Bikepacking Baja: A Winter’s Respite

The tequila flowed to the back of my throat with such smoothness that grabbing for the lime chaser was a needless compulsion. The whole crew was here, including all our bikepacking gear and our ever-important two-wheeled steeds—all in perfect working order.

Fueled by Julieta’s heaping helping of huevos rancheros, we turned off the paved road out of Cabo and found an arrow-straight dirt track leading into the heart of the Sierra Laguna Madre. The climbing began.

It was hot. A demoralizing, energy-depleting type of hot. It was just the third day of the new year. It shouldn’t be this hot. Nonetheless, our bodies and the will to ride relished in the cooling waters we found as we pedaled upward. A recent day of rain had recharged the parched and life-sustaining creeks of the arid peaks. Multiple stops to dip our heads and clothing were mandatory — we were grateful for Mother Nature’s air conditioner.

Finally. Under the relentless mid-afternoon sun, we crested the range and began falling toward our sought-after destination: the ocean. Oh, to taste its salt and feel its eternal ebb and flow. Alas, the yearning would go unmet today, as darkness descended faster than we could plummet on our two-wheeled machines. We’d spend the night under the stars, out of earshot of the ocean’s voice.

The splash into the crashing beach break was sweet satisfaction. This is what we had left winter’s harsh embrace for, to let our bodies breathe without being cloaked under layers of GORE-TEX and wool; to let our skin feel the sun’s warmth; to lounge in flip flops rather than slog in ski boots; to inhale humid, salty air rather than the frigid, lung-searing dryness of the winter Mountain West; to shake off the stupor of routine by immersing ourselves into a new culture; to slow the frantic pace of life one pedal stroke at a time; to feel alive by hammering the pedals only to recover lazily while bobbing in an endless expanse of blue.

We rolled onto the cobbled streets of a once-thriving mining town in search of both food and a place to lay our heads. Our legs were at their limits after enduring a steep, rocky, and lengthy climb as we said our good-byes to the Pacific coast and made our way back over the Sierra Laguna Madre. The pull to the other coast, and slower days, was becoming significant. My crew explained: BD, enough of such words as ‘hammer’ or ‘crush it.’ We just want to pedal leisurely and bob in the ocean. I had no argument, as I was also looking forward to beach-side camps and snorkeling masks.

The pink and orange hues of the setting sun across the Cardon panorama were rich. After a morning of roller-coaster climbing, we crested the rugged divide and descended quickly and sloppily down its other side. The doubletrack’s tire-sucking sand made bike control tenuous at times. The wobbliness was forgotten, however, as we wound our way through a forest of prickly Cardon cacti. The singletrack was well built and flowy, though one took care to stay on point lest they be impaled by the landscape.

The breaking of camp was a leisurely affair, as we wanted to linger in the beauty of our surroundings. It was so different than the snow-capped mountains that we would soon be returning to. After one last ride through the spiny sentinels, we ventured across a broad plain and caught sight of our final significant climb of the trip. On its other side would be a coastline of “bobbing” spots. Let the “hammering” begin!

Let the “bobbing” begin! As the steepness abated, I shifted down on my rear cog. The clicks were audible amidst the crunch of big tires rolling over gravel. My legs felt the pedal resistance increase as I pushed past my slow climbing pace. The dust of my partners descending before me began to engulf my senses. An anticipation of the view to come grew as I willed the bike faster. And there it was: the Sea of Cortez, its blueness merging into the cloudless sky.

The consequent days were a blur, with unhasty morning rides leading to afternoon snorkel and bobbing sessions followed by evenings of full-flavored margaritas and delectable plates of local cuisine. The creatures of the sea revealed themselves to us with colorful coral, fish, and even the occasional stingray passing in front of our snorkel masks. It was humbling waking up to witness the power of one of earth’s most massive mammals breach the horizon. I was experiencing the wonder that travel so often creates.

A slight stirring interrupted my deep slumber. Something was changing. I lifted my head and rolled over on the sand to reacquaint myself with my surroundings. A hint of brightness began to interrupt the deep purple skyline. Sitting up, my mind shifted between the experiences of the past nine days and what would come in the next 48 hours. Stay present.

Slight tinges of pink, red, and orange spread across the horizon. My eyes began to adjust and absorb the features of our last camp: four bikes leaning against a fallen rugged beach umbrella; various pieces of clothing draped from its rafters; my friends still asleep in the sand nearby; a receding tide casually lapping the shoreline less than 30 feet away; two pelicans gliding silently along the ridge of a building ripple in the ocean’s surface — life on two wheels was good.

Focusing back upon the sunrise show, I felt gratitude wash over me. This trip was to be completed over two years ago. Such a seemingly different time, prior to the world changing as I knew it. With lockdowns, travel bans, and care for humanity in mind, the adventure lay dormant. With an ease of restrictions, the mindful musings of eating at roadside stands, speaking rudimentary Spanish with the experts of the land, and riding along rugged coastlines and among craggy peaks became a reality. We filled our days with beach combing and swimming in an expanse of blue, sipping good tequila with a lime or orange chaser, and laughing with friends. There was a deep appreciation and sense of awe to each coastal day that began and ended over a horizon of salt water, a sweetness to sleep that occurred under the cosmos on a bed of sand with the voice of the ocean murmuring nearby. Day-to-day moments were so vibrantly experienced and gratefully lived.

The wait was well worth it.

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To see more images from BD’s journey along the Baja Cape Loop, please visit www.thelessoncollective.