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Baja Bind

Joined
Sep 3, 2011
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Location
Austin
Growing up in West Texas, I heard the phrase “in a bind” a lot. Perhaps it’s used other places as well, but if you don’t know that particular idiom, maybe you do know “between a rock and a hard place” (we were), or even “up to your *** in alligators” (we weren’t literally, although the coup de grâace occurred in a river crossing). The dictionary defines “in a bind” thusly: (idiomatic) In a difficult situation, usually of one's own making. I have to admit, “of one’s own making” has a certain ring to it…

Most of my second trip to Baja California was just fine. I was there earlier this year, solo, and decided to go back, this time with a friend from Phoenix, Darrel (AKA Da’-Reel). We rendezvoused in Yuma and entered Mexico at the small city of San Luis Rio Colorado; the immigration officials were very nice and the border formalities very quick and easy. From San Luis, we navigated the length of the Colorado River delta, through farmland and along small highways that had a ton of trucks, 90 degree turns, and small settlements, until joining the main north-south highway on the east-coast, Mex 5. Once on Mex 5, we rode south for a couple of hours, before turning west on the Ensenada highway.

We were headed for Mike’s Sky Rancho, a remote, former hunting lodge that’s morphed into a B&B for off-roaders over the past 50 years or so. It’s in a beautiful, rugged spot in the mountains 80 miles southeast of Ensenada. The Sky Rancho is a long-time haven for dirt bikers and four-wheelers, as well as a checkpoint on the Baja 1000 off-road race course. And it’s located about 20 miles off the highway, meaning “off-road” riding is required to get there, along some of the roads used for the Baja 1000.

We identified the dirt road to Mike’s Rancho based on mileage from the Mex 5-Mex 3 turnoff (there’s a sign as well, duh), and left the highway:
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Within a quarter of a mile, the sand started deepening, Da’-Reel’s bike slipped sideways, and he ended up in the roadside berm. When that happens, the bike almost always stops suddenly and topples over. With rider. We had helmet-to-helmet radios, so I heard Da’-Reel’s screams (perhaps a slight exaggeration), and stopped and went back to help recover the bike. No big deal - certainly not “bind-worthy”.

After righting the bike and re-starting up the road, no further incidents, although it was sandy, rocky, rough, and included a couple of climbs with a few switchbacks. Even the water crossing just before the Rancho was easy, and we arrived at Mike’s in about an hour, unscathed.

To park at the Rancho, you first negotiate the entrance portico and passage to the pool…
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Once settled into our very comfortable but basic rooms, we enjoyed a drink in the bar ($2 cerveza), followed by a steak dinner, served family style to us and three other riders. The next morning we had a typical Mexican breakfast of huevos, tocino, salsa, y tortillas. Overnight, I figured that there was a good reason for the government observatory to be sited on a nearby mountaintop, so got up about 1:00AM to check out the night sky. The generator had long been shut down at the Rancho, and with zero light pollution and a clear and cold sky, the stars were utterly amazing. The temperature was 40F when we got up the following morning.

After our night at the Sky Rancho, we returned to the pavement via the same 20-mile dirt road, then headed back east, before turning south again. Our route took us along the Baja 1000 course once more, to another famous Baja landmark, Coco’s Corner. Coco’s is also a Baja 1000 checkpoint, but one day it’ll sit right next to the highway that’s currently under construction. After Coco’s, we jogged west and, approaching the middle of the peninsula, hit Mex 1 and detoured about 30 miles northward for a night at the hotel near Catavina’s boulder fields:
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From Catavina, we went south again, a trend that we kept with all the way to Cabo. We had a good, long day’s ride of over 400 miles, arriving in the beautiful Spanish colonial city of Loreto before dark. A very good seafood dinner at an outdoor, family-run restaurant near the plaza allowed us to listen to both orchestral and traditional Mexican ranchero music, during what appeared to be an outdoor cancer benefit. At the restaurant, we came face-to-face with one of Old Mexico’s many dangers – fresh, made-at-the-table jalapeno salsa.

From Loreto, the final leg to Cabo San Lucas was an easy day down Mex 1 via Ciudad Insurgentes (we would return!), Ciudad Constitucion, and La Paz. In Cabo, we stayed at the small, modern hotel that I had used back in February. We managed to walk around town a little, do our laundry, and go off piste to eat in an Italian restaurant. Very good food and Mexican wine.

Rather than dally in Cabo, we got up the next morning and began our return north. Our target for the first day was Loreto once again, and we had a lot of time, so instead of the highway east from Ciudad Insurgentes, we elected to go a little farther north, before turning east on “the road less traveled”. While the map showed it to be paved, we couldn't help but notice that it was dirt when we turned east. We also began to notice the Baja 1000 route markings…and deepening sand. A lot of sand. Plus, a lot of rocks; it seems the dry washes and river beds in southern Baja are made of grey sand (from ground-up rocks), plus rocks, plus more and larger rocks, and finally boulders. The road deteriorated the farther along we traveled. It was hot – 110F – and although we both had Camelback water bladders, their contents went fast.

In a nutshell, the river ate our lunch, meaning it took a lonnnnnng time to make our way across. I got about half way across before cresting a boulder, only to bottom out the bike as I was rolling over a large rock. Very. Hard. The bike and I fell over in the water; the bike drowned out and I got wet. A couple of locals who had come up behind us helped me right the bike and push (since it wouldn’t run) it the rest of the way across the river, to the rocks on the far side. Da’-Reel worked his way across and promptly fell in the rocks alongside me. So there we were, both bikes across the water, but still in the rocks, with riders completely overheated and exhausted.

In this photo the river doesn’t look particularly evil, but the rocks should have been a giveaway. The water was not an issue per se, but with submerged boulders all the way, it turned into a big problem. Sun going down over El Rio de los Muertos:
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After getting the bikes across, the first step would have to be to get my bike running. Out came the tools and I took off the crash bars, valve cover protectors, and spark plugs right there alongside the river, so we could crank it and blow out the water. Which we did. Then I pulled the plastic off the tank to check the air filter and air box. A little damp in one spot, but OK. Then I reassembled everything.

El otro lado del rio…checking out the waterlogged bike while Da’-Reel’s bike rests where he was unceremoniously dismounted by the rocks:
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After re-assembling everything, !voila! – the bike started and ran. First problem solved, but then I became aware of the second problem - oil had rapidly drained from my engine and the sight glass was showing “nada”. Apparently the bash plate had bashed on the rock, the bash plate in turn bashed the bash plate bracket, and a knuckle on the stainless steel bash plate bracket bashed the bottom of the cast aluminum engine (crankcase), resulting in a catastrophic oil leak. Pretty much all the oil ran out on the ground.

We had no choice but to get both bikes running so we could move away from the river and the evening insect cloud, so fired it up and maneuvered up the rocks and sand in the dark. Once a hundred meters up the road, I was afraid to run it any longer, so shut it down and we both sat down to rest and collect our thoughts (well…mainly rest at that point). It was dark, but at least the heat had abated. While I had been putting my bike back together, D rode a mile or two farther to a very small settlement (“ranchito”), where Don Ignacio refilled our water containers from their tank. OK - we were safe, unhurt, had our snacks and water, and the night was pleasant. Time to catch our breath.

We awoke around 11:00 or 11:30PM, after sleeping for a short time, to see lights slowly maneuvering across the river behind us. Whoever it was also had a spotlight that they were using to look around. When they got to us, it turned out to be three policia in a small truck, who asked who we were and what we were doing. We told them about the difficult crossing and that my bike shouldn’t be started. They were happy to help, including offering to load my bike in the back of their small pick-up, and taking me to town. But the bike’s extremely heavy…and we had no ramp or even a rope or tie-downs to secure it over very rough roads. Plus, that would have meant D would have had to retrace our route across the same rocky river and sandy roads, in the dark. Not a good option. So I ultimately told them we’d go to the ranchito up the road instead, park the bikes, and bivouac right there. Once again, despite very little other than residual oil in the engine, I started the bike and rode a mile or so to the settlement, where we parked inside the fence and slept on the ground. It wasn’t the worst night I’ve ever had – pleasant temperature, not too many insects, and I used my clothes bag for a pillow. At least there were no wild animals, spiders, or snakes (that we could see anyway), nor bandidos. We were just serenaded by a herd of goats!

The ranchito had several thatched shelters and housed two families and their goats:
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The next day looked like it was going to be a fine day, and we had a new lease on life. Ignacio offered us coffee, only to come back in a few minutes to tell us apologetically, “no hay café” (there is no coffee). You have to love people whose intentions are so kind and generous, even when they have very little. But then he asked if we would buy his brother Rogelio gas for taking us to town. !Claro que si! A few minutes later we piled into his aging Cherokee and drove the 30 miles back to Ciudad Insurgentes, where we filled up his tank with gas (he was expecting just a few pesos’ worth), then stopped at the auto supply to ask about trucks and towing. One man said he knew a welder (henceforth referred to as “El Soldador”) who had a truck and could locate a ramp, so off we went to his welding shop (an outdoor "junk yard"). El Soldador said he could do the job of taking us back out to the ranchito, loading the bikes, and bringing us back to town for 1,300 pesos, or about $65US. The truck turned out to be a ¾ ton pickup, and he collected his gear and off we went.

Once back at the ranchito, D girded his loins, took a few deep breaths, and gunned it up the steep ramp into the pickup bed. We then pulled and pushed my bike backwards into the bed, so it would fit alongside Darrel’s, tied them down, and headed back to town. Back in Ciudad Insurgentes, we went to the only hotel and off-loaded the bikes.
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With a little help from our friends, we had solved the most pressing problems: Getting my engine running, having only a semi-restless night, hauling the bikes back to town, and unloading at the hotel. We paid El Soldador the equivalent of $50 each for a job well done, then showered and crashed in our hotel rooms for a while. Finally, to the café for dinner, followed by a good night’s sleep.

The next day, our first attempt at a solution to my leaking crankcase was patently obvious. We walked to the tiny town's auto supply and bought several quarts of Shell Advantec (no, not synthetic), and the miracle drug JB Weld, then to the hardware store for acetone and sandpaper. Back at the hotel, we laid the bike down, removed all of the bash plate hardware, cleaned and sanded and re-cleaned the crack with a toothbrush and acetone, then mixed and applied JB Weld. After letting it cure for about six hours, I mixed another batch for a second, thin coat. Off to dinner.

The next morning, we filled the engine with oil, started it and ran it to operating temperature, then checked the repair. No leakage. Time to load up and head north…with the border about 750 miles away.

The culprit:
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Prepped for repair:
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Repaired (we specified color-matched JB):
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Our trip took us back to Loreto, then the oasis of San Ignacio where we stopped for coffee in the plaza, then the hotel at Catavina again. After that, Ensenada, the mountains and vineyards of Northern Baja, and the border crossing into the USA. Near the border, I had two punctures in my rear tire. One we fixed beside the road, while the second occurred very near one of the hundreds of tire repair shops, so the vulcanizador plugged it in about five minutes for $2.50.

We cut into a very short line of cars (motorbikes in most of the world go to the front) to cross the border, then rode toward Phoenix and arrived at Da’Reel’s place just after dark. There we had chili and a few celebratory Manhattans. The next day I had a new rear tire installed and headed for Las Cruces. The next day, Junction, then finally Austin. As usual, the BMW engine just settled into a smooth hum after the field repair, and there was never a problem with it on the 2,000 mile plus trip home!

The main takeaways from our little unscheduled adventure: 1) If you’re planning to ride in the boonies, it's "good" to have the right tools with you. 2) If the road gets worse and worse, don’t fool yourself into thinking it’s going to get better around the next curve or over the next hill. It’s not. (Looking at Google Earth after the fact revealed that we would have had to negotiate over a dozen similar crossings of the same river!) 3) Corollary: Don’t hesitate to turn around. 4) And very important but not surprising, the people you come across, regardless of country, will try to help if you need it.

El Vaquero Ventoso had once again survived the wilds of Old Mexico…
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:clap: The proverbial "we'll laugh about this someday". Great adventure!
 
El otro lado del rio…checking out the waterlogged bike while Da’-Reel’s bike rests where he was unceremoniously dismounted by the rocks:
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Saved for the next front page image rotation update :thumb:
 
I carry the JB weld putty with me on the bike. Usually two tubes of it. It is like hardish Play-doh. When you mash it up, it mixes the two different parts and gets hot. Form it, put it on, and it will stay there pretty much forever! I have used it to cover a silver dollar sized hole in a crank case. I also usually carry an MSR bottle with oil in it, just under a quart I think. Worst case, you can run the engine on that much oil and be fairly safe if you don't go nuts, especially if you are using a good synthetic.
 
Sentimental Journey finally released a short documentary featuring the above expedition: https://vimeo.com/254012287

The film's timing is about right, since a new trip is imminent. As everyone knows from Rex Tillerson's speech yesterday here in Austin, WE are heading Down Mexico Way on a diplomatic mission. He's going to jawbone, while the other five of us are going to ride, explore, interact with the grassroots citizens, and practice a little dollar diplomacy.

Vaya con dios,
 
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