Every rider probably has a personal bucket list. If you’re all about sportbikes, maybe it includes the world’s famous racetracks. But my list is full of far-away destinations, remote regions, and roads less traveled. Floating to the top of my bucket: a ride along the historic El Camino Real in Baja. Time for a brief history lesson: “El Camino Real” roughly translates to “The King’s Highway” or “The Royal Road.” Technically, all the roads owned by the Spanish crown were called “El Camino Real,” but in the New World, when today’s California was a part of Mexico, El Camino meant the missions trail. Established by Catholic priests, the missions in Alta (upper) California were Franciscan while those in Baja (lower) were Jesuit. The distance between each mission was a long day’s ride on horseback. Baja’s 18 missions, running north to south, were established between the 1680s and the early 1830s. In 1834, fearing the missions were acquiring too much wealth and power, King Carlos III of Spain ordered the missionaries forcibly expelled and the sites turned over to local parishes. History lesson complete. Our little band of modern motorcycle missionaries would be Joe McKimmy, Ryan Dudek, John Volkman, and yours truly. Joe is the art director for Dirt Rider and a fellow ADV bike partner in crime. John is a Baja trail guide for Chris Haines Baja Motorcycle Adventure tours. He’s also a trailside mechanical wizard with little patience watching someone fumble with tire irons trying to fix a flat—I’ll soon be exploiting this trait to my own advantage. Ryan is Cycle World’s resident fast guy, a multitime SCORE Baja 500 and 1000 race competitor with four podium finishes. And even though I make my living as Cycle World’s photographer, somehow I managed to convince my boss that this was a work trip. 
Joe, Ryan, John, and I spent a couple of weeks discussing the trip, planning the route, and preparing the bikes. The goal was to ride into Mexico on both pavement and trails, visit six missions, and be back home in about a week. We agree to gather 75 miles south of the US border, in Ensenada. This formerly seedy town has transformed itself into a friendly tourist spot. It’s a good place for affordable fun, tasty fish tacos, and good deals on faux designer handbags if you’re too cheap to buy the lady in your life the real deal. We spend most of the evening at Cantina Hussong’s, serenaded by mariachi music while we make cervezas and street tacos disappear. In the morning we roll out on three new ADV bikes from the CW stable: a pair of 2014 KTM 1190 Adventure testbikes (one standard model, the other an 1190 Adventure R), a 2014 BMW R1200 GS Adventure, and John’s personal 2005 KTM 950. Day one begins with a cup of strong Mexican coffee and a satisfying chorizo burp from the morning’s breakfast. Bikes packed and bellies full, we weave our way through the small towns of San Vicente, San Quintín, and El Rosario. Stopping for fuel and lunch along the way, it’s a leisurely pace as we breathe in Baja. Our travels follow Route 1, the Transpeninsular Highway, until the turnoff to Bahia de Los Angeles where we fuel up the bikes at our first of many “jug gas” stops. A word on that: The farther you travel south, the farther apart the Pemex stations are scattered, so you end up buying fuel from roadside vendors who typically sell it from plastic jugs. Gas prices back in the States may have been blissfully falling, but word apparently hasn’t reached this far south. Before the trip was over, we’d pay as much as $9 a gallon. But that’s life in Baja—even with the bikes’ generous fuel tanks, without jug gas, motorcycle trips in Baja require carrying extra fuel cans on the bikes, a real hassle. 
Turning off the pavement onto a dusty trail is one of motorcycling’s greatest pleasures, but now we’re riding into the setting sun. The challenging light makes it seem like I’m hitting every big rock in this 20-mile stretch, and before long we, or rather I, suffer the first flat tire. I make a show of messing around with the tire spoons for a couple of minutes until John runs out of patience, politely pushes me out the way, and stuffs a tube in what was a tubeless tire. Just after dark we arrive at our first destination, Mission San Francisco Borja. It’s a remotely beautiful place gifted with seven natural springs and rows of grape vines and white pomegranate trees planted by early Spanish settlers. The mission is remarkably restored and cared for by many generations of the Gerado family, who greet us with genuine hospitality that instantly has us feeling at home. We make camp and promptly dig into the beers, bourbon, and cold bean burritos we’ve packed for dinner. The night around the campfire ends with us retelling tales of sand, road jumps, and close calls, all illustrated by hand gestures and waving beer cans. Ancient mariners had a saying: “Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.” The morning’s pink horizon would serve as a warning to the storm of trailside issues that would make this day the longest of the trip by far! With 200 off-road miles between us and day’s end, we head south, overlooking Bahia de Los Angeles and the Sea of Cortez. Rich, deep blue water to the left, long contrails of dust leading from the rear of the motorcycle in front of you. 
The first interruption comes when we stop to assist two vehicles that managed to get flats in the same section of the road. After repairing and refilling each of their tires we’re running quite late and know we won’t get to the hotel until after dark. Continuing on, we soon roll up at the San Rafael fish camp where John is greeted by Pancho, the crusty caretaker who lives there. It’s obvious Pancho is getting an early start on the weekend with his home-brewed tequila. We have no idea what he’s celebrating, and the combination of the hooch and his Spanglish make him difficult to understand. One thing is certain: Some kind of drama had occurred here during the day, involving a mermaid and a unicorn, and somehow it was all the dog’s fault! Adios, Panchito. The sun is low in the sky, and we have mucho miles in front of us. You know how everyone says, “It’s not an adventure until something goes wrong”? Here’s the truth: It’s not an adventure until you get 600 pounds of motorcycle in deep sand, at night. Over the next few hours we suffer a storm of off-road misfortunes, including flat tires, empty fuel tanks, bottomless sand sections, and a critical turn missed in the dark that results in another 10 miles of deep sand. It’s well after midnight when we arrive cold, hungry, and exhausted in Vizcaíno. Thank god for a late-night taco stand that’s still open. Savoring tacos al pastor, we add up the day’s carnage: three flat tires, three broken axle wrenches (the result of over-tightened axle nuts back at the shop), two bikes out of gas two times each (rescued by the BMW’s generous fuel capacity), and one rider knocked unconscious (John) after flipping over the handlebar in an after-dark crash. It’s sidesplitting listening to Ryan explain that he didn’t miss the turn. As he tells it, he had simply taken a different, but previously unknown, route. Despite all the issues, or maybe because of them, this day is the highlight of the trip. 
Rested and breakfasted once again, we make our mid-morning departure from Vizcaíno. We’ll head 220 miles south and overnight on the shores of the east coast. The day’s route follows a large section of El Camino Real, now part of the Transpeninsular Highway. Our ride is highlighted by Iglesia Santa Barbara and the Jesuit missions of San Ignacio, Mulege, and Loreto. Mission San Ignacio is a true desert palm oasis. Past a small lagoon and through a palm grove, the mission sits at one end of a shady village square. After a brief tour of the church and the surrounding grounds we find a spot for ourselves under a tree. Enjoying a bag of fresh oranges purchased from a street vendor, it’s easy to let our minds wander about life in the days of the early missionaries. Back on the bikes and carving up a fun section of pavement that cuts through the Sierra San Pedro Mountains, we soon arrive in Santa Rosalia. This former French copper-mining town offers a 120-year-old church with a strange history. In 1884, this steel pre-fab building was designed by none other than Alexandre-Gustave Eiffel, a man better known for the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Legend has it the church was destined for Africa, but it was mistakenly shipped here from Europe. Without return postage, what can you do? 
Mulege has the busy charm of a small town. We’re greeted by light but chaotic traffic, the sounds of Mexican polka music and savory smells of fresh meat roasting on an open flame. The small 18th century mission is situated on a hill above the palm-lined Rio de Santa Rosalia. A rock outcropping behind the mission provides what is easily one of the best views in all of Baja. Our route, paralleling the coast, carries us on to Loreto. It reveals remarkable views of Bahia Concepcion, or Bay of Conception, one of the largest and most beautiful bays in Baja. More than 50 miles of warm water and sandy beaches line the bay, a relaxing kind of spot that demands a musical soundtrack heavy on Zac Brown and Jimmy Buffett. Unable to suppress my sponge cake and lost-salt-shaker fantasies, I immediately add a return trip here to my bucket list. Loreto, too small to feel like a city but bigger than a town, is front and center on the Sea of Cortez. Here is the original capital of the Californias and home of Mission Nuestra Señora de Loreto. Following a couple rounds of tequila reposado and a belly-stretching steak dinner at Domingo’s, we stroll the waterfront boardwalk and small city squares. We find Mission de Nuestra Señora de Loreto Conchó towering over a busy street awash in bright floodlights. Here in the middle of town, surrounded by hotels and other businesses, is where it all began. Loreto is the sight of the first Spanish settlement of Baja and some 400 years later the inspiration for a motorcycle trip. Muchos gracias, King Carlos III. 
Whoever first said, “Good roads bring bad people, and bad roads bring good people,” was probably standing on the road from Loreto to Mission San Javier. Not that the road is terrible; it’s just not the kind of road you’d want to drive your own car on, though it’s a fine choice if you’re driving your brother-in-law’s car—especially if he owes you money. The road offers just more than 20 miles of tarmac, including twisties, small storm-damaged dirt sections, and a number of water crossings, ranging from a few slippery inches to a couple of feet deep. Toward the end of the pavement we crest a small hill to see the bell tower of Mission San Francisco Javier, jetting up against a backdrop of green mountains and lush palm trees. Rolling onto the cobblestone square feels like traveling back in time. Villagers of young and old step forward to offer a smile and a wave. They know we’re here to see the mission, and they want visitors to feel welcome. These are good people here. Mission San José de Comondú is our final stop. We’ll cross over the peninsula on the paved two-lane road. In a light rain, we twist through the Sierra de la Giganta Mountains of southern Baja. Our turnoff to Comondú is a seemingly endless stretch of straight pavement, dotted with treacherous water crossings. The road bends and follows the river then becomes cobblestones and finally dirt and mud that delivers us to the steps of the mission. It’s a small, beautifully renovated building with walled-in grounds. We share smiles and greetings with some local people and make our way to a fishing village named San Juanico and the surfer’s paradise of Scorpion Bay. 
By now John seems well enough recovered from his concussion to lead this party once again. He’s been to Scorpion Bay more times than he can (now) remember and points out all the sights along the way. As the miles click by I notice herds of wild horses out on the hillsides. Not close enough to the road to be a danger, they kick up dust as they run from the sound of our motorcycles. It’s a truly amazing sight against the setting sun. With John out front I spot a dozen or so ponies standing just a few feet from the road. John doesn’t seem to care and motors past at speed. The sight of wild horses scattering across the road as we fly by makes me both smile and shrink up in terror, but we all pass without mishap. At dinner we ask John why he didn’t slow down for the horses. To which he replies, “What horses?” Maybe he needs a couple more days’ rest. Predawn, local fisherman patiently motor across the bay in their pangas, while a warm sunrise sky paints the glassy surface a powdery amber. On this day, small waves lap at the shore of what is widely considered the best surf spot in Baja. As surfers, we know we need to return here with our boards. Add it to the bucket list. This morning brings our last day of interesting riding, a half day’s journey following portions of the SCORE Baja 1000 racecourse. The trail will deliver us 80 miles of silt, sand, and dirt roads through some of the more remote areas of the peninsula. By lunchtime we find ourselves in San Ignacio once again, sitting in the shade, sucking down fresh oranges, and refueling the bikes. It feels like the end of our mission. From this palm oasis town the route home is entirely asphalt, becoming less twisty and more of a commute. Unlike the missionaries we head back to the motherland before we’re forcibly removed. Mile after mile riding and reflecting on the fun and camaraderie of motorcycles and misfortune. Thinking to myself I vow to soon return to Baja and resume marking off items on my checklist. That’s when I realize: The true beauty of a bucket list is that it never gets shorter. 
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