Baja Divide

January 18, 2025

Baja Divide - Day 11

January 5, 2025 Cataviña to 29°13'38" N 114°48'57" W - 59 Miles

Start 6:55 AM

Finish 6:09 PM

Total Duration 11:14

Moving Time 7:59

Stopped Time 3:15

Ascent 3,801’

Descent 5,593’

Tour Total 482 Miles

Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/246499729

I slept well in Room 127 at the Hotel Mission Cataviña. The room was warm and comfortable, and I enjoyed being able to spread out. I left the window shade open so the morning light would wake me. At 6 AM, sunlight began to filter in, softly signaling the start of a new day.

After my usual morning routine, I addressed some saddle soreness by applying chamois butter, then packed up and carefully balanced my bike with supplies. I carried a total of twelve liters of water—enough for four or five days. A five-liter jug and two 1.5-liter bottles were strapped to a cloth bag bungeed to my rear rack. It was the heaviest load my bike had ever carried.

Dressed in shorts, a jersey, a long-sleeve wool shirt, and a gilet, I cycled north out of town on Mex 1. The morning was windy, but the sky was crystal clear—a perfect start for the longest stretch of the Baja Divide without water or resupply. The route from Cataviña to Santa Rosalillita spans 126 desolate miles, leading back to the Pacific coast. An adventure awaited.

Unfortunately, my derailleur issues persisted, preventing me from using my largest and smallest gears. This meant no granny gear for climbs and no speed gear for descents.

About 35 minutes later, I left the highway and turned onto a wide, sandy road. It was soft and washboarded, but the tailwind helped me along. After eight miles, the vibrations took their toll—two water bottles fell off the rack. I retrieved them and re-secured everything more tightly.

The road was mostly level, but the washboards and soft patches slowed my pace to about 10 mph despite the tailwind. A few climbs forced me to hike my bike due to the derailleur problems. By 10 AM, I had ridden 21 miles and stopped at a picnic table I had read about to enjoy some cookies and water.

Good times can sour quickly. While cruising downhill, I hit a large rock, sending my water bottles flying. The cloth bag shredded in the process. I wrapped the two 1.5-liter bottles in the torn fabric, strapped them together with the five-liter jug, and patched a pinhole leak in the jug with electrical and Gorilla tape. Further down the road, the jug fell again. The combination of water weight and rough terrain was proving a challenge. I had lost pressure in both my tires, but it helped smooth the rough roads so I left them low.

To minimize mishaps, I removed one earbud so I could listen for falling bottles or mechanical issues. Despite my efforts, the 1.5-liter bottles kept slipping. At one point, they wedged between my rear spokes and frame. I tied everything to my seat post with parachute cord and continued.

By noon, I had covered 29 miles. At 12:47 PM, I reached an abandoned town marked on my map. A mile past it, I passed a ranch that appeared active but eerily quiet—no vehicles, no signs of life.

The landscape became barren as I rode on gravel, dirt, and sand, dodging "chunk" (sharp, rocky terrain). By 1:40 PM, I had ridden 40 miles and climbed to a peak with ocean views. The vegetation was sparse—agave, scrub, cacti, and Joshua trees, all reminiscent of a Dr. Seuss book.

At 3:47 PM, I reached a fishing village. It was strewn with abandoned cars, cabins, and lobster traps but almost devoid of people. I asked a group of fishermen if they had food or drink, but they simply stared. Riding along the beach, I eventually climbed back into the hills. The surroundings grew even more desolate, with only dried-out bushes scattered among the rocky dirt.

As I pushed my bike up a hill, I encountered two Americans in a truck loaded with water and surfboards. They checked if I was okay. When I jokingly asked for a beer, they laughed but had none to offer.

The road became a series of steep, rutted climbs and descents, taking me away from the coast. I had hoped to catch the sunset, but the hills blocked the view. By 5:30 PM, it was dark, and I navigated by my bike light. The road eventually looped back to the ocean, where I searched for a campsite. The moonlight was faint, and the terrain was hard to judge.

I hit a patch of sticky peanut butter mud that clung to my bike and sandals, creating a messy, frustrating delay. Seeking higher ground, I considered camping on a rocky hillside but pushed on. Finally, I found a flat dirt area between two scraggly bushes just big enough for my tent.

Carefully unpacking to avoid spreading mud, I set up camp. Using seashells and sticks, I scraped mud from my bike and gear. The stars were brilliant overhead as I climbed into my tent. Dinner was simple: canned corn and Vienna sausage. The bitter cold and crashing waves lulled me to sleep.