Day 3:

At dawn, I awoke to find the rain had subsided to a slight drizzle. But the power was still out. No water pressure = no shower. Dagnabit!

I wandered up to the office and got some coffee.

The power was out all over because of the storm. The temperature was dropping, too. Justin arranged for another pickup to become the SAG for us for the rest of the trip while the hub was ordered for the diesel.

So we loaded up our stuff in the new SAG. This one was only a two wheel drive, and it was piloted by Raul, Justins brother in law and also a hilarious fellow. From this point on, Justin will ride his KLR400, and become one of seven riders and seven bikes. That's good luck, right?

We set out towards Batopilas under gray skies and occasional drizzle. We stopped at the bridge crossing over the Urique River to get a look at what the rain has been doing to the river level.

We need to cross the Urique tomorrow.......

• Justin - Rosen's Rides Main Man. On a KLX400. Very quick rider.
• Nick - Policeman from California. Great rider, on an '02 LC4E.
• Dick - Ex-Marine F4 pilot, with offroad racing experience. You'd be surprised how fast a rental KLR650 can go. I certainly was.
• Paul - Nick's boss. On a pimped out DRZ400. Also a good rider.
• Clem - Motojournalist, with probably twice the mileage than all the rest of us combined. Another accomplished rider, and on a new Kawisaki supplied KLR650.
• Killer - On my old XR600R. Pimped out with XR's Only stuff. it's very fast, and also very loud. I've been riding with Killer since we were eight years old (what, 32 years or more?).
• Bruce - The author, on an '01 640 Adventure.

As we hit the dirt, Nick (LC4), DK (KLR), and Justin (KLX) waxed me and took off. I couldn't catch them.

Somehow, I ended up by myself running at my pace. Killer (XR600R), Clem (KLR) and Paul (DRZ) were somewhere behind me.

I came up on Irish Mike (on that beautiful R1150GS), who wobbling and sliding all over in the mud, but he was a gentleman enough to wave me by. Sadly, Mike stuffed it soon after, and the three riders and the SAG truck behind me helped him out of the ditch, taped him up, and got him on his way. He was headed to South America, but he decided he'd better go via Mexico City now, to get his bike fixed.

At the rim of the canyon, we were greeted with fog, and more steady, soaking rain.

The rain began to get harder. It's the dry season, right?

So much for visibility........the rain steadily grows harder as we descend into the canyon. Despite the crazy weather, the views are still breathtaking when they revealed themselves through the fog.

As we descended the canyon on the numerous switchbacks, the road became more and more eroded as ad-hoc streams and rivers gouged their way across the dirt surface, creating mini-canyons in which to wheelie over.

There's a lot of rock in the dirt, so although it was muddy, traction was pretty darned good.

Waterfalls were everywhere as the rainwater drained from the canyon, seeking the mighty Batopilas River in it's quest for the Gulf of California.

Then disaster struck.

As Nick and I waited for the rest of the group to catch up, we smelled coolant. He looked at me, I at him. His bike was dribbling coolant. Upon inspection, his Big Gun pipe loosened and the right headpipe came into contact with his radiator. It had evidently happened a while back, and the pipe finally wore a hole in the soft aluminum.

It was raining very hard at this point, so as the group caught up, Nick elected to coast to the bridge over the river where we'd see about some repairs.

Luckily, the bridge was just coming into view.

We were probably as far from civilization as we could get at this point, being about 20+ miles from Batopilas.The bridge at the bottom of the canyon was the designated place to regroup and take a closer look at Nick's KTM.

Killer's XR was kind enough to pose for the camera in a soaking rain.

A convenient rock ledge provided a little bit of shelter to assess Nick's radiator.

As wet and soaked and filthy as everything was, Nick decided to limp the bike to Batopilas, coasting on all downhills, starting the bike for uphills, and refilling the radiators constantly from all of our spare water bottles pooled for his necessity.

The elbow at the bottom of the radiator had been worn through completely by the head pipe.

We figured it was fixable, but not in the pouring rain. So we headed out to Batopilas on a very muddy, yet still quite fast road.

The rain got progressively harder as we headed west towards town, the clouds enveloping the canyon walls.

Nick stopped about 30 times, even resorting to relieving himself on his motor to cool it down after the short uphill runs.

Every now and again, the clouds and fog would part, revealing a breathtaking view.

Killer and I reached Batopilas first.

As we crossed the bridge into town, we could hear the boulders tumbling down the riverbed and impacting into the bridge support piers, the vibrations shaking the structure. Although it was only about 3pm, it was quite dark, the rain pouring down on us.

Justin rounded the curve from the bridge, and we waited for the rest of the group to catch up. The rain was relentless, and the river continued to swell.

Socked in by low clouds and high water in Batopilas.

Nick gets to work before darkness comes, stripping down his LC4 to get the right radiator off, to be cleaned and some world class mexicanada applied.

After applying a patch made of JB Weld and a piece of Tecate can, which I drained soley as a courtesy to Nick, darkness, clouds and rain enveloped the town of Batopilas.

With the power still out, we all set out for a fantastic dinner of tacos al carbon and Carta Blanca Caguamas.

As the rain poured down, and the sun slipped away, darkness fell upon Batopilas.

As a matter of self preservation, I brought along a case of 16oz Tecates from Creel, just in case some catastrophe liked this occured, so we'd have adequate beverages to anesthetize ourselves.

The courtyard of the motel looked to be a good congregation point. The rain was merciless and unrelenting.

A nice, covered area, lit with oil lamps and furnished with rocking chairs - a sitting area - was just off the open air atrium.

Perfect for telling lies and drinking, all the while listening to the rain. It was very relaxing and serene, in a wierd sort of way. I recalled that I hadn't thought about work at all. The sign of a great vacation.

While Nick's radiator set up, we attacked the beer. And then the Tequila. And then the Presidente.

The results of our laboring:

When it was all gone, we retired. But not before we piled all the cans, bottles and stuff against Justin and Raul's door. A Mexican alarm clock.

The rain drumming the tin roof was the last thing I remembered as I drifted off to sleep........