The hospital stuff isn’t much of a story. The ambulance dropped me at a small hospital in town where where I got some x-rays and was attended to by a couple doctors who didn’t seem to have much experience or training. I left with a cast on my left hand and a splint on my right and hobbled out to the street and caught a taxi. He brought me to the nearest hotel where I crashed for the night.

The next morning was fairly rough. I was incredibly sore and swollen all over. My knee, ankle, hands, and in particular my ribs were troublesome. I’ve had bruised/cracked ribs in the past so I’m used to the feeling, but that doesn’t make it any more comfortable!

**As a side note. Always wear your gear! ATGATT. I have holes in the knees and butt of my pants, holes on the elbows, stomach, and shoulders of my jacket, holes in my backpack, and huge scrapes down the side of my helmet. If I wasn’t wearing proper gear things could have been a lot worse. I am so thankful I have hard plastic armor all over. Please wear your gear!!**

When your fingers bend back too far, this is what happens to your leather gloves:

Meh, no biggie:

All my clothing and toiletries were on the bike, so I was still in my riding gear splattered in cow blood. Later that day I decided to go out and find the bike. I was slightly worried I’d never see it again.

I got a taxi to bring me the 25 miles out of town to the toll booth where my bike was resting unmolested. Getting in and out of the car was a chore, so I knew trying to ride the bike was going to be ridiculous.

It looked ok. The first thing I noticed was my handlebars rotated all the way forward in the clamps and pressed up against the headlight. This is no doubt from direct impact with my chest. I’ll always take special care to keep a crossbar pad on my bikes, I am very thankful I had one. Imagine if I took the bar clamps to the chest instead of the styrofoam safety pad.

List of damage:
- Bent exhaust
- Smashed taillight and blinkers
- Bent handlebars
- Bent front axle
- Bent oil return line
- Torn saddlebags
- Minor scuffs and scrapes

Not bad at all. I managed to fire up the bike there and ride it back to the hotel using just a couple fingers. I kept the bike in 3rd gear the entire way. I couldn’t bend my ankle enough to shift gears, hah. Success!

I stayed in town for 5 days or so until I was marginally able to ride the bike. Then I continued south.

I was more or less tracing the main road and hopped off sporadically when I spotted a fun dirt road. I didn’t have a map which was somewhat of an issue, but my limited fuel range was more of a concern than proper directions. I had planned on heading into Creel but the nighttime temperatures were dipping to 40 and below so I knew I’d freeze since I didn’t have any cold weather gear. Instead I hugged the ocean and continued south.

The temperature variance was huge. Scorching hot in the sun during the days, and cold as soon as it got dark. So when the sun disappears I pull off the road and make sure I’m geared up with everything I have.

I’ve heard many people recite the “Don’t drive at night in Mexico” mantra many times. I never paid much heed, partially because of my own stupidity, and if I need to be honest, my bravado as well. On this particular night I had a rude reality check.

Humming down the road at 65mph around 8:30pm, minding my own business, I had my first serious motorcycle accident. I wasn’t paying much attention. I was just covering some miles heading south towards Mazatlan until I was ready to put up the tent. Out of the darkness, in the middle of the road, stood a black bull. Before I had any time to react I plowed into it full speed.

In the split second before impact I remember thinking “This is going to hurt.” And as I went soaring through the air over the bull I distinctly recall screaming “SSSHHHIIIITTT!”

My memory is quite good on the event despite my helmet taking a good hit to the pavement. As I came down there was the immediate sensation of my fingers cracking and popping backwards out of joint. I cartwheeled forward onto my back then spun, rolled, and flailed until coming to a stop in the middle of the street. My immediate reaction before anything else was to get out of the road. It’s amazing when survival instincts kick in. I scrambled on my knees and elbows furiously to the edge of the road and rolled down into the ditch where I first experienced the agonizing pain I was about to endure.

At that moment I felt nothing but a burning pain in my chest and realized I couldn’t breath and was gasping violently for air. I rolled on my back first, then my stomach, both exacerbated the pain. It was a sensation like nothing I’ve ever felt. It felt like my lungs were in a vice.

After a couple minutes of wheezing I was able to take some breathes and my thoughts slowly left the grounds of mortality and entered injury assessment.

My chest had obviously taken a pounding, but the pain was dissipating quickly. I knew without looking I had broken some fingers. My knee and ankle were throbbing, which says a lot since I was wearing knee pads and motocross boots, but otherwise I seemed to have faired ok.

As I came to terms with my situation and started taking stock of the next step, a car stopped up on the road. They couldn’t see me down in the ditch, but my motorcycle lay on its side 20 yards down from the cow.

Another couple minutes passed, adrenaline kicked in, and I staggered to my feet. The Mexican couple spotted me and rushed over to see if I was alright. We used their cellphone as a light to inspect the injuries. We walked up to the street to see the scene. The gentleman went into the road, stood my bike up, and rolled it out of the way. The two of them grabbed the cow by the legs to try and pull it out of the street, but it was too heavy.

Before I knew it the road became filled with people. It wasn’t a busy night, but every car stopped and people crowded around me. As the minutes passed and I paced around in circles I started feeling better and better. Eventually half a dozen men were able to drag the cow out of the street.

I’m not sure where the medics came from, but 6 or 7 young EMT’s were quickly on the scene. One of them used their phone to call an ambulance for me, which took about 20 minutes to arrive.

It became quite a scene. There were 40 or more people in the street, people had stopped up and down both sides of the road, and now the ambulance was flashing it’s lights and blocking traffic.

While everyone was milling around I gave the bike a quick once over. It was surprisingly straight and sound. Definitely a few bent and broken pieces, but it looked ridable to me. Not wanting to leave my motorcycle and all my bags and gear (everything I own) I tried to insist that I ride the bike into town following the ambulance. They wouldn’t have it! They said they’d bring my motorcycle to the nearest toll both where it would be safe until I picked it up. One of the EMT’s got on the bike and tried to kick it. No one in Mexico has ever kicked a motor larger than 100cc, so there wasn’t a chance in hell they’d ever get it going. He could barely push the kicker through the stroke. I hopped on, gave it a couple good kicks and it roared to life and idled like it never missed a beat. The EMT got on and off he went. He was visibly nervous to ride such a ‘large’ bike.

I was ushered into the back of the ambulance and attended to by two teenage girls who didn’t seem to have any substantial training. They asked me what my name was and if I was ok. Other than that we just talked about the area and where we were going.

Of course I snapped a couple photos of the bull before we left.

I had an oversize Clarke gas tank overnighted to meet me at the border so I’d have more than a 90 mile range. I was thrilled when it arrived, but wasn’t sure how I was going to take it anywhere.

So I promptly got to installing it on the road outside the UPS station.

Wouldn’t you know it. The tank didn’t fit.

Clarke had apparently mislabeled a batch of tanks at the factory. There are other reports here on ADV and also at JustGasTanks about the issue. The tank doesn’t sit right on the frame, the petcock hits the motor, and the seat can’t mount up properly. So unfortunately I was stuck with a giant box for a couple days until I could send it back.

The bike was a little cramped to say the least.

I also took the opportunity to do a little rewiring of the tail light. It had been flickering in and out for a while.

But I eventually was able to drop the box back off at UPS and head out with my stock tank and a plastic jug strapped onto the back.

—-

I crossed at Mexicali, but not without my fender pack getting swiped off the bike first. I’m not sure exactly when it was taken, but it had my spare tubes, tire patch kit, and tire irons. Sure hope I don’t get a flat!

The crossing was uneventful other than they only accept cash for the visa fee and I had to walk around and find a bank. Once across I was a bit confused where I was supposed to file the importation fee for my bike. Eventually I ran into a customs station in Sonoita where I had to stop, and they helped me pay the fee and have the bike registration inspected. Good to go!!!

I hate all the border areas so I cracked the throttle and blasted a couple hundred miles the first day towards Hermosilla. I got the smallest hotel room I could find.

(fyi – it was Movember – look it up if you need to)

This trip isn’t about covering miles and tying myself to a schedule or deadlines. So I loosened up my pace and rolled around for a few days.

The scenery was excellent. But nothing like what would come a few weeks later.

The best food is always from the smallest places.

Before I left the US I spent a few days cruising around the deserts north of the Mexican border exploring aimlessly and pitching the tent. Most nights I set up late, it’s always dark, and I’m gone by daybreak.

Which way was the road again? This way….

Or was it this way….

I’ve never planned a camping spot before. I just drive down some back roads and look for a spot that seems out of the way. Sometimes this is a good system, other times it can cause problems.

Sometimes I can’t help but feel the problems I face day to day are infinitesimally small compared to those of others around the world. How am I going to clean up this spilled wine? Ugh…

It was getting real cold at night and my cold weather gear wasn’t up to snuff, so I ended up grabbing a cheap hotel room a few nights. The kind of hotel room with spaypaint on the walls inside, where you don’t want to touch anything without first wiping it down.

They do have a single added benefit though.

I got stuck on wifi for much of the day today. I was however told that Spring Mountain was worth checking out. I’ll generally have a look at anything anyone suggests. I looked at a map, spotted it, and rolled out to explore.

The only track I could put together with my map brought me through here:

Yes, that’s a tank in the background. This can’t be the only way to Spring Mountain.

I looped around as best I could and found what appeared to be a good track along the power lines that headed the right direction.

It ended up being too close to the military area and I ran up on some some out buildings that I probably shouldn’t have been anywhere near. So back I went, again.

I love the desert.

Further down the road I found some more power lines with some double track.

It was sandy.

Just hit the gas and keep your weight back.

Bombed over a sink hole in 5th – it startled the crap out of me. Doubled back for the photo.

Just a giant hole in the middle of the road. Hah.

I had another pucker moment a little further up the road. Barely stopped in time. That’s Spring Mountain in the distance.

The entire area was washed out with a 6 foot deep gully. No way across. It was getting dark fast – I’ll give it another try first thing in the AM. I’ll have to check some more maps.

Tail light went out – little roadside fix.