Fuck it. I’ll go to Cabo.

This trip was not about getting to the tip of Baja. I didn’t have much interest in going to a city Americans flock to for Sammy Hagar’s bar and luxury resorts.. but then I looked at a map. It was only two hours away from La Paz. I could drop by Todos Santos along the way to see what the hullabaloo was about. Why the hell not?

Once again, I was ready to roll just as the sun made itself visible. My meticulously packed bags were again “searched” at the checkpoint. By that, I mean they asked me to open a pannier, they saw unused tampons and unlaundered unmentionables on top, told me to close it, and sent me on my way.  It wasn’t quite 8am when I rolled through Todos Santos which meant traffic was tame enough to park illegally and snap a picture.2016-03-23_09-27-441

The town has a real gringo vibe (and expensive breakfast menus) so I didn’t stay long.

Mucho Gusto Machine and I rolled into Cabo San Lucas around 9am. Traffic was buzzing, people were going to work, home from work, delivering food and to appointments. I just wanted to see the water, but it seems like all access points were occupied by resorts. I would ride all the way up a hill, find restricted parking, ride back down the hill, repeat. This was the best I could get in a city which felt like Las Vegas with an ocean. GET ME OUT OF HERE.

I couldn’t find a miraculous viewpoint in the city. Boats mean there’s water. Whatever.

Once again, I was reminded of how fantastic it is to travel with my own wheels without a plan and all by myself. Stay as long as I want. Leave when I’m ready. No obligations. Pull over whenever I see something interesting. There was no compelling reason to stay, so pushed on to San Jose del Cabo.

My reward for leaving: a perfect overlook of the water and a surfing school.

In SJC, I found an affordable, family-owned hotel which I recommend highly: Hotel Posada Terranova. They let me park my DR650 in a secured driveway before I wandered around town on foot. First stop: lunch! I was only a three minute walk from stuffing my face at  Mariscos El Toro Guerro. While I munched on a mountain of ceviche, the neighboring table celebrated a birthday, El Toro style.

Excellent taste in foil hats.
I don’t remember the song, but I DO remember the whistles and laughter.


Paid the bill. Stretched my legs. Waddled my full belly 2.6 km to the ocean.. and was not-so-gently exfoliated by the sand in the wind.

Hard to tell from the picture, but it was very windy.


There were a number of beach-front resorts. One had some spring break shenanigans happening with a shrill MC encouraging teenagers to compete in a sausage eating contest. Not my scene.

Next door, there was the scene of sophisticated tranquility: infinity pools surrounded by white memory-foam topped loungers, servers delivering cocktails and fresh towels, a swim-up bar.. ahhhh.. yes. I made myself at home. The staff didn’t mind my presence.

RoKo’s budget travel tip #74: crash the resort with infinite infinity pools by walking onto the property from the beach.

It was eventually time to mosey back to my modest accommodation after a couple of hours of swimming and sunning, a stop for fish tacos, another for coconut flavored Electrolit. Enrique, the night manager had started his shift. He rides a KLR 650 and was excited to talk about motorcycle travel, planning, farkles, and butt-fatigue. Like the fella I met in La Paz, Enrique also would like to tour the US on his rig, but it has been made too complicated. South America is more accessible, so he’ll probably head that way.

All you need is a fresh rear tire, and the world is yours!

The sun hadn’t even cleared the horizon before my sunburnt self was asleep.


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