Well another El Diablo Run is in the history pages, making it three times now for this Run. The first I heard of the El Diablo Run was in the winter of ‘07 when a couple of guys I was chatting with out at Cook's Corner, in SoCal, were discussing their plans for the Run.
As soon as I heard the word “Baja”” I wanted to know everything about This Run down South, since I truly love the raw beauty & ruggedness of the Baja peninsula. I have traveled into Baja many times in four-wheeled vehicles, but never on two. As much as I wanted to make this Run, I just couldn’t get away from work obligations, I was in the middle of a fast & furious 12 unit new construction Condo wiring job that had me putting in overtime just to keep on schedule. So it was not to be.
Fast forward to spring of 2008.
With construction jobs being hit or miss I was easily able to fit this years El Diablo Run into my schedule. I asked a friend of mine who has a local bike building shop If he wanted to join Me, but said he had too much going on & couldn’t get away, but mentioned that Jeff, a local guy, who hangs out at the shop, was planning on making the Run.
I arranged to meet Jeff in Temecula, Califa at 6AM at the Denny’s where all the other riders were to meet. Many of the riders including Jeff actually arrived in Temecula the night before the Run. Some attended a “pre El Diablo party” held over at the Biltwell headquarters.
Me? I was up all night trying to get My Ride back together. I did a brake rotor change out (W8less rotors) and found out that the new Rotors were not going to fit between the brake pads, the fit was much too tight. I did not want to put the old parts back on because the pads were wore out, and the rotors had uneven wear on them and squeaked worse than a large family of Mice at a cheese convention.
I decided to fab up thicker spacers that are sandwiched between the caliper ends on my PM 2- piston springer calipers to give the rotors the needed clearance, reassembled everything, wolfed down some grub, showered, packed, and it was 4:00 a.m. not much time for sleep! Hell with it, I was out of there. I could sleep when I got to Mexico.
It was chilly for So Cal standards, so I threw on some warm duds & aimed my bike towards Temecula in the misty morning darkness. About 45 minutes later I gassed up and downed a cup of coffee and some groggy looking guy getting into the passenger side of a large work truck dropped his wallet on the ground and didn’t notice. I walked over to the wallet and picked it up as the truck was exiting. I got the guy's attention. He opened the door grabbed the wallet without even a simple “Thank You.”
Maybe next time I’ll just keep the wallet. I jump back on the bike and hightailed it to hwy 15 south to locate the Denny’s restaurant on the side of the highway as I cruised thru the city limits. I must have been early because there were only two other bikes in the lot!
I wasted no time entering the joint and ordering coffee. For the next two hours bikes rolled in, including Jeff my riding partner. After shooting the shit and going over details, we filled our tanks at the station next door and rolled out with another group of riders and headed a short distance to Hwy 79. The series of roads that make up the first leg of the El Diablo Run down to the Border were easy riding, indeed. Plenty of sweeping turns, hills and open countryside void of much auto traffic.
My Partner Jeff was on last years 2007 Diablo Run so he had the route wired. A few guys got lost on this leg since there were several junctions. This run is nothing like a typical bike rally such as Laughlin, or Sturgis where you see Bikes everywhere. The total number of bikes was around 250. Most of the riders rode in small packs up to about 25 max. Some rode solo, or in pairs. Also the Machines were definitely not what you would usually see on a typical rally. EVO’s & Twin Cam’s were definitely the minority with many old Triumphs, Shovels, Ironheads, and various Pans, Knuckles, BSA’s, Indians, even an old beat up vintage BMW rumbled along the open roads.
Several chase vehicles pulling trailers backed our play. Some of the riders had the luxury of riding without luggage weighing them down. Besides hauling luggage and gear the support vehicles also hauled fuel, oil, brake fluid, oil, tools, mig welders, and tie downs to assist riders.
Before moving across the Border into Mexico, the El Diablo gang gathered at the Pizza Hut restaurant just north of the Border for Lunch, and to purchase Mexican Insurance and or exchange dollars for pesos. After about 2 hours of screwing around and waiting for lost pals of Jeff’s, I was more than ready to get back on the road.
Jeff & I pulled out of the pizza hut with about 20 other bikes and ran the short distance to the border. It was a breeze getting across, nothing like the usual return back into the States. Upon crossing the Mexican Border we headed down the main drag through Mexicali which had more potholes than Blackburn, Lancashire, and stutter bumps that were giving the Rigid framed riders fits.
Meanwhile the Jockey Shifters had their hands full with the never ending line-ups of Alto signs. The looks we got from the locals were priceless as the loud Machines motored through their sleepy border town. With Mexicali behind us we picked up the pace & headed south towards San Felipe, but first we had to stop at the Pemex station about 15 miles south of Mexicali to make the long trek to the next fuel station which was about 140 miles south, Near San Felipe.
I led the way as 20 or so others followed as we rode down Hwy 5 to San Felipe. Highway 5 has many rough sections infested with potholes, So single file was the best way for traveling on much of this Hwy. At about 100 miles south of Mexicali we pulled over to wait for a chase vehicle to refuel the puny peanut tanks on several of the Bikes in our group that were running on fumes. Thirty minutes later we were back at it, and made our way south. The Sea of Cortez was in view to our left, and to our right was the seemingly endless Baja Desert.
We came upon the Pemex station near San Felipe and quickly refueled then cruised the last few miles into Town. Again, lots of Alto signs, and no signal lights at all. After riding through town we headed to Our Beach Camp which is on the north end of the Bay. The Bikes were pulling into two different camps next to each other. Reubin’s (where I stayed), and Kiki’s. Some had reserved rooms, others had reserved Palapas (sort of a tree house looking structure), or the Beach. I slept under the stars with my down bag on the soft white sand and slept like a baby, especially since I was up all night the previous night with no sleep.
Most of the group just kicked back at camp the first night and chowed on tacos and cervesa, while they enjoyed the booming campfire. There was one small beach bar serving up tequila and cocktails.
I brought my own bottle of tequila on the trip as I needed to spend my money on other stuff, like Gas! Some Mexican hookers even made a showing at camp.
Day Two–Friday
I kicked off the sand flees around 8:00 a.m., grabbed some coffee and breakfast at camp, and afterwards I wandered over to the entrance and noticed a bulldozer was being commissioned by one of the Diablo gang. Shortly thereafter this bulldozer was constructing a Flat Track on the large dirt area across from camp. After breakfast, bikes were kicked to life and next thing you know dudes were dicing it out on the newly constructed “Circle of Death.” One guy named “Wolf” was doing monster wheelies on His “Spare” hot-rodded Sportster that was trailered down.
Then he rolled onto the Diablo Track and was tearing it up like a man possessed, kicking up large dust clouds and finally laying the bike down. Several others got out on the track, and two or three of the bikes ended up with busted primary belts (open primary drives and dirt don’t mix). A couple of riders broke lever perches, and smashed header pipes, then the show was over.
The weather was damn near perfect. I spent most of the late morning/lunch time drinking cervesas on the beach. After some lunch I broke out my tools and started wrenching on my bike, the usual checking fasteners, inspection for leaks, etc. I decided to hunt around camp for some crush washers for my leaking front brakes which did not respond to further torquing of the banjo bolts. All I could locate were some of those crappy aluminum/rubber ones. I changed them anyways and bled the brakes. I used some dot 5 fluid I packed. At least half the camp were turning wrenches getting their rides ready for the next day's journey through the baja wilderness on to Ensenada. The MIG welder was getting heavy usage.
Guys were on the phone calling the U.S. for next day parts shipments to Mexico. Then came reality when suppliers asked them, “Are You Nuts?” One guy called long distance, trying to locate a 3-inch primary belt was told, “Minimum four days. You are basically in No Mans land!” No daily UPS trucks headed that way.
The hard luck guys who had their scooters rolled onto the trailers for the trip home were good sports about it, kicked their partying up a notch since they were not going to be doing any more riding on the rest of the trip. That night Jeff and I rode into town, hit all the strip joints and bars we could find. I was shooting pool with the owner of one of the bars, and turns out he used to own a bar in my area, The “Way Station.” He sold it 20 years ago and moved south of the border. He lives right on the Beach. Check this, my girlfriend (at the time) owned a bar in Redondo Beach, and her Mother owned a Bar in Manhattan Beach, and was the one who purchased his Bar (Waystation) 20 years ago.
We met two Mexican girls on the street and partied with them awhile but they weren’t giving up the goods, So we hightailed it to the strip club around midnight and it was packed with drunk Bikers. On the late night ride back to camp on the very dark road, I passed a patrol car that had lights flashing, and a Biker being interrogated. I bolted for camp and made a clean getaway. Moments later the bike I had just passed pulled into camp and the poor biker said, “They got me for $200 bucks! Those bastards!” They said they were going to throw me in jail if I didn’t pay up. Another biker next to the campfire said, “yeah, they got me for $45.00.”
No respect!
There was some major partying going on at camp with Mexican girls, heavy drinking, loud music, huge bonfires, super loud cherry bombs going off. All the usual Burnouts and Rowdy behavior rocked the night. At about 2AM I called it a night, since I wanted to be up around dawn the next morning.
Day 3 Saturday
Most of the gang got up at the crack of dawn except the ones with the major hangovers. Jeff and I pulled out of camp at 8AM to meet some pals of His that were staying in Town, These guys came all the way from Florida. I got to pack all my gear in their Truck for the run to Ensenada. I could really cut the groove through the mountain passes on this leg of the journey. I missed the junction from Hwy 5 to Hwy 3 and cut across the dirt shoulder and ended up packing my Open belt drive with pea gravel. That belt was stretched to Its limits and was a bitch to free up. After ten minutes of jogging the starter a tiny bit at a time, followed by cleaning the pulley cogs, we finally got it cleared out. Then a guy coming along on a cool Panhead pulled over. His bike died. His buddies were in a truck following, so He waved us on and we headed up Hwy 3 into the boonies.
Jeff and I didn’t care for the slow pace. His pals were holding to at around 60 mph on their old vintage iron, so we forged on ahead at a more normal cruising range of around 75mph. I really enjoyed the ride on this road (Mex 3) the true essence of Baja, wide open rugged and a menacing landscape with huge valleys surrounded by desert mountains, wildflowers, cactus, and virtually No Cars! Excellent.
When we reached a tiny little town, (Trinidad) there was a single Pemex station packed with Bikes and two lines of Bikers waiting to purchase some liquid gold. After about a 30-minute wait I pulled back onto Hwy 3 and blasted towards Ensenada. I put on some warmer gear, since I was told it got cold going through the mountain pass.
There was another Pemex station about 30 miles down the road in Ojos Negros, and I stopped briefly for a cold cervesa, then continued on towards the higher elevation section of this road. It gradually got colder as the road winded it’s way through the rocky Baja mountains roughly halfway between the Sea of Cortez and the Pacific. It never really warmed up as the road winded its way downhill all the way to Ensenada where there was somewhat of a marine layer hanging around, a cool ocean breeze unlike the warm and calm weather back in San Felipe on the gulf side.
I worked my way to the tourist area near the Ensenada harbor to find Hotel mission San Isabel. Once there I parked the Bike, headed to the pool area and grabbed a cold one. When I returned to my Bike, my bud Jeff pointed out this guy that just put a nice deep scratch in my rear fender. The guy felt terrible & wanted to compensate me for the damage. After a quick look at the damage, I said to not worry about it, but if he had any extra space in his room to lay out a sleeping bag, since the rooms were sold out, I didn't make a reservations…
He said, “Sure!” So I ended up staying two nights with him and his brother, both from Texas. As for the scratch, I could easily fix it but intend to leave it as a battle scar memento. After moving my gear up to the room I had a couple of cervesas by the pool with about 50 others, while the bartender was spinning rock 'n' roll CDs. After some Tacos, I strolled downtown with a bunch of guys from a biker club up in Sonora, CA. After watching some strippers at various strip clubs, drinking and watching a descent heavy metal band at a small Bar on the way back to the Hotel, I was about done.
Day Four Sunday
I woke up with a blistering hangover from the previous night of drinking, but dragged myself out of bed and headed to the Hotel restaurant for some breakfast and lots of coffee. My buddy Jeff asked me if I wanted to head for home, But I wanted to stay another day like everyone else was doing. He wanted to get back to work because he was spending all his money! I told Him I wanted to get my brake leak fixed for the ride home so he left solo for L.A.
I wanted to find a cycle shop, if possible, so I could try to score some copper crush washers for my badly leaking front brake calipers. One guy I chatted with informed me that there was a Home Depot in town, and it was probably the only place open on a Sunday.
I didn’t think Home Depot would have anything that would fix my problem, but I rode over there anyway, and glad I did. In the parking lot, I met an older American guy wearing a Honda cap. I asked him where all the Cycle shops were, and explained that I needed some crush washers for my bike's front brakes. He said he had some back at His place. He offered to drive back to his place which was about 30 miles south at Punta Banda. “I'll be back with some copper washers,” he said.
I said, “No way! I am not going to have you drive all that way. Besides, I was planning on riding out that way later today anyway.” He agreed, and I followed him south on several different roads that winded along the coast to Punta Banda and Bufadora. Awesome ride! We arrived at Punta Banda. I parked at the bottom of his hill and jumped in his truck. We drove up a dirt road to his casa.
He wasn't kidding when he said he lived at Punta Banda (Point Banda). His place was small like just about all the casas in old Mexico, but the location was to die for. He was perched on a hillside overlooking the Pacific Ocean with waves crashing just steps away, just awesome. We walk in through the door and he said to excuse the place, that he was a bachelor. Right away I spotted motorcycle parts everywhere, tool boxes, Racing trophies, Old racing photos of him on the walls, and under some blankets he pulled back were a couple of tricked out racing Bikes. They were Hondas, I don’t remember what model, But they looked highly modified.
He said that he has ridden motorcycles all over the world his entire life, and he was getting ready to purchase a brand new V-Strom. He was planning on riding from Mexico on up to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. After chatting awhile, He pulled some brand new Copper crush washers out of a tool box.
“Here take these,” He said. “Don’t over tighten them, just enough to where they don’t leak.” I forget the Chap's name. He simply went by a pair of initials. I thanked him for his generosity, and he said to stop on by next time I was in Baja. “I could show you some amazing trails that go on forever.” He recommended something like a Honda XL as the only way to really hit these trails, and a V- Strom or BMW style bike would be a handful indeed.
Upon leaving he said, “Keep the Rubber side down.” I fired up my pan, and headed south a short distance to Bufadora, A tiny little town situated along a small Cove amongst the Raw Baja coastline, Simply gorgeous! I grabbed a cold one & just enjoyed the amazing view. After a couple of beers I headed back north on the winding road through the rugged Punta Banda area and pulled over at a small Tamale stand. A young Mexican girl and her child were selling really tasty pineapple Tamales. I gave her a tip her smile was worth every penny.
I headed back to Hotel San Isabel, and arrived to a parking lot full of guys wrenching on their Cycles. By this time my front brakes were nonexistent, I had to rely on the rear brake on my way back. The bike was covered with brake fluid from the coastal winds blowing iteverywhere.
There was a makeshift cervesa stand in the parking lot with some heavy grooves coming from a CD player. I grabbed a cold one, got my tools out and started to change out those leaky washers on the calipers. A Shovelhead rolled in on a trailer that was messed up.
I was talking with the young owner. “While riding across the desert from San Felipe to Ensenada, a strong gust of wind blew me off the road,” he said. The bike would need to be hauled back to the states, as it took a beating. Amazingly the rider only had some minor scuffs, since he landed on soft Baja soil and not the rough Mexican asphalt.
After finishing up with the brakes, I went up stairs for a refreshing shower, then went out for some Tacos. A few hours later, feeling very refreshed, I went to look for Jeff and some other pals that I was hanging with the previous day and couldn’t locate them. So I went off to check out downtown. I came across Three Pool halls back behind the main drag where all the tourist action was. I went in, spied a lone pool shooter and ended up playing for Cervesas. This Amigo didn’t speak any English, but It wasn't needed. Just a simple, “Cervesa” and a pool cue held up high was enough. I won all but one game, and the games were all very close.
I gave Him some Pesos, since He was paying for the time on the table. Then I headed over to Papa’s n Beer. I didn’t dig on the super loud Disco music, so I left after one shot of Tequila and worked my way over to one of the various Strip clubs. Lots of drunk Bikers throwing their money away. They had some gorgeous young Latino girls in this club. There was the typical side action going on in the remote areas of the club. I didn’t want to blow what cash I had left and got out of there!
I bumped into a few of the guys from the Bike club in Sonora, and one of their buddies (Pat) was totally drunk. He could hardly walk down the street. I narrowly saved him from smacking his head on a piece of rebar sticking out of an old building. Then he almost stepped on an exposed transformer on the sidewalk! Unbelievable, exposed high voltage connections right along a busy sidewalk..
One of the Guys, (forgot his name) and I decided to check out the Bar that was situated at the top floor of the highest Hotel in Ensenada. The view was incredible, and we could see the flashing lights of police cars all over the city as they upheld the law and extorted cash from citizens. It was a Sunday night & getting late so there wasn’t much going on, but was worth it just to drink one beer and see the entire city aglow at night. Great Bar to take a girl to for sure. On the way back to the Hotel I was greeted by some drug dealer trying to sell his shit.
Day 5 Monday
I got up around 7:00 a.m., packed my gear and rode solo towards Tijuana. It was somewhat chilly and overcast on the coastal ride heading north. I have been on this highway many times in automobiles, so I already knew what to expect, especially in Tijuana! Going through one of the Pay Toll booths on the toll road I accidentally dropped a quarter into my running open belt primary and put a half quarter shaped tear in the belt! Next time I’ll say, “Keep the change.” Or I'll shut the motor off. Traffic could have been worse at the border. I was able to lane split along the border waiting lines, dodging the street peddlers and their carts.
Before I got to the waiting lines at the border crossing, a speeding Taxi came inches from me and scared the crap out of me. Then five minutes later some woman cut in front of me, some cars and almost caused a car wreck of immense proportions. That area surrounding the border crossing was mighty dangerous, as there are cars running around like a pack of ants trying to find their way to the border.
The border agent girl asked me for my citizenship papers, and like a fool I packed them at the bottom of my bag. She was a sweetie and let me go after answering some questions about why I was riding a chopper in Mexico. I explained about the El Diablo run she said, “Wow that sounds like fun!”
She was hot too!
I took the coastal route up through Encinitas and up to Pendelton, then hit Hwy 5 north. Riding along on the interstate, I couldn’t help but reflect on the awesome riding that took place on day one and day three of the El DIablo run. I will no doubt take part in next year's run if it takes place. I would recommend it to anyone who is up for adventure doesn’t mind a little added danger, especially if you like old bikes. Some 80 percent of the Machinery on this run is old vintage Iron.
–Larry
