The Montezuma Loop (complete!)

February 24, 2021

That old Bilbao moon, I won't forget it soon
That old Bilbao moon, just like a big balloon
That old Bilbao moon would rise above the dune
While Tony's beach saloon rocked with an old-time tune
We'd sing all night with all our might and I can still recall
Those were the greatest (those were the greatest)
Those were the greatest (those were the greatest)
Those were the greatest nights of them all.

The Bilbao Song, by Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill

I went to bed last night feeling conflicted. Especially after driving up and down Montezuma Valley Road yesterday and seeing again how spectacular it is, I really wanted to complete the ride that Rachael and I set out to do last week but aborted on when I realized I was missing my wallet and my phone.

The conflict related to the weather forecast. The loop is a challenging ride, for the likes of me at least - 37 miles that for the most part are a gradual climb, followed by a 12 mile plummet down a cliff. At the top of the cliff is a caution sign, warning of very strong winds ahead.

I don’t relish doing this ride on a day with strong winds, regardless of their direction. I don’t want them in my face on the climbs, and I don’t want them wrestling with me for control of the bike on a gnarly descent with steep drop-offs. Last night it seemed questionable, but things look calmer this morning. If we get an early start I can make it up to the top of the descent before the afternoon winds gain force.

Today is our last day here, so it’s now or never. It’s comfortable already when we leave the motel at 8, and by the afternoon it will be in the low 80’s again here in the basin. It’s heating up here, and time to move on.

“Courage!” Quoth the raven as we bike away from our motel.

Rachael isn’t interested in doing this loop with me, and has her own plans for the day - a loop up Yaqui Pass, then east toward Ocotillo Wells on Route 68, then back to town again. Both of our routes start up Yaqui Pass, so we ride the first 10 miles ‘together’ - meaning as soon as I stop for a photo, she’s gone.

“Don’t wait for me”, Rocky says before she zips past. I won’t see her again until the loo break at Tamarisk Campground on the far side of Yaqui Pass.

Fonts Point, and an unidentified pachyderm.

Over the summit of Yaqui Pass, one last time.

Looking down from Yaqui Pass, we see the road ahead. At the bottom we merge in with Route 78 and then follow it west (to the right). Just at the furthest point you can see it, the road takes a sharp left bend and cuts through a gorge to the other side of the ridge.

I catch up with my partner, as I knew I would, on the far side of Yaqui Pass at the Tamarisk campground rest station. From there I’m headed west on route 68 and she east, but she joins me for the first few miles before doubling back. After that I’m on my own.

This stretch of 68 is a dramatic road, following San Filipe Creek upstream as it cuts a deep gorge through a ridge. It’s a lovely ride, as long as you’re here on a weekday like today when there’s very little traffic. I’ve driven it on the weekend though and could see that it would be suicidal on a bike then, when the narrow and shoulderless road is clogged with huge RV’s.

They’re really serious about the warning here.

Eight uphill miles later, I’m through the gorge and briefly descending to the mouth of Shelter Valley and the start of San Filipe Road. I’ve put in about 2,000’ of climbing now, and coming up next is the 13 mile, 1,500’ climb up to Teofulio summit. It’s a beautiful climb, as we saw just a few days ago - but it’s a bit less delightful climbing into a headwind this time rather than being booted uphill by a firm kick in the rear. The wind is pretty tame at first, but for the last five miles, the steepest part of the climb, it starts blowing in my face in earnest and about does me in. I’m more than ready to see the summit when it finally arrives.

The second milestone: at mile 19 we come to Scissors Junction and then turn northeast up the S-2 and then climb up San Filipe Creek.

When you get a really good look at one, it’s startling what a brilliant blue the California Scrub Jay is. Like yesterday’s crows, we’re just inside of its range here.

The last five miles, uphill and into the wind, leave me tired but feeling entitled. I’ve earned a summit shot.

From the summit it’s a short drop down to the head of Warner Valley and the junction with Montezuma Valley Road. The next seven miles are another gradual climb to the east, the same climb we finished our ride with yesterday. As I’d hoped, I’ve arrived at the right time - the promised afternoon west wind is on, and pushes me along up the last of the day’s real work.

About two miles from the summit I reach Ranchita and pull in to the small market there. I pick up a cold can of soda water to wash down my salami and cheese sandwich, taking them in sitting on a bench in the shade in front of the market. As I’m sitting there the couple that run the place are sitting there also with a friend, having a vigorous debate about whether they could pick off a person atop a range a mile off with their 30-aught-6. There’s a lot of discussion about windage, how far off that ridge really is, and how surprised the guy will be when he gets his head blown off.

It’s all in good fun though, just the usual tough guy small talk. As I leave I make a crack about hurrying to get out of range, and we all have a good laugh. They ask which direction I’m going, and tell me to enjoy the descent.

At the top of the Glass Elevator, the spot we looked out from yesterday but then turned back to pick up the Raven. It’s hazier today and the views aren’t as fine, but let’s go forward anyway.

And I do enjoy the descent, which is totally awesome. Ten fast downhill miles of spaghetti road with fabulous views around every bend. There’s very little traffic, the winds are manageable, and it all feels safe - a bit like dropping down Mount Lemmon, really.

It would have been even better if I hadn’t flattened half way down, but you can’t have everything. At least it’s dry, I have the time, and I have all the necessary supplies and tools. The view’s not bad either.

And, I have Rachael’s GoPro! I’m so glad she talked me into bringing it along. This is one descent I want to remember.

Video sound track: Blight of the Fumble Bee, by Gerry Mulligan and Paul Desmond

Down the Glass Elevator. At the top it’s all a sprawl of gigantic boulders, reminding me of Joshua Tree.

This is a brilliant stretch, looking at the road looping back on itself a few miles down-mountain.

Down, down, down. The valley floor draws nearer with every bend.

And still down. The green is the eastern outskirts of Borrego Springs, and beyond are the formations we traced on our ride toward the Salton Sea.

Down the Glass Elevator. What an evocative nickname!

I’ve been racing down mountain for seven miles, but the valley floor is still far off.

Almost down. It’s a relief to realize that my new tube is holding air. It would be a long walk still.

These warm afternoons are so comfortable. I’ve gotten addicted to sitting out front of our room on the shady side of the motel, culling through the day’s catch over an IPA.

That old Borrego moon, I won’t forget it soon.

Heart

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Ride stats today: 50 miles, 4,800’; for the tour: 3,046 miles, 122,400’; for the year: 41 riding days, 1,783 miles, 65,400’, and 3 flat tires

Today's ride: 50 miles (80 km)
Total: 3,048 miles (4,905 km)

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Patrick O'HaraNice one, Scott. Looked like a beautiful ride.
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3 years ago

Scott AndersonTo Patrick O'HaraThanks, Patrick. It was great. I’m really glad I fit it in before leaving here.
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3 years ago