We told people of our plans, and reactions ranged from stoked and supportive to fearful and foreboding. While most folks were amped about our trip, there was the odd person who was quick to point out the perils of motorbikes, as well as the dangers of Baja. The combination of the two was, in their minds, a deadly combination that should be avoided like the plague. “You’re what? Riding motorbikes across Baja? If you value your life, trust me, don’t do it.” I’d think of Paulo Coelho’s quote, “If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine. It’s lethal,” which so beautifully illustrated the “no risk, no fun” mentality of the pack. Unperturbed, we were only getting more excited about our imminent departure.
By the time the group got together, everyone was feeling good about their bike setup and riding fully loaded, despite the whirlwind planning. Some people spend several months, even a year or two, executing an expedition of this magnitude; in less than 3 months, we’d pulled it together, and were about to make our way south of the border, filled with a healthy dose of nerves and excitement. We didn’t have a rigid plan, other than to explore the peninsula and let the rising and setting of the sun, the surf, and the elements dictate our movements. No watches and no places we needed to be other than here and now.