Mainland Mexico to Copper Canyon

   Topolobampo Mexico to Copper Canyon.  30/10/2011

  At the La Paz ferry terminal, whilst booking our crossing we had the good fortune to meet Marco. Marco was in the booking office buying a ticket for his truck.  He offered to put our bikes in his truck and save us the money. A very good offer, but free cheese is often in a mouse trap. We chatted for a while; Marco’s English was very good. He was travelling with his newly found half brother Joe. Thanks to the internet they discovered each other. All seemed cool; we arranged to meet at 1800 hours to load up the bikes.

 Riding the fully laden bikes up a steep ramp into a short box van required some courage, the bulkhead advances very quickly when you have to give the bike some speed to get up the ramp. It was accomplished without embarrassment and we lashed the bikes to the side of the truck. We had to wait for two and a half hours to be loaded, once on board the ferry was very luxurious, channel ferry operators please take note. The passenger ticket included a meal as well; it was wasted on me as I only retained it for a few hours!  We slept on the deck of the boat under the stars and the warm night air. It was very cosy under the life boats!  Overnight crossings are great, free camping!  Once docked we unloaded our bikes and make a donation to Marco’s funds. He gave lots of help and advice and donated his map of Mexico. He offered us help and support should we need it. Thanks Marco and Joe, top men .

   We headed north to Copper Canyon, but it is not long before I am robbed by the cops. Following my mate through town we hit the flashing amber traffic lights, almost through the junction they turn to red, the eagle eyed cops spot an opportunity and pursue a bonus. £75.00 cash, Bastards. Onwards through town their relentless persecution was evident, many cars were pulled over, no doubt the drivers paying off the bent cops. Even off of the main highway on rural roads, the less than law abiding cops were busy stopping vehicles. I console myself with previous travel experiences, that there are more nice people in this world than nasty ones, you just cannot avoid them sometimes. We soon hit the dirt roads. 

The dirt roads may be safe haven from the cops, but what lay ahead was tough. The plan was to take a north easterly route to Copper Canyon to Batopilas, a town on the south western edge of the canyon. The road surface was very challenging made even tougher by my dodgy stomach. I am going to have to endure another period of starvation to sort this out. As we wind our way through dusty little villages it is evident that the Mexicans who live here have a very simple and humble life style. A small shop selling basic goods could nearly always be found, no internet here, but the occasional satellite dish could be seen on the side of a mud brick house. Some villages had a population of 45 as the rough old ex packing case sign would say. No campsites either, so a wild camp was made on a high ridge above the road, out of sight. We covered 55 miles of dirt road this day.

 All the roads are recorded on the map, but navigation proved to be very difficult as dirt roads would often divide without any signposts. If there was a signpost the place was not on the map. Asking local folk for directions was equally unreliable as we discovered. We could check our position on the map by using the co-ordinates on the satellite navigation and referencing them to the map, but due to the map scale you could be 5 or more miles off course before the error could be seen. Back tracking on treacherous roads is a miserable experience. We travelled more than 250 miles on unsurfaced roads; it was a gruelling five days in the heat and dust. Elevations of 7500feet were reached with air temperature up to 40 deg centigrade. Most of this was in 1^st gear at 5 or 10 miles per hour as the road conditions would not allow anymore speed. We were challenged with rocks and boulders, chunky lumps of sharp loose rock, sand, powdery dust and river crossings. Very steep gradients with tight hair pin bends with a washed out rain gully on the apex of the bend on the accent of the gradient. Covered in rocks and boulders or any combination of the latter quick positive thinking was required. The edge of the road was nearly always a sheer drop, so if you get it wrong it’s over you go. No joke. The gradients encountered were very steep, not unlike a Tesco elevator, if you had the misfortune to strike a rock and be thrown off as I was several times the consequences could be severe. The biggest problem is the overall weight of the bikes; we are carrying all our equipment. The weight makes the front end of the bike light as the majority of the weight is carried in the panniers and the rear rack of the bike. With a steep inclination and standing up and leaning forward on the footrests to transfer weight to the front wheel it is still very easy to lift the front wheel from the surface and perform an unwanted wheelie and have no control over the steering. I should eat more pies! Speed is the order of the day; you just have to go for it and not dither as it would surely end in disaster. There were many tense sections; we rode up to 10 hours a day, up at day break, bed at dawn.

 We eventually made it to San Miguel, but made a wrong decision at road junction without a signpost. The going was too tough to back track, we really wanted to get to Batopilas but ended up south east at Buenavista. We stopped here, a man carrying an automatic machine gun enquired as to where we were going. He was sure that the road on our map did not exist, we continued to the next village where the intersection was shown, but no person could find the road or give any direction. With no choice we headed south east to take the long way to the canyon via Guachochi and take the route through the canyon in reverse to the original plan. Here we found one of the worst hotels, the over enthusiastic owner was very helpful, we had parking space in the garage under the hotel and for added security he parked his 4x4 up tight to the bikes. The room was pretty grim, the mattress lumpy too. We pried the window open to let some air in. We did have hot water, a clean up was in order as the dust from the roads gets everywhere. Washing my trousers in the hand basin the screws broke, so it is now just hanging on the plumbing! It was a night in the sleeping bag, did not want to risk the bed. The following morning a check on the bike was done, the wheels are still round unbelievably and every thing else is good, just a few missing bolts and a loose nut or two. The foam air filter was choked; I washed it out with a little gasoline in a cut down water bottle and finished the job with soap and water in the room. This also acted like an air freshener, the landlord should be pleased! The town had an uneasy feel to it, it was good to leave.

   The perfectly surfaced roads with many bends and switch back curves provided an entertaining ride to the canyon with panniers nearly kissing the road on the corners. Amazing motor cycles the Kawasaki KLR 650, same goes for the German Mefos tyres that we are using. Gaining altitude through the pine forests the temperature was cooler, with amazing views across plains and valleys this could be Switzerland I thought.

   Copper Canyon is 4 times larger than the Grand Canyon in Arizona and in several parts is deeper. Even better, you do not have to pay. The smooth road to Samachique came to an abrupt end and we find ourselves back to the rock strewn surface that we have just endured 5 days off. This is actually a new section of road building, but there is no difference. Soon the dirt road improves and we are into the Canyon, and have it all to ourselves as this is the low season and the rest of the tourists have been scared away by media horror stories. Off with the crash helmets so that the whole experience can be felt we descend down the Canyon.

 We reasoned that if ya are going to make the mistake of going over the edge, a helmet ain’t gonna save ya. Condors circulate above waiting for an opportunity.

 The photographs cannot express the vastness of the landscape, the height, depth or silence. That night we camped by the river. Gathering firewood to make a camp fire I managed to poke myself in the eye with a twig. Stupid I here you say, but it’s true and it really did hurt. I had a look at my eye in the mirror of my bike, but the light was fading and it was watering too much too see properly.

However, I did manage too see this spider that came and sat beside us!! Mental note to myself: Must remember to check boots before I put them on.

 My eye guaranteed a night of unrest, as my eyesight was blurred and I could no longer see close or distant clearly. Hoping the situation would improve by the morning I had already worked it out during the night that this could be a big problem, as at this moment in time I am miles from civilisation as I know it. At first light I conducted my own eyesight test, I couldn’t read my number plate and I couldn’t read the speedometer either. In the mirror my eye looked OK, so I will have to be optimistic and hope it improves during the day. Back on the dirt tracks again, we head for Batopilas with one eye out of focus. It’s a strange sensation, it makes dodging the rocks and other hazards a lot more difficult as I discovered as we climbed out of Batopilas. Like an Isle of Man TT racer I have developed the skill of using one eye to look ahead and the other eye to make sure I have got it right when the hazard gets close. The accent up the canyon was seriously tough, very hot at lower altitude and very steep and rocky. I paid the price for not being sharp enough on a rocky corner and bit the dust one more time. Despite the weight and size, the bikes crash well, with no real damage, just a few scratches. Without stripping off the luggage it is impossible to pick the bike up alone, especially when there is a steep gradient. After many miles of struggling we reach what possibly is the summit, we have only seen one vehicle today on this road. Riding on easy dirt road we are brought to a sharp stop by a barbed wire gate across the track. It was very purposeful, but easy opened and had no notices or warnings whatsoever. Oh no, we are going to have to turn around was the first thought, but going back down for another 5 hours was big decision as the road was far from easy. Getting shot at or apprehended is also another option, and very real one too. It was a 50/50 decision of luck and chance, so we went through. An encouraging sight of grazing cattle was a welcome, as it gave a purpose for a fence we reasoned. Feeling a little relaxed we stopped under the shade of the mountain pines to eat our muffins, we really wanted bread but that’s another story. Within 10 minutes a man on horseback came to greet us. “Hola” we said shakily. A few words were exchanged, he asked us for cigarettes and alcohol, but the cupboard was bare. He most probably had a gun under his leather chaps, but more worryingly he had a two way radio. Ever thought that you are being watched?  It was only 5 minutes ago that Flid announced that the Lonely Planet quotes that tourists have been robbed on previous occasions on this road. Don’t forget, I remind myself, its 50/50 chance. With nothing to offer the Horseman he about turned and galloped off in to the woods. A lucky escape or nothing to worry about We will never know so we continued onwards. There were several more wire gates along the way; we did not meet another person on the road except a road maintenance gang close to the town of Urique. At the end of the road we were confronted with the final hurdle, a 200 ft wide river crossing. At this moment time I doubted my strength and stamina as the previous week of stomach upset and currently my eyesight had taken its toll. I waded across the river to evaluate a route and to check the depth of water. No more than 12 inches deep there was not a real problem, the slimy rocks and boulders below the surface were. The rocks could be dealt with a little speed, but the water will hold you back. The boulders you have no chance, you hit them and you are off, too make it more of a challenge I am facing west looking into the setting sun, the reflection of the sun is making the route very difficult.

 No point contemplating this any more, I had to cross. I banged it into 1^st gear and dashed for the water, I did not even make it to the edge. The front wheel clipped a rock and I dropped the lot.

 Determined, I found the strength to pick the bike up and had another go. I made it half way and hit a boulder that tipped me over. For about 1 minute I managed too hold the bike at precarious angle trying to regain a vertical composure. I couldn’t muster the strength and had to let the bike go.

 Luckily my mate was on his way, with his camera, and we soon had it on two wheels again. Once composure was regained I paddled it to the waters edge, frying the clutch was no longer a consideration I need to get to the waters edge. Just a short dash to the tarmac road, over the rocks of the river bank, I was just about eexhausted. Food and rest was needed, but the best this town had to offer was a bottle of cola and a pot noodle. No hotel or out of sight camp available we fly camped on the banks of the river. The local drug dealer would never miss an opportunity to make a sale, shouting from the window of his pick up truck we were offered some smoking material! No thanks was accepted, at least the herb makes everyone happy here.

 Totally exhausted I slept quite well, up with the sunrise we packed and moved on, but not too far  as it took two hours to get out of town, the lack of sign posts and any reliable information was thin on the ground and led to many circuits of the dusty old town. The only clue was the one and only gas station, and when found was our escape route. Good dirt roads twisted out of town up into the hills, ultimately leading to tarmac heaven. The open road was a welcome sight that took us to the northerly town of Creel. Here we found a hotel in need of a guest or two, a bargain price was negotiated and we have a chalet with all you need, including an open fire. The fire was all well and good, but the cold wind outside constantly blew the wood smoke back down the chimney. Consequently the laundry session was now spoilt; we now had that fresh smoked kipper aroma.