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Master mechanic at work
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With little hope of repairing a blown front fork seal on my KTM 690 I sought the help of a mechanic in the Baja, Mexico town of Loretto. The "workshop" was an outdoor affair with a tin roof and a dirt floor with the security being provided by a flea infested, junk yard dog that was obsessed with chasing any fleeting, shiny sunbeam. Not a hope of finding a replacement seal anywhere within a 1000 miles, Roland went to work with his magic and shortened the spring that puts pressure on the sealing surface, refilled the fork oil using the accurate 220 ml Tecate beer bottle and before you could say Tequila I was back on the road.
My December trip to Mexico started on the mainland and finished after 2400 miles in northern Baja, Mexico. My first stop on the mainland was in Creel that is the gateway to the Copper Canyon ( some might remember this was part of my trip one year ago ) One of the reasons for coming back this way was to take the train, known as El Chepe through the Copper Canyon.
People who have taken this train ride will tell you that this is one of the most spectacular routes in the world and the tracks which were first laid in the late 1890s wind their way from an altitude of 8500 ft down to sea level on a journey that takes about 9 hours. At times the track is hanging on the side of the canyon walls looking down to the river many hundreds of feet below, before disappearing into a long dark tunnel only to emerge into the blinding sunlight going in the opposite direct, having turned a full 180 degrees in the middle of the mountain. Now people who have not been on this train ride will tell you that as it is in the Mexican state of Sinaloa you will probably die a terrible death at the hands of the drug cartels that look to steal every last cent from unsuspecting tourists.
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| El Chepe arriving in Creel |
After spending the night in the beautiful town of El Fuerte I caught the train early the next morning back to Creel to pick up my motorcycle.
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| El Fuerte main plaza |
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| Patiently waiting for the train in El Fuerte |
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Railroad bridge at Temoris
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Collecting my motorcycle in Creel I set off on my more accustomed mode of transportation down the winding roads into the depths of the canyon system in the Sierra Madre mountains with my next stop being the village of Urique.
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| Tracks in the sand |
On a walk along the Urique River a came across this perfect footprint ( or sandal print) in the fine dust. I knew that a local person of indigenous descent, a Rarámuri or as outsiders call them the Tarahumara, was walking this same forgotten dirt track. The word Rarámuri literally means "foot runner" and describes how they have become famous for their long distance running skills, usually in sandals made from old car tires. Due to the sandy conditions I think this person had decided to run Dunlops that day for added traction.
Traditional colorful clothing is a mark of these amazing people who still stick to their cultural roots.
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| See the sandals |
After a 10 km hike along the Urique River I came to the village of Guadalupe Coronado with a quaint little church.
Upon further inspection of this little gem in the middle of nowhere a disturbing sight met my eye - three, what I took to be, dead dogs, were hung over the doorway.
After asking for information from this elderly resident about the event that had led to the slaughter of somebodies pets I was told that they were coyotes and they are put there to celebrate the Fiesta de la Candelaria ( Candlemas ) on Feb 2nd. I am afraid my Spanish was not good enough to understand quite what the significance of the unfortunate canines was.
Onwards through the canyons and over some very remote roads brought me to the village of Batopilas on the Batopilas River, one of the six rivers that make up the Copper Canyon complex.
Earlier on in this post I did joke about the drug cartels and I still believe that you are safe in this area but there is definitely some cartel activity. I had been told to keep an eye out for shiny new pick-up trucks without license plates and black out windows, often sporting a Starlink receiver on the roof. I was walking along the road bordering the river when just such a brand new Toyota Tundra passed me, then turned around, passed me going the opposite direction and then stopped outside a house. I continued on to visit an old hacienda.
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| Hacienda Shepard |
Upon returning from this magnificent mansion built by the New York silver mining magnate, Alexander Shepard in the late 1800s the Toyota Tundra was still parked outside the house on the river road. This time however there were two guards standing outside - definitely not wearing the uniforms of any of the known security forces but rather of the baseball cap and t shirt variety. I suspect that the automatic rifles with circular high capacity magazines were also standard issue in the industry in which they worked.
With a cheerful " Buenas Tardes " I passed them with a big smile and received a very friendly " Buenas Tardes" in return.
The next part of the ride was a lot of fun with the roads getting rougher and with over 8000ft of climbing out of the valley I certainly got a workout.
After riding on rough dirt roads all day I was just coming into the town of Choix, in Sinaloa province, when I met a grader trying to smooth out the deep ruts. The trouble with this is that the ruts were now just camouflaged with loose sand and before I knew it I was eating dirt - literally!!
Anyway apart from a couple of bruises no real harm was done. From here it was a short ride to my overnight stop before riding down to the Sea of Cortez town of Topolobampo to catch the ferry the following evening. The ferry is very well organized and left right on time, the only problem being that it leaves at midnight; not a time of the night that I usually am to be found anywhere apart from my bed.
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| Baja Ferry |
Arriving in La Paz from where I had been traveling for the previous week was a bit of a culture shock and even the style of clothing was quite different as can be seen from this photo of a woman who seemed to be getting a lot of attention.
From La Paz I turned north and followed a dirt road along the coast for a while before turning inland.
The color of the water in this part of the Sea of Cortez is magnified by the white sandy ocean floor.
North of Loretto and the moto repair that I have previous described I got into the part of Baja that I really enjoy - the desert and the thick sand that takes a lot of concentration but brings my moto alive.
After riding through the thick sand for an hour or so I came to this sign which with my limited Spanish could only mean one thing - proceed carefully.
With the help of all my digital maps and also a few informative road signs I made it onto the part of the road that leads to Bahia de Los Angeles. Having ridden this road at least half a dozen times in the past I felt like I was on home turf.
Now I will say that I must be getting a little wiser as one track I started down got smaller and smaller and after passing a small farm the deep sand got thicker and all signs of other vehicles disappeared so I did something I would usually not do - I turned around.
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| The road to Bahia de Los Angeles |
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| Sunrise from Campo Archelon |
My next stop on my travels north was at San Felipe which is a mix of old Mexico and a hangout for gringo tourists.
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| San Felipe |
I made one more stop in Baja at the legendary Mike's Sky Ranch, the mecca of off-road racing. This beautiful spot is hidden in the mountains down a winding dirt road about and hour and a half's ride south of the town of Lázaro Cárdenas.
And then came the part that I was dreading - getting back across the border into the US at Mexicali. As expected the line was long and what looked to be at least a couple of hours wait was shortened to a mere twenty minutes after a local motorcycle rider indicated for me to follow him. We weaved our way through the traffic, around cement bollards and across a partially constructed extra lane before arriving at the border station and in no time at all I was being waved into fortress America by a very helpful smiling border guard.
