, it was apparent most of their money came from tourists stopping in off cruise ships, tours, etc. We ate our first proper Mexican Taco, then headed to bed.

The next day we headed to the Immigration office to sort out our Tourist cards. It was here that we had our first encounter with Dave. I now like to think of Dave as the cool older brother I never had. A chilled out guy all the way from Virginia, an avid fan of Van Halen (he’s seen them five time, once with Sound Garden opening), Motley Crew (he saw Guns and roses open for them), etc, he runs his own Kayak Tour Business and shop. Our inital meeting was subdued, we said high, then waited for the office to sort out our papers. The day wore on after that, I think I made a half hearted attempt to update the website, and it was pretty late before we got on the road.

Ensenada to San Felipe.

When we finally rolled into San Felipe it was already dark. Yes, we were driving at night in Mexico… not the smartest idea, and certainly one of our rules was infact to never drive at night. But yes, we’re also slackers. After arriving in the city, we pulled down a few side streets, and arrived at a place called Keke’s. Keke’s has a great setup, where you can camp on an open air hutt on stilts, some 3 metres off the ground. We lay out our air mattresses, an we were sorted. A quick glance at the hutt next to us, on the other side of a fence. No way. Dave right next to us, chilling in his Hutt

A bit more about Dave. He loaded up his old jeep with a couple of Kayaks, a Surfboard, a Kite-boarding rig and a skate board, plus enough food and supplies to camp for a month, and headed south from Virginia. His intention? To find the most deserving person/fisherman in the South of Baja (devastated by hurricane John), and to give away his beloved Jeep. However, Dave’s jeep has no clutch. No. Clutch. He starts the Jeep in first (or reverse), and changes gear through finding the right RPM and slamming the lever into place. He also starts the jeep with a set of pliers, as the key mechanism broke at some point. Concentrated awesome.

We chat with Dave for a while, and he offers us a paddle in his Kayaks. I opt to clean my chain while Josh and Dave head out into the bay. Pretty soon Dave appears, and tells me to get the hell out there. A school of Dolphins has appeared, and are jumping all around Josh´s boat in the distance…. I get out there hella quick. For the next half hour we paddle around, and watch dolphins swim under and around us. As I head back for sure, an entourage of 6 dolphins glide along next to me….. wow. Holy wow. I keep thinking that this is the sort of thing that doesn’t actually happen to people in real life, only in the movies man.

After the dolphin encounter, we talk tell Dave of our plans to head south along the Sea of Cortez side of Baja, and of our plan to hit the infamous ‘Road to Gonzaga Bay’ (’Road’ in the loosest sense of the word). Our friends Torsten and Tineke have a house around 40 k’s south of San Felipe, and have offered to let us camp on their front lawn for a few days. When you’ve been camping for a few weeks, a table and chairs on a deck is a real luxury. After chatting with Dave, he comes with us to camp out for the night. That night Dave pulls out a hug bag of fresh shrimp and fish he had obtained straight off of the fishing boat earlier that day (I believe they sent him on a beer run as payment). We have more shrimp then we can eat, and Josh cooks up a great seafood chowder with big chunks of fish. We are happy.

For the next few days we chill out at camp Torstens-house, while dave departs the next day to tackle the ‘Road’. I think I tried to update the site at this point as well… bah. We scared Torstens neighbours pretty good rocking up to his house to set up camp at about 7 o’clock at night (it was already pretty dark)

Part Two Tomorrow!

Thats right, this only the story up to San Felipe. Tomorrow i’ll get everyone up to date, all the way down to La Paz, and the week long carnival. This includes The ‘Road’ to Gonzaga Bay, the mission at San Borja, Kayaking and camping in the Bay of Conception, attending the annueal Mulege Pig Race, meeting Tim and Loren, visiting an ex-presidential ranch retreat, sitting on the same toilet as Ronald and Nancy Regan, Visiting numerous strip clubs, dancing on stage with the La Paz carnival queen and princesses (in front of three thousand stunned mexicans), Josh’s drunken attempt to climb a coconut tree that resulted in an entire street stopping, paying off the cops for pissing on the beach….. and getting quite drunk. I just got yelled at by a drunken Loren for spending four and a half hours on a computer…. hope ya´ll appreciate it!

For now, you can enjoy the photos that i’ve pulled off of my camera. I’ll try and get Josh’s sorted tommorrow. For those that were moaning about a lack of captions (pat! ), i’ve added some filenames to give you the jist of things. Hey, look mum, I updated! Woo!

Peace, love,
Jonno.

Moving on from Campo Archelon in town, the sun predictably greets us to a deep blue sky and still calm clear waters that entice complete relaxation. Sleeping in a cot under a palapa on the beach front it is tough to imagine how one could wake up in better circumstances.

But we must move on and we roll out of bed. I have inveigled Dave to buy eggs the previous night so cook an omelette and scrounge some coffee out of the pot. I imagine this is how British explorers must have created their own civilised morning with tea and crumpets all the time sticking out like a sore thumb in foreign lands. It works for us and we get on the road well fed. We fill up with gas and I set my sights on Mision San Borja, inland on the route to San Ignacio. The road is rough but spectacular; cacti dwarf our bikes and the road twists like a snake. I am in my element – having had a mountain bike suddenly I have the freedom to defy rugged tracks and gnarly rocks. I run smooth lines but must watch my speed. With every moment of complacency a sharp corner in deep sand challenges the rider to simply stay on the road. The road rises sharply up a ridge and I spot a bike swallowing hollow. The dirt road dips from wear and then juts to reach over a large rock. I slow and standing on my footpegs, run on the very edge of the road around it- Phew! I motor on – my bike is very warm already and I am uncomfortable leaving it idle in the fierce sun. After 300 metres I slow to wait Jon’s headlights in my mirror. I count to ten with a growing concern. 30 seconds more. Nothing. I walk back and the bike is on it´s side near the precipice of the trail.

Jon has hit the hole I managed to avoid. He has passed through this but it knocked his line to the left and towards an uncertain fate at least 2 metres below the roadside. Jon manages to stay on the road but has laid down his bike in doing so. It doesn’t look pretty; his crash bars have bent and there is some leak of fuel on a part I don´t recognise (I was later to discover this related to the California emission reduction system).

I am discouraged but Jon keeps his cool. Ascertaining that the fuel is coming from a loose fitting hose a zip tie staunches the drip. The crash bars are realigned with a gentle boot and Jon will survey the damage out of the sun.

We push on to San Borja. On arrival it does not disappoint. Imposing in white brick, it is a stark contrast to the desert we have ridden through. The mission was founded by Jesuits in 1700 and the existing structure built in 1762. The ruins of the original building remain but it´s replacement is impressive. About 30 metres tall, inside is a cool refuge from a hot sticky day.

We are greeted by Henaro, a friendly, stocky young Mexican whose family have been caretakers of the mission for generations. About my age, it is difficult for me to make conversation with someone who knows exactly what they will be doing with their life. But Henaro is generous with the history and walks us through examples of Jesuit, Franciscan and Dominican remnants (the mission has changed between three orders according to the history of Spanish subjugation of Indians and thirst for gold. This mission was founded by the Jesuits in the middle of a desert oasis. Near a spring they were guaranteed a local population to convert and later enslave for gold and glory. As the Jesuits became more sympathetic to the local Indian populace the landowners and Spanish crown ejected them from the new world in favour of religious orders with a different point of view. This history is approximately mirrored right through Latin America).

Henaro walks us up the bell tower, high enough to wish there was a guardrail and explains the restoration work his family are doing. As we are leaving I avoid a cow pat which he picks up to explain how they harden the bricks mixing the dung with mud to make adobe suitable to bear a load. My Spanish struggles with his explanation but I manage to understand. They grind up the dried dung into a powder which is then blended in before the bricks are fired. To demonstrate Henaro dumps his sneaker into a large cow shit. ¨Oops, this one isn´t dry yet¨. Brilliant.

The day is moving on and we haven´t made much ground or had lunch yet. We motor to a little town of Rosalito. There is no sign marking the approach of town, houses just spring up alongside the dirt. I slow down a little but as I do so have an extremely close call. Two roads merge together with no warning and a truck pulls across without seeing me. I slam on the brakes and move to the right of the truck but he keeps coming across my line andI am running out of road. At last my bike comes to a stop about 2 metres from the Mexicans´ bumper. His passenger saw me and they stop to apologise. I make a nervous joke. After a close call there is not much more to do. I need food.

We eat quickly, aware that we are losing light and have a 2 hour ride yet.

On the road it becomes obvious we are losing light but against my feeling we push on. We only ride for 30 minutes in the dark but it is enough for me to know I don’t like it. Riding the highway by day one passes cows, goats, and horses roaming loose. I don´t like the possibility of meeting one at night.

The campground is full but we are directed to a restaurant which gives us a cabaña for 10 dollars and has two beautiful young children who touch the motorbike and tell us about their school. We go to bed tense from a difficult day but we are glad for a comfortable bed.

San Felipe
I was woken at sunrise by the light in my palapa about 6.30 am. I rubbed the sleep off my eyes and surveyed the new surroundings in daylight. I was in San Felipe surrounded by RVs having slept in the open on above a one story palm-thatched hut with no walls known as a palapa looking east over the Sea of Cortez. With Jon we had made poor time here arriving in the gathering dusk and chose our accommodation at complete stuttering random.

Fortune has a way of choosing the best path sometimes and we were in luck. Our next door neighbour was Dave, a shaggy-haired sun-bleached fellow from Virginia USA. Contrary to other Baja tourists, Dave didn´t have an RV and hadn´t flown in by plane. He had a beat-up red jeep with no clutch, two kayaks, kiteboarding equipment and about anything else you can imagine stocked to the gunwales of his transport. A fellow traveller, Dave has a quiet time in his business he exploited to lay his beloved jeep to rest on a trip across the United States and down the Baja peninsula where it will be donated to a local he determines most worthy. We had first chatted to him queuing for tourist cards in Ensenada. Neither of us had planned to be in San Felipe and we jointly agreed that this was a sign that we should drink beer and sit around a campfire.

San Felipe is a beautiful stretch of golden beach at the north-east coast of Baja California. Ease of reach to the United States makes an attractive proposition for lifestyle living and it seems there are as many white faces as Mexican here. This is a challenging situation for us travelling as we are. It is easy to see the negative impact this is having, inflating beach property beyond the wildest dreams of what a Mexican family could hope to earn yet it is difficult to argue with the attractive proposition of the laid-back easy life evident. Prices may be quoted in greenbacks but people are friendly and cordial.

Come the morning, Jon is ashen-faced. His new chain appears to have corroded in the links in mysterious circumstances and seems unfortunate given his effort to set-up the bike. I sympathise with him for a time but am unable to help his situation. I decide my only assistance can be to encourage him to fix his problems before we go on. Whilst mulling these issues, distraction comes quickly. Dave is paddling his kayak in the beach and has a second on the sand with a paddle ready to go. Suddenly a school of porpoise and dolphins emerge around Dave and there is no way I will wait on the shore. I drag the kayak into the water and paddle out gingerly, a strange sensation being on the water after so much travel. The dolphins are bottlenose and the dark porpoise are a species unique to the Sea of Cortez.

The dolphins are a joy to behold and venture within metres of our boats. They appear to be feeding as they can be seen in a vast ring around whilst the bulk of the school dive and emerge frequently. About 100 in total, many are curious and follow the kayak`s lines. After half an hour of paddling I return to shore and am escorted back by a group of six dolphins on a windless day under a deep blue sky.

A boat is moored in the harbour and Dave ventures out laden with beer in an attempt to purchase some fresh fish. They are eager to have him aboard and seat him down to a lunch of handfuls of shrimp. When the captain awakes from his siesta he speaks to Dave and thrusts money in his hand. Dave doesn´t comprehend at first but it dawns on him that he is being sent on a beer run. On returning with the cerveza in hand he is loaded up with halibut, assorted small fish, and several kilograms of fresh shrimp.
Ever the opportunist I take the chance to invite him to our campsite and we spend our next night camped on the back porch of some friends 40 kilometres south of San Felipe on a golden sand beach with more shrimp than we can eat and a new friend.

At last I am in Mexico.

Bumps on the Road to Rio

Our time in San Felipe is a great opportunity to relax and unwind the stress of organising the bikes in the United States. We take three days of essential idleness tending to camping and make friends with the neighbours, Randy and Carol. Lovely people, they take us out to dinner at a local restaurant we would never have found and are very interested in our trip and bend our ear about their experiences. They love the alternative to life in the United States and seeing their morning walk along the beach, their dog is one of the luckiest around.

With reluctance Jon and I acknowledge that the road ahead beckons and we load up our bikes for a road of unknown quality. Through Puertocitos and down Bahia San Luis Gonzaga, we hope to arrive in the beautiful Bahia Los Angeles on a long day. The remnants of Highway 5 the road now is 150 km of rough washboard interspersed with deep gravel and sand stretches. The riding is challenging and exhilarating but takes toll on our bikes. I lose my speedometer cable and unknown to me many of the bolts in my bolts are rattling themselves away. Meanwhile my concern is the heat my bike is generating at speeds lower than the highway.

Jon fares worse than me, having a fall in some extremely deep gravel. Distracted by a sign he allowed his line to fall off the worn grooves of previous vehicles and his bike goes over. Thankfully scratches and bent handlebars are the damage and Jon is fine. The heat is fierce and the road tough. We do not think his bike has sustained much damage and move on.

Gonzaga Bay is only 10 kms from us and it is late afternoon. We approach the petrol station and I am thinking we should camp on the beautiful beach when my options are reduced. I hear a piercing screech of metal and think Jon has either broken a chain or simultaneously run over four cats. He has in fact had his muffler fall off as both mounting bolts have vibrated out. Ironically the worst damage has occurred at the best place to break down and we move to a ranch across from the petrol station. The mechanic finds some bolts for Jon and doesn’t charge him to reattach the muffler. A lucky break. We pull up to the beach and get some head space. A beautiful beach trawled by pelicans, we socialise with a large family of Mexican men from Tijuana away for the long weekend as Monday is Mexico’s Independence day (dia de la constitucion). Charitable to a fold we share beers and photos around their fire. They have brought a satellite dish and are setting up to watch the super bowl the following day on the beach powered by their pickup truck.

We are tired from our day and early on retreat to our tent for some much needed sleep.

This is all I have typed up but I hope it conveys the great experiences we´re having and it´s difficult to fit it all in. Have seen and touched whales, paddled some amazing sights in Bahia Concepcion and just had a ball. We are heading to La Paz in two days so will continue to write up. Thanks for staying tuned.

Conspicuous by their absence we’re having trouble getting our writings typed up. Having set aside time in Mulege we stumble across a friend from the road, Dave. Dave is driving his Jeep from Virginia to Cabo (bottom of Baja) with two kayaks, kitesurfing skateboards and a great camera. We have borrowed his kayaks to paddle with dolphins and shared his great company. Now we are off the bikes for a 3/4 day paddling trip in the Bahia Concepcíon an area of world class paddling and scenery I would equate to the Marlborough Sounds. More detail to come but we’ve had an adventure already.

Mexican shops don’t seem to sell metric screws so our bikes are cobbled a little. We will make for Laredo or La Paz to patch up the damage before taking them off pavement again.

Until a few days take care of yourselves. I can promise some great photos.

Josh