Bahia de los Angeles: Moctezuma’s Revenge

September 8, 2014 ($0.00 mxn)

San Jose de las Palomas (0 km)

When I plan a vacation, I usually have a day to day itinerary, with places to be and things to do, there’s hardly any time for sleep, much less a nap under the tanning sun. That description, though, did not fit the schedule we had for the day spent relaxing at San Jose de las Palomas, as shown by a full day of leisure, using the endless playground of sand dunes we were camping in to play Bocce with smooth rocks we found on the beach, going into the ocean for a swim, or just napping and acquiring a shorts and sandal tan line. We ended that day having a warm meal cooked over a portable camp stove fueled by the loser of a quick ro-sham-bo siphoning gas out of his motorcycle tank. Resting under the stars, we played cards before going to sleep, or, in Tom’s case, fixing his broken tent poles.

September 9, 2014 ($633 mxn)

San Jose de las Palomas – Bahia de los Angeles (250 km)

Early the next morning, we packed and decided to make it back to the highway and continue south. Resources were enough to get us through that day. Looking for a route out different from the one we came in, however, would compromise successfully reaching the highway before sunset and not having enough water for the following day. Thus, we decided to take the now dried dirt road we had struggled through to reach the beach.

Well into the way out, I did not get lost, per se, but I was not entirely sure where I was, nor where Tom and Dominic were, either. It was a fun dirt road, a dry one; no one was paying too much attention to where each other was. Dominic was leading, I followed, and Tom was covering the retreat. It’s customary to allow enough distance between oneself and the rider ahead so that one isn’t drowning in dust, so I’m not sure when I last saw Dominic; I don’t remember when I could no longer see Tom through my one remaining mirror, either. After some time, I eventually made it to a split in the road, unsure which way to the highway and which way to Tom and Dominic. I opted to go back to the last point I thought I remembered seeing them. All to no avail. I was even unable to read the tracks on the dirt road; they could have been my own from passing by before, so I rode back to the split and chose the wider of the two options. I assumed because it was the widest, perhaps more vehicles take this road, meaning it provides access to the highway; not the most logical rationale, I know. With complete confidence, I intended to carve an arrow pointing in the direction I had taken by revving the motorcycle and marking the ground with my spinning tire, so that Tom and Dominic, if they were still behind this point, could know where I had gone. I then proceeded to rev the bike and fall off in epic failure to my mental visual. I settled with marking the direction with my boot, safely off the motorcycle.

Shortly after the split, I reached the highway, but saw no trace of the others. At this point, I decided it was best if I stayed put, I probably should have done this when I first lost track of them. I waited for them, anxiously and worrisome, under a shade, eating one of my tuna cans, relaxing (worrisome, though). An hour or so had passed, I was then worried enough I considered getting up, standing on my tip toes trying to see into the horizon, but opted to keep my ears alert in case I heard their exhaust from the comfort of my current, resting position. Minutes later I heard their engines in the distance, Tom and Dominic had realized I was waiting for them by the highway, or they had given up and were heading south without me. Tom stated they looked for me all over, backtracking even further than I had, which is probably where we missed each other. Lastly, what troubled me most was knowing whether they had seen my arrow carved in the ground, which Tom pointed out they had; win!     

After the entire morning had slipped away, we were finally back on the highway heading south towards Bahia de los Angeles, which was on the opposite coast, by the Sea of Cortes. As we sped on the road, we passed bicyclists with luggage bags attached, evidently in a similar adventure as we were on. I could only wonder where their starting point had been and how long it had taken them to reach this point in Baja California. Seeing them pedaling under the intense heat, over the scorching asphalt, being the live engines of their two wheels, I pondered on the idea that getting lost that morning took nothing but time away from me, and some extra gas, I suppose. One wrong turn for these bicyclists, however, could have far more meaningful consequences for them; they would not only lose time, but energy, resources, and maybe even motivation. Additionally, observing their luggage set, made me think there were some items I packed that I may or may not have needed as much, I knew I wasn’t going to actively carry the weight myself, so if I had space in my luggage, I filled it. It was a completely different scenario for these two-wheel enthusiasts; they were obligated to think twice before they packed anything.

Some distance down the road, when the gluts were tired of riding, even after switching from one side to the other, or standing on the foot pedals, we decided to take a break at a small cafe restaurant in the middle of nowhere. We went in, and the owner/cook/waiter/sole employee of the place offered us a verbal menu, all of which consisted of eggs and beans, just in different styles. As we waited for our meal to be prepared, it began to rain outside. Dominic saw this as the perfect opportunity to rinse off days’ worth of stench we had on us. He removed his motorcycle boots, riding socks, heavy riding pants and jacket, put his shorts on and stepped outside the cafe. The timing could hardly have been less fortunate; it almost immediately stopped raining when Dominic stepped out. Guadalupe, our attendant, came into the dining room only to see Dominic through the window trying to rinse off with the last few drops of rain still falling. Tom and I had at least seen the thought process leading up to this scene. Guadalupe, however, was just walking into the room and the sight of someone who was in full gear two minutes ago, now half-naked rinsing outside was notoriously hilarious as she laughed it off. Defeated, Dominic came back in to eat his eggs and beans with the rest of us. He would consistently think of Guadalupe over the following days, because he strongly believes her beans were what gave him a bad case of diarrhea. For the following week, whenever Dominic was nowhere to be seen, it most likely meant he had gotten up to once again remember Guadalupe.

After lunch, we left Guadalupe’s cafe to continue on our way to the Gulf of California. Before the turn east, towards Bahia de los Angeles, the scenery began to change. It had stopped being a desert of small, dry shrubs and began looking more representative of the Valle de los Cirios (Boojum Valley) which lied ahead. It was beautifully odd to see an ocean of tall and twisted green trees extending as far as one could see, covering the slopes of the surrounding mountains.  Many miles after, there was an instantaneous change in temperature. The cool air penetrating my mesh jacket had now turned warm in anticipation of what we were to expect at Bay of L.A. Unknowing we were close, the Sea of Cortes overtook the horizon ahead of us providing a nice lookout to stop and admire.

We decided we needed a proper shower and good rest that night, so camping was out of the question. We went from one hotel to the next, in search for the nicest, yet inexpensive one. Jose, the groundskeeper for one of the hotels, noted we were beat and tired, the heat was unbearable, and we had already shopped around for other hotels. Jose threw a round of beers into the deal we were ready to accept regardless, and with that, everyone was happy.

The victor of a quick ro-sham-bo got a bed all to himself while the two losers had to share. In the comfort of the air conditioning, enjoying a cold beer courtesy of our friend Jose, I saw how we transformed a decent, clean room into a sty: there were pieces of dirty luggage on the beds, the floor, and the tables, riding gear and boots everywhere else. The clean air we breathed when we first walked in was replaced by the stench produced by days’ worth of sweat covered in dirt, rinsed in ocean water and then covered with even more sweat and dirt, accompanied by the aroma of feet that had been enclosed all day in already smelly riding boots; it was great!

In search of tacos for dinner, we all walked out into the warm night and were approached by a random driver who offered to take us. What kind of person would offer a ride to three strangers late at night? What kind of naïve individuals would accept such an offer? The man was local; he knew where the good tacos would be. We took the ride. Dominic, however, had a gut feeling, quite literal I should say, and decided to go back to the hotel and, once again, remember Guadalupe’s beans and eggs, adding to the particular atmosphere we had created in the room already.

The driver took Tom and I to a nearby taqueria, probably the only one that was open at that time. As it turns out, he was the owner of a seafood restaurant on the main street, close to our hotel, to which he invited us for breakfast the following morning. Tom and I got off his car as he shouted his to go order at the taco lady through his window. The lady and the driver had a friendly conversation for a brief moment. This made me think Bahia de los Angeles is probably small enough of a town that most inhabitants know each other; it seemed nice, yet not relatable for me; living in the San Diego-Tijuana area is far from the daily lives people at Bahia de los Angeles have.

So far, we had ridden our motorcycles at nighttime and taken rides from strangers, all within the first week of this journey; what else could we expect? Where would we draw the line, following a man to a hotel in the middle of the night somewhere in Sinaloa, where important drug cartels are from? Night riding through murder capital of the world in Honduras? We needed to start being smarter in the safety department.