Germans. It was always Germans. Germans on Harleys in the desert. A platoon of friendly dudes taking a break from the Fatherland to explore the arid expanses of the American Southwest on big old Yankee bikes, V-twins shimmering in the heat. To a man, they?d be swaddled in EagleRider jackets. They?d come over, rent bikes from the company, maybe take a guided tour up Route 66. Hang out with donkeys in Oatman, Arizona, and see the Grand Canyon. For them, it?s like a foot-to-the-floor autobahn run in a Porsche 911 Turbo would be to an American. But EagleRider doesn?t just run tours of the dry, empty corners of America. They?ve got guides and locations dotting the globe. So when they asked if I wanted to go for a ride down the Pacific Coast, I asked, ?What about Baja"?
I grew up on Highway 1: traveled every inch from Leggett down to Dana Point. Summer vacations in Fort Bragg, quick getaways to Bodega Bay or Santa Cruz. The yearly automotive bacchanal at Pebble Beach; PCH as a route to LAX and south to Orange County when I lived in San Pedro. I love 1, but 1 is mine any time I have a free day and the inclination to see the ocean. So we went to Mexico, somewhere I?d never been, despite having resided my entire life within a day?s drive of the border.
Since EagleRider offers a selection of motorcycles biased heavily in favor of American iron, I went as heavy and American as I could get, choosing a Harley-Davidson Ultra Limited, a loaded version of Harley?s classic Electra ...