Baja Adventure Ride NBMC & 2WheelTimes

Combined Stories of Doug Byers and Michael Hannas
Photos by Doug Byers and Rob Rowland

Baja Day Four Conclusion: San Felipe to Rancho Ojai Tecate

DB: As I waited for the all the bikes to get topped off with fuel, I could feel the tingling in my finger tips as they were starting to regain feeling again, so I grabbed my hot exhaust pipe, removing my fingers every few seconds when they started smoking, bringing the water in my soaked gloves up to a boil, and warmed my freezing hands. Off to my left in the distance I could see the VIP trailer for the Brokebike boys if they needed it on night one. After a good laugh inside my helmet, I was ready for the ride north on Highway 3 towards the turnoff for the Sawmill and El Compadre Road. As we hit the highway heading north we were about two minutes outside of Heroes de la Independencia, very near the same piece of road where Jared's KTM stopped running on Day 1, just cruising at 70mph when without warning my motor's RPMs raced to redline and I had no forward drive. I pulled in the clutch immediately, and started to pull off the highway onto the dirt shoulder. Before I came to a full stop, I peeked back at the rear wheel and saw the chain was just laying there dragging on the ground. I knew immediately there was a reason I bought that Motion Pro T6 Chain Tool the day before our trip. The chain had broken a link in half, not the master link mind you, just an ordinary piece of chain link at the roller. Guess the ol' 530 still has some ponies left in her. Thankfully, the chain did not do any damage to the bike other than cosmetic. Nevertheless, my chain busted in half and I was left broken down on the side of the highway in the pouring rain holding up the rest of our group. The group stopped down the road a ways once Brian radioed Froman on the 2-way radios. Pecore and my Baja buddy Hannas hung behind to help perform repairs to the chain. Pecore's radio then started acting screwy. Something weird was going on I thought! On day one we lost two bikes, now a third bike is broken and previously working communication devices fail. Note to self: "One mile north of the sweet and nice jacket senora is the Bermuda Triangle of Mexico. Steer clear at all cost." Pecore tried to radio Froman again but was unsuccessful so he suggested Hannas jump on the green machine and rip up to tell Froman and the group we had it under control and they could head onward. However, Froman being the Baja veteran told Hanni "No way," the group would just sit and wait until we were up and running. It took about 15 minutes to repair the chain, install the new links, and adjust the wheel. Pecore tried to radio Froman again and this time was successful, he told him the repairs were complete and we were ready to roost. We jumped back on the highway and were pelted by gigantic raindrops that stung like ice picks stabbing you on the nose and cheeks as we rode along at freeway speeds. I was a little nervous at first to get on the gas with the repaired chain but after a few short minutes, I had my confidence back in the DID and was rippin again. Even the best products can have a bad day, Baja has so many unexpected obstacles it can destroy equipment fast. Be prepared to fix what breaks on the trail or you will have to be towed home by your buddy's bike or be forced to play Russian Roulette and hitch a ride with some locals at night. We rode up Highway 3 towards Ojos Negros before turning off to head towards El Compadre Road, staying below the higher elevations up near the Sawmill and all the new snow mixed with the old snow and ice.

MH: We took off out of Heroes de la Independencia up the highway with the rain falling harder and stinging my neck as I followed behind my buddy DB.  Steve and Carl had joined back up with our group at the gas stop and decided since they started in the A group, they were going to finish with the A group, despite Steve's clutch issue and sore leg from the beach collision.  We were probably about a mile or two out of town ripping at 70mph or so when all of a sudden DB's chain just snapped right in front of me.  I saw it break and start dragging on the ground and was already slowing to give him some room as he pulled to the side of the road and stopped.  I pulled up behind him as Pecore stopped to help as well.  Pecore radioed ahead to Froman and the rest of the group stopped to wait about a half-mile up the highway.  Upon inspection, we saw that the chain had just completely broken in the middle of one of the outer plates!  I've seen a lot of chains break on the master link or one of the link pins, but had never seen a chain just break one of its plates and come apart.  I guess Baja is hard on equipment.  Luckily, the broken chain hadn't done any damage to the cases or the clutch master cylinder, so it was just a matter of cutting off the broken link and replacing it.  We busted out our tool packs and got to work, as the rain was steadily increasing in intensity and the rest of the group was waiting.  With the help of Pecore and his multitude of master links, we removed the broken link with the trusty Motion Pro T-6 chain tool, and replaced it with a master link that fit, although it was not the exact master link for the chain.  The Motion Pro T-6 chain tool made this a breeze, enabling us to get the broken link off in no time and press the new link on pronto.  During the process, Pecore was having problems with his radio and suggested I ride up to the rest of the group and inform them we had everything we needed, and that they could ride ahead and we'd catch up with them, since they were just sitting in the rain getting wetter and colder waiting.  I did just that, to which Froman replied, "No way.  We all stick together, we'll just wait."  I told him we'd be done in a few minutes and could just catch right up, but he was having none of that and explained that we never knew what might happen in Baja and it was better to stick together.  He said no problem; they'd just wait, especially if it would only be a few more minutes, even though the rain was now falling steadily.  What a stand-up group of guys!  I rode back up to DB and Pecore, and we finished the chain repair, put our tool packs back on, fired up the machines, and met up with the rest of the group.

We continued north on Highway 3 for a few miles on the wet pavement as the rain really started coming down, and then turned right off the highway onto a dirt road.  We all regrouped again before we headed up into the mountains, and checked and made sure DB's chain repair was OK.  It looked good, and DB said he was just going to take it easy on it and putt all the way home.  As we took off and blasted up the slimy muddy two-track, DB's plan of taking it easy seemed to go right out the window.  We cruised for maybe a mile when Roger came flying past us chasing after Froman.  Once DB saw this it was as if the race was on, and the idea of cruising back to the truck must have slipped his mind as he pinned the big KTM and chased after Roger.  I chased after DB as the road got muddier and sloppier, and we were all having a great time roosting the slimy wet mud and sand and splashing through monster puddles.  On the way up the hill we encountered another Hummer full of Federales; it was a good thing they were in a Hummer because I don't think any other four-wheeled vehicle would have been able to make it down the road safely at that point with so much water on the ground.  As we were ripping up a slick and sloppy hill when we came across the Federales coming down the opposite way, we couldn't really back off and lose momentum so we just blasted by and waved, trying not to get their M-16s too muddy with all the roost.  They waved back and continued bombing down the hill; it looked like they were having a good time too.

DB: By this time, the sandy dirt roads had starting turning into liquid dirt and riding on them was like sand, water, snow and mud all at the same time. The slower you went the worse it became. Soon many of the veterans did what they know how to how to best and started up shifting and stretching the throttle cables. Froman, Roger, Hannas and I started smoking along somewhere between 40mph to 85mph on those dirt roads, riding it like we were pre-running all over again, just slowing enough to see over the rises. We had not seen anyone for a long time, then all of sudden around an uphill sweeper was another Humvee full of Federales holding really large machine guns, all wearing black masks, roaring down the dirt road in the mud and muck too. They slid along the right shoulder of the two-track once they saw us, while we did our best to slide along our right shoulder as we blasted past. This time however, my eyes and concentration were on the difficult road conditions and not crashing into the Humvee that had the guys with machine guns. Rather than waving this time and seeing if they waved back, I grabbed a quick down shift into 4th and let her rip with all the might my 530 had as I accelerated away from the men in camo! Later the guys in our group told me when we passed the Humvee; all they could see was the three-foot wall of roost of liquid dirt and sand coming from my rear Pirelli. Froman, Roger and I rode as a group of three for the next hour or so after that, on the main jet and in the upper gears most of the time, ripping wheelies over puddles, mud holes and washouts when we could see them and swamping ourselves in a wave of water and sand when we could not.

MH: As the rain really started to get heavy and the road became more like a river than a road, I had a few close calls on the unpredictable surface.  After a few good moments, I decided I had to back it down if I was going to make it back to Tecate in one piece, as DB, Roger, and Froman disappeared in the distance.  Some of the road was more of a sandy type of dirt that had pretty good traction no matter how wet it was, while other parts were more like a clay adobe surface that was slick as snot no matter what.  The problem was that with the whole road just covered in water, I couldn't tell what type of dirt was underneath me until I hit it and either hooked up or started sliding.  It was like riding by brail.  The puddles that spread the full width of the road were potentially dangerous as well, since some of them were shallow enough to blast right through, while others were much deeper with a quicksand-like mud at the bottom that just tried to swallow your bike.  With so much water on the ground, all these puddles looked the same and it was another guessing game trying to figure out which ones to blast through and which ones I'd better find a way around.  I hadn't ridden in such sloppy conditions for a few years, since the rangers shut down the riding areas up in Nor-Cal if it even rains half as much as it had in Baja that morning.  After miles of this stuff I started to get the hang of it and began to read the terrain features to determine which puddles and sections of the trail to avoid.  I started staying on the high side of the road since I figured out that the deepest mud and bike-swallowing puddles were usually on the low side of the road, and really started paying attention to the elevation changes on the edge of the trail to determine where the water was flowing and where I didn't want to go.  By this time my blistered hands were really giving me fits, and I was beginning to hit the wall from riding in weird positions trying to minimize the blister damage while my soaking wet backpack felt twice as heavy as before.  The miles of swapping in the mud, saving near-crashes, and yanking the front wheel over the monster puddles had taken their toll on my energy level, and I knew I couldn't keep running at the pace I was for much longer.  I had to back it down another notch and put it on survival mode.

I came up to a trail split where Froman, DB, and Roger were waiting for the rest of us.  Once Pecore, Steve, Carl, and Rob pulled up, we all set off down the muddy Compadre Ranch Road again on our way to Tecate.  The rain hadn't even lessened in intensity for an instant since we left Heroes de la Independencia, let alone stopped; in fact, it just seemed to keep raining harder and harder.  A few miles down the road I saw Froman up ahead looking down at his bike, and could hear the XR coughing and sputtering as it came to a stop.  We all gathered up as he tried to restart the machine, which he was finally able to do, and then went down the road another mile or so when the XR acted up again and quit running.  We all pulled up and started to take our tool packs out, as I'm thinking to myself, "This is just great.  It is raining like we are in the middle of a monsoon, I'm soaking wet and cold, and now we have to sit here in the rain and try and fix this bike."  We were thinking that the XR must have sucked in some water from one of the huge puddles, or maybe even got water in the gas.  Just as everyone got their tool packs out to help, Froman remembered that he has had issues with the one-way vent in the gas cap before and opened his gas cap to a loud "Whoosh.'  The one-way vent had failed and the fuel tank couldn't breathe; Froman ripped the vent off and the XR fired right up.  We put our tools away, thankful that we hadn't needed to use them again, and set off down Compadre Ranch Road on our final stretch to Tecate.

DB: Suddenly Froman's Honda started acting up a little so we stopped to investigate. He said it would just cut out and die, so he looked at it quickly and thought it might be water in the fuel from all the massive soakings and rain. He drained the float bowl in about a second, and then with the help of Pecore's push he got the bike fired up and took off down the road. We rode for a little bit longer then it died again. Froman looked over the bike some more and disconnected the one-way valve on the fuel cap vent hose; gas flowed, bike started, problem solved. He put his tools back in the fanny pack and we headed towards El Hongo and Tecate.

MH: I tried to keep pace with The Three Amigos out front, but Froman, DB, and Roger were riding like they had a bet that the last one back to the truck had to wash the other guys' bikes or something as they ripped up the wet and slimy road at full race pace.  My energy level let me ride this pace for maybe a mile until I realized I had to back it down once again. I decided to just sit my butt on the seat and hang on, keeping the throttle pinned while slogging through the puddles no matter what.  Since I was already completely soaked through all my gear including my gloves and boots, I figured wasting energy trying to avoid the puddles at this point was useless.  My plan of wearing motocross gear with lightweight rain gear over it had proven to be a very unwise choice now.  It had worked terrific for the first three and a half days, but I was paying the price now as I just got wetter and colder.  The lightweight "waterproof" jacket I had brought was proving to not be so waterproof, and the PVC rain pants already had a big tear in the left knee and didn't seem to keep water out either.  I was soaked to the bone through my mx pants and jersey as well as my thermals underneath.  It was a good thing this was the end of our fourth day and not the beginning of our first day, so at least I could take off the wet gear in a couple of hours.  After a while, I couldn't even feel my blisters anymore since my hands were so numb and frozen, and I would place my left hand directly on my cylinder while pinned in fourth gear just to get some feeling back into it.  Unfortunately, my right hand was stuck twisting the throttle to the stops trying to make it back to Tecate as quick as I could, so it got no such relief.

After riding for what seemed like forever, I stopped for a second on top of a ridgeline and realized I couldn't hear or see anyone behind me or in front of me.  I got a little worried that I might have missed a turn or something and started just cruising to see if the rest of the group would catch up.  I rode at a really relaxed pace for what seemed like miles and still couldn't see or hear anyone.  I figured Froman would have stopped and waited if there was a trail split even though it was pouring and just kept going, figuring the guys behind me must have hit the wall as well and backed it down even more.  At this point the only thing keeping me going was the knowledge that there was a warm shower, dry clothes, and an RV with a heater waiting for me back at Rancho Ojai in Tecate.  I was tired, sore, freezing cold, soaking wet, and by this point my hands had gone from cold to numb to burning back to numb again.  I've ridden up in the trails in the Nor-Cal while soaking wet many times and still been smiling the whole time, but at the higher speeds we were ripping in Baja, my body just got colder and colder. 

Finally I came to the spot where we had stopped to do our initial bike check on the first day and knew that it wasn't too much further back to the truck.  I wasn't sure if the guys out front had continued straight up the road or cut left into the wash we had taken on the way out from Rancho Ojai on the first day.  I searched around on the road and the trail that cut over to the wash for their tracks, but it was raining so hard that all the tracks were already washed away.  I knew either way would probably get me back to Highway 2 and to Rancho Ojai, but I didn't want to take the wrong way and have something happen to my bike and be stuck out there all by myself.  I decided to go park the KX up under one of the huge trees and take a little break while waiting for the rest of the group behind me to catch up.  I took my gloves off and tried to wring some water out of them, and all of a sudden the drip-drip-dripping of the rain falling off the trees hit the start button on my bladder.  I knew I wasn't riding very hard for the past hour or so if I had to take a leak after not drinking anything since we stopped for gas, but I just didn't even have the energy to push hard enough to sweat I guess.  As I was taking care of my business I saw the rest of the group slogging down the road towards me and started to wave at them.  I was only maybe twenty yards off the road under the tree but none of the four wet and tired riders even saw me waving at them as they motored on past and continued up the road.  I laughed to myself thinking that they must have been feeling about the same as me to be so fixated on the road and getting back to the truck that they didn't even see sitting right there.  I put my equipment away and my gloves back on, and after a few half-hearted wussy kicks, fired up the green machine and set off down the road after the group.

I guess it had taken me a couple of minutes to get my gloves back on and get the KX started, because once I got going down the road and went over a rise to where I could see up ahead I realized there was no sight of the rest of the guys.  I put my head down and hammered for a couple minutes to catch back up, since they still thought I was in front of them and if I had a bike problem, they wouldn't have realized it until they all got to the truck and realized I wasn't there.  After a minute or two, I could see them up ahead, so I blasted up to them and rode up next to Pecore.  That was pretty funny as he did a classic double-take when he saw me next to him, as if he was saying, "Where the hell did you come from?"  I rode next to Pecore behind Rob, Steve, and Carl as the road just got wetter and more waterlogged.  I was happy to have someone to follow again to gauge how deep the puddles and rivers were, but the three guys in front of me still seemed to be trying to avoid getting wet and kept throwing the anchor out every time we reached one of the huge puddles trying to look for the shallowest spot to cross.  After a few close calls from their brake checks, I ripped by and decided to set my own pace so I could blast through the puddles at speed and not get swamped.  Pecore followed me through; I guess he was thinking the same thing.  It seemed to take a lot longer to get back to Highway 2 from where I had stopped at the tree than it had taken us to get to that point on the way out on the first day; I even asked Pecore when we stopped at the end of the road if it would have been shorter and quicker to take the wash and the single-track back to the truck instead of following the road.  He laughed and said the way we went on the first day was almost twice as long; I guess we were just having a lot more fun on the way out on day one so it seemed a lot shorter.

DB: We ripped another hour or so WFO on the liquid dirt and then we saw a few locals beating their vehicles on the rough road indicating to us that we must be nearing civilization and the turn off. All of sudden we came to a Y in the road and stopped there to wait for the rest of the group and warm our fingertips on our exhaust pipes and engines again, while trading some quick "oh shit" stories from the many moments we had in the slop and splash-fest. As we waited, a local Policia in a truck came by to check on us and wish us well in the bad weather. We told him "Muchas gracias," and continued waiting for the rest of the group. Once everyone was accounted for, we blasted towards Highway 2 and Rancho Ojai.

MH: Froman, DB, and Roger were waiting patiently for us at the end of the dirt road where it crossed the bridge over Highway 2; I don't know if I would've been able to just sit there in the rain waiting while the RV and dry clothes were only just down the road.  As soon as they saw us coming down the road and we gave them the thumbs up, they took off down the highway towards Rancho Ojai.  I guess they were sick of waiting!  I caught up to them on the highway as they were stuck behind a semi spraying water all over us, but decided against following the three as they blasted past the semi.  With the RV only a couple miles down the highway and no possible way for me to be any wetter than I was already, I figured it might be safer to just chill out and follow the semi back to Rancho Ojai, making sure I completed the trip without any added stress.  After later hearing DB telling me about the close call they had after they passed the semi with a crazy Mustang driver passing over the double-yellow and almost running them off the road, I knew my decision was a wise one.  I finally saw the Rancho Ojai RV Park on the right and let out a big "Whooo-hooooo!"  We were finally back.

DB: We hit Highway 2 and headed west. Froman and I were leading on the stormy highway back to the RVs when we had one last narrow escape. We were just cruising along at around 65mph coming down a downhill sweeping left-hander, when all of sudden we saw this car passing an 18-wheeler on the uphill! He was still in our lane approaching, it was a roached-out Ford Mustang loaded with locals. Froman and I got on the brakes and pulled onto the right shoulder to give the Mustang room to pull off the uphill pass on the semi truck over a double-yellow, around a blind corner in the rain in a fully-loaded car with an anemic four-banger under the hood. This was obviously no GT. Thank goodness we were still alert and ready for the unexpected only a few miles from the RVs . Phew again, I said in my helmet as I cursed at the passing car still in my lane! It was at that point that I also recalled our guides' warnings as we hit the road on Day 1: "Beware of the locals driving, they will pass at anytime for any reason and have been known to clip motorcycle riders just for fun."

MH: We cruised into Rancho Ojai and over to the RVs, and I parked the KX as quick as I could and got into the back of one of the trailers to get out of the rain finally.  Some of the Baja vets had already gotten the holeshot over to the showers, so I grabbed my gear bag out of Pecore's rig and headed over to see if any showers were left.  Of course, they were all taken, so I stood outside in my soaking wet gear for fifteen more minutes waiting for my turn.  While I was waiting I reminisced about our journey with Randy, who had taken out a pretty big cactus with his shoulder on the way back and was still picking out the spikes.  Shoot, come to think of it, he is probably still picking spikes out of his arm today!  After hearing more bad words out of Carl when he was in the shower than on a mid-nineties gangsta rap album, I finally got my turn.  Carl warned me about the temperature fluctuation of the shower before I got in, but I honestly didn't care as I was so numb by that point I knew I probably wouldn't even feel it.  I stripped all my wet gear off and put it in the big plastic bag I had thoughtfully placed in my gear bag before the trip, and it seemed to weigh at least forty pounds all full of water.  I hopped in the shower and washed all the mud and cold water off; by this time the boys had used all the hot water and my shower was just about room temperature.  Since my body was quite a few degrees colder than room temp, the lukewarm water actually almost felt warm, although it wasn't the hot shower I was hoping for.  I washed off as quickly as I could so I could dry off and put some dry clothes on for the first time in hours.  After throwing my dry clothes on, which I had thankfully left at the RV in my gear bag during the trip since everything in my backpack was soaked through, I headed over to the RV, in which Pecore already had the heater blasting for us.  I guess the guys were sick of waiting for me since they had already loaded my KX in the trailer and were all ready to go when I walked up.  I threw my gear bag in the back and hopped in for our drive to the border.

DB: A short while later we found our way back to the RVs safely, but wet and cold from a long day's adventure. Some of the group took showers at the RV Park or in the motor homes, while others just dressed into warm clothes as fast as possible. We loaded the bikes and gear, did one last look around, said our goodbyes to our Baja brothers and headed off to wait in line for the border crossing, which started in downtown Tecate. We inched along in that line for what seemed like hours while we talked and laughed. Mr. Hannas jumped out when he saw a taco stand on the side of the road to grab us some grub for the ride into Cali, and low and behold who was standing there- the Brokebike Boys safe and sound after their adventures in Ensenada! Who says you need 2wheels to have fun in Mexico... What a trip I will never forgot and I cannot wait to get back again to share more adventures on 2Wheels!!!

MH: We made our way to the long line to cross the border back into the good old US of A.  While we were waiting I expressed my dismay at the fact that we wouldn't be stopping for one last bacon hot dog before we crossed the border.  As we were waiting in the long line Pecore noted that there was a taco stand next to us and since the line to cross the border was so long, I had plenty of time to hop out and grab some tacos and get back to the RV before they hit the border crossing.  I was determined to have one last authentic Mexican meal, so I asked the rest of our crew what they wanted and hopped out to grab the tacos..  To my surprise Jared and Joel were standing there in the taco shop doing the same thing!  I hadn't seen either of them since we left them in Heroes de la Independencia three days earlier and was eager to hear what they had been doing.  They tried to tell me that they just sat there in the little town for two whole days trying to get someone to take them back to Tecate but couldn't find a ride until that morning.  I went along with their story, not telling them that we had already stopped in Heroes de la Independencia that morning and were told by the senora there that they had gotten a ride back to Tecate the evening that we left them.  Nice try guys!  I grabbed ten carne asada tacos for our crew but when it was time to pay, I realized that I had left my wallet in the RV somewhere and only had five dollars in my pocket.  I told the lady at the taco stand to wait as I ran a quarter-mile up to the RV to grab five more bucks from the other guys.  I sprinted back and squared up with the lady at the taco stand, but not before trying to buy another glass-bottled Coke.  She wouldn't let me take it since it was in the valuable glass bottle, but it took me a minute to understand this.  Finally I realized what she was saying and went and grabbed something that was in a can to wash down the tacos with, and ran back to the truck with the grub.  Pecore, Roger, DB, Jared, and I all devoured our tacos as we crept forward in the line towards the border.

Pecore expertly maneuvered his rig and trailer through the tight and narrow passageway at the border once it was our turn, noting all the scrape marks on the walls and posts and wondering aloud why the passage was so narrow, as many people had obviously had a hard time squeezing through without making contact.  When we reached the nice border patrol agent he advised us to go through the wider outside lane the next time as it was much easier to negotiate.  Pecore said sorry, we were just following the trailer in front of us, to which the border agent laughed and replied, "No problem, it looks like you know how to drive this rig just fine anyway!"  They pulled us into the inspection area to check out the RVs and trailers and make sure we weren't smuggling any illegal aliens or drugs across, and also did an agricultural check.  The border patrol agent checked all our passports and made us get out of the RV so they could check the inside for any fruits or vegetables.  We gathered up some of the fruit we had, which we had actually bought in the US and brought into Mexico and were now bringing back, and tossed that out for them.  He checked out the truck and said "OK," then we got back in and headed into the US.  Once we got back in the RV I realized I had the limes from the taco stand in my jacket pocket the whole time.  I guess they don't bother to actually check the people coming across the border for fruit on their person, only their vehicles!  Once we were safely across the border I hopped up in the top bunk and laid down to rest with the rain drops pounding on the roof above me, already planning my next trip to Baja in my head.

Muchas gracias to the North Bay Motorcycle Club and all the guides and riders who made this such a special adventure! Thank you to all the companies who participated in our 2WheelTimes Gear & Hardparts Baja Review pages! Editor