Baja Divide

January 16, 2025

Baja Divide - Day 13

January 7, 2025 28°52'33" N 114°24'47" W to Rosarito - 45 Miles

Start 7:20 AM

Finish 3:36 PM

Total Duration 8:15

Moving Time 6:39

Stopped Time 1:36

Ascent 2,401’

Descent 2,010’

Tour Total 571 Miles

Details at: https://ridewithgps.com/trips/246532375

The wind was relentless as I set up my tent last night, forcing me to weigh everything down with rocks. At the head of my tent, marking the front stake, I placed a coyote skull I’d found—a stark contrast against the dark sand. The cold kept me inside my tent, and though I could see the brilliant stars through the fly, I regrettably didn’t venture out to admire them.

I woke with the first light, pleasantly surprised that I’d made it through the night without needing to “water a dune.” My morning started slowly, savoring hydration tablets in my water alongside some cookies. Still, it was dispiriting to pull on wet, sand-soaked socks.

Packing up in the wind was a challenge. My tent was damp with condensation, which made it nearly impossible to keep the sand off as I folded it away. I had 4.5 liters of water remaining, enough for the day, and the cool morning air made my wool long-sleeve and gilet feel just right. My sunglasses, freshly cleaned, were a small luxury.

The first climb back to the route was steep and chunky—a grueling but invigorating warm-up. The road that followed was a punishing mix of sand, gravel, and washboards. Some stretches felt like a bucking bronco ride, while others were thick gravel that drained any momentum. My brakes squealed incessantly, a cacophony of seal-like cries. Spotting a parallel track, I switched over, hoping for smoother progress. The overcast sky added an almost ominous tone to the morning.

By 8 AM, I’d covered just five miles. On a long, steep climb, a pickup truck approached from the opposite direction. The driver kindly stopped, allowing me to keep the rut I was using. Otherwise, I would have had to stop and hike-a-bike.

The road was littered with strange debris: the usual Tecate cans, but also car parts, a long masonry drill bit, a wrench, and a knife. Coyotes had left plenty of scat to mark their territory.

The route skirted a large mountain range, leading me toward Santa Rosalía, where I planned to resupply. If time allowed, I hoped to push on to Rosarito for better options. Along the way, I passed an abandoned white pickup truck and, shortly after, another truck heading in the opposite direction. The sun began peeking through the clouds, prompting a pause to apply sunscreen to my nose. At a high point, I stopped to take in the expansive view of mesas and ranges stretching to the horizon.

On this section, cuts through the hilltops had been scraped and the gullies had been filled. Culverts had been placed in arroyos. Though less rough in gradient, the relentless washboards more than compensated.

By 10 AM, I’d ridden 15 miles. At mile 17, I stopped for a quick break, enjoying a pack of Gamesa Clásicas Flor de Naranjo cookies.

As I slogged up a long, grueling climb, a car slowed beside me. The driver asked if I needed anything, and I jokingly asked for a beer. He chuckled, replying that they’d already finished them all. At the summit, I caught my first glimpse of the sea, with Santa Rosalía faintly visible in the distance.

The washboards worsened, forcing me to detour onto a dirt track alongside the main road. Utility lines in the distance signaled I was nearing civilization. At 11:10 AM, I reached the tarmac highway and turned right, having covered 21 miles.

Rolling into Santa Rosalía, I scouted for services and eventually found Abarrotes Yenny. I bought a Powerade, chorizo sausage, a strawberry-banana licuado, and some pan dulce. As I entered, the proprietor walked in holding a large lobster—an unexpected sight. I managed to get Wi-Fi, updating Strava and Instagram to let everyone know I was okay. A friendly dog begged for scraps, and I let him lick the chorizo wrapper.

Leaving Santa Rosalía, I passed the most stunning coastline I’d seen so far. Stopping to remove my long-sleeve shirt and gilet, I added arm protectors and applied more sunscreen. Dark clouds loomed to the north, but the western horizon was sunny. Rain would bring dreaded peanut butter mud, and I silently hoped the clouds would hold off.

The riding along the coast was pleasant, with campsites dotting the shore. I passed pickup trucks, SUVs, surfers, and small shanty camps. At one site, people were collecting black round rocks, loading them into trucks or bags. Piles of these rocks lined the road—a curious sight.

The road eventually veered inland. I missed a turn and had to backtrack, only to face stretches of soft sand that forced me to hike-a-bike. The barren landscape was dotted with agave plants and Joshua trees, a stark beauty in its desolation. A rocky section tested my resolve; the terrain was so rough and jagged that I couldn’t imagine vehicles navigating it, though bicycle tracks reassured me I was on the right path.

Cresting a hill, I finally spotted Mex 1 in the distance. By 3 PM, I reached the highway and turned left, heading north toward Rosarito. After a few miles, I passed Ciénaga Restaurant, a truck stop marked on my route.

Arriving in Rosarito, I asked locals for directions to the hotel and eventually found the Cactus Hotel. It was, without exaggeration, one of the most depressing places I’d ever stayed. Still, I spread out my wet tent to dry and washed my filthy socks and sandals. The shower water was cold, but I scrubbed away the three day’s grime regardless.

Later, I treated myself to dinner at Mauricio’s restaurant next door. The shrimp was exquisite—perhaps the best I’d ever had. I grabbed a cold Tecate six pack from the abarrotes nearby. Back on the grid, I reflected on the day, ready to tackle whatever lay ahead tomorrow.