La Paz, B.C., MX

What a runaround to get on the ferry!

[Sorry, but the next few posts are terribly terse, and somewhat disjointed. I want to get them posted while they're still fresh in my mind, and I have a decent Internet connection]

Friends, do make life easy on yourself - get your vehicle temp import permit from the web site or a local Mexican Consulate -- well before you travel. They're available 6 months before, and can last 6 months.

The Baja Trap. Like Hotel California. Or a mad house. Getting in is the easy part. Too easy. [see previous post -- Tecate, MX]

There are Push-to-talk phones everywhere here. Makes even a coffee shop sound like a construction site.

Oh oh. My stomach is starting to bubble. I probably shouldn't have eaten street food before getting on a 10 hour sea crossing. Ya think?!

Appropriate attire for female Mexican office workers -- if it's not too short or too tight, why bother?

Where Rebecca spent the night

I have fond memories of Catholic school girls striving hard to alter their uniforms to achieve that certain level of ... ummm... 'easy' ... that would give a nun a coronary.

Unlike with the other B.C. Ferries, those in Baja California load motorcycles last.

The good thing is that you get to see the long, carefully orchestrated process involved with loading an ocean-going ship.

Didn't really want to see them loading this on the ship!

I'm looking forward to sailing across the Sea of Cortez tonight...

Santa Rosalia, MX

Wow. What an interesting set of rides these past couple of days.

First, coming down from Guerrero Negro, Highway 1 takes you through some serious desert.
Though this isn't my first trip through a desert, I'm really enjoying the scenery this time.
I chalk that up to being on the bike.

For those readers who don't ride, the feeling of being out on an open road, with nothing by nature from the face shield to the horizon in every direction ...

The cacti and other shrubbery tend to be short, and of only a small variety of species. After a while I realize I'm moving through a forest of sorts -- except that nothing grows taller than about 4 feet high.

Then I come up to a most amazing scene -- a real-live, honest-to-goodness oasis.
Right there in the middle of the desert, a river has broken through from its underground channel and brings a small 1 x 2 km stretch of desert to life.

Looking down from the highway the flora suddenly jumps from scrub bushes to 20 ft palm trees. Now this is the kind of forest I'm used to!

What an optimist..

And as suddenly as it appears, it's gone.





And we're back to the sameness of the open sandy stretches with the stubby cacti.

I turn back on Michael Moore's "Stupid White Men" audio book (thanks for the suggestion Skira) on my Garmin Nuvo 660 GPS ( a post of this wonderful piece of kit is coming soon)

My next pleasant surprise comes when I see an open patch of desert serving as a playing field of America's pastime.

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I don't quite have the words to describe my shock at seeing, not just a baseball diamond out here in the desert, but an organized game being played on it, to boot.

I rode almost a full kilometre before making a U-turn as I realized I just had to take a picture of this for it to be believable.

What you have to understand is that this field is 45 kms from the nearest real town, Santa Rosalia -- and that's where the majority of the players drove in from.

My Spanish was too poor to ask, but really? Here? Was there not flat ground for 45 kms... ?

What an arm!

In any case, my new friend Henry aka Quito, and I swapped biker stories as he told me about his old Suzuki 750, bought before the wife and kids...

He suggested the "Hotel Sol y Mar" in Santa Rosalia. I'm happy to report I now know enough Spanish to instantly translate that complicated name :)

The fellas

Santa Rosalia is a lovely town. So quaint and picturesque. As I rolled up to the town, they were closing off streets in the downtown for a big political rally. One of the politicians running for Governor of this State would be speaking at night, and all the party faithful were there.


They pulled out all the stops of this one. There were balloons, face-painting for the kids, popcorn and candy snacks vendors, lots of free (soft) drinks, and plenty of music.

Henry, aka 'Quito'

Santa Rosalia

The town itself has a very old feel to it. There's not a single glass-and-steel building to be seen anywhere. It felt so very familiar to me.
It wasn't until walking 'home' to the motel after dinner that the familiarity struck me.

Santa Rosalia between the hills and the sea

As the rally ended, people started slowly walking home, or to their cars. Some old men were still liming at the back, drinking as they had been for the entire rally. Others who had been listening to the speeches we stopping at the few remaining vendors to grab one last taco for the night.

It felt exactly like downtown Port-of-Spain after a night in the Calypso Tents during Carnival.

Substitute the corn soup man for the tacareria and it's the same thing ...

Phil and his '87 KLR

I ran into a fellow KLR rider down here, Phil Reasons, on his sweetly custom-painted 1987 KLR650.

He's headed north back home to Tucson, AZ after spending a few weeks on the road.
We stood in a parking lot chatting about bikes, schedules, vacations-while-working, philosophy -- everything, for over an hour. It was wonderful.

Phil's working on some world-changing projects in the area of clean water technologies, and I wish him all the best.

Desert Run

Almost ran out of gas today. That long desert stretch Jose warned me of yesterday .. well I thought it was still a day south of me. Turns out I was wrong.

So I slow down to an even 80 kph, where I think I get my best mileage, and keep an eye out. After fretting about it for an hour, and constantly doing the math to see how far I can go, I finally found a lonely little outpost selling gasolina. These ladies saved my day.

I put in 2 gallons, just enough to reach the next Pemex station.

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Stayed the night in Guerrero Negro, an old whaling village on the west coast. Now they do a big trade in whale-watching. There are no whales here right now, so we'll just be moving along in the morning.

I ran into a couple from Los Angeles who spend 6 months of each year on their sailboat in the Sea of Cortez and along the Pacific Coast of Mexico. They're really nice, approachable folks. My burning question was, "How do you afford it? What do you do?"

Ann is originally from Peterborough, Ontario, and now manages a dental hygienist office. Dave is a marine mechanic. They work hard for half a year, and live simply in the big city. Then come down here and live on their boat. While down here, they don't work -- just travel around and port for fresh supplies.

A nice and simple life. And a wonderfully inspiring story.

Oh yes, Dave tells me they sample the Fish Soup everywhere they've ever travelled, and the one served by by the Hotel Malarrimo is the best. Ever.

Dave and Ann, as well as another couple down from Oregon, crossed into Mexico through Tijuana a couple nights ago. Apparently it's pretty safe right now..






=== CORRECTION ===
I've been informed that there are NO wild horses in Baja. So the ones I saw roadside near Tecate were just hanging out waiting for their cowboys to come round them up. Pretty cool. I've seen many horse-mounted cowboys out here so far, and will try to get a picture...

Baja California

Uriel on the right

Man, I'm missing the Hotel Santo Tomas back in Ensenda. That was a palace! Here's a picture of Uriel who was invaluable in helping me deal with the Mexican Import authorities (We tried, my friend. We tried...) I hope to see him in Canada one day...


The room I'm in tonight in Rosario de Arriba is much colder than I expected, or am happy with. There isn't even a heater in the room.

I thought I'd just take my computer over to the restaurant attached to the motel office, but it's just as cold in there. I guess I haven't yet trained myself to look and ask for working heaters when choosing a place to stay…

Mountains of Baja

Other than the frosty fingers tonight, today was a wonderful travel day. Only about 25 kms of construction in the nearly 200 kms I rode today.

Jose, Elizabeth and little Robert

I met a lovely Mexican familiy on the way back north to their home in San Diego. Jose informs me to make sure I have extra fuel on hand while crossing the desert stretch up ahead, where the road crosses from the Pacific coast of the peninsula to the Gulf of California side.

Lickily I still have the 1 litre fuel bottle on the bike that I was using to carry camping stove fuel. Hmmm .. where I can empty that fuel to replace it with gasoline?

It's only an extra 20 or so kilometres of range that will give me, but acording to the map, there are settlements well within the range of my bike's 23L tank…

I guess we will see…

Along the road today I passed through two more military checkpoints, but was waved through each time. Since I will most certainly NOT be taking pictures of these checkpoints, I should explain them a bit.

Dusty streets of San Vicente, B.C.

There are probably about a dozen soliders visible as you approach these checkpoints along the road. All traffic must stop, and each vehicle is approached by a solider with an automatic rifle at his side. Off to each side of the checkpoint, set back about 10 feet from the road are little bunkers. Each is about the size of a couple porta-potty's standing together. They are surrounded by used tires, and inside sits one or two soldiers with really, really large mounted machine guns. The kind I used to really love seeing in those old Westerns when the hero surprises the bad guys and whips the cover off the wagon and, ta-da!, lays waste to all evil-doers with seemingly endless rounds spraying while he sweeps the big machine gun back and forth.

When you're on a motorcycle, in a foreign country, facing a language barrier and realize these soldiers, like soldiers everywhere, are mostly just boys with deadly toys .. suddenly the charm of so much steel and machismo is not quite doing it for me.

Like I said though, so far, I've only received a quick looking over, and been waved right through..

Not so for many of the folks that had been traveling the same stretch of road with me earlier. I don't know these people, or their stories, but had kind of grown fond of the guy in the blue Mazada pickup with the busted taillight, old tire in the back, with this little daughter playing hide and seek with me from the jump seat of the cab. I hope they made it through okay.

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Another lovely family on their way to the US. Junior, his wife (I'm sorry I forgot your name) and their almost 5-1/2 month old (off camera - still in her tummy!)

I wish you guys all the best! Cheers.



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Some video I shot today. I just pulled over to the side of Federal Highway 1 and panned around me. Not a single soul. Very peaceful, very nice. I think I'd like to come back one year and camp along this stretch of the coast during the warm summer months.

Ensenada, MX

View from my balcony

Hotel Santo Tomas -- first rate. Excellent quality and service. Great low prices. Friendly, professionl staff. Bright, clean rooms with a decent speed Internet connection via WiFi throughout the building.

Got the big runaround trying to get my temporary import permit papers for the bike. I had a nice bilingual fellow on the hotel staff, Urel, on the phone trying to track down the correct office for me to visit.

See, when I crossed at Tecate, they told me I'd have to come to Ensenada to get the import papers.

So after tramping around to 4 different office yesterday, I think I have a good handle on the layout od downtown Ensenada.

It seems almost all of the government office are right in core, but there must be a checkpoint on the way into the city where the staff are requested to leave their good senses while at work.

I'm told I may be able to get one at a military checkpoint on the main raod south. Or if not, then there are some more immigration offices down in La Paz.

First Full Day in Mexico

The road from Tecate to Ensenada is under construction. Well at least the first 20 kms of it. What a horrid mess of dirt, rocks and mud.

But then the construction zone finally ended, I passed the 18-wheeler that had been holding us up for the past 15 kms, and was enjoying the open road.

I was trying to recall what the landscape reminded me of. Was it the Badlands of Alberta, the high plains of Hawaii's Big Island, or perhpas the Argentinina Pampas..

I told myself to stop with the comparison's and just enjoy it for what it is … the countryside in Northern Baja, Mexico.

Then I saw some blue spray painted graffitti on some of the rocks -- at least 10 kms from any visible settlement! What the heck?!

All I could think of were the New York City subway cars during the 80's.
Beautiful works of art to be sure -- shame about the chosen canvas.

No more than 2 minutes later, my mental flashbacks were interrupted as I came around the bend of another set of twisties and saw a horse. I suppose he was a wild horse without a curfew, being so far from any villages, and just grazing by the side of the road like that.

Then I saw 3 more horses, scattered on both sides of the road.

They all looked up laziliy at me.

Then one broke, and decided this green thing coming towards them making so much noise was not a good thing.

And spooked horses, in case you don't know (I sure as heck didn't!), care nary a wit about which direction they will run.

Sure enough, one them ran across the road.

I jump on both brakes, and greared down.

Thankfully he passed about 15 feet in front of me. Not really a close call .. but at that distance, the horse looked huge. I keep saying he -- it could have been a she, for all I know.

I just glad 'becca and I didn't have a chance to find out too many of the particulars this afternoon.

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So while in Tecate, I called the toll-free number for the office in charge of Temporary Import Permits for Motorcycles. The kindly man on the other end of the line informs me that I need to call the office in Ensenda, and gives me the phone number.

The friendly ladies at the front desk of Hotel Rosita are wary about calling long distance to an area they recoginze as being in Ensenda. Since it's my next destination, and slighly over 100 kms away, we all decide it'll be best to just go there and make a local call.

Well, I am in Ensenda now. I change some dollars to pesos, find a telephone and make my call.

The number is not in service.

"Who know what tomorrow brings?"

Teacte, MX Part Dos

I was going to write about all the drama that ensues when a traveler loses his wallet while in a foreign country... but you can fairly well guess that I forgot to use my Sunday School words.

Just as I had stripped off all my gear, and locked my jacket to the bike to prepare for the hike to retrace my steps of the morning, I got a call from the the bike shop -- someone found and turned in my wallet!

Oh happy day!!!!

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The trip down to Mexican border took us through some really cool canyons. I live the amazing scenery of this part of the world. The area seems to be an arid semi-desert, with mostly scruffy, tough-looking bushes among the outcroppings of rocks that appear to have been place along the landscape with the delicacy of Jackson Pollock splash of paint.

The road is the constant winding twisties that all motorcyclists love. I really envy the folks for whom this region is only a quick post-breakfast sprint away.

I took too long at the Kinko's in making my fake wallet, so the light was fading fast on me. My plan was to stop on the US side of the border, and wait until morning to deal with all the paperwork and such.
As I approached the border, I realized there's NOTHING on the US side. On the Mexican side, Tecate is a fairly large town/small city. On the US side, there are maybe six dodgy-looking shacks (IF that much!) offering currency exchange.

So, I enter Mexico.

It's quite amazing to me. On the Southbound side of the US/Mexico border crossings, the guys standing around with guns and badges are only directing traffic. As you pull up to the 'control' gate the arm swings up and the 'guards' hurry you along to clear the lane so more people can come into their country.

The US side .. ha! You don't want their armed guards waving at you for anything. You'd think their country was too full, or something the way they want to keep the Mexicans out. Or perhaps they're spitefully ignoring  the fact that statistically the country actually needs immigrants to keep the birth rate up, so the US halts it's decades long slide into being a nation of Viagra-popping, Depends-wearing old folks...

I inquire as to where I can get a Temporary Import Permit for my motorcycle, as required by Mexican law. Hmmm... not in Tecate is the reply. I'll have to go to Ensenda for that.

This is not a good thing to hear.

It's already dark, I've just entered a Spanish-speaking country, and I'm told I should ride the 110 kms to the next town to complete my paperwork.

Fat chance. I inquire about the nearest hotel, and am directed to Hotel Rosita.

Tomorrow is another day.