Anza Borrego to Bates Well - start of a new year on the road.

Bailey loved having some trees to explore at our camp in Anza Borrego!

(Tree cat!) 

We’d already spent our full two weeks in the Anza-Borrego area, so it was about time to seek other horizons. Add to that a weather forecast heavy on clouds and rain—courtesy of a looming atmospheric river aimed squarely at much of California—and the decision made itself.

Risking a disruption to Santa’s carefully planned delivery schedule, we pulled up stakes on Christmas Eve and pointed ourselves toward Yuma. Forecasts in that direction looked marginally more cheerful, and besides, any route that includes free RV dump stations and water taps is hard to resist. The rest areas west of El Centro offer both, and we never pass up a free dump and fill. It’s practically a rule.

We rolled into Sidewinder Road near Yuma on Christmas Eve and promptly settled into a week of civilization: city shopping, family visits, and the simple joy of fuel prices that don’t require a small bank loan—thank you, Arizona. 

                                 (The usual iPhone night shots - note the stars visible)

Camping along Sidewinder Road, much like nearby Ogilby Road, comes with a built-in soundtrack: a distant but constant duet of interstate traffic and freight trains, both of which apparently believe sleep is optional. A visit from the Santa Ana winds only added to the ambiance, and our plans for leisurely afternoons basking in warm sunshine were… revised.

 (Flowers near Sidewinder road)

The surrounding desert, however, offers some excellent biking, and I took advantage of it whenever conditions allowed.

(Spooked a couple coyotes while biking across the desert) 

  

One ride followed the railroad tracks as far west as Ogilby Road before looping back along Sidewinder. Riding the tracks, I discovered, is a bit like beach combing. Containers—and occasionally their contents—shake loose from trains, leaving behind a trail of oddities. Over several miles I found thousands of tiny plastic cups, along with an impressive number of lids. Other debris looked like the remains of children’s dollhouses or play sets, reduced to colorful, unrecognizable fragments. You truly never know what you’ll find. On previous rides, I’ve even stumbled across full documentation for the trains themselves, detailing car numbers, hazardous materials, and routing information for distant cities.

We had one night of fairly intense rain, enough to form shallow pools in low areas, though not quite enough to send water coursing through the nearby washes.

Still, the location had its perks. At 11 p.m. on New Year’s Eve—while technically still in California—we had front-row seats to Arizona’s fireworks display just across the state line in Yuma. Festive enough for us. No need to stay up until midnight local time. We declared victory and went to bed.

We spent the next week taking advantage of opportunities to shop, fuel, eat, visit relatives, and do laundry.  

Bailey got me to bail him out of the Humane Society here just two years ago, so I took him back there to show him off!  Did I tell him I'd leave him there if he didn't behave? 

By New Year’s morning, it felt like time to move on. We packed up and headed east to Gila Bend, making good use of the free dump and fuel stop near the Chevron, followed by the traditional road-trip fine dining experience at McDonald’s. From there we turned south, with Darby Wells Road beckoning before we swung onto Bates Well Road.

There were campers scattered along the usual pullouts, but we had our sights set on a spot we’d enjoyed last year. Luck was on our side—it was vacant, patiently waiting for us to roll in and make ourselves at home.

The reward was immediate: silence. Real silence. Border Patrol traffic and passing vehicles were minimal, and it felt as though the desert exhaled along with us. Mornings here come with their own soundtrack—cactus wrens and quail holding animated discussions about the day’s agenda while we sip our coffee and listen in. It’s hard to imagine a better way to begin a new year.

(Some local fauna to keep Bailey entertained) 

 

The area is laced with primitive roads and trails, offering excellent opportunities for exploration by bike. Some sections are a challenge, especially where loose sand takes over, but in many places you don’t even need a trail at all. Just point yourself in a direction and go—true desert freedom.

(Bailey grazing on some nasty cactus!) 

I did notice a bit of “industrial” traffic on the road past camp, morning and evening, including a water truck making multiple trips each day. Curiosity eventually won, and I set out on what was supposed to be a short drive to investigate—assuming, of course, the washboard didn’t rattle me into submission first.

That “short drive” of a mile or so turned into something close to epic.

The road was in surprisingly good shape, and before long I found myself at the northern boundary of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, with no obvious signs of construction. 

 

There was a large old white bus with a Starlink dish on the roof parked on a side trail, but I couldn't tell if it belonged to the border patrol or simply another camper?  Still curious, I kept going, and soon enough came across a grader and a packer actively smoothing the road. With conditions now positively luxurious, it was nearly impossible not to continue.

Along the way, we passed several Border Patrol rescue beacons: short towers topped with solar-powered blue-and-white strobes, complete with cameras and emergency buttons.  

Nearby, tall blue flags marked barrels of drinking water, presumably maintained by aid organizations.

 

Farther south lay the remains of the Bates Well Ranch, a turn-of-the-century operation now preserved within the National Preserve. By this point, I was fully committed. The miles ticked by, interspersed with rocky sections and patches of washboard that had me clenching my teeth. At one remote intersection, I stopped to chat briefly with a Border Patrol agent before continuing south on Pozo Nuevo Road.

Before I quite realized what was happening, I reached the border wall—some 33 miles (53 km) of desert track from where I’d started. From there, Puerto Blanco Drive runs east alongside the imposing barrier for another 14 miles, eventually intersecting Highway 85 just north of the Lukeville border crossing. From that point, it was a mere 40 miles of paved road back to camp—proof that “just a quick look” can sometimes turn into an all-day adventure.

A somewhat rare rainy day turned up, and proved to be a good time to update the blog. 

Daylight shot of camp.

Moonlight shot of camp.