Brian A. Hopkins
Adventure Bumpkin

Bahlobo y los Gringos:
"South of the Border"
(Copper Canyon, Mexico) 13 - 22 April 2007

HEADING HOME: Saturday morning (the 21st), we loaded up and headed north out of Creel. It sucked to have the bike all loaded down again. Also sucked to be missing a mirror! Leaving town, vultures were feasting on a dead coyote or dog (not sure which it was) in the middle of the road and as we approached, the damn things absolutely refused to give up their feast and yield the right of way. Chris was in the lead and damn near hit the buzzards.

Then we started seeing cops ... everyfreakingwhere! This after not seeing a single one the entire week (well, scratch that, Danny and I did see ONE black and white federale police car when we'd gone to Cuauhtémoc to get Danny's new tire). Here we were on the last of the good twisty bits, wanting to wring the snot out of our bikes, but there were a bizillion cops lining the road. I wouldn't have believed there were that many law enforcement officers in all of the state of Chihuahua -- Hell, in all of Mexico! -- but here they were. Many of them passed us with their lights going, but mostly they were just sitting in pairs and trios along every friggin' inch of the road. What the hell?!?!?

After a bit, we figured out that they had no interest in us. In fact, many of them waved as we passed. I saw one cop dig out a camera and take a photo of us as we rode by. There were a number of motorcycle cops mounted on what appeared to be BMW F650CS's. We all exchanged waves.

Only thing I can figure is it was some sort of exercise. I swear, though, we must have seen 80 to 100 cops between Creel and Cuauhtémoc. It definitely cramped our style. Then we hit a military checkpoint and they searched all of us, making us open every bag. These guys really don't have much of a sense of humor either. Again, no photos.

On the way down, we'd stuck to the free roads -- calle libre -- but we were interested in making some time now, so we tried the toll road. Though traffic was lighter, I can't recommend the toll road. It seemed to take much longer, especially the leg from Chihuahua to Ojinaga, which seemed to swing way out to the east before turning north. The free road had been much more scenic. Both featured good pavement.

North of Chihuahua, the desert kicked up quite a bit of wind, tossing us about a bit. There were massive dust devils raging about like mini-tornados. At one point, a very large dust devil whipped across the road and tried to take Danny and me to Oz. Chris said he was watching us in his mirror (his one remaining mirror -- ha!) and we literally disappeared as the howler swept across the road behind his bike and consumed Danny and me. All I know is the damn thing just about lifted me out of the saddle. I couldn't see anything for several long seconds. Sand swept up under my helmet and filled my eyes, my nose, my every pore. Then we were past it, thankfully still seated on our bikes and pointed in the right direction.

In Ojinaga, we stopped to exchange our remaining pesos (the girl behind the counter even gave each of us a lollypop with our money), then we hit the border. Again, the border crossing was uneventful. Then it was across the bridge and back to the motherland, with but one final "gotcha." The Mexicans charge you a toll of $2.00 US to ride back across the bridge. What a scam! But what are ya gonna do?

On the US side, the customs agent looked at my passport and asked me what I was bringing back into the States with me. "Nothing but my dirty underwear," I replied, "Wanna see 'em?" He laughed, said no, and waved me on through. I should have probably claimed my two souvenir rocks and about 5 pounds of Copper Canyon dust. On the other side, I stopped to put away my paperwork, buckle my helmet, and put my gloves back on. The guys ran off and left me. As I got on the throttle hard and took off after them through the little burg of Presidio, I reminded myself that I was no longer in Mexico, but back in the States where some little local popo was probably just waiting up ahead to write me a speeding ticket. (In fact, Rich got stopped in the van somewhere north of Presidio for doing 65 in a 55. Fortunately, he got off with a warning.) I slowed down, catching up to the boys at the Three Palms, where Rich's van and the trailer were right where we'd left them.

We loaded the bikes, crawled into the van and headed home. How odd to be back in the States where no one waved to us, not even the packs of cruiser riders who passed and glanced with unveiled disdain at our filthy dualsports packed like sardines on the trailer.

All of us were in the mood for a good greasy hamburger. We stopped in Pecos for the night and got our burgers at a truck stop. The joke was that after escaping Mexico with no intestinal problems, we'd probably all get sick from eating at the truck stop. Everybody came through it okay, though.

In the morning, we were back on the road after doing the free breakfast thing at the hotel. We rolled into Oklahoma City about 4 or 4:30.

Click the Dancing Sombrero for the Final Chapter in Our Adventure