As per Maslow's hierarchy, we're all aware that food and shelter are fundamental needs. But it's easy to forget just how crucial they are if we're lucky enough to have satiated bellies and a home to buffer us from the elements.
Biking through Baja, Mexico this past month renewed my appreciation for these dual needs. Now, before you imagine blissful pedalling down a gentle coastline followed by margaritas under a palapa, let me assure you the reality of bikepacking off-highway on this peninsula was a far more gruelling, less romantic endeavour. I was warned it would be tough, yet I was unprepared for the level of ruggedness and the bodily precariousness I felt being regularly a day or more away from any water, food, or shade. Carrying adequate water became an important preoccupation, but so did snack material. With all the exertion, our metabolisms were running hot and we fed them (peanut butter, oranges...and increasingly, cookies and Nutella!) like we were shovelling coal into a steam engine. Calories provided our propulsion and we needed a steady stream!
In good weather, you can't really beat tenting out under the dark desert skies. But after a few days of full exposure, a roof and bed were a welcome comfort, and sometimes a body just needs four walls inside which to gather their thoughts. In truth, it was showers more than anything that we sought out at regular intervals to rid ourselves of accumulated layers of sunscreen, grit, and sweat.
It was when we were deep into remote, bone-dry, often mountainous terrain that we felt our vulnerability most keenly, and food and shelter (and water) became profound gifts. For these we often turned to "ranchos" en route. The folks raising cattle (and sometimes goats) in these most inhospitable of conditions proved to be most hospitable of hosts. Just barely hanging on to their ways of life and livelihoods after three years without rain, some ranchos are offering travellers meals, water, snacks, and sometimes accommodation as an alternate income. Cyclists doing the Baja Divide are their primary patrons and they told us they are genuinely grateful to have us coming through. Likewise, they are a lifeline for us cyclists, so it's beautifully reciprocal without a whiff of commercialization. Feeling a little greens-deprived and hoping that the bit of plant growth surrounding their home might indicate a garden, I occasionally asked rancho hosts if they could sell us "verduras", but the answer was always no – there hasn't been enough rain. Whatever's in their kitchen is on the menu, whatever's in their fridge is what we'll drink, and if the well water is good enough for them, it's good enough for us!
Top: sign at one entrance to Rancho Los Girasoles (photo credit: Mark Ueeck); sitting area and bit of a store at the same rancho
Middle: relative green of a rancho with well water vs. desert outside their gate; filling our bottles with well water
Bottom: lunch at Rancho Rinconada with our trail family; leaving Rancho la Presa after a refreshing drink
With this fresh reminder of how deeply the provision of food and shelter can touch us and connect guest to host, I feel gratified to be doing the work that I am. It's my honour to give you respite and a meal rooted in this place, and to share, in whatever small way, in your explorations and meanderings.
Thank you for being previous guests or following me on my own mental meanderings on this blog, and may you pedal blissfully from winter into spring!
So interesting, Jackie, especially for those of us who haven't experienced that kind of environment, or not without a few more conveniences than you - and the locals - had. Makes me feel even more grateful for the water we have here. And I know that what you offer through Hereabouts generates that same kind of human connection over the essentials of food and bed.