After years of hearing about the Baja motorcycle adventures, desert races and people living their best life on the beaches of Baja Mexico, my husband and I decided to head south of the border. Of all the motorcycles in our collection, we unanimously agreed that the ideal machines for this particular off road adventure would be the KTM 500 EXC and the Husqvarna 450 FE.
We were unsure of the availability of accommodations, fuel, water, and food outside of the bigger cities and packed accordingly. Between our backpacks and saddle bags we carried enough supplies to camp and survive for 2-3 days off-grid and replaced our stock fuel tanks with oversized Acerbis tanks. As we headed across the border into Mexico it seemed the only worry we might have would be finding enough fresh water if we happened to end up in no man’s land for an extended amount of time.
Maneuvering our way through Mexicali proved interesting and a tad dangerous due to the obvious lack of traffic laws. We had planned to stop for food and find a bank for a currency exchange before leaving the city limits. After several blocks, we decided to pull over in front of a chain of businesses hoping to find some lunch. As it so happened, we pulled up directly in front of a Chinese Restaurant with no other options in sight. Communication was non-existent but the food was spectacular.
Once back on our enduro bikes we forgot all about finding a bank and continued to roll out of town toward San Felipe. The roadsides were full of old double-track trails from previous races all lined with gigantic cacti. The pavement was in fairly decent shape but we were aware that wouldn’t last long. San Felipe turned out to be a lovely little city with a moto-friendly atmosphere. The street vendors and food options were endless along with the hotel choices. We settled in at the Don Jesus hotel and walked down to the seaside for some dinner. The streets were full of happy people riding and driving all makes and models of motorized transportation and the local discos and dance clubs were overflowing onto the sidewalks. It was a whole new world for us Wisconsinites.
Day two is where the adventures began. Not far south of town, we began seeing larger cacti along sand roads in every direction and more old race courses. Several miles in we couldn’t help but turn down a few. We ended up on a giant mudflat that could rival the Bonneville Salt Flats, then found a forgotten beach full of bright-colored round stones, and eventually near nightfall came up on a small village in Gonzaga Bay.
There was no plan for the night or the rest of the trip for that matter, so we drove down a little gravel side road to the water's edge and found Alfonsinas. This hotel was right on the white sandy beach and had a full-service bar/restaurant on site with plenty of available rooms at a mere $70 per night. And, most of the staff spoke some English which was a great match for my extremely limited Spanish.
The sunset over the water was incredible and the sea creatures meandering around the shallow water near the shore were plentiful.
When we woke in the morning we were greeted by several bikes pulling in for breakfast. As it turned out, this little place is a scheduled stop for several Baja moto tours. We met and made friends with several fellow riders and added a few must-see destinations to our list of places to visit.
One of the warnings we had heard over and over was not to ride at night and shortly after leaving Gonzaga Bay, we discovered why. Hurricanes have taken a toll on the roads in Baja over the years and occasionally the pavement just ends unannounced leaving giant cliffs between you and the rest of the road. There are multiple go-around options but if you were to come up on these areas at night it would be a sure disaster.
First on the day's list of stops was the famous Coco’s Corner, sadly Coco has recently passed and I’m not certain what has become of his little campground and dwelling. When we arrived there were several other motos traversing the sandy gravel roads and Coco was inside waiting for his next visitors. A few minutes of chit-chat and several photos later we proceeded on heading his warning not to travel after dark.
The roads had transformed into rough terrain at this point and we were shocked to come across a guy on a chromed-out HD bagger making his way toward us. He made it through several washouts before deciding to turn around and head back to where he had come from. The next surprise was about half a mile up ahead there was a large incline the road wound around and coming down it was an 18-wheeler. The two of us stopped and watched in amazement as the driver crawled his way down the hill and slowly crept down the road by us waving like a long-lost friend as he passed. I've witnessed some impressive driving skills over the years but this guy deserved a gold medal in CDL certifications, the road was dished out in places so badly that all his tires were almost never on the ground at the same time.
Eventually, we came out onto a paved road for a short while before spotting a section of the racecourse disappearing into the desert plant life. My husband read my mind and turned onto it as I was saying, “Let’s go that way.” The whoops began almost immediately and continued through several banked curves. I discovered that my stock enduro tires weren't exactly the tread I’d prefer to have on this type of terrain but the faster I went the smoother the ride got. My husband learned that he had too much weight tied on back to effectively ride whoops without his bike kicking him in the rear. It was an extremely fun and entertaining afternoon at a pace of roughly 20-30 MPH. This ride was much slower than the 60-70 MPH pace recommended at breakfast by a former Baja 1000 race winner. As casually as suggesting what shoes to wear he had stated, “when you hit the sections of whoops, just nail it and once you reach about 60-70 MPH everything just smoothes right out.” ….Yeah, that's a touch beyond our riding abilities, so we mosied along at our snails' pace for the day.
During the next few days, we continued on in much the same way, turning here, turning there, wandering through the desert on and off of sand roads and single tracks. We were fortunate to find rooms somewhere each night and had excellent luck with fuel stations. We had to wait a few hours for gas to be delivered one morning in the Bay of LA and we fueled up from a tank in the back of a pickup truck at one corner station. Fortunately, we had made a friend with the former race winner because a few nights later we ran into him at a hotel and ended up needing to borrow some cash. Turns out cash is king in Baja and a lot of places do not accept cards. Luckily for us, our new friend spotted us some dollars until we could find service and Zelle him back the money as well as find a town with a bank and an ATM.
We found ourselves on a long deep sand path one day that ended up leading to some ancient cave paintings and an old beach town called San Francisquito. As we began to see water up ahead, a very abused-looking lincoln navigator pulling a giant tank on a small trailer approached us. To this day I am still in awe that this vehicle makes the 90-mile sand trek from Guerro Negro to San Francisquito. The driver smiled and waved us to stop, all he said was, “Lunch?” My husband turned to me and I wasn’t really sure if this was safe or some kind of crazy ambush you hear about on the news. So I just said, “No thanks.” Then the guy again said, “lunch for two?” We hesitated a moment and then decided what the hell, and said, “Sure, yes, Ok.”
The man pointed behind himself and said, “I meet you.” As we rolled by him we were chattering at each other via helmet intercoms discussing whether this was legit or not. Once we reached the end of the road we found several little shacks and what appeared to be some abandoned homes on the beach with a larger building that could possibly be a restaurant. I looked over my shoulder to see that the man in the Navigator had found a way to get turned around and was now pulling up in front of a house across the “street” from the restaurant.
An hour later, there we sat under an old pavilion eating the freshest fish tacos on homemade tortillas with handmade guacamole and salsa and all of the Tecate beer and Tequila we could drink. The man's name was Lionel and he and his family had run this once-successful beach resort prior to the last few hurricanes. He gave us a shack on the beach with two beds and some generator-run electricity for the night. The neighboring building held a shower with cold seawater and a flushing toilet.
After a few hours of swimming and strolling the beach, we watched a plane coming in for a landing on a rustic airstrip we were unaware existed. As we walked over we discovered that some other Americans had permanent RVs all set up and would occasionally fly in for vacations. Friends were introduced, drinks were had, and memories were made.
Lionel insisted on making us breakfast and coffee before our departure knowing it was 95 rough sandy miles up to the next town. As we were packing up, we began talking over the fact that we had now eaten two amazing meals, drank a case of water, another case of beer, and a bottle of Tequila as well as had beds for the night with a toilet and shower, but hadn't paid a dime for anything yet. I was sure it was going to be a minimum of $300 American dollars for all of this just due to the fact that we were so far removed from any type of civilization and all of the goods had to be trucked in. Much to our surprise, when we finally asked Lionel for the tab he came out with a receipt that had a total of only $133.00 written on it. At that point, I had basically decided I was living right there on that beach for the rest of my life.
Unfortunately, reality set in and we rolled our way down the next road to the next destination. This particular road had been known to cause flat tires in some of the local trucks,and as we traversed our way along it became apparent how. There were areas of sharp rock ledges poking through the sand in many areas. The views, however, made the risk worth it. The road would skirt the water and then wind into the hills, we passed a man on a bicycle traveling alone through the deep sand with fully loaded bags on either side of his wheels. Everyone has their own journey I suppose…
It was getting to be a rather hot day and there was not much shade offered along this route, we finally spied a larger bush that would offer a bit of cover from the blazing sun. After parking and shredding some gear for a snack in the shade we began to hear a strange rumbling noise. The rumbling was followed by several loud bangs, then what could almost be identified as music. The man on the bicycle way out here actually made more sense than what we saw next. The noises were coming from what remained of a Ford f-150 that was traveling at a rather high rate of speed down this road which was barely passable on a motorcycle and being occupied by two smiling waving locals. Throughout the entire time we spent south of the border we never came across anyone who wasn’t happy to see us.
This day came to an end at a hotel near the water where we found the host offering us fresh lobster and oysters for dinner to be washed down with Pacifico cervezas. The woman was very friendly and informed us that we should park our motos inside our room for the night to avoid any problems. There was a bit of a language barrier so we simply followed her instruction and rolled them inside.
A few more days rolled by as we meandered around the desert roads stumbling upon old Missions and churches. We had successfully washed the bikes and changed the oil in one of our rooms along with doing a load or two of laundry in the sink. It was time to head north from Santa Rosalia back through San Ignacio and eventually across the border. We hit the pavement for a few hours before coming across a side road that was calling our names.
We began following a truck full of people down this roller coaster of a road until the truck would no longer fit around the corners and pulled over. As we continued, the road became wet and soon we were crossing over and riding down what was at one time a river but was now just a shallow stream winding down a valley. I found a tiny hot spring spouting out of a giant mineral deposit and we watched a coyote run down the road ahead of us before we made the abrupt climb up and onto a gigantic mesa that offered epic views.
It had been decided that Alfonsinas was a must-stop before leaving Baja and our overnight turned into 3 more sunsets, several shrimp burritos, numerous beach walks, crab hunts, and sand dollar finds before we were able to tear ourselves away. Once we were rolling, it became obvious that something exciting was going on in San Felipe. Traffic was backed up for miles outside the city limits and there were all shapes and sizes of vehicles ripping through the desert on either side of the road. We had managed to land ourselves in the middle of the San Felipe 250 race weekend and there was not a room to be had in the city. Note to self, check the race schedules before planning a trip to Baja.
Luckily for us, we had almost 300 miles of fuel range and plenty of daylight left to make our run for the border. It had been an excellent 12 days well spent and after 265 miles of riding on our dirt bike seats, we were more than happy to see the sight of our van waiting for us in El Centro.
This story was provided by Jessica Lukens. Please make sure to follow her on Instagram to see more of her and her husbands amazing rides @motorambling.
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