I just got back from a 1,230 mile off-road motorcycle trip from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas. It was a training run to prepare for the Baja 1000. If you’re new, start at the beginning. Otherwise, here’s part six of the story…

DAY 6

If you have been reading this story up ’til now, you may have the sense that I have a lot of off-road motorcycle experience. I have logged tens of thousands of highway miles, but only ridden a few hundred off-road prior to this trip. Lacking the requisite skills, I’d force myself through sections of the course which really took a physical toll. Here’s where things stood:

I found out when I got back to the States that I was riding with a separated shoulder, torn Labrum and bruised collarbone - injuries from a ride I had taken weeks earlier in Utah. I had trouble opening and closing my swollen hands - they were most comfortable in a clawlike position, a result of holding onto grips all day long. It would take about 15 minutes of exercise in the morning to get to the point where they were useful.

I had developed large blisters on my palms as well as a gash on my right butt cheek that had been rubbed completely raw. I did my best with Vaseline, Neosporin and moleskin to repair the damage. I suffered from any number of bruises and pains, randomly distributed across my 36 year old frame. In short, I am seriously banged up.

Day 6 was just shy of 300 miles, the longest day of the trip. I’d consider 300 miles to be a good day on highways so when you think about doing it in Baja, in those conditions, it’s really something. I begun the day with trepidation, but had managed 800 miles and felt reasonably prepared for the day ahead.

The first section was indescribably beautiful. We followed dirt roads that hugged a mountain for 30 miles. The views were incredible.

Amidst the beauty is a great deal of danger. This particular road had incredibly sharp turns and drop-offs of hundreds of feet. I rode this section very slowly and carefully. I couldn’t help thinking about the Baja 1000 race as this had been a section of the 2007 course. I hard trouble imagining doing it at speed, at night, amongst cars - it really gave me pause.

This road eventually lead to a small town, lined with pristine cobblestone streets and home of the Mission de San Francisco Javier Vigge Bigundo. It was founded in 1699 and the structure was built from 1744 to 1758. On December 2nd each year, thousands of pilgrims flock from all over Mexico to this special place.

The next 70 miles were fast and fun. A sandy road with gravel here and there, big straightaways and wide sweeping turns. This section had tons of water crossings which helped cool you down and added variety. We were criss-crossing rancher’s land so every now and then you’d make it past a home where cattle gathered for water and food. As soon as you saw any sign of civilization, you immediately downshift and stand - looking for cows or donkeys which would invariably be around the next corner.

We would ride staggered in groups so it wasn’t uncommon to be riding alone for an hour or more - you find a natural cadence and really get into it. We’d stop every 30 miles or so to catch up, check oil, get a drink of water.

We then made it to the highway where we met our supply truck. We fueled the bikes and grabbed a bite to eat. In no time, we were back on the road, riding 60 miles of boring blacktop. We then cut off the highway around 170 miles into the day. We ran across some riders from the Malcom Smith group who told us to be very careful on the section ahead. It was Sunday and a favorite local pastime is boozing and taking 4×4’s out in the desert. Be very alert. Look out for cars.

This section lasted around 40 miles and was incredibly brutal. The road was filled with good sized rocks and portions were completely devoid of sand, so you’d come over a hill and be riding across what amounted to chewed up concrete. It was also mentally tough because you wouldn’t see any other riders - I felt very isolated, facing an endless desert ahead.

I was doing my best to keep a decent pace, probably riding around 25-30mph when I struck a small boulder. In a millisecond, I was catapulted off the road, narrowly passing between two large boulders - this is all happening very fast. Another boulder was directly in my path so I cut the steering hard left to get back on the road. The only problem was a large cactus directly in my path. I hit it dead on, causing it to explode into a million barbs. Many found purchase in my right arm. In another millisecond, I was back on the road and stopped. To be completely honest - I was incredibly freaked out at this point. I had come really close to eating it in the middle of the desert, alone and under a hundred degree sun. I rested for a minute or two and thought the best thing was not to overthink what had happened, but to immediately keep going. I desperately wanted to get through this section as it was getting the better of me.

I got the bike up into 3rd gear and everything felt wrong. It seemed like things weren’t clicking. I shifted into second and didn’t feel any better. I tried first, more of the same. I felt that I was starting to lose it, so I sped up into third and decided to grin and bear it. When I caught up with my group about 10 miles later, they pointed out that I had a flat. I had been riding on my rim. In my adrenalin-fueled freak out, I hadn’t even noticed.

We swapped my tire and another for our guide, George. They also helped pull the cactus spines out of my right arm. At this point, I have ridden about 200 miles and am really starting to feel it. We have 100 miles left and are almost to the silt, an infamous section of Baja. Oh dear god.

We hit the silt about 20 miles later. Silt has the consistency of talcum powder - it is incredibly fine. If you hit a patch of silt at speed, your bike will immediately slow down, likely throwing you from your mount. You need to approach with caution and once you are in it, keep the bike in 2nd gear and hammer the throttle. You won’t be able to see anything as you are encased in a fine mist - you really just point the bike in a direction of your choosing and hope for the best. If that isn’t bad enough, these sections aren’t on level ground - they are on windy uphills and downhills. It is the devil himself.

I was pretty burnt out at this point and had a lot of difficulty. I dropped my bike at least 5 times. Picking up a bike over and over is very tiring, especially in this stuff. People say that every time you pick up a bike it adds 20 miles to your day. I’m not sure if that’s right, but I was completely exhausted. One of the guides, Pepe, helped me get the bike into the desert, off the silt - and we navigated a course around it. It was the only way I could get through.

I have now reached a point where I have gone far past my physical limits. I have to lay against the bike while I’m riding - I’m too tired to keep myself upright. It’s scary because you know you shouldn’t be riding, but there are really no options. Keep moving as fast as you can.

I’m riding along at 35mph and about to cross a wash, basically a dried out riverbed. As I’m coming down a small hill to cross it, I catch something out of my right eye in the periphery. It appears to be a truck and I’m going to hit it. I immediately locked both brakes, but you just slide in the sand - your speed doesn’t decrease fast enough. I made a decision at that point to bail from the bike. I simply jumped off. The bike went to the right and I ended up lying on the ground, looking straight ahead. I then saw the tires of a speeding black Cherokee jeep pass directly in front of my eyes, less than a foot away. That one second lasted forever.

I realized that I had come pretty close to cashing out, right then, right there. I knew there were other riders behind me so I crawled off the road to avoid getting hit. I pulled myself up onto a log and completely broke down. I was physically and emotionally gone. I have never felt this way before - there was nothing left inside me. I would never wish that feeling upon anyone.

A guide had been riding just behind me and saw the whole thing go down. He never even saw the truck until it blew by me as I laid in the road. The driver stopped - he was coming from a fishing camp just down the coast. He was as freaked out as I was. I couldn’t even speak to him. I couldn’t speak to anyone. I just sat there.

After 5 minutes, I drank a little water and took inventory. I had to ride at least 30 more off-road miles until we met the truck. We then had 30 miles of blacktop to La Paz. I had no choice, but to continue on. I got back on the bike and got it done. The only way I could get through it was to tell myself that I would never have to come back here and race the Baja 1000. At that moment - the thought of it was simply too much.

I didn’t drive fast, but I got it done. This picture was taken about 15 minutes after the near miss, when I met up with the group and where we recounted what had happened. I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to enjoy the view, listen to the waves, be far away. Pepe told the story. Thanks Pepe.

I made it to the truck. And then I rode the highway miles into town. I wasn’t going to put my bike on the truck. Baja may have won that day, but I would ride every single mile to Cabo - I would not let Baja beat me.

La Paz is a lovely town, but I’m far too exhausted to go on - this has been a long post and one that I have dreaded writing. I hope it doesn’t dissuade anyone from going down there and experiencing it for themselves. This could have happened anywhere. When it’s your time, it’s your time. And I may just be crazy enough to go down there next year and do that race. If I do and can get that done, it would be the greatest accomplishment of my life. I have no doubt.

Stay tuned for the final installment…