Mexico's Copper Canyon-October '05

DAY 1: After loading the DRZ on the back of the pickup the evening before, I left at a leisurely pace about 8 AM the next day. Made it as far as Lulling, Texas (750 +/-) by evening where I had the first of many unmemorable Mexican repasts to come.

DAY 2: When I exited my motel room there was a policeman outside. Nodding and mumbling good morning I proceeded to get into my truck.
barks, "Is that your truck, sir?"
" Yes. Is their a problem officer?"
noticed I was carrying a weapon. "Please, put your weapon down and back away from the truck."
complied. Another Clem Cladiddlehopper filled with delusions of adequacy. He was running my plates to see if they where stolen vehicles. I offered him my driver's license to expedite his search for the bandito. After I overheard dispatch say I was a good Christian soldier, Clem decides to run the plates on the moto.
I had enough. "Officer, I am picking up my weapon and getting into my truck. I will be at the corner getting coffee. If you have further questions for me I will be there for a while. Have a good day."
He didn't say anything. Later on he came in to get some coffee and nodded familiarity.

After San Antonio I picked up Hwy 90 to ride south along the border. Passing through many laid back Texas towns; I was amused with the signs heralding these xerically rural villages.
" We live in Heaven please don't drive like Hell" and "It's OK to blink".
Texans have always been some of the friendliest people.

At Marathon I dropped south on Hwy 385 to scope out Big Bend National Park. Biggest park in the system. Bigger than the state of Rhode Island.

It was now drizzling steadily and the temps had dropped down to the low 40's. Coming out of the park's western most exit at Terlinqua their was an uphill 7 mile stretch of rutty clay snot. I was told that Texas DOT had been working on it for 4 years. Put thewent into 4 wheel drive after seeing the passenger cars spinning their tires in a Sisyphean task to get up the hills. Stopped to assist a couple that had flipped their cruiser whiletowing a trailer. Both where smiling broadly, kids in a pig pen. They asked about the conditions, told them it was more of the same. They took off duck walking the bike downhill.

The payoff to all this is Farm Road 170 heading to Presidio. Big Bend State Park is prettier than its national big brother. The road whoops and twists for quite a distance.

At Presidio had an early dinner and a look see. Same shit hole as any border town, just smaller. On checking out the motels (3) spotted Larry's van. One of 5 motorcyclist that would join together to make this trip. I had made Larry's acquaintance last year at a Horizon's Unlimited Travelers Meeting. Steve, riding from California, would show up later that evening. I had met him just that June, also at a Traveler's Meeting.

DAY 3: Having told Larry and Steve about Farm Road 170 we did a ride through the state park while cooling our heels waiting for Gavin and Davis to arrive from North Carolina.

DAY 4: Saturday morning the Sun broke out with promise. Gavin, whom I had just met that June & Davis, his friend, arrived and cleared customs. We all crossed the border around noon and made Jimenez (200 +/- miles) via La Mula and La Perla before nightfall.

Outside of Hidalgo del Parral local Intel told of a gravel road outside of La Casita that would hook us up back to the main road at Balleza. About 30 to 40 miles of picturesque country side. Riding through the mountains, valleys and pueblos. Light rain caught us by the end of the day and bedded down in Guachochi (days mileage 120+/-).

After about 2 ½ - 3 hours, I am mentally fatigued. The edge is preying on me. Visions of Colorado creep into my consciousness, my courage and resolution is being shaken. I ride closer and closer to the mountain, letting my guard down to the dangers of the blind curves while fixating on the shear edges.

Ten minutes out of Batopilas, never having dropped the bike once in all the off roading on this trip. I do the mother of all drops. A drunk blazes round the curve, our eyes widen. I brake. He keeps coming. I lock the brakes and go into a slide. He keeps coming. I make a conscious decision to bail out. He keeps coming. I'm a third of the way off. He keeps coming.

BLAAM! SPLATT! JUMPING JEHOSOFAT! AND SHEET BATMAN!
I become a hood ornament. Zorro marks me. And Zorro flees the scene.

Next thing I know I am propped up on the mountain side. Davis had been riding behind me and now was holding my head talking to me. He had laid his bike down fearing he was going to join the dance. I wanted to know who he was. He's telling me the names of everyone I'm riding with. I'm amazed when he tells me we are in Mexico.
Oh, oh the wheel is spinning but there is no hamster. Fortunately the mini bus from Creel comes upon us and I ask for assistance and if they might take me to a doctor. The local judge is on the bus. Tells me the Indians have been whooping it up all weekend with fire water because of the Fiesta. So what's the occasion?Columbus Day!Huh??? Say what???

Columbus Day my ass. Turns out Batopilas is a marijuana growing town. Its harvest time and the buyers are in town. The military walks around with automatics at the ready, policemen swagger with their 9mm and SWAT clothing. The decent local folk tell me it's all for show, there all corrupt. From the top state politicians on down. They implore me to write a letter when I get home explaining what we have all seen so that they may send it up to the Federal government. They just want to take their village back from the drug lords.

That night with the happy juice from the doctor we meet up with 4 more cyclists and all go out to dinner. Family style.

DAY 7: The Aztec Two Step strikes. It hits everyone.
Some like Steve hardly at all. Just a little runny. Some like Davis are worshiping the porcelain tabernacle Me?The next day’s Revenge is the least of my worries. Can't rotate my neck, lift my left arm nor put weight on my left leg. If my mental faculties drop any lower I'll have to be watered twice a week. I know that by the time the other fellas are able to ride I won't. So I make arrangement to extract myself and moto the following day up to the paved road so as to ride into Creel.

DAY 8: So after 2 nights in Batopilas we head out. Nobody has eaten anything, weak from hunger but nothing is appetizing at the moment. Fearing that the jarring will cause them "accidents" they ride gingerly. I ride in the truck holding my head in my hands. At the top, Creel is only 40 miles or so away but I have to take the curves at 25 MPH as I can't swivel my neck and the clutch is attached with zip ties.

That afternoon in Creel I go to sleep in daylight and awaken 12 hours later feeling much better.

I stayed in town, found an aluminum welder for my clutch perch, a glass company for my mirror and other minor fixes, all for under ten bucks.

DAY 10: Sterling had to get back home so was bailing out. I wasn't in good enough shape to keep riding off road so I offered to join him. Another rider, Ted, from Alabama, was heading out also. So the three of us took off. As it turned out Steve hooked up with three other riders heading to California so he also headed out. That left Larry, Gavin and Davis who had expressed their willingness to do more off roading. The day dawned gun metal gray and misty so they too decided on homeMuch later though as they had laundry to do.

We went to Chihuahua via Cuauhtemoc. I was beat. The previous day’s dirt/fast pavement riding had done me wrong. My IQ had reached 50 and I was thinking I should sell. I should not have been on a motorcycle but had to push on. Tried to find a hotel in Chihuahua but one was too pricey and the other the guy offers me a boy. So I called him a cabron and we headed out to Aldama. We found a flea bag for $15 and each got a room. My room had cigarette buts in the toilet and grass in the shower drain. No hot water. Walking in town looking for a beer, spotted Larry, Gavin & Davis rolling in. Flagged them down and pointed out the hotel. We all went out to dinner that night and I couldn't keep my eyes open. Left the guys and crashed hard.

Day 11: Larry, Gavin & Davies left before sunup. Sterling, Ted and I left at about 7:30. We stopped a few miles down the road and had breakfast. The only other good tasting meal I had on this trip. Mole with fried eggs. Irresistible. Sterling concurred.

Twenty five miles out of Ojinada and the border we stopped for pics and wonderment at the last canyon. Crossed the border with some minor confusion on the paperwork but in less than an hour. When I was paying the lady where I had parked my pickup, she told me Larry, Gavin & Davis had just pulled out an hour before us. Hope they got a chance to savor those eggs and mole.

DAY 12: Arrived home by supper time Monday evening. Turned the lights down low and played the music soft and slow, I was never so happy to be home.

Epilogue:
It's a beautiful place and a must see and do but the disappointment is that it's on the Gringo Trail. There's no more edginess, no sense of foreboding. Hell, I saw a train in Creel with at least 50 flatbeds, each holding a Motor home, pulling a car and the inhabitants taking in the sights from their hermetically sealed perches. NAFTA has delivered vinyl flooring, MTV, Barry Manilo, genuine Naugahyde, laminated plastics, and polyester. Cultural internecine. It makes me weep.

Mexican cuisine can be quite delectable. T he State of Chihuahua's food is nothing but border crap. Burritos, tacos, refried beans etc. Only good for a colon blow. It is not particularly cheap, either. Meals will run $4 to $6 per person and that's about equivalent to any dinner in the states. You know fried chicken or meat loaf, plus two veggies and ice tea for $4.75. With hell of a lot more variety.

I heard two other riders got hit. One with no damage to himself, just minor bashing to the bike. Another that spent 2 days in the hospital, then was arrested and put in jail. He had insurance and all witness stated it was the other guys fault. Then why?You are a gringo, nobody wants to make a mistake and lose their job. Simplest thing, do nothing and bump it up the line. Until the judge gets in town you’re going to sit in jail.

Neck and shoulder are all black and blue. Still can't rotate my neck freely and have splitting headaches. Call my doctor for an X-ray & scan. He's dead. No shit. Went to the emergency room. Six thousand dollars later am given a clean bill of health. They load me up with drugs,why do I keep setting low personal standards and then consistently failachieve them?

Miserere mei, Domine, Cubanus sum

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