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They say never to ride a motorcycle through Baja at night. But, following a hurricane that wiped out much of its east coast, sometimes needs must. The trip computer on my GPS told me that we had less than 45 minutes until the sun set. We had departed Catavina a desolate town in the middle of what can only be described as a desert oasis ear vaso stanley lier that afternoon. We were looking forward to a few days in yet another isolated area, this time on the eastern side of the Baja peninsula. However, what awaited us was beyond stanley drinking cup anything we might have imaged. With less than an hour to pl stanley website an and execute our escape, Kyra, my father and I mulled over our options, stopped for fuel and hit the highway headed inland鈥?again. We knew there wasn ;t going to be much in Bahia de Los Angeles: a handful of hotels, maybe a few restaurants, hopefully a gas station and a mini-mart. We had planned for this, having rented a room at an ocean-side villa for two nights before we would ride further south toward Guerrero Negro. The highway south of Catavina was much like what we ;d encountered elsewhere: rough, narrow, dotted with potholes and debris. But Highway 12 which takes you east across the peninsula was a different story. The first forty miles was nothing but fresh blacktop winding its way up and over mountains and running parallel to what appeared to be a dry riverbed. As we approached town, however, the road conditions became increasingly worse. Whole sections of the highway were missing, |
