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At dawn, Raul was up and gone. I'm going to miss him. The trees across the valley were glazed in frost, and were absolutely beautiful as the sun rose.
Orelia cooked us a great breakfast of bacon, pancakes and eggs. The coffee was very much appreciated after last night's event.
We put Justin's bike away, while Dick cleared the ice from our bikes. As we roade out of Cerocahui towards Bahuichivo, we were greeted by the road grader once again. I almost balled it up big time hitting the marbles at 70+mph. Outside of Bahuichivo, we went right and followed the railroad tracks - the "low" road. A couple miles up is the infamous bridge made of overturned railroad rails.
Just on the other side of the bridge was a military checkpoint, equipped with HK G3's. The Low road is very diverse, ranging from hardpacked dirt, to rock, mud, and water crossings. For some reason, I was in my element that day.
After this water crossing, we decided we'd better wait for the truck to make sure Justin gets through. It was very loose, and deep. Clem went ahead, looking for photo opportunities as we caught up.
Good this we waited. The truck didn't make it. The water was still pretty deep from all the rain earlier in the week, and the bottom was loose and soft. We all waded in and pushed the truck out.
The next one was even deeper, but the bed was much more solid.
Winding through the countryside.
Nick and I zipped out ahead. I hit a mudhole that was so deep, the water came over the top of my windscreen. Nick said I disappeared in cloud of muddy water. Since he was right on my rear wheel, he went through it too. |
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Your truly, splattered with mud and all wet, waiting for the lads at the next water crossing.
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Once again, Nick and I went out front, and raced our way back to San Rafael, where the train was passing throught own on it's way to Creel.
The others caught up in no time, and we say goodbye to the dirt. Time for the asphalt run to Gomez Farias.
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After winding 30 odd miles north from San Rafael, past Divisadero, we hit a few more patches of back ice. Getting gas at Creel.
My license plate didn't make it.
Nick's mexicanada repair to his Big Gun pipe is holding up fine.
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We don't waste much time, and start sprinting north through Bocoyna, San Juanito, and Guerrero. I like to get out on my own and just ride sometimes. The feeling of blasting down an empty highway is something I cherish. This is an expanse of road near Temosachic.
The ready room.
A self portrait, riding down the highway, somewhere near Nicolas Bravo.
The vast emptiness. I love it.
Getting near Gomez Farias.
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We reached the motel, bought some beer. At the restaurant, we ate beef arrocherra again, and were visited by Arturo, a fellow I met in Creel last October at the Horizon's Unlimited meeting. We chatted for a while about Mexico, maps, roads, bikes, etc. I dozed off while watching the Matrix Reloaded in Spanish on the idiot box while sucking cervezas. Very wierd stuff. |
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