Going Home

I am on my way back home now. After spending the winter in our beloved La Ventana Bay, I am driving across the desert in our van alongside my husband and our golden retriever Monty sitting between us. This is a very different trip from the one I traveled a few months prior on the way down alone on my mountain bike I called The Beast. The desert is still a desert. Vast and dry and flat yet dissected by imposing mountain ranges. It is downright daunting in the way it stretches seemingly forever in every direction. The last section I rode to La Paz from Ciudad Constitucion, which is where we are at the moment, had it all. I am however glad I don’t have to ride my bike across this part again. It took three days from Ciudad Constitucion to ride the bike first across unremarkable flats in rain, heat and humidity, through canyons, over the mountains and then along the breathtakingly beautiful coast for the final push to reach La Paz. I was counting down every kilometer marker in the end. It only takes us a bit over two hours in a straight line on the main road. The road is lined with Palo Verde trees which are in full bloom and glowing with bright yellow blossoms. It is Spring now, but after dry winter and not much precipitation, the rest of the desert looks parched in the mid day’s heat. For a split moment a couple of weeks ago, I actually voiced a desire to my husband:” I think I should ride my bike back home. ” A very firm “NO!” came without hesitation and without any room for a discussion. “Once was enough!” How quickly we forget the discomfort, anguish, and pain!

““I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, and that’s
why.”
― John Steinbeck, Of Mice and Men”

As we pass the turnoff for Agua Verde on our way to Loreto, we cross massive mountains, and I am once again reminded of steep and rocky remote roads I had to come across in the heat exceeding a hundred degrees. I am quite happy to be driving back in an air-conditioned comfortable camper van. I can’t believe now that the thought of riding my bike back again even crossed my mind. Yes, once was enough! And here comes the best part of riding in a van back with my dear husband. I don’t have to worry about Jim worrying about me. I am right next to him. We are as close as we’ve ever been and more in love than ever before. We are both better off for being apart for the two months while I was riding my bike because we appreciate each other and enjoy being in each other’s company again. I seem to be at peace with myself, relaxed and more patient and loving with Jim. He reciprocates by being more tender and caring as he’s ever been. We have had some of the most intimate conversations in all of our years together. It was not an easy road to get here though. It’s like the barriers have been lifted, walls have come down on both of our sides of the border. East meets West at last.

There is beauty born from the thorns

A trip is a trip. It takes you from point A to point B. This one is taking us back home. Back to what Jim refers to as “the real life” whatever that is supposed to mean. All life is real, and we only have this one gifted to us with all of its ups and downs. What we do with it, is up to us. My bike trip was a journey of many ups and downs. The journey is different. We take it not to look at the sites, but to discover ourselves. When one travels on a bike, one does not just see the land passing by in pictures. One feels the scorching heat of the day, endless hours of freezing at night sleeping on hard ground, while the ultralight and therefore ultra sensitive sleeping pad deflates yet again. In the morning you get back on the bike so very reluctantly to feel the throbbing and aching muscles that didn’t get enough rest during a sleepless night, because you were alert like a wild animal, tuning into every sound near and far.

Monty, the rock climber

You are very much aware of the body and all of its deficits, and you become a trip itself. Climbs that are endless and exhausting are rewarded by descents for which I was so grateful for, and I felt I’ve earned every inch off. But now, only a few months later it already seems like the trip didn’t happen at all or it happened in a different lifetime, so, so long ago. It is tucked away in a little drawer in my brain which I can pull open and reminisce about. Did it change me? On some level yes, profoundly, but at the same time, it was just something I did. Something I had to do. Not to prove myself to anybody. I am too old for that. Not to break any records either. I’ll leave that to other more ambitious souls. I only wanted to challenge myself and to see if all the dreaming of crossing the oceans on a windsurfer, biking through the Middle East and climbing the big mountains of the Himalayas throughout my younger years, were just the dreams and nothing more then that. So this was a mini-adventure, a tease, a break from “real life” so to speak. I am going home. It’s where I belong, and I am ready. What’s next? I already feel the pull toward the unknown. And who knows? Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to be gifted another opportunity for a different journey.

Camping in Bahia Concepcion

Driving back and covering miles over this desolate and harsh plateaus and climbing and descending mile after mile of paved yet rough roads even in a comfort of the car, it often feels like you are in the middle of nowhere. I have to admit I am a little bit in awe with myself that I rode a mountain bike on even more remote and rugged roads then Mex 1 is, and I did it by myself. What nutcase would want to do that! Fear of running out of water and food. Fear of wild animals roaming around at night looking for a pray. Fear of running into people who might want to do me harm. Fear of getting lost. All that was present, but I tried to ignore it as much as possible. I tried to be strong and positive and believe in myself, believe in the goodness of strangers I would run into. I tried to push negative thoughts out of my mind, especially at night alone in my tent. Just a thin fabric of my ultralight tent, which separated me from my surroundings, gave me an illusion of protection from a hostile environment on the other side of the mesh. But hostile was only existing in my mind. We live a life so barricaded and isolated behind impenetrable walls and windows in a clean and sterile environment, so removed from nature, that when we find ourselves surrounded by nature and all the living things in it, we feel lost and afraid. Surrounded just by air day and night made me feel so very much alive. My skin was dry and cracked and sunburnt, but beneath it, my blood, la sangria, was flowing with the vigor I haven’t felt in years. Everything is put into a perspective after you put yourself through a prolonged hardship and test your endurance of the spirit and the physical body. I found myself hard to breath and crushed by anxiety several times now on my drive back remembering what I’ve actually endured. I pushed challenging moments away and buried them into my subconsciousness. Only good memories I want to keep to remember the trip by, yet more personal growth came probably through toughest of moments.

There is gas but no diesel

We were running low on diesel, and at the makeshift gas station in Cataviña where you can purchase five gallons of fuel at a time in case of emergency, they did not have any diesel. Jim was all worried. I assured him based on my experience, that worrying is unnecessary even though the next gas station was in El Rosario 80 miles away and the gauge showed us we only had enough fuel to cover 55 miles. We pulled off the road about six miles out of Cataviña and wild camped surrounded by grand Cardóns and Cirios amidst giant boulders, so typical for this area. It was magical. In the past, I would not have been able to talk Jim into doing that.

However, since I traveled alone on the bike, it would be a bit silly for him to worry about camping in a van together and with the dog. Not that our dog offers much protection, but he probably (well maybe), would bark should someone approach us. The next morning we drove to a roadside cafe. It was early, and a rather large girl was sleeping on the couch in front of an unlit stove although it was chilly enough that it would have been nice to have a fire. I startled her awake. “? Sabes si podemos comprar un poco de diesel?” She waddled into the kitchen and called out to someone repeating my question if some diesel can be purchased. She turned around from the door to my direction and said: ” Lo siento, no tenemos!” so I thank her and start for the door. “Un momentito!” She calls after me. A very sleepy young man comes out of the kitchen rubbing his eyes. “Cuanto necesitas?” How much do you need?” he asks. “Oh, cinco galones?” I reply hopeful. He directs us to the back of the café and fills us up with not one but two five-gallon jugs, and we get to see a litter of brand new puppies as well. It turns out he is a truck driver himself, and he has drums full of diesel. And we are merely on our way winding up and down over the moon like landscape.

Survival

If you look closer you will see wonders

It looks so inhospitable from a distance, from the safety and isolation of the car, yet when you stop to let the dog run for a bit and to go to the bathroom and walk amongst the cacti, you look carefully at the grounds and see tiny delicate flowers covering almost every inch of it. Many species have adapted to survive the heat, the wind, the frost. The desert is very much alive if we choose to see, smell and hear. And that is how it is with people. The quietest person often has the most interesting things to say if we give them a chance. If we shut up and open our eyes and ears, sit quietly and listen, we will actually hear them. We will get to know them better. Life is revealed to us in the smallest and often obscured details.

The last miles crossing agricultural lands of San Quintin towards Ensenada were uneventful and driving through the big bustling city, you are very much aware of the proximity of the border. 7/11s, Burger Kings, Mc Donald’s and other US companies are lining the streets. We take a sharp right outside of Ensenada and follow route 3, toward Tecate through beautiful wine country. A new Napa / Sonoma Valley of Northern Baja begging us to stop and explore. We waited 45 minutes (which actually wasn’t bad) to cross the border to re-enter the US in contrast with just merely riding my bike across a few months before entering Mexico from the other direction. By the time we reached the picturesque town of Julian, it was close to getting dark. It was cold and foggy and raining and spooky like in the movie The Shining. Just when Jim was joking that Jack Nicholson is going to jump out of the bushes, I guy pops out from behind the tree, and I jump out of my seat. Julian was the last town I rode through on my way to the border. I love sharing with Jim where I rode on my way down, but of course, it is a very different experience now. In the morning it clears up, and we drive on through Warner Springs, and the road is as beautiful as I remember. Then I look up ahead, and the San Bernardino Mountain range, San Gabriel mountain range, Angel mountains and far in the distance Sierra Nevada range all with snow covered peaks, loom above me. I grossly underestimated the size of the mountains which followed Yosemite. I honestly thought that climbing over Tioga pass into Yosemite Valley is going to be my hardest climb. Ignorance sure is a bliss. I don’t think I would have gone on this trip had I known in advance how long and steep the climbs over all these mountain ranges would be on the way to the border. But I am glad I did. I discovered places I would never travel to. I’ve learned more about the history, the geography of this beautiful state of California, but most of all, I’ve met amazing people along the way. It also gave me a chance to work out the issues with all my navigation equipment and as frustrating as it was, I’ve learned what I needed to before crossing the border into remote and rough trails in Baja. I got familiar with The Beast and how to pack my gear into every nook and cranny, and I got in shape and ready to ride through very demanding terrain for hours and hours a day. We are getting closer to home now. Four days of comfortable driving on our way back as opposed to two months on the bike and I feel the same as I did on my way down approaching the end of the trip - like a horse that wants to get into the barn as quickly as possible. I am ready to be home, to get back into a routine of “real life.”

Till next time!

Addendum

Unfortunately, I have to end this on another sad note. We stopped in Carson City at Costco for a much-needed resupply of our basics after a long absence. A message pops up on my phone:” Hi Sister! Just found out that I have breast cancer. I am thinking of you, and I set You as my Mentor in this journey. I have to find the strength within me. Love you, Lilian.”

I just stood there and cried in the middle of the aisle with people walking by staring, but I couldn’t care about that. I met Lillian and her husband Kent in Bahia De Los Angeles halfway down Baja peninsula on my ride. They were so nice to me, helped me and fed me. We bonded immediately. We spent time together after I arrived at La Ventana. Sisterhood is powerful. I would like to dedicate my ride to Lilian. She will need love and support through her difficult journey that is ahead of her. To all my sisters and yes, brothers who fought, are fighting and are yet to receive breast cancer diagnosis: “ Stay strong, cry as much as you want, curse and scream with rage loudly when you need to, laugh with your friends and family as much as you can find strength to, and know you are not alone!”