Fishing the Florida Keys: We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Motorcycle

By Mike Huber

So, I figured using a slightly amended line from the movie Jaws for this title would fit nicely since this story is a step up from fishing off the BMW GS1200.  My friend Sal (who is a new owner of a Can Am) and his brother Mike had just invited me out to go deep sea fishing off the Florida Keys. It was time to take my amateur fishing skills to the next level.  Having been hooked (no pun intended) into fishing last month, this opportunity was timed perfectly and would allow me a chance to catch some really big fish.  Fish large enough that I would need a Can Am to transport them.

One of my objectives in life is to hit all the National Parks and living primarily off my BMW GS1200 has really provided me the opportunity to rack up those numbers.  Florida is just so flat and straight that even the thought of riding to knock out the five National Parks there grew the chicken strips on my tires.  The main focus of this trip would be on relaxation and fishing, so I wasn’t overthinking the National Parks objective.  There will be another trip for those.

Well, it turned out we would be fishing in Everglades National Park. I totally love it when you can combine two objectives into one; it’s probably the project manager in me.  Either way we were on a 21-foot boat westbound out of Islamorada Key. Our first day on the water was pretty impressive, mostly with how the captain yelled at me almost nonstop.  This provided endless entertainment for Sal and Mike.  I think the only reason he yelled at me more is I was catching more fish and was volunteering to help with tasks around the boat, which put me in the spotlight (or I just screwed up a lot).  Either way I got more than one chewing out that day.  For example, the captain wasn’t too thrilled when I tried to wind a 6-foot shark into the boat instead of taking the hook out of its mouth outside the boat. That action racked up my fourth chewing of the day, but who’s counting (Sal and Mike were).

The second day out we each took a chewing but for me it was more personal.  The captain, Mark Gibson, who was former UDT (Navy Underwater Demolitions (SeALs before there were SeALs)) happened to have known my uncle who was also UDT.  So, he took it upon himself to ensure my “Army” ways were wrong every time, even if they weren’t. In between our constant bickering and putting each other down (all with love, of course) and catching fish, he began to explain to me his true passion, which is helping veterans with PTSD.  He runs a nonprofit called Fish With A Hero that takes veterans out on excursions to fish, heal, talk, and, well just be themselves with their brothers and sisters in arms. That day was beautiful.  The company was great, the water was like glass, and there was no wind while we fished Florida’s gin-colored waters. We each caught our trout limit that day and we had several larger fish we couldn’t land.

At the end of each fishing excursion, we took our fish to the Lazy Days Restaurant.  For a small fee they prepared our catch any way we liked. This was a perfect spot to watch the sun setting over the water as we devoured freshly caught fish with a cold beer and joked over the mishaps and successes experienced that day.

Overall, it was a solid week in the Florida Keys, which is a new area of the world for me.  If you like fishing and taking time out from the world this is a perfect place to visit with friendly people in a laid-back environment (outside the fishing captain yelling at me).  As far as purchasing a larger moto to carry an 80-pound shark or a 35-pound hammer jack, I think that may require a Can Am.  It was odd that on this trip Sal received a few prank phone calls about his Can Am.  Somehow, I got blamed for that too, even though I was sitting right next to him when the calls came in. Who knows, maybe a Can Am will be in my distant future to knock out the remaining four National Parks in Florida, and for loading heavy fish for the Lazy Days  cooks.  Until those days arrive, it is back to freshwater fishing in Arizona with the BMW GS1200.

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Lisbon

I should have paid more attention in my elementary and junior high school geography classes. I remember studying Christopher Columbus (the guy who “discovered” America), but the other explorers’ names are lost among my fading neurons. And here we were, in Lisbon, where Vasco de Gama, Magellan, Henry the Navigator, old Christopher C. himself, and others hung out five or six centuries ago.  I wish I could repeat my 7th grade geography class with Mr. Costa for just that reason.  Being 12 years old again would be cool, too.

My new good buddy Ibrahim, one of our fellow tourists on this adventure, is a serious photographer.  He used my consumer grade Nikon to take the photo below at the Parque Eduardo VII .  It was one of the first places we stopped in Lisbon, and the statue at the end is Christopher Columbus. Look at those hedges and think about how much labor is needed to keep them looking this good. By the time you get to the end trimming them, you’d have to go back to the beginning and start over. That’s the Tagus River in the background. Lisbon is right on the Atlantic Ocean. A lot of 14th and 15th century New World explorations started right here.

Susie and yours truly at the Parque Eduardo VII in Lisbon. Photo by Ibrahim Alava.

The photo below is from one of many churches we visited (we saw many churches and a couple of synagogues in Spain and Portugal; before the Spanish Inquisition, there was a thriving Jewish community on the Iberian Peninsula).

Blue and white tiles were a common decor in Spain and Portugal.

Blue tiles were everywhere in Lisbon.  Spain and Portugal were occupied by the Moors for centuries. The Moors brought their art, their architecture, and their style (including blue tiles) to the region.  The Moors were ultimately driven out, but the tiles remained. I could spend a month in Lisbon just photographing the tiles. The tiles get their blue color from cobalt, which is locally mined.

We wandered through Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood to a church at the top of a hill, led by a local guide. Our walk here involved a steep uphill climb through narrow streets and alleys. When Sue and I first joined up with our tour group two days earlier, I felt good seeing that the group was mostly made up of old people (I called our group the Portugueezers). I figured our age would hold the walking and climbing to a minimum. I was wrong. We did a ton of walking and climbing. My iPhone told me one day I did over 17,000 steps. Most days were at least 10,000 steps.

A colorful door in Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood.
An interesting doorknob.

I took a lot of artsy-fartsy photos of doors, doorknobs, door knockers, and other things as we climbed the twisting and narrow streets of Lisbon’s Alfama neighborhood.  My fellow Portugueezers thought I was a serious amateur photographer when I frequently stopped to grab a picture, and I didn’t say anything to persuade them otherwise (the stops were so I could catch my breath).

I noticed that a few of the homes had printed tiles with photos of older women on their exterior walls. I tried to find out more about this on Google but I struck out (I should have asked our guide while we were there, but I was huffing and puffing too hard to ask). Maybe these women were famous Portuguese mountain climbers. Sue later told me our guide said the tiles tell a bit about the residents of each home.  Say hello to Ms. Delmira and Ms. da Luz.

Ms. Delmira, an Alfama neighborhood denizen.
Ms. da Luz, known as Maria to her friends.

We were in an area frequented by tourists and there were lots of shops selling things. Where there were colors, I took a photo or two.

Dresses for sale in Lisbon.

We then went down to the waterfront Belém area along the Tagus River. The statue below is a monument to Henry the Navigator.

An interesting monument to Henry the Navigator in the Belém area.
A closer view of statues on the Henry the Navigator monument.

The Hieronymites Monastery was across the street from the Henry the Navigator monument. Jose, our guide, told us that nuns in this monastery (I didn’t think they had nuns in a monastery, but what do I know?) were famous for their Pastéis de Belém. Jose disappeared for a bit and then reappeared with samples for us to try. They were excellent.

James (one of our fellow travelers) and Jose, our tour guide.

Like Porto and other big European cities, downtown Lisbon was a hotbed of scooter activity.  At any traffic light, scooters filtered to the front of the queue, and when the light turned green, it was a multi-scooter drag race.  It was fun to watch.  I guess Portugal has a helmet law; everyone wore one.  But that was it for protective gear.  Think full face helmets accompanied by t-shirts, shorts, and flip flops (all the gear, all the time).  I’m guessing I saw a hundred scooters for every motorcycle, and when we did see motorcycles, they were mostly 125cc machines.  Many appeared to be of Chinese origin, with Honda and Yamaha motorcycles making up the balance.   There were a few big bikes; I spoke to a guy at a rest stop who was on a BMW GS.  He told me he liked his GS and it was a good machine, but he had another motorcycle that was his pride and joy:  A Harley Sportster.  “It has a carburetor,” he proudly told me (an obvious vintageness badge).  I thought I might refer him to our earlier ExNotes post, 18 Reasons Why You Should Buy A Used Sportster, but he was in a hurry and I had already run out of ExNotes business cards.

Check it out: 18 Reasons Why You Should Buy A Used Sportster.

There’s more, but this blog is getting long enough. You get the idea. After two days in Lisbon, it was on to Évora and then Spain.

Stay tuned, my friends.

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Chaco Canyon, New Mexico

By Joe Gresh 

In 2019 we booked a campsite at Chaco Canyon in northern New Mexico. Chaco Canyon was a fairly large Native American city that served as the capital for the Chaco people a thousand years ago. Strung out along the canyon within walking distance of each other there are several large, condominium-style structures, some reaching 5 stories high and all of them with courtyards, living areas, kivas, and storage rooms. The condos were built with fantastically intricate stonework consisting of millions of large and small stones. Chaco society was well organized and their mathematics and architectural engineering were well advanced, as it would need to be in order to produce such big, complex buildings.

Also in 2019 the plague hit and Chaco Canyon was closed to visitors, so we never made it to the campground. The same thing happened in 2020, so we missed Chaco that year and instead spent our time arguing on the Internet about masks and vaccines with medically-trained basement dwellers. In 2021 we had a reserved campsite near the cliffs of the canyon and not long before we were due to arrive the cliff calved, covering our campsite with boulders. The campground was closed in order to clean up the rubble. The section where we were booked is still closed.

In 2022 we again called the ranger station at Chaco Canyon and reserved a site.  All looked well in 2022 but a day or two before we were to leave CT came down with a nasty cold and we decided camping would be no fun with one of us sick in bed. Reluctantly, we cancelled our reservations yet again. Our efforts to see Chaco Canyon seemed cursed. We decided to try again in 2023 and figured March would be a good time to go. We wanted to avoid the hot summer months. Building up to March everything was going swimmingly; this would be the year we finally made it to the historic Native American site.

And then the rain started. We watched the weather reports coming in from Chaco Canyon: rain, snow, hail. It rained at Chaco Canyon every day the week before we were to go. All roads leading to Chaco Canyon involve quite a few miles of dirt. The rougher, south entrance to the canyon was closed due to the muddy road being impassable. We didn’t care: we were going to Chaco even if we drowned in mud. Farmington was our staging area for the camping expedition and we drove in spotty rain all day to get there. Turning north out of Albuquerque on Highway 550 we stopped for gas. While I was filling the gas tank it started snowing. Then the wind picked up to a brisk gale. The last 50 miles to Farmington were in a drizzly rain mixed with sleet. We made it to our motel where it rained all night long. The normally well-maintained north entrance road to Chaco Canyon was starting to look a bit iffy.

The next day was overcast and rain threatened, but the morning was drama free with only a light dusting of snow on our way to the entrance to Chaco. If you’re going to visit Chaco Canyon you’ll no doubt read horror stories about how rough the road is leading to the canyon. Keep in mind the people fretting about the road are driving giant RVs held together with staples and chewing gum. You may lose a kitchen cabinet or an ill-considered propane tank. If you are driving a car or truck you’ll be fine. Unless it has rained five days straight before you arrived.

Turning off Highway 550, the first 8 miles to Chaco Canyon are paved and then the road turns into wide, graded dirt. This section was very muddy and CT put her Jeep in 4-wheel low and locked the front and rear differentials. She couldn’t go very fast because the Jeep wanted to spin into the ditch at the slightest sign of ham-fisted steering. Down hills were exciting; the Jeep kind of drifted to the bottom in a semi-controlled slide. The mud wasn’t deep, only a few inches, but it was like driving on ice covered with ball bearings and oil.

We saw two other vehicles on our 23-mile ride and one of them was stuck in a ditch. CT is a big believer in recovery gear so she has straps and chains onboard at all times. Unfortunately this means we have to stop and help people who get stuck in a mud bog. The guy was so glad to see us. We came to a gentle stop 30 feet past the deepest part of the mud hole. “You got a rope?” I asked Mr. Stucky.

“No I sure don’t,” he said. I gave a dejected look at the mud.

“Do you guys have anything we can use?” he asked.

“Yeah, we got something.” I stepped into the mud and pulled CT’s clean ARB tow strap out of its clean zipper case.

“I think if you can pull me back onto the road I’ll be ok. I was going too fast and spun out.”

I was only half listening to Stucky.  All I could think of was that this means we have to get CT’s ARB tow strap muddy with this sticky goo and then I’ll have to clean it later.

Walking was hard due to the mud sticking to our boots and the slipperiness, but we managed to connect our nice, clean, tow strap to Stucky’s SUV and pulled his rig backwards towards a less muddy area. Stucky’s mini SUV didn’t want to leave the ditch and it crabbed along spinning wheels and slinging mud for 100 feet before it popped out of the rut and onto what passed for the road. I started to wind up the tow strap when Stucky, sensing my disappointment, said, “Here, let me get that. No need for you to get any muddier.” I was muddy already, but I handed Stucky the strap. I wanted him to feel like he had a stake in not getting stuck again. As Stucky coiled the ARB tow strap mud oozed between each wrap. We were only a few miles to the campground from this point.

Once you make it to Chaco Canyon the roads are paved so we had no trouble finding the ranger station or our campsite. The place was nearly deserted. Stucky’s little teardrop trailer was the only other camper at Chaco that day. Fast moving clouds scudded from west to east bringing alternate periods of sunshine, snow, rain and hail. During a sunny spell we set our Campros tent up on the nice, raised tent platforms provided to each camping spot. The raised tent spots are built from pressure treated 8×8 beams laid out in a square totaling 14 feet by 14 feet. The squares were filled with nice, soft dirt and we were damn near glamping, you know? I guess if I were more observant, the tie down clevises screwed into the pressure treated lumber would have given me a hint about wind speeds in Chaco Canyon.

We watched the looping, 15-minute Chaco Canyon video at the ranger station’s little movie theater and then decided to set up and get our junk sorted out. It was windy and cold but we had plenty of warm clothing to wear. CT brought along 6 jackets, 7 hats, and 3 duffle bags full of thermal underwear. The tent was heaving and snapping; it took two people to hold it still long enough to assemble the thing. The temperature started dropping as soon as the sun went down. A campfire was out of the question in this wind so we made our bed, ate a little cold-cut snack for dinner, drank hot, Dancing Goats coffee and sat at opposite sides of the tent holding the corners down.

Moving all the heavy gear to the perimeter of the Campros tent seemed to keep it from blowing over. We were able to snuggle together in the sleeping bag and kept from freezing, which was the whole reason I wanted to go camping with CT in the first place. We saw 27 degrees that night and the wind never stopped blowing. The next day was slightly warmer and the sun was peeking out from the clouds, but it was even windier.

Due to the weather all the ranger presentations were cancelled. We signed up for a Chaco tour led by a Navajo business called Navajo Tours USA. We used these guys before at the Bisti Badlands and they are great fun. The tour started at 10 a.m. and we went to each condominium and wandered around while our guide told us about the different stone patterns and construction details of the buildings. Usually Chaco great houses have a basement level and many of the places we were walking had filled in with dust and sand over the preceding thousand years.

Above the basement there were three or four stories. Each level was accessed by a ladder from the level below. This system continued on until you reached the roof. The floors were made from large wood beams, called vigas in Spanish.  Over the beams were placed smaller sticks and an adobe floor. The vigas hauled to Chaco came from the mountains many miles away. I figure there must have been some sort of money or economy that would have allowed workers to drag those beams and still be able to sustain a living wage.

The walls of the condos were fairly thick. Starting at the bottom the walls were three feet thick or more. The walls tapered as they rose, becoming thinner floor-by-floor.  Top-floor walls might only be one foot thick. Originally, the inner walls were plastered smooth with some sort of lime coating. In a few spots you could still see the factory stucco. There were windows that let light into the rooms.  Inner rooms were dark but they had openings that aligned with outer windows that allowed outside light to penetrate several rooms deep. The outside windows had wooden shutters for winter use.

The winds, strong already, were picking up and at times you’d be blown off balance. Each gust brought a stinging blast of sand and my eyes were getting full of grit. The Chaco people situated their buildings according to astronomical events. Usually one long, straight wall aligned with the rising sun at the solstices. Sometimes the wall pointed towards a particular star. The building was a giant calendar.

There is a lot more to the Chaco culture, the long, straight roads they built, where their food came from, and why the city was abandoned after only a few hundred years, but it was late in the afternoon and getting colder. The wind was so strong I couldn’t hear our guide very well. Light hail was falling and wisps of snowflakes juked and stutter stepped in the air. As much as I enjoyed the lecture I was glad when it was over. I like it outside but there is such a thing as too much outdoors. We went back to the campsite to have a little hot tea.

Camp was a disaster. Our Campros tent looked like a downed weather balloon. Tent poles had broken, stakes were pulled out and the rain fly was detached and flapping in the breeze. Inside the tent everything was covered in dirt blown in through the screened roof.  We tried to get the tent propped back up but when I pulled on it things started ripping. We managed to get the rain fly back over the wreckage and placed large boulders on the corners to hold it in place. It was snowing again. There was nothing to be done with the wind blowing so we went to the ranger station and loitered. I bought a ceramic coffee cup with a Chao Canyon logo; it was good to be out of the wind.

By 7 p.m. the wind eased up a little and we went back to camp to try to salvage what we could. Our first chore was emptying the Jeep before it got dark. The idea being if we couldn’t fix the tent we could retreat to the Jeep and sleep in the back. Sure it would be cramped but at least we had a heater in the car. And the car wouldn’t blow over. Maybe.

We managed to get the tent propped back up with the short, broken poles. The short poles made every other dimension wrong. The main ridge pole had a huge S curve and there were wrinkles all over the place. It wasn’t a thing of beauty. Besides the broken poles, the upwind corners were ripped where the tent stake loops attach. We propped heavy stuff in those corners to hold the tent’s shape. Next we cleaned up all the sand as best we could and finally got organized enough to have another cold dinner and hot coffee. A campfire was out of the question because neither of us wanted to bother.  In retrospect, when we left that morning we should have lowered the tent and placed rocks on the rain fly to hold it down. I believe it would have survived without a problem. I have no gripe against the tent: it went through a hurricane.

The jury-rigged tent stayed up all night long and by morning the sun was out and it was a relatively warm 40 degrees. Blue sky shined in through our open tent door and the wind was a gentle breeze. If our reservations were made just two days later we would have had a totally different feel for Chaco Canyon. It would have been nice Chaco Canyon instead of mean Chaco Canyon. The muddy road had dried up and was now passable by standard automobile. The campground started filling up as we packed our gear. Old Joe would have folded up the battered tent with the broken poles and torn corners, taken it home and stored it for 43 years thinking he was going to fix it one day. New Joe tossed it in the dumpster.

Those long-ago Chaco people had it much better in their thick stone buildings. Maybe the climate was different then, but I suspect not that much different. And it was an unusual weather pattern that saw all the other campers cancel their reservations leaving only Stucky, his dog and us in the entire joint.  The campgrounds were nice with clean bathrooms, flush toilets and heat, but no showers. We never did get to see all the buildings because it was so windy and cold. CT and I want to back to Chaco Canyon and explore more but maybe next time we’ll go when the weather is more clement.

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Three Favorite Sedona Hikes

By Bobbie Surber

Arizona’s Sedona area offers fantastic hiking.  This blog describes three of my favorites.

Bear Mountain Trail

Bear Mountain provides fantastic red rock views. The start of the trail is at about 4600 feet in elevation from the parking lot. At the final summit, the elevation reaches 6150 feet.  At the summit of Bear Mountain, you can see the San Francisco Peaks in Flagstaff, views of Bell Rock in the Village of Oak Creek, Verde Valley, peaks of Sycamore Canyon, and all West Sedona.

Bear Mountain hiking trails. From top left, going clockwise: Bear Mountain Canyon views, start of the Bear Mountain Trail, the Bear Mountain trailhead, and me atop Bear Mountain.

A warm spring day found me on the Bear Mountain Trail with a new friend I met during a Sedona Meet Up Hiking event. Linda is from New Jersey and is an avid outdoorswoman, hiker, and yoga devotee. I enjoyed Linda’s company as we marveled at the views and shared about our lives, family, and career paths.

I was happy that the Bear Mountain Trail DID NOT kick me in the behind. A challenging hike with an 1800 ft gain over the course of 3 levels of summits. This is a designated wilderness area, so there aren’t any trail markers once you enter the designated area. Watch for trail markings carefully and pay attention, as you will encounter several false summits before reaching the peak. Views along the way revealed stunning red rock slot canyons and an area resembling a mini Grand Canyon. This is a steep trail with some rock scrambling. Please pay attention to the trail, as it is easy to get off track. 2 liters of water is the minimum recommended for this strenuous hike, more on a hot day. A hat and walking poles are also very helpful.

This hike is advanced and difficult. You should be prepared with proper footwear, water, food, and layers of clothes.

Sugarloaf to Lizard Head to Chuck Wagon to Brins Mesa, returning via Jordan Trail

Sunday morning started with a chill in the air and an overcast sky. I postponed getting out of bed and decided on another cup of coffee; my favorite, extra dark roast made strong enough to curl your hair worked its magic as I continued to procrastinate a few moments longer with a leisurely read of the Sunday paper. My hiking shoes waited anxiously beside my bed for the impending long hike. Not sure if it was the regret of a wasted Sunday or the sudden clearing of the clouds, whatever it was, I surrendered, dumped the remainder of my brew, got the hiking shoes on, and headed out the front door.

Coffee Pot Rock.

My goal was to try out Day 1 of a planned 3-day hike in Sedona and the Village of Oak Creek. I headed to the Sugarloaf Trailhead catching the Andante trail over to Chimney Rock Saddle to connect to the Lizard Head trail. This is where I was momentarily lost. OK, not momentarily lost… but I could not locate the %&# trail for about an hour! Man, talk about the embarrassment of getting lost in my backyard!

After bushwhacking and following a new chain-link fence, I found Lizard Head and started the ascent. Within a half hour, I was high up on the side of the mountain, and sure, I was too high for this trail. Thank goodness for cell phones and a call to my friend Doug, the master of all things related to Sedona trails, who knew exactly where I was and assured me I only needed to butt-scoot down the rocks about 100 ft and begin my descent to the bottom of the trail. He was dead on!

The Brins Mesa marker.

Besides my inability to navigate easy-to-locate trails in my backyard, I did not care for this section due to road noise off Dry Creek Rd. This, however, was short-lived as Lizard Head connected to Chuck Wagon trailhead with a lovely new picnic area, maps, and toilets. A fast rest and lunch, and I was back on the Chuck Wagon trail heading to the Brins Mesa trail. Chuck Wagon trail meanders through open vistas and dry gullies with views over Boynton and Secret Canyon. A wonderfully easy trail with outstanding red rock views. By 3 pm, I was at the trailhead of Brins Mesa with the much-needed forest to cool me off. Brins Mesa is always my favorite. Not sure why; perhaps it is the rebirth after the fire of 2006 or the feeling of others that have walked this Mesa for hundreds of years. Whatever the reason, I had a surge of endorphins firing off in my brain, and I was in complete bliss despite a longer-than-expected day of hiking and a start of a dreaded blister on my little toe.

After an enjoyable day of hiking, one might think that nothing could top it. However, heading to the Oak Creek Brewery from the Jordan trailhead for a delicious hotdog and refreshing beer further elevated my experience in Red Rock Country. Spending a Sunday in this manner gives a new meaning to Sunday Funday!

This 12-mile hike is moderate difficulty. Bring plenty of water.

West Fork Trail in Oak Creek Canyon

The West Fork Trail is a moderate hiking trail known for its picturesque views of the red rock canyons and the crystal-clear waters of Oak Creek. The out-and-back trail follows the creek for about 6.4 miles and takes around 2 to 4 hours to complete. It is suitable for hikers of all levels, including families with children. Hikers should wear appropriate gear and bring plenty of water and snacks. You will make numerous water crossings and find that water shoes make the trail more manageable; check the weather forecast for storms and potential flooding.

On the West Fork Trail.

My morning could not have been more perfect. Hot coffee served bedside, the sun shining brightly, two soft-boiled eggs just the way I like them, and an 8 am date with Elaine to hike the Oak Creek Canyon.

West Fork leaves, and the West Fork trailhead.

What I did not expect was to hit the famed West Fork Trail at the perfect date and time to see our Arizona fall leaves at the most glorious time of year. The morning light was enchanting as it filtered into the canyon, backlighting the trees and setting the red rock cliffs glowing with burnt orange with soft buttery yellows and rust red. Childhood joy resurfaced as we worked our way back and forth across Oak Creek; with each turn along the trail, nature revealed yet another excellent view of the Canyon.

West Fork Trail scenes.

It is difficult to describe this trail’s beauty in the fall. The experience goes beyond language; one must turn inward and fully immerse themselves in the earth’s magic beneath their feet. The power of the running creek and the ever-changing red rocks add to the enchantment of the surroundings, creating a truly indescribable experience. The company was as wonderful as the views along this hike.  It was so nice to have some Elaine time and, for a moment, remember what it is like to be removed far from our hectic busy lives and reacquaint with an old friend in an enchanted setting such as this.

Be prepared to face water crossings.

Sedona and the surrounding areas have an abundance of hiking opportunities. Thirty-seven years of living in this Red Rock paradise, and I still have hikes on my list yet to be explored. If you are planning a trip to Sedona, consider using All-Trails and stopping by the Forest Service office for up-to-date restrictions and trail conditions.  If hiking is what gets your mojo on, then Sedona will not disappoint!

Spain and Portugal

By Joe Berk

Never heard of Antoni Gaudi, the man who designed Barcelona’s La Sagrada Família Basilica?  Don’t feel bad; I had never heard of him, either.  His work is the wildest architecture I’ve ever seen…think Dr. Suess meets George Lucas, except this guy predates both.

How about scooter-borne motor officers?  Scooters and small motorcycles make way more sense than the gigondo police bikes we use here in the US.  The photo below shows a Policia moto cop we watched roll up on criminal activity (0utside a cathedral, no less), and the bad guys simply evaporated.

Enjoy majestic cathedrals and stained glass?  Hey, there’s a lot of that coming your way, too. We were in so many cathedrals I had to check the itinerary just to get my photos organized.

Did I mention the Flamenco dancers?  Here’s another teaser.

Take my word on this:  If you enjoy photography and motorcycling, fine dining, good wine, beautiful people, and the good life, Spain and Portugal are tough to beat.

Sue and I just returned from a couple of weeks over there and it was awesome.  I left the big Nikon at home and carried a much lighter D3300 Nikon (the same one I used on the China, Colombia, and Baja rides), and life was a lot easier.  The photos are about as good as those I get with the boat anchor D810 and I minimized the wear and tear on me (I’m so spring chicken, you know).  I took three lenses with me:  the 18-55 kit lens that came with the camera, an inexpensive and lightweight Rokinon 8mm fisheye (using it required manual everything, as it doesn’t interface with the D3300’s auto focusing and metering capabilities), and a very sharp Nikon 35mm f1.8.  Even though the 35mm Nikon lens was the best in the bag, I never put it on the camera.  I used the 18-55mm for the bulk of my shots (it was easy to use and I think it did a good job) and the 8mm fisheye for just a few (like that big photo in the Gaudi basilica at the top of this blog).

There’s more content in the ExNotes queue on our visit to the Iberian Peninsula, with a little bit of moto content in each.

Stay tuned, my friends.

A Walk Along The Famous Dingle Way: Part II

By Bobbie Surber

The Dingle Way is a 112-mile-long walking trail that circles the Dingle Peninsula in County Kerry, Ireland. The trail takes walkers through diverse landscapes, including rugged coastlines, sandy beaches, rolling hills, and picturesque villages. Along the way, walkers can enjoy stunning views of the Atlantic Ocean and ancient archaeological sites and historic landmarks, such as the Gallarus Oratory, a well-preserved early Christian church dating back to the 7th or 8th century.  I previously wrote about the first part of this trip; you can read that blog here.  This blog completes the trip.

Day 3: Inch Strand to Dingle

After a filling Irish breakfast at Inch Strand, I embarked on my journey, following trails and secondary roads that provided stunning bay views. As I turned inland towards Annascaul, I continued along more secondary roads that eventually led me to a rocky beach and castle. The scenery along the way was breathtaking, and I frequently stopped to soak in the beauty of my surroundings. Leaving the beach behind, it was just a few miles to Lispole before arriving at the day’s final destination in the town of Dingle. As I approached the village, I was struck by how small and easy it was to navigate on foot. Music could be heard at every turn, and the town was bustling with activity. The shops were fantastic; it was a great place to restock and prepare for the remainder of the trail.

Dick Mack’s for whiskey tasting.

One of the highlights of my stay in Dingle was visiting Dick Mack’s Pub. As a whiskey lover, I was thrilled to discover that the pub was known for its extensive Irish whiskey collection. The bartenders were incredibly knowledgeable and passionate about the spirits, and I spent a delightful evening sampling various types of whiskey and learning about their unique flavors, meeting locals, and developing the start of some new friendships.

For those interested in live music, Dingle is a great destination. Just pop your head into any pub, and you’ll likely find Ireland’s version of Nashville, with hundreds of talented musicians on every corner. One of my favorite spots was the Courthouse Pub, a tiny establishment with an impossibly low ceiling, friendly staff, and some of the best music in Dingle.

 Day 4: Dingle to Dunquin

This was the hardest day of the trail so far, with a 14-mile trek that started by departing Dingle and heading to Ventry. The first four miles were relatively easy, except that the surface was entirely hard, making it quite taxing. In Ventry, I found a small post office with a combination grocery store, and I took a nice break to restock and meet some very kind local ladies hosting a fundraiser for hospice care. The locals had baked their best desserts for the event and invited me to join in, and I couldn’t resist the temptation of the delicious treats.

One of Day 4’s views.

As soon as I left Ventry, I was treated to a beautiful long beach walk to the other side of the bay. Schoolchildren were busy cleaning the beach, and locals walked along the shore, enjoying some sunshine. Next up was a bit of road walking along Sledge Drive, with dramatic sea views before turning to Mount Eagle. The climb was tough, taking several hours through sheep pastures and offering dramatic sea views.

A view of the Atlantic long the Trail.
Another dramatic coast view.

The trail was wet, uneven, and a real thigh workout, but the day was as lovely and magical as possible. It’s hard to describe the uniqueness of walking through a new land – the way the vista unfolds before you, the smell of the earth, the local bakery, the scent of livestock, and the chance to witness the locals going about their daily lives. You experience a level of intimacy that cannot be duplicated by any other mode of transportation other than your own two feet.

An ancient beehive dwelling.
Beehive dwelling ruins.

Besides the breathtaking views and walking along ancient stone walls, I saw many Beehive ruins and ancient dwellings from the 9th century. About when I thought I couldn’t go uphill anymore, the trail took a steep decline down to the road and the start of the entry to Dunquin. I stopped for coffee and continued another two miles on the hard road to the Youth Hostel and the exceptionally kind host who took great care of her guests. Another great day!

A castle along the Dingle Way Trail.
A scene on the Trail.
More ruins along the Dingle Way Trail.

Day 5, 6, and 7: Dunquin to Ballydavid and Kilcummin

The following day, my friend Patrick generously offered to drive me back to the trailhead for my hike over the pass of Mt. Brandon. Despite the less-than-ideal weather conditions and concerns from locals about my solo hike, I assured them that I would turn back if the fog worsened. Nonetheless, as I gazed upon the climb ahead of me, I couldn’t help but feel a moment of nervousness.

The hike to the top of Mt. Brandon was a challenging 3.5-mile ascent, with no switchbacks and only soggy, boggy, and uneven terrain underfoot. The descent was equally difficult, with even less stable footing. It wasn’t until I reached the 6-mile mark that I could finally walk on a dirt, mud-filled road and breathe a sigh of relief.

Nephew Brandon and his wife.

This day was significant to me, as I had set out to summit Mt. Brandon in honor of my nephew. Despite the thick fog that prevented me from reaching the peak, I made it to the saddle, with the peak looming above me. Looking back at the mountain while standing on that muddy road, I witnessed a moment of awe-inspiring magic. The fog slowly crept down the mountain, lifting to the heavens and spreading its fingers across the valley floor. It felt like a blessing, a gift I didn’t deserve but received nonetheless.

At that moment, I realized that reaching the peak wasn’t as important as the day of remembrance I had dedicated to my nephew. I knew Brandon would have been proud, and I felt grateful for the time I had shared with him. I had promised to honor his love for the outdoors, his welcoming spirit toward everyone he met, and his devotion to his family.  The day had been physically and emotionally draining, but it was a perfect day I will never forget. To my dear Brandon, the boy who will forever live in my heart, I raise a glass and say, Sláinte.

Entering the town of Brandon, I stumbled into a bar and enjoyed a delicious meal of homemade soup and bread with a pint of Guinness and a shot of Green Spot to revive and celebrate my hard passage. The café was warm and welcoming, and the owners were friendly and eager to chat about the beauty and challenges of the trail.

Following a satisfying lunch, I continued my journey, passing through more rolling hills, herds of sheep, and farmland until I reached the charming village of Kilcummin. As I approached, I was treated again to awe-inspiring views of the Dingle Peninsula and the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Fortunately, I found the perfect B&B, a lovely farmhouse in the countryside’s heart. The hosts were warm and welcoming, and I enjoyed a peaceful and restful night’s sleep after a long day of hiking.

Day 8: Kilcummin to Tralee

The week had passed quickly, and I was both sad and excited to confront my final day on the Dingle Way. The day brought plenty of sunshine and was a relatively easy one, with just over 8 miles of walking to the town of Tralee. The trail took us through more picturesque countryside, with fields of sheep and cows grazing lazily in the sunshine.

John the Baptist well.

Passing through the village of Castlemaine, which is famous for its links to the legendary outlaw, Daniel O’Connell. O’Connell was a lawyer and politician who fought for Catholic emancipation in Ireland in the 19th century, and he was a hero to many Irish people. Castlemaine is also home to a small museum dedicated to the area’s history.

Another scenic spot along the Trail.

Approaching Tralee, you could see the town’s famous landmark, the Rose of Tralee statue, dedicated to the same name’s song. The statue depicts a young woman holding a rose, and it is a popular spot for tourists to take photos. What a wonderful end to the Dingle Way trail with an afternoon exploring Tralee by spending time exploring the town’s shops, restaurants, and museums. Tralee is a bustling town with a rich history and worth much time exploring.

Conclusion

The Dingle Way is a truly magical experience, offering breathtaking views, fascinating history, and the chance to connect profoundly with the natural world. From the windswept beaches of Inch Strand to the rolling hills of Kilcummin, the pure joy to be found in the town of Dingle, the trail takes you on a journey through some of Ireland’s most stunning landscapes.

An Irish sunset.

Along the way, I met countless friendly locals who took me instantly in as one of their own with legendary hospitality that is well deserved and a balm to the heart of an American. Take your time to enjoy delicious food and drink. Lean into the culture and history of the Dingle Peninsula. The trail is sometimes challenging, but the rewards and friendships made along the way are more than worth it.

I can’t wait to go back and do it all over again!

The Wayback Machine: How Many Miles Can You Ride In A Day?

By Joe Berk

How many miles can you ride in a day?

About 30 years ago I cranked 1070 miles in one day on a Harley Softail coming home from Mexico (and that was on an older Softail without the rubber mounted engine…it’s the one you see in the photo above).  I was younger and I could ride, as they say, like the wind.  A couple of weeks ago, I did a 250-mile day ride on my Enfield and it about wiped me out.

Gresh and I were talking about this recently, and I thought I would share my thoughts on how many miles you can plan on covering in a day.  Maybe it will influence your planning.  Maybe not.  We get paid the same either way.

1: Age

Like I said above, big miles used to be no big deal for me.  That’s not the case any more.  After substantial scientific study and close observation of my geezer buddies over many decades, I developed a graph showing the relationship between age and how many miles you can reasonably ride in a day.

Like it or not, when we get older, it gets harder to rack up big miles.  Serious scientific study went into the above, so if you want to debate our conclusions, bring facts.  We want to hear them.

2: Weather

Weather plays a big role in how many miles you can ride in a single day, and here at ExNotes we rely heavily on our weather rock before leaving on any ride.  You’ve probably heard about weather rocks.  We sell weather rocks here on ExNotes and they are conveniently sized to fit into a tank bag.  They work like this…you hang the rock from any available support (you have to supply your own string and support).  Here’s how to interpret your weather rock:

    • If the rock is wet, it means it’s raining and you should reduce however many miles you had planned to ride by half.
    • If the rock is swinging, it means it’s windy that day, and you should reduce your miles by maybe a third.
    • If the rock is hot to the touch, it means the temperature is elevated, and you should reduce your miles by maybe a third.  Maybe even more.
    • If the rock is cold, it means it’s cold, and you probably can ride as long as you dress appropriately.  If the rock is really, really cold, though, maybe you should stay home.  If there’s ice on the rock, you definitely should stay home.

ExNotes offers weather rocks in brand-specific models:

    • If you ride a Harley, we offer chrome weather rocks for $395, chrome with conchos and black leather fringe weather rocks for $495, and chrome, conchos, fringe, and matching do rag weather rocks for $595 (freight and setup fees not included).
    • If you ride a BMW, we offer the GS weather rock with an electronically adjustable center of gravity, BMW logos, and a one-year Starbucks gift certificate for $1995.
    • If you ride a Ducati, you probably don’t need a weather rock (Ducati riders generally only ride their motorcycles short distances on clear days, anyway, although if you insist, we can provide a red rock for you personally autographed by the former famous racer of your choice, or we can put several rocks in a bag you can shake to sound like a Ducati clutch).  Ducati rocks are free, or at least that’s what we tell you (we’ll recover the cost on your first valve adjustment and let you think you got the rock for free).
    • If you ride a Chinese motorcycle, we sell an ExNotes weather rock decal for $2 and you can put it on your own rock.

3: Roads

The kind of roads you plan to ride make a huge difference.  If it’s all freeway, you’ll be bored but you can rack up huge miles.  If it’s surface streets (and a lot of us do everything we can to stay off the freeway), you won’t cover as many miles unless you’re riding in Baja, where you can run 140mph+ on the long straights south of Valle de Los Cirios.  If it’s in the mountains, it will be less, unless you’re posting about your skills on Facebook, where the folks who post are world class riders (to hear them tell it).  The same holds true for riding in the dirt.  You just won’t cover as many miles.

4: Headcount

This is the big one, folks.  Maybe I should have listed it first.  If I’m riding by myself or with one of my motorcycle buddies in Baja, I can easily do over 500 miles a day.  Throw in more people, and…well, read on, my friends.

The number of riders in your group has a profound impact on how many miles you can ride in a day.   In the math world, we would say that the miles per day are inversely proportional to the number of riders in your group.

As a starting point (and after extensive research and mathematical modeling), the technical staff here at ExNotes developed Formula A:

A)  Miles per Day = (M)/(N)

where:

M = Miles you want to ride
N = Number of riders in your group

What the above means is that as the number of riders in your group increases, the number of miles you can cover in a day decreases.  That’s because with more riders you’ll start later in the morning, you’ll be stopping more often, and you’ll take more time at each stop.  That is, unless you’re riding with me.  Then Formula A reduces to Formula B:

B)  Miles per Day = M

where:

M = Miles you want to ride

The B in Formula B stands for Berk because basically I’ll leave you behind if you’re not ready when I am.  You can catch up with me later.  You might think I’m joking. I’m not.

Formula A varies a little depending on what kind of riders you have in your group, and especially if you have a Rupert.  Rupert is the guy who takes 20 minutes putting his motorcycle gear back on after every stop.  I once rode with a Rupert who could take 20 minutes just putting his gloves on.  He got better when we threatened to cut a few of his fingers off.

5: Your Motorcycle

There are several motorcycle factors that play a huge role in how many miles you can ride in a day.  In the old days, a motorcycle was a motorcycle and we did it all with a single bike (touring, off-road, canyon carving, adventure riding, etc.).  Today, you gotta get specific:

    • ADV-style bikes are actually pretty comfortable and the ergonomics make sense.  500-mile days are easy.  My KLR 650 was one of the best touring bikes I ever owned.   It had phenomenal ergos.
    • Standard motorcycles are also relatively comfortable and you can probably do 500 miles in a day, but you’ll feel it, especially if your bike does not have a windshield.  My Enfield 650 Interceptor is a good bike, but it’s the one that wiped me out on that recent 250-mile ride.
    • Cruisers look cool in motorcycle ads and they complement do rags and tattoos nicely, but they are less comfortable on long rides.  I’ve found I can reasonably do 350-mile days on a cruiser without needing to see a chiropractor.  Go much beyond that and you’ll feel it.
    • Sportbikes generally cut into big miles, but a lot depends on your age. Good buddy Marty and I rode sportbikes on the 2005 Three Flags Classic (I was on a Triumph Daytona) and we did big mile days on that ride. But I was 20 years younger then and I bent a lot easier.  I wouldn’t want to do it again.
    • Classic bikes generally require shorter daily riding distances, particularly if they are British and equipped with electricals manufactured by Lucas (as in Lucas, the Prince of Darkness).  I think a mid-’60s Triumph Bonneville is the most beautiful motorcycle ever created, but I wouldn’t want to ride Baja on one.

Beyond the style issues outlined above, there are other motorcycle factors to consider:

    • Bigger motors generally mean more miles in a day, but bigger motorcycles can slow you down if they suck up too much fuel.  One year at the International Motorcycle Show, Yamaha’s bikes all had labels that showed, among other things, fuel economy.  The VMax, as noted by Yamaha, averaged 27 miles per gallon.  You’d be making a lot more fuel stops on that one.  27 miles per gallon.  I can’t make up stuff this good.
    • Daily mileage is independent of displacement at 400cc and above (as long as fuel economy is not VMax nutty).  Below 400cc, it gets harder (I think) to crank big miles.  On my 250cc RX3, 500 miles is a big day for me.  But my good buddy Rob once did a 1000-mile Baby Butt on his RX3, so I guess anything is possible.
    • Seats can make a big difference.  I’ve never found any motorcycle seat to be really comfortable, but I have found a few to be god-awful (my Enfield is working hard to earn that title).  If you want to really improve a motorcycle seat so you can up your miles, get a sheepskin cover (I’ve found those to be quite comfortable).  There are other options like inflatable seats or custom made seats, but my advice is don’t waste your money.  A guy showed up with an inflatable seat cover on a group ride once and it slowed us considerably.  It kept blowing off his bike and we had to stop and look for it each time that happened.
    • Fuel tank capacity doesn’t make much difference.  My KLR could go 250 miles on a tank; my TL1000S would start blinking at 105 miles.  You’d think you could ride a lot further with a bigger tank, but I found I need to stop and stretch roughly every hour or two, and if I do that at gas stations, tank capacity doesn’t matter.

What do you think?

So there you have it:  Our thoughts on a complex topic.

We know there are keyboard commandos out there who will take exception to our carefully constructed and presented thoughts.  If you disagree, let’s hear it.  We appreciate all comments, dumbass and otherwise.  Please leave your thoughts here on the blog for others to see.  Don’t waste your time leaving comments on Facebook (all the cool people leave their comments here…only losers post comments on Facebook).  You’ll be a faster rider, you’ll be thinner, and you’ll look better if you post your comments here.  And don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, grammar, or capitalization (believe it or not, it will help our readers assess the validity of your thinking).

Like they say, your mileage may vary, and we’re looking forward to your comments.  If they’re particularly inane, so much the better. We await your inputs.

Some of our more interesting rides?  Right here, folks!

Never miss an ExNotes blog: 

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The Rimfire Series: A 1974 10/22 Mannlicher

By Joe Berk

Sometimes picking the featured photo for each of our blogs is a challenge.  Do you select a photo that captures the essence of the story, or do you feature a photo that highlights what you like most?  A Mannlicher rifle almost requires a full length photo of the rifle as the lead, but for me and this rifle it was the wood.  That’s why I went with the photo above.   Here’s a photo showing the entire rifle…a Ruger 10/22 Mannlicher.

Fancy walnut gets me every time.

Introduced in 1964, the standard model Ruger 10/22 semi-automatic rifle has been in production continuously ever since.  During that time, there have been more variations than you can shake a stick at.  Walnut, birch, plastic, folding, Circassian stocks.  Takedown models.  Target models.  Mannlichers, standards, and compact models.  Bull barrels, regular, short, and long barrels.  .22 Long Rifle, .22 Magnum, and .17 caliber rifles.  All kinds of commemoratives.  With production exceeding 5 million rifles, more Ruger 10/22s have been manufactured than any other .22 rifle (the highest production for any rifle in any caliber, though, is the AK-47, with total production quantities unknown but estimated to exceed 100 million).   The 10/22 has a unique rotary magazine design, the rifle is relatively inexpensive, and a 10/22 simple to maintain.  I’ve bought and sold several and I still have three or four stashed in the safe.  I’ve shot the hell out of a few but I never wore one out.  Reliability and longevity are two of any Ruger’s most endearing (and enduring) qualities.

A view of the left side. The rifle has good figure on both sides.

One of my favorite 10/22 configurations is the Mannlicher, which has a full length stock.  This is an early one manufactured in 1974.   You can make a career out of collecting 10/22s, and there have been several variants of the 10/22 Mannlicher.  I’m not a serious enough collector to go after all of them.  This particular rifle caught my eye because of the walnut.  I’m a sucker for any rifle with highly figured walnut, and good wood is not something you see too often on an inexpensive rifle like the 10/22.

Ruger’s recent run of Mannlicher 10/22s featured a laminated stock. There’s one on Gunbroker.com with a “buy now” price of $895. Hope springs eternal.

I paid way too much for my Mannlicher 10/22 several years ago, but that’s okay.  Another way of looking at it is that I bought it too soon.  Prices pretty much always go up on guns.  This one has already caught up to what I paid.

The 10/22 10-shot rotary magazine, a box of old Federal .22 Long Rifle cartridges, and my Mannlicher.
Close enough for government work and open sights.

A Ruger 10/22 rifle can be surprisingly accurate.  I wanted to get out and shoot at 50 yards, but the West End Gun Club is still inaccessible (the stream across the access road is running too high).  So I took the Mannlicher to the Magnum Range (an indoor range) a couple of weeks ago.  The distance was only 50 feet, but sometimes halitosis is better than no breath at all.  I used my range bag as a half-assed bench rest and I managed to shoot a few  decent groups using the Ruger’s open sights.

A simple rear sight. The plate can be adjusted up or down for elevation; the sight can be drifted left or right for windage. This one is pretty much right on the money as is.
The Mannlicher’s front sight…a simple gold bead.  The metal cap at the tip of the stock is a traditional Mannlicher touch.
Another photo of the metal forearm cap on my 10/22 Mannlicher.
The Mannlicher forward sling swivel is another nice touch. Instead of a screw in single attachment point beneath the forearm, a Mannlicher forward sling attachment straddles the stock as you see here.

The Mannlicher style reaches back to the 1880s.  Prussian military officers designed a rifle that featured a full length “Stutzen” stock with a metal cap at the end and a carbine (or short) length.  This evolved into a sporting rifle in 1903 (Ernest Hemingway hunted with one).  The slim profile, compact size, and full length stock came to be known as the Mannlicher style.  I first saw a Mannlicher-style rifle on a limited run, used Model 70 Winchester at the Donn Heath gun shop in Fort Worth, Texas.  That Model 70 was under $200 and I wish I had the foresight to buy it.  It handled beautifully and it just felt right.  Today, those Model 70 Mannlichers are in the stratosphere.

Ernest Hemingway’s Mannlicher.  He took it on his first African Safari.  In 1997, Hemingway’s Mannlicher sold for $6,325.  It would bring considerably more today.
The Winchester Model 70 Mannlicher. These rifles go for $4,000 to $5,000 today.

My 10/22 is an easily handling rifle that fits me well.  I don’t shoot it that often, but every time I do, I enjoy it.  I’m hoping that West End will open again soon so I can put the Mannlicher to work on the 50-yard range.

My 10/22 Mannlicher. It’s not for sale.

This old Ruger 10/22 has a couple of nice features.  One is the pistol grip cap.  It’s plastic, but it still looks good and this one is in good shape.

Another cool touch is the fancier black plastic butt plate.  Other base model 10/22s have a simpler and cheaper butt plate.  This one looks good.

So there you have it…the latest installment in our Rimfire Series.  There’s more coming, so stay tuned.

Never miss an ExNotes blog:

If you would like to see our earlier blogs on .22 rifles and handguns, here’s a set of links.

A Tale of Two .22s (a CZ Model 452 and a Remington Model 504)

A .22 Colt Trooper Mk III

¡Siluetas Metálicas!

First Person Shooter

A 200th Year Ruger .22

A Tale of Two Springfields

The Wayback Machine: Seven Favorite Baja Destinations

Baja is a motorcycling paradise and I have a bunch of favorite destinations there.  Seven of them, to be precise, although truth be told, I like everything in Baja except for Tijuana and maybe La Paz and Loreto.  That said, my favorites are:

      • Tecate
      • San Quintin
      • Cataviña
      • Guerrero Negro
      • San Ignacio
      • Santa Rosalia
      • Concepcion Bay

Here’s where they are on a map:

So what’s so great about these places?  Read on, my friends.

Tecate

Tecate is the gateway to the middle of northern Baja, and it’s the easiest point of entry. Both Tijuana and Mexicali are too big and too complicated, and the Mexican Customs guys are too official in those bigger cities.  Tecate is a friendly place.  The last time I picked up a tourist visa in Tecate, the Customs officer tried to sell me salsa he and his family made as a side gig.  That’s what the place is like.  I love it.

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If you’re into fine dining (not as in expensive dining, but just great food), it’s hard to go wrong anywhere in Baja.  Tecate has some of the best, from street taco vendors to Malinalli’s to Amore’s.  I could spend a week just in Tecate.  It’s that good.

Uncle Joe Gresh with street tacos in Tecate. Wow, were they ever good.
The buffet at Malinalli’s is regional, awesome, and inexpensive. It’s a hidden treasure.
Dos Joes’ motos on an Enfield expedition that took us through Tecate.
The Tecate brewery dominate the Tecate skyline and is visible from just about anywhere in town. A can of ice cold Tecate with sea salt around the rim and a bit of lime juice…life doesn’t get any better.

San Quintin

San Quintin is 186.4 miles south of the border on Baja’s Pacific coast.  It’s usually a quiet ag town that has a lot of things going for it, including interesting hotels, good food, and Bahia San Quintin.  The Old Mill hotel and its associated restaurant, Eucalipto, is my personal favorite.  The hotel is about 4 miles west of the Transpeninsular Highway, and what used to be a harrowing soft sand ride to it is now easy peasy…the road is paved and riding there is no longer a test of your soft sand riding skills.  The Eucalipto restaurant is second to none.

What could be better than an ice cold Tecate overlooking Bahia San Quintin after a day’s riding in Baja? We once saw a California gray whale from this very spot.

A man, a motorcycle, and Mexico….the sign on the Transpenisular Highway pointing toward Bahia San Quintin and the Old Mill Hotel. The bike? That’s the 650cc Royal Enfield, perfect for riding Baja. But then just about any motorcycle is perfect for riding Baja.
Bahia San Quintin at dawn. It’s an awesome spot.
Uncle Joe enjoying breakfast in the Old Mill’s Eucalipto. It is an exquisite restaurant.

You’ll notice at the top of my scribblings about San Quintin I said it is usually a quiet town.  The one exception for us was when there was a labor riot and we were caught in it.  The Mexican infantryman about 80 miles north of San Quintin told me the road was closed, but his English matched my Spanish (neither are worth a caca), and without me understanding what I was riding into, he let me proceed.  It’s not an experience I would care to repeat.  But it’s the only event of its type I ever experienced in Old Mexico, and I’d go back in a heartbeat.

The Cataviña Boulder Fields

Ah, Cataviña.  Rolling down the Transpeninsular Highway, about 15 miles before you hit the wide spot in the road that is Cataviña you enter the boulder fields.  Other-worldly is not too strong a description, and if the place wasn’t so far south of the border it would probably be used more often by Hollywood in visits to other planets.  The boulders are nearly white, they are huge, and the juxtaposition of their bulk with the bright blue sky punctuated by Cardon cactus.

Pastel geology. The area really is as beautiful as the photos depict it to be.

I get a funny feeling every time I enter this part of Baja. Not funny as in bad, but funny as in I feel like I’m where I belong.  I once rolled through this region in the early morning hours with my daughter and she told me “you know, it’s weird, Dad.  I feel like I’m home.”  She understood (as in completely understood) the magic that is Baja.

I like the area and its stark scenery so much that one of my photos became the cover of Moto Baja!  I grabbed that shot from the saddle at about 30 mph on a CSC 150 Mustang replica, which I subsequently rode all the way down to Cabo San Lucas (that story is here).

You should buy a copy or three. They make great gifts.

Every time I roll through Cataviña with other riders, the dinner conversation invariably turns to how the boulders formed.   When I was teaching at Cal Poly Pomona, I asked one of my colleagues in the Geology Department.  He know the area as soon as I mentioned it.  The answer?  Wind erosion.

Guerrero Negro

The Black Warrior.  The town is named after a ship that went down just off its coast.    It’s a salt mining town exactly halfway down the peninsula, and it’s your ticket in for whale watching and the best fish tacos in Baja (and that’s saying something).  I’ve had a lot of great times in Guerrero Negro.  It’s about 500 miles south of the border.  You can see the giant steel eagle marking the 28th Parallel (the line separating Baja from Baja Sur) a good 20 miles out, and from there, it’s a right turn for the three mile ride west into town.  Malarrimo’s is the best known hotel and whale watching tour, but there are several are they are all equally good.  It you can’t get a room at Malarrimo’s, try the Hotel Don Gus.

CSC RX3 motorcycles at the Hotel Don Gus. We used to do annual Baja tours with CSC…those were fun times and great trips, and introduced a lot of folks to the beauty of Baja.
What it’s all about…getting up close and personal with the California gray whales. They are in town from January through March.
Tony, taco chef extraordinaire. You might think I’m exaggerating. I’m not.
It’s worth the 500-miles trek to Guerrero Negro just to savor Tony’s fish tacos. You might think I’m exaggerating. But like I said above…I’m not.
Man does not live by fish tacos alone, so for breakfast or dinner, it’s either the restaurant at Malaririmo’s or the San Remedio, a block north of the main drag into town. You won’t be disappointed at either.
Sue’s photo of a Guerrero Negro osprey enjoying some sushi.

After you leave Guerrero Negro and continue south, the Transpeninsular Highway turns southeast to take you diagonally across the Baja peninsula. About 70 miles down the road (which is about half the distance to the eastern shores of Baja and the Sea of Cortez along Mexico Highway 1) you’ll see the turn for San Ignacio.  It’s another one of Baja’s gems.

San Ignacio

San Ignacio is an oasis in the middle of the desert that forms much of Baja.  The Jesuits introduced date farming to the region hundreds of years ago, and it’s still here in a big way.  Leave Guerrero Negro, head southeast on Mexico Highway 1, and 70 miles later you run into a Mexican Army checkpoint, a series of switchbacks through a lava field, and when you see the date palms, turn right.

An oasis is usually formed by a volcano, and when a volcano is done discussing politics, it forms a lake. That’s the San Ignacio volcano and its lake, visible on the left as you ride into town.
The San Ignacio church, built as a mission in the 1700s, dominates the center of San Ignacio. It’s a beautiful spot, one of the most photogenic in all of Baja.
Another photo of the San Ignacio Mission. You’ll want to grab some photos in San Ignacio.
Dates? Nope, not on that trip, but dates are one of the things San Ignacio is known for. I’ll bet they are delicious.

San Ignacio has a town square that’s right out of central casting, there’s a little restaurant that serves the best chile rellenos in all of Mexico (I’m not exaggerating), and the place just has a laid back, relaxing feel about it.

Santa Rosalia

You know, this town is another one of Baja’s best kept secrets.  As you travel south on Highway 1, San Ignacio is the first town you encounter after traveling diagonally across the peninsula.  Folks dismiss it because it’s an industrial town, but they do so in ignorance.  There’s a lot of cool stuff in this place.

The ride into Santa Rosalia a few years ago with novelist Simon Gandolfi, Arlene Battishill, J Brandon, John Welker, and yours truly. That’s a dead fish I’m holding.  We did a round trip to Cabo San Lucas on 150cc Mustang replicas, just to say that we could.

One of the things that’s unique about Santa Rosalia is the all-wooden architecture.  The town was originally built by a French mining company (Boleo) and they built it they way they did in France.  Like the Hotel Frances, which sits high on a mesa overlooking the town and the Sea of Cortez.  I love staying there.

The Hotel Frances. It used to be a brothel.

There’s a cool mining musuem a block or two away from the Frances, and it’s worth a visit, too.

The mining museum in Santa Rosalia.

There are many cool things in Santa Rosalia, and one of the best is the Georg Eiffel church.  It was designed by the same guy guy who did the Eiffel town.

Santa Rosalia’s church. It’s an unexpected delight.  And I’m not even Catholic.
Inside Santa Rosalia’s Georg Eiffel church.
Stained glass. Photos ops abound in Santa Rosalia.

I’ve heard people dismiss Santa Rosalia as a gritty, industrial place not worth a stop.   Trust me on this:  They’re wrong.  It’s one of my favorite Baja spots.

Bahía Concepción

Concepción Bay is easily the most scenic spot in Baja.  It’s just south of Mulege (another delightful little town, and the subject of an upcoming ExNotes blog).  Bahía Concepción runs for maybe 20 miles along the eastern edge of the Baja peninsula.  I’ve seen whales from the highway while riding along its edge, the beaches are magnificent, and the photo ops just don’t stop.  The contrast between the mountains and Cardon cactus on one side and the pelicans diving into bright green water is view from the saddle you won’t soon forget.

On one of many rides along Bahía Concepción, good buddy Joe Lee and yours truly rode our Triumph Triples. This is a favorite shot of mine.
Besides “wow,” what can I say?
World-famous novelist and motorcycle adventurer Simon Gandolfi andn yours truly on 150cc scooters. We were on our way back from Cabo San Lucas when we stopped for this Bahía Concepción photo.  Hardtail 150cc scooters.  Up and down the length of Baja.  I think about that ride every time I see a GS parked at a Starbuck’s.

So there you have it:  My take on seven favorite spots in Baja?  How about you?  Do you have any favorite Baja destinations?  Let us know here in the comments sction!

More on Baja?  You bet!

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