Woolrich, whose apparel has been worn by explorers and adventurers since 1830, has teamed up with Jordan Hufnagel and James Crowe of adventure outfitter West America on an epic motorcycle odyssey from Whistler, BC to Patagonia and back. The duo will be wearing Woolrich apparel while documenting their trip and have developed a capsule of apparel inspired by the journey. Below is the a new post in a series of report from the road.
We woke up on the beach in Bay of LA, a small fishing town on the gulf, the town is a mix of fisherman and old snowbirds hiding from winter back home. We were sad to say goodbye to our buddy Tim who had been an awesome companion and guide, he had a long drive home to make it in time for thanksgiving dinner back in San Jose.
After a bit of maintenance of Jordans bike to get the headlights working again we were off to find the road leading out of town to San Fransquito. It proved to be more difficult than we thought, every road led us to a dead end, at one point we where turning around in someones driveway while his massive pit bull was doing everything it could to get free. With a giant jolt the rope holding it back snapped and Jordan was now face to face with the frothing dog. Turns out the dog just wanted to get off the leash and once it was free it chilled out, definitely not what I expected to happen.
Eventually the road was found and proved to be well graded dirt, the pace was fast and we were making good time. The road started to get bad quick and in the distance we could see a pile of tires spread out, before we could see that the road was washed out Jordan was launched twenty feet through the air landing crooked and plowing over a handful of cacti. Somehow he kept the bike upright and we where both relieved to be in one piece, the speed was dropped and we both rode off humbled.
The sun set behind the cacti and we found ourselves in the dark looking for the remote fishing camp of San Fransquito, since there is no power out this far we could not just look for lights in the distance. After chasing several spur roads we finally recognized a small airstrip and located the owners of the tiny restaurant, we were the only gringos in town but they where happy to open up and make is the best fish tacos of the trip.
We set up camp on the beach and crashed out hard, morning brought more sun and a flat front tire, luckily it was easy to fix where we were and the air strip had a compressor that made things go quick. It was Thanksgiving day and we where headed west to catch some pavement down to San Rosalia.
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