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A Baja Misadventure: Best Practices for Minor Motorcycle Disasters

Great points-- I'm definitely going to look into getting some Toradol next time I'm in Mexico. I don't have easy access to Cipro, but wish I could carry it for longer journeys; if you have any resources for legally acquiring it, please let me know. I have used SAM splints with good success in the field, but realized I had given my splint to an injured person on a previous trip, and never replaced it. That'll be corrected soon, though as it turned out, cardboard worked amazingly well for splinting. And since I've never been trained on tourniquets, I've always managed to make direct pressure work. I imagine that a belt, web strap, bootlace, or even Camelbak hose could be pressed into service if necessary. It was good that both T and I have more-than-basic first aid skills--I've taken a Wilderness First Responder course (though I should take it again, been a while), and she's a Red Cross first aid trainer. Still, dealing with a situation on the spot was far different than a nice neutral class environment, of course.

I was super glad and somewhat surprised by the total expectance and acceptance of splitting up to the border gate in Mexico--that was just cool.

Normally I'd never want to leave anyone behind and would have rather cached her bike, but apart from hitting SOS on the SPOT tracker and seeing if it summoned help out in Baja, it was pretty necessary. No way she could ride with the pain level and injury she had--not to mention my riding skill level and the terrain. It definitely required a secondary plan, and was good that she was in proximity to a road that seemed to have at least 2 vehicles traveling on it per day. It did make me reconsider all the lonely rides I've done, especially being alone on the Dalton Highway. The veil between just fine and busted up is thin and the switch happens fast. We normally ride in tough conditions with a 3-minute mirror check (a habit picked up from ThumperX and her partner), which meant I knew quickly when something went wrong.

It did end up being pretty useful to have the truck within striking distance of the border--I was glad for that. In a pinch, my SoCal family members with passports could likely have helped, and T had gotten a worldwide calling plan, so once in cell range I could have gotten a call out to them if needed.

We did have Medevac insurance, purchased for $19.95/year/person when I purchased the SPOT device a couple of years ago. Glad that this situation didn't require it, but it sure coulda. We also made sure to have our documents--passports, drivers licenses, Mexican tourist card--quickly accessible, with photocopies of the bike titles, our insurance policies, registration, licenses, passports, etc. in ziploc bags on our bikes (this helped with the suspicious military checkpoint guys), as well as uploaded to a couple of secure sites in case we lost everything and needed to retrieve 'em electronically. We also had some spare cash stowed in various strategic locations on our bikes and selves, just in case--I've needed that when broken down in the Yukon with a lost ATM card.

As for the camera, I have a small, easy-to-use Canon S95 that lives in my pocket, so easy to document the moment when I can. And I've never forgotten the ex-girlfriend who, on a wilderness trip in Southern Utah, sliced open her thumb quite badly trying to open a container, took a moment to apply direct pressure, and then said, "take a picture! I want to remember never to do this again!" :laughing



seavoyage said:
H - :thumbup:thumbup:thumbup

Glad everything worked out.

I am just amazed you captured the experience in photographs. I rarely take pictures even when everything is working out and I have the time. This is something I need to remediate.

On the bright side, an extremely valuable experience and opportunities to meet great people. Thank you so much for sharing.

The Doc Wong Adventure/Dual Sport Survival clinic advice: it's 90% planning 10% execution and a focus on mitigating risk (insurance, preparation, skills training, etc.)

On SFMCjohn's thread: If you're traveling south of the border, get the Medevac insurance. You were very fortunate that both of you could still move.

Trucking bikes down to San Diego and having a backup support vehicle at a 'base camp' within a days ride is always a good idea.

Most motorcyclists are 'lone wolves', but I recommend always ride with a buddy. Last weekend my daughter decided to 'lose me' on the trails because I was too slow on the trials bike. She crashed off the trails. It's a good thing another group of riders saw her, and helped her out. Nothing serious: just a cracked helmet visor and a nose bleed.

Staying together reduces fear and risk. Never leave anyone behind. Always stay within reach of your buddy. One recommendation is to figure out your GVWR and carry no more than necessary in case you have to cache one vehicle, and ride out 2-up to a 'safe haven'.

It was our Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) to pack in modules and know which modules to quickly ditch in case we had to carry a wounded/injured team mate back to a 'safe haven'. You can then gather up resources to return and recover the other vehicle and 'ditched' equipment. We never ditched what was essentials to survive and communicate. These survival essential items stayed on our bodies at all times.

+1 on your lane-split comment at San Ysidro. On my IronButt post: I splitlaned all the way back coming North. In fact I used the Emergency Access road all the way to the US border checkpoint. No Northbound lines from MX for me.

Mentioned on another thread : I always bring a SamSplint for fractures and c-spine immoblization; and 2 or more C-A-T tourniquets to stop a bleed-out. In Mexico I hit up the Pharmacia for Toradol 10mg which is much stronger than Ibuprofen. I carry Cipro 500mg for infections and Gastrointestinal ailments. Caution: I'm not making a medical recommendation; I'm just comfortable with field medicine (from a previous occupation).
Click to expand...
 
It was a glorious morning, and there was time for one last soak.

​

After that, the neighbors helped us load Termagant's bike into the truck, and we packed up camp. The doves still cooed, the breeze still played and the palms waved...but we'd be leaving soon. A little breakfast and we were close to ready.

Never eat this swill, it is an insult to humanity

​

Last look around at the camp, in all its eccentric quietude



Baja windchimes



T, wishing she could ride

​

JD came by to wish us goodbye and good luck, and we promised to get in touch when we were all back in the Bay. She and her campmates had been tremendously kind; hell, just about everyone we'd encountered had. As a misanthrope, this gave my mind and my outlook something to chew on.

​

Meanwhile, it was time for T to support that wounded ankle for the ride out. The owner's son, Adam, came by to commiserate—he'd broken his own ankle simply working at the campground—and brought her some cardboard to make a splint. Termagant is definitely one of those people you would want around if the zombie apocalypse came down. She can plan, ride, shoot, keep a cool head under fire...and is a first aid trainer. She whipped out her knife, a towel, and the extra ace bandage, and splinted up her ankle.

First, she re-wrapped her ankle to a firm but bearable pressure with the first Ace bandage. Then she cut the cardboard to shape.



Next she wrapped a towel around her leg for padding, and arranged the cardboard in preparation for wrapping.



Once she'd folded the cardboard around the foot, ankle and leg to provide firm support, she used the second Ace bandage to do an outer wrap.



Splinted and ready for action



​

Much later, in the hospital at home, she would get a group of docs and nurses admiring her handiwork.

And with that, it was time to pop some ibuprofen and begin the long ride home.
 
Nemo,

You're an inspiration and your reports should be mandatory reading for motorcyclists.

Also, you have a rare and uncanny ability to describe, succinctly, emotions and experiences that others cannot. Your words resonate within me often. This makes you almost infinitely quotable, but my sig line is not worthy of them.

I can't wait for the rest of the report.
 
^ Wot 'e said :applause

I agree about the importance of having the chase truck stationed close to the border. Never had to use it, but glad it was there always.

Anyway, you know what they say - it's not an ADVenture without a little ADVersity....
 
Now that is one hell of a adventure ride. hope T heals fast. its good to see a happy ending. thank you for the ride report. Bert
 
Damn damn damn damn damn!!!!!

I know Termagant, I can feel her heart wrench as she lay there unable to complete a trip both of you had spent months planning and prepping for. :(
I would have done the same, kept on pushing, even though the little voices in my head :devil would have been screaming at me to stop.

You know what this means don't you? BAJA 2013/14!!! :party

200px-Into_Thin_Air.jpg


My own version of a traveler's bible, it reminds me to constantly reassess risk as the variables change. As much as it sucks to find that you stopped when it really was just around the corner, as many times as we get away with it, compounding risk eventually bites us in our respective asses.
 
Word! If we got nothin' else out of it, we got a new friendship with some excellent people.

Also: can't wait to go back for Son of Baja, ThX! I have a better sense of the place now, I think, and hard-won improvements in my risk-management skills.
 
We said our bittersweet goodbyes to Canon Guadalupe, vowing to be back. That place is pretty special, indeed. Termagant took the camera and I took the wheel.

​

The long road home was calling, to shelter and medical care and healing.

But first, the sandy road through the cholla needed my attention...it wasn't an easy drive, even on 4 wheels.



T, self-portrait with splinted ankle

​

I drove gently, trying not to jostle her. We gazed out into the desert with a blend of relief and melancholy.

Strange sights greeted us, like this little boat lying in the sand, miles and miles from water. Just one of those Baja things.

​

Goodbye for now, gorgeous harsh desert. We've learned you don't suffer fools.

​

We were stopped at the military checkpoint again, but this time, 2 women in a pickup didn't excite the same kind of intense search and hostile questioning as I had alone. The smiling soldier really wanted to know if we were girlfriends...and just HOW much we liked each other. But other than vaguely hoping for a softcore scene, he let us go with a wave.

Once more I drove up the snaking canyon into the mountains, west toward Rumorosa.

​

In the midst of the mountains, we stopped so that T could have a chance to stretch and rest and re-up her painkillers...riding in a packed truck on rough roads was not the most comfortable experience. There, we peered over the edge of the cliff, only to see...wrecked cars. Many of them, still lying in twisted rusting hulks far, far below. And scattered tires.

Look close, you can see a couple of the cars still down there.

​

Suddenly, I understood the meaning of the shrine with its list of names. All those who went off the edge and found their end at the bottom of the cliff.

​

Oh, Baja, with all its raw and mortal edges on display. I forget how hard we work to hide those things where I live.

​

We drove on, reaching the US border at last, pulling up to my Uncle's house after dark, to retrieve my bike before heading on into the night.

Sure enough, Aunt Ann emerged from her trailer, eyes bright, and insisted on trying a faith healing on poor Termagant while my uncle reminisced about dirtbikes, Baja, injuries, and his love of the land. Once, he said with misty eyes, you could ride from here to the ocean, all on dirt, nobody to stop you. We disentangled ourselves, loaded the last DR, and off we went.

It was a long ride home yet.

Finally at the hospital days after her injury, the nurses pronounced T's splint the best one they'd ever seen, and she was visibly pleased. The doc scrutinized Termagant's x-rays, and pronounced it a simple malleolar fracture, needing an immediate splint, followed by a cast/boot, but mercifully, no surgery. She'd broken the tip of the fibula; perhaps without those Sidi boots the injury would've been a tibia and fibular fracture (a tib/fib).

The splint

​

This whole experience was preventable, though it was surely good training for how to deal with motorcycle injuries while traveling, and somewhat-difficult evacuations. It's made us both consider the things we can do better next time, and change about our riding to help prevent a recurrence. My first mistake was made right out of the box—I had made reservations in advance, locking us into a first day with no flexibility. When we were delayed a bit, our cushion of time disappeared, and we were forced into a choice between losing our first day's money and safety.

We'll have SAM splints on hand next time. We'll both be getting more training, perhaps a repeat of the class we took with Rich Oliver, or Jimmy Lewis out in Pahrump, NV. And I'll hone my planning skills to try and prevent a recurrence of the rock-and-hard-place night riding dilemma in which we found ourselves. We've both learned a thing or two about stacking risk variables. We do have the smaller bikes, too, and I'll consider taking those instead for trips that include more intense off-road components.

It wasn't—quite--a survival situation. It was, however, a hell of a time. I pride myself on my self-sufficiency, and facing the truth of vulnerability and a need for help was humbling as all hell. Riders, in particular, know this...hell, anyone who pushes the edges of the body and the world knows this: Sooner or later we all have to feel our bodies break, or break down. And the more you rub up against those raw edges, hungry for beauty and experience, the harder the impact. But a little care, a little trust, and a little mutual help can blunt hardest of the impact.

She's still in her immobilization boot as we speak, using either her crutches or a wheelchair to get around. Her plan is to ride again when the pain subsides and the doc gives her the ok, and she's been doing ferocious workouts on crutches and in the chair, rolling up hills while I hum the Rocky theme to inspire her, or at least make her laugh. There's something about shared adversity that really strengthens love.
 
Excellent read, thanks for posting that up. :thumbup

Interestingly enough the last time I was in Baja a riding buddy broke his ankle completely (clipped a rock doing a hill climb) and we had to call in his family to drive down, come and get him, and take him back to San Diego to a hospital. So I think you two did great to get out of there on your own.
 
If everything goes to plan then it's not an adventure. Just a vacation. I'm super glad that everybody survived with spirits intact.
 
I just came across this. Very cool. You ladies rock.
 
We are the masters of disaster. :laughing
Hoping we can get down there this winter and see more of Baja.
 
I wish to see more of Baja....nod nod wink wink
digging for an invite.....
 
You got it. Even if I have to go on 4 wheels, I'll give it a shot this year. Another reason to keep scouting for an AWD or 4WD mini SUV...
 
Once again, I bring you the Grand Viagra :laughing
 
Did I hear Baja? I think you ladies should take along a big, tough bodyguard for that trip. If that guy can't make it, you could always bring me instead :teeth
 
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