By Wiley Watson
Three chase trucks, five trucks with trailers, one helicopter, forty motorcycles, and one giant peninsula. This is a traveling circus. Acts of stupidity, high speeds, sketchy trails. There’s no ringmaster, and all the carnies are on two wheels. It’s the 18th year of the Rip to Cabo, and it’s become an iconic event for those who pass the litmus test and are lucky enough to get invited. There is no winner; there are only hopeful survivors trying to finish some 1400 miles of off-road ripping through some of the most remote sections of Baja.
For a ride of this caliber, simply put, you need to have your shit together. There’s no buying your way onto this ride. This is not a gimmick tour with padded seats, heated grips, and 9:00 am wake-up calls. This trip is a ride all fucking day, work on your bike well into the night, eat dinner, wake up at 5:00 am—rinse and repeat.
As an example of how serious and tight your ops need to be, back in 2011, the 4th year of the Rip, the crew lost beloved rider Jeff “Ox” Kargola to a freak crash on day 3. Ox was an incredibly accomplished rider: X Games gold medal champion, Baja San Felipe 250 winner, and overall SCORE Baja Champion. This incident still is a tough one for the crew to think about, but we’ve adapted, and we ride in his honor.
Crazy shit happens to everyone all the time. In Baja, it seems heightened, but we’re all drawn to the peninsula, the terrain, the inherent risks, and the welcoming people along the way. It makes us focus. You have to focus, or you’ll end up dead. As the miles tick by, distractions, worries, and nuances in life just seem to melt away into the arid desert.
The Rip was started by Baja OG, Cameron Steele. An outright Baja 1000 champion himself in the premiere Trophy Truck class, Steele has more time invested in riding and racing along the Baja peninsula than just about anyone. He is in that rare league of legend status. For Steele, this started as a few loyal friends wanting to fun-ride the Baja peninsula from Tijuana to the shores of Cabo. It has since morphed into a full-fledged operation with 65 riders.
There’s no glory on a ride like this, and if you get preoccupied by the thought of proving something to the others, danger lurks right around the corner. This reality was on full display early on our trip as my film partner and lifelong friend, Cuyler, had a near-death experience when he crashed head-on into a truck navigating a blind corner. With his radio unplugged, Cuyler was unaware of our fellow riders calling out oncoming traffic a mile ahead. Clean air and smooth roads had him riding well above “safe” speeds. The oncoming truck approached, and Cuyler’s only option was to lay his bike down. His bike slid under the truck. He was inches from getting run over. When he stopped sliding, he was 10 feet past the rear of the vehicle, but his bike was wedged under the front bumper. Miraculously, he only suffered a mild concussion and was able to swap some parts to fix the bike. He rode it another 1200 miles down the peninsula.
Sometimes Baja lets you walk away.
On day four, we linked up on a road that was part of the 1970’s Baja 1000 race course. Oozing with heritage and legacy, this section of terrain was true classic Baja. Narrow double track. Fast. Flowing. Epic visuals. We weaved in and out of canyons, mesas, and virgin arroyos. You could actually feel the vibe of a time when air-cooled engines defied the odds of high desert temps—an era when GPS guidance was non-existent and course markings were few and far between.
It’s hard to paint the cultural picture of a place like this with words. Areas like the small fishing/surfing pueblo known as Scorpion Bay—wedged on the Pacific Ocean, three-quarters of the way down the peninsula. It has become a small safe haven for retired surfers and expats. Six rocky points define the unique landscape, setting up a world-class series of right-hand point breaks. On a good day, people have been known to catch mile-long rides. When we make it here, we can unwind a bit as experience has shown us that the most treacherous terrain is behind us. Along this barren coastline, we let the tequila flow.
We finally made it to Lands End—once a small fishing village of 100 people. Locals kept the place a secret for over 100 years, but in the 1980’s this all changed. Tourism and a variety of attractions birthed Cabo San Lucas. Now, with an onslaught of party-goers, billfish tournaments, and 5-star hotels, true Baja Cabo is lost. Nevertheless, it marks the end of this special peninsula.
As we pulled onto the shores of Cabo—juxtaposed against the iconic arches, mega hotels, and fine dining—our worn-down group of riders contrasted against the densely populated urban area. We didn’t just survive; we’re more alive than we were when we set out.
As Cam puts it, “An adventure of a lifetime…every time.”
Note: You can re-cap the adventure on the Desert Assassins YT channel here: youtube.com/@Rip2Cabo
