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In the morning, feeling a bit crudo, we had breakfast - chorizo & eggs - and wandered around town for a bit. The weather, as poor as it was the beginning of the week, has turned marvelous, and greeted us with yet another perfect, crisp, and clear day. If you ever go to Urique, you have to cross the footbridge. No te ahuitas! |
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Cuidado! Watch your step!
Fall though, and this will whisk you straight to the Gulf of California.
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Time to saddle up and ride out of Urique. But not back up just yet. We decided to head down river to the next town to see where everyone in Batopilas went the night before. This tired ol' fella barely raises an eyebrow as we pass by, perhaps a refugee from the glory days of mining in Urique.
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Although we're here primarily to ride, the vistas just never grow old. You have to stop from time to time just to take it all in. This is a view of Cerro La Ventana, about 1830 meters at the summit. I'm at about 560 meters, near greater downtown Guapalaina. On the other side of this mountain is Batopilas.
My GPS says there's a road that goes to Batopilas from here, but it's really just a trail, and not traverseable on motorcycle. Don't bother. The good news is that a road is under contruction from here to Batopilas. |
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Continuing on south from Urique, we traversed some of the trickiest and most challenging terrain yet, made more difficult by the recent flood. This little pubelo was where everyone was the night before, it's main street was still decorated with bright flags and prostrate drunks, still purging alcohol from their bloodstreams. Looks like the last ride of the Dalton gang.
We travelled back up the same challenging road. How these folks negotiated this road with a good buzz going, I'll never know. Back in Urique, we take a last look at the main street before heading back up to the rim. Our destination is the town of Cerocahui, and we'll be staying in Justin's Cerocahui Moto Lodge that night.
The road out of town.
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We'll make a stop at the rim to get some more pics of Urique Canyon on the way out. The ride back up was fast. As usual, we spread out. Dust is just beginning to become an issue, but not much of one. The deluge of a few days before did a good job saturating the soil, enhancing traction, yet at the same time eroding the roads enough to make them a bit more challenging. No sign of the potato chip eating Burro. Maybe the Chupacabra is back in town. By now, we'd covered about 725 miles. The MT21's have made a top shelf showing so far, offering great traction and good wear. These seem to be about the best bang for the buck on this terrain. At the rim, a snapped off a few more pics of the canyon and the meandering Urique River.
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Today is a very short riding day, only about 45 miles total, including our little trek through Guapalaina. Riding back towards Cerocahui, the damned road grader had just made a pass, making the surface slick and unpredictable. This seems to happen just about every time I really get into a zen-like and fast groove and really start honking along on the Adventure. Wheelie over a rise in the hardpacked dirt surface, and HOLY CRAP! Sideways at 70MPH! No crashes, but plenty of adrenaline rushes. Back at the fork in the road about 8 miles from Cerocahui, Killer and I take a little suarez into the other fork of the road while we wait for Clem to catch up. No man gets left behind. This is where we would have come out if the road from Batopilas to Tubares wasn't awash with the mighty Urique, Batopilas and Fuerte Rivers.
We hear Clem off in the distance, motoring up the hill on the road from Urique. Killer and I give chase, catching him and easing past. We all regroup and marvel at the view from the overlook about 1,000 feet above Cerocahui.
A filthy dirt road warrior.
If I'm not mistaken the road exiting this valley to the left ultimately ends up in Choix, and then on to El Fuerte and ultimately Las Mochis - a ride I plan to do one day, taking the ferry to La Paz and heading back North to the States through the east side of Baja.
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Time to head into town.
The Mission. I'm not a religious sort of guy. In fact, I'd probably rate as heathen or pagan if I were to be investigated by a man of the cloth. Something I didn't realize was that in Mexico, it is illegal for a priest to wear his robes outside the Church. Apparently it is a vestige of a minor squabble the Mexican Government had with the Vatican somewhere in the past. At the plaza in Cerocahui, lies a very ancient and very beautiful mission.
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Saddle up, time to get a coke, then head to the Cerocahui Moto Lodge and kick back.
Maybe have a few beers, and prepare for dinner. But for now, we unpack, relax, some minor mexicanada repairs and have a few Tecates.
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Did someone say it's beer-thirty? Let's get a move on, and we raced out of town, through the tunnel and back up to Justin's place. Kick back and crack open a beer! Tonight is our last night in the canyons, so we'd best get an early start on the celebration.
Once again, Raul and I go in search of beer. Nick wipes out the last of El Presidente with a big shit-eating grin.
This was the shortest day of riding. Kind of a store up our energy day, as we have 35 miles of fast and technical dirt to handle tomorrow morning, and then 175 miles of asphalt to do before dusk. The ride so far has been a welcome challenge, both physically and mentally, due to the obstacles thrown before us by weather and fate. Yet, this group of riders are both talented and malleable enough that we could weave gold from straw. Our original plan was foundered and then dashed to bits on the hard and cold rocks of reality. The plan then morphed into a great ride despite the dilemmas cast at us. Tonight is our last night in the Canyon. It is the last night we are with Raul. Justin will abandon riding his KLX for driving the sag, the chaperone of our 'stuff', to the border. Personalities have played upon another, yet personal friction was at a minimum. We were all very diverse individuals with very different lives, but the commonality of the desire to ride this ride brought us together as comrades for this week of time. And it was a Great Ride. A fiesta of food and drink is on the menu tonight. Tonight, we let our hair down. All of us. As if we hadn't yet. Justin's Hotel is designed to be Moto friendly. His wife, Orelia, manages things when Justin is on the road. She's friendly and an excellent chef. When we arrived, she served us a fantastic meal of cheese enchiladas, a little something to get us by until tonight's feast. Two thumbs up for Orelia and Justin. The rooms are comfortable and unique. Each room is equipped with a woodburning stove, fashioned from a pair of 15" auto wheels and steel sheet.
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Raul and I score another case of Tecates, but it won't be enough. We have to go out and get another one before long.
El Presidente is gone!
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As night falls, the social 'event' commences. We loaded up Raul with a fistfull of pesos, and he vanished into the afternoon sunset, a spectre in search of cerveza. A noble quest, if ever there was one. By dusk, he returned with yet another case of Tecate. Raul's brother, Betto, comes around to help us drink some beer. Raul and Betto demonstrate some lassoing.
Nick, in his new yellow serape, looked alot like the Frito Bandito.
Settling in around the fire, as the night cooled. |
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Dinner time is approaching. Raul appears with a truck differential cover with three legs welded to it. A unique way to cook over open flame.
Raul and Betto shovel a few loads of hot coals from the bonfire under the diff, and add a half a cup of salt to the vessel to season and clean it as it heats. Tonight's meal is beef fajitas, with onions, peppers and tomatoes sauteed over the open flame. Raul and Justin cook up the meal and it is served right from the diff cover, in a serve yourself style - with tortillas. It is utterly fabulous. We all chipped in cash to give Raul a token of our appreciation. He's been a great help, a great companion, and a lot of fun all week. He earned 10 times what we were able to give him. He's a helluva guy with a great sense of humor. Nick gave him a rather unique lockblade, too. I trust Raul won't soon forget us.
Into the wee hours, we ranted and raved, shouting non-sensical Spanish vulgarities and mysterious phrases deep into the night. I haven't laughed so hard in years. We were literally in tears. Raul eventually staggered off to sleep, probably the newest member of the Point Four club. Adios, amigo, y buena suerte. That proved to be a good idea, as we all turned in right after the beer ran out again. Our room was warm, the faint scent and rosy glow of a wood fire wafting from the stove, as I drifted off to sleep. |
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We have a long way to go the next day. |
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