See the introduction page, with my advice for anyone thinking of doing a similar trip, a list of the biggest challenges of the ride, cautions and our itinerary.
First, see Travelogue, Part One, before you read the page you are on now.
Then read Travelogue, Part Two.
And then...
We woke in Loreto to rain. Yup, raining again. We weren't sure how the guy out in the Hotel Plaza Loreto courtyard would be cooking breakfast, but there he was, under cloth tents, ready to cook. We were the first people for breakfast, in fact - we wanted to get out early. There aren't many tables in the courtyard and there was a couple with no where to sit, and I invited them to sit with us. They were worried about travel restrictions - they needed to drive across the USA back to Canada. We talked about our trip so far and when I talked about the arroyo at Santa Rosalía, they said, "Oh, you're famous, we saw a video of you at that arroyo on a Facebook group!" We were so excited but couldn't find it online. I asked friends on Facebook to try to find it, but they couldn't. Just so you know - Stefan found the video when we were back in the USA. It wasn't us - it was that couple that had waved frantically at us as we were going through the mountains on our way to Santa Rosalía.
After breakfast, it had stopped raining, but we put on all our rain gear anyway, because I knew it would rain and I did not want to put it on the side of the road. And once we left Loreto, it freakin' poured. The coves that had looked so enticing on our way down now looked like sand soup. But still beautiful. Once again, it was just too rainy to attempt to visit Mulegé. Next time!
We approached Santa Rosalía, and I was terrified. It was raining just like when we approached from the other side days ago. What would all those intense water crossings be like this time, heading North, a week later? How much had it rained up here since then?
The first arroyo was downtown, not quite as big as it had been when we had avoided it and gone through the town. It was still huge, though somewhat shallow, but we watched cars go through and they were hitting a BIG hole in the middle. I looked over and said, "What about the sidewalk?" And that's what we did, we road on the sidewalk. That concrete wall around the tree was ALMOST too close to the wall to make it work, but it did work, for both our bikes - I bet that wall was put around the tree specifically to keep people like us from doing what we did. Once back in Oregon, someone posted a video of a motorcycle going through this arroyo, and he almost went over at that hole!
We came to the area with the arroyos that I had crossed myself - and they weren't there. Hurrah! Please understand, it wasn't that I didn't think I could traverse them - I had before. My anxiety was that I was scared I would fry my bike again, and Omar was far, far away now. So, if these arroyos were small, maybe the big one would be small too? In fact, it wasn't there anymore. I was stunned. And happy. And in awe - it was raining, but it meant it hadn't been raining much in a week. Arroyos really do depend on rain elsewhere, not necessarily right where they are.
But while we weren't crossing arroyos, we were in a lot of water: it was raining worse than anything we had experienced. It was the kind of rain I would never, ever choose to ride in. It was the worst rain I've ever ridden in my 10 years of motorcycle riding. It just would not stop. And just as we got into the mountains as we headed to San Ignacio, the winds began - intense wind that made the rain hit us in sheets. We were going around those curves, with sheer drop offs, sometimes with guard rails, sometimes with guard rails flattened by whatever truck and mowed it down as it shot off over it at some point, and I was as focused as I possibly could be. And I once again credit that off-road course for making me a rider that could get through it. There was a pickup behind us and he wasn't making any effort to pass us, and I think he was following us to make sure we were okay, I really do. Once we got down off the hills and curves, he had either turned around or turned off, I'm not sure which - I was concentrating on the goddamn ROAD.
But as awful as that was, I will take it over gusting wind. Always.
I almost missed the driveway for Rice and Beans in San Ignacio - the sign was lost in the rain, and I don't think it's as easy to see coming from the South. We drove in, down the first hill, and drove to the back of the upper parking lot, because that hill is oh so much more reasonable than that cobblestone crap at the front. Stefan drove down no problem and road off to the office, where there were more motorcycles parked. I sat there at the top of the sand hill, looking down at it, in the pouring rain, with the line of motorcycles neatly parked along the hotel rooms, thinking, okay, you did this a week ago, you can do it again, even in this soup, you can. And then, dammit, a couple came out of their room and stood there to watch me. And I'm like, goddamn, now I HAVE to ride down this hill because, if I don't, I'll look like a chicken. And I just cannot look like a chicken! And so I did and, shock of shocks, I did not fall. I road around in a wide circle in the sandy parking lot over to join Stefan at the office.
The couple later told me that, when they saw me, they weren't thinking, "Ah, what a chicken, look at her hesitating in that hill." No, they were thinking "I can't believe that guy drove off and left without seeing her drive down it and making sure she could do it" and "I guess they don't know about the back road that brings you into the parking lot and you don't have to ride any hills."
Sigh.
I was thrilled to see so many motorcycles - and then immediately worried that the hotel was full. It wasn't. But there were a LOT OF BIKERS. And they were friendly bikers! And we all hate Donald Trump! I was worried at first, because two guys had deep Southern accents, and being from a Southern state myself - though not a Confederate state - I know how people from there could be. But one of them told me he'd moved to Mexico after the Shrub had been elected a second time - he just couldn't take it anymore.
Motorcycle travelers from the USA who are abroad are often of a certain age... the conversation at one point turned to the best age to go on medicaid or social security. Why are motorcycle travelers from the USA in Mexico older? Because younger bikers rarely have the money or the vacation time to do a three or four week trip.
By the way, how much do I love Destini's ADVHER license plate? Oh so so much... plus, she ordered dinner and then decided she didn't want it and gave it to us! She's very high on our list of awesome people we met on this trip.
I was so happy to AT LAST get to hang out with motorcyclists. And more came later, just beginning their Baja adventure, and I have to admit, I was stunned that they were still going through with their trip. While we weren't hurrying to the border, I didn't feel like it was a good time to start a trip down through Baja, California. No way. I felt that way mostly because the cases in Mexico were beginning to grow, because I was afraid some Mexicans would turn on foreigners, and I was afraid California would close their hotels. I had gotten a message off to my friend Henry, who before we left had offered his place again for us to stay one night, and gave him the opportunity to withdraw the invite, telling him we would be able to find a hotel and would totally understand if he wanted us to stay elsewhere, that he shouldn't at all feel obligated to host us, and he was adamant about us staying with him. When I read his response, I cried.
By the way, there was also a cat. A cat that demanded to be hosted on each person's lap. Stefan, of course, refused.
Rice and Beans kept up with all our needs regarding food and drinks. They are obviously oh-so-used to a bunch of bikers and the chaos we bring.
Once we were up, we went to the restaurant and had breakfast (Stefan and I ordered one thing and shared it - we should have done that all along, but as we were in Baja, I usually wanted seafood, and he's somewhat allergic). Most everyone was hungover and headed South; we were headed North. Since it wasn't raining (WHAT?!?), and downtown San Ignacio was supposed to be nice, we decided to head into town, away from Ruta Uno. The village is by a lagoon and very tropical, and I saw just how many more places there were to stay instead of Rice and Beans. Apparently, further down the road, there's a great place to launch out into the water and see whales, but we'd heard earlier the road was flooded.
The plaza in San Ignacio is, indeed, very nice - it would be wonderful shade on a hot day. The mission there is lovely. Inside, there was a service going on. Outside, I was pleased to see that the information boards acknowledged the death and pain Catholic missions brought to the indigenous people. One noted:
During the first third of the XIX century, the indigenous population disappeared completely from this mission's territory due to the epidemic disease and cultural changes in their way of life. The mission stopped working and gave way to a different society, formed by "mestizo" families that assured the national identity in this far away part of the country.
Another plaque noted that a priest had treated locals so cruelly, they attacked the mission. Well done, whoever did this, for acknowledging this.
We went back to Ruta 1 to gas up and had a last goodbye at the gas station with some of our compadres from the night before, and passed by Rice and Beans yet again as we headed North.
The weather started to clear up, but there was a lot of water on the sides of the road. The group of motorcyclists that we had met the night before that came from the North warned of many arroyos, and I was quite worried about it. Indeed, we crossed a couple of small ones, but nothing bad, noting like what they had experienced.
We said goodbye to Baja Sur and the weather was lovely. We got stopped at the military checkpoint there, only the second time that happened. I was first. I stopped and the young man walked up, and knocked on the top box. Stefan said later he interpreted it as, "Nice box!" He asked, in Spanish, if I spoke Spanish, and I said what I always said when I got asked that:
Hablo un poco español, pero mi español es muy malo. ¡Horrible! ¿Habla Inglés? ¿Es mejor que mi español?
And they always answered in Spanish that their English was worse than my Spanish. For some reason, it always seemed to put everyone at ease. He asked where I was coming from and where I was going to and then waved us on.
I don't remember at what stop I made this suggestion, but at some point, I was looking at the overview map of Baja that Stefan had put on my tank bag. It has only key cities and the national highways on it. I stared at it and realized a better idea than going back to Bahia de Los Angeles that evening, which neither of us wanted to do, was to go to Bahia de San Luis Gonzaga. I'd heard a couple of motorcyclists say they were going to stay there, and they had asked another group who had stayed there the night before if they would need a reservation, and they had said, "Naw - they've had lots of cancellations." It was about 230 miles from San Ignacio, and wouldn't add any more miles to our trip than a return to Bahia de Los Angeles would. We'd heard that Ruta Cinco - Highway 5 - was now entirely paved, and we had planned on doing it anyway.
Off we went. There was NO sign for the turnoff for Ruta 5 - none at all. We found it only because Stefan had it on his GPS and had a general idea of where it should be. And, indeed, it was paved - newly paved. Beautifully paved. We felt like the first people to ever ride on it, it was so new. And the weather was PERFECT - we'd long shed our motorcycle rain gear. There were no signs on Highway 5 for Bahia de San Luis Gonzaga, but there were signs for Puertecitos (the one that's part of the Playas de San Felipe, not the one near the border). The landscape became covered in white, beautiful sand and white rocks.
There is a gas station at Bahia Gonzaga, and I asked if there was a hotel over on the far away beach - we could see several structures in the distance. He said yes. We drove behind the gas station and there was a gate on the road that lead back to the far away beach. We sat there, wondering what to do, reading the sign for a place called Alfonsina's, which seemed to be both a restaurant and hotel. We hoped it was. A guy came out of a trailer eventually, smiling, and opened the gate. We drove on the reasonably well-maintained road that went alongside an airstrip. Then we made a left with the road, riding behind more than a dozen summer homes between us and the water. At the end of the long row, we came to Alfonsina's. And there were the bikes of a couple we'd met the night before.
Alfonsina's is only hotel in this area, for MANY miles. If Alfonsina's didn't have a room, we were going to Campo Beluga on the other side of the beach, and sleeping in our sleeping bags on the ground under one of the leaf-covered shelters (the campground has bathrooms and showers). An internet search after we got back to the USA shows that the only other places to stay in that area are beach houses that people rent out, but I have no idea how you rent those.
But Alfonsina's DID have a room - many rooms, in fact, due to so many
COVID19-related cancellations, though the staff seemed perturbed we didn't
have a reservation. At other times, I'm sure we absolutely would have
needed a reservation to get a room.
This hotel is in a perfect location. Alfonsina's is the definition of "boutique" hotel, on a spot on the Earth that is so gorgeous it's hard to describe. Every view of the bay at every time of day is stunning, and every room has that view. Yes, every room. I took 4 million photos to show how beautiful it is here. Past the hotel going North on the beach, there's nothing but sand. There are no electrical plugs in the room, so you will need to charge your phone in the restaurant. And the Internet is not included - you have to pay extra. At first, we thought, well, really, do we NEED the Internet in this gorgeous place? But then we decided to pay for access and share it, just to get weather reports and to keep checking news reports.
This is a really remote location. All food has to be brought in from very far away - the nearest grocery store is about 100 miles / 150 kms in San Felipe. That's why Alfonsina's prefers reservations and wants people to buy their meal plan when you reserve online, so they know how much food to get.
It was still early, the late afternoon, so I changed into my dress - the location demanded it - and we took a long walk on the beach. It was just SO beautiful! It was like a dream. I am not a beach person at all, because I hate crowds, I hate all the noise - the screaming, the yelling, the music - and I hate all the trash people leave behind. I also don't like the smell of the beach - that fishy smell. THIS is the only kind of beach I like, and it was easy to tolerate the smell in such glorious scenery. I so needed a day like this, outside, with no rain. It's definitely what was missing most from this trip: time walking around outside. It rarely happened.
There were clams or mussels breathing tubes all over the beach - we tried to avoid walking on them. The water looked so inviting for a kayak. The water was calm and crazy blue. Later, Stefan brought out his monocular and we looked around the crescent moon bay, where we could see a very large house across the way. Wonder what that is...
We walked down the beach passed all the homes, and after a while, realized most were empty and boarded up. I wondered if people who had left had expected to be renting all these out for Spring Break - and no one was coming. It looks idyllic, but I wondered about plumbing - do all these places have septic tanks? And you would need a generator, for sure. Many homes had solar panels.
We went to the dining room to keep staring at the view and our friends from the night before showed up - they had been napping. They had seen our bikes and knew we were there. I thanked them for talking about their plans so that we could change ours and stalk them. We drank margaritas, swapped stories and ordered supper, which was delicious (shrimp and fish for me - YUM!). Really good margaritas, but the loud hip hop on the dining room TV got REALLY tiresome.It wasn't that late, but the staff came over and said, "We'd like to close..." so we went back to our room, checked our messages and crashed.
The next morning, I checked my messages and then checked the US State Department social media account, and there it was: Travel Advisory Level 4: "U.S. citizens who live in the United States should arrange for immediate return to the United States, unless they are prepared to remain abroad for an indefinite period." There was also update for that day, a Message for U.S. Citizens: U.S. Embassy Mexico City:, that noted, in BOLD, "This action does not prevent U.S. citizens from returning home." But that didn't stop someone from posting to my Facebook account to say the border was closed.
ARGH!
Despite the beautiful weather, despite having more than enough time in our schedule to stay another day, we were, officially, heading home, because of these new updates from the State Department. I would not get to learn on this trip why French explorer Jacques Cousteau called the Sea of Cortez “the world’s aquarium." We never snorkeled, never kayaked, never swam with sea lions in Baja. I was sad.
We broke the State Department news to our new friends - they live near the border in Arizona, in a town Southeast of Tucson, so they could get home relatively quickly. They were surprised, since these updates hadn't been there when they checked the previous afternoon.
We decided it would be okay to just go just 60 miles / 150 km that day up the road to San Felipe, stay there for the afternoon and evening, then do 220 miles / 355 km to Tecate on Saturday, where we would stay our last night in Mexico and then head over the border early on Sunday morning. Yes, we could have pushed hard and made it all the way to Tecate and left a day early, but we saw absolutely no reason to do that. We were in no hurry to go back into California, since people who did not live there were sharing hysterical (and inaccurate) accounts of what was happening there - we weren't sure what was really happening, but had a big sense of dread about going back.
I asked a staff member at Alfonsina what check out time was, and he said 11. And he seemed suspicious that I had asked. It was because we weren't going far at all that day, so we were in no rush to checkout - we just wanted to have one more walk on this beautiful beach, in the RARE sunshine of Baja. Alfonsina's staff needs to work on that attitude...
While we were loading the bikes with our stuff, Stefan had a conversation with the young father in a family that also stayed at the hotel the same night as us. They were perfect: gorgeous children, perfectly fit parents, fabulous truck pulling dirt bikes, grandma my age along to take care of the kids, etc. Of course we assumed that they were going home to the USA. Nope: they were just starting their trip, heading farther into Baja. This was their way of "fleeing" the virus. I was FURIOUS. I couldn't even look at them. There is no "fleeing" COVID19. They could be bringing the virus into Mexico, or if one or more of them gets it, they will not have access to proper medical care. There is NO WAY we would have gone on our trip had the warnings and information then been what they were now. I thought of all the people online saying, "The borders are closed!" without posting any links to official announcements - here was proof that wasn't happening AT ALL.
We packed up and headed back down the rocky, sandy road. No, I couldn't do the Dakar Rally or the Baja 500. But this road is exactly why I took that off-road class a few years ago: so I could get to some challenging location I really wanted to.
We got gas and then continued
North on Route 5, which is 99.5
percent paved. The road is perfect. The
views are wonderful. I guess they have paved it so that they can
have far more development out here, like hotels and winter homes for
people from the US and Canada. However, they will need to build towns out
here as well - they will need a LOT of local people living here to sustain
all the businesses and housing they seem to be dreaming of. For now, lots
of empty beaches and beautiful views, little unofficial settlements with
no services (no hotels, no restaurants), and no traffic. We passed
Puertecitos, which we mostly couldn't see - the
settlements on the sea are usually well-hidden from the road by
large dunes. I had expected Puertecitos to have some services, since
the mileage for the town was posted on a few signs on Highway 5 after we
turned off from 1, but there's no such thing: the gas station there is
long closed and there are no hotels. We passed a
sign for La Poma but, again, no hotels. I'm not complaining for the
lack of services, but you need to know this if you head down Highway 5 on
a trip. There are probably some folks renting their
remote homes here on Air B & B, but you will need to book your
room in advance, get excellent directions to where you will be staying,
and load up on supplies in San Felipe. If you do such a thing, get clear
info about what the bathroom and water situation is at your rental.
We met no motorcycles at all coming South. We had this beautiful road to ourselves. And, no, we still weren't tired of cactus.
The closer we got to San Felipe, the more signs in English we saw for houses and "communities." There are so MANY communities of English-speaking foreigners in this area. There was even a Volunteer Fire Station at Campo El Vergel, and I knew looking at it, with its big English sign, that it was founded by foreigners. Here is the story of that station. So sorry we didn't get a photo.
But for reasons we cannot fathom at all, road conditions became beyond shitty the closer we got to San Felipe. Roads became beyond horrible and the absolute WORST we encountered in all of Mexico, by FAR. We had to stand on our foot pegs as we came into town. It was impossible to dodge all the massive potholes. I was afraid, for the first and only time on this trip, that the conditions might be too much for my bike.
Like most places in Baja, the actual city of San Felipe - the hotels, the restaurants, etc. - are not on the main highway. We found the hotel that had kinda sorta been recommended, and Stefan balked at the price: $120 a night. We went back behind it, to a hotel that wasn't on the beach but was up on a hill and did have a fence all around the grounds and only one gate to get in and out of: Las Palmas. It was $90 a night. The outside was freshly painted and it looked like they were trying to come back from having been very run down. They gave us a room that has not yet been renovated because we requested a room where we could park the bikes right next to the room. Our bikes couldn't be seen from any of the surrounding streets. At first, I thought we were doomed in a horrible hotel. Our room was ancient. But then we noticed some things: better internet than we'd had in any other hotel, including some more expensive boutique hotels elsewhere, hangers in the closet (that NEVER happened), INSTANT hot water and plenty of electrical outlets. By the time we left to walk around and see more of San Felipe, I was feeling better about the hotel. There wasn't much of a view from the giant patio, but there was one. Added bonus: giant shrimp out on the grounds.
We saw our first helicopter in Mexico - there was a hospital next to the hotel. But it was the only one we saw on the entire trip.
We were just a few blocks from the public malecon. San Felipe is a run-down city long past any hey day it might have had. It was sad in many ways. And, yet, we had a much better time here than we had in Ensenda. We're sorry that the COVID19 response has meant such a financial hardship to businesses here that rely on tourists - but we also really appreciated the quiet that we would not have had with the usual American spring break students everywhere. We were entranced by all of the many small fishing boats being towed onto the beach to launch for an evening or night of fishing. There were so many! And the crews were so, so young. And none wearing life jackets. So much work and risk for seafood. Jayne very much appreciates their efforts. If felt like everywhere we looked, we saw Mexicans hard at work on this entire trip.
I asked Stefan what he wanted for supper and he said, "How about Mexican?" We knew one of us would be making that joke at some point, we just didn't know who would be giving the opening and who would take it. I can't believe it took so long for the moment to happen.
We stopped at a big place on the malecon for tacos - sorry that I don't remember the name. It was the only place we went to on this entire trip that had beer on tap, and I really liked the beer - it's locally produced. Unfortunately, neither of us remember the name of the beer. The food was damn yummy.
We bought a six-pack and went back at the hotel to sit out in the hotel courtyard. We think we were the only guests at the hotel. And the staff turned on all the festive party lights outside, just for us. It was magical. I started to get emotional at just how wonderful an evening we were having at this tired-looking but clean hotel. It was glorious.
In the morning, we walked around to the courtyard from our room to see if there would be coffee - and just for us, the only guests at Las Palmas, they had laid out a breakfast of bananas, bread to toast, peanut butter and fruit preserves, and plenty of coffee. It was such an earnest, sweet act. When we got back to Oregon, I wrote a review of all but two of the hotels we stayed at in Baja, and this was one of them I reviewed, and I tried to be realistic but also to say, hey, iif you have to be in San Felipe, this ain't so bad, and might even be really nice, depending on what you are looking for.
We headed out of San Felipe, stopping at a gas station and I saw this rather bizarre set of three signs. As we headed North, we saw even more signs for settlements, most in English. At the turnoff for Ruta Tres, there is another military checkpoint, and then there is another on Ruta Tres itself. But we weren't stopped at either. Highway 3 turned out to be lovely. We had a long way to go, and I had not been expecting a nice ride - I'm not sure why. But it was lovely! We enjoyed it oh-so-much.
We stopped for a pee - I had to go through a barbed wire fence to get privacy, and Stefan was shocked at how well I navigated the barbs. I told him, "You can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl." Nope, not my first time doing that. But I realize now that we probably shouldn't have stopped there, that we should have done whatever was necessary to stop at a house or a halfway-closed restaurant, ANYWHERE there was people around, to pee. Because up North like this, near Ensenada, there are gangs that look specifically for motorcyclists or motorists stopping at the side of a road in a remote area, and they take EVERYTHING - everything in your panniers, usually the panniers too, your jackets, ofcourse all your bags, and sometimes, even your bikes too. We never heard any of these stories until we got back. We were lucky.
Highway 3 hides a lot of little hotels and resorts - we would see little signs here and there for such, far off the road where we couldn't see. Like Rancho Auga Calienta Hot Springs - with a name like that, I couldn't forget it. Looking at the online reviews after I was back in Oregon, my take is that most of these places are so off the beaten track, you need a four-wheel drive or a dual sport to get there. We never saw the turnoff for Mike's Sky Ranch, which has served as a checkpoint for the Baja 500 and Baja 1000 off-road races, but we had no plans to go anyway, as it caters to dirt bikes and off-roaders, and that's not really my crowd - they think I'm a silly old woman unworthy of my KLR.
And then, after being in such beautiful desert and ranch land on Highway 3, we were back Ensenada, in the hills, and it was intense: packed traffic, trucks, pot holes, surprise stops, noise... yikes. Stefan was consumed with his GPS, but I could see we needed to turn right to get to the waterfront. I was just about to turn off and just do it because I knew it's what we needed to do when he finally turned on his right turn signal. We ended up back at a 711 we knew well - we'd stopped there twice in trying to find a hotel in Ensenada 13 days before. We had some cookies and water, and then headed to Tecate on Highway 3, back the way we had come on our first day in Mexico. This part of Ruta Tres is the Ruta del Vino. I would have LOVED to have taken a bottle of dry red wine to the region back to Henry and Betsy, but it would have been complicated to pack a bottle, and I wanted to sample some before buying a bottle, and we had no time for that.
Our original plan when we started our Mexico adventure had been to stay in Tecate two nights at the end of the trip so that, on the day between those nights, we could drive on Ruta Dos and go to Sitio Arqueologico Vallecito, the archaeological site of El Vallecito. The site has many petroglyphs made by the ancient peninsula inhabitants. More than 30 sets of petroglyphs have been found, but only six are exhibited. But now suspected that most of these sites were probably closed because of COVID 19. I was also still afraid Mexicans would start turning on us, as foreigners from a country with an exploding number of COVID19 cases. I was also afraid California would close its hotels - it had already closed its state camp grounds. It would be our last night in Mexico.
Stefan made reservations the night before at the Hacienda Santana in Tecate, based on information on Trip Advisor. It was easy to find, right on the main drag, on the left, as you come into Tecate. It's a spiffy new hotel with a guard outside checking every person that comes through the gate. We got a good rate because we paid with a credit card, giving us an excellent exchange rate - and the peso had just taken a dive against the dollar. But their restaurant and bar were closed - I think that, like everywhere else, they'd had many cancellations. Because they didn't give us the rate that we thought we'd have per TripAdvisor, the manager put us in a vast business suite, and he insisted we park the bikes on the hotel sidewalk right outside the rooms. It was the nicest hotel we stayed in on this entire trip, but far from the most expensive.
Here's a video of Stefan driving motorcycles onto sidewalk.
I didn't change out of our motorcycle pants - it was cool outside. We dashed across the street and ate at the taco stand there, Taqueria Los Panchos. My Spanish menu skills are severely lacking - I have rarely ordered Mexican food in Spanish and I'm not really sure what anything is. I got two tacos filled with something and Stefan got his favorite Mexican food, a Mexican cubano sandwhich. Everything was delicious - so delicious that I went back and got two more tacos, one for Stefan and one for me. The place was super busy, with most people doing take away - we ate in the little dining room in the back. What is it about sitting in a plastic chair, eating at a table covered with a plastic table cloth, near a roadside, that makes food TASTE SO GOOD?!?! I also enjoyed watching a rooster hang out in the front. IF you stay at Hacienda Santana, this place is totally worth the mad dash across eight lanes of traffic (honestly, Mexican drivers are much better about stopping for pedestrians than people in the USA).
We went back across the street to the convenience store next to our hotel for snacks and beer for the evening, as well as a bottle of tequila to take over the border. Then back to our hotel room to drink beer, eat cookies and check border crossings. Ignoring the raging rumors on Facebook, I used The Google and found that the US Customs and Border Protection has a web site providing up-to-the-minute info on border crossing times. The web site also shows average wait times. The wait times for Saturday looked great for before noon, and that's when we planned on going. We also poured over the print outs of the directions to get back to the border. We'd read online that the US border crossing was hard to find in Tecate, but Stefan had found explicit directions, with photos of landmarks to look for, to get there.
I also had this observation: what's up with all the places in Mexico that say "Maria's Mexican Restaurant", or whatever name? I'm going to assume it's a Mexican restaurant, in Mexico, unless it says something else, like "Maria's Thai Food."
Our last morning in Mexico. We again checked the web site for border crossings and there were no wait times at all. Hurrah! Someone also shared Neil Diamond's updated version of "Sweet Caroline" for the emerging COVID-19 reality (hands... washing hands... reaching out... don't touch me... don't touch you...). We were up relatively early and I decided we should eat breakfast before we left Mexico. The hotel has an associated restaurant next door and we walked over. It's beautiful, brand new and empty. As we sat there alone, eating our delicious meal, enjoying the heater that staff had brought out because it was cold, and I thought how sad it was going to be in the coming months in Mexico, in so many places relying on both tourists and foreigners that live there part time. And what would COVID19, the actual illness, do to the country, to the people here? All I could think was, this country doesn't deserve what's coming. I teared up.
We went back to pack up the motorcycles, and I went out into the parking lot to make my video goodbye to Mexico. I was full of a lot of emotion. Then Stefan and I posed for some selfies, and then we asked the manager to come out and take more photos of us.
The Hacienda Santana has a funky entrance: one drive way is built for entrance, and one is built for the exit. Both are on a hill coming from the parking lot, and make sharp turns from where they connect with the road. I had wondered how we were going to manage the exit, since it put us out behind the intersection, and there would be no way to go left out onto the road - we'd have to go right and then make a U-Turn somewhere. But the guard directed us to go out of the entrance, and raised the barrier for us to do so. We got up to the road and there was barely any traffic, and the intersection was completely clear, meaning we could make an easy left turn onto the road - a road that we needed to take to get to the border.
Welp, a police truck was coming up to the empty intersection from the North, to my left and watched us pull out and turn left - we were probably 100 yards away from him, turning onto a mostly empty street . I saw him light up immediately and, since he was so far away and since we hadn't even begun the turn when those lights came on, I thought, welp, someone's getting pulled over! And then there he was beside me, on my right, at a stop sign - he'd done a U-Turn to come get us. He told me to pull over. I went numb. Remember: I lost my driver's license early on in the trip. I had no driver's license. I had my tourist card, my passport, proof of Mexican insurance, but not that. I pulled over and pulled off my helmet and he told us to get off the bikes. We did. He was probably in his 40s, and had a young female officer with him. He laid into us. "Hablo Español?!" No way I was going to say I did. I said I didn't speak it well enough to talk to a police officer. He told us we had made an illegal left turn, that the intersection was CLEARLY marked with a sign, did we want to drive back and look at the sign, and did we want to talk to a judge to talk about how we didn't see the sign that was CLEARLY there?
I couldn't believe it. We were 15 minutes from leaving Mexico, and our trip was about to be truly, entirely, ruined.
Had it been a weekday, maybe even Saturday, we'd have either had to pay a bribe or go before a judge. But it was Sunday. And I needed to get us out of this. So I became a bumbling, emotional American woman who could completely break down at any moment. He asked for Stefan's license, which, of course, Stefan had, ready to go. He made a big deal looking at the license and looking at Stefan and back at the license, over and over. I went to my billfold and pretended to be looking for the license, and channeled all my nervousness to make my hands shake. I got a look on my face of, "Oh no, where is my license?!" I fumbled around and then brought out my passport. "Here's my passport." He almost yelled, "I am not immigration! I don't ask for passports! I am the police!" I continued to fumble. He again asked why we had ignored the sign, why we had violated the law, and I said, "Sir, I am so, so sorry. We have been in your country for two weeks and we have tried so hard to follow the law, to respect your law and your country. I am so sorry we did not see that sign." By the end, I had managed tears in my eyes. Which would have become real had he said, "Shut up and give me your license."
But he didn't. He announced we would just be getting a warning and that we needed to respect his country next time.
I bowed my head in gratitude as the two officers walked back to their truck and drove away.
I counted to FIVE at each stop sign after that. I used my turn signal every single time, without fail (and often left it on, which I do frequently). We carefully followed the directions we had memorized earlier, going over railroad tracks two or three times, and praying no cop was watching us. I was scared the entire time.
We pulled up Culiacan and came to a three way intersection - and we were facing The Wall. The Border Wall. The stupid, ugly border wall. I hoped there were no police around, and asked Stefan to take my photo. That road that I am facing in the photo is for cars to get in line for the border crossing but, as you can see, there's no line. I headed down the road to the border crossing, wondering how many cars would be in line.
How about none? Nope, there were none at all. Stefan went first, zooming around me as I waffled about where to go. We have been across the Canadian border a lot and I know that they require motorcycles to go through one at a time, even if you are together. So I stayed back at the stop sign, waiting to be allowed through. I could tell Stefan was asked where he'd been - I could see him say "Cabo." Then it was my turn. I got up to the officer and once he saw my USA passport, I got waived through with no questions at all.
We crossed the border at Tecate at 10:45 a.m., easy peasy, just as I suspected, per OFFICIAL information, and despite all the misinformation thrown my way online.
Our only worry was that there might be a rush to the border by all of the many motorcyclists and other vacationers in Baja, as well as foreigners who live there part time. But that didn't happen. While I was putting my passport away, still next to the officer, three cars pulled up behind me - and one tried to pull right up to my bumper - the female border guard next to me was having none of it and started yelling at the driver. I realized the guards were NOT in a good mood. Glad none of that got thrown my way.
We stopped on the road outside the sad little shopping center in the USA so Stefan could change the SD card in his GPS, changing from the Mexico map to his US map. Then it was back up California State Highway 94 through Jamul. It was Sunday and there were DOZENS of motorcycles racing in the opposite direction. Turns out, this is a very popular road for bikers. But none but one looked like they were travelers - just people out to ride fast on twisty roads. We never saw any motorcycle rider the entire way back or Oregon that looked like they were headed down.
It was on to San Diego on the wretched Interstates of Southern California - I won't repeat what I said in part one about them and why I hate them, but wow, I hate them. The only interesting things that happened on that part of the ride was that (1) we started to pull over for a couple on a Harley pulled on the side of the road and when they saw what they were doing, the guy starting giving us the enthusiastic thumbs up sign so we knew they were okay and the woman made "heart hands." And (2) the rest stops were open (THANK YOU, CALIFORNIA REST STOP JESUS). And (3) I missed the Hollywood sign.
There was still a fair number of cars out on the road - no traffic jams, however. We even saw some people out in their yards once we got into Northridge, once we turned off the Interstate - the horrible, horrible interstate with it's grooves and gaps and so many things that make motorcycle riding dreadful on it...
Just as we had on our night before we entered Mexico, we stayed with our friends in Northridge on our first night back in the USA. I had told them just to get some gourmet frozen pizza and beer - we'd be good. No fuss. We were already imposing: they were on home quarantine, and here we were, ruining it. Would elbow bumps really keep us safe? But they insisted, bought pizza, gave us wine and beer and gourmet ice cream and we all settled down and watched Raising Arizona. We also made video phone calls to friends from our days back at Western Kentucky University. It was a class reunion online!
And, yes, it rained.
On our first visit weeks before, Henry and Betsy had told us a hilarious story about how they have shelves in their house that used to be in the house of a certain Ronald Reagan. Yes, THAT one. So I decided to express my feelings for that President, aimed at the shelves.
We were out early - it was a super long drive. We left oh-so-grateful for all Henry and Betsy had done for us - and they were oh-so-grateful they hadn't had to bail us out of Mexican jail.
The next three days would suck eggs as motorcycle riders: everything we had thought about seeing over five or six days on a leisurely drive back through California after our Mexican motorcycle trip was off the table: no highway 1, no Hearst Castle, no Sacramento... every California state park, every museum, every funky cool restaurant was closed. Our goal instead was to drive as many miles a day as possible and get back to Oregon as quickly as possible, because there was no reason whatsoever to be out on the road except to get back.
Once we got out of Los Angeles, the road improved vastly. The pass through Angeles National Forest was quite nice, landscape-wise. It was sunny but cold - I was glad to have my winter gear now. At our first rest stop, we saw a COVID19 educational poster, our first in the USA.
Later, we stopped at a large commercial area with lots of gas stations and three different convenience stores - one of which had closed its bathrooms to customers. Dick move. Stefan opened the cooler, to eat what Betsy had put in the cooler for us, and he was stunned. "She made us gourmet sandwiches!" I have never seen that man so happy at a truck stop, to open a little cooler expecting bad American bread with a slapped together sandwich and find this work of art that looked like it came out of a shop.
Because of the California and Oregon lock down per COVID19, all restaurants are closed, but convenience stores are still open. We didn't dally in convenience stores - we went in, went to the bathroom, washed our hands, bought what we needed, if anything, and then went right back out to the bike. As long as it wasn't pouring down rain - and it wasn't - we could do that relatively easily. We hope our luck held out.
We drove about 320 miles that day, all Interstate. We could have gone longer, but damn it if the wind gusts didn't start. I can ride in constant wind, and had been doing so for much of the day. But I cannot ride in wind gusts - it's like someone running up and pushing the bike suddenly as hard as they can, to push me either off the road or into oncoming traffic. I was scared and angry, as I always am in such conditions. I took an exit and we stopped in a parking lot and I tried to calm down. We looked at the map and saw that we were on the exit for a town called Gustine, and that there was a state road from there, 33, and that we could take it for 35 miles before it intersected with Interstate 5 again. The wind wouldn't probably be so bad on it, because there would be orchards and buildings to block it. And that worked out very well, indeed. When we came back to the highway, I was ready to try again, and we did 11 more miles, but the wind was back, smacking me around, and I just couldn't to it - I took the next exit, in Lathrop, and we stayed at the Holiday Inn Express, south of Stockton. When we walked in, there were orange cones in the lobby, and at first, I didn't understand - then it dawned on me: they were about six feet apart, in two lines. It had begun...
We got an incredibly overpriced room and then walked to a strip mall, the wind whipping at us. There was a place called Dickey's Barbecue and it sounded good. Spoiler alert: it wasn't. It was vile. It was takeout only, which was good, because I'm not eating in a place that has a big photo of freakin' Ronald Reagan, even when there ISN'T a mandatory order saying every restaurant is take out only. We noticed as we walked back to the hotel that there were signs in Sherwin Williams store that they would bring orders out to your car, but you couldn't come in the store.
This is our world now. But still no police check points stopping cars and asking why you were out. Because THAT WASN'T TRUE.
Holiday Inn didn't have their breakfast bar, but did provide a takeaway bagged breakfast. As much as I hated to do it, we put on our rain gear right from the get go. We knew it was going to rain, plus get colder. It was the right decision. And we were back on I 5. Gads I hate I 5.
We saw all sorts of signs on the side of the road on the farmlands we were passing, saying "No water, no food" and "Dams give us food." Farmers in the area are furious at the water restrictions being imposed, and want to make people think we're all going to starve if water doesn't stop being diverted from Mono Lake and other points North into this farmland. It's a gross misrepresentation of what's happening - and when we saw a pro-Republican sign, we knew exactly who these farmers were and lost any sympathy we might have had for them.
A sign I enjoyed passing VERY much was this sign for Jayne Avenue. I can't believe Stefan got a photo! They even spelled my name right! It's exit 325, BTW.
It was cold. VERY cold. In Weed, Calfornia, it snowed. I took a video when the snow was starting to fall in Weed. There was a homeless young man with two young puppies and I was about to burst into tears. I had to get away as quickly as possible. He had them so that people would give him things and give him rides, I know that... had I been in a car, I would have given him $200 for both of them. It was making me insane.
We drove about 340 miles that day, through TWO snow storms, to stay at the Flagship Inn in Ashland, Oregon, feasting on takeout Mexican food from the Mexican restaurant right next door and enjoying some tequila we didn't even buy in Mexico. I suspect that the Inn and the restaurant used to be, together, a Howard Johnson's, and that prompted me to explain the History of Ho Jo's to Stefan, who I'm sure didn't really care. I was SO COLD. I felt like my fingers would never, ever warm up. My right foot was also very cold - my rain bootie was torn and my boot had gotten just a bit wet.
Every official highway sign, the ones that the state government can change to indicate upcoming highway conditions or someone can hack and say there are zombies ahead, had some kind of related COVID19 theme, usually Stay Home, Save Lives. I'm sure there were people in cars out on the highway who saw us and thought we were either stupid or cavalier and reckless. I wondered if truckers were talking about us. Look - we did not WANT to be on that interstate in freezing rain and snow during a shut down during a global pandemic, BELIEVE me we didn't! But we had absolutely no alternative.
And that said, I want to say thank you to a certain Pilot Flying J Travel Center who recognized the dilemma of two motorcycle riders who had no choice but to ride in freezing weather and desperately needed to warm up in order to continue their journey home, and let us stand over by a trashcan in the travel center, eating cookies and drinking our water and staying out of the falling snow, for just 10 minutes. Thank you. And I want to say FUCK YOU to a certain Love's Travel Stop who just saw a violation of a rule and then broke that rule themselves, coming within inches of us as we crammed Arby's roast beef sandwiches in our mouths, telling us we had to LEAVE! NOW! or they would CALL THE POLICE. Stefan told them to go ahead.
Never lose your humanity, people. Never lose that. Even when there's a virus.
Because we had ridden well over 300 miles in two days, we would be home on our last day of riding in less than 300 miles - 290, in fact. We had to hustle to get back before the rain or snow storm hit our own home in Oregon. And we did.
We were home on Wednesday instead of Saturday. That made me sad. But what did not make me sad was my reunion with my Baja Baby, Lucinda the dog.
Some things that I didn't integrate into this account, but I think are worth mentioning:
Time will tell....
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