“Gold Wings Over Red Rocks” by Habibi Rock 

I pick up my iPhone in the photo studio and read a text that has just came in from Peter Furler: “Habibi, what are you doing mate?” “Can you get out to Phoenix right away, like
Habibijump on a plane now?”… “Sorry, I am prepping for home group in the studio tonight, I’m hosting!”… “Can You come out in the morning?”… “Text me when you are at the curb and I will pick you up :)” And… so starts another absolutely rocking adventure with Peter Furler.
Like a fine tuned Swiss watch, Peter rolls up to the curb in a rental car on time and ready to rock!, Aussie smile cutting through the glare of the windshield. In one rapid and continuous move, I throw the Baja adventure gear bags in the trunk, run along side the now moving car, and throw myself into the moving vehicle. Once belted in, I catch my breath, finish the rest of someone’s ice coffee sitting in the cup holder, and ask, “What are we doing in Arizona in the middle of summer?”
Peter shifts gears, mashes down on the accelerator (like he is rocking the Black Falcon via his effects stomp box mid solo live) and we exit Phoenix Sky harbor like Mad Max late for second service Easter Sunday.
“We’re going on a bike ride to celebrate my birthday!” Peter says as he scans the horizon. I catch myself grinning in the side mirror as we pass blurry cactus and sun dried vacationeers from New Jersey doing 45 in the fast lane. Yes, this is going to rock!
BikesPeter brings the now dehydrated car to a halt at a warehouse encircled with razor wire and we load our gear onto 2 Honda Gold Wing ultra luxury cruisers. Instantly I flash back to my childhood memories of watching CHiPs in flannel cowboy pajamas before going to bed… “Seven Mary Four and Five, we are in pursuit of open road and hill country, over”…
We head out of town doing 106… degrees that is! , as if prepping to go on a concert tour of the Arabian Gulf by foot. It is so hot we smell motocross gear melting at the stoplights. Yes, I am dressed head to toe in motocross gear riding a 1600cc lazy boy with surround sound, heated seats, cruise control, and possibly a microwave in the dash somewhere next to the espresso machine!
The temperature drops to what feels like a frosty 86f as we zig zag through the hill country higher and higher to Prescott, where we stop for a late lunch (ranch burger), and to thank the Lord that we have made it thus far. After chatting with local spur packing /Gun toting outlaws, we hit the snake trail over towards Sedona. The sun begins to drop and seems to set the hills on fire, no wonder they call em Red Rocks!
Peter’s wife Summer is monitoring this tour via satellite back at the beach house and books us a couple rooms at a killer golf resort… I cast my vote in favor of Summer always booking rooms on all future bike rides! Reading the sign saying “Golf and Country Club” Peter assures me that black is now the new plaid!…. Something about sports without throttles and knobby tires just puts me to sleep:)
Sunrise comes early along with a 4/4 drum beat on my door, either Peter is about to start into an acoustic version of “So High” or I am running late… The latter is the true (norm), and I blitz into my ride gear and head down to breakfast with Peter.
I tape a couple set lists to the windshields for the scenic route back to the low desert inferno they call Phoenix. I fire up Friendsthe surround sound and line up “La Vie en Rose” by French mega legend Edith Piaf so as to roll up next to Seven Mary 4, music blaring, and hopefully make him laugh! Success, this is so not the way we ride in Baja!
I stop counting cactus as we head back into the city though massive heat wave mirages. Quickly unloading the cruisers,
we shift our crusty gear back into the rental car, AC spewing molten lava as it tries to cool the car down for our 6 hour drive to San Diego, Fox Base Alfa for all Baja expeditions. We are meeting Tommy, Baja biker legend and old trail pal for dinner and to celebrate Peter’s birthday at an Italian restaurant on the bay.
Seafood pasta in cilantro based pesto….reminiscing of previous rides just south of the border. A good time is had by all, and Peter is now officially one year older and wiser.
There are talks of another ride just over the horizon, the perfect end to a high speed rocking weekend!
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Baja Raid : Dia Quatro by Habibi Rock 

10154948_10203649764423501_93506426690589807_nToday is our last day to ride and hence the earlier then normal start at 11:24am. Using a tried and true system of sign language Peter and I have developed that borders on seal team gestures and professional baseball signing, we realize that we are on the 2 track headed to San Tomas, a crusty one pump, one cantina outpost on the Baja 1000 route. Here we will refuel the bikes and meet Gordie for lunch.
No worries, plenty of adventure and danger ahead. There is still 109 miles to ride, unless we get lost or “Separated from our Vehicles”, as we prefer to call an unexpected turn of events such as bandits, drunk gringo razor drivers, or agave cactus trees running across the trail in front of your bike… really…!

10172736_10203649764703508_2085123656176849404_nPausing at the top of the tire shredding cactus-infested plateau, we look back for one last spectacular sweeping Pacific panorama. Peter Furler , an avid standup paddle border when not on tour, points out whales breaching the coastal waters just off the coast. It is going to be hard to leave this amazing coast but it is going to be even harder to set Kellie (my KTM) on fire to stay warm if we get stranded out here at night. So we crank the bikes up and head east to San Tomas through lush farmlands and vineyards, winding our way through the canyons and riverbeds like a rabid rattlesnake in strike mode.

10154167_10203649765943539_1838254221271536834_nTriumphantly we enter the cantina like butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and head straight for the… banjos. A loud screeching halting sound outside the cantina and a massive cloud of dust indicates that Gordie is here with the support truck and it is time to place our last order of tacos, chili rellenos, and salsa picante. Gordie is happy to see us alive and dives into the chips and salsa while we relive our last ride in staggering exaggeration.

After sharing our last delicious Mexican meal in the Baja, I present Peter and Gordie with the Habibi Award for “Friendship and Faith” celebrating 17 years of riding together. Each trophy is about 2 ½ feet tall, the perfect size to be an awkward and 10151406_10203649761863437_4982930704522312012_ncumbersome reminder of amazing times in the Baja! Once the support truck is loaded, the bikes tucked in and strapped down for the ride home, we say adios to our dear friend Gordie and head north again for the US border, exhausted and dreaming of the next Baja ride…

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Baja : Dia Tres by Habibi Rock 

860304_10203635866876071_7646224708934550020_oShredded beef Machacas, a half dozen sautéed jalapeno chilies, and a couple shots of espresso get the day started at the crack of noon here on the Pacific coast of the Baja. It is an awesome feeling waking up so early and knowing you are doing exactly what you want to be doing… gearing up in Sidi boots, Klim desert ride gear, and looking out the window of my room above the palm trees and down on Kellie my KTM!10151131_10203635867036075_1426630314484665891_nDown in the living room overlooking the beach, Peter Furler has found a vintage Fender acoustic guitar and is rifling through acoustic versions of his songs while studying the surf break, pausing to call Summer (Senora Furler) with ride updates and an “All good at the front” report.

Today’s ride takes us down the coast through fishing villages perched atop shore hovering cliff tops, the kind of cliffs that mesmerize you and pull you closer to the edge of 2-stroke bliss. 

Peter points us inland with a 20 foot rooster tail 1911849_10203635898716867_5400771051966899331_nacceleration payback to San Vicente to refuel the tanks, then blisters south through rolling heat wave horizon to Colonet stopping at Saucedo, a hole in the wall taco joint with the best burritos and fried chilies in the world. A couple burritos and matching chili count produces a stream of sweat rolling down Peter’s dusty goggle outlined face and across a kind of smile only found in the Baja. We Peso up and head west to the coast.A few miles into a perfect burrito buzz in the blistering Mexican desert and Peter takes a hit to his rear tire from a 2-inch cactus thorn. Bringing the Honda to a halt to check on the tire, the kickstand sinks into the sand and drops the bike onto a massive cactus. One lone cactus spike punctures the fuel tank spilling precious fuel in the desert like the Honda was the Manikin Piss in 10174881_10203635882196454_1758659446701140258_nBrussels. Had this been a scene in a Hollywood action film, the fuel would have ignited from the heat of the engine leaving Peter and I looking like fried calamari in marinara sauce…once again our Baja prayers have been answered! 

Using a screw and some JB weld cement, Peter gets the tank patched and sealed saving enough fuel to ride on.

Putting on my imaginary Luchador wrestler mask we take down the rear tire. Using the remaining espresso caffeine in my system, we devise a plan that includes Peter guarding the Honda with a #17 wrench and a warm Gatorade, and me strapping down the flat tire to my handle bars using the spare front innertube… Please remind your children that all life-threatening stunts were done by semi amateurs in uncontrolled situations…

A couple hundred sweaty pesos gladly paid to the local tire fixer later, and I am wound out in top gear back to 10153700_10203635877196329_4653292704006967446_nthat unmarked spot in the desert, imagining Peter surrounded by hyenas, scorpions, and rattlesnakes… Hitting the front break a little hard for soft sand, I come to a lurching halt, stall the bike, and deliver the new tire with a bug smattered smile.

With all the passion of an Italian F1 pit crew changing tires for Claudia Schiffer during fashion week, we mangle the tire, chain, and bolts back together and hit the trail fighting woopdeedoos, ruts, washouts, and motor block cracking rocks the size of mangos and Idaho potatoes. We must be home before dark… Katie is a motocross thoroughbred with no headlight and the Honda’s headlight shines a wee high of the horizon!

10169190_10203635882396459_330797273639780879_n“Lord please be with our bodies, bikes, and bowels” is normally our morning prayer, this evening it is my mantra until we see Gordie back at the moto-hacienda a couple hours past sun down!

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Baja Raid: Dia Dos – by Habibi Rocks 

10170812_10203614994714280_6312102465207273035_nCrossing the border into Mexico past mid night places Peter Furler and I ahead of the game in La Fonda for breakfast and down into Ensenada to meet dirt bike buddy and Baja adventurer Gordy for a “Raid Route” meeting over fish tacos and salsa picante. For our sins in previous lives, Gordie has us riding two-man crue on bits of the Baja 1000 route… the bits that really hurt by the end of the day and leaving you begging for more!

1506430_10203614995714305_5531661788346751098_n Gordy’s brother, Baja moto legend Tommy T has informed us that after leading us through 14 raids on desert and costal northern Baja, we will have to navigate and defend for ourselves this year. We will be relaying on my Old Cairo gold souk navigating skills and Peter’s Aussie – Spanish high-octane combo…

Peter and Tommy have set me up with a brand new Austrian built KTM 2 stroke 300cc “Bajamotowaffen”. Peter will be riding his Tommy custom tuned “El Cajon” Honda 4 stroke CRF 450X. Precision instruments in the hands of believers on a moto mission… seafood pasta for dinner on the Pacific coast!

10013749_10203614994394272_2081011212378417730_nWe unload our Baja assault transport vehicle and I quickly premix a 2 stroke molotov cocktail my pals in East Beirut would be proud of for “Kellie” my KTM. Peter tops off the Honda with the confidence of a seasoned rocker adding a second encore for a packed arena.

The slightest tap on the accelerator sends my rear tire spinning like a chainsaw at the red bull rodeo and leaves Peter covered in a thick cloud of dust… I look back through the haze in amazement and see the eyes of Peter with that squinted outback look that screams “You best keep it pinned to Cabo mate”!

We are off, down to the coast and heading north along deserted pristine beaches and a cactus minefield littered with sun-bleached bones… Paradise on knobbies!

Mas Mañana…
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