May 2002 - Copper Canyon - 1400 miles through the Chihuahuan Desert.

This trip started back in 1995 when I read a short article about the Copper Canyon in a travelling magazine. Despite having driven through Mexico a good bit, I had never heard of this place until then. The article was a description of the train ride along the Barrancas del Cobre area, from Chihuahua City (capital of the state with the same name) to Los Mochis on the Sea of Cortes, and included a picture of a place called Divisadero. This picture stayed etched in my mind. In fact, I have to say that I became almost obsessed with it. At that moment I knew I had to go there sometime. I wanted to stand where that photographer stood. I promised myself that some day I would take that fantastic train ride and see the canyon with my very own eyes.

In the following years I travelled to many places in Europe and the Americas, but still had not found the opportunity to go to Chihuahua. The event that unintentionally catalysed the trip was the rekindling of an old passion: dirtbiking. I have been riding motorbikes since 1980 and dirtbiking was always a favourite activity. In recent years, however, I had been exclusively street-riding. Repeated trips to Big Bend National Park convinced me that I needed a dirt bike to explore the less travelled (unpaved and unmaintained) roads in the park. So I availed myself of a used 1989 Yamaha XT-350, in 2001. The trips to Big Bend turned out to be as good as I had hoped, and it was there, in November of 2001 that I decided to ride the dirt bike to Copper Canyon. Little did I know that this confluence of 7 huge canyons, some deeper than the Arizona Grand Canyon, is one of the most amazing destinations a dirt biker can have.

I announced my intentions to my friends, and 3 of them decided to join me. They all purchased used dirt bikes with the primary purpose of travelling to the Chihuahuan desert. Great unspoken pressure was now on me to come up with a good trip, or at least I felt that way.

Day 0. Friday. Long boring drive. Sleep in Marfa, TX.

I leave home mid-morning in my trusty VW, towing a trailer with one of the bikes to Marfa, 60 miles north of the border. During my long drive, Rich is flying in from London, and Marc and Ian are at work. All 3 of them converge later in the day, and arrive in Marfa sometime past midnight with the other 3 bikes in tow on my trailer.

Day 1. Saturday. Unimpressive so far, but at least I speak the language. Sleep in Cuauhtemoc

We get an early start, load prodigious amounts of stuff on the bikes, which now sport milk crates firmly attached to their tail sections, and leave the cars and trailers with our acquaintances at the Marfa airport. The motorcycle adventure begins with a coma-inducing highway ride to Presidio. Crossing the border we get all the necessary paperwork in order, and continue south. It is not unlike west Texas. A couple of hours into the trip and I realise that I have forgotten a rather vital item: a long chain that we would use to lock the bikes together at night. So we stop at the hardware store in the next town and request some chain. “How many kilos do you need?” Hmmm… we’re not in Texas anymore. “We’ll try 10 kilos, por favor.”

Day 2. Sunday. This is going to be good. Sleep in Creel.

As far as I am concerned, the trip started today. We leave Cuauhtemoc early and finally get off the pavement. The town of Tajirachic appears to be still in the early 1800. Very quaint and small, buried in the beautiful rolling hills and pine forest of the sierra, with a creek running through it. The only thing that disturbs the peace -and causes panic amongst the pigs and cows roaming freely on the village’s streets- is the thunder of Rich’s XR-400, but it doesn’t last long since, unlike Harleys, there is power and speed where that thunder comes from. Here we take a deviation looking for a place called “Las Ranas” but never actually find it. The detour is great fun, and leads us through and along a creek trying to follow a trail that keeps disappearing. We don’t meet a single vehicle in a 2-hour period. Fun, but sobering. This also serves as the first serious test of how the luggage behaves in real hard off-road conditions. The shaking is so brutal that my Camelback’s bladder manages to fall out. Luckily I am leading at that moment and my companions recover it.

We backtrack and take very entertaining trails between Carichi and Creel through what seems to be an endless pine forest. For the most part the road is in fairly good shape and allows quick progress. We arrive in Creel just in time to witness a bizarre ritual that I have never seen elsewhere. It consists of the locals driving their vehicles around the town’s square for no particular reason. They just drive around once and again, in a mind-numbing caravan each playing a different song on their loud stereos. As this 5-mph procession continues, nothing, absolutely nothing happens. They just drive along, on this self-inflicted meaningless traffic jam. Maybe I am missing something…

Day 3. Monday. WOW. Sleep in Creel.

Early in the morning we head towards Batopilas. The first 50 Km are paved and make me wish for the extra 100 hp that my street bike offers, but soon enough we’re back in the dirt. We are in the pine forest when suddenly we start seeing for the first time what this is all about: an 1800m deep canyon that stretches as far as the eye can see. We start the descent following the most amazing series of switchbacks I’ve ever seen. It is a constant mental battle between looking at the landscape and controlling the bike. The latter wins by a small margin. We make it to the bottom of the canyon and cross the river on a precarious bridge. A perfect spot to stop for a sandwich. Since we’re running out of time (i.e. daylight), we return to Creel and get dinner in the fancy hotel in town where one of the waitresses shows certain interest in Marc despite a pronounced language barrier. Another waitress invites me to her house after dinner. Hmm... The locals are so accommodating! But how could I leave the guys sans interpreter? So I politely decline. We eat, drink, and bask in the glory of having ridden the most awesome canyon we have ever seen. Incidentally, the round-the-square procession happens again today, albeit to a lesser degree.

Day 4. Tuesday. This is paradise. Sleep in Urique.

We leave Creel and reach my goal for this trip: sitting on the rock ledge in El Divisadero and trying to absorb the magnitude of this place. I just sit there and can’t believe what unfolds in front of me. This is where the photo in the brochure I saw 7 years before was taken. This is the single most incredible place I have ever seen in my life. We continue along the “low road” to Urique. It parallels the Chihuahuan railroad through a series of tributary canyons. During a rest stop in Cerocahui, we meet John and Bart. They are two experienced Copper Canyon riders who are both on KLR650s. After a good while we finally reach the rim of the Urique Canyon. To my surprise, it turns out to be at least as large as and deeper than the Batopilas Canyon. Both of these huge chasms make the Grand Canyon in the U.S. look small. In fact, the Urique Canyon, with 1879m is almost 1/2 km deeper than the Grand Canyon. As we start the descent, I kill the engine and just coast down the hill lightly breaking when necessary. It is about a 45 minute coast down a narrow, very rocky, and treacherous road. The silence has the advantage that I can carry on a conversation with Ian, and overall allows me to enjoy the fabulous view even more.

We are eating in the restaurant in Urique, when John and Bart arrive. This gives us the opportunity to ask them about their ride to Batopilas from here. According to the maps we have, the two places are not connected unless you go through Creel, but we believe the otherwise. They tell us that, with care, it can be done through Mesa de Arturo and Tubares. However, this contradicts what a soldier tells me on the street. We decide that we are going to give it a try.

Day 5. Wednesday. The nefarious Urique river crossing. Sleep in San Juan de Dios.

This morning, the lady from the restaurant makes lots of chicken wings for our breakfast. We depart early and climb back out of the canyon and turn towards Mesa de Arturo. A long gradual descent takes us back down to the valley where, at mid day, it is so hot that when you open your face shield, it feels like you’re sticking your face in the oven. During our fuel stop, Marc has difficulties priming the hose to fill up his bike, causing him to take a swig of gas. This doesn’t go well. After he recovers, we are on our way again with me in the lead so as to be able to ask for directions when necessary. Suddenly we approach one more river crossing, one of many we have had already. I take the plunge, in first gear, but soon the water is deep enough to cover the wheels. I cannot see under the surface of the rushing water and hit a large boulder. In the current, I immediately lose control and the bike falls over. I don’t even have time to reach for the kill switch, so the engine is still running as the bike goes underwater. Both bike and luggage were completely submerged. My three companions, still waiting by the shore, come to assist me. We push my bike to the other side. Now it’s Rich’s turn, and in the powerful XR400, he is determined to show us how it’s done. He goes in the water, and soon enough crashes exactly the way I did. I feel less humiliated. We help him push his bike to the other side. Marc is now wanting to demonstrate why the KLR is the Copper Canyon vehicle of choice. He rides into the river just to crash and end underwater like the prior two. I am beginning to feel less humiliated. Now we have three drowned bikes on the other side of the river. Cleverly, Ian decides to walk his bike across. This would at least guarantee one running bike on the other side.

It takes us approximately two hours to resuscitate my XT. I take out the air filter just to find the air box full of water and mud. After much kicking the starter without the sparkplug, the bottom of my boots breaks completely. Just what I needed. My friends assist me, and we manage to get the bike going again. I am amazed at the resilience of that little engine. By now, the sun is going down and it becomes clear that we will have to stop for the night before reaching Batopilas. We arrive at a small village, San Juan de Dios, where the let us stay in an empty storage room that also serves as clinic.

Day 6. Thursday. Batopilas, the holy grail. Sleep in Batopilas.

After much needed rest and an improvised breakfast we have a much better outlook on things and continue our trek. Again, I am in the lead and traveling at good pace, when I suddenly hit an area of deep and extremely fine talcum-like dust. It was so sudden that I lost control and fell, nicely cushioned by the dust. The cloud that this produced was quite remarkable, and the guys that were following me couldn’t even see me, or what had happened to me. What wasn’t so funny was the fact that this dust ended up EVERYWHERE. Inside my boots and pockets, inside all my clothes (despite my Aerostich), and of course inside my entire luggage.

After a few more hours we finally arrive in Batopilas, a day later than planned, but quite happy for having accomplished it. We stayed at Juanita’s Hotel, which, like many hotels in the area gives dirt bikers special privileges such as letting us drive the bikes into the patio to leave them overnight in a safe place.

We took the afternoon to walk around town and rest. The overall state of the trails is brutal. When you are barrelling down the road, you grab on to the handlebars for dear life; hour after hour of this treatment takes a serious toll on you. We arrive exhausted but very happy.

Day 7. Friday. Back to Creel. Sleep in Creel.

Today’s ride is not too long. We basically have to climb out of Batopilas and arrive in Creel. We decide to take a detour and go visit some waterfalls. The scenery is spectacular, as is the ride. We arrive back in Creel just in time to see that bizarre procession of vehicles around the square.

Day 8. Saturday. Back to the pavement. Sleep in Cuauhtemoc .

Not wanting to jinx things, we return to Cuauhtemoc via the paved road. We are pretty tired by now, and the bikes have taken a tremendous beating. It is still a very nice ride despite our tires, which are better suited for off road use.

Day 9. Sunday. I’ll be back! Sleep in Ozona.

The stretch between Cuauhtemoc and Marfa is one of excruciating boredom, especially on such bikes. If we were on street bikes that would be a totally different story, since we could easily put the landscape in fast forward. But we make it, and find our vehicles and trailers right where we left them in the Marfa airport.