Malarrimo: Whiskey, shoes, and bonfires!
September 13th, 2014 ($851 mxn)
Road to Bahia Tortugas (275Km)
“Half a palapa, half price!” I proposed to the elderly couple who lived at the Restaurante as we were leaving San Francisquito that morning. Technically, we camped on the beach and, to my understanding, beaches are public in Mexico. It becomes a tricky situation, as some highly touristy areas of Mexico will block access to the beach by placing one resort after another, making it difficult for the public to enjoy the waves. Nevertheless, there are always persistent individuals who get to them one way or another, but that is a story for further down the line.
We left San Francisquito with the deal I proposed to the man and headed southwest on a dirt road that would eventually take us to the main highway running south through the Baja peninsula. Unaware we had crossed the border into Baja California Sur, we reached the main road just South of Guerrero Negro, which hosts an important salt mine. We rode to this small town to fill up our gas tanks, eat delicious fish tacos, and unwind a bit at a café to Wi-Fi with family back home.
Our next destination was Bahia Tortugas, which is on the western-most tip of the Vizcaino reserve. We asked the locals in Guerrero Negro about going across the Ojo de Liebre (Eye of the hare), which is where the salt factory operates, and save ourselves time and many miles, not to mention it being the most adventurous way to proceed. We were repeatedly advised not to cross through the factory, but instead ride south to the next town and then cut west towards Bahia Tortugas. This route not only added hours to the drive but was also the least exciting. Were we about to let a few people tell us “no” and go about our way? This was a once in a lifetime experience and we were just going to go around it? We definitely went around it, as advised. Looking back on it, though, it probably would not have been healthy for the motorcycles to ride through corrosive salt fields. We rode as advised, deeper into the Vizcaino Reserve, and eventually cut west, to Bahia Tortugas.
While at home, back in San Diego, Dominic had learned from another motorcycle enthusiast about a Promised Land, a place where one could find liquor bottles and Nike shoes left and right, laying on the beach, among other debris, such as enough wood drift to ignite ritual-sized bonfires. Apparently, because of how ocean currents work, and the physical delineation of the peninsula, cargo lost by ships in the Pacific, would wound up at this beach, called Malarrimo located in the Bahia de Sebastian Vizcaino. Since Malarrimo was just before Bahia Tortugas, we thought we would stop by and stock up on liquor, shoes, and anything else that was found. It sounded like an attractive adventure.
The west-leading route, bordering the Ojo de Liebre salt factory, was a straight shot of smooth, even black top for quite a bit. Along it, the wind coming at an angle from the North was picking up. So much so that salt foam, carried by the wind, rolled across the road like tumbleweed in an old western movie. I had never seen salt foam before, despite there being an old salt factory back in San Diego that not many people know of.
The straight path of this road would soon change; I could see it in the horizon ahead of us. The road seemed to lure into picturesque mountains, like the kind you see in cartoons with one peak after another or the ones a five-year old would draw in school. The agonizing sun, punctured by said mountain peaks, tinting the sky of red and orange hue, amplified the scene’s beauty and immortalized it forever in my memory.
By the time we reached the mountains, the sun had already set behind them, and we were riding in half-light on the now winding road. There was still a significant amount of distance between us and Malarrimo beach, wherever that was. We were looking for a dirt road, perhaps a dry riverbed, stemming north into the beach. We did not have a clear location of this fantasy beach, only general direction, which made getting there even more difficult. I remember pulling over on the non-existing shoulder of the road to look at a map and come up with options, it was late and there were no other vehicles on the road anymore. As I sat there, at the side of the road, with the bike turned off, I saw a glimpse of the rocky mountain range we were in, the desert vegetation, and heard the silence of the slightly chill night. The nights out in the desert have always had a magical aura for me.
While looking at the maps, we discussed the possibility we might have missed the trail cutting north and so we turned around and looked for an entrance while driving slowly to not miss it. Eventually, we found an option and rode into a dry riverbed. It was dark and there was debris on the path. Dominic was making great use of his off-road, super bright aftermarket headlight. Tom was keeping up with a slightly-better-than-stock headlight, one of which I also brought. However, for it to be useful, I needed it to actually be installed on my motorcycle; we parted on this trip with such a rush, I did not install the brighter light bulb and it was in my duffle bag. After struggling through this riverbed, installing the lightbulb would be the first thing I do once I got a chance.
After removing barbed wire that became wedged between my brake disc and brake pads, I finally caught up to Dominic and Tom, who had reached a dead end to this path in a small canyon. Once I realized we could go no further on this path, I lowered my standards for that night from liquor bottles, Nike shoes, and amazing bon fires, to a debris-free, flat piece of land big enough to fit my tent. The triumphant moment we reach Malarrimo would have to wait for the next day.