Riding the Wild Pacific with Nick and Alex in 2016 while scouting the Baja Divide.
I wake up 2 hours later shaking with cold. I know I need more sleep. I cinch up my bivvy tighter, stuff my hands down my pants and draw my knees into my chest in an effort to keep my whole body close to my core. My knees are groaning and stiff and this is hell for recovery, but I’m so tired that I fall back asleep within seconds. I dream that I’m still on my bike and I wake up and it’s cold. I go through my coughing and pills and inhaler morning routine and get back on my bike.
The first couple of minutes are stiff, but riding in the dark in the morning is always better than riding in the dark at night. Miles are miles and I’m doing my best to get them done. Sunrise near Catavina is extraordinary. Massive boulders and cirios and white sand come into view. It’s cold and clear and I cross Mex 1, skipping the six mile detour to Catavina. It feels so good to eat miles for breakfast.
The next 45 miles to the Pacific are not easy– full of steep climbs and descents. The route passes through dense vegetation and after so much rain, purple flowers bloom among cirios and cardon and shrubs and a multitude of cacti. I am nowhere near the end of the Baja Divide, but I don’t care. It feels like an endless ride.
I make it to the Pacific. It’s Sunday and the fishing community of San Jose del Faro is entirely deserted. I need water. With no one to ask, I start creeping around the shacks, looking for water. I smell into two plastic gasoline tanks before finding a third that is odorless. It’s huge and heavy with a siphon hose next to it. I don’t know how to use the siphon, so I look around and find a black bucket that smells like fish guts. I tip the massive barrel over and spill water into the bucket. I use my water bottle to transfer water from the bucket to my 6 liter water bladder. It tastes a little fishy, but it’s the best I can do and I’m just happy to have water.
I’m back on my bike, climbing away from the coast. The climbs are steep grinds and the midday sun is hot. I listen to music and eat cold quesadillas when I need to and the afternoon passes. The wild Pacific stretch of the Baja Divide is remarkably remote with only three houses on the 75 miles between San Jose del Faro and Raul’s camp at El Cardon. The tide must be higher than the previous times I’ve ridden through this area cause the GPX track is unrideable in places– inundated with water. I detour inland when I need to. Crossing a flat expanse near the end of the day, my wheels get stuck in death mud. I get off of my bike and push my way through and it’s a total mess. The sun sets. I wire in my lights and plug in my headphones and hammer through the washboarded terrain. I’m making a plan. I’ll get to El Cardon and if anyone is home, I’ll ask for some plastic to add to my sleep system.
It takes a couple of hours to get to El Cardon and when I do, the place is dead silent. I start poking around the property. I find a blue tarp, but it’s covering a motor and seems important, so I don’t take it. Then I spot it! It’s an old felt blanket hanging from a barbed wire fence. Total score! I roll the blanket up and clip it to the top of my seatpack. I’m thrilled. I won’t be cold! I ride another fifteen miles away from El Cardon, roll my bike down the side of the road and set up my new sleep system in the sand. The felt blanket is so big that I can fold myself into it like an omelet. I bed down at 9:30PM and set my alarm for five hours later. Folding myself up in the blanket feels like a victory and on the fourth night of my Baja Divide FKT, I finally get some rest.