Farewell, Coco

Good buddy and world traveler Airborne Mike (on the left in the photo above) wrote to inform us that Coco, of Baja’s Coco’s Corner, had passed away.  Mike asked if he could post a guest blog about it, and of course (as always with Mike) the answer was an immediate yes.  Mike’s blog follows.

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It was February 2018, and I was trying to keep up with a dirt biker I had just befriended at a taco shop that morning while gassing up at just north of Guerrero Negro. I was about to ride across the old Highway 5 in Baja before it was an actual paved highway. The road was covered in dusty gravel, deep sand, and small boulders that would knock your slightly uninflated front tire inconsistently to the left or right. We were riding to one of the “must see” places in Baja. As we crested a barren hill we could finally see our destination: Coco’s Corner.

As we pulled up, we saw a trailer or two attached to a shack.  There were dirt bikes and ADV bikes parked sporadically outside near a fence built of wire with old beer cans that would rattle with the slightest breeze. Once parked, the backyard becomes visible, and your eyes are drawn to what looks like a graveyard of toilets decorated like some sort of shrine. My first impression was a combination of Mad Max meets the Star Wars Cantina. This place was great!

Dismounting from the bikes we wipe the dust from ourselves, the dirt rider smiles at me as he clearly saw the expression of awe on my face. He then confidently walks into the trailer while I am still trying to grasp where I am. The trailer contained not much more than a giant cable reel in the middle of it with some recycled chairs from what looked like the ones I had in 6^th grade.  The ceiling covered in bras and panties gifted to Coco from his many admirers. The walls were plastered with stickers from everyone who has ever ridden to see Coco.

My new friend grabs a cold Tecate out of the fridge and tosses me a second. We sit down around the cable reel and begin chatting with other riders, listening to stories as people laughed, they slammed their beers down on the cable reel, which is placed about 8 feet from where Coco slept.  Suddenly I could hear yelling from just outside and a bit of a commotion. It was Coco. Someone had taken his picture or something, which clearly aggravated him, and he was yelling at them to leave with some colorful language while swinging what appeared to be a hatchet or a machete. No one batted an eye to this scene, except me who was still in awe having yet to fully absorbed my surroundings. Once Coco calmed down, he rolled his wheelchair over to the table and joined in the conversation. This is what I pictured Baja to always be like, wild and untamed.

After that first visit, I always made it a point to stop by on my many Baja trips to see Coco and meet the adventurous riders that would be there embracing the Mecca of Baja. Coco represents what Baja is, from riding the beautiful yet rugged terrain, to meeting the wonderful people, tasting the great food, and living the unforgettable experiences (I can go on and on here).

Cheers Coco, and thank you!

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Awesome, Mike, and thanks for the blog.  I’ve been to Coco’s, but I never actually met Coco.  He is a Baja legend, and you wrote well about him and Coco’s Corner.

Rest in peace, Coco.

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