Day 42
This was perhaps the single hardest day of our trip so far, and we didn't pedal at all.
Yesterday evening, Lluc called a powow around the table in the house at San Miguel. His confession was frank and honest. "This evening coming down that last stretch on the Quota, I almost got eaten but a semi. He came up on me fast, the shoulder ended at a narrow bridge, there was cliff to my right and truck immediately to my left. I could feel the heat of the wheels on my legs. I thought I was done for." The way he looked at me I could tell he had the fear of God in him. I've had close calls too and I know the feeling of veering on the edge of disaster, but nothing like that. "I could feel the heat," he said again. "If the rest of this highway is like that, I'm good. It's not worth it. I don't want to feel that again." He was right. No trip, no matter how epic, is worth our lives. We both have too many good things to go back to. Hearing him say those words suddenly opened the gates to all the dark thoughts I keep away bay when we're on an expedition like this; everything that could go wrong, what trouble we could be in and how badly we could get hurt, how hard it would be to get help, all the plans and dreams I have that could no longer be... The weight of 'what are we doing here' began to set in.
Lluc knew that one of us pulling out would change the trip completely. But he was smart to bring it up here. Ensenada is the last major city that we would hit for several hundred miles, probably until La Paz... If we were going to make a call, it had to be here. Numerous options flashed before us: Turn back? Go to San Diego? Where would we stay, and would we come back to Mexico? Find boxes and ship the bikes home and continue on foot, hitch hiking or by bus? Do we get a bus with all our stuff past the most dangerous sections of highway and keep riding from there? We still have plane tickets home from Los Cabos in 29 days. But what's the point of continuing on if our heart isn't in it anymore?
It was a blow to our moral. Even more so because we had been warned about Baja hundreds of times on our way down, but it was as if we didn't hear them until we were here and felt it. I told Lluc "Whatever we do, we do it together." We shook hands.
It was clear we wouldn't be pushing off in the morning. Too many things to think about. So we slept on it and in the morning tried to amass as much information on the roads ahead to be able to make an educated decision. There were too many variables. How is the pavement? Is there any at all? Is there a shoulder? How is the traffic? Is it like the Quota? Will they give us enough room? Will there be places to get water? To buy food? All of these things I had looked into before, but this time we did so with new urgency. We read blogs, watched videos, looked at satelite imagery, called friends of friends in the area, anyone who had been South of here... What was out there was vague, and it didn't tell us much more than what we already knew: There is only one paved road all the way South, the Mexico 1. Because it's the one, all the trucks take it, and they go fast. There is no shoulder. None. From Ensenada to El Rosario there is a lot of activity, but after that, there is hardly anything until La Paz (with the exception of Guerrero Negro, which isn't much more than a glorified army checkpoint). But, it's been done. There is also another road, Mexico 3 that goes East from Ensenada to the Sea of Cortez, which begins as a major highway, but slowly deteriorates until it is a gravel road a few hundred miles later, before barely making our back to the 1 in the mountains North of El Rosarito. It wouldn't have the traffic, but there might not be much road. With our road bikes, it was a hard call.
We were faced with two decisions: To go for it or not, and if we go, East or West? We were in a paralysis of indecision. So we took a walk on the beach. The wind blew swiftly over the water, small waves crashing against the rocks. A tuna boat putted off the point leaving a trail of black smoke. Lluc and I stood, looked, picked up pebbles and eventually sat by ourselves for a while. There was a lot of silence, but in between we spoke of the trip. How long it's been, what we've accomplished, why we're here in the first place... I felt far, far from home. With so much unfamiliarity all around, it was hard not to feel trapped. Was is ego that had pushed us this far? What was I thinking when I thought up this trip? Did I have any idea what we were getting into? Would it hurt my pride to drop it all now? After one day in Mexico? I could feel myself leaning both ways from moment to moment. I decided I needed to meditate. Lluc left me there on the shore to do so.
I returned to the house after some time and found Lluc on the roof. We sat in silence again for a long time. The anxiety of indecision was killing me. It felt big. 29 days big. 900 miles big. Finally Lluc said, "If it were easier to give up now, I think I might. But it would be a real pain in the ass. That's not very good reason to go." I reasoned with him "It might be just as hard to try and bike down there. We will never be more prepared for this than we are now; we have the gear, the time, the fitness, and we're here. After all this way, it would be a shame not to give it a shot." My backup was, if we go and we get that 'scared for our lives and this isn't fun anymore' feeling again, we call it. If that happens, we hitch hike with our gear to the nearest city and get a bus the rest of the way. If that's what it comes to, so be it, but if we pull the plug now without trying it, I would regret it.
There was a silence that sounded like agreement. "So... East or West?" Good, I'm glad we decided one thing. From what we knew, the section we had done from Tijuana was the busiest of the whole penninsula. The 1 would stay busy until El Rosario and then dwindle somewhat after that. The 3 to the Sea of Cortez would be quieter, and even if the road turns to ankle deep sand by the end (which it shoulds like it might) it would bring us around that entire busy section. We can deal with elements like road conditions and weather and little amenities, but when it comes to truck traffic, our safety is out of our hands, and a good time can turn to catastrophe in an instant. That was that. We would go east.
Finally, with a game plan, we needed to make a trip to town for supplies. 3 days of food, and enough water storage to get us across the entire penninsula. Plus some other safeties, including two pool noodles to put across the back ends of our bikes to keep the passing cars at a safe distance, hopefully. Michelle, who had been out mountain biking in the morning kindly offered to take us into town, and even came along with us during our errands. On the way we stopped by a famous ceviche stand Lluc had read about. It was outragous.
On our way home, supplies in the trunk, we stopped at an overlook above the city and took it all in.
Back home we made our final preparations, using our a wifi connection probably for the last time until San Felipe (3 days ride). Michelle cooked up a mighty pasta (Carbo-load!) with the best iced tea I have ever tasted. After dinner, I picked up her guitar and soon we were playing covers back and forth, Michelle absolutely tearing it up on "TNT" and laying down an immaculate rendition of the solo on "Comfortably Numb." It felt great.
Going to bed that night I had a feeling of taking a giant leap. It wasn't certain death were we facing out there (though it is a possibility), though don't we face that everyday? We were on the doorstep of the next chapter in this adventure, and somethings you can't know until you go there and see it yourself. A deep breath, then sleep.
Yesterday evening, Lluc called a powow around the table in the house at San Miguel. His confession was frank and honest. "This evening coming down that last stretch on the Quota, I almost got eaten but a semi. He came up on me fast, the shoulder ended at a narrow bridge, there was cliff to my right and truck immediately to my left. I could feel the heat of the wheels on my legs. I thought I was done for." The way he looked at me I could tell he had the fear of God in him. I've had close calls too and I know the feeling of veering on the edge of disaster, but nothing like that. "I could feel the heat," he said again. "If the rest of this highway is like that, I'm good. It's not worth it. I don't want to feel that again." He was right. No trip, no matter how epic, is worth our lives. We both have too many good things to go back to. Hearing him say those words suddenly opened the gates to all the dark thoughts I keep away bay when we're on an expedition like this; everything that could go wrong, what trouble we could be in and how badly we could get hurt, how hard it would be to get help, all the plans and dreams I have that could no longer be... The weight of 'what are we doing here' began to set in.
Lluc knew that one of us pulling out would change the trip completely. But he was smart to bring it up here. Ensenada is the last major city that we would hit for several hundred miles, probably until La Paz... If we were going to make a call, it had to be here. Numerous options flashed before us: Turn back? Go to San Diego? Where would we stay, and would we come back to Mexico? Find boxes and ship the bikes home and continue on foot, hitch hiking or by bus? Do we get a bus with all our stuff past the most dangerous sections of highway and keep riding from there? We still have plane tickets home from Los Cabos in 29 days. But what's the point of continuing on if our heart isn't in it anymore?
It was a blow to our moral. Even more so because we had been warned about Baja hundreds of times on our way down, but it was as if we didn't hear them until we were here and felt it. I told Lluc "Whatever we do, we do it together." We shook hands.
It was clear we wouldn't be pushing off in the morning. Too many things to think about. So we slept on it and in the morning tried to amass as much information on the roads ahead to be able to make an educated decision. There were too many variables. How is the pavement? Is there any at all? Is there a shoulder? How is the traffic? Is it like the Quota? Will they give us enough room? Will there be places to get water? To buy food? All of these things I had looked into before, but this time we did so with new urgency. We read blogs, watched videos, looked at satelite imagery, called friends of friends in the area, anyone who had been South of here... What was out there was vague, and it didn't tell us much more than what we already knew: There is only one paved road all the way South, the Mexico 1. Because it's the one, all the trucks take it, and they go fast. There is no shoulder. None. From Ensenada to El Rosario there is a lot of activity, but after that, there is hardly anything until La Paz (with the exception of Guerrero Negro, which isn't much more than a glorified army checkpoint). But, it's been done. There is also another road, Mexico 3 that goes East from Ensenada to the Sea of Cortez, which begins as a major highway, but slowly deteriorates until it is a gravel road a few hundred miles later, before barely making our back to the 1 in the mountains North of El Rosarito. It wouldn't have the traffic, but there might not be much road. With our road bikes, it was a hard call.
We were faced with two decisions: To go for it or not, and if we go, East or West? We were in a paralysis of indecision. So we took a walk on the beach. The wind blew swiftly over the water, small waves crashing against the rocks. A tuna boat putted off the point leaving a trail of black smoke. Lluc and I stood, looked, picked up pebbles and eventually sat by ourselves for a while. There was a lot of silence, but in between we spoke of the trip. How long it's been, what we've accomplished, why we're here in the first place... I felt far, far from home. With so much unfamiliarity all around, it was hard not to feel trapped. Was is ego that had pushed us this far? What was I thinking when I thought up this trip? Did I have any idea what we were getting into? Would it hurt my pride to drop it all now? After one day in Mexico? I could feel myself leaning both ways from moment to moment. I decided I needed to meditate. Lluc left me there on the shore to do so.
There was a silence that sounded like agreement. "So... East or West?" Good, I'm glad we decided one thing. From what we knew, the section we had done from Tijuana was the busiest of the whole penninsula. The 1 would stay busy until El Rosario and then dwindle somewhat after that. The 3 to the Sea of Cortez would be quieter, and even if the road turns to ankle deep sand by the end (which it shoulds like it might) it would bring us around that entire busy section. We can deal with elements like road conditions and weather and little amenities, but when it comes to truck traffic, our safety is out of our hands, and a good time can turn to catastrophe in an instant. That was that. We would go east.
Finally, with a game plan, we needed to make a trip to town for supplies. 3 days of food, and enough water storage to get us across the entire penninsula. Plus some other safeties, including two pool noodles to put across the back ends of our bikes to keep the passing cars at a safe distance, hopefully. Michelle, who had been out mountain biking in the morning kindly offered to take us into town, and even came along with us during our errands. On the way we stopped by a famous ceviche stand Lluc had read about. It was outragous.
On our way home, supplies in the trunk, we stopped at an overlook above the city and took it all in.
Back home we made our final preparations, using our a wifi connection probably for the last time until San Felipe (3 days ride). Michelle cooked up a mighty pasta (Carbo-load!) with the best iced tea I have ever tasted. After dinner, I picked up her guitar and soon we were playing covers back and forth, Michelle absolutely tearing it up on "TNT" and laying down an immaculate rendition of the solo on "Comfortably Numb." It felt great.
Going to bed that night I had a feeling of taking a giant leap. It wasn't certain death were we facing out there (though it is a possibility), though don't we face that everyday? We were on the doorstep of the next chapter in this adventure, and somethings you can't know until you go there and see it yourself. A deep breath, then sleep.
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