We finally pull ourselves away from friends and leave San Jose, pointing our wheels towards the mountains. The locals call the road Los Naranjos. They tell us it’s in good shape. Out past the airport a sandy road shoots straight west and up.
It’s the hottest part of the day and I linger in the shade, savoring my water. Not far along and there’s running water, flowing across the road. We have been in the desert so long that it didn’t even cross my mind to ask anyone if there is water along the way, but there it is. I count six water crossings before we stop for the night beside one. I can’t remember the last time we camped next to running water. It must have been somewhere in southern Colorado.
Frogs croak and crickets chirp. We share our sandy campsite with a plethora of daddy longlegs. For some reason, there’s loads of them here. I am grateful for the floor in our tent tonight.
Through the mountains the Pacific comes into view. We zig and zag down towards it. There’s a beach campsite down there somewhere with our name on it.
We tuck ourselves in an arroyo and watch the sunset. I ponder the irony of a man building a beachfront home telling me not to pitch my tent in the dunes, as we’ll disturb the sea turtles.
In the morning we ride the last 10 miles to Todos Santos.