Like this:

By the time I got to San Felipe, I was starting to get really bored of road (ie. pavement) riding. The road from Ensenada (on the eastern side of the Baja Peninsula) to San Felipe (on the western end) was beatiful — lots of twisties all around, and the landscape was breathtaking — but I was kind of over it. Gimme some bloody desert already.

Pulling out of San Felipe, I once again zoned out and forgot to fill up. I only had about 50 miles worth of fuel. Beyond San Felipe, there are no gas stations for about four to five hundred miles on the HWY 5 (all ; so you’re luck if yuo find “Gasonlina” drums (massive containers that store/dispense fuel) or guys selling petrol out of the back of their pick-ups. About 30 miles out of town, I noticed a little cafe/restaurant with a fuel drum. I pulled in, but was told there was no gas available for sale. Just then I noticed a friendly-looking “Gringo” and his two kids, so I pulled up to ask him how far it would be ’til the next Pemex station.

Will Hernquist turned out to be one cool dude. Aside from his day job (he’s a construction litigation lawyer in San Diego), Will has been running the Baja 1000 rally every year for some twenty odd years. To make a long story short, he took me back to his beach house, filled up my gas tank with premium American fuel, filled up my “Camelback” 3 liter water container with bottled water from his garage, and refused to take a dime from me. What a guy. Thanks Will. If you’re reading this, you’re flat out awesome and I really appreciate what you did for me — made my day for sure. Almost forgot, Will had the cutest kids ever. His boy Robert/Bob (I think) must have been four or five years old. Anyway, Will had him lead me back to their beach house on his little KTM 65cc dirt bike. Surprise, surprise, the kid was smoking on the bike. It was outright pleasure to see this kid ride his little KTM motorcrosser like a seasoned dirt biker. Awesome, awesome, way awesome. Great eye candy. Rippin’ through sand like nada. I was impressed. Anyway, me and Bob (?) got to the beach house before everyone else. I had myself a surprisingly intelligent conversation with the boy while we waited for Will and his daughter to arrive in their off-road golf cart. A few minutes later the monster golf cart pulls in blowing dust. Who’s driving? Will’s daughter. She must have been like 8 at most. Way cool kids. Way cool dad.

Just short of an hour had passed since I met the Hernquists, and I had to be on my way before it got dark. Will gave me some great last second tips about fueling, some words of caution about the Baja 1000 pre-runners (Semis not dirt-bikers) who would surely be doing their practice runs on the off-road route I was about to hit, about how jealous he was of my trip, and for good measure his son threw in “the road is sooo fun…it’s all like this,” pointing to the gravel and sand below our feet. I was psyched, I was out. Thanks Will.

I got to Alphonsino’s, a small rather secluded resort (not luxury, but spectacular in its own right) of the beaten path in the Bahia Gonzaga area (I think in El Rosario; not sure though. Ben and Charla, hook me up dudes). I really loved it there. The population consisted of only warm-hearted rugged types, young and old. You have to off-road quite a few miles to get here, so naturally only a particular types are attracted here. Anyway, by the time I got there it was already quite dark, and everyone was well on their way to being pissed drunk. I had to catch up. The restaurant had already closed and they were about to stop serving alcohol too. I had to put the charm into full swing, and when that didn’t work, I just heckled the owner, Antonio, until he brought me three Fajitas and four beers. Chillin.

Once, I was properly drunk like the rest of ‘em I began to socialize with the other off-road drunkards. A couple, Ben(dejo) and Charla, befriended me and kindly offered me their single bed for the night. I would later find out were there celebrating their tenth anniversary. If I had known earlier, I wouldn’t have flopped on to that single bed. In any event, given how drunk everyone was, I doubt I was interrupting any romance on that particular occasion.

Ben and Charla had driven down to Baja on their dirt bikes from Colorado, no easy feat considering their dirt bikes were relatively small – a 350cc Suzuki DRZ and a 250cc Kawasaki KLX. Way cool. You can check out their blog of the trip on AdvRider.com (http://www.advrider.com/forums/showthread.php?t=398719).

Ben, Charla, and I ended up chilling with a couple of really cool Mexican dudes (who turned out to be undercover Federales, ie. the Feds). I had a blast with these two (names remain anonymous at their own insistence). They clearly had clout with Antonio (a/k/a Chupapito), the owner/manager of Alphonsinos, so the beers kept coming for free, and by four AM, there were just two of us left talking incomprehensible jibberish. It was time to hit the hay.

The next day I stuck around ’til well past noon. I had really enjoyed everybody, so I guess I couldn’t get enough, but at some point I had to depart. There would be no roads or inns so I had to find a spot to camp before it got dark.

The off-roading was awesome: scary at times with the amount of weight I was carrrying, but fun as hell for the most part. I decided not to worry about my tires getting punched by the massive, sharp, Japanese-Sushi-Chef-Knive-like boulders on the gravel road. I just hauled ass. Full speed ahead captain. Loved every minute of it.

I don’t recall seeing anyone for hundreds of miles, not even drug runners or millitarios. Just me and the desert. Sheer bliss.