El Sacraficio – Cataviña – Restaurante Terramar – Guerro Negro – Villa Alberto – San Ignacio – Edjido San Lucas – Playa El Requeson – Loreto: 744 km

Sleeping in the back gardens of road restaurants or hotels is the way to go here. It offers just a bit of protection from the road where the trucks never stop. Because the trucks here are from another planet. They break with their engines, something I’ve never seen or heard before, and it sounds like low flying helicopters are approaching. But the truckers are great. Every single one of them waves, making us feel we’re adopted in their community. We sign them to honk their horns. They always do. Sleeping behind the restaurants and truck stops offers some peace of mind too, in a country that doesn’t have the safest reputation. Most of those places let us camp for free. They do so in both Cataviña, and at a road crossing in the middle of nowhere. Too bad Restaurante Tamar closes before we got the chance to eat something. Now, after a 100 plus kilometre ride in the blistering sun, we’re condemned to our sweet crackers and expired canned fish I found along the road somewhere. Luckily, Marijn has been saving two of the astronaut food packages we’ve gotten from a nice Dutch couple in Bryce Canyon. It saves the day, or the night to be exact. Mexico our food habits have changed drastically. The days of peanut butter sandwiches are over. We hardly carry any food with us anymore. For one, we can afford to eat out here, and two, every little town has a store or restaurant, so supplies are always nearby. Food is life in Mexico. And so is music. Every car blasts some sort of Mexican music, and from the stores the drums, saxophones and accordions audible. This country feels alive.

Our days through the middle of Baja are filled with sand and heat. It’s a beautiful and vast desert that offers no shadow anywhere. From the sand and the rock gardens a wide variety of cacti grow in all shapes and sizes, some as high as apartment blocks. From the tops of the hills the landscape seems green, from close by its dusty and unforgivingly hot. Everything has spikes here. In Guerro Negro I finally get to sleep in a real motel, something that I’ve actually wanted to do in America, but somehow haven’t. The air-conditioning feels good, and the fact we can hear our neighbours TV all evening only makes the experience more authentic.

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When we leave Guerro Negro towards Villa Alberto a police officer stops us to explain that the road is flooded about 70 km further down. We take our chances, how bad can it be right? Then again, it is hurricane season here, and just a week earlier a strong one has hit Baja. We can see the damage it has caused in some of the villages we ride through. Palm trees have fallen over, signs are obliterated, power lines dangle over the road. A huge line of cars forebodes what’s to come. The road has been wiped away completely. The truckers wait, sleeping under their trucks to get some shadow. Once we get to the front of the line, we see the army damping the water with truck-fulls of sand. But the water is not too deep it seems. After debating for a few minutes, and asking somebody to translate we get the green light to try and cross. Easy does it, and five minutes later we’re on the other side. Just one more reason why bikes are superior to cars.

In Villa Alberto we visit the only serious bike shop in for miles. Before we know it, we’re drinking beers on their patio and have a place to set up camp, in the garden of one of the employees who lives right across from the shop. We communicate with the limited Spanish we’re learning, but it’s a great night and Mexico is starting to grow on me.

The next day brings a new exciting destination. We cycle through the ever lasting cacti fields to San Ignacio. It’s a literal oasis in an otherwise dry and unforgiving desert. The lake has allowed palm trees to grow. There’s a small but quite affluent village around it. The Spanish settlers have built a church and a town square that reminds me of the villages in Europe. The remnants of the hurricane are still very visible, but daily life has continued. We meet older newly weds from the United States and exchange stories from the road. Before they leave to watch the sunset, they insist on buying us dinner. We refuse, but they won’t have it.

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It has been getting hotter and hotter as we’ve been making our way down south. But the day we cycle to San Lucas the real heat starts. On top of that, Montezuma has taken his revenge. That’s what they call it here when foreigners get stomach cramps and diarrhea. Marijn has been struggling with it for a couple of days too. Today it hits me hard. All the energy in my body goes to fighting it. I’m in Marijn wheel as he drags me along the 90 kilometres full of climbs and descents. My legs feel like worn out springs. I’m completely wasted and I drown in my own sweat. Climbing up, I look through the drop of sweat that dangles from the rim of the hat I wear underneath my helmet to keep my face out of the sun. Through it, the world is upside down as it swings left and right rhythmically with my body movement pushing away the paddles. I wait for it to drop, and when it does, a new one forms immediately. It’s the only distraction from the pain in my legs and the scorching sun on my back. Marijn seems to be having a good day. It’s worth it in the end when we have set up our camp next to the Golf of California for the first time and we eat a super burro (a burrito on steroids) for dinner.

The next two days the desert makes way for a more tropical scenery. We stay somewhat along the coast where the beaches are dreamy. White sand and clear blue waters everywhere. It looks like a post card. Of course, we camp on one of them. I could lay in this water forever. When I inhale, I float, the current of the sea creates a symphony with the shells beneath me. The last rays of sunlight set the mountains on fire. We build a fire to cook our dinner over. The water ushers us asleep. It’s a dream. When we wake up schools of dolphins pass us nearby, playing around, jumping up and down. They’re as free as us.

In Loreto we finally have a rest day. Who knows, maybe two. The heat is unforgiving again, the road leads us away from the beaches. But we finally get to something what we can actually call a town, albeit quite touristy. Yet, the heat has prevented most of them coming. Loreto has actual streets that are not sand and dust. We stay in a little hotel, have margaritas on the main square, and all is good. It’s been two full weeks of cycling without a day of rest. We’re ready to let our bodies do absolutely nothing.