All HWY 1 for this stretch, but I was glad to be on pavement. My shifter was hanging on by a thread and I desperately needed a welder (Soldador). I couldn’t shift. The bike was stuck in foruth gear for at least 50 miles. Every time I stopped I had to ride the clutch until I got the bike moving. At one stop, I was told by the Gas station attendant that the nearest Soldador shop was just accross the Termina de Camiones (Bus station) in the town of Guerrero Negro, so Guerrero Negro it was. By the time, I had my shifter welded to one piece again, it was dark and I was starving. Leaving town I stopped by the very last restaurant at the edge of Guerrero Negro and had me some Bistek (steak). The waiter asked whether I had driven down on a motorcycle. I answered in the affirmative, and he waltzed off to the kitchen, walking back moments later to tell me that the Patron (boss) said it was OK if I wanted to pitch tent in fron of the restaurant for the night. That was real sweet, but the meal had breathed some energy into me, and I wanted to keep going. I thanked the waiter, left him a decent tip, and departed for my next stop. Some 100 miles past Guerrero Negro, I stumbled upon a town whose population consisted entirely of truckers and transients. My GPS map had no entry for this little Pueblado. I was tired and at $18/night a motel sounded great. I shut’er down for the night.
The next morning I left for San Ignacio, which Will Hernquist had recommended I visit if I got a chance. At the old Mission in San Ignacio, I met up with Kevin and Albana, whom I had briefly encountered earlier at a gas station, but where I hadn’t stuck around long enough to meet them or the Dutch family they were talking. My shifter was broken, and I ripped out of that gas station as soon as I got a recommendation for welder. Good thing I met up with them again ’cause I got along great with these two crazies. (Apperently the Dutch were bicycling around the world — mom, dad, and their two kids. How wild is that). Anyway, Kevin and Albana were on their way down to the Todos Santos area on their Soviet era Ural motorcycle. Kevin drove, Albana sat behind him, and their dog Whiny drove in the side car. I immediately knew I would like these Cookoos…and I did. I would later meet up with them in La Paz, where we hung out on a beach for a couple of days. This was one crazy couple…and I loved them that way. Peace out you two.
