Baja California
When hitting the road again after the major pitstop in Seal Beach everything went smooooth as strawberries, which I assume is the smoothed thing around. But then again, we had rebuild two wheels, one tranny and an engine.
In fact it went so smooth that we didn’t see the place we were supposed to hand in our American visas and the temporary import documents. Suddenly we were in Mexican customs. They didn’t want to touch the American papers even with pliers. The trashbin looked hungry at the papers and was ready to swallow them without further questions, but in fear of problems with Uncle Sam later we turned around.
After an hour in the sun we finally reached US&A again, and was met by questions why we wanted to come from Mexico to export the bikes from the states. A couple of hours later they resolved the issue and escorted us back to Mexico for the second time that day.
There weren’t much papers to do in Mexican customs, and soon we were in Tijuana. One of the world’s most charming towns and the claimed busiest border in the world. Here you can find all the drugs you desire, and even so called donkey shows. It’s also a great place to get robbed or cheated if that’s your thing. My mum had said drugs and donkey-shows are no good, and we didn’t have anything to be robbed for either so we just blasted through town.
Outside Tijuana we found Darrel Pitts on his KLR, and he tagged along. Very patient dude that didn’t get mad by over not-so-impressive-speed.
Baja turned out to be very nice. Only problem was that it was tough on my gearbox, so the first day I lost third gear. The second day I lost the first speed, but since we had visitors I had to keep the shame to myself. When Darrel left us in La Paz I broke down and told Klaus the truth. The he admitted his sidecar box was broken to, so we both started crying and hugged each other and realized how fragile life can be.
The good thing was that we had met a friendly dude further up in Baja, Dean, and he was living in San Jose del Cabo. We went down to Dean’s place and he helped us with getting everything we needed. With his fluent Spanish it was no deal at all, so he was of great help.
After a few days everything was fixed and we headed up to La Paz again to take the ferry over to Mazatlan, and everybody agreed it had been a nice trip down Baja.
Alle har vel hørt Lynni Trekrems aldeles grusomme sang ”No vil æ færra te Mexico”, men de færreste gjør faktisk noe med saken. Vi derimot, vi tar handling der andre tviler så når ølet hos familien vi bodde hos i LA var fordampet pakket vi snippsekken og dro. Nå sitter de der og må smøre på brødskiva si selv.
Det meste gikk ganske fint, men så hadde vi nå også bygget opp igjen to hjul, en motor og en girkasse i Los Angeles. Det var i grunn ikke noe særlig som feilet noe som helst, men det er nå gøy å se hvordan leketøy ser ut innvendig.
Grensepasseringen gikk så fort og fint at vi overså stedet vi skulle levere inn amerikanske visum og tollpapirer på syklene. Mexicanerne ristet på hodet, de ville ikke ha noen amerikanske dokumenter. Søplebøtta på den mexicanske tollstasjonen gapte sultent og var klar for papirene, men fornuften tok overhånd så vi dro tilbake til USA. En time i kø i solsteika for å komme inn igjen, og et par timer for å levere to dokumenter.
Litt senere var vi tilbake i Tijuana, en riktig sjarmerende grenseby der en kan både se såkalte esel-show og kjøpe masse flott narkotika, eller simpelthen bli ranet eller lurt trill rundt om det heller er din greie. Mora mi hadde uansett sagt at narkotika ikke er bra for helsa, og om esel-show hadde hun ikke sagt noe, men jeg antok at det var heller ikke bra. Ikke har vi igjen stort å bli ranet for heller, så vi bare blåste på gjennom og kjørte til Ensenada.
Ensenada er starten for det legendariske Baja 1000, foruten et av Jim Morrisons favorittsteder. En ganske hyggelig by, og fint sted å ta den første kvelden i sombreroland. På veien hadde vi også plukket opp en amerikaner på en KLR, så vi var nå et helt team.
Neste dag var det bare å kjøre på med våre moto-burro’er. Det gikk ikke så lenge før jeg mistet 3.giret mitt, men siden vi hadde med oss gjester måtte jeg bite det i meg og late som alt var som det skulle. Neste dag forsvant også 1. gir, men jeg klarte fortsatt å holde maska. Når han forlot oss tre dager og 1500 kilometer senere i La Paz kunne jeg endelig publisere den skammende affæren, og da innrømmet Klaus samtidig at sidevognskassa hans hadde brukket også.
Heldigvis hadde vi blitt kjent med en amerikaner i San Jose Del Cabo litt syd for La Paz. Han inviterte oss inn, og hjalp oss med å finne et maskin- og sveiseverksted så i løpet av et par dager var alt såre vel igjen. Vi kjørte opp igjen til La Paz og tok båten over til Mazatlan, og alle var enige om at det hadde vært en fin tur ned Baja
Tormod
Just south of Tijuana, the worlds most charming town
Caption
Cantina along the Hwy 1, but no Mexican Blackbirds there
Caption
Caption
Caption
Quanta costa grande cactusa?
Darrel Pitts which we met outside Tijuana and tagged along with us.
Baja Gas station. Using imperial liters as measurement, they are equal to about 0,85 metric liter
Caption
The tranny out again. Getting good at it, can swap tranny in a half hour now.
In Dean's Yard, Cabo San Jose, Southern Baja
Dinner with Dean's family
"If you screw up your picture will end up at this website, and you will disgrace your mama!"
"Hm, with this we could be in Buenos Aires in about two hour..."
Tires for gravel-dragrace
At the machine/weldshop that help us. Cheap and nice work, great guys.
Three guys working on hour stuff at the same time. With our breakdown pace that many mechanics is required.
Finally putting the tranny back together.
Dean with his HD
Dean had this very unique Polar Sheep, mix between polar cub and New Zealand Sheep
When we tried to get the import papers to go to the mainland we accidentally ended up at the army's enlisting office. We thought it was right, and they didn't speak English so we were only a small signature away from being drafted in the Mexican Army forever.
But this was the right office, outside La Paz, Baja. Great helpful girls which spoke good English, very pleasant experience!
Yadira, the star in the office
Buying the darn tickets, about the same price as for similar ferries back home, must be terribly expensive if you're on local wages. Or no wages at all, like we are.
The Baja ferry. We thought we had lost it while we sat on the beach and saw it went by.
Like desperadoes waiting for their boat
In the dark belly of the steel whale, just like Jonah.
Mexican sea-cowboy
In fact it went so smooth that we didn’t see the place we were supposed to hand in our American visas and the temporary import documents. Suddenly we were in Mexican customs. They didn’t want to touch the American papers even with pliers. The trashbin looked hungry at the papers and was ready to swallow them without further questions, but in fear of problems with Uncle Sam later we turned around.
After an hour in the sun we finally reached US&A again, and was met by questions why we wanted to come from Mexico to export the bikes from the states. A couple of hours later they resolved the issue and escorted us back to Mexico for the second time that day.
There weren’t much papers to do in Mexican customs, and soon we were in Tijuana. One of the world’s most charming towns and the claimed busiest border in the world. Here you can find all the drugs you desire, and even so called donkey shows. It’s also a great place to get robbed or cheated if that’s your thing. My mum had said drugs and donkey-shows are no good, and we didn’t have anything to be robbed for either so we just blasted through town.
Outside Tijuana we found Darrel Pitts on his KLR, and he tagged along. Very patient dude that didn’t get mad by over not-so-impressive-speed.
Baja turned out to be very nice. Only problem was that it was tough on my gearbox, so the first day I lost third gear. The second day I lost the first speed, but since we had visitors I had to keep the shame to myself. When Darrel left us in La Paz I broke down and told Klaus the truth. The he admitted his sidecar box was broken to, so we both started crying and hugged each other and realized how fragile life can be.
The good thing was that we had met a friendly dude further up in Baja, Dean, and he was living in San Jose del Cabo. We went down to Dean’s place and he helped us with getting everything we needed. With his fluent Spanish it was no deal at all, so he was of great help.
After a few days everything was fixed and we headed up to La Paz again to take the ferry over to Mazatlan, and everybody agreed it had been a nice trip down Baja.
Alle har vel hørt Lynni Trekrems aldeles grusomme sang ”No vil æ færra te Mexico”, men de færreste gjør faktisk noe med saken. Vi derimot, vi tar handling der andre tviler så når ølet hos familien vi bodde hos i LA var fordampet pakket vi snippsekken og dro. Nå sitter de der og må smøre på brødskiva si selv.
Det meste gikk ganske fint, men så hadde vi nå også bygget opp igjen to hjul, en motor og en girkasse i Los Angeles. Det var i grunn ikke noe særlig som feilet noe som helst, men det er nå gøy å se hvordan leketøy ser ut innvendig.
Grensepasseringen gikk så fort og fint at vi overså stedet vi skulle levere inn amerikanske visum og tollpapirer på syklene. Mexicanerne ristet på hodet, de ville ikke ha noen amerikanske dokumenter. Søplebøtta på den mexicanske tollstasjonen gapte sultent og var klar for papirene, men fornuften tok overhånd så vi dro tilbake til USA. En time i kø i solsteika for å komme inn igjen, og et par timer for å levere to dokumenter.
Litt senere var vi tilbake i Tijuana, en riktig sjarmerende grenseby der en kan både se såkalte esel-show og kjøpe masse flott narkotika, eller simpelthen bli ranet eller lurt trill rundt om det heller er din greie. Mora mi hadde uansett sagt at narkotika ikke er bra for helsa, og om esel-show hadde hun ikke sagt noe, men jeg antok at det var heller ikke bra. Ikke har vi igjen stort å bli ranet for heller, så vi bare blåste på gjennom og kjørte til Ensenada.
Ensenada er starten for det legendariske Baja 1000, foruten et av Jim Morrisons favorittsteder. En ganske hyggelig by, og fint sted å ta den første kvelden i sombreroland. På veien hadde vi også plukket opp en amerikaner på en KLR, så vi var nå et helt team.
Neste dag var det bare å kjøre på med våre moto-burro’er. Det gikk ikke så lenge før jeg mistet 3.giret mitt, men siden vi hadde med oss gjester måtte jeg bite det i meg og late som alt var som det skulle. Neste dag forsvant også 1. gir, men jeg klarte fortsatt å holde maska. Når han forlot oss tre dager og 1500 kilometer senere i La Paz kunne jeg endelig publisere den skammende affæren, og da innrømmet Klaus samtidig at sidevognskassa hans hadde brukket også.
Heldigvis hadde vi blitt kjent med en amerikaner i San Jose Del Cabo litt syd for La Paz. Han inviterte oss inn, og hjalp oss med å finne et maskin- og sveiseverksted så i løpet av et par dager var alt såre vel igjen. Vi kjørte opp igjen til La Paz og tok båten over til Mazatlan, og alle var enige om at det hadde vært en fin tur ned Baja
Tormod
Just south of Tijuana, the worlds most charming town
Caption
Cantina along the Hwy 1, but no Mexican Blackbirds there
Caption
Caption
Caption
Quanta costa grande cactusa?
Darrel Pitts which we met outside Tijuana and tagged along with us.
Baja Gas station. Using imperial liters as measurement, they are equal to about 0,85 metric liter
Caption
The tranny out again. Getting good at it, can swap tranny in a half hour now.
In Dean's Yard, Cabo San Jose, Southern Baja
Dinner with Dean's family
"If you screw up your picture will end up at this website, and you will disgrace your mama!"
"Hm, with this we could be in Buenos Aires in about two hour..."
Tires for gravel-dragrace
At the machine/weldshop that help us. Cheap and nice work, great guys.
Three guys working on hour stuff at the same time. With our breakdown pace that many mechanics is required.
Finally putting the tranny back together.
Dean with his HD
Dean had this very unique Polar Sheep, mix between polar cub and New Zealand Sheep
When we tried to get the import papers to go to the mainland we accidentally ended up at the army's enlisting office. We thought it was right, and they didn't speak English so we were only a small signature away from being drafted in the Mexican Army forever.
But this was the right office, outside La Paz, Baja. Great helpful girls which spoke good English, very pleasant experience!
Yadira, the star in the office
Buying the darn tickets, about the same price as for similar ferries back home, must be terribly expensive if you're on local wages. Or no wages at all, like we are.
The Baja ferry. We thought we had lost it while we sat on the beach and saw it went by.
Like desperadoes waiting for their boat
In the dark belly of the steel whale, just like Jonah.
Mexican sea-cowboy
posted by Kingcroesus at
17:21
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