Baja Snapshots
April, 2002
Twenty miles of beach and we had it all to ourselves. The two-track we were following south from San Juanico along the coast of Baja brought us right by the beach and it only took us a couple of minutes to find a way across the rocks and soft sand separating the beach from the road. Once we were across, the firm sand between the water and the hillside was smooth and completely unmarked. Paradise is just a little south of San Juanico on the blue Pacific.
We had left San Ignacio two days before in search of our fourth confluence. Lying just off the road that passes the east side of the lagoon, 27N by 113W turned out to be pretty easy pickings, but it cost me a rear brake getting out. It had been a struggle getting up the rocky and sandy track leading in the direction of the confluence point and I'd killed the engine a couple of times trying to be too careful and going too slow. I decided I needed to ride motocross rather than trials, so I was going to keep my speed up going down and just roll out at the bottom. It was a good plan, but I missed missing the big rock at the bottom and I hit it hard enough to snap the rear brake pedal completely through at the spline mount. When I came to a stop, the brake lever was dangling from the return spring. A good bash plate is a good thing. I put a nice dent in mine. For the next two days, the lack of a rear brake was hardly noticeable, but I paid dearly for it later on.
Later that afternoon the wind came up and we found a camp site back off the beach in the shelter of some dunes. While Tom headed out toward the beach for some late evening photos, I pitched my tent, made something to eat and prepared for bed early. Just before dark, I spotted some little foxes trotting along in the distant evening light. The rapidly approaching darkness left me no clue to their actual size or how far away they were. When they were gone, I wondered if I'd actually seen them at all.
My most treasured piece of gear on this trip was a wonderful fold-up chair made of wood and canvas. There is nothing like being able to sit in a chair while in camp. It is just so civilized - and comfortable. It was my habit to put the chair right in front of my tent so I could use it to get out of my low tent more easily and I put my boots on the seat so I would know right where they were in the morning.
I retired early and fell asleep quickly. Suddenly I was awake, my mind barely functioning. What had awakened me? My mind replayed a distinctive clanking sound and I soon processed it to be the sound my wooden chair made when you bumped it against something. I nodded off for some moments and then was suddenly wide awake. I felt around for my flashlight and pointed it out the front mesh. The chair was right where I had left it. I flicked off the light and laid back, relieved. But my mind kept processing the image it had seen so briefly. Something was wrong and I don't know how long it took for all the connections to get made, but eventually I sat up again and aimed the flashlight at my chair. No boots!
I climbed out of the tent and adjusted my light for a broad beam and surveyed the area around my tent. The air was dead still and the moon was bright so my eyes soon adjusted to the light and I could see quite well. What I saw was little paw prints all around my tent and chair. And a pair of little paw prints leading off up the dune. I followed.
Not 20 yards away was one of my boots. I picked it up and knew I could at least shift in comfort, if nothing else. A few yards further, the other one lay abandoned in the moonlight. I gave a big sigh of relief. I banged them together a couple of times to knock off the sand and tucked them securely away in the bottom of my tent. The enormity of my luck washed over me as I lay there in the moonlight. What would I have done, 200 miles from anywhere on a KLR with no shoes? Disaster! From then on, the boots and I were inseparable.
The next day we continued south. The track was quite soft in places and it was hard work to wrestle the fully loaded KLR through the sand. I've looked at several maps of Baja since this trip and none of them show the 'road' we traveled getting into San Juanico. I suspect it may not be there during certain seasons of the year. It was hard work, but San Juanico was a fine reward for our effort.
Sitting on a bluff overlooking the Pacific, San Juanico is a surfing and camping destination. There seemed to be a mini-building boom when we were there. Sitting prominently on the highest overlook is a beautiful palapa bar and restaurant with a commanding view of the Pacific. What a treat to sit there enjoying huevos con chorizo and fresh orange juice while watching the surfers ride the slow waves around the point. Breakfast was about 40 pesos if I remember correctly. We took our time over a leisurely breakfast, chatting with some young surfers from Southern California and enjoying life.
Finally, we loaded up and continued our trek southward. Just a little way around the bay we crossed the sand berm and found ourselves all alone on twenty miles of perfect deserted beach. We rode south until our way was blocked by rocks and then turned around and rode back until we found an inviting spot. The sand was firm to ride on, but pretty soft when standing still. It took several attempts to find a rock or shell big enough for our kickstands that would prevent the bikes from doing a slow motion tip over onto the sand.
After walking around in search of photo opportunities, we shed our dusty boots and riding gear and waded into the water wearing a grin and our bad tans. The Pacific was perfect. Gentle waves, soft sand, wonderfully cooling. It doesn't get much better. We could have been on any deserted beach in the world. And it was all ours.
Refreshed and relaxed, we loaded up for the climb off the beach. Not wanting to backtrack all the way to where we had entered, we picked out a sandy two-track leading up the hill at an angle that looked to be the most promising. We had to move some driftwood and rocks to get a clear path off the beach to the bottom of the hill and by the time we got that done we were sweating hard.
I'm sure it would have been easier to just go back, but once we got started we weren't going to give up and admit defeat on the beach. We worked hard for at least an hour getting off that beach and up the hill. Even then, the track was mostly soft sand and riding it was hard work. After a couple of miles on top, the path dropped steeply off the hill and led away from the ocean. When I say steeply, think staircase. Tom went first and didn't die or even fall, so over I went. Wow! Serious A-ticket ride.
After that the road firmed up as we worked our way inland and the terrain became more hilly. We were working hard again in the rocky track and steep inclines. It was much hotter now that we had come further south. Bouncing along in the rocks, one of my mirrors worked loose and was swinging back and forth, occasionally bouncing off my arm. During one long downhill stretch I decided to reach over and flip it around to tighten it up. I managed that, only to look up and realize the road turned sharply right across a wooden bridge. I just had time to grab the bars with both hands as I rode right off the side of the bridge and dropped three feet into the dry river bed below. Miraculously, I didn't fall. In fact I kept going, up the far bank, around a couple of cactus and back onto the road, barely missing a step. Tom was far enough behind me that he didn't see it and didn't believe me until I took him back and showed him my tracks in the sand. Why I decided just then that I needed a better view behind me is still a mystery.
By the time we got to La Purisima I was tired and dehydrated. We stopped for water and sat in the shade awhile before getting gas and heading into the mountains toward San Miguel Commondu.