BIKEPACKING BAJA

HARDY AVERY AND CAITRIN MALONEY HAVE BUILT TRAIL NETWORKS AROUND THE STATE, FROM THE SLATE VALLEY TRAILS TO THE IMPENDING VELOMONT. FOR A WINTER VACATION THEY BIKEPACKED THE BAJA DIVIDE TRAIL.

mountains, ascending to nearly 4,700 ft. We’d ride a total of 1,600 miles, snaking our way back and forth across the skinny Baja peninsula and finish at the southern tip of the peninsula in a much warmer climate. Along the way, we would be riding mainly rough, remote double track roads through the Sonoran Desert, where temperatures drop quickly with the setting sun. At night, we would camp in sites we’d happen upon along the way, or stay in hostels, hotels or eco-tourism ranchos marked in the trip notes.

Fast forward to day three of our journey. We were on a bumpy dirt track in the mountains of northern Baja, having crossed the border in Tecate the day before. It was getting late, the sun about to dip behind the western mountains. We’d put in a big day, lots of climbing, the temperature had never warmed to where we’d hoped (planned?) it to be. It was windy and I was cold. Chilled to the bone. I was wearing every piece of clothing I had, and I was having a hard time imagining how I could possibly survive a night camping in the desert. In my quest to keep my load light and my bike nimble – had I made a grave mistake by leaving behind that extra warm layer?

It was decision time – we’d either find a camp spot, or pivot and attempt to ride the 10 miles to Ojos Negros and find a room. Would there be a place to stay? No cell service to check, and nothing marked in our trip notes. Hardy was pretty sure he could warm me up if we got the tent set up quickly and snuggled into that double bag. Despite the nagging fear in the back of my mind that I might freeze to death, I agreed.

Hardy did his best and I survived the night, and thankfully we were treated to increasingly warmer weather as we traveled south and the calendar advanced into summery weather. Upon reflection, I realized this was the first of many times throughout the trip that tested our ability as a couple to make important decisions with limited info, and quickly.

We’d had a challenging fall, and stress levels in our marriage were at an all-time peak. In late January, we made a lastminute decision to do the trip, taking just two weeks to prepare before flying to San Diego and starting our journey on February 14th, Valentine’s Day.

The Baja Divide route is well documented, so the planning and readying was the easy part. Developed by Nicholas Carman and Lael Wilcox in 2016, there is tons of information online including a GPS track and resupply chart, and thousands of people have successfully completed it. The hard part would be to spend 6 weeks traveling through tough terrain in a foreign country, just the two of us.

We agreed that spending this time together could be a great way to do a reset–sometimes the best way to reconnect is to disconnect. So we went into the trip with open minds, agreeing that if it wasn’t working we could always bail and come home. We didn’t bail, in fact we completed the entire route together. We worked through our challenges on the road, and we got good at making the many necessary daily decisions collaboratively.

We didn’t feel unsafe per se, however we were aware that there were inherent dangers in what we were doing. Much of the route is in the backcountry where there is no cell phone service, and there are a few sections of the route that took us into very remote areas where we’d at times be more than 50 miles away from potable water, food, communications, or any sort of assistance should something go wrong.

We did our best to mitigate the risks and accepted a certain level of risk as a matter of course. We heeded the locals’ advice and only traveled during daylight hours, we were careful about where we chose to camp, and we kept a close eye on our gear. We made sure our repair kits were topped up and dialed, we packed extra food and water, and we listened to our bodies and each other. We tried to set realistic expectations and we were ready to be flexible when conditions changed.

Now that I’ve established myself as a moderate risk-taker (and yes, I also love Type 2 fun), I’ll admit that one of the best parts of the trip for me was the challenge. While the route is well-documented and marked on GPS and it’s not exactly adventurous in a “I’m a world traveler explorer doing this crazy thing for the first-time” sort of way - the Baja Divide is hard. It’s physically and mentally demanding. The “roads” are rough and the climbs often long or punchy. There were hours and hours of washboards, deep sand, intense sun, no shade. While

I have some bikepacking experience, this would be by far my longest trip. I wasn’t sure how my body would adapt to long days in the saddle and sleeping on the ground day after day. My body did adapt, my saddle sores abated after the first week, and I got progressively stronger. By the end

I was comfortably keeping pace with Hardy (who is ridiculously strong).

Other high points of the journey included the stunning and constantly changing scenery of the route, meeting rural people in small towns and on ranchos, and many nights spent camping on empty beaches on both the Pacific coast and the Sea of Cortez. The route travels through a diverse slice of the Sonoran Desert, and the variety of plants is outstanding. My favorite plants were the towering agave flowers and the alien-looking Cirios trees. The coastal section from San Jose Del Faro to El Rosarito on the Pacific side captured my heart – with more than 80 miles of undeveloped coastline. Through this whole section we only saw a few surfers. No people, no houses, just desert and ocean – such a stark contrast to what’s found in Alta California.

By far my favorite part of the journey was meeting and talking to people along the way. One morning about halfway into our trip stands out. We were searching for resupply (maybe even breakfast?) in a remote fishing village on the Pacific coast. We stopped at a tiny tienda, where our options seemed limited, but from what we could tell, this was our only choice. The elderly man at the counter noticed our loaded bikes and asked us where we’d come from, and where we were going (a common conversation starter). We chatted a bit and then he invited us back, into his home, for some coffee (Nescafe, a rural staple). We spent an hour talking and it became clear he was very lonely after losing his wife a few months ago, and his adult children had left to work in more economically productive areas of

Baja. I wished I could have stayed longer, I wished my Spanish was better so I could connect on a deeper level, and I wished I could call my grandmother right then to ask her how she was doing. Despite the age, gender, language, culture and other barriers, I felt a shared humanity that day - sharing in the pain of loneliness and the desire to connect.

Many ask us if we would go again. I don’t think we’ll tackle the Baja route again specifically, although we’d like to return there and help in some way. We thought a lot about the privilege we enjoyed just being there, and the desire to