I think what we’re talking about here is a 2-3 year backlog of story that I define as a small view of a “journeyman cyclist” because that is what I am: a journeyman cyclist. And the backstory of the past 2-3 years ultimately culminates in the 50 day Baja tour which was the peak of my estrangement.
And for my love of cycling, in this way the bicycle works so well, although it can be social, it is a superb isolationist machine and I was on that path there in the northlands of Baja California.
What began there was a type of asceticism and I still curate my life from it now. I may need to restate this from time to time to keep my shit together. Traveling through the commercial zones of the northland was gor me, good progress towards what I wanted to find.
The northland of Baja was a continuum of ranches, backroads, agricultural ejido’s (villages), larger highway towns and beaches and it was a part of the journey that I enjoyed the least. The northland is proximal to the border and with that, incredible agricultural commerce which I do not prefer what with the trucks and noise and pollution but that commerce does come with the dividend of tacos and dogs.
The northland is commerce, largely, but it is also the intro to everything else Baja. You must pedal through it to get to the rest. The route zigzagged across the upper span of the peninsula and it felt like more than two solid weeks of riding to cover it. In that span I became accustomed to being chased by dogs, having no shoulder, and enduring any type of condition while in traffic. In all, it felt too attached to commercial process, but that overarch should be contrasted with its beautiful remote ranches and the dirt roads that lead to the ejidos. The ejidos were sleepy villages on dirt roads. The towns, larger than ejidos and on the highway, always seemed hellbent on production and highway transit. Even Though it was completely Mexican, it was those commercial zones that I felt like I was trying to escape from.
I also didn’t anticipate “people” other than locals, and so as much as I may have expected the ride to be a solo experience, that ideal was illogical. Inevitability, I would get together with fellow cyclists who shared the same route and timing as I did and their company would turn into long term friendships, as you might expect. Above is Brian. He and I would cross paths a few times while enroute to the cape.
Here is Olivia:
I hung with Olivia for about two weeks more or less. Ultimately she was super strong and on a time-limit to make it to cabo and so she left me in the northland after I turned back in the face of recent rains and nearly impassable mud. I say nearly impassable because Olivia didn’t stop. She was 300 yards down the road thereby Nueva Odessa clawing mud out of her bike and pushing on while I was turning around and heading back to the beach and San Quetîn.
When I reached Old Mill again there in the low marshlands of the pacific, I sat out another two or three days of rain before making a move back into the central peninsular desert. The hotel was an excellent refuge from the winter storm and an acknowledgement of the cost of comfort. I was mindful of my budget, and it was oh so good to be dry and warm. I would imbibe while meditating on the necessity of such comfort. Here was my attitude on the day, still mired in materialism:
Baja Divide, Day #Fuck is a scratch. Back at Old Mill for one more night. Olivia went on. I dealt with hours of dragging my bike through the mud, wrapping it up with a 35 mile loop back to the hotel from Nueva Odesea. Finally, the storm has passed and the camino’s are drying, so tomorrow I’ll attempt it again. The mud, again, has thwarted forward effort in unbelievable fashion. I’ll mention, the Surly KNARD tires I’m using can go to hell. Maybe they’re good on pavement. They are garbage on dirt.
.
Met up with Leonie & Garry, from Tucson who are on a 50 day tour; they bridged up and appeared at Old Mill at the same time I did today, Tuesday. We will ride together in the morning. I have some confidence the roads will be passable. I truly don’t know how Olivia continued on. Remarkable optimism and tenacity. I could see her up the road from where I turned around, digging mud out of her bike. I wish her well. An amazing humanoid I spent 8 days with. #dontquit
San Quetîn was the epitome of the coastal northlands and where I would begin my meditation on amenities. It is beautiful, removed from the bustle, and quiet. A nestled bodega on a seaside warf. Temptation entertained for a few nights.
Once the roads dried, I would leave again by way of Nueva Odessa and from there I would vanish into the central mountains of Baja, ultimately leaving the northland “section” to enter the Boojum (Cirio) forest of Cataviña and beyond. This would be the beginning of uncharted territory for me. In previous travels, I had surveyed the northland, and fell in love with the Boojum just barely. Now, I would enter that massive boojum forest by bicycle and go beyond it. Nothing for me was clearer than that simply objective of gearing up daily, and pedaling into uncharted territory. This is an important junction in the story because of the uncharted territory and the raw sensation of relying on my wits and my kit to survive whatever the next 1200 miles would bring on. This was what I was looking for but what exactly that meant still wasn’t clear.
