Brad riding a mule trail Photo by Nathan Ward

The Sierras sweep south out California’s back door into Mexico, past towns like Tecate, Ensenada, Mulugé and Loreto before grinding down near the candy-colored condos of Cabo. This is Baja -- an 800 mile long needle of mountainous land splitting the blue waters of the Pacific Ocean and the serene Sea of Cortez. For the last three decades, Americans have flowed south into this mysterious desert to search out the perfect remote beach, to catch the silver-skinned dorados, to hide from America and look for love in the eyes of a brown-skinned beauty.

Me too. The first time I turned pedals in Baja was a misadventure spawned from too much time watching the snow swirl outside the Colorado windows. An old girlfriend and I had been musing on places where the winter sun shone warm and fish tacos could be had on every street corner. Baja was nearby, foreign and promised adventure. Plus, we figured we would save money and just ride our bikes all the way south from the Mexican border with California.

A week later, after a thick slice of reality-pie, we sat in the scant shade of a scraggly tree as the sun beat down like hell’s furnace. We experienced heat exhaustion, ran out of water, bonked hard enough to dream of licking the sugar coating off the Advil and decided that biking the length of Baja was a stupid idea. We hitched a hasty retreat north in the back of a beat up Ford to find that over sixty heat records had been broken in the US that week. It was hot.

Despite this trial by fire, the desire to mountain bike in Baja stayed with me. Two years later I sat in the little town of Loreto watching the whitecaps blow over the ocean. The mission this time around was just as simple - my compadre Brad and I would pedal from town into the Sierra de la Giganta mountains and ride virgin singletrack -- mule trails winding from rancho to rancho. Simple, no?

Loreto nestles against the ocean beneath a western skyline of jagged desert peaks. It’s a quiet town where dogs sleep in the shade and kids cruise the cobblestone streets in low-slung Chevys. Loreto’s significance in Baja dates back to 1697 when Jesuit explorer Juan María Salvatierra founded the Misíon Nuestra Señora de Loreto and gathered the indigenous peoples to convert them to Catholicism...or else.

Over the years the Jesuits came and went along with other religious explorers, ravaging the native population under the guise of Christianity. Today, Loreto is a hub for outdoor enthusiasts who fly in from Los Angeles or drive the Trans-Peninsular Highway 1 to fish, kayak, snorkel and mountain bike.

"Behind every beautiful flowering desert plant in Baja is a sea of thorns, espinas."

Fresh off the plane, we oriented ourselves by sea kayaking, snorkeling and talking with Trudi Angell, the owner of the oldest sea kayaking company in Baja. Trudi came to Baja in 1976 for an outdoor course and never really left, becoming as she described a "Baja bum", traveling and exploring the peninsula.

By 1984, she founded a company, based in Loreto, and started guiding trips throughout Baja. She recently started mountain bike tours and gave us the idea to ride the mountain trails. "You ought to ride the mule trails around Rancho Viejo and San Javier. As far as I know, no one has ever done it," she said. How could we resist?

Baja doses out experiences in extremes and once one leaves the coast and heads inland, the desert and mountains take over with a vengeance. After plates of chorizo and eggs, we started riding with Trudi’s clients toward the Sierra de la Giganta and quickly became reluctant friends with dust and the taste of dried sweat on our lips as we pedaled toward el Rancho Viejo.

The road rose steeply past forests of cardónes and dry washes over stretches of washboard and sections paved with flat rocks. The sun floated overhead heating the ground and dust devils spun crazily up and down the road. We traveled upward past an oasis of palms and a gorge with faint geometric designs on the walls, designs created hundreds of years ago by medicine men in tobacco trances.

Near the top, our companions climbed into their support truck while Brad and I shifted to our little rings and made grunting comments on how incredibly steep the road had become as it switchbacked across the rocky hillsides. We stopped to rest and treated ourselves to the amazing view unfolding behind us.

If you look at a topographical map of Baja, the land rises quickly from the Sea of Cortez, peaks in a series of rugged mountain ranges and slopes gently down westward until reaching the Pacific Ocean. We looked east down the steep face of the red hills that drop to the slim green plain of Loreto and fade into a deep blue ocean dotted with islands.

At moments like this, the allure and constant pull of Baja becomes clear - the proximity of rugged desert and soft, inviting ocean feels fat with possibility.

At Rancho Viejo the roosters started crowing at 4am just a few feet from my head, shocking me to consciousness. Once awake, the serenity of the high desert morning swept over me - smooth cool air vibrating with birdsong, sunlight streaming over the hillsides warming us as we sat with hands wrapped around hot metal cups of black coffee. Chari, one of the ranch owners, made tortillas. Slap! Slap! Slap! She tossed dough balls from hand to hand and placed them on a hot tin sheet over the fire where they browned in seconds.

Chari set a tall stack of tortillas in the middle of the table along with a bowl of refried beans, eggs and shiny green jalapeños. Rancho Viejo became our base for two days as we did day rides in the area and returned to sleep under the palapas at night. When Trudi’s clients returned to Loreto, Brad and I packed our gear and spun down the road to the village of San Javier, following the migration of the area’s most famous mission.

In 1699, the Jesuit Fancisco María Piccolo founded Baja California’s second mission at Rancho Viejo. They moved to San Javier in 1720 and built Baja’s most striking mission at the foot of a dramatic canyon. As we rounded the corner above the village, the mission towers stood out above the whitewashed buildings and gave the valley a mysterious feel.

The Misión San Francisco Javier stands at the end of a long wide cobblestone street, its walls made of black volcanic rock and surrounded by green fields. San Javier feels quiet and old beneath a canopy of palm trees and the sound of water flowing through a complex aquaduct system created by the Jesuits. It’s easy to imagine that this village has changed little over the years. Children play in the streets, old people gossip in the shade and lizards scamper along the stone walls.

Like many places, the world has almost passed over San Javier. A lovely woman, Rocina, sold us tortillas and coffee and said all the young people left for the cities. "Look around you," she said with a sweep of her arm, "what would anyone do for work here?"

Luckily, we just wanted to ride bikes and set out for a huge canyon at the edge of town where people promised there were mule trails. We found a trail without problem and started riding up it...for about thirty seconds. Behind every beautiful flowering desert plant in Baja is a sea of thorns, espinas. The most delicate looking little poppy presents an arsenal of razor sharp thorns for protection.