SOMEWHERE, SOMEPLACE, THERE PROBABLY ARE two things better-suited to one another than ATVs and Baja. But if there are, you'd have to look long and hard to find them.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. Because of their relatively large size and weight, ATVs are happier roaming the wide-open spaces than they are tiptoeing along the kinds of tight, narrow, off-camber trails that can be so much fun on a dirt bike. And when it comes to wideopen, don’t-fence-me-in riding areas, Mexico’s Baja peninsula has one of North America’s largest supplies. This 750-mile-long finger of land, most of which is populated either sparsely or not at all, offers an impressively wide variety of open terrain, from mountains to deserts and practically everything in between. And a network of dirt roads, wide trails and open sandwashes makes just about all of this off-road fantasyland easily accessible by ATV. Except for the areas in and around a couple of bigger cities, even Baja’s few paved roads and numerous small villages are not off-limits to dirt machines.
But while ATVs and Baja constitute a marriage made in heaven, there hasn’t been much of a honeymoon, for rarely have ATV riders of the southwest partaken of the sensual pleasures Baja has to offer. This is due not to a boycott of Baja by ATV enthusiasts, but rather to a simple fact of threeand four-wheel life: ATV riders aren’t inclined to go anywhere for long trail loops or point-to-point rides. According to studies conducted by the manufacturers, the vast majority of ATV riders do all their riding within confined areas of one type or another, usually without venturing more than a mile or so from the car or truck that delivered them to the starting point.
PAUL DEAN
We here at CYCLE WORLD have been no exceptions. Most of us have logged our share of miles aboard ATVs, but, typically, we seem always to have done so in relatively small, confined areas—a racetrack, a cycle park, the sand dunes or some other designated off-road riding place. On the other hand, our involvement with off-road twowheelers has usually included trail loops or point-to-point excursions of at least one full day in length.
It was time for us to amend our ways. And we figured that our first act of reparation would be to round up enough ATVs to take the entire CYCLE WORLD staff on a twoor three-day, point-to-point trail ride in the best place we could imagine: Baja, of course. We figured we’d come back having learned one of two things: 1) either that there’s a damned fine reason why this kind of off-road “touring” isn’t embraced by ATV riders; or 2) that by avoiding such rides, ATVers are cheating themselves out of some mighty good times.
A few weeks later found nine of us saddling up an equal number of ATVs at Hacienda Santa Veronica, a neat little resort ranch a half-hour outside of Tecate in Baja. Our game plan was to spend the first day riding to Mike’s Sky Rancho, about 140 trail miles to the south of Santa Veronica, using a basic route we had covered many times by motorcycle. We’d hang around Mike’s the entire second day, performing any necessary vehicle maintenance and playriding in the surrounding hills and washes, then get up bright and early on the third day for the return ride back to Santa Veronica.
For obvious reasons, our choice of machinery for the ride came from the upper end of the engine-displacement spectrum. No sense in thrashing the life out of a teacupsize engine trying to keep up with bigger machines in the vastness of Baja. And since we weren’t quite sure which types of ATVs—the two-stroke racers or the predominantly four-stroke sport models—would be the hot ticket for long-distance trail riding, we took along a nice mix of both from the four Japanese companies, and from Polaris, the sole U.S. manufacturer of ATVs.
We also arranged for Don Ogilvie, father of famed offroad racer Bruce Ogilvie, to follow us in his go-anywhere, four-wheel-drive Dodge van. Without any expertise in riding ATVs long distances, we had no idea how well the machines—or the riders—would hold up. And we didn’t want to have to explain to any of the manufacturers why we deserted their broken ATV in no-man’s land. “Well, uh, there’s this big, uh, funny-shaped rock about, uh, gosh, I don’t know, about 75 miles from this big mudhole, and, uh, your machine is, uh, well, it’s somewhere between the two.” No, thanks. So we opted for a chase truck—good advice, actually, for anyone attacking the wilds of Baja on an ATV, a motorcycle or any off-road vehicle, although it’s not an absolute necessity.
But, since we had already wimped out by taking a chase truck, we also had our shop foreman, Craig von Steiger, drive the CYCLE WORLD box van to Mike’s, using the paved roads that go most of the way there. That would allow us to have a couple of back-up ATVs available at Mike’s, along with a supply of spare parts to bail us out in the event of terminal breakdowns. It also alleviated the need for us to lash our minimalist luggage to the machines—a provision that the manufacturers have not allowed for on most of the sport/racer models.
The wisdom of our decision to take along backups was evidenced before the ride ever got any farther than the access road leading out of Santa Veronica. The ignition on the Kawasaki 250 Tecate three-wheeler went belly-up, forcing rider David Edwards to swap it for the four-stroke Honda ATC 200X three-wheeler in the box van. Hmmm. A DNF within the very first mile didn’t bode well for the rest of the trip.
Once that problem was handled, though, things went smoothly. The early part of the ride was on wide, relatively straight dirt roads, which, in themselves, weren’t particularly thrilling; but they did help us find out just how effectively ATV suspensions (of which their fat, low-pressure tires are a part) absorb abrupt, punishing little sharp-edged chops and potholes. These roads usually beat you Jo death on even the most sophisticated off-road motorcycles, but the ATVs made the choppy surface almost seem as smooth as glass.
A light rain had fallen during the early morning, so when we finally turned onto the good trails, dust was nonexistent and traction was superb—maybe even too good. ATVs are a barrel of fun when you can skid them around at least a little bit, and the tacky ground made sliding considerably more difficult.
Those conditions gave rise to a round of griping by Ron Griewe, our resident Baja expert and designated cynic. He was aboard the Kawasaki 250 Mojave, a four-stroke fourwheeler that he admitted was a nice, solid, easy-to-ride machine with a peppy engine and excellent steering. But he couldn’t stop viewing the scene through the eyes of a veteran off-road motorcycle rider. “Lookit the perfect traction out there . . . we’re wasting all these bitchin' trails in these little cars... I could be doin’ feet-up, full-lock slides on a four-stroke motorcycle . . . where’s my 510 Husky when I need it. . .”
Obviously, Griewe was not yet a believer in ATVs. And based on his initial outburst, at least, he was going to be tough to convert.
I also was worried about Ron Lawson, another devout dirt-bike rider who seemed a bit skeptical of a three-day ATV ride. But my fears were put to rest when, at our first along-the-trail break, he climbed off the Polaris Cyclone with a big grin on his face, making strange woooooooooo noises. “It’s like you’re riding the world's biggest vacuum cleaner,’’ he proclaimed. “You thumb the throttle open and it just goes woooooooooo. The pitch of the engine never changes, but you accelerate anyway.”
Lawson continued to tell the three or four riders standing closest to him all about the 250cc two-stroke Polaris, the only ATV of the group with a Salsbury belt-drive automatic transmission—no doubt a result of Polaris’ long-time involvement with snowmobiles. Frequently punctuating his remarks with additional woooooooooos, Lawson rambled on about how the Cyclone seemed kind of dated and crude compared to the Japanese machines, but that it had the plushest suspension and best seat of any ATV he had ever ridden, and that even though it wasn’t real fast, it was as easy and pleasurable to ride as any reasonable person could ask, and that it rode “like a Cadillac.” High marks, indeed, from the stoic Lawson.
Later in the morning, I hooked up with Larry Little, cw’s hard-riding Advertising Director, for a bit of playracing along the trail. I was on Kawasaki’s potent Tecate Four, a 250cc, two-stroke four-wheeler, and Little was piloting the V-Max of ATVs, Yamaha’s fearsome Banshee, powered by a twin-cylinder, 350cc two-stroke engine. I was impressed with the quickness and response of the Tecate’s engine and chassis, which allowed me to keep Little in my sights in the corners; but on the straights, the Banshee would vanish at warp speed, leaving me for dead in a shower of mud and rocks that would practically wipe me right off the seat. I vowed never again to ride directly behind the Banshee.
At about the halfway point, we stopped to eat lunch, setting up an impromptu picnic in a clump of trees right at the edge of a scenic water-crossing. The serenity of the burbling stream, the birds chirping overhead, the rustle of the leaves moving in a gentle breeze, all stood in stark contrast to the mechanized mayhem we had been wreaking just minutes earlier. A few of us waded over to the far side of the stream and, making the best of our limited command of Spanish, read the inscriptions that had been hand-carved on some huge boulders by workers who cut this crossing out of the wilderness some years before.
We hoped everyone would get a stint on every vehicle before the three-day ride was over, so before taking off again after lunch, we changed machines for the second time. And it was right after that when I had about as much fun as a human being can stand, I think. I was on the Suzuki 230 Quadsport, sandwiched between cw’s Western Advertising Manager, Greg Blackwell, on the Polaris, and David Edwards on the Kawasaki Mojave. And for—I dunno—10, 12, 15 miles, we rode nose-to-tail in the wackiest, most uninhibited game of bumper cars I’ve ever been a part of. I don’t think we ever were more than six inches apart, even while doing full-lock, full-throttle powerslides through most of the corners, rubbing wheels and nerfing bumpers the whole time.
I couldn’t see Edwards, since he was behind me, although I frequently felt him; but up ahead, the fun-loving Blackwell—a man who could have the time of his life in a nuclear holocaust—was giggling and slapping his left knee and bouncing up and down on the seat in delight every time I’d stuff one of the quick-steering Quadsport’s front wheels up on the inside of his Polaris. Just watching him enjoy himself so thoroughly soon had me laughing so uncontrollably that I had trouble seeing through my own tears. I guess it was a blessing that this section of trail consisted mostly of tight turns and short straights, which kept the speeds at a safe level.
At that point, I couldn’t see how any of us could possibly avoid having a leg-wetting good time; but Griewe— sometimes known as “The Ogre” around the office—was giving it a helluva try. He was grimly chugging along on the Fourtrax four-stroke, still hell-bent not to enjoy himself, as though even cracking a smile on one of these things would be a federal offense; Using an excess of wheels to have fun; three years to life.
We stopped for gas at the tiny villages of Independencia and Valle de Trinidad, places where the local children got really excited at the sight of nine ATVs rumbling into town. They’re accustomed to seeing lots of off-road motorcycles, but not many new, big ATVs. They’d wave as we rode past, then wander over to eyeball the machinery at closer range while we gassed up. I had intended to bring along a pocketful of CYCLE WORLD stickers to pass out in such situations, but had inadvertently left them sitting on my desk. Too bad. In poverty-stricken Baja, a simple gift like a sticker doesn’t just make a little boy’s day, it makes his month.
Our third and last machine change of the day put Publisher Jim Hansen on the Honda two-stroke 250 Fourtrax; and like most of the riders before and after him, he immediately fell in love with it. Its supple suspension and crisp steering gave precise handling, and its single-cylinder.
counterbalanced engine proved remarkably smooth and the fastest of the lot—aside from the Banshee, of course, which is in another solar system when it comes to engine performance.
Lawson put in an impressive run up the hill to Mike’s on the Honda 200X, dispelling any notions that the 200cc three-wheeler didn’t have adequate speed or handling for this ride. During those last 25 miles, Camron Bussard also made good time on the Yamaha Warrior, an excellent allaround sport/play four-wheeler. Not surprisingly, its electric-start, 350cc four-stroke Single has gobs of low-end and mid-range torque, and it handles quite nicely for so large a machine.
In Mike’s bar that night, the tall tales about the day’s adventures flew fast and furious. Anyone who didn’t know better might have thought that Mike was hosting a convention of mimes and impressionists, since everyone’s arms were flailing in depictions of the full-lock cross-ups or flat-out jumps they claimed to have survived, accompanied by sound-effects of wide-open engines running up and down through the gears. Griewe put the capper on the evening with a typically caustic remark as he watched Blackwell and Little downing some of Mike’s famous Bloody Marys; “Are those ad guys going to drink all night? They won’t have any booze left for breakfast.”
Surprisingly, the machines needed very little maintenance—a dirty air filter here, a low tire there, but nothing major—so we devoted most of the next day to playing around Mike’s. We spent the early hours in the sandwash adjacent to the ranch, horsing around in typical ATV fashion by doing wheelies, spinning donuts, attempting frontwheel “stoppies” and chasing one another in follow-theleader games. Edwards emerged as the wheelie king, doing them everywhere and on every machine, finally honing his rear-wheel skills to a fine art on his favorite machine—the Honda Fourtrax four-stroke. Camron Bussard used that same Fourtrax to refine his full-throttle, turn-and-pitch techniques for executing perfect 180-degree snap turns. And David Dewhurst, who rode along as the official photographer but who also is a talented motorcycle/ATV rider, managed the fastest wheelies on the Banshee—but then, it does the fastest everything.
Lawson used the occasion to break out the other backup machine from the cw box van: a Suzuki LT4WD Quadrunner, a four-stroke, 250cc, two/four-wheel-drive ATV with four-wheel independent suspension, shaft drive, a lockable differential, an automatic clutch and a total of 15 forward speeds. A trick vehicle, to be sure, but more a low-speed exploration device than a sport machine—which is why we hadn’t included it on our ride down to Mike’s.
Lawson immediately rode the 4WD into the gnarliest, rockiest part of the deepest stream in the area, determined to find something this large, wide, heavy vehicle could not surmount. But try as he might, he failed. In four-wheel drive with its super-low gearing engaged and its differential locked, the Suzuki was utterly unstoppable, clawing and spinning over, under or around everything Lawson could throw in its path.
“Gimme that thing, ya wimp,” yelled Blackwell as he yanked Lawson off the 4WD’s seat. He then bounded over some big piles of giant rocks, occasionally getting hung up momentarily, but eventually working loose and continuing onward. Blackwell then backed the Suzuki up onto a big, domed boulder and somehow got it stuck there, with all four wheels dangling in mid-air. As he rocked the machine and revved its engine in vain, trying to dislodge it in four-wheel-drive with the differential lock engaged, the Suzuki looked for all the world like a huge turtle that had high-centered on a rock, its four little feet frantically clawing at the air in an attempt to climb down.
Meanwhile, in a scene right out of Deliverance, Lawson barged into the stream on the Honda three-wheeler, determined to see how a normal ATV compared to the Suzuki as an amphibious vehicle. He soon found out. He got the Honda tightly wedged among some huge rocks in tankdeep water, and fried its clutch trying to wrestle it free. The irony was that the machine we’d have to ride home in place of the Honda would be—yep, you guessed it—none other than the 4WD Suzuki.
Quite a lot of daylight was remaining after the 4WD debacle, so most of us went on a short trail ride, making abouta 35-mile loop that began on Simpson Ranch Road, a short distance from Mike’s. The first half of the loop is a rough, rocky, rutted trail that climbs up and down the rugged mountains and is great fun on a motorcycle; but I’m here to tell you that on that section of trail, we finally exceeded the limits of enjoyment for ATVs. Some machines were better than others, but none of them were very good on that terrain; we all were glad when we finally got to the smoother part of the trail.
Thankfully, we hadn’t broken any of the ATVs on that rough loop, so early the next morning we all were on our way back to Santa Veronica. I began the day on the consummate eye-opener—the Banshee, which propelled me the 25 miles to Valle de Trinidad so fast that I swear I got there five minutes before leaving Mike’s. I had to wait around quite a while before anyone else showed up.
David Edwards, who was aboard the Tecate Four, had left Mike’s a few minutes before I did and might have given me a decent run for my money, but I passed him about five miles out. I slowed when I saw the Kawasaki parked at the edge of the road, but Edwards waved me past. When he finally arrived at Trinidad, I asked what had happened. He sheepishly smiled, looked down at the ground and said, “I had to sacrifice my best bandana for the sake of personal hygiene.”
“Oh. Sorry I asked.”
As luck would have it, my turn to ride the 4WD Suzuki came right after Trinidad—the roughest part of the route. I dreaded the thought of wrestling that 500-plus-pound behemoth over the rocks and through the whoops that lay ahead. But I was pleasantly surprised to find that the 4WD wasn’t so bad at all. Once I resigned myself to being unable to keep up with the pack, I found I could bash over the rough stuff fairly quickly and very controllably.
A little while later, while thundering through the pine trees on the Yamaha Warrior, I heard a high-pitched noise behind me, so I turned around and saw Griewe on the Banshee, catching me like I was chained to a post. As he blitzed past me at somewhere beyond the speed of light, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing: Griewe grinning ear-toear inside his Moto 4.
Praise the Lord! The Ogre was finally having fun on an ATV. Wait’ll I get back to Santa Veronica, I thought, so I can tell the others what I’ve seen with my own eyes.
To my great disappointment, though, they weren’t shocked to hear that Griewe had been caught red-handed in the act of enjoying himself. Because if we had learned anything at all during our three-day, over-300-mile trek, it was that a long ride on machines like these can put a smile on anyone's face. We proved that point-to-point riding isn’t merely feasible on ATVs, but that it’s one of the most enjoyable things you can do on them. They’d be even better at that task if their makers would equip them with bigger gas tanks and more provisions for carrying luggage and camping gear; nevertheless, taking long trail rides is something everyone who owns a full-sized ATV ought to seriously consider.
They’d also find, I think, that real trail riding is inherently safer than the typical ATV practice of playing in a confined area. When contained within a few measly acres of land, ATVers soon run out of ways to keep themselves entertained. So they invariably start doing stunts—wheelies, donuts, slides and the like. Human nature being what it is, they continue to attempt faster and more difficult tricks—until, eventually, they crash, all too often hurting themselves in the process. And on top of that, if the riding area is crowded, as so many are, the likelihood of being run into by another ATV is very high.
On a trail ride, however, those same elements of danger either don’t exist at all, or are present in much smaller doses. When you aren’t intimately familiar with the trails, you tend to ride more conservatively than you do when you’ve been over the same piece of land a thousand times. And obviously, when you and your fellow riders are all going in the same direction, the chances of a head-on or Tbone collision are non-existent.
Besides, ATVs are quite useful for more things than just doing wheelies or cutting donuts; they’re perfect off-road exploration devices and sightseeing platforms, vehicles that can carry you almost anywhere the road doesn’t go and allow you to take in most of the scenery along the way. It’s also easier and safer to sightsee on an ATV than on a motorcycle, simply because you don’t have to worry about maintaining your balance. We proved that on our trip through Baja, where we noticed many things we had never before seen, even though we had ridden those same trails many times on motorcycles.
But after all is said and done, there’s one compelling, overpowering reason for taking long trail rides on ATVs, no matter if you do it in Baja or Florida or New England or Iowa or anyplace else where it’s not prohibited by law: It’s pure, unadulterated, non-stop fun. What else does anyone need to know?
