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In This Issue
10
Secrets of Japan
By Chirstopher P Baker
In this Feature, Christopher P Baker travels to Tokyo
after signing up for a Secrets of Japan tour
with Edelweiss Bike Travel which, appropriately,
described the 16-day circumnavigation of Honshu
— the main island.
16
Where the Pavement Ends
By Joe Brown
In this Featured Article, Joe Brown describes his
personal experience on his first time going offroading.
He spends his days alone on his journey
and traverses through dangerous and difficult terrain
in order to bring us a fantastic story.
24
Baja by Bike
By Jamie Elvidge
In this Featured Article, Jamie Elvidge travels to
Baja Mexico by motorcycle and explains which locations
travelers should visit on bike. Elvidge describes
the amazing food, culture, and her experience
on this trip with her friends.

08
Riding through a Minefield in Bosnia
By Cynthia Fitzgerald
In this first Department, Cynthia Fitzgerald describes
her nail-biting experience where she accidently
finds herself riding through a minefield.
Even when riding in a real and scary potential
minefield, Cynthia goes forward and continues on.
32
Jocelin Snow
By Andrew Nguyen
In this second Department we get a look into the
life of Jocelin Snow or “Moto Wonder Woman”. For
Jocelin Snow, motorcycling is a way of life. From
rider to racer and adventurer, she has devoted her
life to all things two-wheeled.

Danger Zone
Riding through a minefield in Bosnia
by Cynthia Fitzgerald
Many months before I So I just continued and thought it would soon become
reached Bosnia, other motorcyclists
had warned me and smaller, until it was just a dirt track. Tree branches
a normal road again. Instead, the road became smaller
about this country. They were hanging over the path, and I had to push them
told me not to go off-road away while riding. I had to hide behind my windshield
in Bosnia because there to avoid leaves and smaller branches hitting my face.
are still thousands of mines At some point, I started to wonder how long it had
left from the recent war. So been that someone other than me actually traveled
when I crossed the border into Bosnia from Montenegro,
I told myself not to go off-road and to stay when did they put the mines in the ground? Was that
this road. I began to calculate. When was the war and
on paved roads. I really didn’t want to risk hitting a 20 years ago too? And could these trees and branches
landmine and end my journey prematurely. When really be around 20 years old?
I started riding towards Mostar in the Herzegovina Finally, I reached a paved road without having
blown Basanti and myself to pieces
part of Bosnia-Herzegovina, I checked my Maps.meapp
as usual, to find small roads that would also
over a landmine. I was quite relieved to
take me to Mostar. I found a small road that started
out very nice. It had two lanes, was well paved
time I should just turn around and go back
see that road and told myself that next
and it went through different villages and beautiful the same way in such a situation! When I posted
nature. I was very pleased that I found this alternative
route. The further I drove, the smaller the road ple warned me about the danger of mines in Bos-
my video of that ride on YouTube, hundreds of peo-
became until it gradually turned into an unpaved nia. Every time I read such a comment, I wanted to
road. It still looked like a road though, so I figured say ‘Yes, I was aware of it and didn’t really plan to
it wouldn’t be a problem. But slowly I really started ride such a track!’. I always tell myself beforehand
to think if it was actually true, ‘Would there really
be mines here’ and ‘could I be driving towards a go back. But I guess I’m the type of person who pre-
that when it gets too tricky, I can turn around and
minefield?’ You know probably not, Is what I said to fers to move forward instead of going back the way
myself so that I could feel better about the whole I came. So I had to go forwrad and continue on my
situation. But truly I was terrified about what I was exciting adventure. Even when I am really riding in
doing and what I was going through at the time. a real and scary potential minefield.
8 CLUTCH December 2020
CLUTCH 22

CHRISTOPHER P BAKER

SECRETS
of
JAPAN

JAPAN
TOURING
I
arrived to motorcycle Japan with a notion that its society
was pretty uptight. To my delight, everyone was
so jokey and smiley. The moment I went to the john, I
understood why. Sensing my approach, the toilet cover
automatically lifted and jets sprayed a mist of electrolysed
water (to ensure that “dirt” wouldn’t stick).
The über high-tech contraption was so intimidating I
forgot why I’d sat down in the first place. The arm rest and
wall-panel controls had more gizmos than a TV remote: a
heat control for the seat; music options; a built-in massager
“to help defecation”; a bum gun for cleaning the privates,
including a “turbo wash” option; a button for “front washing”
and another for “rear washing”. Plus a heated blow-dryer.
The Japanese had turned the act of poop and pee into
a hands-free, technologically enhanced pleasure ritual. No
wonder the women were so giggly.
I’d signed up for a Secrets of Japan tour with Edelweiss
Bike Travel which, appropriately, described the 16-
day circumnavigation of Honshu — the main island — as
“a mix of ancient traditions with modern technology, fantasy
and creativity”. Our group of 15 riders (plus eight pillions)
spanned the antipodes: three Canadians, three yanks, three
Aussies, a Greek couple, a BelgianGerman-South African
hybrid, and a sprinkling of Germans and Swiss. Tokyo’s
Rental 819 supplied the bikes — mostly BMW 1200GSs, with
a pair of Ducati Multistradas and Honda Africa Twins, plus a
Suzuki V-Strom and Harley-Davidson Ultra in the mix.
We hightailed it out of the frenzied metropolis on
the Yokohama Expressway and two hours later hit the coast
at Kamakura. The palm-lined coast highway to Enoshima
caused a “am I in Sausalito?” double-take. To my right, stylish
homes and cafes with names like Pacific Drive-In and
Aloha Beach Cafe. To my left, surfers rode the waves off a
crème brûlée beach. This being Sunday, Tokyo’s friendly motorcycle
fanatics were out in force. Packs of Harleys, Sports
tourers galore. And bōsōzoku — a uniquely Japanese youth
sub-culture on a miscellany of ridiculously modified bikes.
Our lead guide, 50-year-old Angela de Haan, had first
scouted this trip for Edelweiss two years before. This was
her baby. She’d stitched together a superb route combining
expressways, two-lane toll roads, and convoluted onelane
mountain roads called tōge that we devoured at high
speed, as befitted the nimble GSs. The fun began on the
racetrack-smooth Mazda Turnpike — the go-to road (dubbed
“Japan’s Nurburgring”) for automotive press trials — as we
spiralled up eight miles of sweeping curves and tight coils to
the Daikanzan Sky Lounge for lunch and a grandstand view
of snow-capped Mt. Fuji. It was a great warm-up for more
challenging, adrenalin-charged riding which, during the
next two weeks, delivered us into Japan’s tooi inaka (deep
country). Honshu measures 800 miles north to south, with
astonishing diversity, from its rugged Mendocino-like coastline
to the snowy, soul-soaring heights of the Japanese Alps.
“The Japanese for whom ‘skinship’
promotes social bonding
— have no inhibitions about
being nude. Not even Speedos
are permitted in onsen”
Our man Christopher P Baker getting right into the local swing
of things, wearing the traditional yokata. Vermilion torii gates at
Fushimi-Inari temple, Kyoto. mountain roads called tōge that
we devoured at high speed, as befitted the nimble GSs. The fun
began on the racetrack-smooth Mazda Turnpike — the go-to
road (dubbed “Japan’s Nurburgring”) for automotive press trials
— as we spiralled up eight miles of sweeping curves and
tight coils to the Daikanzan Sky Lounge for lunch and a grandstand
view of snow-capped Mt. Fuji. It was a great warm-up
for more challenging, adrenalin-charged riding which, during
the “You’re free to ride off on your own,” Angela had informed
us. But most road signs (and even gas station instructions) are
written in Japanese script. And in the boondocks few locals
speak English. Attempting to follow our designated route, even
with the 1:200,000 map that Edelweiss supplied, would have
been like trying to negotiate the Minotaur’s Maze. Except for two
German couples who’d brought GPS and by the second week
made solo forays, we rode as two groups (the second led by
Dutch Special Forces veteran Ted Goslinga) that departed each
day about 15 minutes apart.
12 CLUTCH December 2020

We rode as two groups (the second led by
Dutch Special Forces veteran Ted Goslinga)
that departed each day about 15 minutes
apart. The rules were simple: No overtaking.
No racing. No bottle and throttle until
each day’s riding was over. “Irasshaimase!
Irasshaimase!” The female staff were
dressed in yukatas (lightweight kimonos) and they giggled as they
bowed repetitively like bobblehead dolls. “Welcome! Welcome!” they
intoned as we pulled up to the beachfront Hotel Imaiso Kawazu. It
was the same at every hotel, which varied nightly between western-style
and traditional Japanese lodging. Despite its modern exterior,
the Imaiso operated as a ryokan, with shoji-screened rooms.
We were issued yukatas (blue and white for the guys;
gals each got a different floral pattern … the younger the person,
the brighter the colour). And slippers. I loved “going native”;
why, I wondered, did most tour members resist? But there were
rules. No shoes on straw-mat tatami floors. No house slippers
outside the hotel. No toilet slippers — yes, toilet slippers! —
outside your john. Which reminds me… why don’t
the Japanese use left- and right-foot slippers?
And different sizes? The uni-foot slippers
were three sizes too small. I felt like I’d
had my feet bound as I tottered down
to the onsen, the hotel’s soothing
hot spring baths. Nothing was as
relaxing and rejuvenating after a
day’s hard riding than a soak in
a communal onsen. All our hotels
outside Tokyo had these intimate,
often sophisticated bath
complexes, divided by sex. The
Japanese — for whom “skinship”
promotes social bonding
— have no inhibitions about being
nude. Not even Speedos are
permitted in onsen. Nor tattoos.
And Japanese patrons watch “gaijin”
(foreigners) closely to ensure that before
entering the water they sit on stools at
mirrored public showers and soap every nook
and cranny as if this was their wedding night. Most
nights we feasted on a traditional Japanese banquet. A taste for
raw squiggly things was required. Every item came in its own
ceramic platter, scalloped dish, or lotus-shaped bowl. Conga
eel, clams, sashimi, miso soup, a salad of seaweed and octopus,
a bubbling broth with mushrooms and vegetables, steaming
rice with bamboo and radish, red bean-paste jelly dessert.
And everything prepared with the fastidious care of a Japanese
miniaturist. I slept contentedly on a futon and rice-filled pillow
spread out on a tatami floor. On day two we ascended Mount
Fuji. A superb sunny day of almost endless twisties and hairpins
that transcended Fuji’s barren treeline and began with a
sensational highlight: The Kawazu-Nanadura loop bridge, a
unique double spiral coiling into the mountains of the Izu peninsula
like a DNA helix. Day three the kaleidoscope turned as we
blazed and dipped and twined along forested mountain roads
— tendril thin and hella fun — clinging to themountainous contours
of Shizuoka. Tea country, with steep hills and vales patterned
in rows of dark-green corduroy. In a country of 127 million,
you can’t escape cities. We cascaded out of the mountains
and crawled through a coastal conurbation to arrive at Hotel Irago
View, superbly situated atop Cape Irago with dramatic sunset
ocean vistas. Our early-morning ferry across Ise Bay roiled beneath
bruised, brooding clouds. Rain began falling as we were
hauled off the ship. It didn’t let up. That’s life. We arrived at Nachikatsuura
mid-afternoon sodden, the day’s memories a gray
blur. But memories of the Hotel Urashima Nagisa’s six Zen-like
onsen — two inside caves — will endure. Speaking of Zen … on
day five we followed the Shingu River valley (shades of California’s
Russian River) to arrive in Hongū. The start point of the Kumano-kodo
pilgrimage route, it also boasts Japan’s largest torii
— iconic shrine gates — soaring nearly 40m over rice paddies.
The BMWs fairly sang with delight as we then climbed
curlicue into the mountainous, pineclad Kii Peninsula, passing
one Shintō shrine after another to arrive at Kōya-san, with
its scores of Buddhist temples and pagodas and
air thick with incense. Finally, the spaghetti
expressways of Kyoto, and a full rest day
to explore Japan’s former imperial and
cultural capital at will: Fushimi Inari
shrine’s endless arcades of vermilion
torii, girls in kimonos like
a flurry of cherry blossoms in
spring, geishas scurrying to secret
liaisons in the narrow back
streets of Gion. For all its modernity,
Kyoto immersed me in
indelibly quintessential Japan.
This was late May. We’d missed
the sakura — Japan’s brief
cherry blossom season — by a
month. But day seven’s sweeping
downhill to Himeji Castle delivered
classic Japanese scenery of limegreen
bamboo and plumpurple maple
and, in the valley bottoms, chartreuse rice
paddies studded by quaint wooden machiya
houses with elaborate gray tile roofs adorned with
fish-like creatures to protect against fire. We finally spilled out
of the mountains next day to hit the Mendocino-like shores of
the Sea of Japan after an exhilarating morning thrashing whiplash-sharp
coils on pinched, gravel-strewn mountain roads. “I
should have rented a GS,” moaned Greg from Perth, Australia,
at dinner. “The Ultra isn’t a bike for these kinds of roads. Anyone
less experienced than me would have problems.” How true! I’d
ridden behind him for a while and was impressed at how he’d
negotiated the writhing hairpins without spilling. Understandably,
Greg opted out of next day’s highlight: A beach ride along
the solid-packed sands of Chirihama Nagisa Driveway. I was
excited to be heading, now, for the Japanese Alps via Gokayama, a
hamlet of centuries-old steep-roofed thatched farmhouses. By day
12 we were closing in on it. Gentle, contemplative running aboard a
big bike. Nice. Women in yokatas posing for selfies.
December 2020 CLUTCH 13

Highest traversable road in Japan. “When the weather
plays along, this road provides some of the most
stunning scenery in the country,” Edelweiss’ comprehensive
tour booklet stated. The weather didn’t
play along. We crossed in fog and rain. Still, there
were windows when the clouds parted, hinting at
vast alpine grandeur and giving brief glimpses of
the road snaking to infinity far below. No chill could kill the warm
fuzzy feeling of seeing eye-to-eye with onsen-loving snow monkeys
— as red-faced as if sozzled on sake — at Jigokudani on Shirane’s
northern flank. And azaleas blazed like hot lava on the slopes of
Mount Akagi volcano in a rare rain respite the next day, ending in
Nikkō — a small mountain town where I spent our second rest day
exploring the Toshō-gū temple complex. The circle was almost
complete. We turned south for Tokyo via the Twin Ring Motegi.
The circle was almost complete. We turned south for Tokyo via
the Twin Ring Motegi, Japan’s premier race circuit and setting
for the Japanese MotoGP. By chance we arrived on a race day
… too early to see the races, but in time for Angela’s group
to take a pace-car-led round of the track. Too soon I was on a
whisper-quiet limousine bus (with white-gloved chauffeur) to
Narita airport. As we departed, a uniformed girl stepped on with
a sign reminding us to wear our seat belts, then a screen lit
up: “Beware of noise leakage from headphones”. She bowed at
the driver as she stepped down. I was going to miss Japan’s
seamless efficiency, its orderly serenity. For two weeks I’d not
heard the assault of reggaetón, nor seen any trash. I’d even
forgotten how to use toilet paper. My last, fond memory of this
bike-friendly country was a final “one-for-the-road” hands-free
poop and pee, courtesy of Panasonic.
14 CLUTCH December 2020
CLUTCH 3

December 2020 CLUTCH 15

BY Joe Brown
WHERE THE
PAVEMENT ENDS

An off-road journey
This is a disaster. Just a
few hours into a threeday
motorcycle ride
through the unpaved
wilds, I’ve already
dropped the bike several
times. I’m beat up; my
hair is matted with sweat. My wool base layers
are wet-stuck to my skin. My confidence
is brittle as burnt paper. On a motorcycle,
confidence is a small target that you need
to hit squarely. Get too cocky, overcook a
turn, and you’re a flower-covered cross on
the side of a highway. But if you ride timid,
your lack of speed could put you at the
risk of wiping out then and there; the faster
the wheels are turning under you, the more
gyroscopic stability they provide. I’m doing
that second thing: which is crawling too
slowly over a large, brown, and close rutted.

I’m supposed to be testing my own ability
to step away from the civilized world, trying
out the best equipment for eating, sleeping,
and riding under the unobstructed sky.
Instead, I’m spending way too much time
looking up at the sky from underneath what
I would say nearly 500 pounds of Kawasaki.
The problem is that I’ve strapped about 50
pounds of clothes and camping gear to the
back of the bike, about a mile above my center
of gravity. I’m riding the 2014 edition of
the KLR650, a venerable model dating back
to 1987. The KLR is known as the french fry
of motorcycles. You can find one (and someone
to fix it) anywhere from California to the
Central African Republic. Its terrain-eating
suspension and centrally mounted engine
are designed to deliver the balance and
clearance you need to be able to go many
miles beyond the end of your comfort zone.
Unfortunately, the KLR’s seat is 35 inches off
the ground; my jeans have a 30-inch inseam
in them. My tent, in contrast to the bike, is
cooperative. Also it has a garage. Made by a
mom-and-pop shop called Redverz, it sleeps
two (technically three, but don’t even) and
has a ride-in vestibule to keep your bike
sheltered from the elements. Sometimes,
like when you are ducking a sandstorm
while riding in the Paris-Dakar Rally, shelter
for your gear as well as yourself can be very
important. And also on a clear weekend in
the Washington mountains it is, also a little
overkillish. My tent is great, but man, the instructions
are so laughable. While one of the
steps is basically “Put the poles in their corresponding
sleeves,” but then includes the
single laminated page that happenly gives
no indication of what would even be able to
corresponds to what part.
December 2020 CLUTCH 19

My tent also comes
with stakes and
this old instruction
sheet doesn’t
for some reason
evento mention
them. Half an hour later I’ve got shelter.
I wheel the bike in, start a fire (outside),
change into sweatpants. The cold of the
morning is felt on my nose. About the only
thing peeking out of my down mummy
bag—wakes me. It’s still dark out, so I go on
to flick on my little Black Diamond LED lamp
and you can dress without even leaving the
Put the next day’s clothes in your sleeping
bag at night and they’re warm when you get
up in the morning. Between my wool base
layers and the insulated Rev’it riding getup,
I’m cozy. Leaving my gear at the campsite, I
get an early start and ride up a logging road
that’s supposed to have some very intense
and very challenging terrain. That would
give trouble to any rider. It gets very bad
but, in the best way: muddy, that is also
around barely I would say is 6 feet wide. Not
to mention that there are also the Ruts so
deep you could even be able to use one of
them even as a freaking koi pond.
“THE ROAD GETS BAD,
BUT IN THE BEST WAY.”
The Redverz Expedition tent that I had with
me is so very much motorcycle-centric that
it even comes with this awesome looking
part that is a almost like a built-in garage
so that you are able to shelter your bike and
also as well as a wonderful looking and very
useful shelter for all of your important andvery
necessary motorcycle gear.
December 2020 CLUTCH 21

I
ride it a few times, forcing myself
to be light on the bars, to let the
front tire follow the terrain, to steer
with my knees rather than my arms.
Speeding up, I aim for a sharp crest I
previously avoided. I roll on the throttle
to transfer weight to the rear wheel and
hit hard. I clear it, only to realize that there’s
a bigger rock on the other side. Gravity and
momentum pitching in, I hit that one even
faster, and I feel the bike leave the ground.
Throw my weight left, ride it out, and then
skid my rear tire to a stop. This is what you
call a turning point. By the third morning,
the bike feels dialed in. The air is cold on
the patch of neck my suit and helmet leave
exposed. I ride paved roads from mountain
to mountain, and the bike is happy on the
blacktop: dancing through the tar-snakes on
the farm-lined back roads. Off-road, headed
up a rock-and-mud slope, I push a little too
hard and almost lose it a few times. Almost.
22 CLUTCH December 2020

Baja by Bike:
Jamie Elvidge

Motorcycling in Mexico
Although we’d been
jawing about our
trip to Baja for
months, we met
for our departure
breakfast with absolutely
no plan, unless you count
raw intention, which was to ride all
the way to Cabo San Lucas at the
southernmost tip
of Mexico’s rural
Peninsula. And
the operation of
Seat-o’-The-Pants
#137: Ride deep
into an unfamiliar
foreign country
to rate the touring
performance of
the motorcycles.
We are a very fun
group, obviously,
like the kind
that drives Urban
Legends and party
jokes. “Did you
hear the one about the three motojournalists
who went to Mexico
without a map?” The Three Amigos
that consisted of me, “The One Who
Pays The Check;” my trusted compadre,
Andy Cherney, who knew
just enough Spanish to keep us out
of jail; and our esteemed guest tester,
former Motorcyclist Magazine
executive editor, Marc Cook, a.k.a.
“The Voice Of Reason.” Well, actually
that is not very true because we
did have a map during this time.
And we also had three luxurious
touring cruisers to test -- BMW’s
new R1200CL, Harley’s time-proven
Electra Glide, and alsoYamaha’s
Royal Star Venture. Which you also
can read about which was our favorite
two-wheeled from traveling companion
in our 2004 Touring Cruiser
Comparison Test. It is Motorcycle
Cruiser’s style to not have a plan --
to let our stories unfold on the fly
-- but we are not short on common
sense. After loading up on bottled
water and octane boost, we crossed
into Mexico at the small Tecate gate
to avoid the depressing squall that
plagues the Tijuana crossing. This
route to touristy Ensenada, where
we would pick up Mexico’s Highway
1, was also more circuitous and scenic,
both on the U.S. side and alsoeven
in the Mexico aswell.
The rules had changed abruptly.
We could smell it in the trash that
lined the roads, in the clouds of
diesel fumes and the burning tires.
We could see it in children as they
strolled casually past rotting carcasses
of road-kill cows and hear it in
the bark of mange-ridden dogs who
ran at us in the street. Our senses
came alight with a
new intensity and
a profound level of
concentration that
would color our
entire journey. We
had all been as far
south as Ensenada,
a Pacific port
city that remains a
popular shopping
and party spot for
most American
visitors despite its
dingy, desperate
atmosphere. We
crept through the
city streets in quiet disregard, finally
popping out the southern end to
find our hearts beating a little faster...a
little more freely. Hola, unknown.
The Baja Peninsula is the
longest land arm of its type in the
world and Mexico’s last frontier, all
but forgotten in its isolation from
mainland industry and politics.
Before the mid 1970s there was no
paved highway to span its length,
only a network of goat paths and
other animals that are crossing.
December 2020 CLUTCH 25

Since there is so little edible
foliage in Baja, the
animals line the highway
like stones line a path.
Reason being, the pavement
crown produces
enough runoff to grow a tiny strip of
greenery on each side. It’s a bad arrangement
for everyone, of course,
except for the country’s enormous
population of vultures. You wouldn’t
believe how many of these unsightly
birds we saw mooching eyeballs for
lunch. Our first night out we lodged
at the small,Estero Beach Resort,
just south of Ensenada on the Bay of
Todos Santos. In January the climate
in Baja is just perfect for riding, with
very little rain and average daytime
temps in the 70s and 80s (compared
to 110-plus in summer). Oddly, the
resort was like a ghost town, leaving
us with the lion’s share of spicy
chorizo for breakfast. Why anyone
would choose crowds and sweltering
heat over this peaceful sense of
isolation (and discount rates) was
beyond us. On our way out of town
we made the obligatory stop at La
Bufadora, an impressive oceanic
geyser and the last tourist snare for
almost aorund 1000 lonely miles.
We knew we were looking at a fuel
deficit in this section. Gas stations
in mid-Baja are few and cannot be
relied upon to be open or stocked.
Local entrepreneurs cash in on the
deficiency by selling gas to the hapless
from plastic milk jugs. (At first
we thought they were selling apple
juice. Duh.) We were carrying a few
extra gallons of premium unleaded
we’d brought from The States
as a backup and filled up the bikes
at every Pemex station we passed
that day. Pemex is also government
owned and therefore it is also all
that is currently shaking in Baja.
26 CLUTCH December 2020

Locating these hidden
stations in the unmapped
villages feels
a little like capturing
energy cells in a computer
game. Toward
the end of the day we rather unwisely
missed one and were left out
after dark, on reserve, and forever
from the nearest anywhere. This far
out our meager backup ration could
mean nothing. The miles ticked by
as loudly as clock strokes while our
high beams cut through a dark soup
of desert night and there were also
the brightly, shining animal eyes.
At the end of the second day out, The
Amigos were pretty well spent, partly
from the intense focus required by
the riding conditions and also from
the sheer volume of miles we covered.
I’m not sure what the guys had
expected, but I was surprised to find
Baja so mountainous and its highway
so twisty. The terrain is amazingly
diverse and geologically quite
beautiful. There is barrenness to the
landscape that is strangely echoed in
the villages. The hills seem to want
trees the same way the churches
need bells. So many beginnings as
shown here have also been left.
You see it in the half-built businesses
and half-painted murals that
dominate most towns. Stores that
are actually open seem to teeter on
the brink of ruin. Beer is the mainstay.
It’s all very Mad Max, especially
when you add the burned-out cars
and pickup truck fueling docks. We
speculated about the abandoned
growth spurts the way one speculates
about tree rings. Completion
of the transpeninsular highway in
the 1970s? Inflated hopes for the
NAFTA Agreement of the ‘90s? And
still there is also the question of, but
who really knows, man?
December 2020 CLUTCH 27

We here were
like merely
all professional
salsa-testing
motorcycle
riders who were looking for the
first warm tortilla. That night, we
found it in the unremarkable town
of Guerrero Negro where we ate and
slept and wished it didn’t cost $5 a
minute to call home. The next day
was a favorite. We discovered some
real treasures in the Peninsula’s
southern state, Baja Sur, beginning
with an unplanned breakfast stop
in historic San Ignacio, where date
palms grow as thick as prairie grass
and an unlikely lagoon oozes mist
like steam from a witch’s cauldron.
After being stunned by the town’s
huge 18th-century church, built by
Baja’s first settlers, Jesuit missionaries,
we happened into a little coffee
shop and devoured stuffed dates
and homemade bread and jam. Our
lunch break found us in another
palm-laden oasis, colorful Muleg,
filling up on fish tacos before the
highway swept us down through
fields of towering cactus to the edge
of an emerald-green and azure
Sea of Cortez. You shouldn’t ride
through Baja if you feel a strong attachment
to things like toilet paper
and hot water. Clean freaks should
just stay home. The Amigos were
ripening, a condition accelerated
by a sultry tropical humidity that
would turn to heavy rain by the end
of the day. Of course there had been
no way to check the weather, so we
were unaware of a tropical storm to
the south, spinning wet tendrils our
way. When we pulled into La Paz we
as were wet as fish. That was when a
local laughed at us.
“The terrain is amazingly diverse
and geologically quite beautiful.”
19 28 CLUTCH December 2020

Cook and I could
say things like cerveza
and chipotle,
but when it came
to chatting it up
with the gas station
attendants or assuring machinegun-equipped
boys at the military
check points, Cherney was the
hombre. We’d push him in front of
us like a couple of geeky preteens
afraid to talk to the cheerleaders. “I
feel like Mexican” became a favorite
line at meal time. The food in Baja
was terrific, and in La Paz we found
the best shrimp fajitas imaginable at
La Panga. In fact, we ate them two
nights in a row since we’d decided
to drop anchor at this port, as cruise
ships often do. We found our favorite
hotel here, too, Los Arcos, which
was luxurious, reasonably priced
and overflowing with perfect tropical
ambiance. From La Paz we spent
two exciting days exploring Los Cabos
(The Capes), including its two
famous getaway destinations, Cabo
San Lucas and San Jose Del Cabo.
But our favorite finds in
this region were the more
real-world towns, such as
Todos Santos, an artist enclave
and home to the Hotel California,
purported to be inspiration for
the Eagles song (we don’t think so),
and San Antonio with its jewel-like
red and white church appearing like
a perfect ghost at nightfall. We didn’t
do tequila shots at Cabo Wabo or
buy T-shirts at the Hard Rock Caf.
Come on. We didn’t even take a water
taxi out to Baja’s famous rock
arch at Land’s End so we could say
we were there. That’s touristy crap.
We were living in another world,
and Cabo was a culture shock.
Initially, in our non-planning, we
had discussed taking the ferry from
La Paz over to Mexico proper for
an all-new ride up. But when it was
time to head north we all felt that we
would rather get to know Baja backward
than risk a boring route home
on the densely populated mainland.
We knew what to expect now and
were looking forward to retracing
our steps. We’d been pleasantly surprised
by how smooth and clean
Baja’s Highway 1 had been. Narrow
and plagued by animals, perhaps,
but still very rideable. We were also
impressed by how courteous Mexican
drivers are (at least outside city
limits). Oncoming vehicles would
consistently warn us of errant livestock
with hazard lights, and vehicles
we were following would clear
us to pass with a turn signal. (Even
though we continued to select our
own passing opportunities, we
found these signals were always appropriate.)
The unpaved secondary
roads are hellish, however, especially
on a heavy cruiser, and we learned
straight out of the sand to avoid
them. Most of the beaches on the
Sea of Cortez side are fully accessible
though (hard-packed traffic).
On our way north it was easier to
see beyond the trash that lines the
road -- the discarded goods and
animals -- and appreciate Baja for
its charmingly unkempt and unpredictable
nature. Think of it as
a beautiful girl wearing rags...with
clots of dirt in her hair...and also
had very bad teeth.
From the seats of our touring
cruisers we soaked up
the velvet-green color of
sage in January and the
white smell of salty sea air while
enthusiastically exchanging peace
signs with at least 100 children.
Even the darker side of Baja -- the
vultures hunched like gargoyles on
the arms of saguaro cacti and the
countless roadside shrines marking
untimely human death -- became
a part of the brilliance. This
certainly wasn’t Sheboygan, baby.
We picked up a few memories we’d
reluctantly bypassed on our more
harried journey south, including
a night’s stay in San Ignacio,
where we slept in yurts along the
lagoon. For real. The round Mongolian-style
tents really don’t relate
to Mexican culture.
December 2020 CLUTCH 29 20

“A motorcycle
tour through Baja
is a totally doable
adventure.”
Over an especially
delicious North
American-style
breakfast they
told us about the
joys of Baja’s lazy
pace and endless sunshine, about
how it feels to paddle a kayak at
sunrise and ride a horse to visit ancient
cave paintings (Baja is home
to Mexico’s most important cave
art). We were certainly in awe of
this lifestyle, but after just six days
south of the border we were already
missing our own groove too much
to ponder the pros for long. From
San Ignacio we rode a double day so
we could get all the way home to our
beloved plumbing, er, loved ones.
Home Sweet Home. A motorcycle
ride through Mexico makes it all
seem so much richer. Indeed, when
we finally crossed back over the border
at Tecate, bleary-eyed and stinky
but satisfied to the core, we knew
exactly how lucky we were to live in
America. In celebration we cranked
back the throttle and flew headlong
into the knowable. No more military
checkpoints. There are aso no
mapped out gas stops or even any
moonlit cattle slaloms.
A motorcycle tour through Baja is a
totally doable adventure. Except for
one instance where we ran short on
fuel (due to a missed stop), we had
absolutely nothing worrisome happen.
Every mile was an adventure,
but one we felt completely in control
of. There are many misconceptions
about touring Baja -- most of
them generated by people who have
only visited the border towns where
desperation is a theme. The locals,
though dirt-poor in most cases, are
proud and very sociable. No one
here also begs. Ever.
They will try and sell you
everything from gum to
girls, but if you politely
decline they will not insist.
The Mexican people loved our
motorcycles, and we were almost
always greeted with jubilant awe.
(They chuckled especially hard over
the stereo systems.) We all had the
proper paperwork, although we
were never asked for it. We do recommend
buying vehicle insurance
at the border since your U.S. coverage
will have shortcomings. If
you are in Mexico for more than 72
hours you need a“tourist card” also.
If you’re taking a ferry, which has
strict rules on paperwork, you
should probably have this visa. Otherwise,
we’d skip it. Obviously you
should have complete paperwork
on your bike, a motorcycle driver’s
license and preferably a valid passport.
Unlike tres amigos, you can
plan your foray. Our favorite stopovers
were the Estero Beach Resort
in Ensenada (646/176-6230 ), Ignacio
Springs B&B; (yurt city) in
San Ignacio (011-52-615/154-0333)
and the Hotel Los Arcos in La Paz
(612/122-2744). In fact, we’d all revisit
La Paz just to stay at this hotel
again and eat the shrimp fajitas from
La Panga at the east marina. With
some regret we did not stay in Todos
Santos, just north of Cabo San
Lucas, but if we did we’d lodge at the
Hotel California. You’ll find La Pinta
hotels in many of the small towns --
a Mexican chain that seemed clean
and offered secure parking. Don’t
worry about getting lost, it’s pretty
hard to stray from Highway 1, and
don’t hesitate to eat the local yummies,
even from the roadside stands.
We stumbled across some fresh,
grilled spiny lobster one morning
and ate two kilos for breakfast.
21 30 CLUTCH December 2020

Know the Rider
Jocelin Snow
by Andrew Nguyen

MOTO WONDER
WOMAN
For many, motorcycling can be a fun hobby or
an affordable way to commute. For Jocelin
Snow, motorcycling is a way of life. From rider
to racer and adventurer, she has devoted
her life to all things two-wheeled. ADVMoto
recently got a chance to chat with Jocelin to
learn where her obsession started, what she’s up to now,
and where her travels will take her in the future. Jocelin
Snow: No one in my family rode motorcycles, but I caught
the motorcycling bug quite young and bought my first motorcycle
(a Kawasaki KDX80) with my paper route money,
without telling my parents. I paid a kid at school $10 a week
all year until I had it paid for. Then, I took the school bus to his
home where he taught me the basics of how to ride. I rode
that bike every chance I could, having to push it just over a
mile to abandoned railway beds and old sand pits where I
could ride. At the time, I did not have any riding buddies, so I
learned the hard way about proper gear, and why riders wear
it. And, I learned about motorcycle maintenance and what
had to be done to keep a bike running properly. By 18, I had
progressed from the KDX80 to a Kawasaki Ninja 250, and on
to the more powerful Ninja 750. Along with the larger Ninja
came the need for speed, and I soon discovered drag racing
and road racing. After a year of road racing at a club level,
I obtained a pro racing license, and became one of the first
females to race AMA 250GP. My professional road racing
career was short-lived. After a few years I found myself in
a wheelchair, following a horrific crash at Daytona.When I
recovered from the crash, I began racing off road. I found it
more affordable, and felt it was a little less risky racing hare
scrambles and enduros. Many people have inspired me, but
the earliest was the legend himself, Malcolm Smith. I joined
him, along with a group of expert off-road riders in Baja on
a few occasions. It was a change from my solo riding and
competition, and I discovered I enjoyed riding with other riders,
sharing the day’s action and taking in the scenery. After
an exciting day of riding, we would all gather around as
Malcolm shared some of the most amazing riding stories.
These stories stay with me today and inspire me to push
for my goals and never give up. I continue to be inspired by
Malcolm, his love of motorcycling, and his desire to seek
out adventure. ADVMoto: Racing a BMW R1200GS through
technical terrain can be a challenge. How do you manage
such a massive machine?JS: At 5’-1.5” and 115 lb., just
about every motorcycle that I’ve owned is usually a bit larger
and is almost always oversized for me every time.
“No one in my family rode
motorcycles, but I caught the
motorcycling bug quite young.”
I’ve struggled with all the usual, dabbing a foot, getting
a bike off the kick stand, stopping without tipping
over, etc. The GS Trophy and riding a big adventure
bike really isn’t “racing,” in fact it has more to
do with slow-speed handling, balance, and control.
With my inseam, dabbing isn’t really an option when
I have to slide all the way off the seat to get a foot down. As
I like to tell the guys I ride with... size really doesn’t matter.
What does is keeping the bike moving forward in balance
and under control. About eight years ago, I attended a motorcycle
show and found myself drawn to this amazing BMW
R1200GS Adventure. I remember it clearly; it looked quite
intimidating, all black, with bright yellow accessories, and
had every Touratech aftermarket part on it. The salesman
explained that this was the machine that would do everything.
I could put it all together on this bike—the road racing,
the off-road, the technical riding, the long haul—this was the
bike. Then, I sat on it, and after several attempts, I could
not upright the bike from the kick stand. At that point, I’d
owned well over 30 motorcycles, and rode them plenty, but
this one was scary. I walked away from the bike in defeat,
while my riding buddies told me that I was too little for such
a big bike, and that I needed to be able to have two feet on
the ground to properly control such a serious machine. So,
“How do I manage such a massive machine?” The answer
is, I believe I can manage it, so I do. I practice often, and I
ride as much as my schedule allows. But mostly I work to
find a way to make the bike do what I want it to do. I do have
my own special ways to get a GS off the kick stand, counter
balance in tight maneuvers, negotiate technical terrain, and
even pick the bike up from a drop, it’s truly mind over matter.
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CLUTCH 26

Tell us a bit about your experience at the 2018 GS
Trophy Challenge in Mongolia. JS: The GS Trophy
Challenge in Mongolia was everything you’ve
heard, “The experience of a lifetime.” However, it
was not just the Trophy competition in Mongolia
that made it such a memorable experience—it
was getting there. Competing in the Trophy is just as much
a test of mental strength as riding ability. I seriously tested
my inner strength from the very beginning. I’d just returned
from a 30-day, 12,000-mile ride to and from Alaska
when I decided to try out for the GS Trophy. Although I had
completed the Alaska trip and my first Next Step off-road
training class at RawHyde Adventures, I had only been adventure
riding with my new GSA for about four months.
Some say the BMW GS Trophy is about the riding, some say
it is about the competition, others say it is about seeing the
country. I would say it is a little bit about all of that. But for
me it is mostly about the people. My greatest memories are
socializing with the Mongolian locals (especially the kids),
learning about my fellow riders and their countries, and
getting to know the marshals and the folks that make it all
possible. What does it take to go from ADV rider to racer?
Did you take any type of training? JS: I actually went in the
other direction… from racing to adventure riding. Learning
to control a big adventure bike in all terrain takes practice. If
I put it all in order, it would look something like this: Dirt bike
riding, drag racing, flat track racing, motocross, road racing,
hare scrambles, enduro racing, Supermoto racing, and landing
here, at adventure riding.
I
think if I had known then what I know now
about adventure riding, I would have taken
up adventure riding a long time ago. I’ve had
various training during my 35-plus years of
riding. When road racing and flat tracking, I
took the Danny Walker Supercamp School.
The Penguin Roadracing School in Loudon, NH is
where I trained for road racing. did some private training with
Dave Wood for single-track and technical trail riding. Doug
Chandler showed me the ropes of Supermoto. And I did my
adventure motorcycling training with RawHyde Adventures
in Castaic, CA and Country Trax in Johannesburg, South Africa.
If you could explore any part of the world, where would
it be, continue racing, long distance travel, etc.? JS: HA! Do
I have future riding plans lined up? You bet I do!! I’ve partnered
with UpSouth Adventures in Cape Town, South Africa,
and am leading my first two-week tour in South Africa in
late November and December of 2018. I have three more
tours planned there with them during 2019. I’m also partnering
with Epico Moto Adventures and leading a women’s
adventure tour in Colombia in January of 2019. I’ve traveled
most of Europe by motorcycle, but my bucket list includes
Iceland, New Zealand, and the Silk Road, and of course, as
a BDR ambassador and lifetime member. I haven’t been everywhere…
but it’s on my list! Any words of inspiration that
you have to share with everyone? JS: What I have to say to
you all is you need to believe in yourself, follow your dreams
and never give up. The world is such an amazing place, so
get out there and discover it.
“I think if I had known then what I know now
about adventure riding, I would have taken up
adventure riding a long time ago.”
To Be Continued...
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December 2020 CLUTCH 35