Baja Bound (Part 2)

This entry is part 2 of 23 in the series Baja Bound

April 6, 2023

By Simon J. Lau

I made it into Cataviña today. It sits deep in the Sonoran Desert, almost halfway between the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Cortez. The town is small and remote, surrounded by massive granite boulders and forests of cardon cacti, the tallest cactus species in the world.

Despite the arid setting, Cataviña is also home to something unexpected: an oasis. Hidden among the desert rocks and sand, clusters of palm trees rise around pockets of water, creating a lush green contrast to the dry terrain.

Cataviña is also known for “bandido gas,” or bandit gas. The town sits in what’s called a gas desert, a long, isolated stretch of road with no legitimate fuel station for 225 miles. To fill the gap, locals have turned roadside entrepreneurship into a necessity. Out of the back of pickup trucks or from makeshift stands, they sell gasoline by the jug or barrel, often siphoned into old soda bottles or five-gallon containers.

Travelers pull over, sometimes out of desperation, sometimes just for peace of mind, and hand over cash for these improvised fill-ups. Prices run higher than at official stations, but in the middle of the desert, surrounded by endless rocks and cacti, it feels like a fair trade.

There’s only one hotel in Cataviña, Hotel Misión Cataviña, and it’s much nicer than you’d expect for such a remote place. In the center of the courtyard sits a pool, framed by desert palms and stone walkways. It looks beautiful, although the water was cold.

I struck up a conversation with one guest, Ivan, while I was checking in. When he learned I was traveling solo, he immediately invited me to join his friends and family for a BBQ. It was an incredibly generous gesture and a reminder of the hospitality you can stumble upon in the most unexpected places.

Weirdly, when I’m on the motorcycle, I don’t really get hungry. I actually have to remind myself to eat. I didn’t have much BBQ with Ivan, but later I grabbed a “burrito.” It definitely wasn’t the California burrito I’m used to. It was more like a tiny chicken quesadilla. For good measure, I went back for seconds.

I parked Wilbur right in front of the hotel entrance, just steps from the front desk. It felt like the best, and safest, spot in the entire lot. After tucking him in for the night, I felt reassured knowing he was close by. 🛌

Finally, my route from San Quintín to Cataviña (186 km or 116 miles).