See the introduction page, with my advice for anyone thinking of doing a similar trip, a list of the biggest challenges of the ride, cautions and our itinerary.
We moved back to the USA in 2009, and Stefan first proposed this trip just a couple of years after we moved, and just a couple of years into me being a motorcycle rider.
And I balked.
I can't ride through Baja! That's Mexico! There will be dirt roads and steep inclines and I'm fat and middle-aged and a total newbie! I can't do it!
Since that first moment I balked, I've done a lot of motorcycle trips, including all the way up to the Yukon and back to Oregon. In 2016, we rode for two weeks in Idaho, which included a very challenging ride on gravel and dirt to Silver City. After all of that, I started to think, maybe I COULD ride Baja.
In 2018, we decided to start preparing for a trip in 2020 in the Spring for Baja, California, Mexico. To prepare:
So, here's a spoiler about our Baja trip: altogether, we barely did two or three miles of gravel and dirt, and to get two or three miles, I have to add in all the sandy and long rocky hotel driveways we took.
Baja, Calfornia, Mexico, via paved road, is NOT a difficult motorcycle ride at ALL. But that's now, in March 2020. with all of it paved; even two years ago, it wasn't all quite paved. And political situations and priorities change - maybe the roads in Baja won't be this wonderful a few years from now.
That said, I have no regrets for all that work to improve my riding skills for what I thought Mexico would throw at me. Because all that work benefits me riding anywhere - in a foreign country or just across town. All that preparation absolutely played a role in how great time I had riding Baja.
We did a fair amount of research for this trip, more than we've done for any other:
The route was relatively easy to plan: there is only one paved road that goes north to south through the entire peninsula, Ruta Uno / Route One / Highway 1. We would definitely be going all the way down or up on that route. Stefan hates driving up and down on the same road - he wants to do a loop. But there isn't always an option for that in Baja, unless you are willing to do some tough, often unmarked roads. In the end, we didn't do that much of the same road two ways, not really - he decided we would come back in the northern part of the peninsula via the only other North-to-South (or vice versa) road: Ruta Five. And from there, north of San Felipe, we would take Ruta Tres / Highway Three from the East to the West. Here is our route.
He chose Tecate for us to enter and exit Mexico because it's not nearly as busy as other border crossings. It was the right decision both ways.
For more than a year, we studied Baja weather. If you go to early in the Spring, you get rained on relentlessly and have to go through treacherous arroyos - temporary rivers over the road that can hide slippery slime or a newly-formed hole. If you go too late in the Spring, you end up frying in the heat. And we knew we would be riding back from Mexico all the way to Oregon, and US Interstate 5 mountain passes often close in February. Stefan decided our trip would be in March, and we would work with the weather we got, whatever it was.
Did we think about crime? Yes. I think about crime everywhere, including when I take TriMet to or from Portland, Oregon, which I consider a city as dangerous as some I've been in overseas (still not a fan of PDX, ya'll). On the plane to Los Angeles, I read two articles from Road Runner magazine I didn't have time to read before we left. I thought they would have travel tips, but they didn't, not really. One article was particularly disturbing: in 2016, two riders touring Baja came out to their bikes one morning and found a bag of pot stuck into the things they had packed on one of the motorcycles. They took the bag into their hotel, gave it to the person behind the counter, laughed and said it wasn't theirs, and nervously rode off - and a few miles down the road, were pulled over by Mexican police, the federales, who searched only the bike where the pot had been. Of course, the story that immediately popped into my mind when I thought about Baja and safety: the family driving their RV in Baja in 2007, having been to the Baja 1000, something they had done many times, many years, that got pulled over by who they thought were the police, threatened with guns, were convinced they were about to be killed, their RV was stolen and they were left to hike to the border. "We were on the toll road. You could see the lights of San Diego... They said they were gonna shoot us. That we were gonna die." And there's this warning from 2018, and it's absolutely disturbing.
But with all that said, I could find you stories of people robbed at gunpoint in Oregon already this year, of people having their motorcycles stolen in Portland and Seattle (I know a woman who has had her bike stolen THREE times in Seattle), of people having entire trailers full of motorcycles stolen in Oregon, etc. I would never be so cavalier to say that crime and safety in Mexico wasn't a worry. It absolutely was and it should be for anyone going there - if it wasn't an issue, hotels in Baja wouldn't proudly promote their secure, fenced, 24-hour-a-day guarded parking lots. Safety was a concern just as it was when I went to Afghanistan, Ukraine, Egypt, and anytime to Portland, Oregon - I have been scared more than a few times on a TriMet bus, on a train or on the streets of PDX. Had the RV thing happened in the last three years, I would not have gone to Baja. But there are no similar, dire reports since then and the State Department, at the time of our departure, allowed its employees to go to Baja on vacation. The reality is that the overwhelming majority of people that ride their motorcycles in Mexico have no problems at all.
On the introduction page for this account of our trip, I have a long list of safety recommendations. Some are safety precautions we took, some are precautions we didn't but realize now we should have.
After looking at our time for the trip - three weeks - I suggested we get the bikes trailered down to Los Angeles, saving us three days of riding down and giving us breathing space to spend more time in Mexico, deal with mechanical problems on the road that might take up a lot of time, or doing some sight-seeing on our ride back up through California to home in Oregon. So that's what we did: we used uShip.com, an online matching service for shipping services, and a dear friend from my university and Williamstown Theater days, Henry, agreed to let the bikes be delivered to him in Los Angeles, and he would have them under his carport until we arrived. As a professional regarding event management, with vast experience loading shows in and out of various spaces, there was no better person for this Big Ask than Henry. Plus, it meant I got to see a dear friend I hadn't in many years.
It wasn't as easy as it sounds: we didn't get as many bids to transport the bikes as we thought we would. We put the bid out there too early (six weeks) and had to do it again four weeks before. But then the shipper we picked made the week before our trip hell, because he kept changing the day he would pick up the bikes. Every day, he was coming the NEXT day. By the time he finally showed up, it was just 48 hours before we were supposed to arrive in Los Angeles, and it was at a time that Stefan couldn't be here to supervise the loading and packing of the bikes. In fact, by the time he showed up, we'd already posted a THIRD request for bids on Uship, thinking he wouldn't show up. I had to trust that the guy was loading the bikes correctly, because Stefan wasn't here and I just don't know anything about appropriately strapping down motorcycles. Thank goodness the minister and his wife across the street could help out with pushing the bikes onto the trailer.
Here's my video of the loading of the motorcycles.
The guy drove all day and night through California and delivered the bikes Friday morning, which my friend promptly locked up and covered on his patio. So, yes, it worked out, but the reality that if we hadn't lied to this guy and told him the bikes had to be in Los Angeles by Friday, I'm convinced the bikes would not have been there that day - had he known when we were really leaving, he would have tried to come Saturday morning, "I get bikes before your flight, no problem!"
In the end, we're really glad it worked out regarding the shipping, and we're really glad we shipped the bikes (bite me, guy who mocked me for this on Twitter) - it meant we were fresh for the ride into Mexico, and after riding back through California in intense cold, snow and rain for three days to get home at the end of the trip, I was even happier we'd made that choice for the way down.
By the middle of February, I was starting to worry about the COVID19 pandemic in Asia, also known as SarsCoV2, the novel coronavirus or 2019-nCoV. I am a fact-based, science-based person, and everything I read from credible sources said traveling to countries not racked by COVID19 was okay - washing your hands and following other suggestions was far more effective, according to people who spend time studying pandemics. And there were no cases reported at all in Baja when we left.
But exactly one week before our departure, the first case of the virus was reported in our county in Oregon, in someone who had not traveled to an infected area, meaning that the virus had been contracted within our community. It was worrisome. But the US State Department did not say we shouldn't travel, local health departments weren't advising people not to travel, the Washington County public health "expert" that interviewed me for a communications job in my county tried to shake my hand before the interview, Mexico wasn't reporting any cautions, and week after week, the US State Department warning regarding Mexico was the same as it always was - Level 2. The only cautions I was hearing from reliable sources were regarding going to Asia.
So we went on our trip, as there was NO ONE saying we shouldn't because of COVID19, and I was being made to feel like I was being overly cautious by some I mentioned my concerns to.
Two things that I was doing pre-departure regarding COVID19, however, while still in Oregon: As I mentioned, I was no longer shaking hands (which may have cost me that job) and I was frequently washing my hands while singing the chorus to "Jolene."And, by the way, I nail that song. I NAIL IT. And Dolly Parton is a goddess. But I digress... I was far more concerned about getting COVID19 on public transit (which I had to take to that damn job interview for a job I didn't get - with a public health official who wasn't even taking the virus as seriously as I already was) than I was going to Mexico.
We had fully loaded the bikes' panniers on the motorcycles with absolutely everything for the trip, including our motorcycle pants and jackets and the winter liner for my jacket, except for our helmets and my purse - that meant everything was waiting for us on the bikes down in Los Angeles and we had very little carry on for our flight to Los Angeles.
When I leave Lucinda for a trip, I am miserable. She knew were were going on a trip. I knew she was stressed out. I have a dog sitter, and neighbors are great about making her feel special when she's out and about and I'm not there. Still, I hate leaving her. I try not to make a big deal when I leave her, because I think that makes it worse for her.
We booked a Lyft in advance to take us to the nearest TriMet Max (light rail) station the day of our flight, and it worked, though it took a full day for someone to confirm they would drive us (our small town is... it's small, and not all car share services will come here, and NO taxis will come here for a pickup). Once at the station, we rode the red line train to the airport & I donned my helmet at one point.
I had left a tiny keychain-size Swiss army tool in my purse, which meant I got extra security at the airport and lost that little tool. I was SO bummed - I've been awesome about taking that out before flights for almost 20 years! We wore our motorcycle boots on the plane (got asked by a couple of folks what was up with the helmets as carry ons - one guy asked, "Going snow mobiling?"
I was already doing some social distancing - I was trying to stay about six feet apart from everyone until it was time to get on the plane. We took the obligatory PDX airport carpet departure photo, then boarded the plane. We waited until we were in the air to put on helmets for this photo. The flight was uneventful except for the guy who kept coughing into his HANDS. And hats off to the guy leading his family with young children on and off the plane: he had clearly rehearsed with them on how to hand him bags quickly and how to take their bags off the plane quickly. WELL DONE, SIR. I loathe people who don't get how to deplane quickly (or don't realize that, if they will just wait for people who have their bags and are ready to get off, they won't hold anyone up by slowly getting their bag down).
There were two cases of COVID-19 in Oregon, both in Washington County, Oregon, the day we boarded that flight. The next day, there were four more presumptive cases in our county. The novel coronavirus still seemed like a Legionnaires' Disease outbreak or bird flu or swine flu, none of which have ever kept me from traveling.
We arrived in Los Angeles after our short flight, and by the time we got a bathroom break and walked outside, Henry was about to drive through the airport arrival lane. We connected by phone and had our excited reunion there at LAX in the drive way. It was the first time we'd seen each other since the summer of 1990, when we both worked at the Williamstown Theater Festival.
His wife Betsy had joined Henry for the pickup ride and they took us on a scenic route on Santa Monica Boulevard, pointing out the Marion Davies Estate, North Guest House to me (somehow knowing I would dig it and, yes, I did), and mocking a trailer park where homes start at $1 million. When I'm ridiculously wealthy from winning the lottery, I shall buy one and put a Trans Am up on blocks out front and visit occasionally, wearing a tube top (I can make such jokes - I'm from Kentucky). Turning around at one point and seeing the Getty Villa was a thrill as well - yes, I've watched BOTH the miniseries and the movie (the miniseries is better, though too long).
And then they drove us through the twisting, beautiful road through Topanga Canyon - would LOVE to ride that by motorcycle with no traffic! Along the way, we stopped at an overlook on the west side of the mountains and took in this view of the San Fernando Valley - or, as the locals call this, just "the Valley." In the parking lot at the overlook, we saw a beautiful, perfect woman posing on a beautiful, perfect motorcycle, being photographed by a beautiful, perfect man. I struck up a conversation with the guy - the actual motorcycle rider. He's from Scotland, visiting, and was impressed we'd toured the main Orkney Island by motorcycle. I suspect he probably had some kind of audition during his visit.
It was glorious to spend the afternoon and evening with Henry, Betsy and their son, Laz. Henry and I went full throttle down memory lane. Oh, how we name-dropped. Surely Stefan will believe me now every time we watch Law and Order and I say, "Hey, I met that person!" Henry and I both cried at different points, bringing up different amazing things from the past, talking about the kindness of so many people, old friends who were having a hard time... I really don't cherish enough my friends from university and WTF, I really don't. Henry's pool and patio are fantastic, but it was too cold to swim. After so much talking and a delicious meal of Thai food and more alcohol than I care to admit to and staying up WAY too late, we crashed in our respective rooms at last.
It was a bad idea to stay up late on the night before we needed to head out so early, and on a night where we also lost an hour due to the time change.
Henry said goodbye and worked out the best route for us to leave before he headed out to play softball for the Hammerin' Hebrews. He's not Jewish - he's Catholic, just like pretty much everyone from Louisville, Kentucky - but with a last name of Meiman and a few classes in Hebrew at Western Kentucky University, he's close enough.
Still, even with the time change and not great sleep, we were heading on our way by 10 a.m., to go about 180 miles to Tecate and then another 67 miles to Ensenada that day. Here's a video of our departure that morning. We left a bag with some winter gear in it at Henry and Betsy's, and would pick that up when we came back, and wear it through California if needed.
The roads through Los Angeles and through San Diego are AWFUL: they are full of deep grooves and uneven seals and gaps that run in the same direction you drive on and try to force your bike to go in different directions. I almost went over twice, once getting the bike wobbly because I hit such a deep grove. It was some of the most dangerous driving we did on this trip - in the USA, not Mexico. SHAME ON YOU, Caltrans (California Department of Transportation!). Also, I can't imagine doing this route on a weekday in the notorious L.A. rush hour traffic - traffic was relatively light but, wow, those people SPEED.
We took a few breaks, including at a rest stop where Stefan took a fantastic photo of us. It was a gorgeous, sunny day, not at all too hot. Everyone at any stop in or near L.A. was beautiful - perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect car. At one point, because of Stefan's GPS, we ended up on a toll road, but we never went through any kind of booth and, apparently you have to pay only if you get off at some point before it ends - by the time we came back to I5 just before San Juan Capistrano, there was no toll booth. I wanted to see San Juan Capistrano but thought, oh, we'll see that on the way back from Mexico.
At one of our stops, I noticed cat paw prints all over my motorcycle seat - apparently, Betsy and Henry's cat had checked out my motorcycle extensively. It made me giggle.
Eventually, we ended up on California State Highway 94, which goes through Jamul and to the border. I thought it would be all megapolis from San Diego to the Tecate, Mexico border, because that is how it is in Brownsville, Texas or around Tijuana, but I was wrong: it was beautiful ranch land, much of it empty, and a scenic, winding road. Protip: the junction at 54 is your last chance to pee in a bathroom before the border - stop at Target.
There really is no Tecate, USA - just a little, sad strip mall with a long-closed pizza place, a sometimes-open post office and a place to get money exchanged, with a vast parking lot across the street full of cars.
The border crossing at Tecate into Mexico was easy. TOO EASY. No one asked to see our passports or any ID at all, no one stopped us at all. They just waved us right into the country. So we had to park outside a convenience store and walk back into the border office to get our our tourist cards stamped, which we had ordered online the week before, and to get our passports stamped. Of course, once in the office, we found out we had done the tourist cards wrong: Stefan had accidentally marked his nationality as a USA citizen and I had forgotten the copy of my receipt that showed I paid for the card. The border official seemed annoyed - he made a call so that Stefan got approval to use his card and didn't have to buy a new one, but I had to buy another card. It was only about $40, but I still felt awful that I'd messed that up right off the bat - we'd tried so hard to do everything right and have everything ready for our big border-crossing moment. No one ever asked to see our tourist cards on the entire trip, FYI, but we were told that, if we didn't have them, and got asked for them, we would be in huge trouble. The official did try to sell us his own home made salsa. We declined.
It's a steep downhill drive away from the border crossing in Tecate. If you make a left at the end of the road, at the bottom of the hill, and go just a few meters, on your left, there is Banco Banorte that is a GREAT place to withdraw cash from the ATM for a very good rate and low fee, better than any money changers.
We traveled just a bit on Ruta Dos / Highway 2 and stopped at our first OXXO. Mostly, it was just so we could pee, but there was a little taco stand inside, so we each had one each. We weren't expecting much, but it was better than any Mexican food we've had in Oregon. Out in the parking lot, a very friendly member of the Vagos MC chatted Stefan up, telling him that, regarding our ride, "There's nothing but cactus out there."
OXXO is fantastic, btw: always clean, almost always with a public bathroom, and they are everywhere.
After some confusion and a wrong turn, we were on the road to Ensenada. Mexico uses kilometers, and the kilometer numbers are very tiny on my motorcycle speedometer - I was having trouble seeing the numbers and knowing how fast I was going. 80 km is 50 mph, and when the road is marked for that, everyone goes about 70 mph or more. We were in a quandary: follow the law, and therefore piss off all the Mexican drivers around us, or follow the customs, and risk the wrath of a Mexican police officer? Up to and inside Ensenada, we followed the law.
We also learned that the custom when someone comes up behind you when you are out on the highway is that you keep driving but you go over onto the shoulder, and you turn on your left hand turn signal, and that tells the driver behind you that it's okay to pass on the left side. Going into Ensenada, I did that a LOT.
Once in Ensenada, I found out Stefan hadn't already put Hostel Todos Santos on his GPS, a hotel which was highly recommended by several folks on the Motorcycle Mexico Facebook group. I had spent a LOT of time researching hotels in the towns where we might stay, listing the addresses of each, but I didn't realize that without one of us buying a local smart phone, that info was pretty much useless. After almost two hours of trying to find the hotel - and NO ONE knew where it was, NO ONE had heard of the street where it was - we made our second big mistake of the trip: just settling on a hotel that looked okay and didn't seem too expensive. When the guy said, "how many hours", we should have run. But we both have regularly read reports from motorcyclists saying that it's absolutely normal for hotels in Mexico to charge by the hour and there's nothing creepy about that. Maybe that's been true for those riders - but this hotel was horrible, and we didn't realize it until we laid down to sleep for the night: it was a zoo all night, with the security guard or pimp or whatever standing outside our door yelling and laughing with people ALL NIGHT. I fell asleep maybe around 3 a.m. - and was jolted awake at 5:30 a.m. by the security guard beating on the door of the room next door, where a family with two little kids was staying, yelling for the father to get up, "Time to go to work!"
The night before, we had walked to Avenida Adolfo Lopez, which is actually a nice street. Oh how I wish we'd found the Best Western El Cid on that street earlier... it looked so nice, with secure parking and it's own restaurant (and, BTW, booking it online in advance, you get a GREAT rate - lesson learned). But we had been too focused on saving money. That same night, we had supper at some restaurant on the avenue - a mediocre meal, though the local Ensenada red wine was good (the very nice waiter had suggested a wine that he described it as "sweet, like candy" - I was able to say I wanted something dry instead). I had read a lot about how up-and-coming Ensenada is, how it's the wine capital, how it's becoming a "destination" - I thought that meant it would be scenic and interesting. But it's just another big ugly ocean-front town. It's just not my thing.
On this Monday morning after the night of hell, our first night in Mexico, we were soooooo tired, I was almost in tears. We stumbled over to Avenida Adolfo Lopez again, hoping to find a place for coffee. Nothing was open except the restaurant at El Cid, where our coffee order automatically included sweet breads - a wonderful surprise. I so wish we'd had a room at El Cid - it looked perfect for us.
We were loopy from lack of sleep as we got onto our motorcycles, with a woman I'm pretty sure was a sex worker watching us with no expression on her face whatsoever - she looked soul-less. We were surprised when the hotel security guard walked over and handed us a 200 peso bill - we had no idea we got that deposit for the TV remotes back when we returned them in the morning. We never turned on the TV, by the way... we didn't dare...
We drove off to get gas and I had a nice exchange with some staff working the PEMEX gas station about how much easier Spanish and English is than German - they laughed at an example I always make to show how difficult German is. And they were the first of many super helpful Mexican gas station attendants we encountered on this trip. Gas station attendants in Mexico always tried to be helpful and friendly. It is in such stark contrast to gas station workers in the USA, where workers will just shrug and say, "I dunno. I'm not from here" when you ask for ANYTHING: how to get to a certain road, where something is, if there is a good place to eat nearby... Petróleos Mexicanos (Mexican Petroleum) is better known as PEMEX and is the Mexican state-owned petroleum company. Many stations were staffed by women. PEMEX became that image on the road that I looked forward to seeing. It meant a safe place to stop, and maybe even a nice conversation.
I was so freakin' tired, it was everything I could do to focus on the ride to get out of Ensenada ASAP. We stopped at an ATM to get more money, since I had forgotten to at the first ATM stop, and got hit with a jaw-dropping ATM fee. We were both so tired, so snippy... it was not a good day. I was focused on just staying alert enough to not make a mistake.
I'm sorry to say this, but as we made our way through the cities south of Ensenada, the settlements reminded me of Afghanistan, per the lack of pavement off the main road and how run down so many things looked. There are no driveways or parking lots in any of the businesses along the road in a settlement - it's just dirt, and it's often a really dramatic drop off the road to get down to a business or house along the highway. Many buildings don't have signs, but you can figure out what they are by looking at them. Mexico has a LOT of businesses selling tires, BTW.
But gradually, the landscape in between settlements was becoming more and more lush and green. And it was easy to not get lost: the only paved road was Route One. The farther we got from Ensenada, the more I was liking Baja.
South of Ensenada, we went through our first military checkpoint. Stefan had said they would probably just wave us through, because we were on motorcycles. I went first and the guy made a sign that, where I'm from, means "come here." But he meant it as "go through." Once I figured that out, through I went. I admit to being nervous - I've gone through a fair amount of military checkpoints in my life, with guys holding VERY big guns and not looking friendly, but felt a certain amount of protection with a big "UN" on the side of the truck. I don't think my little UN stickers on my bike panniers are quite the same...
On our list of possibilities of places to see a side trip off Highway 1 was up a paved road up into Sierra de San Pedro Mártir National Park: at the end of the road, at nearly 10,000 feet, is the National Astronomical Observatory. On a clear day, you can see both the Sea of Cortez and the Pacific Ocean in one panorama. And the road sounded interesting. But it was a cloudy day, a bit rainy at times, and we were just way, way too tired for such a long, challenging road that, in that weather, wouldn't give us the panorama.
I befriended some dogs at a stop in San Tomás. We sat in front of the independent convenience store and restaurant there eating some snacks and drinking water, and I noticed that there was a campground across the road. But the sign for it clearly said "No Motos" - which means no motorcycles. It was the first campground I had seen since we got into Mexico, and I was surprised to see that sign. We rarely saw a campground in northern Baja - it was only as we got close to Loreto many days later we started to see campgrounds. I was SO glad we had chosen NOT to camp!
I also will say that this was the first of many dog encounters and I was very pleased that all of the dogs we saw and encountered seemed to belong to someone. Dogs are allowed to roam freely, which, of course, often leads to tragedy. We're just glad we never caused such a tragedy. A few dogs chased us on the motorcycle, but not many - unlike Italy. In fact, I will say that Italy and Romania are far, far, far worse in their treatment of dogs and cats than Baja, overall. Afghanistan is also worse (but not as bad as Italy or Romania).
Somewhere on this road, we came to a great deal of construction, and we had to do a mile, maybe even a mile and a half, completely off-road, on a graven and dirt, sometimes rocky, road, following a long line of single-lane traffic. I was so sleep-deprived, I had fully-loaded panniers, and I still NAILED IT - traffic was never held up because of ME. At one point, we passed two women on Harleys, trying to go the opposite direction. Had they been unable to keep up with the line of traffic behind the follow truck? Or had they been waved through even though it wasn't time for traffic from their direction to go through, because the thought was, hey, motorcycles can do it? No idea. I couldn't even wave - I had to have both my hands on my handle bars on that road. I was soooo proud of myself, and kinda disappointed that that was the most construction and longest off-roading we ever dealt with.
We had decided to stay in San Quintin for the night. As we were driving, we were looking for a hotel that was supposed to be just south of town that I had seen recommended in one of the many road trip accounts I had read. But we ran out of town and hadn't seen the suggested hotel - and just one that kinda looked maybe okay, but it was right on 1, and I did NOT like that. We pulled over on the side of the road to argue about what to do next, severely sleep-deprived, and I looked over and saw a sign for the Old Mill Hotel. The road that was leading to the West and to the hotel looked pave. So we left Highway 1 and headed west towards the ocean. We passed an airfield and the road became dirt and gravel, but that was okay - it's amazing how much that off-road class has changed me regarding my emotions when I come to gravel.
I turned into the black gravel parking lot for the Old Mill Hotel, went through the open gate, we parked, and I walked into the office. I was so tired, I was afraid I would slur my words as I spoke. I asked if she had a room, I asked for the price and I asked if it would be quiet. She said that they didn't have any motorcycle groups that night but they usually do - instead, they had just some church group and, therefore, it would probably be quiet, plus the restaurant would be closed Tuesday and Wednesday, and that meant it would be quiet early in the night as well. The strong implication I was getting from her: it's usually not a quiet place but, tonight, you're in luck, it will be. She put us in one of the older rooms in the original section and it was PERFECT: simple, big, with a kitchen (which we didn't need, but it was nice). I was INSTANTLY happy. Seriously tired, but happy.
We were determined to stay up at least until 8, because a nap would throw off our sleep. The hotel has a beautiful new restaurant right next door, so after walking around a bit to look at the bay, with me acting like a dork, we went there for beer and a delicious dinner: I had grilled shrimp and clam chowder and both were absolutely outstanding.
I was instantly happier in that cute bar and in our clean, quiet hotel room: THIS was the Baja, Mexico I had come to see. I loved the Old Mill vibe so much. I wish the weather had been better but, if there's one thing I've learned on our motorcycle trips, it's that you get the weather you get, and you make the best of it.
I slept very well that night, waking up just once to listen to the pounding rain. But had there been other motorcycles and four-wheelers, had it not been raining and driven everyone off the bar patio, had Covid19 not already been causing cancellations, I bet this hotel would have been loud. So, so grateful it wasn't this night!
Our trip had been completely rebooted. I had stayed in a perfect little hotel, had a great meal, had lovely interactions with staff, slept solidly on the stormy night, and awakened refreshed and with completely different moods. The next morning, the rain was taking a break. Stefan removed the covers off the motorcycles and there were cats underneath who had weathered the storm there. Sadly, they did not want me to cuddle them.
We talked about how many signs in English we were already seeing - lots for sale, lots for rent, RV parks, etc. There seems to be quite a large English-speaking community around San Quintin, particularly in the South.
The restaurant was closed, and that was fine: we were ready to head out. We thought about using the camping stove we brought to make instant coffee, but decided to push on instead. Of course the rain began again. I was not looking at the travel guide I had so meticulously prepared about what to see and where to stop, so when we stopped for gas at El Rosario and I asked where to get coffee and the attendant, the first of many women at gas stations we encountered, said, "Mama Espinoza's," it didn't register. It's right around the corner from the gas station, and it's legendary among motorcycle tourists and Baja racers: it's a restaurant and hotel, and the food is really great. And of course I already had it on my guide, I realized later. After our delicious breakfast there, we went to the large grocery store right across the road to load up on a few supplies for the road.
Around El Rosario, the road began to get quite interesting: less settlements, more twisting roads, more elevation changes. And so far, I wasn't at all bored by the cactus. Just as I'm not bored by trees. Added to the landscape were rocks - giant boulders, in fact. It was all so beautiful to me - it reminded me so much of Nevada, a state I think is really underrated regarding motorcycle trips. But, unfortunately, we were also getting rained on. The rain was constant. Rain rain rain. So much rain.
I was stunned at the lack of traffic once we were out of San Quintin. In fact, pretty much as soon as we got out of Ensenada, traffic had become light. We rarely got stuck behind a slow-moving truck on the entire trip. What happened more often was a vehicle got stuck behind ME - even breaking the speed limits on Mexican highways, I'm still going slower than most everyone else.
At some point, north of Catavina, we passed an abandoned geodesic dome on the left hand side of the road. It was too rainy and the sopping wet off-road conditions too questionable to go explore it. Internet searches show that it was abandoned before it was finished, but I can't find anything about its history.
We were entering the Baja gas desert, a stretch of road where there are no official gas stations. Gas stations are plentiful in Baja - except on this one stretch of Ruta One. There are people selling gas out of barrels at Catavina and Punta Prieta, but we had gassed up at the last stop before the gas gap began, so we didn't need their services. But we did stop just before Punta Prieta to give some gas to three Mexicans on the side of the road, with a woman frantically waving a large empty water bottle at passing cars - they barely thanked us, which ticked Stefan off.
Punta Prieta is the turnoff for Bahia de Los Angeles, and there's not much there at that turnoff. What's needed here more than people selling gas out of barrels is a TOILET! There are often motorcycle travelers here, stopped at the road junction, just taking a break, even if they don't need gas. My guess: motorcyclists have peed on or behind absolutely everything at this junction.
The road to Bahia de Los Angeles from Ruta 1 is mostly straight, and I went really fast for the first time on our trip so far, well above 60 miles an hour. I hadn't felt comfortable doing it before, for fear of police and fear of the twisty road in the rain, but now, I didn't care - it was an easy road and I was ready to get off the bike. I'm sorry I didn't get a photo of the ford-the-arroyo (vado) sign, to which someone had added a sticker of a scuba diver, as though he were swimming through the waves.
Which reminds me: someone had also added little boots to the cow on most of the signs that warned of an open range. I appreciate you, whoever you are.
Off the road to the bay are prehistoric rock paintings of Montevideo, part of the Great Mural region considered to be one of the most important archaeological sites in Baja California. Known officially as Pinturas Rupestres de Valle Montevideo, they are estimated by some to be 10,000 years old. We fully intended to see them - ya'll know how much we LOVE pictographs and petroglyphs - but we never saw a sign for them and, plus, the sandy roads were absolute SOUP. I found out later that the turnoff is at the sign for San Borja, and two guys we talked with, on lighter bikes than us and with way more off road skills, said they had tried to see them but had turned around the day before because it was just too damn hard.
We got into the town and I admit it: I was disappointed. I was hoping for a town that was pretty. But it was a sad, run down town that seemed to not be doing very well. We went up a steep, sandy hill to the Princess Motel, per a bright pink sign down on the main road pointing up the road and proclaiming, "Bikers welcome!", but once we got there, we decided we were way too far from dinner somewhere. So we went back down the sandy hill - that I didn't fall is a testament to my taking that off-road riding class. We stopped at another hotel that looked very pricey, where there were two motorcycles parked in the lot, but they were full and didn't seem to want us. Another hotel on the main drag looked permanently closed. There was no one walking anywhere. Back where the town started, there was a road headed in the other direction, closer to the water, with a sign for Villa Bahia, "Breakfast included!", so we headed that way.
The road down to Villa Bahia from the pavement was hard packed sand and much easier than the road up to the Princess Hotel. Villa Bahia is as run down as the rest of the town, but it was also clean and had a glorious view of the Bay. Villa Bahia is not an elegant place, but they obviously know motorcycle travelers: when Stefan asked where to park the bikes, the guy immediately pointed to the enclosed patio. He gave us an upstairs room and it was huge, simple, clean, with a kitchen we didn't need. Downsides: the door to our room didn't lock (anywhere else on this trip, I wouldn't have stood for it, but there, I wasn't worried at all), the site manager said they had food but then announced they had only one meal (very boney fish - Stefan HATES bones in any meat), they said they had lots of different kinds of beer but had only Tecate and Coors, they said they had red wine but then realized they didn't... and on and on like that. Plus, they over charged us. I'm not sure if they are always like that or if they were just thrown because they had cancellations of all guests that week from the USA and Canada because of Covid19. They said a group of Canadians had left early for fear of not being allowed to travel back through the USA to their homes. We were the only ones at the hotel because of cancellations and it was our first indication that travel in Mexico was being substantially affected by the virus.
We noticed a sticker on the window of the office, showing that the residents had been counted in the Mexican 2020 census. I also saw Census vehicles twice during the trip. I hope the Mexican public treats them better than people in the USA treat census workers in my country. It hadn't dawned on me that 2020 was a year for MANY countries to do their census, not just the USA. Gads but we live in a bubble in the USA.
We sat outside on our private porch overlooking the water, drinking a few cans of Tecate beer (which is WAY too light for Stefan, but it's all the hotel had), watching the sunset and playing on the Internet on our phones. Two cats hung out with us, one that adored me and REALLY wanted in our room, which Stefan absolutely would not allow.
Which reminds me: Baja is all about Tecate, not Corona. We saw Tecate signs EVERYWHERE, and their beer was always available. But rarely Corona. I don't like either of them (sex in a canoe, ya'll).
The next morning, I walked out onto the porch just after sunrise, and just in time to see dolphins out in the Bay. I squealed. Because... because DOLPHINS! We also loved watching and hearing a pelican plunge into the water, over and over, to fish - the "thunk" was amazing. The views were so pretty.
Since we were the only guests at the hotel, the staff just put a coffee machine (with ready coffee) at the reception desk - they were upstairs in their living quarters. There was enough for two cups for each of us. Honestly, it was fine: we weren't going to stay for breakfast because we were relatively sure they didn't have any, and I'm good after two cups of coffee. Plus, we had picked up bananas at some point, and a banana always gets me going. My morning cabana boy was particularly cute, by the way.
We packed up and left without a goodbye - so surprised the manager didn't come out just to send us off. I wouldn't go to Bahia de Los Angeles again - I'm glad I went, but I see no reason to visit it again. But if you decide to go for a night, Villa Bahia seems okay - just book online to get a cheaper rate and plan on eating elsewhere.
We put on our rain gear before we left because we could see rain in the mountains back on the road where we had come from Ruta 1. We stopped at a gas station just before the town ends and had nice conversations with other motorcyclists, first with a couple of American guys who had been attempting to ride off road and camp and who had given up because of the relentless rain, and then two Mexican guys who were so pleased to chat. I also got to greet some doggoes that came over to say howdy from wherever they lived - they weren't begging for food, just pets, and as I had on gloves, I didn't mind.
Back at the Punta Prieta junction, we stopped again to pee before we headed South, and met up with the two American riders again - they were heading back North. One of them used to work at the Bushnell, a big performing arts space in Hartford, Connecticut - I used to work for Hartford Stage.
We saw a large group of motorcycles parked at what I guess is an unmarked restaurant South of Punta Prieta, and later saw a large group of motorcycle travelers heading in the opposite direction of us: North. We wondered how many group rides were going on at Baja at any given time. Spoiler alert: we never encountered any more groups.
We went through another military checkpoint and, this time, we were asked to stop. I'm guessing the guards were bored. They asked me if I spoke Spanish, I said what I always say, in Spanish: my Spanish is very bad. Horrible. Do you speak English? Is your English better than my Spanish?" And the reply is always, in Spanish, "My English is bad." And then we smile. They asked where I had been that day, where we were going, and I not only told them that but had to add how beautiful I thought Mexico is, that I'm originally from Kentucky but my husband is German, he doesn't speak Spanish, and blah blah blah. I'm sure they thought, Jesus, WHY did we ask her to stop! They said I could go but, oh, I wasn't done! I had to ask their names and shake their hands! Their names are Oscar and Erin. They carry very large guns.
At last, we crossed into Baja Sur. There is a military base there, and another military checkpoint, but we were waved through. To get to the actual city of Guerrero Negro, you have to leave the highway. The start of the town, near the highway, is quite new, and seems to cater to the military base (per the titty bars and disco signs we saw), but if you go on into the town towards the lagoon, you see the older part of the town and the part that caters to whale watchers - which we did not. The town isn't that old - it was founded by a foreigner in 1957 because of the salt minds, and it's named for a whaling ship that wrecked in the lagoon. Had the rain not been relentless and we'd known more about how easy it was to book a whale watching tour, we absolutely would have stayed there for a day. But the rain... so much rain...
I hate how I look in rain gear, but buying gear that's too big for me makes it WAY easier to put on over my regular motorcycle gear, something I sometimes have to do on the side of the road with no chair. So, I accept looking like a hippo in my rain gear, even given all the weight I've lost.
We were hungry, so we pointed to some things in a case at OXXO. My meal turned out to be hot dog wrapped in cheese and a tortilla. Didn't I used to eat that before I learned to cook?
We were finding that every PEMEX gas station or OXXO had clean, public bathrooms with plenty of hand soap - not something I can say about gas station or grocery store bathrooms in the USA. And they weren't freaked out that you wanted to use them, the way places are in the USA. We both were washing our hands constantly - and, yes, I was at least humming "Jolene."
Heading out of the town, we had to leave the highway for just about 500 yards for road construction, riding on hard packed, wet, thick muddy sand along the highway, but once again, I did just fine.
There was no mention of a city we went through, El Marasal, in the Vizcaino region, in anything we read anywhere. It's a well-established town 96 miles north of San Ignacio and 100 miles south of Guerrero Negro. Many of the side roads are paved and there are lots of restaurants, there's gas, even a decent looking hotel, Hotel Real Vizcaino, right on the main drag. Once we got back to Oregon, we looked up the town to know what the name of it was. During the trip though, we called it The Mystery Town, because we can't find any reference to it in all that we've read about Baja, including Trip Advisor. There is a turnoff in the town to go to the coast.
The rain was relentless after Guerro Negro, but manageable, and we were still passing lots of signs for arroyos / vados, but not encountering any - except for the massive puddles we sometimes had to drive through to get to a gas station or store.
We ended up in the late afternoon at Rice and Beans in San Ignacio, in a deluge of rain. This is a hotel and restaurant that is frequented by motorcycle travelers on Ruta One, and the parking lot is also an RV park. The driveway down to the office is stupid steep - don't bother. Instead, either ride back to the rooms and go down that hill, or even better, go past Rice and Beans on Highway 1 from the North and take the first paved road to the right - it will bring you the back way into the driveway at a flat angle. We did not know about that back way to get in, so had ridden over to the hotel rooms and gone down that sandy slope.
At most any restaurant or hotel that goes through Baja, California, Mexico, you are going to see LOTS of stickers from motorcycle travelers. These are some even on the mirrors in the hotel rooms of Rice and Beans.
It was early, but there's really no where to stop on down the road until you get back to the East Coast, and we were so done with the rain. We were the only bikers there, and I was disappointed at that - I was so ready to spend an evening trading information and hearing advice and exaggerated stories. The food is good - I had excellent shrimp tacos and a margarita (or three). We had a nice chat with another couple there in an RV, from Beaverton, Oregon. There were maybe two other people, but that was it. We heard a large group of motorcyclists would be there the next day - I assumed an organized group. I wondered if we would see them later in the trip (we didn't). At one point, the lights went out and staff immediately had candles lit - this must happen fairly often. But Stefan barely got a photo taken before the lights were right back on.
The rooms at Rice and Beans have comfy beds, but no hooks nor hangers to hang your gear, which is such a huge oversight on Ricardo's part. And the Internet is wretched, even in the restaurant. Not that you want to be on your phone much, but we needed up-to-date weather reports, and if we had needed to book a hotel for the next night in another town, it would have been impossible.
If Rice and Beans isn't your jam, there are plenty more hotels in the town, but you have to go off Highway One, towards or even into San Ignacio, to find them. I'll say more about Rice and Beans and the town later in my travelogue - we stayed there again on the way back up.
CNN was on the TV, and as we listened to updates and the Idiot in the White House, we realized that the number of people sick with COVID19 was growing and Trump was continuing to bungle the response. He was also shutting down flights from Europe, which was probably the first appropriate response the USA had undertaken. But I managed to check some sites on the dodgy Internet and there was still no indication that we should go back to the USA, not based on what was happening in the USA nor Mexico.
The Beans and Rice cats REALLY wanted in our room, out of the constant rain, but Stefan refused.
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