December 5 – 8
| Centenario |
| San Evaristo |
| Cuidad Constitucion |
|
Rancho Buena |
The
Fun Chronicles
Copyright
2001 – all rights reserved
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on thumbnails for larger images
Prologue
For over two years, we've been trying to schedule a quad trip covering the entire peninsula. A few weeks ago I thought we'd finally get to make the lengthy ride, but it seems fate has conspired against me again. The logistics just proved to be too much of a hurdle. We’d have to trailer the bikes to the border, drive the rigs back, and have a chase vehicle. Not only that, most of the guys couldn’t take the same 10-14 days the adventure would take
I polled everyone, and it seems the best everyone could do was a 4-day trip,
from Dec. 5-8. Armed with this
criterion, I went to work planning a ride, hopefully covering some new
territory. I wanted to start the
ride from Los Barriles, as it’s much simpler if we don’t have to trailer the
bikes. Unfortunately, the coastal
road going north is impassable since Hurricane Juliette paid us her visit a
couple of months ago, and the road south doesn’t get us to any virgin areas.
After
reviewing all our options, I finally planned a trip starting from La Paz, going
north to San Evaristo on the gulf coast for the first night, through the
mountains to Cuidad Constitucion for night 2, then through the southerly portion
of Bahia Magdalena down to the Pacific coast for night 3, then a short day back
to La Paz, leaving plenty of time to load up and get home.
For most of us, this ride covers new ground. On Nov. 29th we had a riders
meeting, and everyone embraced the plan. One
of the charter members of the group, Bob, couldn’t make the 4th day, and we
had no chase vehicle. Both problems
were solved when Bob volunteered to drive the chase vehicle.
The plan was for him to chase the riders for days 1 & 2, then on day
3 he would meet us at a designated spot to top off our gas, then return home,
leaving us on our own for the last day and a half. This option seems to work for everyone, so we break up the
meeting with the plan to meet at the local Pemex station on Dec. 5th at 8am.
With
the route now set, I shift gears and start thinking about preparations.
On the first and third nights we will be camping on the beach, and will
need to carry everything we need on our bikes.
Without any large carrying racks on my quad, this is a challenging task
for me. Fortunately, I recently installed a 5.2-gallon gas tank on the Raptor,
thus minimizing the fuel-carrying problem.
A 2.5-gallon jerry can in the cooler rack will do the trick. I dug through the closet and found a bag just the right size
to hold my sleeping bag and clothes. The
logistics of carrying what I need solved, I move on to a more important task.
On
day 2, the route goes through many small ranchos, and it might be easy to get
confused and make a wrong turn. I
solved this problem by calculating the latitude/longitude of all the significant
turns, and plugging them into my handheld GPS unit.
For additional security, the invaluable Iridium satellite phone will be
in my backpack, as well as a digital camera and Palm computer to document the
trip.
I
love Mexico – as I’m stuffing the backpack with all the electronics, I
can’t help but muse on the post-9/11 world.
In almost any other country, if I were searched on a remote road carrying
a GPS, satellite phone, digital camera and microcomputer, I might be immediately
put in front of a firing squad and executed for espionage.
But here in the wilds of Baja California, I’m just a well-prepared
traveler.
As
an experiment, I mounted the GPS on the handlebars of the quad and went on a
test ride. The results were nothing
short of spectacular. Not only
could I monitor the distance and heading to the next waypoint, but I could also
use the GPS as an electronic speedometer/odometer, giving me average speed,
maximum speed, a trip odometer and a total odometer.
These additional tools might come in real handy on the ride.
I
make a dry run and pack everything to make sure it will all fit.
That task successfully completed, all that’s left is to wait for
Wednesday morning.
Getting
up at 5, I check on the Weather Channel's web site to see what Mother Nature has
in store for us. The forecast for
Cabo San Lucas is nothing short of incredulous - they show Cabo is supposed to
get snow! Gathering at the local gas station for an 8am departure, everyone's
eager for the adventure to begin, and we ignore the foreboding weather.
Making a head count, there's an even dozen making the trip.
Caravanning
to La Paz, we regroup at the Ley's store to buy supplies for the trip.
As the most responsible person in the group, I draw shopping duty. The
list is simple, 5 buckets of fried chicken for tonight's dinner, 3 cases of
beer, 2 gallons of rum and vodka, and a case of Pepsi for mixer.
Some of the guys were concerned I didn't get enough booze, but were
mollified when I explained this only had to last us until tomorrow afternoon,
when we could restock upon getting to Constitucion.
Our
shopping stop complete, we head on over to Centenario to look for a safe place
to leave the vehicles. Stopping at an abandoned trailer park, we find an
expatriated gringo who has converted the place to a distillery.
He agrees to let us leave our trucks inside his secure area, and even
supplies us with a sample of his wares, a foul-tasting mixture of sugar and
alcohol. As we get unloaded and prepped for the ride, one of the ringleaders of
our circus, Bob, gathers everyone for a speech, swearing everyone to secrecy for
any embarrassing events on the trip. The
best I can promise is to not use real names in describing any such misdeeds.
Everything
else being said and done, there's nothing left to do but get on our quads and
go. We're on the road at 12:30 for
the first leg of today's trip, a 25-mile stretch of paved road to San Juan de La
Costa. I had though this leg would
be boring, but am amazed at the different landscape we pass.
The GPS is performing flawlessly, but doesn't like the handlebar mount,
so I slip it into my shirt pocket, where it will reside for the rest of the
trip.
It's evident most of the guys don't like liquor, because they're doing an
excellent job of getting rid of it as we make numerous stops to wage war on the
booze inventory. I'm beginning to
think it won't survive until tomorrow. Regrouping
at the beginning of the 40-mile section of dirt road to San Evaristo, we
continue on, leaving a plume of dust I'm sure could be seen from the space
shuttle. We start going through
some really strange landscape, with alternating sections of pink rock, then
green rock, punctuated by eerie wind-carved rock formations.
I'm beginning to think Mother Nature was on drugs when she created this
place, or I've just entered a Dr. Seuss book.
We pass through some really spectacular country that few people ever get to see. We pass black-sand beaches on our right guarded by a range of huge multi-layered mountains on our left, seemingly reaching into the heavens. Our frequent stops take on a new mission, as taking in the stark beauty of this desolate area becomes more important than the raids on the booze supply - almost.
Getting closer to Evaristo, the road gets rougher, with the sandy washes
being replaced with ever-longer sections of bone-jarring trail hewed out of
solid rock. Coming up over the last
rise, the picturesque sheltered cove of San Evaristo comes into view. Dropping
down into the bay, we finally stop at the beach, where a few hardy commercial
fishermen eek out a living.
Scott sees a dolphin skeleton he can’t live without, and promptly
negotiates a purchase. It’s not until later we figure out there’s no room to
carry it with us, so he’s coming back by Jeep next week to pick it up. One of
the quads is acting up, and upon further investigation we can testify that the
automatic transmission on a Polaris quad doesn’t work too well without oil. I break out the Iridium phone to check in with work, and the
locals watch in amazement that I’m able to make a call from here.
We barter our way into the use of one of the fishermen’s palapa huts
for the evening, and proceed to wage total war on the booze supply.
The battle was tough, but by evening's conclusion, we declared total
victory, as there was no longer a drop of booze to be found.
Retiring to recover from the effects of the battle, we decide to call it
a night.
The wind has been howling through the camp all night, augmenting the liquor-enhanced snoring emanating from most of the group, making steady sleep an unfulfilled dream. Jerry comes to the rescue at dawn, breaking out the propane stove to make some life-saving coffee. The effects are instantaneous – everyone gets vertical and starts to pack for today’s ride, through the mountains, where we expect to see some spectacular vistas. For most of the guys, breakfast consists of day-old unrefrigerated fried chicken. I try a piece, but after one bite consider it too vile to choke down, so I resort to a couple of Atkins bars I had packed just for this eventuality. Properly nourished, I’m ready to attack today’s trail.
Leaving San Evaristo, we backtrack a couple of miles to intersect the
road going inland. The trail immediately becomes a narrow ledge carved into the
side of the mountains. The recent
rains have washed away the sand and dirt from the surface, leaving a path of
bone-jarring shale as we head into the heavens, climbing at least a couple of
thousand feet within a few miles. Stopping
to see if the chase vehicles can make it up the trail, the view is spectacular.
To our near surprise, the chase cars are right on our tail.
We regroup before continuing, so everyone can enjoy the view.
The GPS is coming handy, as I can easily tell how far it is to the next intersection. This will really become essential later in the day. Continuing on, we pass through some truly amazing landscape, reminiscent of the Grand Canyon. I’ve been told this area has permanent water, and has been inhabited for thousands of years. For those in the know, there are many cave paintings tucked away in the hills above the trail. We pass a number of little ranchos, and reflect on the resiliency of the hardy people that live here. Obviously few visitors make it this far, and the passing of a group of crazy gringos is cause for the locals to stop and gawk as we drive by.
After a winding journey through the picturesque mountains, we arrive at a
secluded oasis near San Pedro de la Presa, where the area is known for producing
high quality knives from used automotive springs.
Again, the resourcefulness of these people never ceases to impress me.
Continuing on, it’s now my job to locate a specific turn to get us to
San Luis Gonzaga, on the way to Constitucion. If I miss the turn, we’ll wind
up back at Highway 1, not where we want to be.
Following the GPS, I head down a trail that quickly turns into a dead-end
at the local school. Turning
everyone around, we head the other way, but I’m a bit apprehensive as my
electronic trail guide tells me we’re heading the wrong way.
To my relief, the trail swings around after a couple of miles, and I
start enjoying the scenery, as we gradually get closer to the elusive turn off.
I cannot get used to seeing all the little isolated ranchos along the
way, finding it difficult to imagine the lives these people have.
Within 100 yards of the location I plugged into the GPS, a turnoff
magically appears on the right. It
appears to be little used, making me a bit uneasy about trusting my
responsibility to decide to turn. While
waiting for everyone to catch up, a vaquero comes by on horseback, and indicates
that this is indeed the road to San Luis Gonzaga, but a better road is about 2
miles ahead. Thanking him, a burden
is suddenly lifted from my shoulders, and once everyone has regrouped, I lead
the charge north.
As the vaquero promised, a well-used turn appears ahead, and off we go, through the maze of farm roads. I’m secretly hoping I don’t make a mistake, and finally lose my nerve when hitting a 4-way intersection in the middle of nowhere. While everyone regroups, I check out a nearby farmhouse, where leather-faced old man tells me which path leads to San Luis Gonzaga. Continuing on with renewed confidence, a village soon appears, and we’re soon parked in front of the old mission there, built in 1732, and still in use today.
We’ve got a 10-mile stretch of straight road to traverse, so I let the
Raptor loose, and before you know it, we’re soon at the next turn. I need to find a sharp left turn ahead, and let everyone know
to be on the lookout for it. All of
a sudden, a dam suddenly appears out of nowhere, and we all stop to check it
out.
We’ve all been so distracted by the dam, none of us noticed the trail
to the left just in front of the marker sign for the dam.
Everyone continues on their merry way, oblivious to the fact we’re
heading in the wrong direction. After
a couple of miles, it’s clear to me we’re headed back towards the Sea of
Cortez, not Constitucion. I stop
and try to convince everyone we missed a turn, but the overcast sky is obscuring
the sun, and it’s hard to get anyone to believe me.
Finally, Jerry decides to join me in finding the missed turn, while
everyone else waits for us. I find
a trail on the far side of the dam, and surmise our map was made before the dam
was built, and that’s how we missed the turn.
I let Jerry know, and scout ahead and find a rancho where the family
looks in disbelief as this large gringo apparition appears out of nowhere,
asking for directions to Constitucion. The
rancher tells me about the turn at the front of the dam, and armed with this
info, I rush back to the restless horde, and lead everyone on to Constitucion.
The trail soon degenerates into the thickest silt I’ve ever seen. I feel sorry for the riders in back; their visibility must be close to zero. My heart sinks, as I turn a corner and am faced with a closed gate. I see riders behind me starting to turn around, but I’m sure of the direction we’re going, and notice the gate is unlocked. Opening it and continuing on, we are soon confronted with the most evident sign of civilization, the local dump. Knowing we’re close to our destination, I lead on, and soon pop out on a paved road. At first I think it must be Highway 1, but soon see a sign showing this is the road to a local ejido. I wave everyone ahead, and we’re soon entrenched at today’s destination, a small hotel in downtown Cuidad Constitucion.
Checking in, it’s showers, a change of clothes, then cocktails and
dinner before turning in. Sleeping
in a bed never felt better.
Day 3
Everyone’s up before dawn, eager to get going, as we have about 130
miles to today’s destination, the beach at the south end of Magdalena Bay.
At first light we say goodbye to Bob, as he drives back to Barriles,
leaving us with D.C. for the chase vehicle.
Soon after, we head out to get gas and breakfast.
Restocking our liquor supply and buying food for tonight completed,
we’re on our way. We have a
20-mile stretch of pavement to go before getting to the turn to take us down
towards southern Mag Bay. We have
our first casualty, as Greg cannot ride any further, the victim of stomach
problems. We load him into the Suburban and continue on.
Finding the turn right where the GPS says, we stop and regroup.
Scott prefers riding out front, not liking to eat others’ dust. His starter hasn’t been working since the beginning of the
ride, and needs to be push started. He
nearly becomes our next casualty, as the throttle was stuck open when the push
start kicked in, sending him on his butt, while the bike continued on its merry
way down the road. Reeling in the
runaway quad, Scott remounts and heads down the road.
About a half-hour later, we stop for the first of many cocktail breaks
for the day. After all, it’s got
to be past noon in some part of the world – right?
Taking a trail down towards the beach, we encounter a huge field of
discarded clamshells, and stop to check it out.
Retracing our path, we need more cocktails before continuing.
A while later, at our next stop, we notice my rack is loose, and the
exhaust is burning through my tool pack. I’ve
lost the mounting bolts on one side; the easiest fix is to remove the rack,
which is what we do. Devoid of the
extra 30 pounds, the bike handles noticeably different as we search for the road
to Santa Rita. Our maps contain a
number of errors, and we must improvise to continue forward. We stumble onto the Baja 1000 course, and decide to follow
the markers, which should lead us to Santa Rita.
Somewhere along the trail we miss a marker, and wind up on the road
leading back to the highway. Spotting
a trail going in the right direction, a really nervous Roy leads the group right
to where the GPS says we’ll intersect the Santa Rita – Puerto Chale road.
Regrouping there, the chase vehicle runs into town in search of more
supplies, and soon returns. It’s
getting late in the day, and time is working against us.
The decision is made to stop at 5, whether or not we reach our
destination. Cruising over the
well-graded road, we’re soon stopped by a couple of Federales, manning one of
the many drug/gun checkpoints throughout the peninsula.
They ask a few questions and soon pass us through.
Getting to Puerto Chale at 4:15, there’s no way we’ll get to Flor de
Malva fish camp today, so we just keep going in order to find a suitable camp
spot before dark.
Going through one camp, we miss the turn and start heading into the
desert. Quickly changing course, we
soon pass some of the other riders heading north.
They missed the road heading south, and Howard and I charge forward, as
this is the only way south. Unbeknownst
to me, everyone else just stopped and scratched their heads, while Howard and I
continued south. I glance back at
every turn, and seeing Howard on my tail made me think everyone was behind me.
Arriving at a great spot to camp called Rancho Buena, we stop and wait
for the others, and wait, and wait, and wait.
Nobody’s coming, it’s getting dark, and I don’t even have a jacket
with me. We figure everyone else
pitched camp farther back, and head back with the little daylight we have left.
Soon we run into Les, heading our way as the vanguard of the rest of the
group. Returning to Rancho Buena, I
figure it’s the best place to camp for the last 20 miles.
Soon everyone comes dragging in, and we pitch camp near the water’s
edge. Someone’s missing; a head
count shows Jerry hasn’t arrived yet. Just
as we’re planning a rescue mission here comes Jerry, with a quad loaded with
precious firewood.
We get set up, build a fire, and again attack the rum supply with a vengeance. Pooling our supplies, we dine on buffalo sausage, cheese and chips. I do believe most of the guys didn’t fall asleep tonight; they just passed out.
Day 4
Daybreak brings clear skies and no wind. I feel great, but last night’s
cold weather brought with it lots of sore muscles and creaky bones to us old
geezers. Everyone seems anxious to
get moving, so we quickly pack up to hit the road.
There’s a shortcut we need to find, and once we get there, it’s
evident the path hasn’t been used in some time, as the trail is well obscured
by overgrowth. As this route will
cut about 10 miles off the trip, we decide to give it a try. Leading on, I
charge down the trail, collecting an assortment of brush and wildflowers in the
suspension of my quad. Finally
breaking through, we follow the trail to the village of Estero, where all the
kids come out to gawk as us. Regrouping
here, we breakfast on cold hot dogs and bread.
Life doesn’t get much better than this.
Property nourished, we continue on, and after a couple of wrong turns, we
wind up on the Baja 1000 course again. The trail has been heavily eroded from
recent storms, and the going is hazardous.
Repeatedly stopping to make sure the chase truck gets through, all of us
are amazed at the places the truck will go.
I almost crash a couple of times, and motion Ron to take the lead.
We were hoping the trail would permit us some beach riding, but this just doesn’t seem to be the case. Continuing on, we regroup again near the lighthouse at Punta Conejo. We’re starting to see campers on the remote beaches, and sense civilization is getting closer. Getting to an intersection not on my map, everyone hesitates, so I put the GPS back in control, and try to find a path not leading to the highway. Ron, Scott and I stop at a little village called Ejido Conquista, and while waiting for the others, take advantage of the town’s store and partake of water, beer and snacks. I’m determined to get the group back on course and go on ahead, leaving Ron and Scott to wait for the others. Feeling nature’s call just as I’m getting to an intersection, I kill two birds with one stone and leave a biological mound in the center of the road marking my direction.
Waiting for everyone near Jesus Maria, the group soon arrives. After a short wait while I check on which trail to take, we move on, guided by my electronic locator. Soon we’re on the road to the highway, heading right towards the spot my GPS says is the back way into Centenario. But when we get to the spot, there’s no trail. Stopping to regroup, we have our next casualty, Les’s Polaris. While repairs are attempted, I go on up ahead and try to find the trail. After 4 days, and being within 15 miles of home, it’s frustrating to get lost now. About a mile up I find a trail going in the right direction, and report back to the others. Les’s bike is dead, so we load it up and move on.
The trail ends up at the highway about a mile north of the grade leading down to La Paz. We follow the power line road as far as we can, and decide to ride down the grade on the highway and will try to find another path down below. We don’t want to ride through the inspection stop up ahead, as we don’t need any hassle from the federal highway police for riding our quads on the pavement. Stopping at a little store at the bottom of the grade, I ask the rancher there about the way to the Baja 1000 course. He says it’s about 3 miles inland, and we can get to it through his ranch, but we need to give him a propina to let us through. 200 pesos later, only 4 riders have shown up, so we decide to give it a try, leaving the others to find their own way home.
Winding through the cactuses and manzanita trees, we eventually get to the right trail, and cruise on towards Centenario. The road takes us through the town dump, and then we pop out onto the highway for the short hop back to the cars. By the time we get there, the others are already loading up, having taken the pavement in. Fortunately, they had no problems at the inspection stop. All that’s left is to load up and head home, savoring the memories. We roll out at about 4:30, and head for Los Barriles.
December 8, 2001
Sr. Divertido
The Fun Chronicles
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