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February 18, 2007


Sunday morning dawned bright and clear in Escondido, and we were on the road by 9am.

I could happily spend the rest of my life on Highway 78 between Escondido and Ramona. I didn't take any photos as I was having too much fun wooping, but damn: gorgeous. It also passes by the San Diego Wild Animal Park and the San Pasqual Battlefield State Historic Park, overlooking the Mexican-American War battle site of December 6, 1846.

We saw our first Border Patrol truck in El Cajon; while stopped at a traffic light, Diana commented dryly that it looked rather like a dogcatcher's truck. In a sick kind of way, that's exactly what it was.

Border Patrol in El Cajon, CA

Highway 94 from El Cajon to Tecate is also pretty darned gorgeous. It's a 25-mile stretch of swooping curves through the desert wilderness. As the border draws nearer, the towns get smaller and a little more desolate, the signs becoming bilingual.

Just before the border crossing in Tecate, CA is a small strip mall with a couple of markets, restaurants, and a gas station. You can also buy Mexican auto insurance here at the border; American auto insurance companies won't cover you in Mexico. Diana and I bought our Mexican insurance through AAA before we left; it cost us about $15/day.

Tecate, CA Tecate, CA

Hilarity ensued when we attempted to get a sub sandwich and use the restroom in the strip mall before crossing the border. You couldn't use the bathroom unless you bought a sandwich, and then it still cost 50 cents. The coin mechanism on the door didn't really work well, though, so the sandwich maker had to continually stop what she was doing to come over and unlock the door. She was really pretty unhappy with the motorcycling gringas with small bladders.

Every time I've entered Canada, I've had to show my passport and paperwork, so I made sure to have my passport, proof of insurance (Mexican and American), photocopy of motorcycle title, and photocopy of registration handy. I shouldn't have worried. We rode through the border crossing without even a second glance or bienvenido; the only person even "staffing" the area was a 10-year-old boy who would run up to us and tap us on the shoulder at stop signs. Apparently, Mexico couldn't really care less if you enter their country.

Tecate, Mexico! The American side is sleepy and desolate, but the Mexican side bustles and beeps and undulates through the streets. Stop signs pepper the roads and there's none of this "first person at the stop sign is the first to go through" politeness as in the States; it's more a game of chicken. Fortunately, motorcycles can weave around aggro cars pretty well. ;)

We took Calle Cardenas until it dead ends at Avenida Hidalgo in front of a gorgeous tall white church, before which merchants sold brightly-colored blankets and various trinkets. I'll get back and photograph it someday. We rode around some side streets until we found the Tecate Brewery; we got some pictures there, much to the amusement of the guys working in the lobby.

Tecate Brewing Company inTecate, Baja California, Mexico

Mexico Highway 3 between Tecate and Ensenada is also known as the Ruta del Vino -- the wine route. Twisting through the Valle de Guadalupe, this 60-mile drive has been the location for vineyards for centuries. There are over 20 wineries now, specializing in everything from Cabernet Sauvignon to Nebbiolo to Merlot. Unfortunately, I'll need to go back again for photos of the actual vineyards...Mexico seems to have an annoying lack of shoulders upon which one may park one's motorcycle.

In between the scattered lush vineyards, the landscape is rocky and desert-like.

Mexico Highway 3 Mexico Highway 3 Mexico Highway 3

We passed through a few small towns: Valle de las Palmas, El Testerazo, Ejido Ignacio Zaragoza. The latter is named for Ignacio Zaragoza, a general in the Mexican army best known for being victorious against the French on Cinco de Mayo. Somewhat fitting, then, was the truck of federales along the roadside in this dusty little poblado, casually waving traffic along with their assault rifles.

Just north of Ensenada, we turned north onto Mexico Highway 1. There are actually two Highway 1s, one of which (MX 1) is libre, the other (MX 1-D) is the autopiste toll road. We took the free, inland, highway north to La Misión.

Mexico Highway 1 outside of La Misión, Baja California, Mexico Mexico Highway 1 outside of La Misión, Baja California, Mexico

La Misión was a gorgeous town, the largest one we'd been through since Tecate. It's a terraced town and its brightly colored houses on the hillsides reminded me of South San Francisco. Nearby are the ruins of Mision San Miguel, established by Dominican monks in 1787.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end, and shortly we reached La Fonda and the beginning of "American Mexico". We stopped for a bite to eat at the Poco Cielo Hotel, mostly because it was the closest restaurant to where we found a parking space, only to discover that their kitchen was closed. We relaxed on the oceanfront patio for a little while, though, enjoying the weather and scenery, and trying to ignore the old American women at the bar who kept screeching in English for more margaritas.

La Fonda, Baja California, Mexico La Fonda, Baja California, Mexico La Fonda, Baja California, Mexico

The rest of Highway 1 up towards Rosarito and, eventually, Tijuana, was more and more depressing for me. Condos, resorts, property as far as the eye could see. The signs were all in English again, and the Mexicans we saw were clearly day laborers for the resorts. My one solace was in a large Jesus with a blinking strobe on his head just outside of Rosarito. Thank you, Blinking Head Jesus, for restoring my faith in the absurd amongst all of the greed and condominiums of northern coastal Baja.

Blinking Jesus south of Rosarito, Baja California, Mexico

We gassed up in Rosarito and got onto the Highway 1 toll road for all of about 5 miles. We had decided in La Fonda to cross back into the US via Tijuana, thinking in our charming naïvete that it would be faster than heading back east to Tecate and then west again to San Diego.

If anyone ever tells you that Tijuana is a fucking nightmare, listen to that person. They are telling you the truth.

First, Mexico Highway 1 takes you through a really quality area of town (true example: we had to make a quick lane change when one of the two lanes was blocked by two vans full of federales with bulletproof vests and machine guns, running into a building topped with looped barbed wire).

Next: busiest border crossing in the world, and no signs. The main road we were on was on a hillside, two lanes and a frontage road in each direction, with no way to do a U-turn. Exiting onto the frontage road would take you off into the Tijuanan sunset, likely never to be seen again, and so I just kind of kept riding straight ahead in the hopes that eventually, we would either hit the USA or we would die of old age. After my third missed exit and subsequent utter nervous breakdown, I finally pulled over in the entrance to a plaza and asked Diana to take over. She was a superstar and managed to find the line for the border crossing in about 37 seconds.

Finally: Californians, you don't know lane splitting until you've done it up to a border crossing with 1" to spare on either side, *after* you've already folded in your mirrors. Oh, and with running water coursing across the road (complete with Bots dots). And with Tijuana border peddlers sharing the area between lanes with you, whacking you with guitars and large platters bearing images of Christ.

Tijuana border crossing

I have no idea how long we were in that border crossing line; as far as I know, we might still be there and my brain has just taken me to a Happy Place. At one point, a border peddler waved me over to the righthand lane, because there was more room to lanesplit while literally riding in the gutter. My predominant memory of Tijuana is now being smashed up between SUVs on one side and the open flames of border peddlers cooking in the gutter on the other. I distinctly remember asking Blinking Head Jesus not to let me drop the bike into a Tijuana open fire.

Diana and I got separated during the whole flame bit, and I finally made it to the front of the line. I heard the Guzzi come up behind me when I was the very next to cross, and I don't think I've ever been so happy to see someone in my life.

Tijuana border crossing Tijuana border crossing

Getting back into the US was pretty easy. The border guard had me remove my helmet and compared me with my passport photo. "I bet you like the Sex Pistols!", he said after seeing my blue hair. I was in no position to argue with the only man on earth standing between myself and Not Tijuana. "I love the Sex Pistols, sir", I said, and he happily waved me through.

Diana and I rode up I-5 easily into San Diego and headed towards the Best Western on Shelter Island (this time, thankfully, we already had reservations). Somehow we managed a free room upgrade, so our room had a little patio and was spacious for all our gear.

And then it was time for the Bali Hai restaurant! A short walk from the hotel, the Bali Hai has been a staple on Shelter Island since 1953. It has a great panoramic view of San Diego Bay (even at night, because of the lights) and serves excellent food and drink. I had "firecracker ahi" for dinner with a Mr. Bali Hai rum drink and chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert. I will forever love San Diego.

Day's summary: Mexico good. Tijuana border crossing bad. Rum good.

Stats:
Sunday: 245 miles
Total: 737 miles

Sunday's map

On to Monday....