We pedal west into the desert, away from the Sea of Cortez, under a ceiling of low clouds the color of dull titanium. It is warm, but a light breeze flowing down from the mountains up ahead seems perfectly matched to keep us from overheating. The anticipation of the coming adventure accelerates our cadence as we climb into the foothills.
The Sierra de la Giganta rises ruggedly from the coast, west of Loreto in Mexico's Baja peninsula. The transpeninsular highway skirts the mountains as it follows the Sea of Cortez. A constant stream of R.V.s flow past, headed for the coastal tourist resorts, leaving the adjacent desert-mountain environs largely unvisited. The AAA map of Baja shows a network of dirt roads that link the communities in the sierra, but offers little clue that palm oases, friendly people and stunning beauty lay secreted in the mountains beyond the pavement. All of the above conditions provide the ingredients for a great Fully loaded, and self-supported, off-road bicycle tour.
Our loop leaves the highway at Rosarito, heads west to San Isidro, then south to San Jos de Comond, southeast to San Javier, east to Loreto where it hits the pavement, and finally north to close the loop at Rosarito. Total miles: 145.
It has been a wet winter. The desert is green, the usual brown overtones overwhelmed by the verdant vegetation spawned by record rainfalls. Wildflowers everywhere punctuate the landscape with splashes of blue, red, orange and yellow. To think of this desert as barren would be a mistake, it is a forest whose dominant "tree" is the giant Cardon cactus, and surrounding it is a diverse community of cactus, yucca, and other plants mostly with thorns and points. We debate the pros and cons of Mr. Tuffy's (tire liners for puncture prevention) as we try to find the elusive 'sweet spot' of smooth road that snakes among the ubiquitous washboard.
At a small rancho I fix a beat-up old Ford pickup that looks as if Henry himself might have designed it. A herd of goats watches skeptically as I break out my bicycle tool kit. The driver is an old man; here he is 50 miles from the nearest mechanic, driving on some of the worst roads anywhere without a clue about how to keep it running, but somehow he always has. I adjust the points which are completely closed and mend a shorting wire. The truck starts! The old man smiles. Interesting juxtapositioning, cyclists fixing automobiles. I am rewarded with a delicious cup of café con leche and handmade tortillas cooked over a mesquite fire. The taste of fire cooked tortillas and coffee, the smell of woodsmoke, the sounds of the goat herd, and the Spanish-speaking voices are so unlike my everyday experience. I sigh contentedly at having been thus transported to such exotic consciousness with such simple stimuli. We pedal away waving, and laughing at our good fortune.
The road slowly turns to mud; a sticky and heavy adobe clay that cakes on tires and then clogs, stays, forks, and brakes, bringing the bikes to a halt. Cleated shoes get heavier as more clay accumulates with each step, and of course my Onza pedals become unusable. The elegant efficiency of a loaded touring bike thus becomes 70+ pounds of steel, rubber, nylon, camping gear and mud, in a most unwieldy and uncomfortable package for carrying.
The descent into the palm oasis of San Isidro is spectacular! Looking down, one sees a lush tropical-vegetation postage stamp in a vast sea of desert. One of the striking characteristics of these oases is the distinct demarcation between the green belt surrounding the water, and the desert. There is no smooth transition. One can literally step from the oasis into the desert. The Arroyo de La Pursima is the longest river in Baja. A small human community lives on a narrow strip along river, its gardens filled with date palm, mango, orange, banana, papaya and other tropical fruit trees. Impossibly brilliant vermilion flycatchers flit from their perches to catch an insect in flight, before resettling on the same branch.
The river where we camp is warm. A perfect end to a perfect day is a bath in the light of a waxing gibbous moon. Leaving out of San Isidro there is a seven kilometer climb with some steep pitches. I alternate between riding and helping Luchy push her bike up the steepest sections. The road tops out on a mesa then rolls in and out of several valleys and around a black lava flow which resembles a petrified glacier. A rich variety of birdsong fills the air while the wildflowers attempt to steal the show. We see only three cars along this 30 mile stretch.
Night falls as the Moon rises. We plunge steeply into San José de Comondú (another palm oasis) in the light of the Moon which keeps playing hide-and-seek in the gathering storm clouds. The excitement of riding down the switchbacks cut into the moonlit cliff, helps to overcome the fear of tire eating holes that only seem to be shadows on the road. It begins to rain an hour after we reach town. Camp is inside an empty building with a leaking thatch roof; we are grateful for some protection. The rain continues into the next day and the town's street is a small river. The locals advise us that the mud up on the mesa will make the road impassable, so we spend the day exploring the village. The mission was constructed in 1750 of stone cut and hauled by Indian slaves from a stone quarry many miles away. There are many old adobe buildings in town built in another era and now in various stages of decay. The locals are very friendly and cheerily respond to our "Adios!" as we pass by or stop to chat.
There are many blue eyed blondes, and some Asian featured people in this town, legacies of immigrant populations that settled here earlier. We leave town early the next morning in the warm sunshine of a cloudless sky. The road on the climb out of the valley is well rocked and not too muddy, but once on top of mesa our progress slows to a crawl as the world turns to mud. Pools of receding water sparkle everywhere, offering the illusion that the desert is emerging from a shallow lake. We explore the essential nature of mud, we become mud, we carry our bikes, covered in mud. Five hours of struggle gets us eight kilometers. We finally stop at a rancho for a café. The husband and wife goat ranchers make a delicious cheese, and regale us with stories of their life. Don Alvaro tells us that up on the mesa where he lives, that the "wind always blows clean". Doña Cuca readily agrees that the rewards of their simple lifestyle are satisfying.
In the late afternoon a 4x4 pickup (the days only vehicle) comes by and gives us a ride for five kilometers across the mudflats to a rancho on the edge of a canyon. It is the only car we have seen all day. From the back of the truck crawling slowly along, we watch the sun descend toward sunset. The quality of light is breathtaking. The Cardon cactus and the rugged mountains begin to glow just before the sun disappears, and then they become dark silhouettes against a violet-crimson sky. We race the oncoming night as the road drops into the canyon where we camp under an oak tree by a stream crossing. We dine in the dark, hungrily, on a dinner of goat cheese, tomato, and tortillas. An assembly of frogs croak boisterously, competing for ownership of the night. Orion stands guard overhead and Mars blinks through the oak tree. I feel at peace even though these symbols of war hang over my head. Total mileage for the day, ten.
The next day begins with a climb. A canyon wren's friendly descending whistle echoes off the rocks and accompanies us up the hill. The upper portion of my Shimano shoe pulls away from the steel shank the cleat is bolted to, leaving my muddy stocking feet exposed to the world. Using a screwdriver, I am able to carefully pry the shoe back over the shank. I wrap the whole mess with duck tape and hope it holds. All the pushing through mud and water in of the preceding days as too much for the shoes. I'll be paying close attention to the sole-shank construction of my next pair of shoes.
The soil type changes, the adobe fades and mud ceases to be a problem. There is a small shrine (numerous shrines randomly dot Mexican roadways) at the crest of a hill. Omni-present turkey vultures tilting unstably as they circle serve as a reminder that in the desert, the strong will suffer and the weak will die. The Mexican Sun ignores the hubris of sunblock and my tan turns red despite the SPF 26 rating. Mountain biking arrived in San Javier before we did. As we ride into town, a group of local teenagers are doing sprints down the main street. We checkout each other's rides. There is a mountain bike race from Loreto on the coast to San Javier in December. It is 20 miles and includes a 1700 foot climb up a long grade. Last year 40 men and women competed.
The main street ends at the mission, the entrance is flanked by two huge orange trees filled with ripe fruit. Inside is an alter of gold. A generator provides electricity for four hours in the evening to the 30 families who live here. Insects swirl around the street lamps while bats dart in and out of the light feeding on them. The descent into Loreto is fast, but we take our time, reluctant to reach pavement, "civilization" and the end of the ride.
We stop to bathe in an oasis halfway down the mountain. I break a spoke less than a quarter of a mile from the highway (no matter, there is another waiting patiently in my pannier for its inevitable use, alternately pointing between heaven and earth). Perhaps my bike is also reluctant to let it end.
We ride to one of the nicest restaurants in town and spend several hours leisurely eating a meal of marinated scallops, Caesar salad, huachinango, and one too many Tecates, to celebrate the successful end of the tour. The restaurant is a simulation of the rural farmhouses we have been visiting, fancied up enough to be made palatable to the gringo clientele. Around us I hear tourists talking about shopping, and I begin thinking about the nature of bicycle tourism and that it differs from "ordinary" tourism in an important way. A "tourist" is a voyeur, an observer of events, one who makes contact without being contaminated. Cycle touring on the other hand removes one from behind the windshield, transforming the experience from one of passive observation, to one of becoming part of the landscape. This is not an activity where one remains clean and untouched.
We make our way back out into the desert for a last night before the journey home. I awaken in the hour before dawn to the call of a black-throated sparrow. Mars, Jupiter, Venus and the Moon are all blazing overhead in a canopy of brilliant stars (even though I venture into the desert several times per year, I forget how intensely the stars shine in an unpolluted sky). The Sun rises out of the Sea of Cortez, a cactus wren chimes in with a staccato cha-cha-cha, a Gila woodpecker laughs at me and various other species join in, the morning becomes a symphony as we turn toward El Norte.
An alternate route which I now prefer begins in the wonderful oasis town of San Ignacio. Stock up on supplies here because it's the last "supermarket" until Loreto, although there are smaller stores with basic supplies along the way. The road from San Ignacio to the lagoon is a rough 30 miles. Upon first reaching the lagoon you can camp in front of a tidal mud flat, where there is good shellfish hunting during low tide. There are fishermen who live here. They will give you water and perhaps sell you fish. If it is mid-January to March, they will take you out in their boats to pet the grey whales.
South of the lagoon you enter a dry salt lake bed, this is very flat and smooth riding, through a strange and wonderful landscape. There is a small fishing village (El Dátil) with basic supplies (and fresh fish) along this section. Further on, after you turn inland (it gets sandy here) there is a rancho (El Datilón). It has a windmill for water and a small store. It is about a days ride from the lagoon to this rancho. The next day will put you in Ejido Cadeje (small oasis town with a store and a spot to camp in the palms by the water) or San juaníco a coastal town, (store and restaurant) here. From san Jauníco it's about a day to San Isidro which will connect you to the narrative above.