“So . . .” (she pauses, and that sound can sometimes be deafening being on the other end of a phone call) . . . “What do you think about bike packing around Baja?” . . . 6 weeks ago, that’s the question that was presented to me. Words were spoken, and the universe started to churn. I feel as though whenever a curve ball idea is thrown in my lap, there is a period that seems like it dances back and forth between separate realities. It’s as if I begin answering questions in an ideal way, but it also feels like a performance of some kind. A performance to support the diving into something I usually know nothing about . . .Yes, of course this sounds amazing, only I have no idea what I’m doing. Ha ha. I’ve never “bike packed” before, but I’ve pedaled bikes all my life. I’ve included camping in my travels whenever I can, I know how to eat away from home, and I know when it’s time to sleep. I guess that’s pretty much it, right ?!

And the gears start to turn. . . . It all starts with one tiny question answered, followed by another. Dots connect, and a step forward is taken. Almost as if I’m playing a game. For every new question I can think of, the effort to answer it rewards me with another step closer to that day. “The day” being what at one time felt like a dream. A day that starts a unique journey, no matter how many people have traveled the path before me. No two personal experiences will ever match. I can share words with someone, but it will be their idea of what those words even mean to them. There will always be thoughts and feelings that can’t be shared, no matter how hard I try. Every attempted description is a compromise to what stirs inside me. And this trip would redefine a few of those things for me as well.

9 months have passed, since looking out of my airplane window, watching the Baja Cape get smaller and smaller in the distance. Since saying farewell to Mexico, I’ve been flooded with so many thoughts and feelings surrounding the 2 weeks we spent there on our bikes. There is a lot that comes home with me from being away. Some of it is able to be shared with others, and other parts of it . . . well, there are just no words to fit. “How was your trip?”, “What did you do?”, “What all did you see?”. If one spent some time looking up Baja in books, or on the internet, stereotypical pictures would most likely match expectations with what they are asking in those questions. Kinda like a vacation pamphlet.

One thing that keeps coming up time and time again inside me, is “surrender” . This trip is what really got me to notice how “surrender” truly is a benefit, especially when traveling. Travel IS surrender. At least for me it is. Surrender to no “routine”. Surrender of prediction, Surrender of convenience . . . The list goes on and on. And I don’t mean that travel = discomfort. It just demands openness to have days go differently. It calls for me to live differently, consider differently, to whatever it all may bring my way. There is no telling the future, or knowing the way, or having anything familiar that we base our more common days on. Being somewhere new puts us in pockets where we have to make new decisions, and live with the results right then and there. In essence, every moment is that.

Excitement and wonder can bring us to all kinds of places. It can tune us in, while making us blind all in the same moment. Too much of either can guide us to the most magical of times. And they just as easily, can bring about circumstances you’d rather not be in. What is the balance ? Allowing yourself to be . . . or probably better put, allowing yourself to FEEL lost. I long for those times when all senses are firing. Those senses get real excited when the contrast of what I am familiar with, collides with being engulfed in the unfamiliar. No concrete thoughts can survive these moments. I internally ride the wave until it lets go. As there is only so much I can take in, and digest in those moments . . . Until later, then comes the flood. It hits me hard. A melting blur of experiences comes into better focus . . What is that pull that we experience when we feel electrified to do something. What is naive ? How much of what’s fed to us by our culture, alters what we may be naturally drawn to ? Basic “difference” alone has the power to turn us inside out. When what’s right in front of us, doesn’t even vaguely resemble the things we’ve been told our entire lives . . . Again, what is the balance ?

But we can’t forget that we do have all the needed tools built right into us. The ones that allow us to exist in almost any circumstance. To take the necessary steps when making decisions to the best of our abilities. Even though they might not be the right steps at first. We constantly fine tune and readjust on the fly.

Riding around Cabo San José brought up so many thoughts and feelings. Most importantly, it snapped me into the present. Just completely wide eyed, and not caught up in any preconceived story I was telling myself. It demands and calls on “more” of me. But the “more” is actually right there waiting. It’s ready and has been waiting silently . . . Being in that dirt wash caused something to run through me in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t discomfort, or anything of the sort. But I was there. An outsider, as well as a participating part of it, at the same time. It was very surreal to put it lightly. Time before that moment ceased to exist, and all that was left, was us in that wash. The movement surrounding us . . . people, dogs, dust, cows . . . police . . . it was a world all its own, and I felt invisible. Such a strange, yet familiar and welcome feeling.

How different a place is, can be very subjective, depending on who you ask. We all are different. We all have our areas we thrive in, and others we draw back. Being somewhere new can really expose that awareness very quickly. All of the things I used to create an environment that feels good, no longer surround me. In concept I still have all my “stuff” at home, but at the same time, it doesn’t exist. None of it. What’s in my handlebar bag, frame bag, and seat bag are all the cards in my deck at this point. Everything exists in the present. At home I might read about such things, but here I am, undeniably engulfed by that feeling. To my left is the ocean, to the right is desert and mountain. In front of me is a seemingly endless dusty washboard of a road, and behind me is almost exactly the same. But here I am, this is what I made an effort to come experience. I can never forget that.

Getting to experience different aspects of life through riding is so wonderful. For me, it’s always brought with it some form of warmth, in otherwise uncomfortable situations. Somehow my bike feels like a companion that assures me that whatever is happening around me, is just what I needed at that time. It helps open up a part of me that was unknowingly locked up.

Pedaling on this sand and dirt will rewrite everything you think you know about distance and time. Both are just numbers that we use to gauge what will fit and what won’t. Both don’t really exist out there . . . Pedaling along in segments we can see, one after the other. You just get to where you can see to, then reset. It’s easy to get lost in my direct line of sight to the ground. So many bumps . . . and endless washboard. It seemingly goes on for eternity. Amongst the repetition and bouncing around, I’m on constant alert of anything that resembles a smoother way through. Even just the tiniest break of flattened sand in that oh so rhythmic bounce, feels like victory. Any single thoughts turn to a vast ponder that seems to match the dry, arid land. Without the Sea of Cortez by my side, it would seem quite different I’d imagine. Whenever the road bends inland, them temps seem to immediately rise. The heat isn’t actually that bad, but for some reason it feels hotter than it is. Perception becomes distorted. Everything is heightened in some strange way. That scarcity of water almost matches the scarcity of land not for sale. Everything appears to be up for grabs. Those thoughts alone linger in my head, repeating themselves. I never expected to see that.

What plots of land that aren’t for sale, seem to be already bought, and are under construction. I’m not intending to paint a false picture, but the repetitiveness of for sale signs and stacks of building materials may have altered my own grasp on reality. Even when you don’t see them, it feels like they are there, around the next bend. The small diving town we found some tranquility in, is not void of that. But it feels a little closer to a part of this land’s past days. Kids playing soccer with miniature goals in the middle of a dirt road was a welcome sight for me.

Marinate . . . I think of that word all the time. I constantly refer to it, both internally and in sharing thoughts with others. A time to let certain experiences sink in. It possesses a value that should never be overlooked or disregarded. What we have to say, will / can change when we give ourselves pause. Thoughts & feelings can breathe a sigh of relief. The pause gives them a chance to harmonize with details that we could have been quick to dismiss, or even temporarily blind to altogether. A different angle brings new perspective . . . To me, riding bikes has never needed explaining. It pulls me in, and off we go. I think most people that ride can relate to that in some way. One simple pedal stroke releases me from whatever came before that moment. That disconnect is irreplaceable. All of the sudden, I’m in my own movie, that has no script. Anything and everything around me comes together, creating a moment to be felt, like no other.

– Joe, Terrible One

* fueled by a pedaling wander around the Baja Cape in March of 2026 . . . Special thanks to everyone at Crust Bikes, Sandy Carson, & Logan Balbirona for all of your help and kindness. – Joe & Shelby