The Minnesota Boy Heads South (and I'm not talking Alabama)

Upon arrival in San Diego, I decide to service the bike. I stop into O’Reilly auto parts, buy some oil, and change it in the parking lot. I must have looked a little homely outside the auto parts store dropping the oil because a bread truck came by and decided to give me some free bagels. I then make my way over to GP Motorcycles and hand them my rim to have a new rear tire mounted before Baja. I just wasn’t certain my rear was going to get me all the way to La Paz, so best to change it I suppose. After getting the tire done, I make my way to the Museum of Man in Balboa Park. I take in the special exhibit called Beerology. This is my kind of exhibit. The exhibit talks about beer’s role in taking man from hunter/gatherer to growing, harvesting, and caring for crops. There were growlers and other ancient artifacts on display along with a good deal of literature talking about ingredients, brewing traditions, and processes used across the globe. After the exhibit, I figure I better make a stop at Karl Strauss brewing downtown for a pint or two where I have a great conversation with Roger who lives locally and has done some traveling to Mexico for work. The following day I venture to Point Loma for a few photos and then ride up to Ocean Beach. I grab a few tasty fish tacos at JV’s Mexican before heading up to La Jolla Cove where I was treated to the sight of several dozen sea lions basking in the sun. I backtrack to Ocean Beach to catch the sunset and walk through the farmers market. I decide to eat Pho and end up having a pretty interesting conversation with a dude trying to sell me on Buddhism. After this little spiritual discussion, I stop into a bar for happy hour grabbing a pint of a local IPA while jamming out to some Blondie, Fleetwood Mac, and Phil Collins on the jukebox.

Waking up for my last day in San Diego I took some time for reflection. I stared at the door for about 10 minutes with a bit of nervousness trembling through me as I realize all that is foreign lies beyond that door and a few miles down the interstate. Crossing into Mexico through Tijuana was no issue (at least I thought so at first). I was waved right on through and never set a foot down. After crossing, I look around and quickly understand that the line between a poor country and a wealthy one couldn’t be more prevalent than in this moment. I make my way taking the scenic toll highway to Ensenada. The traffic intersections are nuts. There are so many intersections with tiny “ALTO” signs and you aren’t even sure if it is a four-way unless you look to see if the crossing traffic has the same small sign. Everyone rolls these signs…they are really more like yield signs. I head through the center of the city and quickly begin to filter through traffic as the congestion increases. I look at my GPS and find a motel about a mile away from the Baja 1000 start/finish. I greet the friendly staff who speaks as much English as I speak Spanish…basically none. They tell me the stay for four nights is $200 USD. I’m thinking shit this is Mexico, it must be cheaper than this. I attempt to offer $150 for four nights but they misunderstand thinking I now only want three nights. Now they are writing the days on a piece of paper….jueves, viernes, sabado. I finally after a long ordeal (my fault entirely – Spanish is the language here and I don’t know it) get my point across that I’m making a counter-offer. They tell me no the rate is what it is so I tell them I’ll think it over. I talk to a few Baja guys who are staying at the motel to see if they know of a better deal. As they are talking with me, the ladies from the motel come back over and hand me the phone. Apparently, they called the owner who has a sister motel just down the road that she will let me have for $150 (4 nights this time). Rather than attempting to give the super gringo directions, they just tell me to follow them to the motel. I follow them and turns out it isn’t a bad place and it even has wi-fi. Very nice folks at this motel.

I walk from my motel to the Baja 1000 gates. It is absolute chaos. There are people everywhere and all I hear is a slur of Spanish in every direction of which I understand hardly any of it. I get there in time to see the trophy trucks going through registration. The crowd is so thick in spots that I can only relate it to the 405 at rush hour…full on gridlock. There are vendors lined along the path near the gate offering all sorts of delicious and terribly unhealthy food options from greasy tacos to churros. The tacos here are the best I’ve ever had and I fear I’ll be a fat bastard in no time if I hang out too long. The beer is only slightly higher than the price of bottled water, so yeah, I’ve been drinking a bit. The bad news…your choices are Tecate or Coors (for the Americans I suppose). I prefer Tecate if those are my options. As I meander around for a couple hours I begin to realize that there are no programs, posters, flyers, etc. with any information. The bikes are supposed to start at 11:00 but I look online and the countdown has it starting at 9:00. Further, I haven’t seen one motorcycle yet. I grab the GPS file from the Score website and see that the map is actually showing the start as being 30 miles outside Ensenada. I’m totally confused and no one can give me positive confirmation. Relying on the course GPS file, I take off after dark to head out to the spot I think the race is starting at. I ride through congested traffic and smog that becomes so thick I can hardly see 8 car lengths in front of me. I make my way out of the city to the twisty highway 3 leading to the GPS track. I arrive at the track and have to pass through a military checkpoint. They wave me through without checking anything. I see some folks setup with camping gear, fires roaring, Tecates being consumed. I ride to a pit and ask one of the guys in exceptionally broken Spanish exactly where the start of the race is. Fortunately for me, the guy speaks English and tells me my motel (back in Ensenada 30 miles away) is a mile from start finish. Ugh dammit. He gives me positive confirmation the race for bikes begins at 11:00 in Ensenada city center. I have a solid 3 hours to get back so I begin my journey on highway 3 back to Ensenada. I have to go back through the military checkpoint. This time, they stop me. He speaks no English. He points to the box on my bike. I open it and he takes one look in with his flashlight and tells me to be on my way. By this time, I’m craving a beer like mad. I get back to the motel, park the bike, walk the mile again back to what I now know is start/finish, and buy a 24 oz Tecate drinking it in about four seconds (maybe a bit longer – this isn’t college). I buy another and sip on this one a bit slower. After watching a few bikes take off, I venture to a bridge where the bikes descend down into the dry river bed. As I’m approaching, I see a bike go off course. He braked too late and went straight off the curbing into a bunch of jagged rocks still managing to save the bike. Damn, these guys are talented. The crowd thought he was going to eat it, so they had already started to come closer to him. Just as this happens, the rider lets the clutch go and the bike goes braaaaaaap straight into a wheelie directly into the crowd of people. The crowd parted like Moses parting the seas and I’ve never seen anything like it. This crowd is bananas. They will hang out in runoff areas just to get a photograph. Some are even known for attempting to touch a trophy truck passing by at more than 80 mph (or so the stories are told). I watch at this spot long enough for a butter corn vendor….not sure what it’s called but it is that literally…butter & corn in a cup. The butter corn vendor decides to try and wheelie his butter corn cart. The cart flips over and hot buttery corn water goes everywhere. Pretty funny until it starts to drain directly on to the race line of the course right where the bikes are braking and turning in. They bring out two flag workers to let the bikes know there is now an obstacle to avoid. Jeeez, this race is unreal….just some buttery corn water on the race line – game on. Somewhere between all the racing action, I was able to make my way to Hussongs for a couple beers. It was here that I met Mike who is from California on a BMW. We have a couple beers at Hussongs before making our way back to the course to see the racers trickle in throughout the evening.

I’ve watched both the trophy trucks and the motorcycles from several vantage points, so I decided to see what the town of Ensenada has to offer for nightlife. Quite a bit apparently. There is basically a section of town for us gringo folk. The ATMs dispense US dollars, anyone in the service industry speaks English, and the prices quickly become inflated. It’s like a wormhole that takes Dorothy straight back to Kansas. Before going out, I Google a few places and land on one that might be playing some tunes I like. It’s in gringoville but upon arriving I quickly ascertain that I’m the only gringo in the place. I see that they have Heineken. While I’m not normally a Heineken fan, I want something other than Tecate for a change. I order a Heineken and the Spanish speaking bartender says huh?, Heineken, como?, Heineken, no, I point to the Heineken written on the wall as one of the beers available, still confusion, Tecate, si. Oddly enough, after all this, he actually brings me a Heineken. I swear sometimes they are just screwing with me. I make my way to the dance floor. The crowd here is very young. Early 20s at best. They all know the DJ so they chant his name every 5 minutes or so, which is getting a bit old. No one is dancing. There are some dance floor lurkers that take up space but no one really feeling it. What the hell, I’m here. I start getting down but make my way back to the bar after a few tracks are played through. I placed my jacket on a chair earlier in the night and I now see someone appears to have taken a liking to it. I walk over to him and let him know it’s mine. Turns out it was the owner just wanting to put it in a better place for me in the DJ booth and he speaks English! His name is Alonso and we talk for awhile. We have very similar taste in music and I complement him on the place he has built. The quaint space is setup well with good sound and an underground feel. The name of the place is Eurobar. Please stop in, have a pint, and say hi to Alonso if you happen to be traveling through. The young crowd starts to get into the music as the night wears on. Before you know it, the dance floor is packed. The DJ is dropping a few familiar tracks and I’m starting to get lost in them. What a great feeling to be able to share an intense vibe with others even in instances where you don’t even share the same language. After closing the bar, it is only 2 and I’m not tired. I look around and only Papas & Beer is still open. I decide against that and begin my walk back to the motel. A small Mexican man approaches me and asks me if I want a woman and I politely decline. He continues to walk with me telling me it’s free and I just need to tip blah blah blah. I keep telling him no until finally I have to stop walking, look him in the eye (I’m not big but he is smaller) and tell him to turn around. He says “OK my friend” and leaves me alone right about the time a woman grabs my arm and says want a good time honey? I say no, so she tells me to have sex with myself but not so politely and in PERFECT English. I get back to my motel alone without issue. Pretty fun and interesting evening that is for sure.

I am damn lucky. Here’s why. I run into this couple Billy & Trisha who have been traveling on their motorcycles for the last 7 years. They’re from Australia and yes they do say “knife” funny. They have traveled all over from Africa to the Middle East to the Americas. They are a wealth of knowledge and have everything down to a science. It is humbling to really understand how much they have seen and done in their travels. Here I am, day 3 outside North America and as green as can be to the world around me. They ask me if I got my immigration and customs paperwork done. I said no, I just rode through the border. Well, turns out should have stopped and completed the FMM tourist card & TVIP customs. Without the tourist card, I would have ridden close to 1,000 miles down the peninsula to La Paz where I would have been told to turn around and go back 1,000 miles to Tijuana to pay a fine and get the paperwork done. Wow, a painful lesson avoided because of these wonderful people I met through dumb luck. I have been talking with them a bit and they are giving me all sorts of pointers. Because of them, I’m pretty sure how I will negotiate the Darien Gap now and they have provided some really good tips, suggestions, and insights that will serve me well in my travels.

I decide to try and find whether the immigration office in Ensenada is open on Sunday. Unlike the states, there is nowhere on the website that lists hours or even an exact address for the immigration office. I just have a general idea of where it is. I ride to the place I think it is and it isn’t there. I have to ask in gringlish for help. Donde esta el migracion Senor? He speaks some English fortunately and tells me I’m close. His directions become a bit complicated but I try to follow. I get on my way to where I think I should be going and end up at the gate of a military area where I’m greeted immediately. I again have to ask where the immigration office is and this guy speaks better English. I find it this time just a few blocks away. It is closed today (Sunday) of course, so I figure I’ll come back tomorrow. Then I realize, tomorrow is a Mexican holiday. Crap. Looks like I’ll be spending another night in Ensenada until I can get to the immigration office Tuesday morning.

http://s1283.photobucket.com/user/cmkaduce/library/?sort=3&page=1

Awesome man. Can't tell you how much I wish I was there right now. Btw. I've still got to email you the pictures from your chicago visit.

Keep up the posts!!!!!

I think the whole Baja area is a tourist zone, you don't need any import stuff if not leaving the Baja. You should just ride south to La Paz and do the paperwork down there. Less hassle.
I'd also suggest thinking about beer consumption and driving on the public roads, US is tolerant to a point, many other countries no so.
Good luck.

Thanks - I think I'm going to head to Tecate in the morning and get both immigration and customs sorted then. I just don't want to risk it. I hear they are only issuing the FMM at border crossings and there is a guy that had to go all the way back to TJ from La Paz to get it. It isn't that far backtracking from Ensenada, so looks like I'll get to see Tecate tomorrow.

Yes, I want to see those!

Hey Cody,

It was to great to meet you and to hang out for a few hours. I noticed you left out the couple in hussongs who got swept away in passion, right to the bathroom. I will be following your adventure closely. Be careful and get lost once in awhile.

Yes! I should have mentioned that. Thanks for adding and we are definitely getting beers again once I'm back in the states.

This looks like fun. Nothing like easing into riding in Mexico during the very calm and tranquil Baja 1000 weekend! If you're heading to Tecate today, be sure to drop by the brewery for a tour and free beer. The ride between Ensenada and Tecate through the Guadalupe Valley is impressive. From one [former] Midwesterner to another - this trip will change your life. You'll get back home and immediately start planning another escape to Latin America.

I'll definitely swing through the brewery once the paperwork is sorted and glad to hear you loved every bit of Latin America!

Captivating report! Thank you for taking the time to post. Looking forward to hearing of your adventures. Safe travels!

In!!

Rather than trying to obtain the FMM card at an off-border migracion office in Ensenada, I decided to head up to Tecate on Tuesday morning after saying goodbye to Billy & Trish. We had a few drinks the night before, so it wasn’t the earliest of mornings when I finally hit the road. On the way to Tecate, there were a few bits of road construction with unguided gravel paths to follow around the construction workers. It seems no one slows down in the construction zones, and I was actually passed by a truck in a construction zone with workers present…now you don’t see that in the states very often. Upon reaching Tecate, I’m able to pretty easily find the migracion office. The process of obtaining the FMM, obtaining the TVIP, making copies, paying the bank for the fees, and paying the deposit took no more than 45 minutes at the most. There were no lines and all the migracion workers spoke excellent English and knew their jobs well. I’m thinking Tecate was a good choice vs Tijuana. While I was getting my paperwork done, a migracion worker said I could park my bike in the employee’s only zone without issue. He was right, and after the paperwork was sorted he said “soda propino”. I’m thinking what the hell is a soda propino. I tell him no comprende and I’m on my way. I decide to get fuel and check my Spanish/English dictionary to look this up. What is now obvious wasn’t so obvious at the time. The man just wanted a Coke for watching my bike. I went to a vending machine, spent 7 pesos, rode back to the migracion office (only about a half a mile) and delivered the Coke to him. The look on his face was priceless as his initial confusion faded and the gesture was recognized. From there, I went down to a motel a local recommended to me earlier. Once checked in, I was on my way to the Tecate brewery for free beer and a tour. I ended up talking with the Fernandos (two guys with the same name) at the brewery before the tour. The folks at the Tecate brewery were great. I was the only gringo, but they still conducted the tour in both English & Spanish. On the tour, I met a really cool dude named Javier. Javier or Javey, is in his early 20s going to school in Tijuana for Chemical Engineering. He invites me over for a beer after the tour so I oblige. Javey lives at home with his folks but he has a space outside that is all his own. There is an open-faced shed in the yard with a clothesline that has a wardrobe of clothes draped over it. We duck under the clothes line and into Javey’s space. He has a few couches, a little table to put your feet up on, speakers, and his laptop with wifi. What more could you want?? A nice little hangout. A few of Javey’s buddies had stopped by unexpectedly, so they joined us for a beer as well. After getting to the OXXO for beer, I put my beer on the counter and the clerk tries to charge me 4 times the actual price (gringo tax). I hesitated but was still about ready to pay it as I’m still so naïve to this type of situation. Javey jumps in and tells the clerk how it is. Oh, did I ring that up at 4x the rate, my mistake, here’s the real price. This was a great lesson and I also received some good advice from Javey afterwards. With green eyes, they see me coming. Javey’s English is excellent. Shit, he even talks with me about quantum mechanics in English. I tell him I’m envious of his bilingual skills and hope to see him on the way back up so we can have the same conversation only in Spanish next time! I had a memorable night with Javey and his buddies. I am really impressed by their intelligence, genuine concern and pride for their country, and their welcoming nature. I see only better days ahead for Mexico if there is a generation like Javey about ready to start their careers.

I’ve been told that I have to swing by Mike’s Sky Rancho for a night. I’m hoping to meet some other motorcycle travelers who might be able to give me some insight on how bad the road is south of San Felipe on the Sea of Cortez side. I leave Tecate (con migracion y aduana documentacion) and head back through Ensenada following highway 3 toward San Felipe. I see a couple KLRs parked on the side of the road so I stop for a chat. They are locals and are the first locals I have seen riding bikes larger than 250cc. They speak a little English and we kick the tires a bit about Mike’s Sky Rancho before I get back on my way to be sure I arrive before sundown. I see the sign for Mike’s and start heading down the dirt road. I looked at the location when I had internet access earlier so I thought it wouldn’t be too difficult to find. I rode for about 10 miles or so on dirt and sand before finally deciding that I didn’t want to go further. The road gets a little more challenging as you get further in. I decided that with no partner, no support crew, a heavy & unbalanced machine, and no running engines heard for the past 10 miles, that it was best not to take much of a risk. I’m not big…and in this sand I’m not sure I’ll get the bike back up on my own if I happen to take a spill. By this time, I’m 30 minutes from sundown and don’t want to ride at night. I find this little hut that someone has been working on building. The hut is maybe 40% complete and there is lots of wood stacked around that will be used to finish the job. I decide to stop here and put up my tent for the night. My apple will be my dinner, I have 1.5 l of water, and I’ve decided I’m not risking the Sea of Cortez side after this. I’ll be headed back toward Ensenada to grab highway 1 south first thing in the morning hoping to put on a few hundred miles before calling it tomorrow evening.

I get up at the crack of dawn next to the only other lonely traveler on the dirt road…a cow that has gone astray and is mooing up a storm. It takes me an hour to break everything down and get it all set back up on the bike. I hit the road toward Ensenada and run into the same military checkpoint I crossed earlier. No issue – waved right on through. I continue south on highway 1 until stopping at the Pemex for a little petrol where the young lady filling my tank takes an interest in me. She speaks as much English as I do Spanish, so it’s pretty tough to have a conversation. She says “I love you” in surprisingly good English and I said “por que!?” in obviously terrible Spanish. She points to me eyes. Ahhh, verde ojos, Si!, Si! She asks where I’m from and I say Minnesota. She misunderstands and thinks I said Venezuela but we get it sorted. Eventually, I realize she has no Earthly idea where Minnesota is so I just tell her Norte America (not ragging on her – my geography is far from good). She asks if I’m hungry but I’m not, and I kind of want to keep moving along. I tell her bye and she gives me a kiss on the cheek before putting on my helmet as her friend giggles. I really need to learn Spanish. Maybe I’ll take some classes in Guatemala. I only make it about 20 miles further down the road before finding a nice little dirt road that leads to a cliff along the Pacific. I figure I’ll stay parked for a bit and see if anyone rolls through before setting up camp. I make my way down the cliff and am lucky enough to see a few dolphins swimming close to shore. There is not a soul in sight. I have never seen a beach this pristine without anyone else in sight in all directions. Since no one has come along, I decide to setup camp. No more than finishing camp setup, I see headlights coming down the beach in my direction. Crap. I can’t tell if it is a car, motorcycle, atv, etc. As it makes its way closer, I can see that it is a raggedy old jeep that looks circa Baja 250 1974. Whew. Looks like some people just out for a good time. I don’t even think they see me up on the cliff as they pass by along the beach. I call it an early night with the sun setting before 6:00 PM. As I lay in my tent, all I hear is the crashing of waves, wind rustling, and a few smatterings of raindrops on my tent. You don’t get many nights like this.

The smatterings of rain turn into storms that carry from just after nightfall all the way through the early morning hours. I snap awake from a dead sleep at 3:30 AM letting out a small shout in the process. I know I didn’t wake up from nothing. I look outside to see the bottom side of the KLR staring at me. The storms softened the ground enough where they ground could no longer support the weight of the bike. Ugh. I get dressed and head outside to pick up the bike in the mud. I’m able to get the bike up after a few grunts and lean it up against the hard cases until I can find a large flat rock. I head down to the beach and quickly grab one. OK the KLR is now back up, on solid footing, and doesn’t look much worse for wear. After sunrise, the rain has subsided. I take my time packing everything up trying to keep the mud away. The little flies here are driving me bananas swarming around incessantly. I can’t wait to get on the road. I’m all packed up and now for the real challenge. I need to ride about a quarter of a mile to the highway in what has now gone from sand and solid ground the day before to a muddy mess today. I make it about 150 feet before crashing. Snap goes the left-side rear view mirror. One of the hard bags already came off on impact. I remove the other and try picking up the bike. Grrrrnt. Nope. I take all the tools out as well as remove the dry bag with all the camping gear. Let’s try this again. Grrrrnt. Success! Now to find a rock for the kick stand. Once everything is loaded back up, I have to navigate through the mud getting stuck several times in the process. Dismount, push the bike backwards, look for a different line, remount, try again. It takes me a solid 45 minutes to traverse this quarter mile and I’ve worked up a good sweat. I’m so glad to see blacktop again.