Day 48

Another one of those days where it seems impossible to relate all that occurred... It was hard even to recall where we woke up this morning. Probably because we never really got to sleep. 

The wind that howled all yesterday afternoon increased in ferocity at dusk and did not wane all night. Even though we were out of the direct wind on the porch of the old cabana, the air was still blustery and the thatching thrashed all night. It was too hot to zip up a sleeping bag, and we hadn't set up our tents so I slept on a tarp with the bag unzipped. At 5am when our alarms rang and we started packing, I discovered sand inside the bag and all over the top of me, blown the by the wind.

We assembled gear for roughly 45 minutes before the horizon even began to glow. We wanted an extra early start today so we could attempt what we anticipated being a challenging day, out of the heat. The challenge lay in uncertainty. Today was the day the road was supposed to end. But where it would cease to be paved and how un-paved it would be was unclear. How long it would take us was a whole nother question.

At 6:45 on the dot, the sun created the hills in the far side of the bay, just as we were learning our bikes against an outhouse. No one in camp was awake yet, but we had seen Manuel close (and presumably lock) the gate last night, so we needed somebody to let us out. Apologetically, we knocked on Manuel's door, and he appeared soon after, shirt unbuttoned, hair tossed, and bleary eyed. His rifle was leaned next to the door. We asked to be let out and to fill our water again, which he let us do, and he gave us the key and said, just leave it in the lock (learned the word for lock too). Thanks Manuel, you can go back to sleep. "No hay pera, no hay pera..."

We rode the kilometer or so back to the highway on sand washboard road, praying this wouldn't be what the road would be like later today. The highway was straight and flat for a good ways, leading away from the sea. The hills closed in and channeled it into a narrow valley. Big boulders surrounded the road and larger and larger cacti peeped out from behind them. Some 25 or 30 feet tall. Many of the boulders were spraypainted with "Benito era aquí" or things like that.

We came upon a roadsign. Carretera Transpenninsular 30km, 1.5 horas. That was the highway 1. I wonder how long it would take us?

The old pavement ended and we began to ride very new pavement. So new it was sticky. No paint or guardrails, not that we neede those. There were a few workers on the bridges, and the road continued well past where I thought it would end. Every time I saw it went further I was had a sigh of relief.

At long last, we were diverted from the road onto dirt and that was that. The main highway was being cut through the hills in an elaborate chain of bridges and trenches, which looked very much like something a child would do in a sandbox with lots of tonka trucks. The dirt road was dusty with big pebbles imbedded in it, but nothing worse than we've been on before. The detour took us away from the road and we stopped a pickup coming the other direction to ask if it was still the right way (no signs to be found). It was an american in the truck, who reminded us we're crazy (thanks, haven't heard that before) and that "it's another 3 miles of this, then paved, then a little more, then that's it." 

It was slow going. With all the bumping and bouncing around on the rocks and the sliding and sliding in the dirt, it felt more like driving a boat on choppy water than riding a bike. Not much steering control either. Had to hope your learning and momentum carried you through.

If you're wondering what the international gesture for bicycling is, its a rapid cranking motion of both hands in alternation in front of the chest. Nearly everyone who asks us where we're going uses it. When a car full of mexicans opened the window and asked me for directions (I was flattered), and followed it with "Adonde vas," "A los Cabos," "En bici? (rapid cranking motion)." No I'm just holding onto this for a friend... "Sí, en bici."

The grade was all over the place. Up and down, in and out, with a lot of construction vehicles coming and going. We rested in the shade of newly cut rock and watched the big toys go by. As a giant power shovel digger on tracks rolled by within 2 feet of our toes, we broke out in laughter. This was a ridiculous situation. Fines do not double in construction zones; no one cared we were there. No one cared when on the way up the next hill, Lluc grabbed on to ther back off a truck with a bed full of rebar and got pulled up.

Finally, the road went back to pavement and a moment later, we arrived back at higway 1, the main North-South route for all of Baja.
That completed our only major decision from the main road. Though it was uncertain, I felt as soon as we got back on the 1 that it had all been worth it.

We rested briefly at a Lonchería at the junction, and talked over the rest of the day. It was noon so we'r had time, and it wasn't scorching hot (we had climbed 2000 feet). We decided to go for Punta Prieta, another 60km, which would put us in a good distance from Guerrero Negro, or next destination.

The road was narrow. Zero shoulder and lanes hardly wide enough to fit the semis that rolled through them. Luckily, there wasn't much truck traffic, and they gave us as much room as they could. The third itself climbed a tad before dropping into two spectacular valleys, each with a veritable first of cacti. We began to notice new ones too, only one at a time, but a few valleys on and it was an entirely different desert. Two favorites were the 'lung trees'as I called them, and the 'truffula trees', called this for obvious reasons.

We made it to the junction with the road to Bahía de Los Angeles Angeles stopped at a Lonchería to have a cold drink. Fanta in a glass bottle hit the spot. We were exhausted but Punta Prieta was only anothet 14km. We made it there running on vapors.

Everything looked closed except for a restaurant called Melany. We crawled into the place in sorry shape, got a much-needed quesadilla, and wifi for 10 pesos. There wasn't a place to fill water but a fellow outside said the was one 500m meters back on the road. Going to fill up and find a place to camp, we were riding back when a man in a cowboy hat wanted at us from behind a barbed wire fence. Lluc talked with him and he led us around ther corner to his neighbour's house that had a filling station and small tienda. He also offered in enthusiastic diction, to camp in his yard under the mesquite trees by the chickens. Perfect.

Roberto was his name, and he sat and talked with us while we unpacked. Lluc shared a Tecate beer with him which went over well, and we learned he was from San Vincente, in Northwest Baja, and taking care of his friends house for a short time. His wife Blanca put our water bottles in thier freezer so they'd be cold for the morning. The were both very sweet and handled our amateur spanish compassionately.

We made couscous by the rooster's fence and listened to the town dogs bark and watched the stars appear above this funny little town, making at the odd days we ate rewarded after a challenging day of riding.