14th SEPTEMBER
LA PAZ
La Paz is a hot sweaty city on the Sea of Cortez. We are hot and sweaty (other than J who travels in air-conditioned splendour). We miss the bypass and are lost. I ask a lady for directions. She begins describing the route. I understand individual words, even entire sentences. The whole becomes a jumble. My eyes betray a fatalistic acceptance of inadequacy. The woman halts her instructions. Her smile is familiar. It is the generous female's smile of understanding when faced by male incompetence. Men are men. They have their uses. However rational thought is not the male's strong point (expect even vaguely mature thought and you will be disappointed). Humour them. Lead them by the hand. Such is the Latin way...
In brief, she stops giving directions and says, “It will be best if you follow me...”
Thursday, September 23, 2010
FULL OF COLOUR
14th SEPTEMBER
SOUTH VIA LA PAZ
The desert is full of colour at dawn and dusk. Midday and it is sun-bleached. The sky to the East over the Sea of Cortez is a dark lapis fading to pale turquoise over the Pacific Ocean. The Pacific sleeps under a thick blanket of sea fog or low cloud. At altitude, the fog condenses on the tar and trickles to the verge. The road is a black strip between narrow ribbons of emerald green.
SOUTH VIA LA PAZ
The desert is full of colour at dawn and dusk. Midday and it is sun-bleached. The sky to the East over the Sea of Cortez is a dark lapis fading to pale turquoise over the Pacific Ocean. The Pacific sleeps under a thick blanket of sea fog or low cloud. At altitude, the fog condenses on the tar and trickles to the verge. The road is a black strip between narrow ribbons of emerald green.
SENIOR MOMENTS
SENIOR MOMENTS/PERIODS
Senior moments are becoming the commonplace of my life. And they extend in length. Whilst writing during the past two days I have been attempting to place our journey into the calendar. We departed Los Angeles on the 10th, sleeping in San Vicente. The night of the 11th was the Desert Inn, Catavina. The Desert Inn,San Ignacio would have been the night of the 12th. We stayed overnight at the Oasis Hotel in Constitution on the 13th and reached CaboSan Lucas on the 14th.
I have checked this itinerary on paper, drawn diagrams, calculated mileage and hours on the road. It is correct.
Much of my journey south was filled with worry. The preproduction bikes developed electrical faults. The welds failed on the muffler supports. Would the production bikes hold up? I have flown from London to make this ride. Failure would be a major disappointment, not only to me, but to two editors waiting for me to file. Joe has more pressing concerns. This ride was conceived by him as proof of the bikes' reliability. Potential customers follow his Blog. And his leg hurts (“No it doesn't,” I hear him say). Ouch...
Senior moments are becoming the commonplace of my life. And they extend in length. Whilst writing during the past two days I have been attempting to place our journey into the calendar. We departed Los Angeles on the 10th, sleeping in San Vicente. The night of the 11th was the Desert Inn, Catavina. The Desert Inn,San Ignacio would have been the night of the 12th. We stayed overnight at the Oasis Hotel in Constitution on the 13th and reached CaboSan Lucas on the 14th.
I have checked this itinerary on paper, drawn diagrams, calculated mileage and hours on the road. It is correct.
Much of my journey south was filled with worry. The preproduction bikes developed electrical faults. The welds failed on the muffler supports. Would the production bikes hold up? I have flown from London to make this ride. Failure would be a major disappointment, not only to me, but to two editors waiting for me to file. Joe has more pressing concerns. This ride was conceived by him as proof of the bikes' reliability. Potential customers follow his Blog. And his leg hurts (“No it doesn't,” I hear him say). Ouch...
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
SOUTH
My bike died yesterday. Died as in dead. Death occurred at the entrance to a dirt bike competition. An electric fault. Probably minor. We could find the fault in five minutes or waste two hours. Temperature is above 100 degrees. Messing with the bike when we can load it on J's truck would be stupid. I ride in the truck a while, then ride Joe's bike while Joe rides in the truck. I wish Joe would stay in the truck. Hours of the bike vibrating over bad bits of road engenders pain in his leg. Joe will deny this. Suggest he rests and he claims to be fine. He isn't fine. The pain shows in his face. So does the determination. He is a good man, both serious and a magnificent recounter of immensely long jokes - those we Brits call shaggy dog stories.
My bike died yesterday. Died as in dead. Death occurred at the entrance to a dirt bike competition. An electric fault. Probably minor. We could find the fault in five minutes or waste two hours. Temperature is above 100 degrees. Messing with the bike when we can load it on J's truck would be stupid. I ride in the truck a while, then ride Joe's bike while Joe rides in the truck. I wish Joe would stay in the truck. Hours of the bike vibrating over bad bits of road engenders pain in his leg. Joe will deny this. Suggest he rests and he claims to be fine. He isn't fine. The pain shows in his face. So does the determination. He is a good man, both serious and a magnificent recounter of immensely long jokes - those we Brits call shaggy dog stories.
SOUTH
I am having a great time. My four comapanions are fascinatingly disparate. Arlene is warm, humorous, brave and instant energy with a lightening mind and a PHd. She is also Gay and a great hug. Add talent as a designer and you have a tiny fraction of the whole. She sits very upright on the bike and wears a red hacking jacket – you know, slit at the back for riding a horse, except that this jacket is for bikers and part of Arlene's range. I compliment her on the jacket and on having a great tail (true). She seems pleased.
I am having a great time. My four comapanions are fascinatingly disparate. Arlene is warm, humorous, brave and instant energy with a lightening mind and a PHd. She is also Gay and a great hug. Add talent as a designer and you have a tiny fraction of the whole. She sits very upright on the bike and wears a red hacking jacket – you know, slit at the back for riding a horse, except that this jacket is for bikers and part of Arlene's range. I compliment her on the jacket and on having a great tail (true). She seems pleased.
LORETTA
Loretta is a tourist town on on the sea of Cortez. The cops in Loretta are running a fund-raiser. First Big John is pulled over for doing a wheelie on main street – or was it for running a red light? The lights hang high above the road and are easy to miss against the sun. J's turn next, his crime, failing to stop at a stop sign. We gather at the police station, statements signed, fines only $20. Legitimate fines. receipts given. The cops are good natured, much humour. However we will give Loretta a miss when riding north.
Loretta is a tourist town on on the sea of Cortez. The cops in Loretta are running a fund-raiser. First Big John is pulled over for doing a wheelie on main street – or was it for running a red light? The lights hang high above the road and are easy to miss against the sun. J's turn next, his crime, failing to stop at a stop sign. We gather at the police station, statements signed, fines only $20. Legitimate fines. receipts given. The cops are good natured, much humour. However we will give Loretta a miss when riding north.
WRITING
SOUTH
Wrtiting is a solitary profession. I am accustomed to traveling alone and at my own speed. I stop where I will, chat endlessly with strangers, hope to discover a little of their lives, eat where local inhabitants eat (in Mexico, a plastic table at a sidewalk taco stand), discover a bed in my price range (under $20 and no bugs). This trip is different. We ride across Mexico without touching it. This apartness is born of the language barrier. Even Big John, married to a Peruvian and owning a house in Mexico, speaks no Spanish. And time is a factor. For people in the US, holidays are few and brief. A long weekend is Big John's standard ride. Mount that saddle and open the throttle wide...
Wrtiting is a solitary profession. I am accustomed to traveling alone and at my own speed. I stop where I will, chat endlessly with strangers, hope to discover a little of their lives, eat where local inhabitants eat (in Mexico, a plastic table at a sidewalk taco stand), discover a bed in my price range (under $20 and no bugs). This trip is different. We ride across Mexico without touching it. This apartness is born of the language barrier. Even Big John, married to a Peruvian and owning a house in Mexico, speaks no Spanish. And time is a factor. For people in the US, holidays are few and brief. A long weekend is Big John's standard ride. Mount that saddle and open the throttle wide...
SOUTH
Noon and Joe's thermometer registers 103 degrees.
A fractured weld on an exhaust pipe attachment adds to Joe's worries. For me a welder's shop is happiness. I act as Joe's translator while chatting happily with whomever drops by to admire the bikes. The bikes draw a crowd where ever we stop. So they should. Simply looking at them makes people happy. As to problems, we've had batteries go flat on both preproduction bikes. Joe calculates that the batteries are two to three years old. Age, heat and vibrations probably killed them.
Noon and Joe's thermometer registers 103 degrees.
A fractured weld on an exhaust pipe attachment adds to Joe's worries. For me a welder's shop is happiness. I act as Joe's translator while chatting happily with whomever drops by to admire the bikes. The bikes draw a crowd where ever we stop. So they should. Simply looking at them makes people happy. As to problems, we've had batteries go flat on both preproduction bikes. Joe calculates that the batteries are two to three years old. Age, heat and vibrations probably killed them.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
SEA OF CORTEZ
13 SEPTEMBER
SEA OF CORTEZ
Midday and the sun is a killer. The road dives down from the plateau to the Sea of Cortez. We pose for silly pics above water the blue of dark turqoise. The sky is a pure blue marginally paler than the sea. Islands of stripped rock and quartz glint pale in the fierce light. The road climbs above the coast. A fish rises, rings spreading across still water. An enclave of foreigners' houses and a hotel stand at the head of a bay. The golf course is obligatory, grass green as our lawn back home. From where comes the fresh water and at what cost?
SEA OF CORTEZ
Midday and the sun is a killer. The road dives down from the plateau to the Sea of Cortez. We pose for silly pics above water the blue of dark turqoise. The sky is a pure blue marginally paler than the sea. Islands of stripped rock and quartz glint pale in the fierce light. The road climbs above the coast. A fish rises, rings spreading across still water. An enclave of foreigners' houses and a hotel stand at the head of a bay. The golf course is obligatory, grass green as our lawn back home. From where comes the fresh water and at what cost?
SOUTH ACROSS THE DESERT
13 SEPTEMBER
SOUTH FROM SAN IGNACIO
Dawn and we ride the Baja California plateau in desert chill. The road is a straight line across a flat desert of scrub and candelabra cacti. Mountains in the distance come in two colours. The sun brings a soft rose glow to those to the west while the shadowed faces to the east remain a hazy blue.
SOUTH FROM SAN IGNACIO
Dawn and we ride the Baja California plateau in desert chill. The road is a straight line across a flat desert of scrub and candelabra cacti. Mountains in the distance come in two colours. The sun brings a soft rose glow to those to the west while the shadowed faces to the east remain a hazy blue.
OASIS
12 SEPTEMBER
OASIS
San Ignacio is a miraculous lagoon in the middle of the desert. Date palms shade the streets. Imagine yourself a traveler in ancient time, exchausted and kneeling at the water's edge. Tears of relief and of gratitude for life mingle with the green water where now a man paddles a kayak. J an I eat quesadillos at a taco shack across the square from the church. The church is 18th century. The interior beauty is created by perfect proportions rather than decoration. I imagine a time of monastic discipline, of date palms pruned of their dead fronds. Today the oasis is unkempt. Tourism is the earner.
OASIS
San Ignacio is a miraculous lagoon in the middle of the desert. Date palms shade the streets. Imagine yourself a traveler in ancient time, exchausted and kneeling at the water's edge. Tears of relief and of gratitude for life mingle with the green water where now a man paddles a kayak. J an I eat quesadillos at a taco shack across the square from the church. The church is 18th century. The interior beauty is created by perfect proportions rather than decoration. I imagine a time of monastic discipline, of date palms pruned of their dead fronds. Today the oasis is unkempt. Tourism is the earner.
SUFFERING
12 SEPTEMBER
TO SAN IGNACIO
Though beautiful, the desert is a place of suffering. We are imune to the fear that acompanied past travelers. The heat, for us, is a momentary discomfort. One more hour and we will swim in the pool at the Desert Inn, San Ignacio.
TO SAN IGNACIO
Though beautiful, the desert is a place of suffering. We are imune to the fear that acompanied past travelers. The heat, for us, is a momentary discomfort. One more hour and we will swim in the pool at the Desert Inn, San Ignacio.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
BIKER HEAVEN
12 SEPTEMBER
DAY THREE SOUTH FROM CATAVINA.
The desert here is a vast up-and-down jumble of immense grey boulders, candelabra cactus, Judus trees and skinny scrub. To the south and west lie mountains scrubbed to their stone core by a few million years of wind and ocasional rain. To the east a long roll of cloud or fog lies low over the ocean. The dawn light washes the mountains a pale chalky blue. The cloud bank is touched with pink.
I have ridden on ahead. I haven't met another car or truck in twenty minutes. Cut the engine and the silence is total. Two buzzard glide overhead. Nothing else moves. I am absorbed into the stillness and the quiet and the beauty and find myself shivering, not with cold, but with that exultation that comes sometimes when, tired yet wonderfully content, you get into a bed spread with Egyption cotton sheets stiff from the laundery and wriggle in minor ecstacy as you clutch yourself in your own arms. Never done that? Never slept between Egyptian cotton sheets? How sad...
And if you have never visited Baja California, start planning. Right now this is about as close as you can get to heaven without a one-way ticket.
A MOVING MICRODOT
12 SEPTEMBER
Joe and Arlene ride production bikes. John and I ride pre-production bikes. These are small bikes, pretty babies to treasure. The average owner will ride down to the store of a Sunday or drop by a neighbour's – say twenty minutes max. Steve wants the bikes tested to destruction. John is massive and I'm no light-weight. Steve wants destruction, we're his men.
Day one south from Tijuana is horrific coastal-strip development on the cheap side of cheap. Pass Ensenada and I begin to understand Baja's magic: clarity of light, range upon range of mountains, immense spaces across which merely to travel is an adventure. Even Big John becomes little more than a moving microdot.
Joe and Arlene ride production bikes. John and I ride pre-production bikes. These are small bikes, pretty babies to treasure. The average owner will ride down to the store of a Sunday or drop by a neighbour's – say twenty minutes max. Steve wants the bikes tested to destruction. John is massive and I'm no light-weight. Steve wants destruction, we're his men.
Day one south from Tijuana is horrific coastal-strip development on the cheap side of cheap. Pass Ensenada and I begin to understand Baja's magic: clarity of light, range upon range of mountains, immense spaces across which merely to travel is an adventure. Even Big John becomes little more than a moving microdot.
MEET THE POSSE
12 SEPTEMBER
We are five on this adventure – the length of the Baja California peninsular and back – 2000 miles.
Four riders and J in support. J is Nevada based, aids businesses in the Adventure Tourism field market their products and drives a double-cab (leather seats) three million horse-power Dodge PowerWagon laden with everything bar rockets and a cappuccino machine.
Joe and I are given. John is a 50s-something jet engine engineer, six-six and weighing in at a few tons. Arlene is slim, classy, Gay and designs, manufactures and markets biker clothes for style-concious biker ladies (and for Real Men). Check out her sight:
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
PRETTY BIKE
12 SEPTEMBER
CATAVINA, BAJA CALIFORNIA
Joe Berk is mostly metal. He was in a coma for a few days last November. He was riding a Triumph Speed Triple when a lady on four wheels back ended him. He limps now. Maybe he will always limp. The limp and the metal slow him down somewhat but haven't damped any of his enthusiasms – particularly bikes. He sold a second Triumph the day he picked me up from LA Lax – changing Brits. A KLR 650 shares the garage with a Corvette and his wife's 5 series BMW. Joe's souped-up Subarau has to sleep outdoors. His California Scooter Company 149 stays at the plant. The Company is Steve Seidner's baby. Steve both owns the company and designed the bikes. The bikes are small and pretty, surely an unusual description of a bike. Best of all they make people smile, not with scorn but with pleasure - as does watching your children play out in the yard.
GODBYE MATURITY
12 SEPTEMBER
CATAVINA, BAJA CALIFORNIA
Back in the 1990s Katrina Larkin gave a party for like minded friends in a deconsecrated London chapel. The party is now an annual event and is grown into The Big Chill Festival. Until this year the Festival was as it began: a party for like-minded people. Katrina remains a shareholder and the artistic director. This year she invited the North American installation artist, Spencer Tunick, to create one of his mass nude photographs. My number three son called Bernadette with words to sap the firmest of good intentions: “Mum, tell Dad, absolutely not...”
So of course I joined the parade, one of four hundred nude people on the grass at Eastnor Castle Deer Park and painted all over in lipstick pink.
A few days later came an Email from Joe Berk of The California Scooter Company: How about a ride down Baja California as a proving run for the Company's new bikes.
Which explains why the lawnmower is back in the shed and I am in the Desert Inn, Catavina and goodbye maturity.
CATAVINA, BAJA CALIFORNIA
Back in the 1990s Katrina Larkin gave a party for like minded friends in a deconsecrated London chapel. The party is now an annual event and is grown into The Big Chill Festival. Until this year the Festival was as it began: a party for like-minded people. Katrina remains a shareholder and the artistic director. This year she invited the North American installation artist, Spencer Tunick, to create one of his mass nude photographs. My number three son called Bernadette with words to sap the firmest of good intentions: “Mum, tell Dad, absolutely not...”
So of course I joined the parade, one of four hundred nude people on the grass at Eastnor Castle Deer Park and painted all over in lipstick pink.
A few days later came an Email from Joe Berk of The California Scooter Company: How about a ride down Baja California as a proving run for the Company's new bikes.
Which explains why the lawnmower is back in the shed and I am in the Desert Inn, Catavina and goodbye maturity.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
GODBYE TO WISDOM
SEPTEMBER 12
BAJA CALIFORNIA
I've been lying in bed the past hour wondering what time it is. My watch died yesterday after taking a fall off a table to a stone floor and I haven't changed the time on my mobile nor on this notebook. Where am I? The Desert Inn, Catavina, Baja California.
I am aware that I haven't blogged since March. Bernadette has been pushing at me over the intervening months. “Write, Simon, that's what you do. Readers expect it.”
So here is an apology to those readers – and an explanation. The Sela Pass in Arunachal Pradesh did for me. The road was suitable for a young, sure-footed mule. It was unsuitable for a septaugenarian with a fear of heights. I reached the top of the pass and I was old. Really old. Five days of rain in Tawang without electricity was time in which to face facts, time to call a halt to exploring continents by bike. Get home, invest in a ride-on lawn mower; should I crave adventure, drive eight miles over the Malvern Hills of an evening; paddle in the warm waters of the outdoor pool at the Malvern Spa; for a change of climate sample the spa sauna or the steam room. In short, act my age.
So what happened to such sensible intentions?
First came The Big Chill music festival.
BAJA CALIFORNIA
I've been lying in bed the past hour wondering what time it is. My watch died yesterday after taking a fall off a table to a stone floor and I haven't changed the time on my mobile nor on this notebook. Where am I? The Desert Inn, Catavina, Baja California.
I am aware that I haven't blogged since March. Bernadette has been pushing at me over the intervening months. “Write, Simon, that's what you do. Readers expect it.”
So here is an apology to those readers – and an explanation. The Sela Pass in Arunachal Pradesh did for me. The road was suitable for a young, sure-footed mule. It was unsuitable for a septaugenarian with a fear of heights. I reached the top of the pass and I was old. Really old. Five days of rain in Tawang without electricity was time in which to face facts, time to call a halt to exploring continents by bike. Get home, invest in a ride-on lawn mower; should I crave adventure, drive eight miles over the Malvern Hills of an evening; paddle in the warm waters of the outdoor pool at the Malvern Spa; for a change of climate sample the spa sauna or the steam room. In short, act my age.
So what happened to such sensible intentions?
First came The Big Chill music festival.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
EXCITEMENT IN TAWANG
MAY 15: TAWANG
Two young drunks loll against the counter at the telephone central. One drunk drops the chip from his mobile. Both drunks bend to pick it up. Their heads collide and they shout at each other. The Angel solves what ever problem they have.
I remark to Angel that drunkenness is common in Tawang.
"They fight when they get drunk," says Angel. "They go home and hit their wives."
"Always?"
"Always."
Will she marry?
Not in Tawang. An elder brother emigrated to Canada. Angel is waiting for a visa.
Two young drunks loll against the counter at the telephone central. One drunk drops the chip from his mobile. Both drunks bend to pick it up. Their heads collide and they shout at each other. The Angel solves what ever problem they have.
I remark to Angel that drunkenness is common in Tawang.
"They fight when they get drunk," says Angel. "They go home and hit their wives."
"Always?"
"Always."
Will she marry?
Not in Tawang. An elder brother emigrated to Canada. Angel is waiting for a visa.
NOT A YOUNG MAN
MAY 15: TAWANG
I call Baby Baruah from the telephone central, tell her that I will truck the bike back to Assam.
"I didn't want to tell you with all these experienced travelers giving you advice," says Baby Baruah. "In the back of my mind I was thinking that you should stay here. So many things to see. The farm and my cousin's house on the hill."
"Watch cricket in comfort on a big screen TV," I say.
"That's what I'm telling you," says Baby. "Look where all this adventuring has got you to. You are not a young man."
True...
I call Baby Baruah from the telephone central, tell her that I will truck the bike back to Assam.
"I didn't want to tell you with all these experienced travelers giving you advice," says Baby Baruah. "In the back of my mind I was thinking that you should stay here. So many things to see. The farm and my cousin's house on the hill."
"Watch cricket in comfort on a big screen TV," I say.
"That's what I'm telling you," says Baby. "Look where all this adventuring has got you to. You are not a young man."
True...
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