When Plan C turns into Plan D…

Baja Mexico, Central Arizona, Southern Arizona, and still a trip cut short. Months ago Jesse and I started planning an exciting car-free bikepacking trip to Baja. We had train tickets from Santa Barbara to San Diego where we would then start pedaling the Baja Divide route for about 300 miles before taking a bus back up to the border and our return train. Then Omicron hit and stringent Covid tests were put into place before returning to the US, increasing costs and complications. It turns out that this rule only applied to those entering the country via airplane, but it was also very possible this rule would change while we were in the middle of the trip. We were also worried about the possibility of contracting Covid on the return bus trip in Mexico, even if we took our highest quality masks. We watched numbers. We sat on fences. Then the weather came in. Rain. More rain. Rain and cold. Finally about a week before our trip we pivoted and decided to do a route just north of Phoenix, The Fool’s Loop. Replace all the route files on our devices, research food and water, figure out where to park the car, and ok, we are ready to go. Cue heavy rain headed for the Phoenix area the day before we planned to start the route, plus more rain on the way. This route is notorious for the dirt turning to impassible mud and we try really hard not to be fools. Can we come up with a Plan C? Checking the radar revealed that on the southern AZ border the weather forecast was still looking pretty good. The weather forecast led us the Sky Islands Odyssey route and we replaced all our maps yet again and prepared ourselves for a longer drive.

The upside of unsettled weather in the desert is guaranteed mind-blowing sunrises AND sunsets. We drove through torrential rain in the Phoenix area and after dark made it to a place to camp near our destination, Patagonia, Arizona. The wind was whipping and we were grateful we had set ourselves up to sleep in the car. At one point, as our pasta was taking about an hour to cook, Jesse realized his sleeping bag was no longer in the car. I went sprinting in the direction the wind was blowing and fortunately soon my headlamp caught sight of something orange — his sleeping bag, phew! The trip almost ended before it started, but then again that would have been pretty consistent with theme of the week…

Up and at ’em on a chilly morning we were in Patagonia and ready to roll by midmorning and were forecasted to have about 4 days to complete our ride before the next bout of rain came in. It was a beautiful cool day for riding and we made good time, completing the initial 20 miles of climbing by early afternoon. Unfortunately, soon after that my right knee started hurting. It was a discomfort very reminiscent of a problem I had during my very first bikepacking race about eight years ago. It took many doctors and attempted treatments before my physical therapist declared the problem to be referred pain from my chronic low back issues; nothing was wrong with my knee. The therapy and exercises focused on my back seemed to resolve the issue, but all in all I was unable to do long bikepacking adventures for almost 1.5 years. Needless to say, pain that seemed to be similar in nature caused me a lot of concern. Fortunately we had mostly downhill and flat miles remaining to camp.

Just before dark we filled our water bottles at a small lake and started the few rolling climbs to camp. On the first downhill Jesse dropped his chain — normally no big deal, except something was weird, his derailleur wasn’t pulling back and creating tension on the chain rendering the bike unrideable unless he pulled the derailleur back by hand. The derailleur had no for-aft resistance and just felt floppy in that direction (but not laterally). Meanwhile darkness was setting in and I suggested we limp back to camp and deal with it there. In camp, Jesse cleaned it up a bit and lubed all the moving bits and pronounced it fixed – so I didn’t think about it anymore. We had a lovely dry and not too cold camp and all night I kept assessing the pain in my knee – was it gone? Good enough to continue? I knew I wouldn’t make the final call until morning. In the morning my knee felt almost 100%, but it did rain for a bit, oh…and Jesse’s sleeping pad was flat. It was not an easy call, but I really didn’t want to get farther from the car and have no choice but to do a long ride and a huge climb back to the car (whereas from our current location we could take a relatively flat paved road back to the car). In the end we decided it was better to reduce the risk and damage and head back to the car. On the very first downhill it quickly became apparent that Jesse’s bike was not fixed and our decision was reinforced. I’m pretty sure his clutch just needs serviced, a repair that we can do at home. After only a small amount of climbing my knee felt irritated again, as well, making us feel like we made the right decision — quitting a route is never an easy decision.

We then drove to the Buenos Aires Wildlife Refuge to camp for the night and decided our primary destination was going to be Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument.

Here’s the problem with being in southern Arizona: border patrol. They are everywhere and have check points set up on every major road. By traversing the southernmost portion of the state we were constantly driving through check points. Since Jesse and I are obviously white and we were driving a vehicle where the agent could get a good look at its contents on the fly, we were never stopped and were always waved through after a cursory pause; however, their mere presence makes it feel like some sort of police state. I feel for all local residence who constantly have to deal with this on every trip from home, but my heart thumps in pain and empathy for those who are targeted for their skin color and subjected to intimidation and fear of being harassed just for how they look. It was so much more than the check points on every paved road, it was also the low flying helicopter action, and the border patrol trucks speeding up and down all the back dirt roads all day and night, but what really got me were the big tractor tires they would drag sideways down the dirt roads to smooth the sand and dirt. They do this so that they can track fresh foot prints that have crossed the road since the previous shift/tire drag. I’ve done some additional reading about this and it seems that much of this counting of footprints is record keeping of immigrants that “got trough” the initial barriers right on the border, but there are definitely also instances of trying to track down the people who left the footprints. Being onsite and seeing the tire dragging apparatuses on the side of the road and the smooth dirt in front of my wheels all I could think of is that they are hunting these human beings, tracking them like animals. Honestly, being on the southern border was heartbreaking and I never even went and looked at that useless symbol of power and ego that damages ecosystems and animal migrations, “the wall”. For me, all this represents the worst of this country and I don’t think I can handle spending much time in that part of the world.

And look, let’s get this disclaimer out of the way: yes, illegal trafficking of drugs and humans (which is horrific) does happen at the border. I can’t find numbers of those crossing that are trying to escape danger and want to work and make money in the US compared to those that are crossing with the goal of dangerous and illicit activities, I’m sure accurate data is tough to get for obvious reasons. However, comprehensive studies have been done (see here, and here) showing that undocumented immigrants living in the U.S. have lower rates of arrest and imprisonment than individuals born into the U.S. I stand by my belief that most of the people risking their lives to cross dangerous deserts and mountains are fighting for survival and a better life — no one would take this risk and leave their families behind unless they are desperate. Also, if we allowed more timely human asylum and work visa permits at legal border crossings then these remote illegal crossings would drop drastically in number, consist mostly of those trying to cross the border with illegal/dangerous goods, and it would take a much smaller border patrol effort to focus on the people who actually present a danger. Then there is the idea that maybe we shouldn’t even have borders, but I’m not up for that discussion… Meanwhile, if you would like to help with humanitarian aid for those beautiful human beings making ever more dangerous crossings because they are desperate for a safer or more economically stable life, this is one of my favorite nonprofits: No Mas Muertes.

Meanwhile we carried on with our life of privilege through all the border patrol check points to Organ Pipe where the land was rich in saguaros, chollas, ocotillos, in addition to organ pipe cacti, of course.

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The park had beautiful landscapes and a great looking campground, but we moved on to free BLM camping outside of the park near Ajo, AZ. Images from our camp and a short bike ride the following morning:

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The town of Ajo, which I’m sure has a complicated history as the ancestral homelands of Tohono O’odham people, the Spanish, and then colonial whites who built one of the first copper mines in Arizona there. While ajo means garlic in Spanish, there is no garlic industry in Ajo; apparently Ajo sounds like the O’odham word for a red pigment and that may explain the name. By far my favorite part of Ajo was all the beautiful murals:

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We finished up our trip home with a quick stop in Joshua Tree National Park and arrived home to pouring rain. In so many ways this year has been so very challenging, just like the year before; however, I continue to be a person that can find joy and levity in most any situation. It sure would be nice if 2022 treated us all a little better, but I guess first we have to get through this combined Omicron and Delta wave. For smiles:

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And this morning I enjoyed a hike with loved ones and we enjoyed a rare flowing creek and waterfall in Santa Barbara thanks to all the rain.

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May the rains wash your spirit clean and your upcoming year have lightness and joy, my loved ones. Thank you for reading. <3