Baja Divide

March 12

We pack up and ride to the bus stop. Getting tickets to La Paz and loading the bikes is easy. It feels weird watching the dramatic views of Sierra Giganta out the windows of the bus. Just days ago, we were grinding slowly through it - in it - and now the landscape flies by, frictionless, faster than I can process.

In La Paz we unload the bikes. The beachfront is expectedly touristy, awash in multi-level restaurants and bars and high-end retail shops. As we pedal inland to our guesthouse, the composition gradually shifts to parks, museums, small businesses, schools, and churches.

We walk to the nearby Museo de Arte de Baja California Sur, which has an exhibit of "modern pinturas rupestres" - artwork inspired by ancient rock paintings, as well as work from the biennial, and from teen artists. Downtown, we decide to find a whale shark tour. Much like the gray whales in Laguna San Ignacio, whale sharks enjoy the safe, warm, plankton-filled waters of the Bay of La Paz, and trips to watch and swim with them are a big part of the ecotourism business in this area. We find an outfitter in a dim storefront next to a sex shop in a very touristy strip right off the malecón. The young lady working seems unenthused. I'm a bit anxious, but they have availability for Saturday so we sign up.

We walk around the malecón at sunset. It's very busy with rollerbladers, skateboarders, joggers, families, and teens playing volleyball and making out. We stop for ice cream. Kiwi yogurt.

We explore some cool street murals on Avenida Mijares, get amazing tacos at Ocean Cafe Baja — camarón and marlin — then head to a chocolate shop for Leah. I find cocoa powder for Tim. We share a tascalate.

March 13

We wander around the cute, idyllic city plaza and church near the apartment. Cars stop for you as soon as you set foot in the road here, regardless of who has right of way. We get delicious chilaquiles at Esquina del Chef.

Leah needs to fix a broken link on her necklace, so we walk to a shopping district that is very busy and mostly locals. Lots of small stalls and workshops crowd the sidewalks. We find a joyería and they are able to fix the necklace in twenty minutes for a few dollars. We pass the time strolling through the neighborhood and a big indoor market, which sells all sorts of bulk foods, clothing, shoes, home goods, and more.

The highlight of the day (week?) for me is the Museum of Baja California Sur history, featuring three floors chronicling life on the peninsula starting 10,000 years ago. We learn how recently the Baja states were formed, and how life transitioned through the indigenous, missionary, ranching and industry, and modern eras. It's an engaging way to connect the dots of all the places we've passed through, things we've learned, and glimpses into the lives of people we've met along the trip.

After dinner we walk up the malecón until the lights and businesses start to fade away, then turn around. We wonder if all the palm trees and cardones that line the boardwalk needed to be transplanted in when it was built. How would that even work?

March 14

Wake up to a message that our whale shark tour will be at 10 AM instead of noon. Let's go! We stop for breakfast on the way at the very hip and trendy Nómada Fresh restaurant.

We go to the tour office, where the unenthusiastic lady gives us wetsuits to try on and escorts us to the pier. By chance, we are the only two on the tour — again!

Our marine biologist guide doesn't speak much English but is kind and enthusiastic and we try to meet him halfway with our Spanish. We ride out to the protected area and putter around in the boat. We find a whale shark and the three of us hop in the water. It's a bit underwhelming at first — the water is a bit muddy and the whale shark is on the smaller side — but it's still exciting. We spend another thirty minutes in the boat looking and waiting. There are lots of other boats out; sometimes it doesn't seem worth it to wait for a turn, especially when the other boats have a lot of people. The vibe feels slightly weird vibe — are we harassing these fish? Compared to the gray whale tour in San Ignacio, this feels like it's more about delivering a result.

We find a big whale shark, maybe 8 meters, and spend a lot of time with it. Our guide is visibly excited. The water is clearer and the fish gently lumbers along, seemingly nonplussed by our presence. Its head passes by mine, and looking it in the eye feels like making contact with a dinosaur. Eerie, amazing. Its spotted pattern is striking. I notice remoras on the tail; at first I think it's just been tattered in an accident.

We return to shore and walk to a ramen restaurant (why not?). It's a bit fancy but good. We take a short nap at home, then go out and get groceries for the next few days of biking (what's that, it's been so long?). We dine on tacos and a torta at Los Prietos. Filling and with great salsas, which make all the difference, we decide.

I finally shave and sustain a few nicks, but it feels refreshing. My face is slightly pale underneath the beard, which is funny.

March 15

We depart La Paz after a slow morning, finally rolling our bikes out around 8 AM. We zig-zag toward the edge of town, where everything is still quiet and there's hardly any traffic, even on the larger divided roads. A large construction site blocks our route, but nobody is working yet, so we thread our way through.

The highway out of La Paz is a perfectly straight stretch of about fifteen miles. It climbs gradually the entire way, and traffic slowly picks up. At least it's paved. The heat returns, and we grind our way upward. From the pass, we can see the Sea of Cortez to the southeast, but instead of dropping toward it, we turn west, inland toward Los Divisaderos.

The dirt road is in great shape and surprisingly busy. After a few miles, we find out why: dozens of people are picnicking in a wide arroyo, gathered in the shade for a Sunday afternoon.

We continue through more hot, rolling hills until we stop in a creek bed with a thin trickle of water. We eat lunch while goats drift through and then startle themselves when they notice us. We lie down on the ground for half an hour to escape the heat before reluctantly pressing on.

Los Divisaderos is very small, but it has a sports cancha and a few people lingering outside. The small Bienestar store is closed, but a few guys knock and call out politely until a woman eventually opens it. We realize it's Sunday afternoon, and feel bad for possibly interrupting her day. The store doesn't have much water, which is a surprise, so we buy what we can and a few other drinks.

I noticed a large water storage tank on our ride into town. The oasis here is now fed via solar-powered pump into this giant tank, with the excess overflowing onto the ground. We refill our bottles from the runoff and continue riding.

The climb out of town is steep but short, and we soon fly down the other side, dropping into small arroyos and flowing across the landscape. The views open up toward the flatlands and the bay at La Ventana. We stop at a wide sandy arroyo to look for camping. After settling on one spot, we explore further and find another area with rocks and palm trees - there must be water nearby.

Sure enough, a tiny but steady trickle emerges from the ground, running over boulders into a small pool below. We follow it until it fades, then return to rinse our hands, faces, arms, and legs in the shallow water. Around us, small life is everywhere: a long, dense line of ants disappearing into rock, a trapdoor spider whose carefully hidden entrance I accidentally disturb, and hummingbirds chasing each other through the air. Tree roots twist deep into the exposed rock, searching for stability amidst the dry waterfall.

We return and set up camp in the arroyo. Dinner is simple, and afterward we stretch and do a bit of stargazing. The new tent zipper is already starting to slip, but it just needs to hold on for ten more days.

March 16

I awake groggy and a bit achy, but don't think much of it. The early morning light hits the trees, then the rock walls, then the sand, painting the arroyo in warmth.

We walk the bikes to the road and pedal up a short climb, looking back at the oasis we explored the night before from above. Then we descend a fun stretch and miss our turn (too much fun, I guess), which requires a two-mile backtrack. So much for the early start.

The road back to the highway is gradually downhill and sandy. Once there, we begin searching for the road toward the La Ventana singletrack. After some confusion and a bit of bushwhacking, we find it, and start riding proper MTB trails. At first we're excited, but the trails become flat, twisty, and repetitive, stretching a few miles into what feels like ten. I wish I could zone out, but the twisting narrow track is surrounded by prickly cacti on all sides, requiring some attention. Eventually we emerge at the edge of La Ventana, a breezy kitesurfing town full of ATVs, scooters, and foreign license plates.

We stop at a convenience store for a cold drink and to rest in the shade. Neither of us feels eager to ride further into town since we'll need to turn around anyway, but we do ride down to the beach to watch the wind whipping the green water into waves, and the kitesurfers in the distance.

On the way out of La Ventana we ride a section of singletrack with interpretive signs explaining the desert plants. We learn the large spined cacti we've been seeing are pitahaya, or dragonfruit! Eventually we leave the trail and follow a wide, flat arroyo road instead, cutting some distance to the next town.

By the time we reach San Juan de los Planes, I'm exhausted, and feeling feverish. We stop at a large park for lunch, and I nap on shaded bleachers near the basketball court while two little girls play nearby.

After a half hour, I feel good enough to continue. We resupply and refill water. The ride out of town is hot and straight, then we begin a climb a few miles later. Leah wants to wait out the heat; I want to push on. Grumpiness ensues. We compromise and rest in the shade for another half hour.

We slowly climb a steep hill, and eventually find a campsite with a wide view over the valley. It's well off the road, and takes some effort to get our bikes up steep, loose dirt, but it's worth it. From camp, we watch the sun set over San José de los Planes and see the distant glow of La Ventana across the bay.

I lie down and drift toward sleep while Leah cooks dinner. I force myself to eat, drink water, and take Tylenol. I listen to the wind moving through the valley as I finally fall asleep.

March 17

St. Patrick's Day! Leah has a green water bottle, but I have no green clothing, so I earn a playful pinch at breakfast. I'm feeling rested but still have a lingering headache. I decide more water will help. The morning ride starts with steep climbs and descents through arroyos. It's interesting at first, then just tiring.

We pass a beach with a great rocky cliff (aka shade!), and Leah goes in for a swim while I nap. Later on we pass through El Cardonal and get cold drinks, then eat lunch in a public park with brightly painted cinderblock and wood benches. I think we might be in a school playground, not a public park. I'm not sure.

We follow a sandy coastal road past luxury homes and new construction. Side-by-side ATVs and trucks pass frequently. We stop in the shade and Leah spots whales in the ocean. They're rolling and even breaching, just offshore! I briefly startle a caracara.

We roll into Los Barriles, which features a strong gringo presence. We find a hotel that used to be a hospital, with the old rooms now converted into oversized suites. We have to haul our bikes up and down multiple staircases to reach the room. We find dinner across the street, avoiding tourist-heavy spots closer to the center. A small cash issue forces us to return with exact pesos. Later we grocery shop for the next few days. I eat a small ice cream in the room. We plan to take the coastal route onward toward Cabo Pulmo. We got in touch with our neighbors at the San Ignacio campground - Diana and Doug - and will be staying with them in Cabo Pulmo!

March 18

We wake and pack quickly, rolling out around 8:15. Sleeping indoors saves a lot of time. After a short highway ride out of town, we reach La Ribera on mostly hard-packed sandy roads before 10 AM.

We pass through a construction zone at the edge of town, then stop for groceries and cold drinks. A small park on a hill gives us a break, though the concrete picnic tables are bizarrely proportioned and uncomfortable to sit at. The benches are inches off the ground, while the table itself is chest height. Hmmm.

The road turns back to dirt as we leave town. At one point I coast silently while Leah pedals slowly beside me; we dip into an archway of trees and the wind stops briefly. The sand is soft enough that our tires don't make any noise. There is a single moment of absolute silence that is beautiful and baffling - then the heat and dust and rush of the breeze return. The afternoon resolves into a rhythm of washboard road, heat, and vehicles passing us en route to coastal housing developments. We eat lunch under a flowering tree full of hundreds of bees, all of which thankfully ignore us.

Eventually we reach the base of a singletrack climb into Cabo Pulmo. It's only a couple of miles, but very steep and loose. Most of it turns into a hike-a-bike. Leah handles it like a boss, even though it's the hardest sustained climbing we've done since the hills out of Meling Ranch. The descent is rowdy and fun, especially after such a grind. It's a bit intense on loaded rigid bikes, but it adds welcome variety to the day. Descending with views of the ocean and surrounding hills is a bonus.

By chance, we ride right by Diana and Doug in their truck heading up the road, and they give us instructions to let ourselves into their property. It's a cute off-grid casa with a detached bathroom, outdoor shower, and a garage/utility shed with a covered carport for the camper - which will be our house for two nights.

Town consists mostly of boats, dive/kayak/snorkel shops, and a couple of restaurants. The local community decided to replace commercial fishing with ecotourism, resulting in the formation of a national marine park. Reportedly this is home to the only healthy coral reef in the Sea of Cortez.

We pick up molé and chips, and cook using the camper's built-in stove, fully luxuriating in the setup. Later, we play solitaire with no particular success. It would help if one of us truly knew the rules.

March 19

I sleep soundly in the camper. In the morning, we eat granola upstairs in the house while watching orioles, blue jays, woodpeckers, and a cardinal from the second floor. It's a calm start to the day.

We walk into town for coffee. It's already hot outside. On the way, we stop to chat briefly with two expat women — one of whom works on the trails and knows the Baja Divide well. She recalls meeting riders who were scouting the route years ago.

Back at the property, we do laundry and hang out with the dog, Rosco. A hummingbird keeps circling the camper and yard, dive-bombing and buzzing extremely close to me, and at one point touching my hair.

We gather snorkel gear and ride to El Arbolito beach inside the national park. I convince Leah to walk out to the rocky point, and we find a small cove where we can easily wade into the water. The moment I look underwater, it's teeming with life: angel fish, puffer fish, cow fish, parrotfish, and vivid blue things I can't identify. It feels like being in an aquarium. I'm in heaven.

When we get out, we're chilled, but the breeze and mid-afternoon heat dry us quickly as we walk back to the main beach. We have lunch under the palapas - burritos of course - and meet another Baja Divide rider.

Back at the camper, we chat with Diana and Doug for a while, learning more about their life here off-grid in Cabo Pulmo. We head into town for dinner, but stop first for a beer on the beach at sunset. Pelicans bob in the water and fish jump out of the surface, and a boat of fishermen comes ashore, just as their friend backs a truck and longer trailer into the water.

Dinner is coconut shrimp. We walk home and play solitaire until we technically win a game, though I insist on finding small mistakes that - in my opinion - invalidate our victories. I mostly do this for fun, and to torment Leah. Eventually, I win one properly. Bedtime.