El Camino Del Diablo

Rewinding back to the beginning of March, when the coronavirus mayhem was just starting to take hold in America, Cale and I headed out of society and onto the Camino Del Diablo for a multi day bike-packing trip. Things were starting to get hectic, stores ransacked, and the apocalyptic feeling made me want to run for the hills. I have spent so much time outside, on trail, and in the middle of the wilderness abyss, that truly, when this all went down, I started to notice that I did not really have much experience in urban survival. It really felt like I was in some new space that I did not know how to control, and I realized, I literally know more about what what five days of trail food looks than five-thirty days of “real food” looks like. I remember being at the grocery store before we decided to leave, and real realized, I don’t know what the hell to buy, and just giggled as I loaded my shopping cart with doomsday food. None of it felt right.

After working through many thoughts, scenarios, moral dilemmas, and options, we decided the trip should be a go. The deal was, buy everything we needed ahead of time while we were till in Reno and to only stop for gas along the way. We agreed to not even use the bathroom inside. By doing our business in nature, we wouldn’t have to risk the biscuit or put anybody at risk just to relieve ourselves. And of course, we had plenty of hand sanitizer. The last piece of the plan would be to pick the right spot to go, so I started looking at maps of Southeast Utah.

I was quite set on riding the Cedar Mesa loop. Bike-packing in Edward Abby country has been on my mind for a while, and I knew this loop existed. It is about 160 miles total, almost entirely gravel roads, and is pretty mellow in terms of vertical gain. I told Cale it was a go and we began to pack and let the excitement takeover. Fumbling through my gear and running around the house, I started putting piles of stuff together, quickly realizing that it had been a while since I had done this type of trip. My bike seemed like it could use a tune up, I couldn’t decide on what clothes to bring based on weather, my battery pack had gotten smashed in the car accident and I had yet to buy a new one, my new sleeping pad was too big for my bike frame so I had to cut a third of it off, and honestly the list could just go on and on. I basically just had a big chuckle and thought well, here we go!

After pretty much getting everything packed, and only a nights rest from leaving town, I started getting some cold feet, literally and figuratively. The weather actually looked fair at best for the part of Utah. Which for me, didn’t seem worth it. I know this area well and have spent ample time there to know that 52 and partly cloudy with a 40% chance of rain actually means “cold as hell with wind and likely to get wet.” Not exactly my style. I like dry days with a warm sun and while the Colorado Plateau sometimes has a lot of that, we would actually needed to look much farther south to the land of sun, Arizona. I was also feeling some guilt because Utah was asking adventure seekers, more or less climbers, to stay away, urging the states concerns that these climbing colonies would get infected and then pass the virus along as they bought groceries, etc., in local stores. So I started to think even more, and even more, ultimately deciding that with it being just the two of us, we could safely adventure somewhere but that somewhere would just have to be a place that was far less popularized.

I went to google and typed in “Arizona bikepacking” and the first title I saw was, “The Forbidding Reputation and Hypnotic Scenery of the Devil’s Highway” (by the New York Times). Click. The routes name really caught my attention, El Camino Del Diablo aka Devils Highway or “the way of the devil” for a literal translation. I thought damn, I really want to add this one to the list just for its name! So I started to read. I had never heard of this place, how? I guess that is just my arrogance at play. There really are so many places out there, how can one possibly hear of them all. I kept reading more, and it sounded perfect. “A notorious reputation. The original Camino was an important trail between Yuma and Sonoyta, Mexico, and for centuries has been notorious as a route along which people die. Conquistadors, missionaires, prospectors, traders, and others traversed it, beginning in 1540, usually heading for California…Historians believe there may been more than 2,000 fatalities in the last half of the 19th century alone.” Sign me up I thought! While this all sounded cool and adventurous, I started to dive deeper into other articles and started to find out about the history that is currently being made on the Camino. This history also involves death, and unfortunately in the way of immigrants dying of heat exhaustion in the Sonora desert, and/or the rare law enforcement showdown with a smuggler. Taking a deep breath, I once again chuckled and laughed to myself, “its always something..isn’t it, Zac?”

Up next, I would have to convince Cale on the abrupt switch of plans. After some initial hesitation, I think the idea of the warm desert over the cold desert was an easy choice, and it was now a lock. We were on for the Camino Del Diablo! The plan was to drive through Nevada, camp one night along the way and then get to the trailhead the following day, rest one more night at camp, then set out the next morning. We got on the road as planned and enjoyed an incredibly beautiful drive through rural Nevada. White capped mountains ruled the skyline while the valleys were clear from snow and ready for springs arrival. As we headed south, the beautiful cottonwood trees were blooming throughout the drainages and the sage went on forever. By nightfall we had reached southern Nevada and began to see our first joshua trees, the temperatures warmed, and we continued to drive on past Las Vegas and southeast to Lake Mead where we had thought there to be a camping area which we could just pull right up to off the road. Well, things don’t always go as planned, and as we pulled into the area, it was so dark that we could not make out any of the roads or waypoints, and ultimately just pulled into a paved lookout off the road and “Hayduked” it up on the rocks. After a few snacks, I put my sleeping pad down and crawled in my bag to get comfortable and look up at the stars. It had been a while since I slept under the stars in the warm desert. I enjoyed it and quickly fell asleep.

It is funny to wake up outside somewhere that you picked the night before while it was dark. Your visibility at night was probably ten-twenty feet at best. When you wake up, you get to see what you missed, or how good you are at picking a spot in the dark. In this case, we missed and incredible view of Lake Mead and the rocks, so that was nice to wake up to. However, we were legitimately twenty feet from a port-a-potty and in relatively plain sight just over a parking lot. Well done boys.

From Lake Mead we would head south and eventually down to the town of Ajo, Arizona where the Camino begins. The entire drive we had on and off monsoon rains. I claimed once or twice, “this is literally the hardest I have ever seen it rain!” It was true, I have never seen rain like that, and of all places, Arizona. We started to get nervous that it was raining farther south too, and that the Camino which is made up of sand, gravel, and rocky roads, would be just too much of a mess to get across. We hushed our anxiety and pushed onward and finally got to to town after the rains and pulled into a nice campsite amongst the ocotillo and other desert plants. Within minutes we saw our first Border Patrol truck drive by, and while it should have made me feel safer, I’m always a little on edge around law enforcement, so the anxiety and excitement raged on.

The rain began again as we got in our tents to fall asleep, and there was actually an awesome peacefulness to the rain. I slept like a rock and was ready to go. The following morning, we packed up the car and went onto the Cabeza Prieta Wildlife Refuge visitors center where we were told by some very nice workers that we could leave the car for the duration of our trip. I had skis in my car, lots of other gear too, so it had me much more at ease leaving it there than on the BLM land out in the desert. While the weather seemed clear when we woke up, by noon some clouds had built, and I noticed some virga (the visible bands of rain extending downward trying desperately to make it to the ground), signaling thunderstorms, and thought, are you kidding me? Where the hell did this come from? Sure enough, five minutes later, a nice day turned to monsoon rains, and eventually hail, all just about fifteen minutes before we headed out on a roughly 300 mile bike-packing trip. I was obviously in disarray, and Cale obviously not, but by the time the rain had fully stopped, he had talked me into riding out of town just after the storm. We had checked the radar in the meantime, and it looked like it had FINALLY all passed, so we went on and continued to do what we had come down here to do, ride the Camino Del Diablo.

In this photo: Drying out our things and unpacking the Subi for the trip.

Riding through town was actually gorgeous. The architecture is Spanish influenced and many of the casitas were painted in vibrant colors. I really enjoyed seeing this town that I later came to know was named “Best Southwest Getaway” by the New York Times. As we got to the start of the Camino, which was the same gravel road we had camped off of the night before, we thought, well if it is this good of a road, we will make it to Yuma by tomorrow no problem! So we pedaled on, hammering it down a nicely graded gravel road, admiring the landscape and waving to Border Patrol as they passed by. A couple hours later we had put a good dent in the trip, and the road started to get a little sandy just passed dark, so we decided to hunker down. Geographically we were about three miles south of the 8 Freeway and about eight miles to the Mexican border. It was neat to observe life on both sides of the border. Mainly, two freeways, one on the American side, the other ten miles south on the Mexican side, and both seemingly doing the same but yet life on either side is so much different. I thought to myself, on the other side, are people really recreationally riding there bikes across a preserved landscape? Maybe, but probably not. What are the truck drivers making on the American side, and what are they making on the Mexican side? They are both doing the same thing, but are they getting paid the same? Once again, probably not. I hung on to these thoughts for a while as I watched the lights of the trucks go across the desert. It was all very perplexing but yet made me think of how similar we all are. It made me think too, how awesome it would be if we had the same relationship with Mexico as we do with Canada.

After having another good night of sleep, I would up supercharged and stoked on the trip ahead. We new at the minimum we had multiple days of clear weather ahead, and I was stoked to be heading into the most remote part of the Camino for an entire day. We got our bikes packed up and on the road, quickly realizing we had chosen the right time to pull off the night before. The road was completely sand for a few miles, making it unbearable to ride with a weighed down bike full of food, water, and gear. After the sand came the moon rocks. Which are really lava rocks spread thoroughly across this region in specific zones where many ancient volcanoes once were active. The landscape was just incredible. The riding, not so much, but the stoke was still high. This too shall pass! As we pressed on, the road did improve, we put our heads down to pedal hard, and just as we got up to speed again, I noticed a bunch of bugs in my face all at once. I picked my head up looked around and said “dude what are these.” Before I could even end that question I said, “shit! Cale, BEES!!” and we both immediately pedaled as fast as we could. Two hands on the bars and mouths shut before finally escaping, and miraculously unscathed, from a swarm off bees, which were likely Africanized when considering the location we were in. Horrifying, unreal, and beautiful all at the same time. Luckily, they were much more interested in the queen and where to pollinate next than they were in us, but nonetheless, it was an intense situation and we were dozens of miles from any population center and if in trouble, would most likely not see a truck until the evening when Border Patrol is changing shifts.

After this experience we decided to take a little break and enjoy some lunch. Lunch was supposed to be followed by a nap, but the sound of the bees pollinating every flower in existence was so loud that it kept me on edge, unable to nap. I’m not referring to the swarm we had just passed, but rather the entire landscape which was blooming and needed hundreds of thousands of bees to pollinate. It is truly a remarkable sound to hear and sight to witness.

We hopped back on the bikes and happily pedaled down the road, once again enjoying a nice road for a while, hoping the toughest of the Camino was behind us. Of course, that was not the case. A few miles down the road from lunch, we started to encounter roads that were flooded at various points due to the undulating rollers and had to constantly get off of our bikes and walk around, slowing us down tremendously, until we were finally set free, but yet back onto sandy roads. We had made a good dent in the route, but it was obvious at this point that we may be out here for a bit more than three days.

By now the late day light was beaming through the mountain notches and the sun was starting to drop as we passed through the beautiful Tule Mountains, just a handful of miles north of the border. Once again we were looking at just a beautiful landscape, full of cholla, ocotillo, saguaro, along with many other beautiful desert plants, but really what made it so astonishing to me, was the rock. The mountains were almost entirely rock, and so perfectly defined. We enjoyed our way through this range and over the pass to the other side where we were now on the southwest side of the mountains, in an expansive plain, overlooking what seemed like all of the northern part of Mexico while the sunset beamed orange and pink like we had paid a million dollars for it. It was an incredible night, one that I will never forget, and I am glad to have pictures for me to reflect upon this night.

In this photo: Cale Rogers straddles the Mexico/USA border along the Camino.

We woke up the next day and realized we still had a good push to get to Yuma. Luckily, the route would trend downhill for the day, and we needed all of this luck, considering half of the miles were sand, the other were rocks, lots of rocks. By midday we had finally made it to civilization where we lingered around only for a short time while grabbing necessities. It was weird and unsettling to be back in society. There was a real helter skelter feel to it, and it was obvious that this virus was putting everyone on edge. I couldn’t wait to get away from it again.

After looking at some maps, I suggested to Cale that we would get back by doing a lollipop loop. This route would take us north before heading back east, then southeast to the Camino. I wanted to go this way because it would make for easier miles, there would be more miles in total, but hey, at least I would just be cruising pavement for the rest of the day. He too thought that sounded nice, neither of us wanted to go back up to the Tule Mountains through the sand and rocks, so we set out on the highway, then rode along a gravel irrigation road, and then back on pavement before finally arriving back at an alternate road that led to the true Camino Del Diablo. We crashed here for the night, and were totally, I mean totally, exhausted from another 60+ mile day on the bikes.

We got up pretty early to get a head start on the day. The weather was supposed to be clear and about 75 degrees, and one thing I have not mentioned yet, is just how strong this Sonoran sun was, and how 70 felt like 90. I also wanted to conserve as much fresh water that I had because I knew the water source that we would have to use for the day was a salty one. We had drank from it on the way across the first time, but unlike the other water source along the ride, this one tasted like an overdone electrolyte drink. We got cruising early and had a nice conversation with a Border Patrol lady who warned us “you know we pull bodies out of here.” “Yeah, I read that” I said. One thing that I have realized from meeting people while I am out on an adventure is that they always remind you of their worst fear. “You know there isn’t much water out here.” “Its damn hot out there!” “Watch out for snakes!” Its not that they are doing anything wrong, and they are right, but its really their fear, not yours. I mention this because I think this idea translates off of the trail too. “I don’t know, that sounds risky,” “Its already been done/never been done,” “I wouldn’t live there,” “How will you make that work?” These are all usually unnecessary remarks that may impede your progress and are simply brought forth out of someone else’s fear. Don’t live in fear, and certainly not in other peoples fear, just be prepared, intelligently think things through, and go confidently.

Anyway, we put down some serious miles this day. The plan had worked out, and we made it some 60+, again, back to the area of our campsite from the first night. It was a real joy to have made it back to this point. In all honesty, this trip was bigger, badder, and way more Diablo* than I had really thought it would be. Plainly said, it was tough! Plus, we still had one more 60 mile day to go in order to get back to the car. However, I was totally content. At this point I had basically put my phone on airplane mode for the past three days and I really felt disconnected from the mayhem. It was a real love hate situation to know that I was a day from being back. Which at this point, I knew the escalation of the virus meant that I would be going home to lockdown, and might not even be able to talk about this incredible adventure with friends in fear of being shamed. One thing I was looking forward to, was a shower. This was the fifth day in a row without one, and the desert is a dirty place. I was a ball of grime and Cale was too.

On our final day we enjoyed a rather simple 60 miles back to the car. We had already ridden this terrain and new where we could really push some miles, so we did, and we pedaled hard for some exhausted riders. I started to really reflect on the ride and take in the magnitude of it as we passed familiar features. I was really relaxed for most of this day and Cale was too, but as we got towards the end, the fatigue from five 60 mile days on a bike in a row really started to set in. It seemed so close but my tires felt like they were flat because my legs were so heavy. The real solution, slow down, there is no rush, why rush to get back? So we did, and we enjoyed each mile from there on out, before finally rolling back through the town of Ajo and to my car at the visitor center, which had not been broken into, and all my ski gear was right as I left it! What a trip, and I am happy that we did this trip. So many things almost made me back out from it. In the end, I feel confident that we made the right choice and executed the travel within society in a safe manner.

In this photo: Cale Rogers recharges at “Bates Well” before the final twenty miles.