As I rode into Ensenada, I had to keep reminding myself that it’s not over until the motorcycle is in the garage. And then it happened. White truck, in my lane, heading directly at me. This is how it ends? Everything slowed down and someone turned off the sound. I could see smoke from the truck’s skidding tires and I could feel the bike sliding sideways as if it were on glass. My last movement was almost instinctual–I tucked my elbow in from being struck by the side-view mirror on the truck and braced for impact. The panniers hit the rear door on the truck and my shoulder skipped off the window. I skidded into a lane of oncoming traffic, screaming profanities in my helmet and bizarrely aware that there was and OXXO store across the street—I hadn’t seen once since Loreto. It goes without saying that this event shorted out the warm glow if my entry back into the ‘world.’ I kept moving with acute eye on all the cars around me, in the rear-view mirror, passing through each intersection, until I pulled into a hotel that I would call home for the next few days. So, it’s not over, not even close, and the bike is not in the garage.

Posted a 260-mile day, which, on a 230, is a monster.  The last 50 miles, the temperature dropped 30 degrees and I rode into a sand/dust storm the likes of which I’ve never seen in Baja.  Having a truck pass by you and blow your head back is one thing; having a truck make a pass from behind and almost get sucked into the rear trailer wheels is another.

Used a bit of Karma today, for sure.

BT

Look familiar?

The hill-top bar is now a house.  I asked if I could come in and have a drink anyway, but, surprisingly, they didn’t let me.

Yes, this is the face of exhaustion. I did something like 45 miles in just under seven hours. That’s right, you do the math. Crawling…no, crawling would be fast in this case. The road out of town and to Loreto (via San Jose Comondu and Santa Isabel), turned from a trail into a wash and it didn’t get better from there; in fact, it only got worse, I had to go up an over a 2,700 ft. mountain.

I fell over plenty; I abused bike and clutch, and refused to turn around. Reason One: this WAS the trail, and everyone said that it would take two to three hours, maybe four, max. Reason Two: GIANT dogs, two of which chased me for a mile up a washed out trail, nipping at my leg. I finally stopped and yelled at the dogs with malice and it seemed to do the trick. They gave up and went off to more pleasurable pursuits. Me, not so much. On three separate occasions I had to off-load the bags and panniers and portage them up the trail a half of a mile or so, then return for the bike. Wow.

I suffered mightily until, just outside of Santa Isabel, at 5:00, when I decided to give it up and pack in for the night. I was shocky, cold and sweaty, and I needed to avoid a serious mistake in the middle of BFE. The irony of the whole thing was that I was in sight of a small rancho, but I was literally too tired to try and keep moving into the night or even think about making it into Loreto.

Realization #234: a bush or a rock ate my sleeping bag. A few days ago, I ran into a cholla that put one million cactus needles into my bag. Now, bag gone. The funny thing, was I was too tired to even worry about it. I dried off, set up a tent, put on my warmest clothes, and crawled under an emergency blanket. I was asleep in 10 minutes.

Good times, people, good times.

BT