Well, the best laid January plans inevitably lead to something-something unlaid plans. After a seemingly normal start to the new year, come mid-February, it started raining and then it kept raining. It continues to rain. It has just been absolutely one of the toughest, greyest winters I’ve ever experienced out here. But the rain hasn’t been content to staying in Portland. California was receiving record precipitation, including as far south as San Diego and the Southern California ranges that the famous Stagecoach 400 bikepacking route passes through.

With a massive upcoming summer bikepacking trip planned, I wanted to do a big chunk of the Stagecoach for the scenery, training, and as a gear shakedown. But as I drove through Northern California on my way to San Diego, the marginal forecast went full on dire, with inches of rain forecasted down low and snow and sub-freezing conditions up high for my first two trip days. My plans for the Stagecoach were drowned, and I needed something else to do. Fortunately, my old friend Cale, who was previously going to host me before the start of my trip and who had provided lots of good route information, came through with several single-day route suggestions that tackled different parts of the expansive Anza-Borrego desert. While visiting another old friend in Los Angeles, I picked the longest route Cale suggested, and headed SE from LA county to Borrego Springs.

I arrived in Borrego Springs on a relatively cool and grey day, but while I had driven through some flooded areas in the highlands separating the coast from the desert, the Anza-Borrego desert itself had received just enough rain to tack up and green up a little, but was otherwise very normal feeling. There was a desert bloom underway and after a nice hike to a palm canyon, I ate a mediocre burrito and settled in for the evening at a local motel. I woke the next morning and had an excellent breakfast at the wonderful Red Ocotillo. The sun was shining and there were a couple coyotes trotting through the parking lot. I drove south 20 minutes out of town and parked in the Mine Wash. I got dressed and set-up the bike while getting amped up listening to Justice, and then I was off.

I had nice sunny skies during the gentle climb on Mine Wash road. Some cactus were blooming and there was no sign of any people. I stopped at a Native American historical site, the winter village of the Kumeyaay. There were still rounded divots in the rocks where these people had ground acorns into a meal or flour. I poked and photographed around a bit and then continued. 7 miles up this wash, you do cross a 1/2 mile long state wilderness boundary. I did not ride while I was inside the wilderness boundary, and I was also clearly not the only person with a bike to have been there. But still, take note if you wanna do this route. On the other side of the wilderness, I connected to North Pinyon Mountain Road and the skies seemed quite a bit darker. I had a lovely double track descent to a little shop in Shelter Valley. This was the furthest west point of the day, and I was spit on a bit by the clouds as I stocked up, the Cuyamaca mountains to the west, which I would have been ascending that day if doing the Stagecoach, looked completely foreboding, and I was glad to head back east into the warmth of the desert.

Another beautiful empty climb, this time up a doubletrack referred to simply as Pinyon Mountain Road. So far the surfaces had been quite tame, but close to the Pinyon mountain summit, the doubletrack turned into much wilder moto singletrack, with several little up and down sections that I needed to hike, including one absolutely wild 100′ loose sand downhill that would not have been out of place on a pro DH course. At one point, a healthy coyote trotted across the road 50 feet in front of me. I stopped at the edge of a different wilderness boundary to enjoy a coke and a kitkat bar, and then made my way over to Hapaha Flat road. Hapaha was the funnest riding of the day, although doubletrack, it was clearly ridden 99.9% of the time by dirtbikes who had created terrifically bermed sand corners that you could absolutely rail through. The sun was fully back out and I was thrilled to be making great progress. Near the end of the sand-berms I saw my first person out in the wilderness, and then connected into the much broader Fish Creek wash.

The surface of Fish Creek was immediately different; much sandier, and instead of doubletrack to follow, there was now a wide open wash. The move was to ride in the part of the wash where jeeps had been driving to enjoy the compacted sand. But there was also plenty of on and off tough washboard that made me very thankful to be on a full suspension. I could drop the saddle and let the bike float through if I had adequate speed, and it really helped take the bite out of the wash. At one point, I turned a corner, and the landscape turned to a very Moab-esque sandstone, which was a big surprise to me. I saw a couple different parties of Jeepers, but everyone was chill and respectful, and for the most part the place was empty. In addition to two other water bottles, I had been traveling with two full 1L smart water bottles attached to my fork, but just as I was about through with the Fish Creek wash after 1.5 hours, I looked down to see both had been ejected somewhere in the miles before! I had taken an unexpected 2′ drop earlier at speed, and I’m guessing the bottles bounced out on impact and I just didn’t notice.

A bit before the end of the wash, I passed the Wind Caves and although I was in a neat deep canyon, I think you need to hike to really appreciate the Caves. After the Caves, the wash fully broadened out and suddenly I became aware that there were strong winds out of the west, which were quite foreboding. I eventually made my way to some ragged pavement, and began the trudge up the road to the 4-wheeler hamlet of Ocotillo Wells and the Iron Door saloon. I was passed by several semis from the nearby US Gypsum company, but they were respectful, some of the good ole boys in lifted pickups a little less-so. Despite the hard side-wind, I made it to Iron Door saloon only 20 minutes after they opened and treated myself to a well deserved Pacifico. I then had a decision to make; I was about to turn into the west wind, and could either grind it out on the highway where folks would be screaming past me at 65mph while I crawled under 10mph, or I could try a “gravel road” Cale had suggested, Old Kane Springs. Even though I was hesitant about conditions, I figured for safety’s sake, I should take the backroad. So after loading up some more gatorade and water at the Ocotillo Wells store, I set off for the final 15 miles of the ride.

Immediately outside of Ocotillo Wells, I passed many homesites/ranches with fantastically large names and signs. I’m not sure why the locals felt the need to mark their land with such enormous and elaborate signs for the foolish few who explore out this way, but it was at least a bit of a distraction. My heartrate was almost instantaneously pinned at 165 bpm and for the next two hours, it stayed there. This Old Kane Springs Road was one shitty track, pure sand and tossed rock, 15 miles long and dead straight with a slight rise just as an extra kick in the teeth. It seemed interminably long, but it was better than getting run over by a toy hauler. I put on some Nirvana and some Metz to keep the spirits up and crushed out the 14 miserable miles at 7mph. As I neared the end, the surface actually did improve for the last couple miles and I was able to enjoy the desert at dusk. But the goal of reaching the end of Old Kane had completely sapped me and I still 4 miles of payment left. Although the wind was still blowing, it had stopped raging quite as hard, but my body was done. Even though I was on a paved road, I said fuck it and walked a couple of the short moderate climbs as I was so spent.

Eventually, I saw the car off in the distance and was glad to see no one had decided to smash a window to take a lookie-loo. I called Kyla to tell her I was safe and finished, I slammed all the remaining water in the car, and then headed back up the road to Borrego Springs for another excellent meal at the Red Ocotillo. I then pulled down a little dead end street, set up in the back of the Tesla, and happily snoozed the night away, resting up for another pretty good ride the next day.

Strava Ride File: https://www.strava.com/activities/8767103809