Baja Divide - Day 5 • Ejido Uruapan to Eréndira
Baja Divide - Day 5
I slept surprisingly well in the picnic area next to the Aguas Termales in Ejido Uruapan. My tent was pitched on level ground beside a picnic table, strategically shaded from a nearby street lamp.
The night was cold, but my sleeping bag kept me warm. Camping near towns always comes with the noise factor, but I was prepared. When the dogs began barking in the middle of the night, I slipped in my earplugs and drifted back to sleep. With the long winter nights, I spent many hours snug inside my tent.
At 6:30 AM, the first light broke, and I stepped out into the chilly morning. The fog hung thick in the air, and everything was damp. My tent fly was wet with condensation, but I had no choice but to pack it up as it was. The picnic table made a perfect workstation for organizing my gear. After rolling everything up, I made use of a nearby bathroom outlet to charge my devices and took a moment to lube my bike chain before setting off.
The morning began with a ride through dense fog. The chill cut through my short-finger gloves, leaving my fingertips freezing as I pedaled out of town on a paved road. A turn onto two-lane Mexico 1 brought me to a wide shoulder shrouded in fog, with my lights on for visibility. The litter along the highway was staggering, but the steady climb ahead helped warm my body. By the time the sun broke through the haze, it was another cloudless day.
In Santo Tomas, I stopped at a small café for a latte and an empanada. A wood-burning stove glowed warmly inside, with locals bundled in heavy jackets. Before leaving, I shed my jacket and leg warmers, knowing the climb ahead would quickly heat me up.
The road out of town transitioned from pavement to dirt, marked by thick rope topes—unforgiving speed bumps that rattled my gear. The steep and relentless climb began immediately. I'd read this section would be tough, and it lived up to its reputation. The climb was long, and the uneven terrain forced me to hike-a-bike sections. Near the top, I paused to strip off my long-sleeve shirt, grateful for any relief. Passing the town dump, I noted a lone dog lying calmly on watch.
By 9:53 AM, I reached the summit and checked my odometer: 10 miles ridden so far. The road ahead teased with rolling ups and downs. These tracks, like much of the Baja Divide, are part of the infamous Baja 1000 off-road motorcycle race.
Out on the trail, I encountered a local man riding a striking white horse. We chatted briefly, and he mentioned the beach was about an hour away by bike—two hours for him on horseback. He shared that he owned a few cows and graciously let me take a photo before I continued on.
When faced with loose gravel, soft sand, or washboard roads, which would you choose? For me, it was a matter of picking the lesser evil. As I admired a stunning rock formation on the opposite side of the valley, my eyes caught what I initially thought was a massive flock of birds. But as I drew closer, I realized it was the shimmering Pacific, its surface rippling like liquid silver. The horizon was painted in a breathtaking gradient—from teal to blue to violet, pink, and back to soft sky blue—a perfect blend of earth and sky.
The road became deeply rutted, forcing constant decisions: ride the bank, balance on the narrow ridge, or stick to the rut. Each choice was dictated by the terrain and my bike’s limits. As rocks grew larger—some resembling ostrich eggs or bowling balls—navigation turned into a game of patience and skill. When the ruts and rocks combined on a steep ascent, hike-a-bike became unavoidable.
The coastline revealed itself in dramatic fashion, with steep switchbacks leading down to the crashing waves. I opted for the safer switchback rather than the precarious direct descent. The barren coast was ruggedly beautiful, with steep climbs and descents that tested my endurance.
Sparse signs of life dotted the landscape—an occasional house, a smattering of developments with English "For Sale" signs, and one well-placed van parked on a scenic precipice. Despite the desolation, the coastline was mesmerizing, and traffic was minimal, allowing me to soak in the solitude.
By the time I reached Coyote Cals at mile 35, I was ready for a break. Though there were still three hours of daylight left, the allure of a shower, a warm bed, and quality food proved irresistible. Rick, the proprietor, welcomed me warmly and confirmed what I’d been hoping to hear: I had made it through one of the toughest parts of the route.
After showering and shaving, I took a moment to mend my pants for the second time. The warmth of the lodge was a welcome reprieve from the persistent chill outside. It was a cold night, but with a roof over my head, I was content.
December 30, 2024
Ejido Uruapan to Eréndira - 36 Miles
Start 7:54 AM
Finish 2:01 PM
Total Duration 6:04
Moving Time 4:42
Stopped Time 1:22
Ascent 2,770’
Descent 3,370’
Tour Total 215 Miles
Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/245140419
Ejido Uruapan to Eréndira - 36 Miles
Start 7:54 AM
Finish 2:01 PM
Total Duration 6:04
Moving Time 4:42
Stopped Time 1:22
Ascent 2,770’
Descent 3,370’
Tour Total 215 Miles
Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/245140419
I slept surprisingly well in the picnic area next to the Aguas Termales in Ejido Uruapan. My tent was pitched on level ground beside a picnic table, strategically shaded from a nearby street lamp.
The night was cold, but my sleeping bag kept me warm. Camping near towns always comes with the noise factor, but I was prepared. When the dogs began barking in the middle of the night, I slipped in my earplugs and drifted back to sleep. With the long winter nights, I spent many hours snug inside my tent.
At 6:30 AM, the first light broke, and I stepped out into the chilly morning. The fog hung thick in the air, and everything was damp. My tent fly was wet with condensation, but I had no choice but to pack it up as it was. The picnic table made a perfect workstation for organizing my gear. After rolling everything up, I made use of a nearby bathroom outlet to charge my devices and took a moment to lube my bike chain before setting off.
The morning began with a ride through dense fog. The chill cut through my short-finger gloves, leaving my fingertips freezing as I pedaled out of town on a paved road. A turn onto two-lane Mexico 1 brought me to a wide shoulder shrouded in fog, with my lights on for visibility. The litter along the highway was staggering, but the steady climb ahead helped warm my body. By the time the sun broke through the haze, it was another cloudless day.
In Santo Tomas, I stopped at a small café for a latte and an empanada. A wood-burning stove glowed warmly inside, with locals bundled in heavy jackets. Before leaving, I shed my jacket and leg warmers, knowing the climb ahead would quickly heat me up.
The road out of town transitioned from pavement to dirt, marked by thick rope topes—unforgiving speed bumps that rattled my gear. The steep and relentless climb began immediately. I'd read this section would be tough, and it lived up to its reputation. The climb was long, and the uneven terrain forced me to hike-a-bike sections. Near the top, I paused to strip off my long-sleeve shirt, grateful for any relief. Passing the town dump, I noted a lone dog lying calmly on watch.
By 9:53 AM, I reached the summit and checked my odometer: 10 miles ridden so far. The road ahead teased with rolling ups and downs. These tracks, like much of the Baja Divide, are part of the infamous Baja 1000 off-road motorcycle race.
Out on the trail, I encountered a local man riding a striking white horse. We chatted briefly, and he mentioned the beach was about an hour away by bike—two hours for him on horseback. He shared that he owned a few cows and graciously let me take a photo before I continued on.
When faced with loose gravel, soft sand, or washboard roads, which would you choose? For me, it was a matter of picking the lesser evil. As I admired a stunning rock formation on the opposite side of the valley, my eyes caught what I initially thought was a massive flock of birds. But as I drew closer, I realized it was the shimmering Pacific, its surface rippling like liquid silver. The horizon was painted in a breathtaking gradient—from teal to blue to violet, pink, and back to soft sky blue—a perfect blend of earth and sky.
The road became deeply rutted, forcing constant decisions: ride the bank, balance on the narrow ridge, or stick to the rut. Each choice was dictated by the terrain and my bike’s limits. As rocks grew larger—some resembling ostrich eggs or bowling balls—navigation turned into a game of patience and skill. When the ruts and rocks combined on a steep ascent, hike-a-bike became unavoidable.
The coastline revealed itself in dramatic fashion, with steep switchbacks leading down to the crashing waves. I opted for the safer switchback rather than the precarious direct descent. The barren coast was ruggedly beautiful, with steep climbs and descents that tested my endurance.
Sparse signs of life dotted the landscape—an occasional house, a smattering of developments with English "For Sale" signs, and one well-placed van parked on a scenic precipice. Despite the desolation, the coastline was mesmerizing, and traffic was minimal, allowing me to soak in the solitude.
By the time I reached Coyote Cals at mile 35, I was ready for a break. Though there were still three hours of daylight left, the allure of a shower, a warm bed, and quality food proved irresistible. Rick, the proprietor, welcomed me warmly and confirmed what I’d been hoping to hear: I had made it through one of the toughest parts of the route.
After showering and shaving, I took a moment to mend my pants for the second time. The warmth of the lodge was a welcome reprieve from the persistent chill outside. It was a cold night, but with a roof over my head, I was content.
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