Words & Photos by Mac Siwocha
All we knew was that we wanted to go ride Baja, and we had two open weeks over the holidays to do it.
My old man and I have heard stories about Baja for years—a common thread between them: there’s endless terrain to ride, and once you go, you'll be back. As December rolled around, we loaded the bikes onto the truck, packed for every eventuality in our growing collection of RUX bags, and headed south from Vancouver.
Twenty-seven hours and 2,400 kilometres later, we crossed into Mexico. Mere hours before that—in the delirious state that comes with a marathon drive—we decided to spend our first night just outside Ensenada and wake up to see what we could ride. Turns out, that's a great way to travel. And so that flavour of freestyling ended up defining our trip.
The next ten days unfolded like a moto fever dream. We'd wake up, pick a trail, and get after it until we ran out of gas or water. And when you're close to empty in the middle of nowhere, that's when Baja shows you what it’s about. In those days, we rode around Ensenada, San Quintín, Catavina, and Bahía, logging around 650 kilometres on the bikes alone. Trails that lived up to every story and then some; Dried sandy river beds blending into goat trails and boulder fields. It was unforgiving, primal, and had this way of stripping everything back to what we called ‘a single-track mind’: Out there, far from anywhere with cell service, all you’re thinking about is dodging the next cactus.
The RUX 70L bags lived in the truck or clipped on the bed for the entire trip, taking the heat and dust while cradling precious cargo. When you're constantly moving and tossing supplies around, having gear that just works becomes everything. Like us, I feel like the 70Ls earned their place here. They’ve got superficial battle scars from getting thrown around, but I’m at the point of welcoming it now. Welcoming the way your gear tells the story of where you've been.
It only took us a few days into the trip to understand the addiction to Baja. This place gets its hooks in you. It's not just the terrain—though that's world-class—it's the way it calls on you to say "f*ck it" and head toward something you want. To step into an unfamiliar place, maybe not completely unprepared, but willing to figure it out as you go. It’s the kind of magic you can't manufacture, only stumble into.
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