Cerrado??!! So Begins One Woman's Adventure . . .

“Cerrado.” Closed??? I knew enough Spanish to understand at least one word out of the many coming from the security guard posted at the entrance to Rancho Tecate. The hotel was supposed to be our first overnight stop in Baja, as well as the staging point where we would leave our trucks during our four days of riding. “But we have reservations,” I said. Our friend Greg, who speaks fluent Spanish, got out of his truck and had a long conversation with the guard. Turns out that Rancho Tecate was indeed closed, and had been that way for a few weeks.
<o> </o>
It was almost <st1:time minute="0" hour="17">5:00 p.m.</st1:time>, and we had been driving since <st1:time minute="0" hour="7">7:00 a.m.</st1:time> (from <st1:city><st1lace>Santa Cruz, California</st1lace></st1:city>). There were four of us on this journey: me, my husband Ben, and our friends Dan and Greg. We were down in Baja for a four-day dirt biking adventure, self-guided. Ben and I had been riding in Baja with “group” adventure tours before (Ben five times, and me three times), and we were looking forward to the adventure of doing a ride without paid guides or a chase truck. Ben had spent hours carefully planning our route trails, meticulously marking way points into his GPS, and preparing laminated “hard copy” maps for all of us. We had each sparingly packed the bags that we would carry on our bikes, divvying up responsibility for who would carry the necessities (spare tubes, CO2 cartridges, various wrenches and tools, extra bolts/nuts/washers, chain lube, oil, first aid kit, satellite phone, etc.). The bags had to be low profile and light enough so that we could ride miles of single track and go up and down steep hills without feeling encumbered. After all of our detailed planning, we were finally in Baja. We had stayed at Rancho Tecate on our previous “tour” rides and knew it was a safe place to leave our trucks; so we had chosen it as our launching site. Now we needed to find another starting point.
<o> </o>
Time to move on to “Plan B”. I knew the KOA campgrounds were east of Tecate and would provide another safe staging point (as well as hot showers), but we didn’t have any camping gear with us and didn’t know if the campgrounds had cabins. We could always sleep in the trucks. So we headed back to Tecate in search of the KOA off of Highway 3. At the highway entrance, however, there was a fork—the signs read “Libre” and “Cuota”. We had to make a quick decision; the “cuota” branch was heading east, while the “libre” branch looked like it was heading north, so we chose the “cuota” branch and found ourselves on the toll road—yes, the toll road with no exit for miles. We stopped to pay a dollar toll. I checked our Baja map and discovered that the KOA site was off of the “libre” road.
<o> </o>
Given the uncertainty of our sleeping arrangements at the campground, we decided to move ahead to “Plan C”; we would drive to the Hacienda Santa Veronica, which was south east of Tecate. Ben had Santa Veronica as a way point on his GPS (we had eaten there on one of our previous rides), and we located it on our map; we then just had to keep driving until we reached a toll road exit. At last! After paying $2.35 to leave the toll road, we headed south to Santa Veronica. The dirt road was liberally covered with gigantic potholes, and we stopped once to tighten the bikes. The sun was setting, and we passed a group of hunters waving their guns around and trying to find rabbits in the dusk. Twelve kilometers later, we finally arrived at the large sprawling hotel. Yes, they had two rooms for us—in fact, we seemed to be the only guests there! We had dinner at the hotel restaurant and celebrated our arrival.

Ben, Greg, Dan and I at dinner:


The rooms were spacious and clean, but for $65 I was a wee bit disappointed at the lack of hot water or heat. Oh well, we were just happy to be there. Ben activated some Hand Warmers for me, and I slept with them stuffed in my socks; ahhhhh—they really DO last for over 7 hours!.


RIDING DAY 1: SANTA VERONICA TO MIKE'S SKY RANCH

We got a later start in the morning than we had anticipated. Breakfast was at 8:00, and by the time we finished making last-minute decisions about what specific items were and were not going into our bike bags, and fiddling with our luggage straps, we got on the road about 9:30.

Dan, Ben and I, ready to roll:


Ben led us on some wonderful and varied terrain. We had some narrow rolling jeep trails leaving Santa Veronica, and we soon encountered the first of many deep-sand single track trails. What fun! The traction was perfect—it had rained recently, so the sand/soil had plenty of grip, and there was very little dust.

Greg and I:


Dan and his beloved 1983 XR200 ("the Deuce"):


Heading up into the pine forests, we also covered dirt roads with expansive mud puddles, lots of whoops, deep washes, sand, trees across the road, and cows on the path.

A bit of sand:


Here I am coming out of some single track:


Ben and the ever-smiling Greg:


Ben and I in the pines:


Miles from nowhere:


The rain ruts can be intense canyons, and you have to choose your line quickly as you crest the hill or come around the corner; if you choose the “wrong” line, the rain rut will often slice across your path, and you have to figure out how to get safely over it. During one high-speed section, we saw a large red piece of dirt bike plastic sitting in the road to the left of center, so we stayed to the right; good thing, because the left side had a three foot deep rain rut zigzagging through it. We speculated that some unlucky “good Samaritan” had left the red warning sign so that other riders wouldn’t have the same bike-shattering experience. (Thank you!)
<o> </o>
There were so many fun trails. Dan labeled one narrow trail as the “roller coaster” road because it swooped up and down and around for many grins and giggles. We rode through the Parque Nacional Constitucion de 1857 (the Constitution of 1857 National Park) and came to the Laguna Juárez, which was a body of water surrounded by gigantic rock formations. It felt like we were on another planet.

Greg:


Pictures just can't capture the desolate beauty of this place:


Me:


Shortly afterward, Ben noticed a single track trail heading away from the main dirt road, so he jumped on it, and we were soon winding our way around this incredible path, up and down small hills, around rock formations and trees. That was my favorite trail of the day! Then we had a quick stop at Ramona’s for water and a gallon of gas. (Dan had a small tank on his bike and wanted to top it off; the rest of us thought that we had enough to get us to Valle la <st1lace>Trinidad</st1lace>.) I had stopped at Ramona’s on two prior rides, and the experience was always positive; today, however, Ramona was not very friendly or welcoming, so we didn’t stay long. She also overcharged us for the gas and water, but we paid without protest; given the condition of her “store” and adjacent home, we knew she needed the money more than we did.

Ramona's:

<o>
</o><o>Another view of Ramona's:</o>
<o> </o>

We continued onward toward Valle la Trinidad, our next gas stop. Throughout the day we had stopped here and there to adjust various things on the bikes. Among other things, Ben’s chain guard had lost a bolt somewhere, and the right side of Dan’s seat started burning due to a creative heat-shield that he had fabricated to protect his side bag from the exhaust pipe.

Dan's bike with the burned seat:


We had 160 miles to cover and around <st1:time minute="0" hour="14">2:00</st1:time> we still had a long way to go; we decided to eliminate a lunch stop and just snack on our Cliff bars. We continued riding on some fun dirt trails; eventually, however, we got concerned about running out of daylight before getting to Mike’s Sky Ranch, so we ended up cutting over to Highway 3 about 10 miles north of Valle la Trinidad. As soon as we got on the highway, I hit reserve with my gas (120 miles); about 4 miles later, the bike stopped completely. The bad news was that I was on a twisty stretch of highway up in the mountains with no shoulder, just a steep and immediate drop off to my right. I got off my bike and tried to push it backwards uphill toward a turn-out about 50 feet back, but it was slow going, and my energy was low. Dan and Greg had turned around immediately after I stopped; Dan assisted in pushing my bike to safety, while Greg tried to find “extra” gas in his bike to share with me, but he was practically running on fumes himself. Ben finally came back (he had run out of gas himself and had stopped to tip his bike over to the left side to let the gas in the right lower tank area flow over to the left so that it could reach the engine); he showed me how to tip my bike to the left. Yippee, enough gas to start the bike and get through those last few miles to the Pemex station.
<o> </o>
After the gas stop and another energy bar, we started the last stretch toward Mike’s. We were all concerned about daylight. I was the only one with a headlight. We jammed as fast as we could. The sun disappeared around <st1:time minute="0" hour="18">6:00</st1:time>, and we still had quite a few miles to cover.

Sunset on the way to Mike's Sky Ranch:


I discovered that my headlight provided a nice view of whatever was ten feet off of the ground in the far distance. I struggled to see the ruts and rocks on the road in front of me, and I finally took my goggles off to see better. My speed went way down, and I told the others to just go on. I was elated to finally see the river crossing before Mike’s. I could make out two sets of tracks going into the river on the far left side of the road and one set going straight down the middle. I followed the middle set of tracks. The water was about 18 inches deep, until it suddenly dropped another foot 2/3 of the way across; I was so surprised, I let off on the throttle, and my bike stalled. Thank goodness for the electric start; a push of the button, a little prayer, and the bike moved forward through the river, and up and out the other side.

Greg crossing the river:


<o> </o>Riding into the courtyard in Mike’s, I found the others in the midst of parking their bikes and taking off their gear. I pulled in with a huge smile on my face! What a phenomenal day of riding! I headed to the room for a long hot shower. And the small pot-bellied heater in our room was keeping the air deliciously toasty. After a heavenly meal of steak, rice, beans and tortillas, I fell asleep a little after <st1:time minute="0" hour="9">9:00</st1:time>.


RIDING DAY 2: MIKE'S SKY RANCH TO SAN QUINTIN (To Be Continued)

nice report

RIDING DAY 2: MIKE'S SKY RANCH TO SAN QUINTIN

<o> </o>What a glorious day this was! Our plan was to ride 110 miles to San Quintin. We got an early start. Breakfast was at <st1:time minute="0" hour="8">8:00</st1:time>, but we were fully geared up and had the bikes loaded beforehand.

Ben and I getting ready at Mike's:


All set to go:


The road east from Mike’s is fairly steep (uphill) and strewn with big rocks and ruts and loose shale. There was one sharp hairpin with large rocks that had kicked my butt last year when it was muddy and very wet; this corner had been nagging at me in the back of my mind, so I was very relieved (whew!) when I maneuvered the corner smoothly this time.
<o> </o>
After a few miles, we dropped off the dirt road onto a narrow, deep-sand river wash that meandered here and there. I came around one corner too wide and ended up stalling the bike on top of a large rock; when I put my foot down, there was only air, and the bike flopped over. I picked the bike up, balanced it carefully, climbed back on, started the bike, put my foot down (into air), and promptly flopped the bike over again. Doh—I had to laugh! This time I lifted my bike up, rolled it off of the rock, and successfully started off down the wash again. (Oh, those exhausting lessons in “what not to do”.)
<o> </o>
When we emerged from the single track, we were on a wider river wash in the midst of rolling hills that had been ravaged by fire. All around us, as far as we could see, were charred stumps of sage brush bushes, some with green leaves starting to poke out. I continued around one bend to find a shallow creek crossing with a 20-foot sloped wall of dark brown soil behind it. I quickly scanned the area to see where the trail had disappeared to—then I noticed the set of tire tracks going straight up the “wall”. Oh. Then I thought, “Well, if there are tracks, the climb must be doable.” So I popped down a gear, dipped the bike into the creek, and gassed the bike upwards. I made it! Much of riding, for me, is mental—if I THINK that I can do it, most of the time I can; when the doubts start creeping in, I am doomed.
<o> </o>
Ben looked at his GPS and said that the trail we were supposed to be on was at the top of the hill next to us; it was a huge mound (200 feet or so) of loose dirt, speckled with charred sage bushes. There were no trails leading up. That didn’t stop Dan—he bolted right up the side of the hill, and we soon followed suit, each of us making our own trail. Then we had to make our way down the other side, which was just as steep. We finally connected with a single track trail that wound here and there, up and down the hills, down through a river wash, then up again through some thick brush.

Ben navigating through the charred brush:


Dan and Greg:


Fun trails:


Ben and Greg:


We crossed several mountains:


The hill climbs were sometimes intense. After one creek crossing, the trail headed up-up-up on a long steep stretch, and I thought, “Ahhh, the ‘wall’ that I went up earlier was just practice for THIS.” We stopped on a ridge and saw a hill in the distance with a thin brown line going straight up it. Greg said, “I bet we are going up that!” We headed off, but the trail was leading us to the left, away from that thin brown line, and toward a trail that zigzagged up the mountain; so Ben decided to cut his own path over the terrain, and we followed him to the base of that thin brown line—and up we went. The “line” up consisted of a rut with loose shale in it; I just held the throttle solid and told the bike, “GO, GO, GO!” (I think I was pulled up by sheer willpower—mine and that of my KTM 400!) Wow, the climb was so exhilarating! We then trekked along some cliff-hanging trails on the edge of the mountain with lots of rocks and shale (don’t look down!).
<o> </o>
After miles of fun single track, we eventually popped out onto a wider road, where we stopped to rest and soak in the beauty of the surrounding hills.

Ben and I:


The views were incredible (note the bike for scale):


Ben:


The road soon became covered with big rocks—bone jarring, muscle wrenching rocks; it felt like I was riding a bucking bronco. The ruts were also abundant; I concentrated on trying to “love” the rut I was in, rather than looking longingly over to the part of the trail that I wished I were on (“Love my rut, just ride it out!”)
<o> </o>
Finally, we crested a hill, and there was the <st1lace>Pacific Ocean</st1lace> in the distance—yeah! Down we went to Highway 1 to the town of <st1:city><st1lace>Camalu</st1lace></st1:city>, where we got gas. Then we found a small restaurant for lunch; I was ready for a long siesta and was relieved to discover the rejuvenating power of two fish tacos and a "Coca-light" (diet Coke).

Our lunch stop:


<o> </o>After lunch, we ventured off to find a trail to the ocean.

Here is a town that we rode through on our way:


Ben finally found a path to the ocean that required us to climb up and over a gigantic mound of large round rocks that had been washed smooth by the pounding ocean. Then onto the sand, where we rode as fast as we could go. We all laughed like little kids from the pure joy of it. Greg was elated, roosting big circles on the beach.

Greg:


Ben and I:


After a while, we headed off the beach and found that our trail toward San Quintin was blocked by a barbed wire fence. We made several unsuccessful attempts to try different routes around the fence, but they were all blocked by barbed wire. (Some of our routes during our 4-day trip were over private land. Some of the landowners in norther Baja do not care for dirtbikers because too many bikes go ripping past the houses, kicking up dust and scaring the animals, leaving gates open and garbage behind. There are more and more barbed wire fences going up without gates, and quite a few signs indicating that motorcyclists are not welcome on certain roads, i.e., "No Motos". We were always respectful of the rancheros, riding very slowly past haciendas, people and livestock, and always closing gates behind us.) So we headed back to Highway 1 for a few miles, stopped in a small town to ask directions for a road to the beach, then cut over to the ocean again.

The road through town:


<o> </o>English classes anyone?


Through some creative navigating by Ben, we managed to find a solid trail around the barbed wire fences, and we soon arrived at the Old Mill Hotel on the <st1lace><st1lacetype>bay</st1lacetype> of <st1lacename>San Quintin</st1lacename></st1lace>. The owner, Jim, welcomed us with ice cold cervezas (on the house). We had a relaxing dinner at the restaurant Jardines de Baja in the small town of <st1:city><st1lace>Lazaro Cardenas</st1lace></st1:city>, a couple of miles away.

When Greg went to the restroom, the two musicians asked if they could hold Greg's helmet; Greg (also a musician) asked if he could hold their guitar, and he played them some tunes:


Riding back to the hotel was an adventure in itself, with only my headlight and Greg’s flashlight to guide the four of us along.


RIDING DAY 3: SAN QUINTIN TO ENSENADA (To Be Continued)

Nice.

Great post.
I'm filled with awe.
Does that make me awful?
(Forget it, I did.)

Ready for more.
Thanks.
Q~

and it had rained for you too???? great report so far!!!!!!

Great post and narrative. Great bikes too!

RIDING DAY 3: SAN QUINTIN TO ENSENADA
<st1:city><st1lace></st1lace></st1:city>
<o> </o>We had a leisurely breakfast next door to the Old Mill hotel, overlooking the calm waters of the San Quintin bay.









Our goal for the day was to ride 160 miles north to <st1:city><st1lace>Ensenada</st1lace></st1:city>. Because of our experience in trying to get around the barbed wire fences yesterday, we were going to try and ride as much as we could on the beach during the first stretch. Ben soon found a trail down to the beach, and we all took off flying, with Greg making doughnuts wherever he could.
<o> </o>
We went for miles, past fisherman, rock hunters, and wrecked boats.

Our tracks on the beach (note the wrecked ship in the distance):


<o>Me (does life get any better than this?):</o>
<o> </o>

Dan, I and Ben by a shipwreck:


Ben and I and another shipwreck:


We finally exited by climbing up and over a big mound of large round rocks. I buried my rear tire trying to make it up in first gear (second worked fine yesterday).

Ooops!

<o> </o>
We continued on a dirt/sand road until we got to a barbed wire fence crossing the road—we were on the opposite side of the fence that had stopped us going south yesterday. Today, we noticed that there appeared to be a fastener on the right side, a rope wound tightly around multiple times and then tied. We noticed a small house on a hill about 200 yards inland; a small boy soon came zooming down the hill on his bicycle, and he stopped at the gate. I reached into my bag of small toys (which I had brought along for the Baja kids) and got out a fist-sized chunky airplane (one of my favorites); I then walked over and gave it to him. He only spoke Spanish, and I only speak a handful of Spanish words, but we communicated through smiles. Greg then asked him if his parents would let us through the gate. The boy ran off and soon returned with his little brother (who received a small doll and a dune buggy). The dad eventually walked down to the gate and untied it for us. The first boy then told Greg that we had permission to pass. They had 3 dogs that seemed calm and good natured until we turned on our bikes; then they chased us with energetic ferociousness. One dog bit Greg’s boot and chased him for a quarter of a mile.

Our gatekeeper:


<o>Waiting for the gate to open (note the little brother peeking out from the ditch):</o>
<o> </o>

Further north, we had to cross a 20-foot stretch of fairly deep and dark gooey mud, with a sharp left uphill turn coming out the other side. I had to put my foot down in the thick sludge to make it around the corner. Ben and Greg thought that the color indicated it was perhaps some type of sewage runoff from the town or nearby houses; I, on the other hand, am still hoping that it was just dark mud.
<o> </o>
We stopped for gas in Camalu.

This little girl received one of our dolls (she's holding it tightly in her hand):


Then we continued north to the small town of <st1:city><st1lace>Erendira</st1lace></st1:city>, where we ate at an outdoor taco stand with the best carnitas tacos that I have ever eaten—Delicioso! We ate there a year and a half ago too, and the food was just as incredible as I remembered.

The taco stand:




<o> </o>After lunch, we would our way back to the ocean, with a couple of fun, short but steep hill climbs.

The ocean was gorgeous:


Nearing Punto Colonet:


The dust was getting kicked up by the bikes, so everyone but Ben (who didn’t have a bike in front of him) was getting the oh-so-lovely dust beard and mustache. After going through a gate along the coast, I heard a terrible “thwunk” and immediately stopped my bike. Something was definitely wrong. I thought I had a flat tire, so I got off and looked my bike over carefully. Around the rear tire were multiple strands of thick wire; apparently I had run over the wire, which I hadn’t seen in the small dust storm created by everyone starting off, and it had wrapped itself tightly around and around my rear wheel. I called on my walkie talkie to the guys to let them know I needed some wire cutters. (We all rode with walkie-talkies so that we could quickly communicate with one another.) Five minutes later, my bike was free, and I was off again.

Definitely not "safety" wire:

<o> </o>
The road ahead:


Ben closing another gate:


We stopped on a ridge that overlooked “my hill”. This was a hill that I had not done the last three times in Baja, and it had loomed in the back of my mind for the past few months. I was determined to do it today. The hill was long; it started out pretty steep, made a turn to the right, then split into two rutted choices before flattening out near the top. Greg immediately zoomed off to climb it, and we watched him make it to the top, slipping and sliding a bit. “First or second gear?”, I asked Ben. He said that he would climb it and radio down to me. We rode to the foot, and he charged up. When he got to the top, he radioed, “It’s really loose and rutted; I started in second, but shifted down to first. Stay forward on your bike!” Okay. I decided to start out in first gear, got a running start and charged upwards, holding the throttle open. It was indeed loose, with lots of shale and some deep ruts in the middle of the climb; there were also some boulders which threw me off of my line. I was off course, but determined to make it up that darn hill, so I just kept the throttle open and steered back on course. And I made it! I think that my adrenaline was raging off the charts—I was so elated! Whew, one less hill to haunt me.

Coming up the flattened portion at the top (note Greg in the far distance, for scale--the main road curves left around this hill, bypassing the climb at the bottom):


<o></o>The roads were very rocky and covered in shale as we climbed up into the coastal mountains. The rocks were very jagged and sticking out of the earth like knives trying to stab our tires. At the junction where we could choose either a long or short route to the town of <st1:city><st1lace>Santa Tomas</st1lace></st1:city>, Greg discovered that he had a rear flat tire. He looked around and saw a large flat rock conveniently perched on the side of the road, perfect for balancing his bike when he took off the back wheel. We had tire changing tools, a new tube, and CO2 cartridges with us; two friendly surfers driving by gave us some liquid soap (from their camping supplies) to make it easier for Greg to get the tire on and off. Twenty-five minutes later, we were riding again.

Greg setting up his bike on the rock:


Greg and Dan changing the tire:


We wove our way to Santa Tomas via the “short” route, over a relatively smooth, sweeping dirt road.
<o> </o>
At Santa Tomas, we gassed up at the Pemex station. It was past <st1:time minute="30" hour="17">5:30 p.m.</st1:time>, with 50 km to <st1:city><st1lace>Ensenada</st1lace></st1:city>, and sunset a little past <st1:time minute="0" hour="18">6:00</st1:time>. We were going to be cutting it close with the daylight. We jammed up Highway 1, through the military checkpoint with young baby-faced soldiers carrying machine guns, past the Costco and Home Depot in the southern part of <st1:city><st1lace>Ensenada</st1lace></st1:city>, to the <st1lace><st2:sn>San</st2:sn> <st2:middlename>Nicholas</st2:middlename> <st2:sn>Hotel</st2:sn></st1lace>. The hotel offers secure parking for motorcycles—a high locked fence with a security guard.
<o> </o>
We celebrated the day with drinks at the hotel bar, then we walked around downtown <st1:city><st1lace>Ensenada</st1lace></st1:city>. It was Saturday night, and the locals were out in full force cruising their sports cars and fancy trucks up and down the strip (reminding me of <st1:city><st1lace>Virginia Beach</st1lace></st1:city>, where I grew up). We ate at an outdoor restaurant to soak in the excitement of the night.
<o> </o>
RIDING DAY 4: ENSENADA TO SANTA VERONICA (To Be Continued)

RIDING DAY 4: <st1:city><st1lace>ENSENADA</st1lace></st1:city> TO SANTA VERONICA
<o> </o>
Ben had three different routes planned for our last day: long, short or medium. We decided to take the “short” route (less than 100 miles) from <st1:city><st1lace>Ensenada</st1lace></st1:city> to Santa Veronica so that we could be heading back to <st1:state><st1lace>California</st1lace></st1:state> by late afternoon. We ate a big breakfast at the San Nicholas hotel restaurant because we did not want to stop for lunch later. We were on our bikes by <st1:time hour="9" minute="30">9:30</st1:time>.
<o> </o>
The traffic through <st1:city><st1lace>Ensenada</st1lace></st1:city> was surprisingly sane. After a short stretch on Highway 3, heading east, we turned off onto a dirt road and came to a make-shift “toll booth”, created by the locals (who probably own the land and want dirt bikers to pay to ride on their private roads). The booth was attended by two boys, with a horse tied to the toll fence. We paid $2 each, and one of the boys opened a small gate in the fence and let us through. We then rode over some hills on a sweeping twisty road, past several ranches.
<o> </o>
As we were transitioning to flatter land, Ben was looking around trying to find the entrance to some single track trails that he knew were in the surrounding hills. We stopped and looked up at the hill to our right and saw some single tracks winding over it; so we circled back and found the entrance. Up we went over the small rolling hills, meandering around sage brush, in and out, up and down, trying to follow an often-elusive narrow line in the dirt. Finally, we went down into a creek bed and up the steep embankment on the other side. Back out through some pastures (close the gates!) and onto the main dirt road again. That sure was fun!

Here I am emerging from a short uphill section:


We zigzagged past various houses until we reached the small town of <st1:city><st1lace>Ojos Negros</st1lace></st1:city>. I saw some small children and handed out the last of my toys.
<o> </o>
The kids were so sweet:


We then stopped and asked two local dirt bikers where we could get gas, and they directed us to the Pemex station outside of town, a short distance back down the main road. After gassing up, we ate some snacks and chatted with a solo Canadian dirt biker, Boliver, who had traveled from <st1:city><st1lace>San Diego</st1lace></st1:city> where he stores his bike (an XR650R). Greg struck up a lively conversation with some men who were very curious about our bikes and the details of our travels.

Getting gas outside Ojos Negros (notice the small crowd around Greg and his bike):


We rode back through Ojos Negros and started off again toward Santa Veronica.

Views along the way:










Most of the road was fairly wide, and we were able to keep up a fast pace. However, we always had to be prepared for the deep ruts, boulders and washes that could suddenly appear around the bend or over the rise. The wide river crossing over the road was surprisingly shallow this year (it has been raging in the past); with all of the rain in <st1lace>Northern California</st1lace>, I expected a very wet ride across—not so.
<o> </o>
Close to Santa Veronica, Ben led us on some wonderful, narrow trails, with lots of deep sand whoops mixed with large rocks and a few challenging single track downhills. Back at last to Santa Veronica, where the parking lot was crowded with other dirt bikers who use the hotel as a daily staging area ($5 per day). We were packed and on the road at <st1:time hour="16" minute="15">4:15 p.m.</st1:time> Returning to Tecate, we chose the “libre” road, as we were uncertain whether there would be an exit for Tecate on the “cuota” road (it turned out that there was, for future reference). We arrived at the Tecate border crossing around <st1:time hour="16" minute="55">4:55</st1:time>, and we inched our way through the ½ mile line of cars, finally making it through the border checkpoint at <st1:time hour="18" minute="45">6:45</st1:time>.

The line ahead:


During our long wait, we took advantage of the various items being offered by the Mexican vendors who strolled up and down between the cars. We bought fresh doughnuts (yummy!) as well as some bobble-head toy horses for our two young kids. (We had told them that we would bring them something back from Baja. The horses were a big hit the next morning! And of course we removed the stickers saying “Made in <st1:country-region><st1lace>China</st1lace></st1:country-region>”!).
<o> </o>
We arrived home at <st1:time hour="2" minute="45">2:45 a.m.</st1:time>, having relived portions of the trip over and over, and shared many laughs, during the drive. We had so much fun over the past five days. The riding was certainly fabulous, with the wide variety of terrain that we covered. However, much of the fun factor in a journey depends on who your travel companions are, and mine were stellar! So thank you Ben, Dan and Greg. I honestly could not have had a better time.

Kathy
'05 KTM 400 EXC

Increditable pics and looks like a great time had by all. Thanks for sharing.

Great report and pics. Really gooood!

Jeez, and it's a real-live hottie posting this stuff.

Please, continue.....

Excellent job!

I wish my wife was as much a moto-nut as you!

you're hot.
you can ride.
that's even hotter.

Only which that here in Portugal existed such extention of dirt tracks like you lucky ones have ! I think that my CRF450 whould wish to been born a road bike instead:huh !
Great story, Great pictures!

Looks like you all had a great time. Thanks for sharing!

What a great report!

I ride a 525EXC and have always wondered about doing mega-mile rides on a RFS. Did you do any special maintenance on your KTMs like extra oil changes?

What was the total mileage for the trip?

John Davies
SPokane WA
2005 525EXC

Ditto, Thanks for sharing

Thank you so much for all of your positive comments! I'm glad that you enjoyed reading about the trip. The ride occurred less than two weeks ago, yet it seems like it has been six months. Creating this ride report makes the ride seem more "real" and breathes life into the already fading memories.

Ribas27, Portugal is such a beautiful country! Living in central California, I feel fortunate to be able to ride in so many wonderful places. Baja was a long drive (9 hours if there is no traffic), but certainly worth it with the miles and miles and miles of incredible riding. Next month I'm going to Moab, Utah with some friends for a 9-day trip--the drive will take 2 days each way, but the trails we will be riding are unlike anything around here.

John E Davies, the total mileage for our trip was about 510 miles. My husband Ben rides an '05 KTM 525 EXC (and I have the '05 400 EXC). We did a thorough inspection of the bikes before leaving, changing the oil, cleaning the air filters, tightening all bolts, etc. And we carried a pint of extra oil with us on the trip. We checked the oil level each morning and never had to add any. Both bikes ran perfectly the entire time. The only "problem" that we had with the KTM's was a gas leak that started the third morning we were in Baja; we woke up in San Quintin to find both bikes dripping gas. We've never before had to turn off our gas switches when we stop the bikes. Since it happened to both of our KTM's at exactly the same time, we figured that there must be something about KTM's and Mexican gas that just don't quite mix well. If anyone else has had this problem, please chime in!

I just love my bike! I commented to Greg at one point that a guardian angel must be watching over me because I had narrowly missed going sideways into a deep rain crevice (and felt like perhaps there was some angel gently pushing me and the bike away from the crevice). Greg responded, "Yeah, your guardian angel is named "K-T-M"! (Perhaps that is true!)

Thanks again for all of your comments, everyone!

Angel de la Guardia
Dulce compania
No me desampares
Ni de noche ni de dia
Ni en la hora de mi muerte
Amen

I hope you inspire many spouses to join the fun! Good report.

awesome ride report . very inspiring.