Baja Vintage Expedition: A Five-Day Dance with Sand, Sweat, and Stars
The Vintage 1000 is more than just a motorcycle ride. It’s a gritty, sun-soaked tribute to an era when two wheels, a tank of gas, and an open trail meant boundless freedom. With no modern modifications allowed and only bikes made 1981 or earlier, the event feels like stepping back in time, honoring the spirit of vintage enduros with every kickstart. This year’s Baja Expedition took 15 riders through nearly 1,000 miles of desert sands, through rocks and cactus, over five unforgettable days. Here’s how it all unfolded…
Baja greeted us with a mix of beauty and brutality. The sun blazed high over Bahia de los Angeles as we set off into the desert, eager for adventure. And it didn’t take long to find it. Miles into the ride, one of our riders suffered a crash that left him with a broken collarbone—a sobering reminder of the dangers that come with the terrain. Unfortunately, it happens. Our support truck wasn’t far behind and soon transported the rider back to town for medical attention. With him safely recovering, the rest of us pressed on, only for my own bike to join the list of casualties. A few miles down the trail my 1964 Honda CL72 250cc started bogging down. We pulled over to investigate further. A leaking seal and misfiring points had my CL72 smoking, a lot more than usual… The seal behind the points had backed out. We re-set the seal and tried to get the points back in the right place, but our quick trail-side fix was proving insufficient, so my scrambler was loaded on the support truck. The rest of the day was a blur of sand, sweat, and breakdowns. By nightfall, we’d reached camp on the Gulf side of the peninsula, a serene bay illuminated by a nearly full moon and countless stars. Repairs, a hearty meal, and shared stories set the tone for the nights to come…
With the Gulf side behind us, we aimed for the Pacific Ocean on Day 2. My bike gave me a glimmer of hope after a late-night timing adjustment, but that hope sputtered out within miles. Now the seal behind the stator refused to stay in place, and the underlying crank pressure issue meant my riding days were likely over. My bike was smoking and not running right. Our guess was the rings around my pistons were giving out, I was loosing compression, and having blow by down into the crank. Disappointing, sure, but riding in the support truck wasn’t without its perks—cruising the desert in a Ford Raptor has its own rugged charm.
The day’s ride took the group through sand-filled valleys, towering cacti, and ancient cave paintings. By evening, we reached the beach for another stunning camp. Under a rising moon, we tinkered with bikes, watched a comet streak across the sky, and shared a fire as the sound of crashing waves lulled us to sleep.
Our third day brought more breakdowns and repairs in the middle of the desert, they were as common as the sprawling cactus forests we traversed. The riders tackled them with impressive grit, and soon, we found ourselves at an oasis in the middle of the desert. The ranchero who hosted us shared the history of the land, and we slept under swaying palms and a full moon—a serene contrast to the day’s chaos. The dry lakebed at Laguna Chapala is a playground for anyone with a throttle. And that was exactly where we were headed the following day. Even with my bike sidelined, capturing the riders as they tore across the desert with my camera was a thrill. The speed, the dust, the unfiltered joy—it was pure Vintage 1000.
But the day wasn’t without its challenges. After Laguna Chapala, the group faced over 100 more miles to reach camp, with the trail leading back to the Pacific. As the sun dipped low, Matt’s Triumph suffered a frame failure. Improvisation was the name of the game—ratchet straps and a repurposed luggage rack got him back on the road, though he wisely chose to sit out the final day to avoid further damage. The last two hours of the ride were under a blanket of darkness. When we finally arrived at Punta Maria, the peaceful sound of waves welcomed us. Ibuprofen, laughter, and late-night wrenching were the night’s rituals as we prepared for the last push.
The last day dawned with a Pacific sunrise that painted the horizon in fiery hues. Punta Maria was a breathtaking send-off for the final leg of our journey. For the riders, just 100 miles stood between them and the finish line in Bahia de los Angeles. While they chased dusty trails, I rode in the Land Cruiser, which had its own share of drama—Rachel and Jamie had to crawl under it more than once to reattach the exhaust. The setbacks felt small compared to the bigger picture: another epic adventure nearly complete. By mid-afternoon, the riders began trickling into Bahia de los Angeles, bruised, battered, and victorious. The finish line was less about triumph and more about survival—proof that the phrase “They don’t make ’em like they used to” holds up under 1,000 miles of Baja’s toughest terrain.
The Baja Vintage 1000 isn’t just a ride; it’s a test of endurance, ingenuity, and the timeless allure of vintage motorcycles. Each day brought its own challenges and rewards, from mechanical failures and bone-rattling terrain to starlit camps and unforgettable camaraderie. For those of us on the sidelines—or in the support trucks—it was a reminder that adventure isn’t defined by how far you ride, but by how deeply you embrace the journey. As we packed up and headed home, the question on everyone’s mind wasn’t “Will we do this again?” but “How many days until the next one?” Baja, we’ll be back.