Baja Divide - Day 16 • 28°31′41″ N 113°9′25″ W to 28°6'14" N 113°20'14" W

Baja Divide - Day 16
January 10, 2025 28°31′41″ N  113°9′25″ W to 28°6'14" N 113°20'14" W- 49 Miles
Start 7:17 AM
Finish 4:35 PM
Total Duration 9:17
Moving Time 7:29
Stopped Time 1:49
Ascent 3,434’
Descent 2,399’
Tour Total 729 Miles

I slept deeply in the desert, vivid dreams mingling with the distant squeals of cows. When I got up in the middle of the night to "water a cactus," the moon was so bright it cast a sharp shadow across the sand. The terrain was soft and loose, allowing me to walk barefoot around my camp.

At 6 AM, the first light stirred me awake. I set a goal to leave by 7, but the surreal beauty of this otherworldly place made it hard to rush. The eastern wind forced me to keep my bags inside the tent while I dismantled it. With no condensation to deal with, packing up was easier—and for a brief moment, I enjoyed being without my sunglasses, the only time of day I could take them off. I was down to 2.5 liters of water.

The washboard road started immediately, and I tried to accept the bone-rattling ride. After a few miles, I stopped to remove my gilet, still wearing my long-sleeved shirt. Soon, a sand trap forced me to dismount and walk. The soft, coarse sand that made for a great night’s sleep was now an adversary, hindering the ride.

I should have brought wider tires. My 2.4-inch width was inadequate for these conditions—3 inches were recommended, with some even suggesting 4. I could see tracks from other riders who had managed to ride through places I had to walk.

I hadn't prepared much for this tour—just bought a new water bottle and a Tubolito spare tube. A bike with full suspension would have been wise, something I should've learned from Kyrgyzstan’s relentless washboards. Hopefully, I’ll still have functioning hands after this trip.

By 9 AM, I had only covered 7 miles. Despite the sand, a favorable tailwind kept my spirits up. By 10 AM, I'd made just 11 miles and paused for cookies. Stripped of my long-sleeved shirt, I wore only my gilet over a cycling top.

After my Japanese lesson, I resumed riding, listening to another Duane Train program. My iPod, stuck in its groove, kept replaying the same shows. The road climbed steeply, switchbacks pulling me away from the sand traps.

By 10:30, I crested the day's first climb after 13 miles. Giant round boulders, towering Cardón cacti, and scraggly green bushes populated the ridge. Riding through the sand improved as I found ways to maintain momentum—essential with such high rolling resistance. Stopping made restarting difficult. Washboards rattled my teeth, but at least they were rideable. One wipeout landed me softly, though I reopened a scab on my knee that I had to clean.

At 11:20, I reached the Rancho Escondido turn-off, a resupply point I had hoped to reach the previous night. It was off-route, and I still had 2 liters of water, so I gambled on continuing. The next resupply lay 18 miles ahead.

Loose sand slowed me to an average of 4 mph. Washboards grew so intense that my feet flew off the pedals, though I managed to stay upright. Despite wearing SPD cleats, I rarely clipped in due to unpredictable road conditions.

The route circled Cerro El Japón before tackling the next climb. To my surprise and delight, the final steep section was paved with concrete. It was so steep I had to hike-a-bike part of it. Behind me, the Sea of Cortéz shimmered in the distance. Once on the boulder-strewn ridge, the track returned to dirt and sand.

The ridge offered hard-packed surfaces for a while, letting me pick up speed, but the terrain eventually reverted to loose sand. I narrowly avoided a wipeout, catching myself just in time.

Crossing a wide arroyo, I passed an idle earth mover before spotting a sign for Rancho Piedra Blanca. A windmill and solar array marked the turn-off. Riding in alongside a corral of horses and cattle, I spotted a vintage green Ford truck near the ranch's handsome main dwelling. Alejandro, one of two people at the ranch, greeted me from behind as I knocked on the door. He mentioned over 500 head of cattle and told me two cyclists had visited yesterday after stopping at Rancho Escondido.

I asked for water, and Alejandro directed me to a well spigot, hoping it wouldn’t upset my stomach. The small tienda yielded a Fanta, a half-liter of water, three Tecates, a bag of chips, and two more bags of cookies. Despite wearing a jacket, Alejandro complained about the cold wind. I explained that with the wind at my back, I wanted to press forward. At 3 PM, I rolled out.

The route alternated between fast sections and soft sand that slowed me down. A red Toyota SUV barreled past, the only motor vehicle I saw all day.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the road became rougher. Riding straight into the setting sun, I was blinded, unable to read the road ahead. With just 20 minutes of daylight left, I veered off into the bushes, finding a spot to lean my bike against a cactus and set up camp. Carefully surveying the sand for goat heads and prickly plants, I cleared the area before inflating my air mattress.

I filtered the well water to be safe. Darkness had settled as I crawled into my tent. The blazing moon and bright planets illuminated the desert night. I savored my cold Tecates with Mexican Cheetos and refried beans.

My right thigh was sore again from constant dismounts and remounts due to sand traps. I applied lotion, hoping for relief by morning. The cold crept into my tent as I edited this report, bracing for another challenging day.










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