Boulder Fields, Remote Rancheros, and Roadside Fuel
The sun crested the Baja horizon hours before alarm clocks began to chime back in the States. A cool coastal breeze drifted through a forest of tall cardon cactus, which silhouetted the eastern skyline, and several brown scorpions crawled from under our tent as we rolled up camp. On cool evenings, scorpions, rattlesnakes, and other assorted reptiles seek shelter under tents, sleeping bags, and unattended shoes. In search of the road less traveled, the previous seven days had taken us to the eastern side of the Baja peninsula. Tracing the cobalt-blue coastline of the Sea of Cortez, we raced across high-speed whoop-de-dos on the Baja 1000 racecourse and explored abandoned gold mines. Near Bahia San Francisquito, one of our rigs cracked a cylinder head, and the motor we had rebuilt in Guerrero Negro had proved worthy during a torturous pace through 100 miles of sand dunes, beaches, and mud bogs along the Pacific Ocean. In search of the remote mission of Santa Maria and a rumored yet-uncharted route back to the Sea of Cortez, we were leaving the Pacific behind and heading east into Baja California's coastal mountains.
Along the coastal foothills, thick bands of cardon, cholla, cirio, and agave cactus stand sentinel over every arroyo. Due to the dense and heavily armored vegetation, our previous night's camp was right in the middle of the road. Fortunately, the route sees little traffic, and we enjoyed the evening without interruption. The trail steepened and vegetation thinned as we climbed from the coastal plain, following Arroyo de San Jose into the coastal foothills. Several miles inland, an abandoned and unnamed adobe ranchero appeared amongst thick clusters of palm trees. The walls of several time-worn adobe structures stood as testament to the enduring labors of early settlers on the peninsula. Ascending the summit, panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean played a scenic backdrop to a more contemporary relic, a '67 VW Bug long left to the elements. Descending the eastern slope, we found Highway 1 and headed north to the township of Catavina for fuel.
The boulder fields near Catavina are an intrigue to the mind's eye. Cardon cacti, which at 60 feet in height are the tallest cacti in the world, rise amidst a rolling sea of garage-sized boulders. Hundreds of spur roads lead from the pavement into a labyrinth of sand two-tracks going every which way. Horned lizards bask in the sun, and an occasional Black Racer, which grows to 6 feet in length and can move as fast as 10 mph, regularly slithers alongside your window to give you a run for your money.
The Mexican government has a monopoly on fuel, and Catavina had one of two Pemex stations in the 221-mile stretch between El Rosario and Guerrero Negro. It was closed a few years ago, but the hotel now sells fuel, when it's available. Because things move a little more slowly in southern latitudes, there is a two-hour siesta in the afternoon, and when the pump runs dry, it may be several days before the fuel truck arrives. Sure enough, the station was closed. The attendant said "maff,ff,,ana," which means tomorrow or maybe the next day, and epitomizes the laid-back nature of the country. On another trip a few years ago, a tourist, who had been waiting a day and a half for the fuel truck to arrive, offered us $25 for a jerrycan of fuel (gas was $1.25 a gallon at the time). At that moment, fuel was a commodity we had in short supply, so we declined the offer. Fortunately for us, a local entrepreneur showed up with a few 55-gallon drums in the back of a pickup. Our fuel situation was not grave, but the Number One rule for traveling Baja's backcountry is this: If fuel is available, get it! We topped off with 5 gallons for $15, the cheapest price in town.