I don't need any expandeable, paint-matching GIVI hardcases! Give me a Jansport, a piece of rope, and I'm ready for the world.
I headed down south
on the 405, laughing at the whole ridiculousness of the affair and
seriously wondering if there's something psychologically wrong with
me. I wish I had a MP3 player. I think all motorcycles
should come equipped standard with "Born to Be Wild" recorded, ready to
be played at any given notice. Hours of LA, orange county, and SD
traffic hell passed by and I crossed the border into Tijuana at 6
p.m. I can't really tell because I'm still surrounded by a
shitload of SUVs sporting California plates. I push south, no
particular destination, no clue of the geography. I just know
Cancun has Girls Gone Wild starlets.
I snap this picture outside of
Tijuana. It reminds me of the Simpsons episode where Ned Flanders
prays for something, and instantly the clouds part and God thunders
down: "okily dokily"
Dinner was had in
McDonalds because my burrito craze went away. I eat my Big Mac,
thankful that global Americanization means elevated bathroom standards
worldwide. I go south, following signs to a place called
Ensenada, which turned out to be a pretty big city. The rather
drab and poorness of the place is masked by 2 strips of tourist
attractions. I stop at a bar, drink margaritas, lubes my chain,
and checks in at a motel. I journey south in the morning.
The road much to my surprise, Highway 1, is modern, very well
maintained, and smooth, contrasted starkly to myriad shantys and brick
houses that line each side. The fact that I haven't brushed my
teeth weighs severely on my mind, I stop and buy a tube of
Colgate. At the outskirts of town, I pull over, squeeze a
mouthful and begin a thorough chewing. I hear
laughter. Several kids are standing by, laughing and
pointing, and then they ran away. Great, now they probably think
all
Asians eat toothpaste or something. Way to represent.
The road south is diverse; filled with seemingly neverending straightaways that made me wish I had the linear speed of a Hayabusa, tight mountain twisties --- "zonas de curvas" --- that made me wish I had the nimbleness of a RS50 caferacer, and myraid trails branching into yonder that made me wish I had a quad. Actually, my BMW served me just perfectly.
The Pacific Ocean arrived at the end of the path. I always dream of riding to the end of the world and back, in fact that's my motorcycle Nirvana. This sojourn kinda came close.... baby steps.... the picture might not convey it but it was a cliff, not just a drop, a full on fall off and die cliff....
I stand at the precipice for a while. I look out yonder and think how ironic it is that just a decade ago on a similarly idyllic summer day I stood on the other side of the Pacific, gazing eastward, wondering what lay out there. I wave at myself across ocean and time and leave.
God I'm a touchy feely bastard!
I ride onward, fueled by Pemex and some combination of flour, tomatoes, cheese, meat and lettuce. I realize Mexican food is all a sham, everything is exactly the same! Just with different names. Taco: flour, tomatoes, cheese, meat and lettuce. Tostada: flour, tomatoes, cheese, meat, lettuce. Burrito: flour, tomatoes, cheese, meat.... oh sure sometimes there's beans and rice but who do they think they're fooling?? Diversity of Mexican food is the second greatest culinary con, behind the Shabu shabu --- sure I want to pay money to go to a restaurant and have to cook the food myself....
San Quentin, el Rosario passed by. Traffic gets increasingly sparse, I see a trucker about every 15-20 minutes. I picture a birds eye view of myself --- a lone figure cutting across the desert --- and start to hum the theme song from Aladdin. By the way, Arabian Nights, the made for TV movie back in 2000, is really good. A slight fuel supply hiccup and an ensueing short jog ocurred, but no need to elaborate further except the usual Jerry luck pulled my ass through... Catavina passes by and I push forward, still no clue as to where I am or where I'm going.
I come across a bold dirt road jutting proudly eastward into the mountains. Why the hell not! I take it. The road is packed dirt with lots of rocks, which kicked my new 100% street tires' ass. The road is rippled, which owned my suspension. The constant bone jarring shakes rattled loose my fairing, jarred the control panel loose. I keep going because my big-balls-ness is matched only by my ego. The bike lost a good number of screws out there.
I can only go about 30 mph on the road without losing traction. The sun starts to set and I have no desire to be caught in these parts at night. The race against time and sun is on.
The first sign of civilization I come across is Coco's Corner, which apparently is a big hangout cafe for the Baja 1000 racers. It's owned by a weathered, friendly 1 legged man who says not a lot of people, especially motorcyclists come through these parts except in November and May. He keeps a large guest book, the last solo motorist entry was a few months ago by a KTM 900 rider. It hit me at that point, I am in the middle of my very own Adventure ride! I am doing what I wanted to do when I first started looking at motorcycles. I feel like a kid again, when every street corner, creek, waterway, neighborhood pond held mystery and allure. I'm happy that I'm actually going out and exploring instead of just thinking about it. What man hasn't entertained the idea of packing a bag, picking a direction, and venturing forth? Oh jeez... when I hit my midlife crisis.... cataclysmic...
I sign the guest book, polish down 2 beers, and head out again. The sun is now really really setting.
40-50 kilometers later I reach Bahia San Luis Gonzaga, where according to Coco there is a hotel. With the aid of some very friendly beach campers, one of whom is the winner of the Baja 1000 in the 400 class, I find the hotel at the edge of town. No scratch that, not town, settlement .... actually scratch that, it's just 7 houses in a row.... I'm the only guest. I check in, eat a delicious flour, tomatoes, lettuce, and meat combination, and try to sleep. The oppressive heat and bugs dictates otherwise.
I really don't understand how it is possible for use to put a man on the moon >30 years ago, and still not be able to invent a portable, compact, A/C system. It's ridiculous! "But Jerry, think of the engineering, miniturization, and power considerations, it's hard!" one might say. Well that's crap! Look at the sky, it's the fucking moon! Holy shit! The moon in space!! And we went on it! And we can't make air cold ?? Also the constant company of bugs made me hate biodiversity. I lay in bed, marinading in sweat, constantly slapping at bugs on my body. It was a night of no fun and sleep.
...Part II....
<back>
The road south is diverse; filled with seemingly neverending straightaways that made me wish I had the linear speed of a Hayabusa, tight mountain twisties --- "zonas de curvas" --- that made me wish I had the nimbleness of a RS50 caferacer, and myraid trails branching into yonder that made me wish I had a quad. Actually, my BMW served me just perfectly.
 |
I grow weary of pavement and decides to take one of the random trails. The trail was packed pretty hard and the going wasn't too bad. Pockets and bars of sand here and there but rolling on the throttle usually got me through. |
 |
The Pacific Ocean arrived at the end of the path. I always dream of riding to the end of the world and back, in fact that's my motorcycle Nirvana. This sojourn kinda came close.... baby steps.... the picture might not convey it but it was a cliff, not just a drop, a full on fall off and die cliff....
I stand at the precipice for a while. I look out yonder and think how ironic it is that just a decade ago on a similarly idyllic summer day I stood on the other side of the Pacific, gazing eastward, wondering what lay out there. I wave at myself across ocean and time and leave.
God I'm a touchy feely bastard!
I ride onward, fueled by Pemex and some combination of flour, tomatoes, cheese, meat and lettuce. I realize Mexican food is all a sham, everything is exactly the same! Just with different names. Taco: flour, tomatoes, cheese, meat and lettuce. Tostada: flour, tomatoes, cheese, meat, lettuce. Burrito: flour, tomatoes, cheese, meat.... oh sure sometimes there's beans and rice but who do they think they're fooling?? Diversity of Mexican food is the second greatest culinary con, behind the Shabu shabu --- sure I want to pay money to go to a restaurant and have to cook the food myself....
San Quentin, el Rosario passed by. Traffic gets increasingly sparse, I see a trucker about every 15-20 minutes. I picture a birds eye view of myself --- a lone figure cutting across the desert --- and start to hum the theme song from Aladdin. By the way, Arabian Nights, the made for TV movie back in 2000, is really good. A slight fuel supply hiccup and an ensueing short jog ocurred, but no need to elaborate further except the usual Jerry luck pulled my ass through... Catavina passes by and I push forward, still no clue as to where I am or where I'm going.
* Some people have
asked what the fuel hiccup was. Here is the
full accout: I left El Rosario with 40 miles on the odometer
since
last fill-up, I saw a sign that said: Next Gas 314 km. I thought
to
myself, oh, kilometers, that's like 12 miles or something. NO!
I'm an
idiot. It's something like 200 miles. I realized this and
then
calculated: 4 gallons of fuel, 4 x 60 (theoretical mileage) =
240,
cool! Can barely make it, and if not I can jog for a bit. Well I
ran
out of gas with 166 ticks on the odometer. Well, I'm fucked
now.
Might as well as start jogging. I went for about a hundred yards
before the heat destroyed me. Jogging's out. So I start
walking. I
walked for about 3 miles, then came upon Catavina (which was just a
hotel, a convenience store, and a restaurant), which had a fuel station
that was newly built, so the sign earler was outdated. I bought
two
bottles of beer, drank them, then put gas in the bottles and brought
them back to the bike. Lesson learned? Jerry is a moron,
but a lucky one.
I come across a bold dirt road jutting proudly eastward into the mountains. Why the hell not! I take it. The road is packed dirt with lots of rocks, which kicked my new 100% street tires' ass. The road is rippled, which owned my suspension. The constant bone jarring shakes rattled loose my fairing, jarred the control panel loose. I keep going because my big-balls-ness is matched only by my ego. The bike lost a good number of screws out there.
I can only go about 30 mph on the road without losing traction. The sun starts to set and I have no desire to be caught in these parts at night. The race against time and sun is on.
The first sign of civilization I come across is Coco's Corner, which apparently is a big hangout cafe for the Baja 1000 racers. It's owned by a weathered, friendly 1 legged man who says not a lot of people, especially motorcyclists come through these parts except in November and May. He keeps a large guest book, the last solo motorist entry was a few months ago by a KTM 900 rider. It hit me at that point, I am in the middle of my very own Adventure ride! I am doing what I wanted to do when I first started looking at motorcycles. I feel like a kid again, when every street corner, creek, waterway, neighborhood pond held mystery and allure. I'm happy that I'm actually going out and exploring instead of just thinking about it. What man hasn't entertained the idea of packing a bag, picking a direction, and venturing forth? Oh jeez... when I hit my midlife crisis.... cataclysmic...
I sign the guest book, polish down 2 beers, and head out again. The sun is now really really setting.
40-50 kilometers later I reach Bahia San Luis Gonzaga, where according to Coco there is a hotel. With the aid of some very friendly beach campers, one of whom is the winner of the Baja 1000 in the 400 class, I find the hotel at the edge of town. No scratch that, not town, settlement .... actually scratch that, it's just 7 houses in a row.... I'm the only guest. I check in, eat a delicious flour, tomatoes, lettuce, and meat combination, and try to sleep. The oppressive heat and bugs dictates otherwise.
I really don't understand how it is possible for use to put a man on the moon >30 years ago, and still not be able to invent a portable, compact, A/C system. It's ridiculous! "But Jerry, think of the engineering, miniturization, and power considerations, it's hard!" one might say. Well that's crap! Look at the sky, it's the fucking moon! Holy shit! The moon in space!! And we went on it! And we can't make air cold ?? Also the constant company of bugs made me hate biodiversity. I lay in bed, marinading in sweat, constantly slapping at bugs on my body. It was a night of no fun and sleep.
...Part II....
<back>