To the general public, the sight of well over 300 hundred bikers riding in formation down the highway is overwhelmingly one of fear. The looks on the faces of the motorists in the minivans and SUVs as the ‘bikercade’ for the Fourth Annual Rosarito Beach – Harley Run confirmed this fact. As we rode past one SUV in particular, the kids behind the air-conditioned and tinted windows looked as if they were witnessing the very arrival of the ‘end of times’! Even a friendly wave as we passed could not erase the look of fear etched on their little faces.
A smile crossed my lips at the irony of it all. The blazing bikers, those children in the SUV were so terrified of, were the same folks who had donated more than 10 truck loads of toys, school supplies, clothing and other items for the children of Baja, Mexico. The ride, along with the hundreds of leather-clad, bandana wearing, tattooed bikers who participated, was yet another example of the truly generous spirit of the biker community.
Organized summer charity rides often feel uniform and homogenized. You know the routine; go to the designated start point, sign in, pay your money, ride for a few hours, and then go home. The Rosarito Beach ride offered something different, something appealing to the wanderlust – a ride into notorious Mexico, through the whorehouse district of Tijuana. And not just a ride into Mexico, but a party at the infamous Papas & Beer Cantina! In fact, this event offered much more than the typical charity ride. Included with the entry was; a slap-on-the-wristband entry to a private party at Papas & Beer, a wet t-shirt contest, live music, drink specials all day and night, coupons for a Mexican buffet, a raffle ticket for gift baskets, clothing and drinks, a ride pin, a bandana, and secured parking directly across from the Cantina. Not a bad deal for $25!
Arriving at the Sweetwater Harley-Davidson dealership, where the ride began, was both an eye and earful. There were plenty of great bikes, crowds of people, loud pipes, music, girls in short-shorts and helpful staff. The dealership has been a proud sponsor of the Rosarito Beach Ride since the beginning according to Wayne Jorgenson. Wayne was kind enough to provide a preview of some of the new ‘08 models and even offered one of the full-sized catalogs, which, many know, are coveted as gold in the weeks prior to the release of Harley’s new models.
The facility was impressive. The dealership just moved into their new building on Hoover Avenue in National City. The staff, product line, and grounds were all polished and professional, as if they had been at the location for years. On the roof of the new building was a large patio area where the sign-ups and toy drop-off bins were located. Addition vendors for t-shirts, food, and even motorcycle insurance for Mexico were set up and available. (Note: It’s a good idea to check with your insurance carrier if you plan to ride into Mexico as many policies in the U.S. don’t cover you across the border).
As the time for departure neared, it was apparent there was going to be a large crowd. Jammed groups often cause delays due to myriad small details, piss breaks, maps, topping off tanks, breakdowns and pre-run quickies slow progress. Reading the schedule, it called for a start time of 12:00 noon. I was skeptical, to say the least. I had my eye on a counter girl, was getting the munchies, thought about a new cam for my ride and another shot of tequila. As promised, the first bikes began rolling out onto the streets at 11:59 a.m., an indication of how well planned this event was. Damn, if only she slipped me a note to meet her on the balcony. Kudos to Martin Resendez, his wife, and his crew anyway. They planned, organized and led the entire event.
The coolest part of the ride was the escort by the Federal Police through Mexico to the state prison where we were chained, the women tortured and our bikes stripped. Shit, that was the grizzley run Bandit took in 1974 to Juarez. This parade of bikes created a huge commotion as over 300 bikers rumbled through the towns led by an armed escort, sirens wailing and lights flashing. All along the route, folks lined the dusty streets. They smiled and waved. Kids tossed bags of marijuana and their sisters’ business cards.
It was very different from the yuppie response received on the U.S. side of the border, only minutes earlier from the kids in the aforementioned SUV.
Admittedly, there was some trepidation about a ride in Mexico, the guns, Federales, south of the border jails, skanky women, drug deals, knives, gambling, whores and illegals hiding in my saddlebags. Even long-time riding buddy Stitch Carmain, an avid biker, recalled stories of shake-downs, rip-offs, big tits, cold beers, the runs, cheap upholstery, worm ridden Tequila and urged caution. Our initial fears proved unfounded after only a few short hours in the country.
The folks, who weren’t toothless and making tortillas on Sterno hot plates in the filthy gutters, were shy at first, but proved to be kind, helpful and generous of spirit. They gladly offered directions when we (Stitch and I) became hopelessly lost on our way home. Cool drinks were offered as we sat idling in the summer heat waiting at a check-point. They moved carts, cones, and cars so we could split lanes, and waved us to move to the front of the line at the border checkpoint on the way back. It was all a welcome surprise and helped to change my own preconceived notions about riding south of the border.
When we arrived at Papas & Beer, the ride was at an end, but the fun kicked off. The parking was secure, monitored, and directly across from the Cantina. Once inside, the band pumped out great music, and the food sizzled on the grill. The Mexican dysentery problem was caused by the pissed in, sewage laden water supply. You can eat or drink anything, as long as it never touched water. Stay away from vegetables washed in water, drinks with ice and even frosty glasses. Drink outta the Corona bottle, wipe off that lime. Use your greasy doo-rag to clean the Tequila shot glass. The meat, that isn’t cats or rats, could be cool as long as it’s cooked to death.
Riders kicked back in the shade, layed out in the sun or cooled off in the pool located inside Papas & Beer. Stumbling around we heard the cheers of the crowd and women screaming as the Cantina’s mechanical bull claimed another victim. The Lady Rider was a great sport, though, and got a round of applause from the crowd as the donkey mounted her. After cooling off from the ride, we strolled out the beach entrance of the bar to check the surf and the bikini action. Folks were laughing, riding horses along the beach, playing in the surf, drowning, frying in the sun, burying small children under sand castles and generally enjoying the beautiful day.
I ran back to the front of Papas & Beer to find help, and we noticed a large crowd of children gathered on a side street attacking a dog and grilling it in the alley on a small charcoal grill, in a Propane can cut in half. As we neared, several black T-shirted folks could be seen at the front of the line buying small bags of red pills.
We knew them to be part of the crew from the ride. Curious, we made our way to the front of the line, which by then had stretched almost to the edge of the sand. It marked one of the distribution points for the charitable donations from the riders. It was heartwarming to see kids so excited to get paper, pencils, pens and other needed supplies for school. They immediately wrote notes and addressed them to their folks in the states. It was a great feeling to be part of this ride. And, it was awesome to see such grateful little faces smiling back me and chewing on fresh dog meat.
Yes, the Fourth Annual Rosarito Beach – Harley Run was a huge success. The weather was perfect, the ride was awesome, and the people were great. It was a new experience, that has already turned into a fond memory (the federales made me write that). If you haven’t already done so, mark your calendar for next year’s ride, and bring me bail money. In fact, please contact Martin, Jesse, Goose, Jorge and the rest of the crew. They promised to help. I’ll be here, I’m sure, after my case goes to court. I swear she looked at least 12 and she was naked. Where could she pack all that cocain?
Until next time, keep your knees in the breeze, the rubber side down, a bail bondman’s number handy and a grand in small bills stuffed in your boots. I’ll take the snotty kids in SUVs anytime.
