Baja Sur Continues...

Our original plan--when we thought we would be able to make it to Laguna San Ignacio--was to continue down the coast to San Carlos. Though we had to hightail it to the opposite coast instead, we were now at the very skinny part of Baja (where you can see both coasts at the same time from an airplane, but that's a story for another time...) and crossed back to the pacific coast, to the town of San Carlos.

This was the most beautiful day of riding yet! Within 20 minutes of leaving San Lucas, we were kicking ourselves for having stopped so early. We found ourselves riding along the coast of Bahia Concepcion. I have no pics, but LOOK IT UP. We were both riding along, mouths hanging open (no small feat in a helmet), completely in awe of the white sand beaches, crystal clear turquoise water, and lush foliage. Palapas lined the beaches, waiting for campers to show up and pay their $10 for a night of camping in paradise.

I have found a winter retirement location!

For us, the beautiful scenery added to the complete enjoyment of riding motorcycles where ever the hell we wanted in Baja. We eventually turned inland in order to head to the other coast, but were not disappointed here either. This was scenery I had a hard time believing. We rode through breathtaking mountains lush green foliage, broken only by patches of sheer, sharp rock. Out of the green foliage stood giant saguaro cactus. What!?! This was beautiful, lush, desert?

 

The shades of green are innumerable!

How does this even exist?

I don't know, but I loved it. The one disappointing thing about it was that this desert, being as lush as it was, was home to my arch-nemeses--mosquitos. At a quick stop on the side of the highway where I could take some pics, I realized it would be a good time to use the...er...facilities. As quickly as I made that run behind some bushes, I came back with three new mosquito bites--one on my shoulder, as I had removed my jacket for the stop, and two on my butt.

No lie. I scratched my butt for three days.

Seriously, traveling is sooooo glamorous.

After a day of riding through magical, southern Baja beauty, we made it to the sleepy town of San Carlos. Right before we would make the left hand turn to go into town, we turned right into the parking lot of Mar y Arena. It is a hotel with a restaurant, that also does fishing trips, boating trips, has campsites, and during the season, is a huge whale watching site.

We found this place using the iOverlander app, and we have been using it a lot since. If you're traveling and looking for places to camp or hotels with good secure parking, this app is awesome. It also has food recommendations, mechanics, and bad road warnings. It's geared towards people who are traveling by vehicle of some sort, and is user maintained and updated. We love it.

San Carlos was the first place we stayed more than one night. Every once in a while, we need to stay more than one night in a place, so we have a whole day to enjoy sites, do some motorbike maintenance, do laundry, get some writing done, and maybe make phone calls to the parents.

"Do it now"-- the best bit of advice. Ever.

We got camp set up, and not long after--as we were enjoying beach-side beer service--a couple rolled up and parked their camper van in a camping site. Pierre and Elaine are from France, and they shipped their rig to Canada. They are slowly making their way south, and we had a nice couple of chats with them.

The next day, they rolled out and we went walk-about in the town. We found a tiny shack to have tacos in, a market to stock up on essentials such as food stuffs and toilet paper. (You really need to take your own everywhere in Mexico. If you're prepared and expect toilet paper to not be supplied, you'll be fine. If you start thinking places will supply it in bathrooms, you'll be really disappointed.)

Me and Mama Flora.

Eventually, we wandered back in time to soak up some sun, do a little reading, a little writing, a little chain maintenance, and some laundry. In the morning, when we were in the restaurant having coffee, I asked if there was a laundromat in town. There was, but it wasn't functioning. So, there wasn't. However, the hotel staff was kind enough to let us use their washers and clothes line. That just made everyone happier--we had clean clothes, and they didn't have to smell us!

The showers there were wonderful, and after a good night's sleep again, we headed for La Paz. We rode through more stunning landscapes, stopping only to get gas. We got to La Paz relatively early in the day on Monday, as we had planned to head directly to the ferry terminal to take care of paperwork and buy our tickets for Tuesday night's overnight ferry to Mazatlan.

Before leaving San Marcos, we found the Hotel Pension California in La Paz using the iOverlander app, and knew we'd be heading there for our night's stay, after the ferry terminal.

As it turned out, things at the ferry terminal didn't go really smoothly. There is a whole other story to be told here, but as of now, let's just say it's too soon.

We exploded all over the room. Sometimes I wonder how we ride with all this crap.

In the end, we went to Hotel Pension California. It was a good place for us to be, and they had really secure parking for the bikes.

In the lobby.

Me: we have motos...? Him: Yes, we have parking. Right here. Me: (to myself) Let's see if I can fit Camille's fat ass though the doors...

Hotel Gato.

The bikes would stay there for three nights. We would stay in that hotel two nights, with a small adventure in between the two. Nothing bad happened, in case you're worried. But, at the moment, pride will not allow the story to be told.

Thursday morning, we finally left Hotel Pension California. Our first stop was Allende Book Shop, an English-language bookstore. It was a teeny-tiny store packed with (aaaahhh...glorious) books, but all I needed was a small English-Spanish dictionary. There was no one in the shop, as it is the low season for travel. The woman who owns it has been there twenty years, spent time in the Seattle area before moving there, and acted as though our being in her shop was a complete bother to her. So, I paid for my book and left.

Our next stop was a beach-side restaurant for ceviche tostadas and seafood soup--a most excellent brunch. After leaving the restaurant, we rode slightly out of town towards Pichilingue (where the ferry terminal is located) and stopped a a beach to spend a couple of hours. We chilled under a palapa on the beach. I read. Josh swam. It was steamy hot and gorgeous all at the same time.

Eventually, we headed to the ferry terminal, where things went smoothly this time.

Well, almost. A young kid almost got smacked when he was filling out the paperwork for my bike's weight. The top part of the form asks for name, age, and reason for travel. He asked me to write my name, which I did, then looked me closely in the face and wrote down my age.

As 57!

The little puke!

There's nothing wrong with being 57, I am sure. But I won't actually know for 16 MORE EFFING YEARS!

I need to wear some make-up, but in 96 degree weather with over 90% humidity, it will just melt off my face. And to those who told me I would forget all about coloring my hair once we were on the road--YOU WERE WRONG.

Gah!

The next few hours would find us waiting for the ferry and meeting three guys from Mazatlan on big bikes--a F800GS, a R1200GS, and a 650 V-strom. That was the end of a week long motorbike trip they were on, and we talked about traveling and motorbikes. The two guys on GSs admired my Mosko Moto luggage, asked me all about it, and lamented the fact they couldn't get it in Mexico.

Motos were the last to board the ferry. We fit anywhere.

Eventually we boarded the ferry. We played some games, found our assigned seats, then ditched them for a whole other part of the oat that didn't have crying children. We didn't buy cabins, and though it would have been fine if we had truly thought about what that meant, it wasn't great. We slept on hard wood floors. I didn't sleep poorly, but I woke up stiff and sore.

We had coffee on board, but due to the fery's usual arrival of 8am, there was no food offered. However, due to a problem at the dock, it was after 10 before we actually docked. We disembarked into stifling heat and humidity, having had little more than coffee and a piece of pre-packaged sweet bread.

We were now in mainland Mexico, in the state of Sinaloa, and we had some miles to lay down.

The day wouldn't go as we thought it would, but to be honest, it would be so much better than we could have imagined...

 

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Baja Sur on the Big Bikes

Have you been to Baja California Sur? If not, you're soooooo missing out.

It. Is. Beautiful.

Our first night was spent in Guerrero Negro, a hive of whale watching activity in the high season, a quiet city the rest of the year. The next stop on the trip would be Laguna San Ignacio...or would it...?

We got to San Ignacio and filled up with gas as we entered town. The turn off for Laguna San Ignacio was almost right across the highway from the gas station, and we headed out. Almost immediately, we realized they had recently had some big-time weather. Resorts and hotels lined the road on both sides, and all of them were flooded or simply under mud. The road was mostly clear, with a few muddy and flooded sections to cross.

We motored on and found ourselves on a beautiful road, riding through the desert. About 35 kilometers in, a truck driving in the opposite direction flashed his lights, and slowed to a stop. I stopped and the man who was driving told me it was impossible to get to Laguna San Ignacio, as the road was out, and flooded to thigh-high levels.

I thanked him, and we kept motoring on. We just wanted to see what the landscape looked like, and we had some extra time to spend. About 10 kilometers later, a road construction truck stopped us and told us the same thing. I told him someone had told us, but we wanted to see what everything looked like. He said in four kilometers we could see what the area looked like, and in 10 kilometers, the road was done.

If those skies had looked at all threatening, I would have felt uneasy riding that stretch of road.

That wasn't quite what the first truck had said, so we kept on to see for ourselves. In about four kilometers, we got to a spot where the water came right up to the road on both sides. One side was a bay/lagoon which looked like it was pretty much always that way, while it was clear the other side was a lake because the water had gone over the road and made it that way.

It was quite a view, and a cool bit of road to ride. A few kilometers later, and we saw what the road crew member meant when he said the road ended. It suddenly turned to rough dirt, and 150 meters later, there was a giant rock pile blocking the end of the road, just in front of what had become a spillway.

So we've come, to the end of the road...

The road definitely ended, but we were glad we had ridden out to see it. We got the bikes turned around (me with a little pushing help from Josh) and headed back to town. After the first truck warned us, we had stopped to sit under shade and come up with a back-up plan. The plan was to ride back through town and keep going on the highway we had been on, crossing the state back to the gulf side. Laguna San Ignacio was not to be.

We got to town, and turned onto the highway, picking up speed, and heading onward.

Until we saw the police car's lights.

A police officer was slowing people and warning them that at the bottom of the hill, there was no road. Not quite like "no road" earlier, but the road looked like a river. We got off the bikes and walked down to the river's edge, and stood there watching a number of cars, trucks, vans, and semis going through.

When we got back to the bikes, the police officer was loading up a bicyclist and his bike into his truck, to take across. He told us that in an hour or so, someone would be along who would put our bikes in the back of his truck and take us across for 350 pesos a piece. That's just over $20, but that's not adventure, you know?

So, we got geared up, decided we'd start with the V-strom first, and got ready to take both bikes the rest of the way to the water's edge. The police officer walked up to me with a man who had just come from the other side and told me there were big rocks in the middle, and a motorcycle had fallen earlier in the day. He seemed genuinely concerned, but I told him we were going to try--this is adventure! He laughed and agreed.

We got down to the edge and I left Camille to walk on the down current side of the bike, as the cross current was fairly strong. Should the bike start to go that way, I wanted to be able to steady it long enough for Josh to either get out of trouble, or hit the kill switch--the bike going down was one thing, but it going down running would be bad. All electronics went into the safety of the Mosko Moto dry liners, and we headed out, Josh duck-walking the bike under power, and me walking with hands on the back end.

It was smooth for the first 20 or so feet, and Josh suddenly hit some of the boulders. The rear of the bike slid towards me, and I was suddenly in water over my knees while we shouted at each other. Once we got the bike stabilized, I quietly said to Josh that we didn't have to shout--we were both wearing our helmets with our Senas on. We could hear each other just fine, and I just needed him to communicate what was happening with the bike.

We re-grouped and got under way again, now with a good audience on each side of the river. The water got deeper, but Josh had good control. I kept hands on the back, and we made it across, Josh hopping up on his pegs and riding the last 20 feet out.

He rode the bike to a safe spot, we each had a long drink, and we shed our jackets to head back across. Josh asked me if I was going to leave my helmet on and I said oh hell yes I was. Leave it to me to be the person who fell while trying to do this, hit her head, and wound up with a concussion.

We got back to the other side, and made the decision that because it was so slippery and uneven, Josh would take my bike across. I can only get toes down on my bike on a good day--that crossing could go well or could be a disaster. I would definitely say yes to the offer of assistance. Josh got on the bike and asked for the key.

Uh...isn't it in the ignition...?

No, it wasn't. Oh, it was in my pants pocket where I always put it when I don't leave it on the bike, right?

No. It was across the river in the pocket of my jacket...that I had left on Josh's parked bike.

So, back across the river I went. I found my key, got a BIG drink of water, and walked back. Again.

When I got back, I got the GoPro out--I wanted to video this. I knew the camera would eventually end up under water from the bow wave, but it would still be pretty good.

The GoPro battery was dead. Because it's always dead. In case you're wondering, GoPro batteries are the shittiest. The worst. Absolute pieces of crap.

The first part was easy, but the middle would get thigh deep--just below my exhaust line--and be filled with rocks like you see on the left side of that picture.

So we headed across with Camille. It was super easy for Josh this time, since he sits on her flat-footed with knees bent. We got her across and parked, and set about pouring the river water out of our boots, wringing out socks, and drinking a ton more water. Did I mention the temperature was about 94 degrees? No? Well, it was. It was hard to tell how much of our wet feet was due to river water, and how much was due to sweat.

Ahhhh...the glamorous life of the world traveler.

It took three days for my boots to dry out, and they will forever smell as if something large crawled into them and died. Lovely.

Boots aimed into the wind to start the drying process.

The rest of the day's ride was uneventful. We found an RV park with an American couple who said to go to the one a mile back--it's much nicer. So we did. And it was. But, it was like an RV park ghost town. No one was there. We found a fisherman who said it was fine to camp, 160 pesos (about $10), and the caretaker would be around later in the afternoon. There were bathrooms and decent showers, though at this time of year, only cold water. No problem--did I mention it was in the 90s...?

Yes, that is a cowboy riding his horse on the beach. I love Mexico.

When the caretaker showed up, I asked him when people would return to the camp. He said end of October until April was when most of them were there. There were a number of Americans, and the rest were Canadians. As it turns out, Canadians like to winter in Baja California Sur. We paid him and he took off--we once again had the place to ourselves.

Our beach-side campsite, and my first (and last...gross) Tecate.

We chilled at our beach campsite, and woke the next morning to the sounds of the Mexican military marching band, coming from the base just down the coast. I think they were having practice, because it went on for about 2 hours. And they weren't good... It sounded like two hours of junior high marching band practice, and not the kind of junior high marching band that gets invited to the Rose Parade. But it was a good accompaniment to our morning of coffee, oatmeal, and breaking camp. We were sweating by the time we got going again, but that would change...

Hang in there, there's more to come.

 

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Baja Adventure Time!

That's right, kiddos, it's Baja Adventure Time! After spending a fabulous few days in Brea, CA with my brother, his family, and more of our extended family, we finally got rolling and headed for Mexico. That is probably one of the easiest border crossings to do, but knowing what the wait is on the other side to get back in is the tricky part. Thankfully, we won't be having to cross back in for quite a while!

We rolled up and through in under two minutes, picked up the highway and headed south. We didn't ride very far, as we were only planning on going as far as Coyote Cal's Hostel. It's on the coast, south of Ensenada, and has been there for several decades. There was no one staying there, and we arrived at happy hour, so we got ourselves a couple of beds for the night and a bucket of beers.

It was a nice, easy start to riding and staying in a different country. Eventually three other people arrived and stayed for the night as well, but it was a pretty quiet group. My guess is that during Baja riding season it is a madhouse, in the most fun way.

Up to that point, we had ridden only pavement, but heading out of Coyote Cal's the next morning, we hit dirt roads almost immediately. We rode across the peninsula on an easy, scenic dirt road. The middle section was pretty rutted out in the turns, but still easy and beautiful.

Coming to the end of that road into town, however, was a different story. The town's streets are sand. I don't mean an inch or two of sand on top of hard pack, where you can see corrugations here and there and get some traction. I mean inches to feet of it. And I managed to ride right into what felt like a bottomless pit of it in an intersection, nearly losing it, dabbing my right foot, and throttling the hell out of there.

Ah...sand. So fun on fully loaded big bikes...

Later, we rode through San Felipe and continued south on to Puertecitos. There were a number of low spots in the road which had washed out during the last storm, or had sand washed into them. After going through a number of small spots like this, we came up on one and I slowed down to third gear--probably 45mph or so. At the last second, I realized it was way deeper than the others had been. I hit it, felt my bars yanked out of my hands, then managed to get back to them and gas the crap out of it. My back end wiggled a bit, but boy did that feel better than my front end wiggling.

As I came out of it, feeling a lot better than I did as I entered it, I watched for Josh in my mirror. I asked if he made it through easily and he said yes. He mentioned that he slowed way down, and picked a line to the left, going through no problem. I said I had hit it in third gear, and he responded that he saw that, and that I also managed to pick the deepest line there was.

Of course I did.

It's always fun to challenge one's self, right....

We motored on and pulled into Puertecitos around 5:30, super happy to see the gas station. Then we got closer and were super unhappy to see the gates on it closed.

What!?!

We needed gas. What was going on?

We rode further into town, and when we saw some people, rode over to ask about the gas station. They said to go back, and soon someone would open it. They discussed amongst themselves, and said it would re-open within half an hour.

So, with nothing better to do, we rode back and waited. While rummaging through things on bikes and waiting, a guy rode up on a three wheeler and asked if we were waiting for gas. When I said yes, he said it would open later. I told him some people had said in half an hour. He thought about it for a moment, and said yes, more or less.

About ten minutes later, he rode by again and said it would open at 7.

Huh. Ok.

We decided we should find a place to camp, and within a few minutes had found Campo Octavio. It was the one closest to town, and after telling us we could take whichever spot we liked--and proudly pointed out he had bathrooms and showers--the gentleman told us where a market was. We headed off to buy a few supplies, including a 6-pack of Modelo, then went back to the gas station to wait for gas.

There's nothing classier than sitting on the side of the road, drinking a can of beer, and waiting for a gas station to open. I was heartened to find our three-wheeler friend working on the pumps, and the lights for the station eventually come on. During the half hour or so, while we were waiting, we watched a constant parade of boats on trailers being pulled out of town by a couple of pick-ups. Each boat had 2, 3, 4 or more guys sitting in the back, and it looked like the trucks were shuttling them back home at the end of the day. Right about 7, a pick-up came rolling up, saw us, and the driver asked if we were waiting for gas.

He seemed surprised they weren't open, rolled up closer and yelled at the guy working on the pumps. Then I heard the word I had been dreading..."Mañana."

The pick-up reversed, repeated what was said to me and I thanked him, not feeling particularly thankful.

It wasn't that I cared whether we got gas that night or the next morning, but I was concerned the reason it wasn't available that night was because of gas not having been delivered to the station due to the recent tropical storm--not that I had to wait until the next morning, but that I might have to wait several more mornings.

Well, at that point, there was nothing more we could do. So we headed back to Octavio's and set up camp, had some dinner, and relaxed on the beach. As the sun was going down over the mountains behind us, it appeared to be throwing really cool light on some clouds just over the house out on the point. They had a warm, surreal glow, like they were being lit from inside, like they had there very own source of light.

A few minutes later, that source would reveal itself in the form of the full moon. It was breathtaking, and I cursed myself for not having a really good camera. It was huge, and it seemed like we could reach out and touch the glowing orange orb. We were absolutely mesmerized by it, and at that moment I realized I had been camping for every full moon since early May. I knew at some point in the middle of the night, I would wake up and think it was morning because it was so bright out. I don't get the highest quality of sleep when I'm camping during a full moon, but I accept that when there is so much beauty around.

And in the end, the moon didn't disrupt my sleep at all, really. Remember how we saw those couple of trucks making all those trips, taking boats and dudes back home for the night. Nope. They were taking them OUT for the night. Shrimp season has begun here, and that's a night job. So, several hours later, after I was finally slumbering peacefully, the trucks went back to retrieve the full boats coming in. And the access to the launch point took them across our beach....

Until the tide changed early in the morning...

And the access for the boats going out before sunrise WAS our beach.

Moral of the story--Don't stay at Octavio's unless you really like the sound and smell of old pick-ups going through your campsite.

I will say, though, it was pretty fascinating watching boats launch and get picked up right off the sand beaches. I enjoyed sitting in my chair that morning, cup of coffee in hand, watching how they did it all. It was surprisingly simple and efficient. Not everything has been improved-upon to death.

We packed up that morning and headed for gas, and it was...wait for it...open! The same guy was there and apologized for it not being open the night before--he couldn't get the system working. I didn't care, I was just excited there was gas! Yay! We filled up, checked tire pressures, and rode on.

Looking at the map I'd been using, I was surprised to find the road we continued on to be paved. But, speaking of not having been improved upon, the pavement soon ended. The state was working on getting the road done, and for the next 80km or so, a blasted out and smoothed new road-to-be crisis-crossed our rocky, sandy, rutted road. We loved our road, with the exception of that time we got stuck behind a semi for a bit. Josh got around him in a good spot, but of course by the time I went to pass him, I did it in the sand.

Eventually, our road ran smack into Mexico 1 again, and this was the highway we would take to reach Guerrero Negro for the night. But, my sandy adventures weren't done for the day, yet. We stopped in Villa Jesus Maria to fill the tanks again, and hit up a little grocery store for lunch items. Then, we decided we'd take the 9km dirt road out to the coast and have lunch on the beach.

It was great! The water was beautiful, the beach was picturesque with two beached fishing boats and hundreds of birds. There wasn't a single person around, and we were able to ride right out onto the beach. We stopped and I grabbed the bag of lunch things from my bungee net, while Josh went to retrieve the crackers and tuna from his top case. He made an awful sound when he opened his top case.

Uh oh. This isn't good...

You know how I mentioned our road that morning was rocky and sandy? Well, it was a really rough and bumpy road, and the banana I had chosen to pass up that morning at breakfast was smashed nearly to liquid. Sweet, sticky, slimy banana gross-ness was all over everything in the top case. So, for the next ten minutes, we did some cleaning...

 

Then, we had lunch on the beach! Afterwards, we rode the 9km nice dirt road back to Villa Jesus Maria, and finished out our day in Guerrero Negro. Guerrero Negro is a small city at the northern border of Baja California Sur. During the high season, scores of whale watching trips go out from many different hotels and expedition companies located there. But the night we were there was quiet. We stayed at the Malarrimo Hotel and RV Park. They allowed us to camp for about $10 that night--seems to be the going rate--and had bathrooms and showers for us to use. There was another couple from the states staying in the hotel, but they couldn't be bothered with even exchanging pleasantries with a couple of people on motorbikes. I didn't really care--there was a big fluffy Black and Tan dog that lives at the hotel who was super friendly. Even better!

I liked riding and staying in Baja California, but little did I know how I would like what was to come next even more.

Next, Baja California Sur!

 

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Side Notes--When I'm 64 (or maybe 84...?)

So, Doug, Josh and I walk out to the end of the trail near the lodge at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon to take in the views and all the glory one can see of the Grand Canyon without having to go too far. One of the things I really appreciate about that area is that they haven't gotten so concerned about people being stupid that they've felt the need to put guard rails and fencing around everything.

One can still scamper out onto rocks, sit on ledges, and terrify one's friends. We of course immediately headed up or out or wherever would afford us the best view farthest from all the people. Near the end of the trail, we climbed to a perch and enjoyed the views until we were ready to head back down. We carefully descended our rocky tower, and began the short walk back.

As we came around a bend, I saw an older woman, putting her hand to her forehead, and saying, "Oh, I just can't watch!"

I glance left to see what she is referring to, and see another woman of the senior citizen variety walking out onto some rocks, arms stretched for balance. As she is walking backwards, she says, in an entirely unconvinced tone of voice, "Ok, well, I trust your judgement...."

A third woman in the party, holding a camera, waves her backward and says, "Oh, just keep going to your right. You're FINE!"

I immediately look away and keep right on walking, thinking, "Oh, I just can't watch this either!"

I felt pretty certain there would soon be a fence going up right in that spot...

But, then I thought about it again. Who am I going to be in 20, 30, or 40 years? Assuming I make it that long and don't ride off a cliff somewhere, I'm going to be that woman with the camera. I'll be waiting for Josh and Doug to get themselves out on a perch above some canyon, yelling (because I'll be mostly deaf from riding motorcycles all those years), "Just keep going! You'll be fine--stop being little wussies!"

Other people will be walking away, hands over their eyes, saying they just can't watch. Well, not the teens and twenty-somethings, cuz you know how they are.

They'll be standing, pointing, and laughing, calling me a crazy old woman. I think I'm ok with that...

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Side Notes--Los Perros

I'm only five days into this trip--outside the United States--and I've made friends, fallen in love, and had my heart broken. I'm not talking about people, but about all the dogs I've seen. Anyone who knows me even a little knows how much I love dogs, and there have been many here, in just these few short days, to see.

Dogs are dogs everywhere one goes, I guess; some are bold, some are afraid, some are protective, and some just really want to be loved.

In Puertecitos, two dogs came walking over to the bikes while we were in the market. They were probably in the 55 lb. range, and some weird mutt-brown color, but they both totally reminded me of my friend Nikki's dog, Romulus. I could tell immediately they were friendly, though they were both a bit cowed--heads down and tails down--while curious.

Ears and heads immediately perked up when I said something to them in a friendly way. They started trotting around the bikes, sniffing, and peeing on the front wheels--like you do if you're a dog, I guess. And while I was sitting on my bike, looking to the right, one stood up on his back legs and put his front paws on my thigh. He didn't even seem to mind that the bike rocked a bit from the unexpected added push from that side.

I talked to him and gave him some pets on his head, and was immediately sad to see his first reaction as my hand came towards him was to cower. That just hurt my heart. The best I could think to do was pet him and talk sweetly to him, giving him a good day--a few minutes when he could know someone liked him.

All the dogs we've seen have appeared to be mutts of some sort, with the exception of what I can only imagine are the pure bred Chihuahuas. There haven't been any giants, though a big fluffy black and tan guy--who, for good measure, peed on our front wheels also--was super sweet and friendly. He seems to live at the Hotel Malarrimo in Guerrero Negro, and likes to say hello to the guests who are camping there.

There is one I have seen who I would like to bring home. I guess that didn't take long. She is brindle and white, and has the cutest sticky-out ears. She has probably had a few litters of pups, though judging by how much time she spends near and with me, they aren't around anymore. She wiggles and wags her tail, trotting up anytime she sees me. She'd give me kisses all day long if I let her.

She must have a family who treats her nicely, as her first instinct is not to cower when I raise a hand to pet her. She is so skinny, though that could be because she has obviously been feeding pups. She looks for love, and is readily willing to accept it from strangers, and return in kind. Another good doggy ambassador. For the two days while I am here in Puerto San Carlos, I will pet her and call her Flower.

The four-leggeds don't care if you don't speak their language perfectly. After days of struggling to have conversations in other languages, I find it refreshing to settle into the ease of new friendships in a doggy language I seem to be fairly fluent in.

!Buen Perro!

She's a leaner!

 

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And So We Venture On...

The Grand Canyon was pretty stellar, I have to say. We lost Doug, though his departure for home had always been planned. He'll join us again in Santiago, Chile, when he's finished with the European leg of the Queen tour--if you don't know, he runs automation on the Queen and Adam Lambert Tour. For now, home and work called him back.

Josh and I spent another night in the campground on the north rim. In the early afternoon, I used the wi-fi at the general store to upload some pics to Instagram. But after about 30 minutes of trying to do so, I decided it just wasn't going to work. As I walked back to our campsite, I saw someone sitting at our picnic table who was neither Josh nor myself. To be honest, when I first saw him, I thought it was Josh. Though he was wearing the exact same shade of Kelly green shirt Josh was, one glance at his cute sailboat shorts, and I knew it was not. Josh introduced our visitor and said he wanted to share our campsite.

We all sat chatting for a bit and I got to know a little about our new friend. Since I neither speak nor write French well (who am I kidding...I mean NOT AT ALL) I will probably spell his name incorrectly. Demian is 26 years old, and was spending three weeks in the states and Canada with some friends, seeing the eclipse and a number of our national parks in the west. The day before we met him, his one friend asked the other to marry him, so Demian chose to split for a bit and give them some newly-engaged privacy.

Early in the afternoon, Demian headed for the showers, and we headed for the Kaibab Trail. I tossed my Camelback into the backpack, filled up our camp mugs, and off we went. As we headed down the trail, we passed a couple standing on the side of the trail, panting, exhausted from their hike back up.

The man looked at us and said, "I hope you enjoy that coffee! You're gonna need the jolt to get you back up!"

That's so cute. He thought we had coffee. Amateur.

I'm on vacation. I had wine.

We kept heading down the trail, and after a few switchbacks, we came upon Gus. His human was doing some trail maintenance, and to be honest, I just wanted to grab Gus's muzzle and give him a huge smooch. I have a soft spot for mules, and he was particularly curious and well-behaved all at the same time.

The trail was beautiful, and quite the workout. We followed it with dinner, then sitting around a campfire with Demian until it was time for bed. We left the next morning, spending a little more time on a different lookout, being awed and amazed by the views.

Walking back to the bikes from the lookout, we ran into a Kiwi on a KTM 950 Enduro. Well, not so much as ran into, as came around the corner and were surprised to see another person in riding gear. He was less surprised as he was coming from the parking lot--and by the line of our conversation had spent some quality time checking out our bikes--and probably heard us coming as my boots are still so damn squeaky!

We had a great conversation with him. He was at the end of a nice long tour around the western states and Canada. He and a buddy had flown their bikes over and started together, but after a fall that shattered his friend's leg, they split up--one for surgery and hospital, and one for adventure. I'll keep my squeaky-ass, protective boots, thank you. As we said good-bye, I handed him one of our travel cards.

He said, "Oh, you're Girl On A Motorbike? I've heard of you."

Yeah. So that was weird. I'm really still not used to what a small place the interwebs has made of this planet.

After checking out his bike, we hit the road. We were out of Arizona within an hour and a half, then out of Utah and back into Arizona--after a quick stop for groceries--in another hour.

It was hot.

And I mean HOT.

We rode into camp and it was 107.6 degrees, on a thermometer we have all determined reads low. A little while later, it spiked at 108.5. We jumped in the river and spent a restless, hot, night making a little dinner and experiencing the joy of scorpions. Or paper towels...I don't really know.

I just knew I'd be happy to move on to cooler climes...

 

 

 

Post tags: motorcycles, motorbikes, BMW, F700GS, Suzuki, DL650, Central America, South America, camping, Mosko Moto, Rev'it, Sena, Alt Rider

 

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Side Notes--paper towels vs. poisonous killers!

I did not grow up in Arizona, but I did get my degree from the University of Arizona in Tucson. Arizona is known for having a few things that would like to off you, such as nasty cactus, Javelinas, and scorpions.

My old dog, Scottie, and I had a few run-ins with the cactus, often ending in me frantically searching for the tweezers and pulling spines out of his face or my hands. I understand they are called "prickly pear," but I didn't think the pears would be prickly....

The only run-ins I had with the Javelinas occurred when I was in my truck, so that was never a real threat to me. If you don't know what a Javelina is, it's a giant hairy pig-like thing. But, it's not a pig. It's a peccary. You'll have to look it up if you want to know more--that's all I've got from my two and a half years of residing there.

Now, the last is probably one of the more common annoyances in Tucson. The first couple of times I lived there, I was told to close my drain plugs in the bathroom as they would crawl up through the plumbing. I don't really know about that, as I never encountered one. Not once.

So tonight, as we are camping in the Virgin River Gorge with the temps topping out at 108.5F, we chose to do our dishes in the ladies room. There is only one other camper in this giant place, so we just popped into one. It was full of dead bugs and looked as though it hadn't been cleaned in a really long time. Regardless, we cleaned a little spot for ourselves, washed dishes, and turned to head out.

I took this pic a few minutes too early. It would hit 108.5F later.

As I open the door, something small comes in, and I pay absolutely zero attention to it. Josh promptly steps back and says, in a very excited voice, "It's a scorpion!"

I said something to the tune of, "Really? Huh. Well, this is Arizona after all."

He re-opened the door and told me I had to see it.

It was nowhere to be found, but nevertheless, the idea of camping in Scorpion Land had me a little nervous. Thankfully, one thing Marmot has done correctly with its tents is make the openings round, with the opportunity to put the zipper heads at the tops. No tiny little Scorpion gaps for those little pukes to get in.

As we walk out of the bathroom for the last time, Josh says, "Well...it might not have been a scorpion.... It might have been a little piece of paper towel floating in on the breeze...."

Wait...WHAT!?! What do you mean a piece of paper towel? You can't tell a scorpion from a piece of paper towel???

In the end, it really doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure I'm going to have nightmares about scorpions army-marching into my tent while sleeping.

Good night!

 

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