Elsie in Baja...

I'D come within hours to press time, of having my first cover shot.  John was apologetic, having been over ruled by the head cheese.  Although not a S.I. swimsuit cover, my fame was fleeting, lasting but seconds as I was ingloriously dumped for a pic of the 15th anniversary Fat Boy.



Soon to be dry riverbed.



Now I like all motorcycles and all brands.  In my lifelong riding career I've ridden pretty much everything sold in the last 40 years, Harley's included.

Deeley's (CDN HD distributor) had purchased a full page color back cover to complement the CB coverage between the pages of this Terminator/Schwarzenegger's Fat Boy... so, the Doc will have to wait for another day to grace a glossy cover.


Metro Rosarito, this is the town triangle.



Getting back to Baja, after my episode with the flat, followed by a rapid tire fix, I was heading for the Cortez coast towards the non existent village of San Nicolas.

There are numerous part time fishing camps along the route, and in any case I had ridden it back in '04 on my Serow 225.

That by the way, was the last trip I used my 40 year old SLR 35mm camera.

Digital technology has changed forever the way we photograph.  In those days, a shot involved setting up on the tri-pod, carefully calculating shutter speeds and light settings, stringing out my squeeze bulb and hoping that when you developed the film back home, you had a good shot.


First glimpse in the distance...

Today's digitals require none of that.  Although I carry my premium Canon on most trips nowadays, I still take almost all of my photos with my 8meg Olympus point and shoot.  It's very compact, water/rain proof and has a large enough screen to view your photo in pretty good detail.  Don't like it, take another one!

In the old days, during the dawn of mankind, while volcanoes spewed their ash, one had to take care to get a good photo.



Now dry riverbed...

 Anybody can be a decent photog with a digital.  Just keep snapping away and you are bound to get it mostly right at some point...

Yup like everything, technology continues to forge ahead.  The days of battleships are behind us.


Looking for welcome shade, scarce in the desert.

 No matter where I ride, there is always the truly breathtaking view that occurs at least once or twice every time without fail. 

On this particular route around the south end of the Bay, the first one is riding over that crest to see the Sea of Cortez gleaming in the distance.  While I'm still 10km from the coast, and have to negotiate countless switchbacks to get there, it nevertheless, brings a tear to my eye and reminds me of what an incredible planet this Mother Earth truly is.

Crossing over a dry riverbed, I take a wrong turn and end up heading away from the coast.  Within a kilometer I knew I missed my route (confirmed by my compass) but decided to explore this gravel track until I had to turn back or made it thru.



Nearing the Cortez.



The temperature by now had peaked at about 105 degrees, and in several places the little DT engine was screaming at red line, it's 8 hp straining to carry me and it's own weight across sand washes.







Millions of discarded shells.

 At barely over 165lbs, the bike is only a couple of cheeseburgers heavier than I am in my riding gear, I get off and push while clutch slipping thru the hardest stuff.

The temperature gauge is hovering just inside it's danger zone.

I guzzle water from my canteen like a camel filling it's humps after travelling a hundred miles from the last oasis.

There are still a couple of hours of riding, and I am nearly through my first liter.  Finally, after crossing the dry bed, several times, I come to a canyon with walls reaching a hundred feet in height, I can go no farther.



They wait patiently for a meal.



Not disappointed, this after is is why I do this.

Once back on the main Jeep trail, heading North with the Gulf of California on my starboard side, I pass through several temporary fishing camps. The Pangas are anchored in shallow water or beached, no one is about it seems but like anywhere there are humans, dogs abound. They yelp and bark and chase me thru each tiny part time village, Somehow given the low seat height of the DT, I feel more vulnerable. They are in most cases a sad looking lot of mongrels, I feel sorry for them.  Down in these parts, they are not pampered canine pets, they are working dogs, kept here to fend for themselves for the most part and keep strangers at bay.

Some say I am stranger than most.

Nipping at my ankles, kicking at them doesn't help, it only infuriates them more.  What is it about dogs and motorbikes?

In due course I drop down into yet another dry wash.  It's a rocky switchback and quick descent to a valley of lush, lined palms, verdant green with pumped ground water.






Seclusion.



I take a short hop to the coast where several very modern houses are perched in a cove, protected by a small fleet of boats.  This community is one of several along the Baja peninsula where Gringos roost in seclusion.

It really is a special breed of hardy humans, that venture and live down here in the Baja peninsula...