1971 The Compleat Baja Motorcycle Road & Dirt Rider - 11-Page Vintage Article

Description

1971 The Compleat Baja Motorcycle Road & Dirt Rider - 11-Page Vintage Article
Original, vintage magazine article.
Page Size: Approx. 8" x 11" (20 cm x 28 cm) each page
Condition: Good
■ The motorcycle trek
down the Baja Califor-
nia peninsula is to the
motorcyclist what
Everest is to a mountain
climber. But few stories have
captured the flavor of this fab-
ulous dirt ride from the Cali-
fornia border to La Paz. So we
assigned freelancer Bob San-
ford the task of assembling an
exploration party to bring back
the “real” Baja. Bob, former
editor of a leading motorcycle
weekly, had several tasks in
one.
—Convey the feeling of a
relaxed trip in Baja.
—Give the reader an idea of
the trip’s feasibility for riders
of varying background.
—Evaluate in an informal
way the usefulness of a wide
variety of machines in Baja.
These included scramblers, en-
duro bikes, dual purpose
street-dirt bikes and even a
medium-displacement roadster.
The conclusions are surpris-
ing. Baja is not impregnable to
the average dirt rider, provided
that he prepares well and rides
in good company. Nor should
the road rider turn away from
Baja because he does not have
a dirt machine. This trip to
motorcyclist’s paradise is for
everyone. This supplement is
designed to entertain you, en-
courage you, and perhaps help
you to do the “Baja” better,
should you really decide to go.>
u mystery tour
IS BAJA FOR HERO/RUGGED INDIVIDUALIST
TYPES ONLY? SHOULD YOU RIDE SOUTH
EXPECTING BLOOD AND GUTS ADVENTURE?
IF NOT, WILL YOU SETTLE FOR PARADISE?
BY BOB SANFORD
■" One Lousy Flat tire. Can you
believe that? Eight motor-
cycles tackle 1000 miles of
what everyone describes
“bike and body breaker” and all we’ve
got to show for our efforts is one lousy
flat tire. Incredible, isn’t it? Everyone
knows that you’re supposed to bust
hubs, seize pistons, break cables and run
out of tire patching equipment when
you ride the Baja. But no such luck!
Just one single, itsy-bitsy, lousy flat
tire!
Of course there were a few other
things that happened, but they were all
so minor that I just can’t possibly write
the True Saga about daring and perse-
verance and ingenious jury-rigging and
stiff upper lips and that sort of stuff
that I had originally envisioned. No
way. In point of fact, it was just nine
days of leisurely cow trailing over some
moderately rugged terrain, enjoying
some of the most beautiful scenery in
the world, drinking an awful lot of
cerveza and meeting some very nice
and/or interesting people. You and I
know that people don’t want to read
that kind of crap. They want blood and
guts and boring out cylinders with
cactus plants. That sort of thing. And
that’s what I wanted to give you. But, in
good conscience, I can’t do that, be-
cause it simply didn’t happen that way,
thanks in large part to Steve Kolseth
and Vagn Forrisdahl, who served as
mechanics on the trip and who insisted
on precautionary maintenance all the
way.
On the other hand, I feel that I
should relate to you some of the ho-
hum details of the trip, just to prove to
you that I did ride the Baja, always on
the lookout for blood, guts and boring
cylinders with cactus plants.
Did 1 mention to you previously the
reason I decided to take the trip? I
think not. Last November, during the
Mexican 1000 and after numerous ex-
cruciating days of uncertainty in La Paz,
Tom Cosgrove, a friend of mine and
co-owner of Pacific Coast Honda in
Lomita, Calif., flew to the little town of
La Purisima (280 miles north of La Paz)
in search of his son, who had been
manning a gas check, and who, along
with his girl friend and the Pacific Coast
Honda pick up truck, had not been
heard from for four days.
IMPRESSIVE BEAUTY
We found the young couple and were
so impressed with the beauty of La
Purisima and the sincerity of its resi-
dents, that we vowed to return to visit
the town and search out other such
bastions of Baja hospitality and beauty.
(As it turned out, Cosgrove didn’t go
and the group never did make it to La
Purisima.)
To justify things financially and to
assuage my guilt over staying away from
the typewriter for two weeks, I decided
to take along a number of different
bikes and report on their capabilities on
a trip of this nature. Which is about the
point where problems started occurring.
First of all, don’t ever accept at face
value a person’s commitment to a trip
to Baja. When you mention such an
adventure to people you get two reac-
tions: (A) “Goddamn, wish I were
going,” or (B) “Goddamn, count me
in!” But they lie.
BACKING OUT
Most of them, anyway,. Not mali-
ciously or probably intentionally. But
nevertheless, they don’t tell the truth.
Six people, who gave me absolute,
definite, no-bullshit “count-me-ins,”
backed out of the trip, some of them
without even bothering to tell me.
It all seems real neat when you first
hear about it, like getting a house and
harem on a South Pacific Island. But
once you think about missing work and
wife for two weeks, eating dust, getting
lost or stranded a million miles from
nowhere and 1000 miles of bouncing
along until you get 1-in. calluses on
your be-hind, it doesn’t sound like such
a groove.
Nevertheless, we did wind up with
eight warm bodies, most of whom only
vaguely knew each other, and many of
whom had super limited experience at
dirt riding.
Secondly, plan on giving at least one
year’s notice if you intend to get motor-
cycles -from various manufacturers and
distributors. To put it mildly, I had a
great deal of trouble obtaining seven
bikes (of the more than 1,000,000 that
will be sold in the U.S. this year), not to
mention a phone bill the size of the
Kawasaki contingency fund.
I started making arrangements for
the bikes two months before leaving,
but three days before 1 left there was
only one machine in my garage. In
fairness, though, I should say that al-
though many were a bit tardy most
distributors were extremely helpful with
bikes and parts, especially Carl Haley at
American Honda and Paul Collins at
Kawasaki.
I should also mention at this point
that Tom Cosgrove, Randy Chestnut
and all the other people at Pacific Coast
Honda were veritable angels of mercy in
helping us with parts, tools, service and
advice. Additionally, D&D motorcycle
set-ups was kind enough to lend us a
truck to transport the bikes to the
border crossing at Tecate, where, after a
series of near-misses and miracles, we
finally began the motorcycle riding part
of the trip.
Following a near-midnight hassle
over hair length with the border
guards-thankfully solved by our Span-
ish speaking Los Angeles policeman, Lee
Pidilla—we made it to the other side,
where we crashed for the night. Early,
but not so bright (constant drizzle and
40-degree weather), the next morning
we were off for San Felipe, 220 miles of
pavement to the southeast. It was, as
could be expected, a relatively unevent-
ful 220 miles, especially after the sun
made its appearance at about the half-
way point.
San Felipe is a bit on the touristy
side (eight hours drive from L.A.). But
the town is still pretty much the rustic
little fishing village it was 100 years ago,
thriving primarily on the food it ex-
tracts from the Sea of Cortez, as well as,
of course, the increasing number of big
spending gringos from north of the
border.
It was a good place to spend the
night before we tackled the sand and
rocks (the pavement presently ends
there) and we made the most of it,
partaking of the famous turtle steak at
Reuben’s restaurant-campgrounds and a
sound night of sleep on the sandy
beach.
ENDLESS CRASHES
Our first couple of days in the dirt
was a seemingly endless series of crashes
and lost knapsacks. The sand, rocks and
hills were taking their toll on inexperi-
enced (as well as some experienced) dirt
riders and improperly secured equip-
ment. On the second day of dirt, my
brother. Bud, took a nasty spill and
bruised his foot so badly that he was
unable to continue and we had to leave
him (as per prior agreement) at the
small village of Punta Prieta. some 350
miles from Tecate. From there, he
caught a truck ride back to Ensenada
with the very helpful owner of the
town’s store, Miguel Ortiz.
Gradually, though, everyone began
to get the feel of off-road riding, and
crashes and lost knapsacks became the
exception instead of the rule.
I would, at this point, like to de-
scribe to you the beauty of the desert,
although it's a difficult thing to do. To
most people, the desert is just a vast
conglomerate of wasteland: miles and
miles and miles of sameness. In Baja,
this is not the case. There is a special...
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