Tag: baja

Coco’s Corner sits in the middle of nowhere, Baja, but at the center of every road. It’s a cartographic oddity that such a place would be so famous when it’s so far off the beaten track, but perhaps that’s why it is so famous.

Rocks are spray painted with black lettering and a simple arrow on your way towards Coco’s along the gravel and sand road at random intervals. When you arrive you’re greeted by a fenced camp, decorated with thousands of beer cans that clink softly in the desert wind.

Other decorations abound as well, some junk, some handpicked mementos of other travelers.

If you’d like to stay a while, some abandoned campers are also available to spend the night in; while there I spoke with a guy who was pedaling a three-wheeled bicycle around Baja with his two cats and three dogs.  He had been there three days, as, you can imagine, it’s not very easy to tricycle your way through sand and gravel.

The man himself, Coco, is actually named Jorge Enrique Corral Sandez, however in Mexico it’s common for people named Enrique (Henry) to go by Coco. Coco is a man of bawdy language and no legs, and will gladly invite you into his home for a beer or two.  He’s been a staple of Baja for many years, having first opened up this place in 1990.  It’s now a required (well, pretty much) stop for all Baja racers doing their pre-running, and all travelers as well.

When you arrive, he asks you what kind of beer you want, whips out his signature book and starts filling in the details; your name, where you’re from, a message, and a hand-drawn picture of the vehicle you arrived in.  There must be thousands of signatures in the book by now.

While chatting with Coco, a Mexican family showed up and joined me.  You see, the inside of the restaurant/lounge area is decorated as well.

Panties, panties everywhere.  Among the myriad of dirt bike stickers, photos of racers and Coco are the underwear of many a female traveler and racer, all signed and dated of course.

I bring up the family because we all started enjoying our cervezas while Coco bantered back in forth in Spanish, and I grinned and laughed along like a silly gringo.  I understood a bit, and while Coco kept it up the matriarch and I got to talking, and pretty soon I realized she was trying to pawn her daughter off on me, the great white motorcycle adventurer.  “She loves motos,” she said.  This was to be my first (but not last) marriage offering.

Anyway, Coco eventually convinced the daughter to staple up a pair of her underwear to the ceiling of the room, much to our amusement.

Coco grabbed his trusty Panty Ladder and had one of the other guys help him stand it up, while the daughter proceeded to climb to the top and do the deed.

I checked my watch and decided I needed to head out, so I said goodbye to my new friends and my potential new wife (her mother told me they’d be staying at a hotel behind the market in Guerrero Negro, so of course come find them when I arrived), and headed towards Bahia de Los Angeles.

Coco let me know I would have problems finding lodging, as the Baja 200 was underway, but I was fairly certain I could find a spot.  Sadly I wouldn’t arrive until too late so I was unable to view the race.

The ride was fairly straight most of the way, though as you approached the bay and dipped through the mountains the ride got much more twisty and exciting.  There’s even a salt flat as you approach the town, but sadly I was having way too much fun riding and didn’t take too many photos.

Bahia de Los Angeles is laid out like any other beach town, with hotels and restaurants lining the street and facing the ocean, and the locals living a bit further off. I rode a bit further out and found a campground about 1 km from the town, an easy walk and easier ride if needed.

I pulled into a small campground, lined with palapas and a few RVs, with a house on the other end.

There I met who I can only assume was Daggett, a larger Mexican man fast asleep on a kitchen table and his pleasant wife who took my 130 pesos and gave me a place to set up my tent.

Then I headed into town to grab a bite to eat.

Eventually I made it back, stared at the vast expanse that is the visible galaxy (and it truly is visible compared to most places in the U.S.) and fell asleep.

Not before attempting to use the bathroom, and high-tailing it out of there once I met the current occupant.

 

So, I arrive in Guerrero Negro on Sunday, February 2nd.  For those of you keeping track, that is (or was) Superbowl Sunday.  The game hadn’t started yet so I was keen to find a decent hotel and clean up before finding some poor bartender and badgering him to change the channel; luckily things worked out.  Initially I tried to book a room at the Malarrimo Motel, but they were full up; so I went across the street to Hotel Los Caracoles, which I believe means Hotel of the Snail People. Either way, score, because they accepted credit cards.

 

Anytime I can save some pesos and not have to go hit an ATM I jump at the chance.  Mostly because my Chase Sapphire card is the bees knees when it comes for travel rewards, things like hotels, restaurants, etcs.

Before unpacking it was time to do a bit of maintenance.  Most don’t tell you about this boring part of the adventure but it’s key to keep your gear in tip top shape, and it’s much easier to sort out problems in larger cities like Guerrero Negro than it is in the middle of the Baja desert.  The bike was fine, but in my haste I broke off a key in one of the pannier locks.  I freaked out for a minute but managed but managed to fish it out with some needle nose pliers on my Leatherman.

Sadly, my Geigerrig bag melded with the exhaust tank at some point during the ride to Guerrero Negro (I thought I smelled burning plastic but figured my wreck had merely caused a small stroke). Still worked though!

I digress.

Cleaning up, I headed over to the Malarrimo to catch the game.

There, I practiced my Spanish with Ricardo, because someone needs to help this poor gringo translate “how surreal is it to watch NFL in Spanish” or “what a beatdown!”

 

They have excellent ceviche by the way.

Those poor Broncos never had a chance against that Seahawk defense. Anyway, a few beers later, I went back to the hotel and fell asleep.  I had a big day planned the next morning; whale watching!

The tour was set up by the hotel, and it seems most do this sort of thing in Guerrero Negro; price was around $650 pesos ($48USD at the time of this post) for those of you who are curious.

A van showed up, myself and three Mexicans hopped in and off we headed out to the bay to check out some whales.

To get there you have to drive through a massive saltworks operation, which was dutifully explained by the guide.

Fifteen minutes of this and we eventually arrive at the docks, and board a panga. While the van guide was able to speak some English, I was on my own on the water, but no big deal as we were just watching the whales.

Turns out there were about 1500 whales in the bay, mostly mothers and their calves but also some adult whales.  And man, they were everywhere. You could look in any direction and see at least two or three at any time. Mostly they just surfaced to breathe, but at times they would slap their tales and sometimes even fully breach the water. You can read more about whale surface behavior here.

Sadly, it turns out that the grey whale is a bit of jerk when posing for photographs. Of the 200 photos I took, most look like this:

I didn manage to capture this little guy right by our panga though! Too far to touch him though, but others have pet whales. Not, as pets, mind you, but physically pet them. I suppose you could have an actual pet whale, you’d need a big aquarium though.

And some, decent video of a mother and her calf grabbing some fresh air.

After four hours though, you get it: they’re whales, and baby whales. We headed back and stopped by a sea lion colony for a few moments as well.  A word of caution: sea lions reek. Go stand at a fish market in the blazing sun for a few hours and multiply this stench by 1037.4, and you’ll get the general idea of what my olfactory senses went through.

Back on land, we docked, boarded the van and headed back to the hotel. I ate some excellent shrimp.

 

Did some shopping.

And kept in contact with some friends back at home before calling it a night.

The following day was going to be a lot of highway riding.

 

 

 

Guerrero Negro was fun, but I was ready to check out what Baja Sur has to offer. For those that are unaware, Baja is divided into two states (and contrary to the gentleman on the jet ski in Bahia de Los Angeles, both are Mexican states). Baja Norte is generally a bit more mountainous and colder (and wetter, as far as the peninsula goes), whereas Baja Sur is the beach party that most AARP members and spring breakers go to visit.

I jumped back on the MEX1 and headed southeast, eventually ending up in San Ignacio.  It’s an oasis in the middle of the Baja desert, surrounded by palm trees that the Jesuit missionaries planted many moons ago.  People mostly come to visit the mission and watch the whales, but during race season there is one place they stop: Rice & Beans.

Had I wanted to stay longer I probably would have rented a room, as the owner, another Ricardo runs a tight ship, and you could seriously do a lot worse from what I’ve heard. There’s a ton  of Baja race schwag around the place as well.

Anyhoozle, I wolfed down some fish tacos, my staple meal so far, chatted for a while and then continued on.

You’ll have to excuse me as I’m writing this a week or two after it happened, and have forgotten much of what happened in the interim. I do recall the ride from San Ignacio to Santa Rosalia was pretty enjoyable, with eleveation changes and some switchback turns around, but alas I have but one picture.  It was from a gas up I made outside of Santa Rosalia where I ran into a British couple driving this MAN monstrosity.  These things are so cool, the Mad Max versions of RV campers world wide!

We chatted for a few, they were in search of an ATM and I mentioned I was on my way to Mulegé and there was certainly one there.  Then, off I blasted, eventually finding my way into the town, and, after a few minutes driving around booked a room at the La Hacienda hotel for 250 pesos a night. That’s $18 kids.

 

The best part? They let you pull the bike into the courtyard, so it’s pretty secure, not that there is any crime in Mulegé, or most of Baja as I have found so far.

All in all, I spent 3 days in Mulegé? Maybe 2, I don’t recall. Most of the time was spent updating this blog and walking the streets, as Mulegé is a beautiful town of about 4,000 in the Baja, and only 10 miles from the beautiful Bahía de Concepción. This explains the large elderly gringo population as well, both snowbirds and residents.

I made a few friends while there.

Though at times, those friends didn’t get along so well with others.

Saw some nice views while jogging around (gotta keep in shape!)

And even managed to eat some ribs at El Cantil, a bar owned by an Oregonian named Scotty who has been in Mulegé since 1995. Sometimes, you’re just kind of done with fish tacos.

At El Cantil, I managed to meet the lovely Bell couple, who live in Mexico and travel around in their VW Westfalia (as many seem to do here).  Originally from Canada, Bill and Dorothy run a website dedicated driving around Mexico, updating members of road conditions, potential issues, and any number of other snafus one might encounter south of the border. We shared a beer together and I absorbed all their recommendations of places to visit once I hit the mainland. Great folk those two.

Sorry this is so short, but all in all it was a much needed relaxing time to keep the blog up to date, and I don’t really recall too much else during this time.