Brian A. Hopkins
Adventure Bumpkin

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

TWISTIES TO DIE FOR: The pavement in this part of Mexico is wonderful. The roads twist and twine through the mountains, up and down the canyon walls, in and out and over the arroyos and mesas. Forget Deal's Gap, the so called Tail of the Dragon; call this place the Tail of the Gila Monster or something, 'cause it's got more than enough curves to keep any rider entertained and doesn't have any of Deal's Gap's heavy traffic or overly exuberant law enforcement. In a day's time here you could almost get tired of being on the sides of your tires -- emphasis on almost. Corners aren't marked with a safe speed, though, as they are in the States, so you pretty much have to judge them for yourself. Warning signs seemed to come in two flavors: a gentle curve and a 90-degree bend. These signs weren't very consistent. The pavement, however, had excellent camber and very few potholes.

Traction was generally good, but there were a few iffy places, including one stretch through the mountains near Creel that always looked greasy or wet to us, even though there'd been no rain in who knows how long. A couple times Chris and I commented on having lost traction and kicking out our rear ends (better to lose the rear than the front, though!). On one occasion, I entered a corner much too hot, lost the rear end while trail-braking, saw my back tire come around and pass my front, and very nearly high-sided the bike regaining control. I slowed down for a bit after that, adequately reminded that knobbies are not sport tires and I was not mounted on my ZZR1200 or CBR1000RR. Chris was behind me when this happened and told me later that there's no way he could have saved such a bone-headed move. I told him it was probably pure luck on my part. For a second there, I'd been certain I was going to be the one for whom we'd brought first aid kits. The fact that I hadn't panicked is probably what saved me, that and enough time with the rear end of my dirt bike sliding out from under me to think it was all perfectly normal to be slewing sideways. Rich admonished both Chris and me, "Stay off those rear brakes, ya idiots!" I think we just needed to slow down a bit, but good golly, Bob Golly (an inside joke*), we couldn't help ourselves on those roads!

You have to be particularly cautious in blind corners here, because the Mexicans seemed to consider the centerline much more of a suggested boundary than a safety barrier. (This comment applies equally well to the areas where we were off the pavement.) On several occasions we found trucks coming around a corner taking up several feet of our lane. Danny said he was almost taken out by a horse trailer that drifted over into his lane. Watch out for the logging trucks, too. Drivers in Mexico will signal that it's safe for you to pass them by turning on their blinker, but be cautious. We relied more on each other, each rider waving on the rider behind him if it was still clear to pass.

Posted speed limits were ridiculously low ... but who cared when there was no one enforcing them?

A break somewhere in the pine-forested mountains around Creel.

During one such break, Rich became the first to experience an "unanticipated transition to a
horizontal state." We were on pavement, but Chris, who was leading at the time, had evidently had
enough and shot up one of the many dirt trails leading into the forest. Like lemmings, we all followed.
We didn't go far before turning around, getting back on the road, and continuing on our way ... however,
we'd only gone a mile or so down the road when we realized Rich wasn't behind us. We pulled off on
the side of the road and waited. About the time we were thinking of going back to look for him, he
caught up with us. He'd lost his balance in a rut and gone down on that short bit of trail. Because he'd
been the last rider, none of us had seen him fall. The bike had pinned his leg and I guess it took him a
few minutes to work himself free. Unfortunately, none of us got a photo of this event. (If you're
keeping score, though, that's number one.)

"Where ya been, L'il Richie?"

"Ya left me, ya bastidges!"

Around every corner waited another stunning view.

Chris and his blue DR-Z.

Danny works on his flat-tracking style. Note his lovely PVC septic
tank. This might be one of the last times you see it ON the bike. Ha!

Rich rode the twisties like a pro.

There he comes now. (Photo courtesy of Chris Marlow.)

Danny and I were no slouches, though. (Photo courtesy of Chris Marlow.)

Nor was Chris. (Photo courtesy of Rich Desmond.)

Be wary of opposing traffic, especially in blind corners. (Photo courtesy of Chris Marlow.)

Another pee break. Like most male species, we spent a lot of time marking territory.

For some reason Danny pulled some money out of his pocket at this stop. He dropped a hundred
peso bill and it immediately blew over the edge. Now you have to understand that Danny is afraid
of heights ... yet he was not going to let that 100 pesos go (even if it was worth less than
$10 U.S. -- ha!). He hung over the edge and just barely managed to grab the bill. Then I helped
him back to safety. (I had promised his wife that I wouldn't let anything happen to him!)

Here he is with his bill, still mesmerized, however, by the edge
over which he could have fallen to his death. (Photo courtesy
of Rich Desmond.)

And here was his reaction to us teasing him about risking his life for a measly ten bucks. A second
after I took this photo, the bill slipped out of his hand and blew over the edge again. This time it was
out of his reach. I told him to grab my ankles and I hung over the edge and retrieved it for him.
"Put this in your damn pocket, buddy boy!"

You'd think he wouldn't be making rude gestures behind the head of someone who risked his life for
him, eh? I didn't even know about this until I saw it in Chris's photos after we got back from the trip.
Humpf!  Next time get Bob Golly to risk his life for you, buckaroo! (Photo courtesy of Chris Marlow.)

Chris on his DR-Z again.

We were amazed by how many of the Tarahumara we saw walking along the roads, often 10 or
20 miles from anything. (Photo courtesy of Chris Marlow.)

The locals were always friendly (see the hand waving from the pickup?). In fact, we often felt like
we were on parade or something. First thing we noticed when we returned to the States (besides
the fat women) was that we were no longer celebrities. (Photo courtesy of Chris Marlow.)

This woman might be 30 miles from her home. All in a day for
them, I guess. (Photo courtesy of Chris Marlow.)

We never had any trouble getting gasoline, always using the government controlled PEMEX
stations. At one such stop we ran across a group of about 12 dualsport riders, most mounted on
BMW F650GS Dakars just like mine. My bike felt like it had stumbled upon a family reunion to
which we hadn't been invited.

These were riders with an Edelweiss tour group. You pays your money, they give you a scooter,
and they lead you on an adventure. Kinda cool, I guess, but we prefer to make our own adventures
and keep our own schedule. The guy leading this group struck me as something of a whip-cracker,
barking orders to get mounted up and whatnot, but I suppose if you're not that way, you'd never
keep a group like this moving.

* Bob Golly is some guy who convinced Daniel to go on this trip. I had invited Danny and tried to convince him to go, but he was certain we'd be murdered by drug lords or butt-raped by banditos or thrown down a mine shaft by Indians craving my pocketfuls of Lifesavers. Anyway, Danny didn't trust us. It was only when some guy named Bob Golly told him it was perfectly safe that Danny agreed to go along. We're still not entirely convinced that Bob Golly exists, even if every time we got to doubting the story, Danny would pull out his cell phone, show us the phonebook entry, and dare us to call him. It was a running joke the entire trip: "Well, Bob Golly says..."

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