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November 18, 2017
Day 6 - Camalu, BC to Santa Rosalia, BCS
I am alive and well and resting peacefully on the shorts of the Sea of Cortez in Santa Rosalia, Baja California Sur. The hotel I'm staying in says " Hotel La Industrial Carr Transpeninsular NTE SN Centro".
Starting Odometer: 6,201
Ending Odometer: 6,633
Distance Traveled Today: 432 miles
Distance Traveled This Trip: 2,010 miles [6,633 - 4,603]
This is roughly what my ride looked like today.
In the morning, I wake up in the Hotel California in Camalu, BC. This section of the Baja is sort of strange because, we're right by the coast, but there doesn't appear to be any access to the coast. As though ocean-front property were well within reach, but not desirable. Very peculiar. I try to drive down to the beach, but the dirt road is very rough, and I turn back without making it to the beach. I can see the ocean, but I didn't ever get down to it.
So I gas up the bike and roll out of town heading south.
This section of the baja is very strange. The road is completely straight - ramrod straight - for some distance south of Camalu. It runs in a perfectly straight line heading south. We pass through small towns, at odd intervals. Seems to be some sort of irrigated farming in some areas. But we just keep going south. Straight as an arrow. Lots of Pemex stations. That is never an issue. Just keep rolling south. Shoulder to the wheel.
The locals appear to be gathering up vines/grass and burning them in piles on both sides of the road, for reasons known only to them. So, basically, you're riding south through a desert where they're burning the only thing that grows in great piles on both sides of the road.
The economic desperation here is difficult to comprehend. I'd hate to guess what they per capita income is in this area, but it can't be much.
Just before El Rosario, the road leaves the coast and turns inland. Now, it's heading inland, with cacti on both sides of the road. This is where I turned back last summer. This is where I turned back and said "oh hell no....I'm not going into the Punta Prieta desert again without a full tank of gas. Not this time. Hell no. Never again..."
And I turned back and back-tracked for 20 miles to the last Pemex station I passed. But this time, all is planned out. All is well. El Rosario is coming up. I'll refuel there.
I stop and refuel when I come into El Rosario. I remember this town perfectly. I stop at the Pemex station and fill up with Roho.
Now, I'm rolling through town, looking for a place to eat. I go through town a few times before settling on a place and sitting down for lunch. You just can't believe how cheap the food is down here, but it's something like $1 per taco, and a CocaCola Light next door goes for $15 pesos. It's really hard to imagine, but this is the truth.
So I eat lunch, and as soon as I get started, some Americans come rolling up with a dune-buggy on a trailer. They say that they just came in 5th in the Baja Mil race. But I don't really care. I didn't come down here to hang out with gringos. Not really my thing. I hate that people have discovered the Baja through Trip Advisor and Yelp and such.
I finish my tacos and roll south out of town. As soon as you leave El Rosario, you cross this large optimistic bridge across an irrigated field. They always build these bridges acorss these creek beds, but it's hard to imagine when it ever rains here. I've never seen it rain at all down here. Ever.
And south of town, the road leaves the coast and now starts winding precariously through the hills, and there are enormous cacti everywhere. Now, we're moving into the heart of the Punta Prieta desert.
What's so funny is that, this time, I'm like super careful with my fuel. And the first time I came down here, I was so unprepared there are no words. I was on a kick-start dirt bike, Honda XR650R, and I rode off into the Punta Prieta desert without even bothering to fill up at the gas station in El Rosario. They told me, "this is the last gas station for 225 miles," and I ignored them. Laughed at them. And rode off into the desert alone, with a half a tank of gas. Like... so stupid there aren't words. That I survived is a testament to....something. Dumb luck I guess? God watches out for fools and children.
But this time is different. This time, I've planned my fuel stops very carefully. This time will be different. This time, I fill up in El Rosario. This time, I know every location in the Punta Prieta desert where people are selling gas on the side of the road.
The first stop south of El Rosario is at Catavina. At Catavina, there is a place on the side of the road where a man sells gas with a little hand-painted sign that says "PEMEX". Obviously, it's not a PEMEX, and when I stop, he isn't there. But someone hits a car horn and he comes walking across the road.
I've only gone 75 miles since I filled up in El Rosario, and he is only offering to sell me 1 full gallon (4 liters) at a time. So I buy 4 liters (1 gallon) from him for $100 pesos ($5.00 USD).
Now, I take off south again, following Mexico 1, always. Always south. Now, 75 more miles until the exit to Bahia de Los Angeles (Angel Bay).
Now, this valley looks very familiar. I remember this place. This place where I almost died last time. We're exactly in the center of the Baja peninsula now. There is, on each side, a mountain range. Each range is about 15-20 miles away from me, roughly paralleling the coasts. I'm in this bowl, full of nothing but cactus, as far as the eye can see.
This is where I hit reserve last time. So stupid there aren't words. I'm not about to hit reserve this time. Even if I did, I'm carrying 2.2 gallons of rojo (premium) gasolina. So, there's zero chance of me running out of gas in this desert this time.
Now, I'm at the exit to Bahia del Los Angeles. Here is the 2nd fuel stop in the desert where a shady character is selling gas on the side of the road.
I'm not sure how much fuel I need, really. I'm thinking maybe I need 2 gallons. I mean, it's not like you have a good clear picture of how much fuel you're getting really. He pours some amount of gasoline into a red, steel 5 gallon jerry can from a 55 gallon drum in the back of a pickup truck. Then, he pours the contents of that into my motorcycle tank. How much fuel did I get, it's hard to know, but my LED lights on the Honda did indicate the tank was full. That cost me $200 pesos, which would be $10 USD for 2 gallons of gas, let's say.
Now, I'm riding south again. Always south. Like, at some point, you just think....I want to escape from this desert. And now, I start running triple digits. I want to go 430 miles today. So I'm just screaming through the baja desert.
There is not a lot of traffic on this road. There never is. Only I do see a bunch of trucks of people riding north from the Baja race. They're carrying dunebuggies on trailers heading north. I see a lot of those guys.
I ride all day, as fast as I can go. I manage to get the bike up to 120 mph. Once the road leaves the coast, I just open it up and run as fast as I can. I've got to make it 430 miles today. In theory, you would think that you could just go 100 mph for 4 hours and you'd be there, but that's not how it works for whatever reason.
I run 100 mph for hours at a time, but hardly seem to get anywhere. The deserts of baja seem to be without equal. They're practically impenetrable. Unconquerable.
Eventually, I make it to Baja California Del Sur, and cross the border at Guerro Negro. There is a Pemex station, so I stop to gas up again. You just can't grasp how vital gas is when you're crossing a 200 mile desert. It's a scary thing to attempt alone.
Now, I fill up again in Guerro Negro. Exactly as I remember it.
"How far is it to Mulege," I ask the woman at the Pemex station.
"Dos horas, mas or menos," she offers.
Right outside of town, anothe rmiltary checkpoint. I remember this one well. This is where I started riding with my friend last time. After nearly dying in the desert, I decided it might be a good idea for me to ride with someone with a brain.
I just roll through the military checkpoints now. I don't even hardly slow down. I figure, if they want to shoot me, they can shoot me, but I never stop. I just roll through like I own the place.
Now, I'm really running wide open. Just skint back, running as fast as possible. Wide open. Trying to get to Mulege before dark. And somehow I've still got two more hours to ride Christ.
So I'm just flying across the desert like a lunatic. Running triple digits. I have to get these pineapples through to Hawaii.
I'm having a hard time remembering some of the details. I recall that we ended up spending the night in Mulege, but it also seems like we went through Santa Rosalia, first. But it's been so long I can't remember clearly.
I get to San Ignacio, and it's roughly like I remembered it. Well irrigated and green. Like a jungle in the middle of the desert, somehow.
But now, still rolling across the Baja. Running triple digits. At some point, I pass a few guys on Kawasaki KLR 650's. But I have no time to be social. I'm flying. The sun is getting lower. I don't want to be riding in the dark.
Today, I rode through several cows grazing on the sides of the road. In places where grass actually grew, there were free-range cows grazing. And you think about how dangerous that is to a motorcycle. It's insanely dangerous. I'm flying down the road at 120 mph, and there are cows chewing grass just 3'-6' away from my bike. This is suicidal.
But I'm a low flying plane. Rolling pretty much due east straight across the peninsula. Heading for the sea of cortez. This is almost like I remember it. I remember climbing away from the sea of cortez. This all looks familiar. And now, the sun is setting and I stop to shoot a few photos. And now rolling down the hill into Santa Rosalia.
I see another motorcyclist. He's on a KLR 650. I stop and speak to him briefly.
"There is a good hotel in town, just on the right once you pass the hardware store. Just up the hill a little," he offers. These are pearls of wisdom. These gems are gifts from strangers on the road. I'm extremely grateful for his help to try to find a room, but I'm so exhausted I'm sure I will never find it.
I'm just totally wiped out. So tired I can hardly open my eyes. He says he's waiting for his friends to come down the hill, so I roll on. Alone. Always alone.
But presently, I see my buddy, and he comes by me on his KLR 650, and I recognize him, and now I see that he's leading me to the hotel. Holy Christ. Thank the Lord. He shows me the hotel, then goes back to find his buddies. This was a gift from God.
I go in and ask how much a room is. It's $500 pesos for the night. ($25 UD). Hotel has airconditioning, hot water showers, internet. Ding. Ding. Ding. We have a winner. Can you imagine getting a hotel room for $25 USD a night in the USA? Exactly.
I'm checking into my hotel, when my friend returns, with his friends. There are 4 or 5 guys on motorcycles now, and I tell them, "Sorry man, I just got the last room", and then they realize I'm joking and everyone is laughing. Now, we go to dinner. Somehow, they know this town, and we're walking to this little taqueria that they like. We all order tacos, and they buy me dinner and won't let me pay.
After dinner, we go back and, in the parking lot, they're doing maintenance. Cleaning their chains. Clearning their air filters. Etc. I'm just like...."yeah....I don't do that stuff".
They pick up their bikes and spin the rear tires with assistance to oil their chains.
"Yeah...I just spray mine while I'm riding it," I reply.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. I'll show you in the morning."
And with that, I turn in for the night. One tired gringo loco.
Posted by Rob Kiser on November 18, 2017 at 6:27 PM
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