Runnin' with The Devils on El Diablo Run VIII 2019

El Diablo Run isn't the first motorcycle event of its kind, and it won't be the last—good people have taken bad roads to exciting places for generations. Like the choppers our Mexican hell ride was founded to celebrate, EDR has fewer moving parts than old-fashioned rallies, and that's what makes it unique. 

As he has done for years, local entrepreneur and multi-time Diablo Runner Aaron Mason hosted the EDR pre-party at his Old Rose Tattoo shop in Temecula, CA.

If the El Diablo Run doesn't scar you for life, 20-dollar EDR tats available the week before the ride surely will.

When there are no vendors, no cover charge and no cover bands to spoil the fun, all that's left is new friends, old motorcycles and good times.

Approximately 100 bikeriders made the trek from Temecula to San Felipe seven a.m. Friday morning. 

Twenty-nineteen marked the eighth chapter in our Mexican adventure's brief but colorful history. Hosted for the first time in 2006, 45 men and two women that year rode custom motorcycles from California and beyond for a weekend of bikes and beers in Baja. On Cinco de Mayo weekend this year, more than a thousand bikeriders converged on San Felipe to do things they won't remember in a place they'll never forget.

Biltwell co-founder and EDR OG "Barnacle" Bill Bryant lead the charge to San Felipe aboard a 60-something year-old Panhead McGoo affectionately calls "Peewee's Big Adventure."

Lil' Bitt knows how to party.

Rules of the road on the El Diablo Run are easy: think smart, pack light and move fast.

SAN FELIPE OR BUST

San Felipe is a sleepy little desert town 130 miles south of the US border on Baja's east coast. Most mornings, local fishermen launch boats into the Sea of Cortez to pull another day's wages from her salty depths. Seafood and beer are San Felipe's cash crops, and business is good year 'round. Like many whistle stops along Baja's half-dozen or so two-lane "highways," San Felipe enjoys a well-earned reputation among desert racers, gringo ex-pats and two-wheeled adventurers for its rustic charm, relaxed pace, and carefree vibe.

Fuel stops and cigarette breaks are frequent occurrences on the El Diablo Run, but nobody enforces a strict schedule or route. If you aren't thirsty, drive on.

Like every EDR before it, Ruben's Campo one mile north of downtown San Felipe was Ground Zero for fun Friday night and all day Saturday. Whenever a thousand bikeriders motor into a town for a holiday weekend, things can get wild. Within minutes after the first Diablo Runners descended on Ruben's Campo, dozens of Mexican street vendors followed suit, slinging everything from hammocks and spiked coconuts to straw hats and ice cream. Of course, voracious chopper shoppers gobbled up the tchotchkes like candy.

It doesn't get much better than this.

Sleeping arrangements on the El Diablo Run are as informal as any participant wants to make them. The palapa huts at Ruben's—those elevated thatch roof decks scattered throughout the camp—and a 100-meter stretch of beachfront are always available free to campers on a first-come-first-serve basis, but nearly half of this year's crowd found other lodging around town after enjoying the arrival party hosted by Biltwell and MC'ed by Ruben's nephew and our friend Aaron. Without going into gory details, suffice it to say our amigo Aaron knows how to have a good time.

Sunrises on the Sea of Cortez are beautiful. Waking up to one in a sleeping bag next to a motorcycle you built by hand makes them majestic.

Ruben's Campo one mile north of downtown San Felipe has played host for every EDR since day one. The weather in Mexico on Cinco de Mayo weekend was especially accommodating for this year's run.

CIRCULO DE LA MUERTE

After a full day of riding and a long night of drinking, few Diablo Runners seemed very anxious to get up Saturday morning. After breakfast on the malecon, Bill and Otto set up the EDR merch tent next to McGoo's registration table for the Circle of Death and yard games. For the next five hours, 500 well behaved bikeriders queued up to score commemorative t-shirts, Biltwell flip-flops and EDR VIII rockers as fast as the Biltwell crew could sling them. When there were no more souvenirs to sell, McGoo opened the Circle of Death for practice and yard games.

Saturday is the official day of organized EDR silliness, with yard games, day trips and Circle of Death racing topping the list. Three dozen kooks signed up for this year's events.

These were the best-attended yard games and dirt-track races in EDR history, with nearly four dozen entries in all classes combined. Swingarm class in the Circle of Death was stacked, with four motos, two semis and one four-man main required to decide the winner. Of course, the lone wolf from New Mexico aboard an OG unit Triumph street tracker kicked everyone's ass for the second time in as many years. With podium formalities out of the way, folks rode into town for dinner and nighttime diversions, usually at an oyster bar or a titty bar depending on each man's tastes.

Those who can, race. Those who can't, tan.

"Circulo de la Muerte" is fractured Spanish for Circle of Death, and this year's outlaw race lived up to its name. Seven motos, two semis and two mains—one each for rigid and swingarm class racers—ran in just under an hour, with no deaths and few injuries reported.

Kiki's Camp and Hotel next door to Ruben's is where chilled-out EDR party people call home.

Packed for high performance.

Sunday morning signals end of the line for roughly one-fourth of the nearly 1,000 bikeriders who descend on Baja every EDR.

Billdozer's '57 panhead in all her rustic glory.

The El Diablo Run has turned chopper freaks into shade tree mechanics for 13 years.

BUENAS DIAS, SUNDAY!

While the El Diablo Run doesn't officially end until Monday, plenty of folks whose livers tapped out sooner—especially citizens of San Diego—got up with the sun and rode home Sunday morning. Those who stuck around enjoyed the best motorcycle show in EDR history.

In a welcome break from tradition, the 2019 El Diablo Run Bike Show took place on the sidewalk of San Felipe's malecon, the city's beachfront road. Choppers magazine sponsored the event, which included cash and prizes for six different show classes.

Some backstory in in order. Last December, McGoo and Bill—with plenty of help from their friend and San Felipe hotelier Kiki—pitched the idea of hosting the EDR bike show on the sidewalk in front of San Felipe's beautiful city beach. Senor la Peña—San Felipe's Minister of Fun—loved the idea, and promised to speak with the mayor, police and local business owners personally. With red tape out of the way, we focused on rustling up enough cash and prizes from friends and long-time EDR supporters to entice folks to ride their dream machines across the international border.

Sweet four-wheeled survivors are bountiful in San Felipe.

The 2019 Choppers Magazine Bike Show featured six classes: Chopper, Modern, Sportster, Metric, La Cucaracha, and Hard Ass. Like every Biltwell-hosted bike show, entry was free; all we asked of folks was to park their bikes on the malecon, and to support the local businesses while a celebrity judge for each class pondered the machinery on display. To keep things lively, Kiki hired a cover band to bang out American freedom rock hits. The cross-cultural stew was potent, with tweakers tweaking, air guitarists jamming, and everyone having a massive good time. At five o'clock, McGoo introduced the six winners and brought things to a happy ending on the El Diablo Run many folks agreed was the best one ever.

Choppers por vida.

Two weeks after riding his prized digger on EDR for the last time, long-time Biltwell bro "Filthy" Rich Silva sold his Denver's original to a new home.

Barring a couple brain farts on dates and names, Biltwell and EDR co-founder Harold "McGoo" McGruther was a great MC for the bike show on Sunday afternoon. Only one tweaker and a drunk Mexican playing air broom solos were more entertaining.

Six years ago, Chopper Phil won the EDR la Cucaracha award by riding his hand-built cockroach over the border. This year he stole Hard Ass honors by pedaling his fixed-gear bicycle 150 miles to San Felipe. Hard, indeed.

Choppers magazine editor Cary Brobek (squatting, left) awarded the builder of Best Chopper a big check for 1,000 dollars. Biltwell, SENA, Americana Speed Shop and others donated prizes like motorcycle luggage, tool rolls and Bluetooth headsets to the winners in five other classes.

Don't dream about it, be about it.

The El Diablo Run was created to give bikeriders a place to share tacos and tall tales with like-minded motorcycle enthusiasts. Thirteen years later, nothing has changed. The bad roads leading to Baja bring good people and crusty motorcycles together like few other two-wheeled adventures on earth.

Via con Dios, amigos!