Baja California - North

As I sit here in a motel reception in Loreto, Baja on Thursday, Dec 29th I have ridden consecutively for 15 days and am 3/4 way through Baja California. I'm tired and dying for a few days off the bike. It's been a tough old section of the route. Always an endless road ahead, very few towns, very few cyclists, desert and cacti. But as I look back through my photos to see which ones are worth writing about I smile. Today I'm tired and bored and feeling a bit down in the dumps. But as I look back through my Baja trip I see so many highlights and memories of so many good days and magic moments. Writing this blog has been a very good exercise me thinks.

Sunset on the road in Baja.

Before I arrived into Baja I had heard that this section was a 'desert' and full of 'retired American snowbirds' (Americans looking for a cheap sunny winter shelter) and that it was not as nice as cycling trough mainland Mexico. I have cycled now through three weeks of desert, met way too many drunken retired American snowbirds, camped out between many cacti (often spectacular) and must have eaten 100 tacos (either shrimp, deep fried breaded fish or grilled beef) but all quite yum. At $1 a pop, a tasty daily encounter. I can't comment yet on the comparison to the mainland but I'm kind of done with the desert and dying to get into Mexico proper.

My first fish and shrimp tacos in Tijuana, Mexico

Delicious ceviche - raw shrimp marinated in lime juice

There are two route options when cycling down the Baja. Either you keep going on Mexico 1 - the pan-american highway - or you cross the mountains to San Felipe and take the quieter east coast. In a moment of madness I decided to take the advice of my lovely Tijuana warm showers host (Sandra) and opted for option two. It turned out to be some of the most challenging cycling I have ever done.

There were nights camping wild in the desert among the cacti in the pouring rain, nights in deserted fishing villages looking for any sign of human life to ask for some water, nights spent at army checkpoints and glorious nights spent with Sweeny Green pitched behind random little restaurants that were on no map but which gave me access to electricity (diesel generators and/or solar), water and human company.

First night of wild camping in the Mexican desert.

Baja starts at Tijuana
Tijuana was a delight. Primarily because of the kindness of a warm showers host called Sandra. She picked me up from the border, brought me out for dinner and beer, brought me home (up 5 ridiculously steep hills) and then brought me to work with her the following day as my bike was in the workshop for some serious TLC.

This is Sandra.

'Made at your table' cesar salad

Sandra brought me to a bar which I would more expect to see in Paris than in Tijuana. It was gorgeous. Jazz music softly playing in the background. A far cry from the crazy border I had crossed ten minutes earlier. However tasty, at $10 for four lettuce leaves it was a tad pricey.

Bar in Tijuana where the Cesar salad was invented - 1927

My first Mole. Chocolate flavoured sauce over Enchiladas. Not really my thing.

My bike pedals had been clicking for a week or two and the cranks were wobbly. So I knew something was wrong. A new bottom bracket was needed. I ended up spending three nights in Tijuana as the bike shop was pretty busy. But oh my goodness, when I got my bike back it sparkled and rode like a Mercedez. It had crossed my mind to get the bike serviced in San Diego before I crossed the border, for some silly reason I thought the service might be better or they would have access to more mechanical parts. Silly me. The service and quality from my first Mexican bike shop was fantastic. And at $50 for a new bottom bracket, new chain, new brake pads, full service and full clean - a bargain!

The old bottom bracket looks a little rusty.

I hardly recognised my bike it was so clean.

From Tijuana I got a bus to Ensenada - as this was where myself and Leann had cycled to. And yet again warm showers came to the rescue.

What a Christmas tree. 

Christmas time family breakfast in Ensenada. Eggs on ham.
And of course refried beans.

Antonio, Mara and their 3 teenage boys host cyclists from all
over the world every week of the year. It's how the kids have learned English.

Little did I know leaving Ensenada that that would be the end of warm showers, breakfast eggs, comfy beds, light switches that work, taps which have running water coming out of them and HUMANS!!!

Ear phones a bit of a necessity. God bless Radio 4's Desert Island Discs.

Some kms of Baja Norte road. 

Some more kms.

At the cross road of Mex 3 and Mex 5 is an army checkpoint. On that particular day it was my aim to get to that checkpoint. Where there is army, there is water was my thinking. The army then sent me a couple of kms down the road to the nearest shop where I spent a very happy evening camping with Jesus (pronounced Hay-Zuz) and his wife and family. Jesus was very proud to show me his thermometer. As I was now on the east side of Baja California which is divided from the mainland by the Sea of Cortez, temperatures during the summer can reach a balmy 50 degrees celsius.

Jesus and his family ran a small roadside restaurant. It had no electricity except for a few hours during the evening when he ran a diesel generator. During this time I charged my phone while the kids watched cartoons on the TV. They also had no running water. All the water they used for drinking, cooking, washing was bought in large 20L drums. At this stage I'm surprised if water actually comes out of a tap in Baja California.

Jesus pointing out that temperatures can reach 50C in the summer.

Jesus offers me my own room for the night.

4 stone walls AND a roof, quite the luxury.

Jesus' wife and son. We drink coffee, eat oranges and chat until
late in the evening sitting around a large log fire in the kitchen.

The following morning I ask can I cook my porridge in their kitchen. As I boil my oats, raisins and powdered milk (pot on the right), Celia fries beans and boils green tomatoes and chilies (pots and pans on the left). The beans go into the tortillas as a base layer, while the green tomatoes make the yummiest salsa. They eat all this with fried chicken for breakfast. Quite the cultural difference.

Boiling green tomatoes and chilies while I cook porridge.

I did not much enjoy pushing Sherpa up this road. Crazy! 

From San Felipe south

One of the more interesting nights was spent in the little fishing village of El Huerfanito. At dusk I turned off the road onto a dirt road to the beach. I had seen some structures from a distance and thought there might be human life and therefore water. And just as if it were planned a man called Nacho appeared outside the first shack. He was more than happy that I pitched Sweeny G in a kind of garage beside his shack. It was blowing a gale at this stage and I was so glad of the shelter of three plastic walls and a tin roof. Nacho moved some chairs and work benches so that Sweeny G could fit snugly into a sheltered spot. He had very little but as with all other Mexicans I have met, was happy to share anything he had with me.

Sweeny Green tucked neatly into Nacho's garage with three walls and a roof.

I had heard about the illegal fishing of the Totoaba fish. It's a fish that is only found in the northern part of the Sea of Cortez. Seemingly the Chinese will pay a Mexican fisherman 6000 usd for the bladder. Its trade started three years ago.

According to the drunken retired Americans I met, a workman in Baja earns 200 pesos per day (10 usd). So based on that, one fish is worth about two years of a workman's salary. I thought it a little odd that Nacho lived in a fishing shack with the usual no running water or electricity but had an iPhone 6 and a brand new pick-up truck. I noticed it but thought nothing of it.

However I began to put the pieces of the jigsaw together when at 3.19am the following morning I was woken in my tent to the sound of male voice and many flashing torches. I knew something dodgy was going on but stayed quiet and still in my tent. Although I'll never be sure I had a gut feeling that there was a deal going down in El Huerfanito that night involving the famous fish.

Sunrise in El Huerfanito. My 5* hotel included the commonly seen
car seat converted into a comfy armchair.

Ronnie's road sign
A highlight of this part of the ride down the East coast was when I came across this sign at kilometre 133. I had met a guy who was fixing his car on the roadside a couple of days earlier. We chatted, his name was Ronnie. He said that I was more than welcome to pitch my tent at his house a couple of hundred kms up the road if I needed somewhere to stay.

Cardboard sign stuck to KM 133 road marker.

Ronnie's cardboard sign.

The sign reads 'Ireland to Panama 2017, one more mile to the beach for a deserved rest, Ronnie' and the picture of a shamrock. He had forgotten my name. He had stuck this cardboard note to the signpost with steel cable ties. Very professional. It was only 11am when I passed this sign on this particular day, so it didn't suit to stay the night. But I did call in. I had a shower, topped up my water, was given 1L of cold mango juice, a mug of coffee and two tasty grilled chicken sambos. The road providing yet again.

This is Ronnie sweeping sand from the porch of his beautiful seaside residence.

Some accommodation stats on the trip so far:
Total number of nights of this trip: 122
Total number of nights I have paid for accommodation: 31 (28%)
Nights spent in Sweeny Green: 51 (46%)
Nights when I have been offered a free bed (inc. with Vancouver Hardiman family): 21 (19%)
Nights in a motel/hotel/hostel: 11 (10%)
Nights with a warm showers host: 29 (26%)

Highlights

• generally camping behind random restaurants along the way. Poor Mexicans with very little offer the cyclist everything they have. Very humbling.
• seeing Ronnie's message stuck to a sign post
• fish tacos
• finding a cheap hotel in a tiny village high up in the mountains after 24 hours of pouring rain
• doing 35kms per hour for two days straight with ferocious tailwinds
• cycling through the desert

Lowlights

• getting hit by the wing mirror of a pick-up truck on Mex 3 in the mountains between Ensenada and San Felipe. Ouch. My left arm was black and blue for a week.
• endless boring flat road with only sand to look at as far as the eye can see
• general lack of other cyclists
• cycling through the god damn desert