Me: aged, dense, excellently groomed
Alan: ‘seasoned’, well fed, philosopher
Brown: salty, unimpressed, you had us at the first wink
Daniel: the next generation, relays are for chumps
Matt: Captain Matt, to you
Lunch and a long talk about the 20′ Basking shark we just saw (video to come). Single biggest fish I’ve ever seen in the water. Open mouthed it was way larger than the stern of the boat!
We’ve only been gone 20 minutes and the dirty jokes have started…mostly about my ‘stache.
Heading out. Happy crew!
The ‘stache should give you some idea. When you spend as much on a paddleboard as you would a used car…it means you better be going racing, and racing we are. I just bought a new Bark Stock CT and that means The Catalina Classic, August 26th. There; I’ve said it.
Here is a pic of “Herbie.” Nice, huh?
I’ve been training and racing, and will have to do a bit of back-posting on the topic of paddleboarding, but stay tuned for the updates on the Rock2Rock Race this weekend (June 17th). 22 miles from the Isthmus to San Pedro — a relay effort with Alan B. It’s going to be a hoot.
Meet Winston — the newest member of the clan.
So ugly, he’s cute, Winston is a game changer for us. You see, we’ve never owned a dog, and E., who has long aligned herself with the cats-are-the-more-enlightened animals, never entertained the idea of owning a pet that required walks and baths, and, well, crap that he can destroy.
An 11-month-old, mutt we think is part terrier, part schnauzer, Winston came to us from Rover Rescue and… Wait, “came to us” is totally wrong. Jen, the next door neighbor, veterinarian, and expert conniver foisted the pooch on us during a moment of weakness. You see, Winston is quiet, soft, and friendly and when you see him it makes you vulnerable – weak. There was absolutely no point in apposing the dog coming on board, as I could see in Daniel’s face and hear in Erica’s laugh, that Winston was here to stay.
We’re all glad for it.
Well, it’s time for a change. Far and a Wey has been neglected for more than a year, partly for want of time, but also because the site seemed to lack a ‘reason for being.’ The 230-ride through Baja has long since been completed and work, family, and weekend-adventures have replaced the pleasure of a singular task, done every day, all day.
That’s not to say this shit ain’t interesting — far from it. New jobs, family travails, pets, and, of course riding have still been going on, so ‘The Wey’ still has lots to write about. So, I’m giving notice to those subscribed: it’s back on. The site is not all moto, not all Baja, and certainly not a place to wax philosophical about adventure, change, and flux. It’ll be happening, I’m just not smart enough to reflect on it all the time. For those of you who are subscribed, now is the time to get off, stay on, and hopefully stay in touch.
BT
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.
After my beat-down from Guerrero Negro, a ride down the coast–technically from San Quintin to Erindera–seemed like a walk in the park. Wind gusting to 50 mph, surf 10-12′, and a number of technical washouts that put me on the beach and, at times, in the water, kept the day interesting.
Of greatest concern was the fact that the final ‘bridge’ into town, Erindera, was gone, washed away by recent rains. I could see a farmer up on a hill, so I gave him the universal hands-up-in-the-air sign for “which way?” Through a serious of gestures, he made it understood that I needed to unlock a gate to some gringo’s property, drop down a hill, cross a stream, and drive up through a patch of what looked like Brussel sprouts, to pick up on the trail into town. Seriously, he was that good at gesticulating.
One problem. The wind and waves had forced the ocean up the river flooding out the stream-crossing. The only other option, was to backtrack 15 miles to the south and pick up a new trail. But, my reasoning went, ‘it was such a short distance across the stream.’ 15 feet into the stream, water was up to my seat, the trail made a small detour through some high weeds, and I was thinking this was not the ideal place to drown-out the little Honda. No time for pictures here, but needless to say the 2-3-0 punched through and got me up the line to Cayote Cals (after a Tecate Caguama in Erindera). I’ve spent a lot of time with friends in this part of Baja and I had them all on my mind as I zigged and zagged up the coast.
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
2farandaway 