I am Scotty, one of the motorcyclists, and this is how the trip went for me, and my motorcycle, Grutog das Eisen Schwein.
We called it: The Still Alive Tour
Day 1: 91 miles
After a full day of work, I showered, changed, and rode Grutog to Todt and Karen's beautiful home, south of San Francisco.
We enjoyed pizza and beer. then I presented Todt with a "Work to ride-Ride to work" sticker, which he immediately placed on his top box.
Day 2: 577 miles
Awoke refreshed and ready to go. By 6am we were geared up, and on the road, in search of fuel and coffee. Not too difficult a trick in the bay area.
At the local Starbucks, everyone seemed to know Todt, and where we were going. They treated us like we were a couple of bad asses, and I was beginning to think, "is this going to be hard, or dangerous?" Just then, a patrol car pulled up, and Todt's partner, Todd (yes really) got out and we were introduced. After he told me they had been riding together for many years, I told Todd I was sorry for him, this seemed to warm his opinion of me right away.
We wound through the morning commuter traffic, then stopped in Patterson, for breakfast, and to do what old dudes do within an hour of their first cup of coffee.
Another stop for fuel just outside of Coalinga, and the pace was set.
It's an interesting phenomenon, motorcycles can cover 100 miles much faster than cars, most bikes have to refuel around then. Our big adventure bikes can easily go 300 miles between fuel stops, but the riders, not so much. The sustained high level of concentration, and awareness required, to operate safely, necessitates a 5-15 minute break every hour or so. This can add hours to a very long journey, and give you the opportunity to hob nob with the locals, as well as other travelers. This is why I love traveling by motorcycle.
We turned east at Gorman, a little more fuel and caffeine, then across the desert to Palmdale for lunch. This was Todt's first time in Palmdale, he was less than impressed. I explained that the wind doesn't blow here, it sucks.
Making our escape, with stops in Banning, and Salton City. Pushing through the 104F heat of Palm Springs, and wishing I had done a better job of rinsing out the vodka I used to sterilize my hydration pack. We finally arrived in El Centro.
(A note about the Salton Sea. I have fond memories of camping there as a child. A few years ago I watched a documentary about the how it had dried up. So very sad for me. Imagine my joy at seeing it completely full again! I must investigate further.)
For anyone crossing the border into Mexicali, I cannot recommend the Crown Motel highly enough.
Burgers and Beer is a great restaurant, less than a block away. Full bar, lots of cold beer on tap, I had a generously poured whiskey, and the shrimp po' boy.
Perfect evening for the weary traveler.
Day 3: 239 miles
6am, we were both too excited/nervous to eat a real breakfast. They had free coffee and danishes in the lobby, so we forced that down, and hit the road.
A quick stop in Calexico for some bottled water and another slug of coffee, and we were suddenly at the border.
This was it, what we had prepped for, and fretted over. Did we have all the proper documentation? Was it all filled out correctly? Would our bikes be disassembled, while we endured a cavity search, for a "random check"?
As we pulled into the customs lane, with our hearts in our throats, ready for anything. They just smiled and waved us through. What a happy let down.
Once in Mexicali, we sort of rode aimlessly, like we were in shock, while looking for signs to San Felipe. Then we noticed the small brown (used to be red) signs at every corner, they said "ALTO", in faded yellow (used to be white) letters. How many of those stop signs had we run? As we were laughing about this, we saw that we were on the road to San Felipe. By pure dumb luck, we had been on the right road all along. Following the signs, the road dipped down under a bridge, the right lane was flooded. Suddenly I remembered, Mexicali uses a shared storm/sewer system, that's poop! I signaled and waved Todt over to the left lane. We missed a crapbath by inches. At the next stop I said to him, "kinda makes Palmdale look swanky." He agreed.
As we left town, and MEX-5 stretched out in front of us, we began to relax, and let the miles fly by.
I was looking around at the farms and little villages, thinking to myself, "what did that sign mean?", when, wham! A speed bump jumped up out if nowhere, "oh, that's what that sign means."
A few miles later, we came to our first military checkpoint.
A pleasant young man, with an automatic weapon, asked us where we were from, and where we were going. He had us open our panniers, and gave them a cursory look over. Then, he wished us safe travels and sent us on our way.
Now we were making some time, the road was new and smooth, you could see for miles. It had been built 10-20 feet above the flood plane, constructed much like a levee, then they realized they should put culverts under it. So, every 5 miles there was a freshly paved strip across the whole thing, and a shiny new culvert underneath.
Zipping along at 90+ MPH, I could see something on the horizon. As we got closer we slowed to make our decision. Then it became clear, a gaping hole in the road with men and equipment working inside, installing a culvert. An orange arrow with desviación written on it pointed us over the edge of the road and onto the flood plane. Then, a line of rocks led us back up the steep base onto the tarmac. This repeated every 5 miles, for the next 20 miles.
Just when we thought it was over, we entered a new section that was being built through a mountain. It was a total free for all. Dodging equipment, trucks, buses, cars, and workers, by means of any path we could find.
At the other end, worn out from trying to stay upright, and alive, we were actually glad to stop at the second military check point of the day. Not quite as welcoming as the first, they asked the same questions, and this time gave our luggage a little prodding, just to be sure.
What seemed like just minutes later, the road became older, more used, with potholes, and sand drifts creeping in at the edges. We were entering San Felipe, and pulled into the first Pemex to fuel up. The young man who was waiting on me spoke very good English, and said, "I am Jesus, and I ride a motorcycle." To which I replied, "Me llamo Scotty, mucho gusto." We chatted a while, and I convinced him not to scrub the sand and bugs off of my plastic windshield, as I had hopes of someday seeing through it again. He managed to work into the conversation, that his name was Jesus, and he rode a motorcycle, two more times.
(2 days later, sitting in the bar, the realization washed over me. My helmet sticker!)
With our business complete, and our adioses said, we headed for the center of town to get off the bikes, and get our bearings. After a couple blocks Todt suddenly grabbed his brakes, I shouted an expletive, at no one in particular, as I hit the binders and swerved, avoiding a collision. Another brown and yellow ALTO sign, tucked away under an awning, yes we had run a few, again.
Parking on the Playa, we consulted the map, found our way, and walked around a bit.
Puertecitos, was our next way point for navigation purposes. So, it was back to the roundabout, then west, till we found a sign pointing the way. Leaving town, the road changed again. Some places seal their roads for winter, using an oil and chip sealant. Here, they just use oil, then wait for the sand to blow over it.
We passed a road with no signage, I turned to read the signs facing the other way, and of course that was our turn. Now I had to catch up to Todt on this oil slick, narrow, strip of road, flanked by deep sand. Then, figure out how to turn around, without getting stuck, or hit by a car. Just as I caught him, we could see the airport tower, we chose to turn around there. Funny thing, the road ends at the airport, and we would have had to go back anyway, exactly the way adventures were intended to be. (Otherwise, they're just called vacations)
Rough roads and deep weirs were to be our home for the next 80 miles or so. Spotting this sign, we noticed a slight dip in the road.
These became progressively deeper, and more abrupt. Soon we were catching air on the way in, and on the way out. One of the deep ones caught us by surprise, we landed in the bottom while seated, ouch. I think I'm 1/2" shorter now. We took the rest of them standing on the pegs, more than once, the skid plate took the brunt of the landing. One might think we would slow down for these, but as usual, when men are left alone to play, it becomes a bit of a contest.
Pulling up to the third military check point, I felt sorry for the soldiers. It was getting hot, and there was no shade to be found. We didn't even have to get off our bikes. Todt offered to let one of them ride his, he politely declined. Judging from the array of hammers, pry bars, and chisels, refusing a search would be futile, expensive, and painful. We were released, unmolested.
A short while later, the newly finished section of MEX-5 greeted us, with the promise of smooth, carefree riding ahead... It lied. As we ascended into the mountains, the fresh road cuts were dropping rocks onto the road. These ranged in size from potato, to large sheep. The challenge of navigating these mine fields was exacerbated by high winds, that changed direction every 3-5 seconds, pushing the bikes as far as 2 feet, in unpredictable directions.
Todt turned in at Puertecitos, and I followed, not really wondering where we were going.
When the pavement ends, it just ends. We didn't get to take any pics of this road, so I borrowed some from other peoples blogs. (Thank you. Or, sorry, whichever best applies.)
By the time we ran out of pavement, my back was screaming, my arms and legs felt like wet noodles, and I was out of water. I'm pretty sure if I had tried to pee, it would have been like toothpaste.
Then there was this moonscape to deal with...
And this deep fluffy sand...
And worse, giant holes the size and depth of a kitchen table. You couldn't see them till you were 6 feet from them, barely enough time to react. I know it sounds like I'm whining, and crying like a little girl. The truth is, it was fun. Yes, I was scared out of my mind, and fatigued to the point that I forgot to change my suspension to "off road mode", which only made it harder to ride. But like I said, adventure over vacation.
Our reward after all that fear and pain was this...
I think now is a good time to say that Todt is an amazing dirt rider. Having quite a bit of experience on dirt bikes. He carries a lot of confidence riding the big Beemer in the sand and rough stuff.
I don't, I've trained many people to ride on the street, and won several trophies in street bike competitions. But this off road thing is still pretty new to me.
I guess if we were doing "The Long Way Round" he'd be Charlie, and I'd be Ewan. Damn! I wanted to be Charlie. It looks like Todt gets to be the bad ass, and I'll be the pretty one.
Now we just had to wait for Sunny and Bill to land on the little spit of sand they call a runway.
We'll pick up the story there, next time. Thanks for reading...
