9/30 to 10/16/2017 – Words by Grete

When you book your tickets to Mexico two weeks prior to your trip, your parents will worry that you haven’t done enough planning. And you haven’t. You don’t know where you will go. But you found a really good deal on a flight to San Diego, and you asked for the time off of work, and you found a dog sitter, so it should work out.

“But what about the drug cartels?” Mom asks. She sends you an extensive write up from the State Department about kidnappings and beheadings in Tijuana.

“It will be fine,” you say, reassuring yourself as much as her with your ‘been-there, done-that’ tone. (It doesn’t work.)

To her chagrin (but not to her surprise) you do not heed her warnings. Except the one about the earthquakes. (Note to self: do not enter tall buildings.) Because, you decided that you’re going to ride the Baja Divide route, even if that place is going to get swallowed by the San Andreas Fault any day now, mark her words.

Thank goodness for the Baja Divide. It’s a ready to ride, fully developed route plan established by a couple of your bikepacking, globe-trotting idols, Nicholas and Lael. You scan their website, and you get the feeling that the stunning photographs are making light of the ruthless challenge you’re about to face. (And you’ll be right about that.) You scour the online conversations between Baja veterans and pining trip planners: “Where can we camp?” “How much water do we need to carry?” “Did anyone see the drug cartels?”

Eventually, the answer to all of these questions becomes “Screw it, we’ll figure it out along the way.” And you do. Everyday on the road gives you a new challenge to figure out: “Where can we camp tonight?” “How much water do we need to carry today?” “Was that a drug cartel?” (The answers are: right around the corner, a lot, and no; in that order.)

But, you also face challenges that you did not expect, including: “What do we do when the Mexican military has a traffic checkpoint in the middle of the highway?” (you go around, apparently they’re cool with that); “How much do tacos cost?” (more for gringos, but still cheap);  and “Do you think we’ll have to hike-a-bike the next hill, too?” (yes).

Near the end of this journey, you reflect on two weeks spent in hot temperatures, under starry skies, connecting with local people in your best (but still not very bueno) Spanish. You notice the Mexican people are more reserved than people elsewhere in the Latin world. You wonder why that is with some new friends. They tell you that it’s probably because they’re used to seeing gringos here, because the people live on about $6 per day or less, or because it’s necessary to just keep to yourself and stay out of trouble. Life is gritty. There is good and there is evil.

You’ve heard about the evil that exists here, but you don’t see it. You’ve seen hard working people determined to make a living for their families. You’ve been invited to stay with generous locals who are eager to share their lives and their cities with you. You’ve been greeted with smiling faces and distant waves as you ride into small towns. Your disjointed Spanish has fallen on patient ears. And, damn, you’ve eaten some really good tacos.

So, when you’re back in the States, that’s what you tell your mom, because that is the story your journey gave you. “The trip was great, Mom. Everyone was really kind down there.”

Our special thanks to our new friends Jose, Leo, Rosia, Luis, Oscar, Michael, Nannette, and Casey who helped us out along the way.