Europe beckons

I arrived in France a few days ago to a warm reception by my parents, relieved that I still had four working limbs, and complete sets of fingers and toes. The long summer days of Nice, in the south of France, a contrast to the shorter days in Rio where the winter sun was setting in early afternoon. Beautiful, but a manicured beauty that I hadn’t seen since I had left New Zealand, and that doesn’t exist in the chaos of the Americas. The south of France is the playground of the seriously rich, and the bay’s of Nice are dotted with huge luxury boats and cruise liners chugging lazily back and forth. Suddenly everything changes… again.

Goodbye, America.

I flew out of Bogota on the 20th of June for Brazil, sadly leaving my bike in Medellin. Destination: Rio, Brazil. The plan was to spend a week there soaking up the sights, sounds and women before heading to Europe to seek fame and (hopefully) fortune. My connecting flight to Sao Paulo was through Lima, Peru… lining up to board the flight, the attendant asks everyone for their yellow fever certificates. Uh oh… my certificate had gone missing 4 months earlier (during the passport saga).

“Is there any way I can get on this plane?”
“No.”

Bugger… but a silver lining. The next flight isn’t till tomorrow night, so the airline is going to put me up in a hotel. I climbed into a cab around 2 in the morning, after sorting a new certificate, expecting the cab to drop me at a motel type thing. We arrive at the Hotel Sheraton. Hell. Yes. After 5 months worth of camping, cheap sex motels and cool (but cramped) youth hostels, this was worth losing one day in Brazil. First thing I did was pull 3 beers from the mini bar, and run myself a bath. Bliss.

Rio was a blast, I spent my time chillaxing on the beautiful Ipanema beach, taking in the sights. Mmmmmm.

Hey big guy….

… Onward Joshua

For Josh, the journey continues. I’ll still drop by now and then, to maintain the website (a labour of love to update ever since I built the thing way back in 2006) and to post a few little stories about our times on the road together

I’d like to thank so many people, but a special few stick in my mind for making this trip a possibility for me. My parents, who supported me even tho they raised their eyebrows in ‘yeah right’ fashion when I told them of my intentions. Bob and Julianne Stokstad for introducing us to the kindest, most helpfull riders group in the world. Torsten and Tineke, who put us up in their home in San Fran, gave us garage space, tools, and advice which I will never forget. Pat Moriarty for helping us out so much in preparing the bikes. Big Dave Burden for radiating awesome from ever pore. Randy and Carol in Baja for some awesome hotcakes. Lauren G and Timmy for providing some awesome times at carnival. Tim Morgan for being possibly the nicest guy I’ve ever met, helping us fix Joshes bike when it got vandalized, and being a great travel buddy.

And a big thank you to the readers that continued to check the site, and for leaving all those comments of encourgment. There are many more that made my travel time special, you all know who you are. Please, please stay in touch… I have emails on bits of scrap paper shooting out of the pockets of my travel pants. Love you guys.

And thats it! Europe beckons for me, and I’m already looking at the prices of good second hand bikes for some road tripping. For those watching our website, thinking to themselves “I’d love to do something like that”…. do it man! This trip has been the best thing I have ever done. Ever. I’d had 6 months experience riding motorbikes, and only an NZ learners licence, before I threw myself on to a plane. If anyone has any questions about the trip, feel free to leave a comment or flick me an email… happy to help where I can.

Dreams are funny things… there will always be someone out there to try and pull your dreams down, belittle your ideas, make you think they are unachievable, citing a veritable bingo sheet of discouraging terms such as ‘reason’, ‘reality’, ‘danger’ and ’syphilis’. Always someone to tell you it’s too dangerous to go someplace, even though they have never been and have no idea what it is actually like. But the thing is… YOU own your dreams. You decide what you will do and what you wont, don’t let anyone make your decisions for you.

Love you all.

Signing off… Peace, Jah love,
Jonno

Hey guys,

This is the end. I’m still in Medellin, but with only 30 days left before I need to be in Sao Paulo, Brazil, the motorcycle part of my trip is over. I fly from Bogota, Colombia, to Sao Paulo, Brazil on the 10th of June for a couple of weeks in Brazil, before jetting to Europe to achieve fame and fortune… or something

I plan to return to finish what I started in a few years time. I’ve fallen in love with this continent, its people. I’ll write at length in a few weeks about my feelings, but with still a month of travel left I haven’t even begun to mentally digest the journey (you can probably tell by my very occasional blog updating). Currently i’m sorting out how to store the bike in Colombia.

I’ve (finally) written upwards of 15,000 words, covering the last 3 months worth of traveling. Because of the length i’m spliting it up in to sections, and dropping a group of stories each night for the next week or so. This way its a bit easier to read

Last time I properly wrote I was back in San Pedro de Lagoona, Guatemala…..

(clicky)

Part 1

Leaving. Fucking. Sucks. - Tales from San Pedro de Lagoona, Guatemala

As I rolled out of San Pedro de Lagoona, Guatemala, climbing the face of the steep volcanic peaks that surround the lake, I tried to keep my eyes on the road. It was the perfect a morning, the slight mist that had hung over the lake for the past week burning off in the wake of a rising sun, lighting the still, crystal waters of lake Atitlan.

This was the morning I had made my mind up to leave. Originally planning to be in San Pedro for only a few days, it seemed that since I had arrived I was unconsciously finding reasons to stay longer. Not a hard task. But josh was waiting in Honduras, I couldn’t keep him waiting any longer. Wake up, wash my face, bag packed and on bike, hrrrrrmmm… it won’t start. A sign, no? After monkeying around with the bike for an hour, I find that my poor battery has died - a few of its cylinders having completely evaporated in the heat. I bump start it and roll out. Focus. My eyes return to the road, running lengths across the face of the mountain with hair pin turns at each end. The lake was talking to me. ‘Your leaving? You idiot!’

Folks in the Garden

My first morning in San Pedro (a week earlier), after locating a good Spanish school, I went searching for a good hostel. Right down near the shore I find Hostel Ti’Kaaj - outside it doesn’t look like a hostel, just an over grown yard with creepers obscuring the view through the fence. Inside the yard you find a garden, a few tables, and a bunch of hammocks strung up around the centre. Surrounding the garden are the hostels very basic rooms - think just a bed, mattress and a dresser in a shed. Just clean and functional…. and cheap. Staying here cost me 20 Quetzals a night, the equivalent of 4 NZ dollars. In this garden I met some of the most beautiful, fascinating people.

Entering for the first time I meet Ben, sitting on his bench. He’s wearing a long African robe, a bowler hat, and a comically (awesomely) long moustache that he curls up at the edges. He wears a number of curly rings, and sports a metal bracelet with an aboriginal looking lizard on it, matching the tattoo on his arm.

‘Hey, is this a hostel?’

The only response I get is a stoned giggle. Right, this guy smokes a LOT of weed. Ben points over towards a shack in the corner of the yard. A friendly Guatemalan man in a cowboy hat appears, and I negotiate a rate for a double room (I figured i’d splash out, ha.). Over the next two weeks I would hang out with Ben on the deck in front of our rooms, while he imparted his (sometimes incoherent) advice to me about things. Nothing in particular, just what ever he was thinking about at the time. I sat and played guitar, he listened, he talked. Ben is from Belgium, and suffers from epilepsy - hence the huge duchies he rolled three times a day had a medicinal purpose in keeping his epilepsy in check. The cause of his epilepsy was a brain tumor he had suffered a few years earlier, he shows me the scars hidden under his hat.

Later in the garden I meet Jeremy, a laid back outdoors type Canadian. His job back home is to police the back country in a national park (I forget which one), check permits, that sort of thing - he loves his job!

‘Basically I spend a whole lot of time in the back country, I get time to think, write.’

He writes his thoughts as spoken word poetry, and reads me some of his work…. holy shit. Lots of hammock time was spent soaking this guy up, a genuinely nice guy with some serious talent. I’ve been bugging him to record some of his stuff, when it happens I promise to throw it up on the website (blurg).

God, what a voice…

My bar of choice in San Pedro was two doors down from my hostel, a place called Nueve Sol (new sun). I hung here most nights, meeting people, drinking beer, watching movies. On Fridays they held Open Mic nights, where I got to unleash some tunes with my trusty duct-taped Mexican guitar, and was repaid with free beer and food. This is where I met Patrice (or Pat).

Half Italian, half German, she sports a lip piercing, dark sunglasses (at night), and has her hair swept back in a 50’s style quiff. She’s been in San Pedro for 2 years, working behind the bar at Nueve Sol, painting, and slowly earning enough money to get her passport back.

“Come on Pat, play us a song!”, I step off the performers stool at the front of the bar. Pat still sits shyly at the bar, her guitar resting on her knees. People start to join in… “yeah, go on Pat!” Eventually she gets up, and makes her way to the front.. it seems like its not going well. She has some trouble with her guitar, it wont stay in tune - people lose interest, start talking, go back to their meals. Then she starts playing… ‘Hey, Pats playing guitar!’…
then she starts singing….

Christ, I’m instantly smitten. She plays old 40’s and 50’s Italian music - her voice is gorgeous. This is just like the movies, its not supposed to happen in real life…. everyone stops talking, and listens. Someone turns the lights down. After the final notes ring out, there is a 5 second pause before anyone claps - as if everyone in the room had a moment where all they could think was ‘….. fuck.’ The applause goes up, and Pat tries to step down from the stool. ‘Hell no, get back up there!’ For the next week and a bit I split my time between playing guitar, lounging, chatting to the new people that appear in the hostel, and hanging out with Pat in Nueve Sol.

Flash Forward one week, open mic night number two, and I’ve just finished a song. Pat suddenly sits down next to me, guitar in hand. ‘Wanna jam?’ My heart skips…. I sat there, 2 feet from Pat, soaking up her voice, and did my best to focus on putting lead parts over her rhythm. We crank out 5 songs or so, on one song each taking turn to make up and sing some lines - something about leaving San Pedro.

I spent my last night with Pat, just hanging out and talking…. she had a pretty shit run of luck the last couple of months, the hurricane swamped her place and nailed her computer, destroyed most of her art. ‘I’ve got a lot of good karma heading my way, that’s for sure….’ She trails off.

I’ll always have fond memories of San Pedro, and leaving almost did my head in. In some ways, I’m still trying to clear my head. There’s a special feeling about the place, a collection of similar minded people arriving and leaving every day. God I wanted to stay, but I had a commitment to josh, and to a trip that had brought me to amazing places and people, I couldn’t bail on that - even when it felt right to.

Tomorrow: Three days of travel, things didn’t go so well…..

Hey people, I have indeed been quite the slacker in updating this thing. Since we got to colombia a couple of weeks back it’s been non-stop-doing-stuff. We’re going to be a couple of days in Medellin, and I have have a big big BIG (think Mr T big) update in the pipe line, covering Central America, and our time in Colombia. Love you guys.

Jah love,
Jonno

Sup yo.

Just a quick update, last night we cruised into Panama City, and today we have set at locating a boat to take us over to Cartagena, Columbia. We are going to be here for a few days sorting shipping out, so i’ll sit down and get an update up on our time in Central America in a couple of days or so. Chur to the chur.

Stay Awesome,
Jonno

Hey people,

I’m currently chilling at San Pedro de Lagoona, on the shores of beautiful Lake Atitlan, Guatemala. For the past week or so i´ve been attending spanish classes on the shores of the lake. There are so many distractions here, a billion great musicians, poets, and cute girls. It is truly hard to leave, but in a few days I must move on to Honduras and meet up with Josh.

Our route through Mexico (^ clicky)

And through Guatemala (^ clicky)

For the first time a few days ago, its really dawned on me that I probably wont be making it to Brazil in by May 31st. My time and money are both running short, and my intention to meet my parents in Europe in June looms large. It is sad, but on the other hand riding through countries at a million miles an hour with out truly seeing them and their people would be (in my opinion) a real tragedy. I guess I’ll evaluate my options in a weeks time, after yarning with Josh. But anyway, let me update you on our doings of the past month or so.

Zacatecas

Hopefully you’ve read Josh’s account of the mountain crossing from the pacific coast to Zacatecas. It was a harrowing at times, but it was probably my most enjoyable experience of Mexcio - we got to see the real deal. A terrible dirt road, real mountain villages, real drug traffickers, slept in the home of one of the locals, ate Tamales off their wood burner stove. Zacatecas, as beautiful as it was, was almost an anti-climax. It was very Spanish, cobbled streets and old Spanish architecture. We snapped a whole bunch of photos of the place. Zacatecas is high up on the mountain plain - it was a hub of silver mining back in the day, a very rich town which allowed to to be built as exquisitely as it was. It was in Zacatecas that we met a lovely British guy named Tim.

Introducing Tim, he’s a sculptor by trade (you can see a bunch of his work here), and he’s driving all the way down to Argentina on a BMW GS1150. Seriously, our bikes look like toys next to his. We hung out in Zacatecas for a few days, making some great friends (house of pain!), trotting around the city and doing luxury thing like taking showers and washing. After a few nights camping and out in the mountains, we were dusty mountain men through and through. After hanging out with time, we decided to start travelling together, adding yet another to our crew.

Guanajato

Finishing up with Zacatecas, we bid goodbye to the lovely hostel people, and we decided to swing south to Guanajuato - another town built on the back of the silver trade in a deep valley high in the mountains. Because it was built into the valley, a bizarre series of one-way underground tunnels connects the different parts of the city. These are tunnels built a few hundred years ago, and seriously looked like it (crumbling bricks, leaky water things, a vampire or two). I wish we had gotten some photos of the tunnels, but your life is in your hands when your inside.

The architecture, again, was beautiful. Better then Zacatecas in my opinion. Guanajato is a university town, so there were many young people and funky cafes to hang out at. Our first night ended late at a cafe, cup of tea in hand (tea con leche), listening to an acoustic band doing radiohead and David bowie covers. Sweet. While in Guanajato we attended a Mummy museum. Cool! Rel mummies, this should be awesome! It turned out that, yes, there were dead people there, but not mummies in your traditional sense. Guanajauto is pressed for space, especially in the cemetery. If a family cant pay for a plot anymore, then the person is dig up and moved/disposed of.

Basically the museum was filled with half decomposed (not rotting, but preserved) people that they dug up, and decided not to get rid of. Hrrrrm. Interesting, but not entirely what I’d call pleasant, especially when we reached the dead baby room. Yes, it was actually called ‘the dead baby room’. We took a whole bunch of photos, but made the executive decision not to put them up on the site. When you run into either of us at some point, maybe we’ll show you.

After two and a bit days in Guanajuato, we decided to move on. Having got up early in the morning, we made our ways down to the bikes to discover that Josh’s battery was completely flat, having accidentally left his park lights on. No biggy, a quick push for a jump start and we were away. Hey, whats that stuff pouring out of his bike…. uh oh, stop stop stop STOP! I quickly turned his fuel tank to off, and the stream slows to a trickle. Looks like someone pulled his fuel line off completely, not too big a deal, except that in the process they had broken off the plastic nipple on the carburetter. So nothing to attach a new hose too. Crap. Luckily Tim is a bit of a mechanical whiz, and a bit of fiddling for two hours and we have it fixed. Another push start, and we’re all good.

It was at this point that a lovely Californian guy came over and offered some help. None needed, but I pulled out my little brown notebook (containing my passport and other bits) to take his email address. With this stowed away, we departed the city, eventually running out of light next to a motel. Cool, a motel! Oh, they charge by the hour…. THAT sort of motel. Lucky a night didn’t cost much more then the price of an hours use, and we all hunkered down.

Butterflys, Lost Passports, and Bad Pork Buns

It was at this motel that I suddenly got really sick - full blown fever, sweats, bizarre dreams, and some throwing up. That night wasn´t alot of fun, but my fever had broken by the morning. I was still very much under the weather, and the heat didn’t really help. I put the whole thing down to a bad pork bun. Bad bad BAD pork bun bought from a street vendor in the Guanajuato market. I guess I got cocky, a full two months on the road and I hadn’t had anything worse then the squirts, this bun knocked me down a peg or two. The next day we made our way down to Morelia for lunch, and parked up for the night in another beautiful mountain town ( I forget the name, but promise to update later), just a few k’s from the Monarch butterfly reserve in Michoacan.

On arriving at the butterfly reserve the next day, I reach in to my bag. My little leather book is gone. Passports, import permits, everything. Fuuuuuuuuuuck….. its okay, it could be elsewhere in my luggage, keep cool. I decide to put it on the backburner till after the reserve.

Stunning, absolutely stunning. You walk up a mountain path, and the higher up you get the amount of butterfly’s increases exponentially. At the top, you can’t walk a metre without bumping a bunch of butterfly’s out of the way. Just unreal. These are all Monarchs from up north, America and Canada.

For scientists, this annual migration is one of nature’s greatest mysteries. Four to five generations separate the monarch populations that make the migration, so the butterflies that make the trek to Mexico are the great, great grandchildren of the previous generation to have made it.

“The ones that fly south have never been to Mexico before, they get there by pure instinct and then by pure instinct they come back, lay their eggs on milkweed and then die,” said Lincoln Brower, a research professor of biology at Sweet Briar College in Virginia

(From National Geographic)

We had lunch at the top, and trotted back down the mountain. With my fingers crossed I searched my luggage. Gone. Dam it, how did I fuck up!? It might have fallen out of my bag at some point, I’m pretty vague at the best of times, and I had been pretty sick. Fuck. I make a few calls, and the decision is made - I have to get to Mexico city to talk to the embassy. Thank god we ere only a few hundred k’s from the place, but it was a pretty sketchy ride.

Mexico City yo

We rolled into the city around 11pm on Sunday night. I still feel pretty sick, and it’s dam cold up here. Mexico city is a sprawling urban landscape, inside a single lake valley surrounded by volcanoes. The lake is long since dried up, and the city has grown to such an extent it is beginning to creep over the volcanoes that surround it. Climbing up the face of the outer volcano, it is hard not to draw a breath when you get to the top and drop down in. Lights, everywhere, for miles and miles. The traffic was thankfully pretty light, and we drove around till we found a hotel a few blocks from the historic centre of the city. Parked up and sleep.

The next morning I was up and about, organising all the things I needed for my replacement emergency passport: police report, money, and I.D. The passport would take a few days to come through, so we set up camp in the hotel. The next day we were in for a great surprise, Tim and Loren had rolled in on their tiny scooter. They drove from Acapulco in to Mexico City…. on a scooter. They burst into my hotel room while I was noodling away on my guitar, many high fives were shared, and many stories swapped. They had driven down the pacific coast.

That night we headed out for Pizza, and Lucha Libre (mexican wrestling). It. Was. Awesome! Imagine WWF, but Mexican. Imagine huge, masked, Mexican dudes and an arena of wrestling mad Mexicans. Tim and I high fived a wrestler when he ran into the crowd, while trying not to spill our beers. After the show we all bought wrestling masks (photo to come soon!), and headed back to the hotel to find Tim and Josh. Tim was pretty bushed after a day out at the ruins, and was a little sick (being laid low by the same evil pork bun), so Josh in tow we headed out to find a canteena. We bought a bottle of tequila and set at it. I remember Josh emerging from the bathroom at one point, wrestling mask on, shirt off, slamming 3 shots in a row. Things go a little blurry after that. We made it back, but not before being told off by a bunch of policemen.

Mexico City was great, but I really needed to get out by the end. It was expensive, and polluted. More then once I would wake up in the night a little breathless. Sadly Tim had to depart south after a couple of days, having committed to being in South America at a particular date, while we watched him enviously roll onwards. Finally my passport came through (delayed because the special printer broke down - such is life), and we got the hell out.

Helmetless to Oaxaca, San Christobal, and Guatemala

At around 4 in the morning we skipped downstairs to the hotels private parking lot where our bikes were stowed, ready for a long days ride from M.C. to Oaxaca. Wait, where’s my helmet? I’m sure it was on my bike last night. FUuuuuuuuuuck…… After an hour of looking around, talking with the hotel security guard and receptionist (’we haven’t seen anything, don’t blame us’), I decided against a police report. I needed to get out of the city. I donned my sunglasses, a beanie, and a scarf to cover my face, and off we went. The only worrying part of the journey was getting out of the city, even at 4.30am, the traffic is heavy and sticky. Once clear of the city, I lost my fear of crashing and burning, and started to enjoy the greater view riding helmetless provided. We arrived in Oaxaca around 5pm, I looked like I had just stepped out of a coal mine.

We crashed that night after walking around Oaxaca. There is a pretty big military presence here. It’s been a few months since the teachers protest, and political graffiti still adorns many buildings. People are really hesitant to talk about anything political really. Things were really nasty here in November/December, when an indiemedia reporter was killed (read: murdered by government agents) during what was a peacful protest till then. But things seem peacfull, and the Zocalo (town square) is full of tourists.

I wish we could have spent more time here, but our week in Mexico City had put us way behind schedule. The next few days had to be riding days, no more stops. I picked up another helemet in Oaxaca, money I would rather not have spent, but i NEEDED a helmet. The next day we rode up to San Christobal, another mountain town where things were cheap, and the people were cool. Again, we would have like to sped onger here, but time was ticking.

Crossing to Guatemala

The border corssing was as easy as you like. We crossed at La Mesilla, a quick fumigation later, paid a few fees, and we were in. Sorted. I’m going to save my Guatemala stories for a week or so (and I have a few), I promise promise promise to update. I’ve pulled some new photos from my camera, I haven’t deleted any of the crap ones and a few of them are series I intend to stich together when I get a chance, so they’re a little hit and miss. More soon, but now i’m going from a swim.

Peace, Jah love,

Jonno

Hey all, here are some new photos for you. We’ve pulled a bunch from Josh’s camera, and a few from mine - i’ll try to get some more up when I get a chance. I’ve ordered then cronologically so you can kinda follow whats been happening.

Within the next few days we should be hitting Guatemala, myself to park up in Antigua for a week or so. I’m enlisting myself in a spanglish course to improve my chances of communicating with the ladies of Latin America. So far hand-signals have only been mildly succesfull, and often a little confusing for both parties. Yes, we’ll go with confusing.

Josh has put up his personal recollection of his time at Carnival, i’ll try and get a few stories up in a little bit. Since Zacatecas we headed south with our new british friend Tim, down to Guanajuato, another beautiful old city, finally to the Monarch Butterfly Sanctuary in Zitacuaro…. it was then discovered that I had fucked up royally and lost my passport! Off to Mexico City we went (to the New Zealand Embassy). While in Mexico City, Tim, Loren and I (yes, we met up with them again) went to see Lucho Libre (Mexican Wrestling). Just hilariously cool. A bottle of Tequila was devored shortly after. I bought a wrestling mask. Now Josh and I are in Oaxaca. Horray!

More typing when I get to Antigua, for now enjoy the photos!

Peace, jah love,
Jonno

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.

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.

 Click for photos!

 Hola Amigos, we arrived in Mexico yesturday through the rather small border crossing of Tecate. We opted for this entrance to avoid the crazyness of Tijuana - after talking with some locals, we discovered the line at Tijuana can often be as long as 4 miles. Fun.

Currently we are located at the town of Ensenada, on the west coast of Baja, in an hour or so we are going to make a run down the coast to San Filipe where we plan to camp for a few days before heading for La Paz, and the ferry to mainland Mexico. Unfortunatley this will only be a short update as time is pressing, but I promise a full fulll full report when I get time in La Paz. Mexico is crazy, a hedonists paradise. You can buy anything at the pharmacys, see some rather interesting live acts, smoke anything (including cuban cigars). Mariachis roam the streets in gangs, asking people if they may play them a song for a few dollars.

 San Diego turned out to be my favorite amercan city, L.A. was completley utterly boring. From San Francuisco we headed south, then east up into the high lands. We spent a night camped in some isolated plains, a small town, then Death Valley… very beautiful. Then nito L.A, and down the coast to San Diego. Its gradualy been getting warmer, but is still a bit chilly. I shudder to think what may have eventuated had I not brught my extra sweater with me.

 We had a rest day in San Diego, and in the process of walking around the town I stumbled into an anti-war protest. Snapped a bunch of photos for your viewing plesure…. so check them out.

On that note, I shall depart. My bikes name is Jezzabell, as I’ve had that song stuck in my head since I got here. us luck

Peace, Jonny.

Touristy stuff in San Fran (Click for Todays Photos) 

Hello all. Seeing as we won’t have the luxury of updating all the time when we start heading south, we thought we would update as much as we can, while we can.

This morning we drove from Walnut Creek to San Francisco to attend church - I got to try out my KLR, while josh borrowed Torstens 650cc scooter. A 650cc scooter. 650cc. Scooter. Torsten had entertained us the night before with stories of him utterly destroying a guy on a Honda CBR 600 from the lights with his scooter. It wasn’t long till Josh was putting it’s power to good use on the freeways. 

My first experience on the KLR was totally positive. You ride very upright, sitting high above cars and sports bikes. It was super comfortable, and had enough power to keep up with Josh on the hellscooter. It’s certainly not a sports bike; not nearly as quick as my old CBR 250, but the real power is in the amount of torque that it generates. It handled great. 

Interesting fact about California: you drive on the right (no shit). This does not take as long to get used to as you’d think - after 10 minutes on the road, it all feels natural. I imagine it would actually be far more difficult adjusting in a car, with the control seat on the opposite side. On a motorbike, no problem - all the controls are where they normally are. There are two notable differences in driving law to NZ: 1. If you are on a red light, but the way is clear for you to turn right (short turn, not crossing any lanes of traffic), you can do so. 2. There are stop sign intersections everywhere (4 stop signs, like the intersection at Real Groovy, Wellington). They work perfectly, without a hitch - why? The stop sign law seems to be that the first person to get to the Stop sign goes, then the next person who was waiting, etc, and it all works. This is down to the fantastic temperament and courtesy of the Californian driver, sorry to say it but they are way way WAY better then NZ drivers.

Anyway, enough about road rules. We arrived at the Glide Baptist Church in centre city, unfortunately getting there a bit late to most of it, but what we did see was a musical/spiritual experience. Glide is a liberal church - inclusive of gays, homeless, any and all types of people, and fiercely anti war. Most of the sermon we heard was about the people banding together, and standing up for what’s right in their community…. it was great! Completely different to the somewhat drab catholic church experience in NZ. 

After church, Josh and I did tourist things, had a look around the City. I mauled a guy in Union Square. That’ll teach him to offer ‘Free Hugs’. After wandering around, we jumped back onto the bike/hellscooter and met Josh’s friends Bill and Amy Melcher, and their supercute daughter Venice (see photos). Bill and his neighbour Nathan took us up to a place called Twin Peaks, overlooking the entire city. We snapped a few more photos, and watched the Sun go down. Afterwards we headed back Bill and Amy’s place and gorged on Chocolate Cookies. Another day of roughing it, I’m afraid.

Thanks to everyone that suggested names for my bike, keep them coming!

Peace, etc, Jonno