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the past...
Feb. 24th, 2010 04:08 amA thought entered my brain while half awake, a memory of some good times. ...
It was some time in the 80's, if I recall about 1985. I decided to do Rosarito-Ensenada with a friend named Frosene. The journey started this way.....
I arrived at Frosene's house the evening before we left to have her ask her father if we could use his old truck, as using my Volkswagen bug was going to be a bit cramped. She asked, and we left driving an early 60's Chevy truck, faded and missing paint, and door locks that didn't work, the perfect vehicle for Baja California.
The drive down wasn't bad, and in the early morning hours we found ourselves in Rosarito. We looked for a place to park and eventually left the truck on the main street through town. We unloaded the bikes, and found a place in the mass of 25,000 other souls who were going to ride that day. To describe this throng was beyond words. Think of what a group of bicycles would look like filling a wide two lane highway for about a half mile, all making the last minute preparations for a 50 mile journey through rural Baja.
At approximately 10 a.m. the start happened. It took but a few minutes as I passed the official banner, and joined the throng as we enjoyed a gentle glide down the Baja coast. The ride was on.
All along the way, kids and local residents were out cheering and waving and the Mexican/Baja law were keeping the roads clear for our passage. The sun was just starting to burn through the morning overcast and things were starting to get warm. Little did I know how warm, but this is September just south of the border in Mexico.
I was riding well, as we turned inland from the coast, we passed the fields and moved through a lush valley, as the temperature rose, it was going to be hot. By this time I had lost Frosene, I did not know if she was ahead or way behind in the mob.
We made a sharp right turn and crossed a small bridge, and looming ahead was the dreaded hill, not an ordinary hill, but a 1500 foot climb up a twisty rural road to the top. This was the 'old road' the route used by the hardy folk who came to Baja before the construction of the toll road along the coast. The road twisted and turned, and I did a quick dance, as I rode through the mass of riders, many who had already gotten off the bikes and were walking and pushing their way up the hill.
This hill is deceptive, when you think you are about to crest, another grade reveals itself. I plodded on, still riding and weaving but by now the bulk of the crowd was behind me. Near the top I stopped at a refreshment station, where I sucked on fresh oranges and drank bottled water. I thought I'd seen the top, but was informed that ahead was another few miles of climbing. I returned to the ride.
I finally made the crest and rode for a while along a rolling plateau. That gave my body time to recover and time to look around, but no Frosene was seen. Then I saw the downhill ahead...
The ascent was a thrill ride, a rough asphalt road, a steep descent, no guard rails, with steep canyons wanting to swallow you at the slightest mistake. I was keeping my ride under control, keeping speeds under 40 miles per hour, as I navigated through the turns and to the valley below.
I made it to the bottom, and caught sight of Frosene, as we peddled along the coast road, past the shops and shanties, and into the big town of Ensenada. There was a party going on and we participated. I remember drinking the soft drink Squirt mixed with local tequila that came from a big plastic gas can served in little ceramic mugs. I didn't have much concern for what I might be ingesting, as I figured the tequila would kill and bugs that might have contaminated the containers.
Near the end of the day, we started looking in earnest for a ride back to our truck. Buses had been arranged to take the riders back and trucks would carry the bikes, but somehow we didn't get a bus seat and found ourselves riding in the back of a Mexican truck, a large diesel truck pulling a large trailer that was designed to haul cattle, driven by a driver with no fear, none, not one iota. This mad man drove this truck like he was insane. He took the old road, the same road we had taken to get to Ensenada, He passed on blind curves, he had no concern for oncoming cars, he was bigger, so they had to just give way. We huddled in the back, wondering if we were ever going to see another day. As he was driving as fast as he could, shortly we returned to Rosarita. We jumped from the back of the truck thankful we had survived.
Now, bikes in hand, we went for the truck. It was still there, looking forlorn and very much like a local truck, nothing stolen, nothing gone. I loaded the bikes, started the truck and we made our way north.
Crossing the border is always an adventure, and as we approached Tijuana it was dark. Navigating the streets after dark can be adventure, but having an extra set of eyes helped. Ah! Back in the US of A... where roads are safe and where you can drink the water.
We rode north, and found a motel to crash in, it was time for a hot shower and some clean sheets. We crashed about 9 p.m. with in a Days Inn ready to make the final drive home in the morning. Morning came, some quick breakfast, and a few hours later, we were back in Fullerton.
I went and did Rosarita Ensenada a few times, once solo and other times with groups. I also did a stint where I was the driver who shuttled the riders back from Ensenada. It was good times, good friends, and good memories.
It was some time in the 80's, if I recall about 1985. I decided to do Rosarito-Ensenada with a friend named Frosene. The journey started this way.....
I arrived at Frosene's house the evening before we left to have her ask her father if we could use his old truck, as using my Volkswagen bug was going to be a bit cramped. She asked, and we left driving an early 60's Chevy truck, faded and missing paint, and door locks that didn't work, the perfect vehicle for Baja California.
The drive down wasn't bad, and in the early morning hours we found ourselves in Rosarito. We looked for a place to park and eventually left the truck on the main street through town. We unloaded the bikes, and found a place in the mass of 25,000 other souls who were going to ride that day. To describe this throng was beyond words. Think of what a group of bicycles would look like filling a wide two lane highway for about a half mile, all making the last minute preparations for a 50 mile journey through rural Baja.
At approximately 10 a.m. the start happened. It took but a few minutes as I passed the official banner, and joined the throng as we enjoyed a gentle glide down the Baja coast. The ride was on.
All along the way, kids and local residents were out cheering and waving and the Mexican/Baja law were keeping the roads clear for our passage. The sun was just starting to burn through the morning overcast and things were starting to get warm. Little did I know how warm, but this is September just south of the border in Mexico.
I was riding well, as we turned inland from the coast, we passed the fields and moved through a lush valley, as the temperature rose, it was going to be hot. By this time I had lost Frosene, I did not know if she was ahead or way behind in the mob.
We made a sharp right turn and crossed a small bridge, and looming ahead was the dreaded hill, not an ordinary hill, but a 1500 foot climb up a twisty rural road to the top. This was the 'old road' the route used by the hardy folk who came to Baja before the construction of the toll road along the coast. The road twisted and turned, and I did a quick dance, as I rode through the mass of riders, many who had already gotten off the bikes and were walking and pushing their way up the hill.
This hill is deceptive, when you think you are about to crest, another grade reveals itself. I plodded on, still riding and weaving but by now the bulk of the crowd was behind me. Near the top I stopped at a refreshment station, where I sucked on fresh oranges and drank bottled water. I thought I'd seen the top, but was informed that ahead was another few miles of climbing. I returned to the ride.
I finally made the crest and rode for a while along a rolling plateau. That gave my body time to recover and time to look around, but no Frosene was seen. Then I saw the downhill ahead...
The ascent was a thrill ride, a rough asphalt road, a steep descent, no guard rails, with steep canyons wanting to swallow you at the slightest mistake. I was keeping my ride under control, keeping speeds under 40 miles per hour, as I navigated through the turns and to the valley below.
I made it to the bottom, and caught sight of Frosene, as we peddled along the coast road, past the shops and shanties, and into the big town of Ensenada. There was a party going on and we participated. I remember drinking the soft drink Squirt mixed with local tequila that came from a big plastic gas can served in little ceramic mugs. I didn't have much concern for what I might be ingesting, as I figured the tequila would kill and bugs that might have contaminated the containers.
Near the end of the day, we started looking in earnest for a ride back to our truck. Buses had been arranged to take the riders back and trucks would carry the bikes, but somehow we didn't get a bus seat and found ourselves riding in the back of a Mexican truck, a large diesel truck pulling a large trailer that was designed to haul cattle, driven by a driver with no fear, none, not one iota. This mad man drove this truck like he was insane. He took the old road, the same road we had taken to get to Ensenada, He passed on blind curves, he had no concern for oncoming cars, he was bigger, so they had to just give way. We huddled in the back, wondering if we were ever going to see another day. As he was driving as fast as he could, shortly we returned to Rosarita. We jumped from the back of the truck thankful we had survived.
Now, bikes in hand, we went for the truck. It was still there, looking forlorn and very much like a local truck, nothing stolen, nothing gone. I loaded the bikes, started the truck and we made our way north.
Crossing the border is always an adventure, and as we approached Tijuana it was dark. Navigating the streets after dark can be adventure, but having an extra set of eyes helped. Ah! Back in the US of A... where roads are safe and where you can drink the water.
We rode north, and found a motel to crash in, it was time for a hot shower and some clean sheets. We crashed about 9 p.m. with in a Days Inn ready to make the final drive home in the morning. Morning came, some quick breakfast, and a few hours later, we were back in Fullerton.
I went and did Rosarita Ensenada a few times, once solo and other times with groups. I also did a stint where I was the driver who shuttled the riders back from Ensenada. It was good times, good friends, and good memories.
