Motorcycle Adventure Ride – Page 28

La Purisima Mission

As a New Jersey boy, our history courses in grade school and high school mostly focused on local and regional things, like the American Revolution and maybe a little bit of the Civil War, and then it was time to graduate. I grew up in the middle of a lot of significant Revolutionary War stuff, with maybe a little Gettysburg thrown in, and our class trips and studies tended to focus accordingly. What I’m getting at is I had never heard of the California or Baja missions until I moved to California, got married, and had kids. Then one day my young daughter came home from school and told me she had been assigned a mission.

“To do what,” I asked, thinking it was like getting a mission in the Army.

“San Gabriel,” she answered.

“Huh?” I was a curious and articulate parent.

My daughter patiently explained to her dumb old Dad what the California missions were. I had never heard of the missions until that day. But I’ve been making up for it ever since. I never pass on an opportunity to learn more about the Alta California and Baja missions, and it’s a story that’s far more interesting than the stuff I studied in school.

My favorite California mission, hands down, is La Purisima. It’s the best one there is north of the border. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

A bit on the photography first: I shot all the images here with a film camera (a Nikon N70). That’s how long I’ve been stopping in at the La Purisima Mission in Lompoc, California. It’s just a few miles inland off the Pacific Coast Highway. Surprisingly few people know of it, but if you’re planning a trip up the PCH, La Purisima is a must see destination.

This California motorcycle ride occurred as a backup to a plan to dive deep into Baja 20 years ago that just didn’t work out. Good buddy Paul flew out from New Jersey and rented a Harley in San Diego, and the plan was to ride into Baja to see the whales. That’s how it started. I had my ’92 Softail, but it gave up the ghost somewhere around Ensenada. It happens, I guess. Paul and I had to turn around and head home. No problem. I owned four or five motorcycles in those days (I was like Joe Gresh back then, with lots of hair and lots of motorcycles). We’d just park my Harley and I’d grab another bike.

Yours truly and Paul, both suffering from the two of the worst cases of helmet hair ever captured on film. I no longer have that problem. That’s the Pacific Ocean in the background.

Paul had a Harley Fat Boy he rented from EagleRider in San Diego. It was a motorcycle that worked well for this trip. It would have been cool if I could have ridden my Harley, too, but on this trip the motorcycles were a two-wheeled odd couple.

A skinny guy on a Fat Boy somewhere on the Pacific Coast Highway.

I switched over to my Suzuki TL1000S, a bike most people would think was totally unsuited for long-distance motorcycle touring. But it did the job and it did it well. I was younger then and I bent easier; I don’t think I could do a long ride on a sportbike today. The ADV style suits me better. So does a Subaru Outback, but I digress.

A tankbag and a tail pack, and oila, the TL became a touring machine.

Paul and I rode north on the 101 out of LA a bit and then took California’s 246 west from Buellton. I had been to the La Purisima Mission before and I wanted to show it to Paul. It’s not well known as a tourist destination, but it should be. The place is amazing.

A view out front showing the length of the main building and the bell tower.

La Purisima Mission (Misión La Purísima Concepción De María Santísima, or Mission of the Immaculate Conception of Most Holy Mary) was founded in December of 1787. It was a good stop and I got some great photos with my old film Nikon.

A cool front porch. It’s easy to imagine the original inhabitants seeking shade under this roof.

Another exterior view of the La Purisima Mission.

A sundial that appeared to be keeping excellent time. A friend asked what the sundial did when it was time to switch to Daylight Savings Time. That watch is the first version of Citizen’s Blue Angels GMT. It has a bezel slide rule. I still wear it.

The 2000-acre La Purisima Mission is one of only two missions in California not run by the Catholic Church, and it is the only one that faithfully recreates a complete historic mission operation.

A bit of background: La Purisima sort of fell apart starting in the early 1800s. Things were not going well for Spain in the New World and things were especially not going well for the California missions. The mission’s enslaved Chumash natives rebelled, smallpox decimated the indigenous population, Mexico won its independence from Spain and disbanded the mission system, and things generally just went to hell in a handbasket if you were the guy running the missions. The La Purisima property went through several owners. Union Oil bought the place in 1903 and then donated it to California. A huge research and reconstruction effort commenced, and the La Purisima Mission was opened to the public on December 7, 1941 (yep, the same day as the Pearl Harbor attack). Everything at La Purisima had been resurrected as it existed in 1820, including the furniture, the buildings, and even the adobe bricks made from surrounding soil.

You’ve seen the exterior in the photos above. Let’s head into the buildings to see what life was like in the late 1700s and early 1800s for the mission inhabitants.

Inside the chapel. One of the Mission’s objectives was to convert the native Chumash to Catholicism.

Another one of the rooms in the La Purisima Mission.

There’s disagreement these days about whether the Spanish mission system provided enlightenment or enslavement for the natives. The missions were intended to establish a Spanish presence in Alta California. Spain had claimed Mexico and California (and large parts of the American southwest), but they didn’t really have anyone there watching the store until they started the missions in the second half of the 1700s. The Spanish had concerns about other nations claiming the territory. Teach the indigenous people a trade, keep them busy farming and making stuff, and let’s grow it from there. It didn’t quite work out that way.

An objective of mission life was to teach leather work and other skills.

I’m not sure what this equipment was used for, but that’s okay. It means I have a reason to return to La Purisima.

The Mission’s original latrine. That’s Paul behind the curtain.

Thick adobe walls kept the inside of the Mission cool.

La Purisima is still an active farm and ranch. This rather photogenic turkey kept asking us how many days it was until Thanksgiving.

This, my friends, is a Longhorn. Like the turkey above, he had no qualms posing for us.

If you’re planning that bucket list ride on the Pacific Coast Highway, my advice is to include a stop at the La Purisima Mission. You’re only about 13 miles inland from the PCH, and it’s too grand a destination to pass without a visit. You might want to allow a couple of hours to see and photograph this marvelous old place.

Another word on the images here: I’m going to use some of them in a story I recently wrote for my favorite motorcycle magazine. I knew I had these 20-year-old images squirreled away somewhere, but finding them was a challenge. I finally found the prints, but I couldn’t find the negatives. After another hour digging through old boxes, I miraculously found them, too. I thought I’d just have Costco’s photo department scan the negatives for me, and then I thought it might be a good idea to call first and make sure the photo department was open (you know, what with Covid 19 and all). They were, and I told the photo dude I’d be right over to get my negatives scanned.

“We don’t do that,” he said.

“Yeah, you do,” I answered, figuring I was talking to a new guy who just didn’t know. “You’ve done it for me before.”

“Sir, we haven’t touched anything with film in years,” he said.

Hmmmmm. Come to think of it, it had been a while since I’d seen any film for sale in Costco. And it had been a lot of years since I shot anything on film.

The Costco guy suggested a small mom and pop operation across the street from the Costco store, and that’s where I went. What you see here are the results of the Photo Factory’s scans (thanks, guys!).

Time marches on, I guess.

More Epic Rides are here!

Day 6: Honda

The Colombia motoventure continues! This is Day 6 of my epic ride through Colombia’s Andes Mountains with good buddies Juan and Carlos, two great guys with whom I’ve stayed in contact ever since our Andean adventure. Without further ado, here we go!

Originally posted on December 20, 2015

Let me see if I can get this right: I’m a guy from California riding a Chinese motorcycle in Colombia headed to a town called Honda. Yep, that was yesterday’s ticket.

We left Villa de Leyva early in the morning, climbed higher into the Andes, and wow, was it ever cold. Juan Carlos stopped so we could grab a few photos..

As I was taking in the scenery, this Colombian SUV rolled into the scene…

We next stopped at the point where Colombia was born. The last battle of the Colombian war of independence (against Spain) occurred right here at this bridge in Boyaga…

The Colombian rebels defeated the Spanish regulars here, and at that point, Colombia was born. There are a lot of parallels between how Colombia came into being and our Revolutionary War.

Boyaga is actually pronounced “boy-jogga.” In Colombian Spanish, a y is pronounced like a j. So is a double l (as in ll). A montallanta (a tire repair place) is called a “monta-jonta.” Interesting.

Following Juan through these small towns was fascinating and taxing. We’re up in the Andes, and everything is steep. Juan is incredible…we climb these steep cobblestone streets, cut across some guy’s front lawn, grab a dirt road, pick up a new street, every once in a while (while still riding) he pulls up alongside a guy on horse or a tractor to confirm directions (Juan’s GPS, as he calls it), and we cut across the Colombian countryside. It’s amazing. Here’s a sampling of what it looks like, both in the dirt (and there is a lot of dirt riding) and through the small towns…

We hit a last stretch of twisties (a 50-mile stretch) and then we pulled over for a photo of the Magdalena River valley. Our destination (the town of Honda) is down there somewhere…

Honda is a another steep town. This street (that’s our hotel, the Epoque, on the left) is a typical super steep Colombian town road. The road is a one way road…I tried parking the bike facing down hill, but it was too steep. I thought I could just leave the bike in first gear and kill the ignition, but the street was so steep it pulled the bike through the compression stroke. That’s why the bikes are facing uphill. These are unusual riding conditions for me, but totally normal to the Colombians.

Today we’re headed to Santa Rosa de Cabal. You can read all about it in the next installment in this series!

You can read the earlier blogs in this series from Colombia here!

A TT250 Ride

I woke up last Friday with but one thought: I have got to get out on my motorcycle today.

Well, I did, and I had a glorious ride up through the Cajon Pass in southern California. That’s the pass that cuts between the San Gabriel Mountains and the San Bernardino Mountains. Most folks would just take Interstate 15 from So Cal to the High Desert through the Cajon, but to me riding a motorcycle on the freeway is a bit of a crime against nature. There are surface streets that get you through most of the Cajon Pass, and if you know where to look, there are dirt roads that do the same. Those roads are way more fun, but it’s like I said…you have to know where to look.

Me? I know where to look.

On old Route 66 through the Cajon Pass. Yep, it’s still there, and it was a perfect photo op with my black CSC TT250 on a cloudy June morning.

Big freight trains slog through the Cajon Pass on a regular basis, and there’s a dirt road that runs along the tracks for several miles. It was a perfect road for the TT250. I was out there on my own, having a good old time when I stopped to grab a photo, and that’s when I heard it. The rails, that is. They started singing. They do that when there’s a train downrange. You can actually hear the metallic buzz the rails emit miles before the train comes into view. Time to switch the cell phone camera to the video mode. I didn’t see anything for a couple of minutes, and then way down the hill in the distance I could just make out a headlight. Then that one orange orb became three blurry headlights, the signature of the first of several freight locomotives. They were working hard. It takes a lot of power to pull a train up a mountain pass. The lights grew in size, the indistinct three orange dots came into focus, and there it was:

The train was a monster. I finished the video, I took several stills, and then I mounted up and rode at a sedate pace in the opposite direction for a good five minutes before I saw the end of that train. I’ll bet it was three miles long. Maybe more. There were four locomotives pulling and there was a fifth on the tail end. It’s hard to imagine the weight and the energy of a freight train like the one I saw that morning. And it was doing it all going uphill, charging through the Cajon Pass from the Pomona Valley up to the High Desert. It was impressive.

That train just kept coming, and coming, and coming.

I had a hell of a ride that morning. A bit of freeway (but not too much), a fair amount of dirt, a stream crossing that was deeper than I thought it would be (and damn, there was no one to video me standing on the pegs with water splashing all over my boots and jeans), a train, Old Route 66, and nice, cool weather. It was grand.

It was about 5 years ago that I was sitting in Zongshen’s marketing offices in Chongqing discussing this, that, and the other thing on the RX3 for CSC Motorcycles. All the while, I kept stealing peeks at a 150cc dual sport bike the Zongshen wizards had mounted on a display pedestal in their conference area. Finally, I asked…what’s the deal on that motorcycle? Can it be had with a 250cc engine?

My good friend Chongqing Fan smiled. I could read that guy like a book, and what I was reading was this: He knew, and he knew I knew: The guys at Zongshen, China’s largest motorcycle manufacturer, they can do anything. A few quick digital pics back to CSC, a recommendation, a quick decision from a CEO who’s not afraid to make decisions (that would be Azusa Steve), and the CSC TT250 was born. I own one of the very first to arrive in America, and it’s been a hoot. We’ve even done Baja on the TT250s (talk about brand loyalty…half the guys on that ride also own an RX3). CSC can barely keep TT250 motorcycles in stock; they sell as soon as they arrive. Most of the time, they’re sold before the ship gets here.

I selected black for my TT250 (one of three or four colors available in 2016) because I thought it would photograph well, and I was right. It does a lot more than just sit there and look pretty, though. The TT250 is a great motorcycle. It’s simple, torquey, easy to maintain, great handling, reliable, comfortable, and inexpensive. Plus, I know the factory and the people who make and import this motorcycle. Good buddy Gerry and I wrote the shop manual for this motorcycle, and I know the bike’s innards. You might say I know it inside and out. I think the fact that I know most everyone involved in creating and importing this motorcycle makes it even more of a hoot to ride.

TT250s on the production line in Chongqing. Mine was in there somewhere.

The TT250 is about as simple as a motorcycle gets, and it has what has to be one of the most ubiquitous and reliable motorcycle engines on the planet. You see these motors in various versions (ranging from 125cc to 250cc) everywhere. They’re bulletproof. They’re designed to be rode hard and put away wet, and that’s what folks in South America, Central America, Asia, and the Middle East do. It’s no accident that my good buddies at Janus Motorcycles chose the same engine to power their amazing 250cc motorcycles. I’m going to ride my TT250 until the wheels fall off. Then I’ll buy replacement parts for probably something like $9 and repeat the process.

The TT250 is a light bike. It’s easy to ride and easy to keep vertical (they tell me it’s easy to pick up if you drop it, but I’ve never dropped mine). The TT250 weighs 309 pounds wet and in an age of overweight, bloated, and expensive monster motorcycles, riding it is fun. It’s not an ego statement. It’s a motorcycle. It’s what a motorcycle should be. I feel like a kid every time I get on it (and in six months, I’ll be 70 years old). I started riding motorcycles on a Honda Super 90 (a 90cc single) when Lyndon Johnson was in the White House. Riding a simple single makes me a hooligan again, braapping the mean streets of rural New Jersey before I was old enough to have a license and loving every second of it.

I have the 49T rear sprocket on my TT250 (one down from the stock 50T), and that’s about perfect for me. My bike tops out at about 66 mph indicated, and after my hundred mile ride through the Cajon Pass that morning I topped off and checked my fuel economy. 62.5 mpg. Just a little better than I usually get. Your mileage, as they say, may vary.

I have the Wolfman bags on my TT. They’re light, they don’t get in the way, they’ve held up well, and they’re handy if I want to carry stuff. That’s usually a few tools (just in case, but I’ve never needed them on the road), a bottle of Aleve, a change of underwear, and I’m good for a couple of weeks in Baja.

Speaking of Baja, good buddy Baja John is another guy with the same affliction as me: He owns both an RX3 and a TT250. And a .44 Magnum or two, but that’s a story for another blog. Baja John keeps his TT250 at a beachfront home in Baja, and as soon as this Covid 19 business is in the rearview mirror, I’m headed down there. I want to photograph one or two of the more remote missions, John knows the trails, and the TT250 is the motorcycle to get us there.

More good times are on the horizon, folks. Stay tuned.

Epic rides reside here!

Good buddies and a great ride…

When the phone rings and it’s good buddy Duane wanting to head into the San Bernardino Mountains for a motorcycle ride, I know it’s time to hop to. That’s what I did last week and it was an awesome ride. East on the 210, up Waterman to Hwy 18 into the mountains, and then down the 138 on the other side to ride home through the Cajon Pass. Good times, and this trip was made all the more special because of two more good friends we connected with on the ride.

Duane and his magnificent Indian up in the San Bernardino Mountains. It was a glorious day.

Geezers. Motorcycle geezers. CSC Mustang and RX3 geezers. Former Army motorcycle-riding geezers. Former Army motorcycle-riding gun nut geezers. Whatcha gonna do? Great minds work alike.

It was a grand ride through one of the greatest motorcycle playgrounds on the planet. The weather was perfect and the bikes were running like Chinese 250s (I was going to say like Swiss watches, but I have Swiss watches and I have Chinese 250s, and the Chinese 250s run better). Both the Indians were running great. My Indian is an Enfield made in India. Duane’s bike is an Indian made in America. It’s very confusing, I know.

A grand day for a grand ride. No polarizers or saturation sliders needed.

So we turned onto the 138 somewhere in one of the little mountaintop towns and we had a fun slalom down through the twisties. As we approached Silverwood Lake, I wanted to stop to get a photo of the bikes. There’s this huge parking lot and it was completely empty, so I thought we would park there and I could angle my shot for the best photo.

So we’re rolling to a stop and I noticed this silver SUV pulling in behind us, and wouldn’t you know it, the guy parks right next to us. I was thinking that would completely screw up my photo. You know the drill…a parking lot the size of Texas and the guy, this, this, this interloper parks right next to me. I was all set to dip into my not-such-a-nice-guy routine when Mr. Silver SUV stepped out of his car with a giant grin.

Twin Peaks Steve!

Wow, we were ever surprised and happy. Duane and I have a lot in common, as alluded to in one of the photo captions above, and Twin Peaks Steve is right there with both of us in every regard.

We had a real nice visit overlooking Silverwood Lake and caught up on things. Steve’s beautiful wife Rosemary was there, too, and we had a wonderful chat with her. I can’t tell you how great it was bumping into these two. Steve told me he recognized us when we rode by and he and Rosemary followed us down hoping to have a chance to connect. I’m glad he did. We all met back in the CSC Mustang days about 10 years ago, when Steve was the very first guy to order a custom CSC Bobber. It was one of the prettiest bikes we ever built at CSC.

Steve’s custom CSC 150 Bobber. It was a real show stopper…a visually arresting, gorgeous little jewel of a motorcycle.

Twin Peaks Steve rode with Duane and me on a bunch of CSC rides, and the more we learned about him back in those days, the more impressed we were. How about ultra-lights as a hobby? Yep, Steve did that, too.

Ah, for the love of adventure. Twin Peaks Steve has done it all!

Then CSC went into the ADV motorcycle business by importing the RX3. Steve and Duane both bought bikes from the very first RX3 shipment to arrive in America, and we rode together (Duane, Twin Peaks Steve, and yours truly) on a bunch more rides.

Steve is a serious rider and camper, and he outfitted his RX3 with all the good stuff for disappearing into the boonies. He did a lot of trips up and down the 395 (one of the prettiest highways in America), and the motormaestro even did a guest blog or two about his adventures when I was writing the CSC blog. If you poke around on the CSC blog and search on “Twin Peaks Steve” you’ll find he’s a regular there!

Steve’s RX3 somewhere up along Highway 395. Steve is the real deal; he’s done some amazing trips on his RX3.

What a ride and what a day!

So, how about you? Are you getting out on your motorcycle? Do me and yourself a favor and live large, like Steve, Duane, and the rest of us. Get off your computer, get your riding gear, and get on the road!

More great rides are right here!

Concluding an Extended Stay in Baja

You’ll remember our intrepid troopers and guest bloggers Mike and Bobbie. Well, they managed to exit beautiful Baja after an extended stay of nearly 10 weeks. Here’s the wrap-up to that adventure. Mike, we appreciate your blogs. Ride safe and stay in touch.

Preface: When we last left our heroes (the description probably suits my girlfriend Bobbie more than myself) we were in staying in with a new friend at her house in San Felipe, Baja, Mexico to see what comes next with the COVID19 updates in the USA before deciding when to return.

San Felipe seemed the perfect place to ride out the COVID storm. We were in a safe location, plenty of supplies at local stores and the residents seemed to take the warning seriously and were wearing masks, using hand sanitizer, etc. It didn’t take long, however, for most public beaches and really everything to be shut down. Traveling too far outside the city became impossible due to Mexican Army checkpoints turning people around, so it wasn’t worth the risk to be actually “locked out abroad.”

There was one private beach that remained open that we were able to use and moto camp in, and that was Pete’s camp. We had camped here 6 weeks prior when the world was quite different and the camp was about 70% full with campers, with side-by-sides roaring up and down the beach playing Van Halen at an uncomfortable decibel level (and I love Van Halen loud), and everyone was carefree enjoying their vacations. Now, however, the scene was completely different. The beach was abandoned, it was eerily silent with nothing but us and approximately a hundred empty palapas on the beach for miles in both directions. We frequented this beach a few times a week as it was a short 4-mile ride and was our only opportunity to really get out as we cut back on our off-roading in the event we should get injured.

We fully understood how fortunate we were to be lying in hammocks, soaking up the sun on a beautiful beach that kissed the Sea of Cortez while we watched the surreal news that was coming in from America. We held weekly touch points on when and where we should go, if anywhere. Wednesday was an optimal day for these touch points since our plans would have us leave on a Friday thus allowing us 3 days to return to Arizona.

After a month we decided it was time to return as it seemed the supplies (toilet paper, etc.) were being replenished in America while the COVID fatalities seemed to be lowering and our concern that the bubble we were living in would burst quickly if (or when) the virus would make its way to Baja. More importantly, it gave us a solid excuse to get a great weekend of riding in.

We left on a Thursday afternoon to return to the United States. The ride was beautiful. There was NO line at the border to the point I almost didn’t even place the moto in neutral when going through, whereas normally there is a 1 to 3 hour line. Once inside the United States we were a bit hungry and noticed only drive thrus were open, so we got creative and set up our camping gear outside a Chili’s and had several margaritas (probably not legal, but there’s a pandemic; act accordingly!) and a burger in the parking lot.

We had eyed Kofa National Forest as a decent place to camp, and I had always wanted to visit this area so this was a perfect time since it was extremely isolated. This ensured there’d be no temptations to break social distancing. We were not disappointed in choosing this location. It was a beautiful desert landscape with the setting sun lighting up the mountains surrounding our campsite. The weather was perfect and we could take a moment to gather ourselves with it being our 1st night back in our home country in some time.

The following day after getting McDonald’s for breakfast (don’t judge; I couldn’t find a Starbucks open for my BMW to get its fix) Bobbie came up with a different route then just the boring I-10 to I-17 we normally take. Great call! It made what would have been a drab highway drive into a longer, but much more scenic ride through little towns and National Forests, where we could really enjoy the break from everything and just be in that moment fully present and enjoying each moment as we lowered off the mountain passes returning to Sedona, and for a few hours forget about the rest of the world as we returned safely home after our nearly 10-week Baja adventure.

So these two adventure riders are on the road, and at last sighting, they were camping in Colorado’s beautiful Mesa Verde National Park. Our two troopers are living the good life. I’m looking forward to their next blog.

All the way, folks.

Time for a ride…

My RX3, one of the very first bikes in the US. Numerous Baja trips, a ride through the American Southwest and Pacific Northwest, and more. That little 250 is always good for an attitude adjustment.

Not a lot of writing today, my friends. I fired up the old RX3 and rode into the mountains to clear my mind and create my own reality. It was long past time to shed the shackles of a world gone mad. No left or right wing news media (that’s all there is any more), no Covid 19, no protests, no riots, no police brutality, no defunding police departments, no masks, no shelter in place, no stupid stuff on Facebook (now there’s a redundant expression), no ridiculously bad choices in the next election (damned if you do and damned even more if you don’t), and no one telling me how to think about this, that, or the other thing. No thank you, I can think for myself, and today I thought I would go for a motorcycle ride. Other than captions, I’ll keep the words down and let the pictures do the talking.

That headlight grille and the spotlamps were gifts from Enrique Vargas, AKT Motos General Manager (and a genuine nice guy) in Medellin, Colombia.

Steve Seidner, CEO of CSC Motorcycles, created decals for each of our multi-day company rides back in the good old days. I ran out of campaign ribbon real estate on my fuel tank.

Glendora Ridge Road, my happy place. That’s Mt. Baldy and Mt. San Antonio dead ahead.

Glendora Ridge Road is one of the best wildflower spots in the country. I’ve been up there when there are red, orange, yellow, and purple wildflowers blooming at the same time.

I’ve done Mexico, California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, Colorado, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Washington, and Oregon on my 250. The most beautiful state? That’s easy: **Utah**, hands down. But they are all pretty if you know where to ride (and I do). The best riding and the best times? That’s another easy call: **Baja**. I’ve ridden Colombia and I’ve ridden China on RX3 motorcycles. Once, when I was in Turkey, a young Turk let me ride his RX3. This is a bike with long legs, folks.

So there you have it. I’m back, it was a great ride, and I had a good time. You might consider doing the same.

Epic rides reside here!

A Whale of a Tale!

Good buddy Mike, a fellow former trooper who I met on a ride through Baja a few years ago, has been sort of stranded down there until recently. Mike and his good friend Bobbie went whale watching and they had a unique experience. Mike was kind enough to share the adventure with us. Here you go, folks.

So as someone who is always seeking adventure I may have gotten in over my head with this one. Not only am I three years in living fulltime off a motorcycle, currently in Baja due to a global pandemic, but why not throw in a rescue mission at sea just to ensure I have everything covered. Sure, why not?

It was a dark and stormy night and the sea was angry…actually it was just a bit windy around mid-day when we decided to partake in a whale watching trip on pangas (small wooden boats) in Guerrero Negro, Baja, Mexico. It’s a magical encounter with nature as these majestic creatures, which are the size of a school bus. These gray whales come up to your panga and you can actually pet them and experience these animals at such a close range. It is just a magical experience…a life-altering experience.

We begin with a standard safety briefing and get bussed out to the docks, fitted with life vests, and we are all excited to get out and see these beautiful animals up close. Prior to boarding our panga I noticed another boat with 8 senior citizens leaving the same time as us and for a minute thought maybe we should jump in their boat as there were less people then our boat, but we chose to just stay where we were assigned with 12 people aboard.

The tour was going pretty well, not great as there was a lot of chop in the bay, so the whales don’t get as close as we’d like since the boat was bumping up and down. As the tour seemed to be ending I noticed we were heading not towards shore but in a direction we hadn’t been. I first thought they had spotted more whales and soon saw a giant gray object in the distance. Once we got a bit closer I realized it was not a whale at all but a capsized panga with three people clinging to the upside-down vessel by the propeller. The reality set in as we saw others floating in the water along with backpacks, camera bags, and purses. I put everything I had into a waterproof compartment in my rain jacket and handed it to my girlfriend as I saw it was the panga with the eight seniors and I said “I guess I am going for a swim.”

As we moved in to begin rescuing people from the water I performed a headcount of those in the water. Knowing it was the panga with the seniors I had all nine (eight and the captain) accounted for and saw they all looked to be relatively well. Although it was windy, it wasn’t too cold. I also remembered from the safety briefing that there were no sharks in this part of the bay. We quickly realized no one was in immediate danger.

This is where it gets fun, sorta. As with all “disasters” there’s “that guy.” The guy that has to be a hero no matter how little they know. We were “fortunate” enough to have one on our panga (damnit). The captain of our boat spoke little English but was very competent and was trying to give directions that seemed to drown out by the time they reached us since the newly unelected hero was shouting his own directions on how to handle the situation best.

Knowing the people in the water were not in great danger I sat back on the far side of the boat as a ballast, shook my head, and let the hero begin to rescue people clumsily and haphazardly pulling them into our vessel incorrectly. While this was going on I kept contemplating the consequences of throwing him overboard and rescuing the remaining seniors myself. Would saving eight people but leaving one to swim back result in any criminal charges against me in Mexico? Luckily for everyone that was a fleeting thought.

One haunting moment that really still stands out is when the captain had to re-angle the panga to rescue the last three people clinging to the propeller. Those people thought we were leaving them and began shouting “Don’t leave us, please don’t leave us.” You could hear the fear and panic in their voices. Once we were angled our “hero” had realized his uselessness and backed off allowing us to properly load the remaining three people safely into the panga without issue.

The boat ride back to the docks was a quiet and bumpy ride. Everyone was soaked, including myself (and I never even left the boat). There were three ambulances at the docks by the time we had reached it. It was a great feeling that no one required them other than for warm blankets.

Feeling great being back on dry land (not as great as the nine that were in the water) we returned to the office where we met the owner of the whale tour company and began explaining our adventure in great detail, telling the story over tequila and tacos. He brought out his guitar and played requests for us for several hours.

Mike, that’s a hell of a story. I’m glad everyone got through it without injury. We actually read about that happening in Baja not too long ago. In all the times I’ve been whale watching, I’ve never seen that happen.

Hey, the rest of our readers: If you’d like to see more Baja whale watching, here’s the page you want!

Colombia Day 5: Villa de Leyva

We’re up to Day 5 in Colombia from my December 2015 circumnavigation of the Andes Mountains. The riding was incredible, the scenery even more so. Juan and Carlos were amazing riders, as was every person I saw on a motorcycle in Colombia. Ah, enough of a prelude…here’s what I posted for CSC Motorcycles on December 19, 2015.

Actually, it’s pronounced “Via Da Layba.” I’m learning how to be a Colombian and how to speak like one. Colombian Spanish is different than Mexican Spanish. Much to my regret, I don’t speak either one. Someday.

Juan Carlos and Carlos told me they’re making me an honorary C0lombian because my riding has progressed significantly in the last few days. Folks, these two guys are the best riders I’ve ever ridden with, and for them to tell me that was quite a compliment. Every rider I know in the U.S. would be subpar compared to your typical Colombian motorcyclist. The way they carve corners and carve through heavy traffic on these mountain roads is a thing a beauty. They are the best riders I’ve ever seen, and the two guys I’m riding with are beyond incredible. But I digress…more on that later. The focus of this blog entry is Day 5, which was yesterday for me.

As you know from reading the blog, we stayed in Barichara. It’s an awesome little town and we stayed in an awesome little hotel. Getting there was an experience. We passed through a bunch of small towns up here in the Andes Mountains. In these small towns, everything is either uphill or downhill. The roads are either cobblestone or dirt. And when I say cobblestone, I’m not talking about little rocks. These are 6 to 12 inch boulders that are basically mashed together to form a street. The cobblestones (actually, cobbleboulders) throw the bike left and right and up and down, and this is all going on while riding up or down extremely steep hills. The RX3 is the perfect bike for this. I couldn’t imagine doing it on anything bigger or heavier.

We stayed at the Artepolis Hotel, and it was an experience. The guy in the room next to me was an Austrian photographer who came here just to photograph the place. It’s that stunning. Here’s the hotel the next morning (it was dark when we arrived the preceding evening, and we had to ride up a rough dirt road to get to the hotel).

The next morning Juan and Carlos wanted to ride a bit and get some photos. They took me to the edge of a cliff and we got some great shots…here’s one of Carlos I especially like:

And here are a couple more:

We continued on a paved road to a little town called Guane, and along the way I spotted a couple of Colombian vultures perched in a tree not far from the road. I always wanted to get a decent shot of a vulture during my Baja travels, but my results have always been mediocre. I’m carrying my 70-300 Nikon lens on this trip, and I thought I would try for that vulture photo I’ve been wanting for years. The lighting was perfect and I think I did okay…

After photographing the vultures, I grabbed a couple of shots from the saddle on our way to Guane.

Guane is a beautiful little town with a magnificent church…I was working the little Nikon D3300 and its 18-55 lens as best I could. That camera is really doing a great job on this trip. I bought it because I wanted something light and small. You folks who are planning to ride to Baja with us in March might want to give the D3300 a look if you don’t already have a camera. It really adds a lot to the adventure if you can capture stuff like this.

In many Colombian towns, the taxi services use tuk-tuks. Tuk-tuks are little three wheel things that have two wheels in the back and one wheel up front. I’d seen them in Thailand, but encountering them again in Colombia was something I had not expected. The ones in Colombia are made by Bajaj, an Indian manufacturer (as in India, not Indian motorcycles). They’re powered by a little 200cc single, and I was surprised at it’s ability to haul Carlos, Juan, and me up and down the hills in Barichara (we took one to go to dinner in Barichara). Juan told me he tested one at Bajaj’s request a year or so ago and he was impressed with it.

The tuk-tuks are often customized with really cool paintwork, and so are some of the other commercial vehicles. Here’s the artwork on one such vehicle in Guane that caught my eye:

After our brief exploration of Guane, we rode back to Barichara. The guys had been telling me I had to see the cemetery, and they were right. It seemed weird to visit a cemetery for the artistry, but it was impressive…

After that we were back on the road, headed for Villa de Leyva. I had mentioned to Juan that I wanted to get photos of the police motorcycles in Colombia, and when he spotted a few motor officers in one of the many small towns we rode through, I checked another photo op off the list.

This first photo shows one of the more common Colombian police bikes, the Suzuki 200 single.

Here’s another bike the Colombian police use…the Suzuki V-Strom 650…

There’s a lot more to tell you about the Colombian police motorcycles, but that will come later. I’m seeing and learning so much I just can’t get it all into the blog. I’m thinking maybe another book is in order. We’ll see.

Juan found our hotel just outside of Villa de Leyva, we checked in, and then we rode into town. This is the town square…it’s the largest in all of Colombia.

If you’re really impressed with that last shot, so am I. I wish I could take credit for it. It was a photo for sale in one of the Villa de Leyva stores, and I shot a photo of that photo before they told me I couldn’t.

It was a good day. The next one would be even better.

And one last thing, folks. On that day in Barichara before we left, I did a video in their beautiful cemetery. This wasn’t in the original blog, but I thought I’d add it here.

One more thing…if you’d like to read the first several blogs from Colombia, you can do so here.

Day 4: Barichara!

Continuing the Colombia adventure, this was my post for the CSC blog on the 18th of December in 2016. We were having a hell of a time and very nearly everywhere we went good buddies Juan and Carlos explained to me that we could not have ridden these roads just a few years ago due to the narcos and FARC instability in Colombia. It was an amazing trip and I was thoroughly enjoying myself.

More riding, another Andean crossing, a bit of rain, and we arrived in Barichara!

Barichara is an artist’s town, and it’s one of the most exclusive places in all of Colombia. It was another glorious day of mountain riding. I did not take too many photos on the ride to Barichara, mostly because of the rain, our late arrival, and I was enjoying our dinner too much that evening in Barichara to break out the Nikon. But I did get a few photos.

My lunch at a restaurant along the Chicamocha River…

One of my “from the saddle” shots of a hydroelectric dam on the Chicamocha River…

A couple of shots chasing Juan Carlos through a massive tunnel in the Andes Mountains…

A fine feathered friend at a fuel stop…

And finally, a shot after the rain ended of the Chicamocha valley…

I’m enjoying the AKT Moto RX3. It’s different in a few minor ways than the CSC bike, and they are both fantastic motorcycles. I’ll do a blog after I return home describing the differences.

I’m calling it a night, folks. More to follow…as always, stay tuned!

I’ll post a few more photos and another video or two from Barichara in the next installment of our Colombian trip travelogue. I wrote this blog before we went out that night, and I grabbed a lot more with my Nikon on our night out in Barichara. It was an impressive town. I’ve got to get back there one of these days.

More of the Colombia adventure and other epic rides are here!

Day 3 in Colombia: On to La Playa de Belem

Our Colombian adventure continues…this is the blog from the third day on the road in beautiful Colombia. It was a ride sponsored by CSC Motorcycles and AKT Motos (one of the largest motorcycle manufacturers in Colombia). Our destination was La Playa de Belem and it was awesome. Juan and Carlos were taking good care of me, proudly guiding me through their beautiful country, and I was loving every minute of it.

They tell me la playa means beach in Spanish, and Belem means Bethlehem. There was no beach, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

La Playa de Belem was our destination on the third day of our Colombian moto adventure, and it was indeed awesome. We did a cool 260 miles to get to the evening’s destination, and I have to tell you that 260 miles in Colombia is a long day. What I didn’t realize when we started in the morning is that a good 40 miles of it would be on dirt. And sand. And mud. And I’d even get a chance to play cowboy, except I was mounted on an RX3 instead of a horse.

No kidding, folks, those are cows, and they were on the road. This was something new to me. I mean, when you’re on a 250cc motorcycle, how do you make cows get out of the way? Even if you’re on a big bike, what’s the protocol? These questions were on my mind, when like always, Juan Carlos took the lead. Our bovine buddies just kind of moved aside to let him move through the herd. I wasn’t too sure about that, and then a guy on a little 100cc something-or-other did the same. In for a penny, in for a pound. As I got closer, the sea of cows parted, and I was through. Amazing stuff.

As was the case the day before, it was sweltering, so we stopped to get a juice drink. They have a lot of juices in Colombia, and I’ve been trying them all. I haven’t found one I didn’t like yet.

This little gal was fascinated by us. She let me take her picture.

What I missed getting a photo of were the dinosaurs. No kidding. I looked over at a tree and there were three or four iguanas that were huge. As in 2 1/2 or 3 feet long. They startled me. We ain’t in Kansas anymore, Toto. I jumped up and fumbled around putting the 70-300 lens on the D3300, but by the time I was ready the lizards were gone. Maybe I’ll see more of them again on this trip. Who knows? Things like that are incredible. I’m enjoying the hell out of this trip.

Ah, a few more “watching the world go by in Colombia” photos…all the gear, all the time.

After dodging and dicing through traffic (and there’s lots of traffic in these Colombian towns, and it’s mostly motorcycles), we finally hit a highway that ran straight. Yippee! We accelerated up to about 70 mph and cruised, and then Juan pulled over. What he pointed out to me was amazing. Ant hills. Not the little kind we are used to, but big monsters that are as hard as concrete. Check this stuff out, folks.

And then, much to my surprise, the animal signs started popping up.

Okay, that one was easy. Fox. I get it. I never saw a sign before warning about a fox crossing, but I can wrap my mind around that one.

What came next…well, that wasn’t so easy to surround with the old gray matter.

Anteaters. Wow. The image quality isn’t so great, but hey, we were zooming along and that one crept up on me. And how about this next one?

Okay, enough monkeying around. Back to the journey.

We entered the eastern arm of the Andes Mountains and started to climb. It was a two-lane road, and we rode it for a good 150 miles. It’s like the Angeles Crest Highway, but it goes on forever, and there were construction stops every 10 miles or so. These next few shots were taken at one of the construction stops. Juan Carlos told me we were very close to the Venezuelan border at this point.

A shot of Juan Carlos.

A Colombian taxi driver.

I’m seeing medium-sized trucks that are 60 years old nearly every day on these roads. The ’56 Ford seems to be especially popular.

Our next stop was in another Andean town at a cool little restaurant. This was our waiter.

I had chicken and mushrooms. It was awesome. I ate maybe half of it.

Carlos and Juan Carlos both ordered something in Spanish (naturally), and they were excited to get it. I thought it was beef, or maybe pork. Nope. It was pig stomach lining. Very tasty, according to them. They offered a taste, but I declined.

A word or two on the riding is in order, I guess, at this point. It is exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. In the cities and towns, it’s a free for all. It’s like one of the YouTube videos you see of city intersections with tons of scooters in Asia. Here, it’s scooters, motorcycles, cars, and trucks. There are few traffic lights, and Juan told me nobody pays attention to the stop signs or speed limits. “They are like suggestions,” he said.

I’m a big fan of the twisties, but in Colombia, they take on a new meaning. The national sport seems to be passing everyone you can everywhere you can. It’s tense. Juan Carlos and Carlos are totally used to it. I’m getting there, but it is unnerving. It’s also weird just how good every rider seems to be. I’m riding at my limits (not the bike’s limits, but mine) too often, and while I’m doing this taking a corner way faster than I ever would in the US, some Colombian will pass me on a 125cc Suzuki cruiser or something with his girlfriend on the back, leaned way over, like it was the most natural thing in the world. They look totally at ease doing it, too. These folks are natural riders, and they’re good.

We arrived in La Playa de Belem about an hour before sunset, and immediately split for a one of many Colombian national parks. It was kind of like Bryce. I grabbed a few shots there, including one of my AKT RX3.

Getting in was interesting. We had to ride a pretty rough dirt road that had a stream running down it because it had been raining. The RX3 took it in stride.

So, back to the Bethlehem thing (as I said at the start of this blog, Belem means Bethlehem in Spanish). La Playa de Belem is a beautiful little town dominated by the town square and a magnificent church (like many little towns in Colombia), and it turns out we arrived at a special time. The Colombians start celebrating Christmas nine days before Christmas, and this was that day. The town was buzzing. We hung out and watched kids singing at an outdoor service, we saw fireworks, we watched the service in the church, and then we got to see the vaca loca. I recorded it, so I won’t tell you the vaca loca story now, but if this Internet connection holds I’ll upload the video and tell you about it later.

Two more quick photos in La Playa de Belem, a video, and that’s all for now.