A Stain in the Road

Espinazo del Diablo (The Devil's Backbone)

2011-01-15T10:03:00.001-06:00

Mexican legend says when the Archangel Michael threw Satan out of Heaven, his broken spine formed a jagged ridge that winds across Mexico's Sierra Madre: Espinazo del Diablo - The Devil's Backbone.

The Mexican government has launched a massive modernization project to straighten and make the road straighter and allow for greater speed from Mazatlan to Durango. However, we were still able to ride the famous road as it still exists, and what a ride. You start in Mazatlan at sea level and when you get to the top your at about 9,000 feet. From tropical beach to mountain pine in about 100 miles!

About halfway up we stopped in a small roadside town to eat the leftover pizza we had from lunch the day before in Mazatlan. Also woofed down some bananas and the failsafe chocolate cookies. According to Curtis this place had the world's worst bathroom - so bad that he said going beside the road for all the world to see would be preferable.

For this leg up to the entrance to the Backbone I attached Curtis' GoPro camera to my helmet but instead of taking video we set it up to take a picture every 2 seconds. Early into the ride we came upon a sharp righthand curve the bottom of which was a big rig trailer where 2 guys were slowly salvaging by hand piece by piece.

Here are some select shots from the GoPro of the trip to the top:

Landslide Area Next 30 km

But, sometimes on a road this twisty you come upon slower traffic, like semi-tractor trailer rigs (the ones that don't go off the edge) and you've got to pass despite the yellow line:

In what appears to be a very helpful local custom, truckers (and some passenger cars and trucks) will turn on their left signal when the see it is clear up ahead for you to pass:

Note the red left signal

Again, note the red left signal

And we go by

And execute a safe pass despite the yellow line

But we finally did get to the top and the entrance to the Devil's Backbone, we discovered one of the most bizarre and interesting things -- when we turned off the GoPro it reported to be at 666 pictures taken, when it had actually taken well over 1,050! Coincidence or the work of the Devil?

Here is what you are greeted with at the top and entrance to the section of the road known as the Backbone:

Entrance to the Backbone looking west.

Entrance to the Backbone looking east.

Massive commemoration to the construction of the road

Here is a video slideshow of some of the select GoPro images set to several of Alex Fardon's 2010 classical guitar covers.

Next we'll post Curtis wearing the GoPro up through the Backbone, and our encounter with the Mexican Military checkpoint at the top.

Mazatlan

2011-01-14T19:37:00.011-06:00

After spending 2 days on 'primitive' roads into and out of the Copper Canyon, then a long journey down from El Fuerte, plus the problems with the cooling system and getting it repaired we were ready for an extra day of rest in Mazatlán! Plus, we'd get to spend New Years Eve in this beachfront setting.

We arrived in Mazatlán about mid-afternoon, which is not the best time to be navigating the coast road looking for a hotel. The first section we peeled off into turned out to be the owner-occupied or leased condo area, and another American directed us to the hotels across the bay. There we encountered gridlock traffic. We were looking for a specific street and hotel, but seeing that traffic was barely moving, we settled on the beachfront strip Best Western Posada Freeman Zona Dorada. As we were pulling into the front parking lot and registering (apparently we got the last available room) a wedding party was just pulling in with the bride and groom, all the participants were milling about in the reception area. All the Mexican men were all coiffed and primped, including, unless I'm mistaken manicured. I'm sure that the two bridesmaids at reception looked at us, in our dirty gear, coming off our bikes after days of hard riding and thought: "Now there are two real men!"

Reception told us we were lucky to get a room and apparently got the last room available. For good reason it was the last room available, because the shower wouldn't drain, as Curtis soon discovered. A maintenance man had to come up and Drain-O, snake, and I hope for his sake not siphon, Curtis' shower water. For the next 2 days the water drained slowly, almost imperceptibly.

After getting cleaned up we went out on the 'strip' in search of our first decent meal in 2 days. We walked up, and down, up and down, and finally settled on Gus y Gus across the road near our hotel. No sooner had we sat down than the 'house' band cranked up. This band has truly reached the culmination of its career as a cover band in Mazatlán. Curtis threatened to jam his straw into the singer's eye if they launched into a cover of "Free Bird," so luckily for them they started up with a cover of John Waite's "Missing You." Here's a video of Curtis and a grandma enjoying "Missing You."

The next day was scheduled for R&R and exploration of old town Mazatlán, but first we had to get some pictures before the Sea of Cortez:

Needless to say but neither of us packed for the beach. But it sure was nice:

Therefore, we were off to old Mazatlán.

We initially tried the bus system but missed the bus for the Centro, so instead took a cab. The cabbie took us down the coast road and past the many statues the line the road. One statue in particular he pointed out, the Statute of Life, stood for all that every couple needs to know about getting along in the world:

It is a couple on a huge seashell overlooking a school of dolphins -- is meant to represent life's continuity in harmony with nature. The man, who points to an infinite horizon, offers the future to the woman, a future where they will search for happiness together. The cabbie summed it up as: "The man is pointing out the world in front of them and leading the woman through life -- it is the natural order of things." So we learned all we needed to know about human relationships through this statue and the instruction of our wise cab driver!

He dropped us off into one of the many public squares in Mazatlán:

Another surprising circumstance of our trip is that it coincided with the country's year long celebration of independence from the Spanish which began in 1810 and lasted another 11 years. This is just one monument in Mazatlán commemorating the occasion:

Eventually we made our way to the main public square and Mazatlán's central cathedral:

Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception circa 1875

We then wound our way, with some local assistance, to the main public market:

Street view of the Public Market

Inside the Public Market

Where you can get many things necessary to every day living, including:

Fresh cheeses

Of course, fresh meats

And being a seaside community, fresh fish

And more fresh meats

And more fresh fish (the guy in the background is filleting a Red Snapper)

Cow feet

And pig heads

After getting our fill of the local dietary choices we headed to a famous restored theater, the Theatro Angela Peralta (the Angela Peralta Theater):

Photos before restoration

This is one of the few 19th Century theaters still in operation in northwestern Mexico. It was built and named for businessman Manuel Rubio and its grand opening took place in February 1874. For more than a century it has housed opera and theater, a circus, boxing arena, cantina and cinema, but was eventually closed down for 30 years. In the early 1940's, the theater was renamed in honor of "The Mexican Nightingale," Angela Peralta, an internationally-known, homegrown diva who died of yellow fever shortly before her scheduled Mazatlán performance in 1882.

On making our way back to the coast road to get some shots of the other statues, we saw this apropos Melville quote:

But also got some shots of the serene streets in old Mazatlán:

But back to the malecon and the statues. One that I found particularly interesting is that of The Siren:

La Sirena sits on the rocks near where the cliff divers (clavadistas) launch themselves into the sea. The cupid next to her seems to be ready to strike the diver or lover she is searching or waiting for.

Also saw this statue to Jose Angel Espinoza Aragon also known as "Ferrusquilla."

We though Alex Fardon would be able to give us some information or insight into Ferrusquilla, but apparently he is known for his film acting and songwriting, not necessarily for his classical guitar.

However, there is the statue celebrating Mazatlán Women:

"La Mujer Mazatleca" is for the women of Mazatlán, who are said to be among the most beautiful women in the world. I'm sorry to say that I cannot concur, as they cannot hold a candle to my beautiful wife.

One last shot before heading back and hunkering down for New Year's Eve:

A Post About Signs

2011-01-11T21:58:00.000-06:00

Since we're doing a lot of riding on roads (and I don't consider the routes we took into and out of Batopilas to be roads -- more like goat paths) and on bikes no less, you tend to notice things that you would otherwise miss in a car, truck, bus, etc. -- like signs, and Mexico has a proliferation of them.

Like this common one that says to "Diminish Your Speed," which makes sense because you're probably approaching one of those suspension killing topes.

But if you don't the authorities warn that they put in the dreaded topes:

They also have signs to remind people of common sense:

Don't Drive When Tired

Use Your Seatbelt

Drive Carefully, Your Family is Waiting For You

They also have signs about the signs:

Obey the Signs

Observe the Signs

(Just to be sure) Observe and Preserve the Signs

Respect and Obey the Signs

Don't Mistreat the Signs

Don't Destroy the Signs

The Signs are Symbols of Security

And though throughout Mexico we saw signs that said "No Tire Basura" ("Don't Litter"), but one still confuses me:

Don't Leave Rocks on the Pavement

Yonke El Koke

2011-01-11T20:18:00.004-06:00

The next day was a long trip to Los Mochis and then south along MX-15 to Mazatlan. A couple of features about driving in Mexico bear mention. First, on most roads entering any size town or city, pedestrian crosswalks, or train crossing as these asphalt lumps in the road known as topes -- giant speed bumps (or as the locals affectionately call them - sleeping policemen). If one does not slow down to about 15-20 mph in a car (about 30 mph on a motorcycle) you can count on going airborne and seriously damaging your vehicle. They are very effective at traffic speed control.

The second feature of Mexican driving is the "Cuota," or toll roads, which are pay federal highways that tend to run roughly parallel with the "Libre" or free federal highways, usually with the same highway number but with the designation of "D" on maps, and sometimes on signs. The difference for the driver is that the Cuota don't have topes and very few (formal) exits. Whereas the Libre tend to go through the middle of most towns along the way, are littered with intersecting streets, homes, etc., and have topes everywhere. Needless to say, but if you want to get from A to B in Mexico in a hurry the Cuota are the way to go. On another note there are the "Libremiento" which are bypasses around cities that act as sort of mini-Cuota saving time and the possibility of getting lost.

We picked up the Cuota for MX-15 in Los Mochis heading south to Mazatlan. This was going to be a pretty long day, considering we had to come about an hour west from El Fuerte to reach the turn south, and then we expected to go another 427 km (265 miles) to reach the outskirts of Mazatlan.

Everything was great until we hit the second toll just as we were to exit Los Mochis, this is when the temperature gauge on my instrument panel started moving up, and up, and up, with no sign of stopping. I had to turn the bike of for fear of it overheating, and had to crab walk the bike through the toll booth and to the side where I met Curtis. Under normal circumstances when the bike is moving down the road and plenty of air is passing across the radiator the temperature (depending on the ambient air) never gets much above drop dead center. When stopped and running or in stop and go city traffic, at a certain point the temperature will rise to a point (usually about 3/4 up on the gauge) and cause a fan to blow air across the radiator to maintain the temperature and keep the bike from overheating.

We talked it over and at the time couldn't figure out whether it was a fuze, the fan or a the thermostat that had gone bad, but since we were embarking on a high speed trip to the next city, Culiacan, it shouldn't be an immediate problem. Moving through traffic or more toll booths though was going to be another story. So we proceeded on down to Culiacan.

However, at the first toll booth outside Culiacan the temperature went up again, and again I had to crab walk the bike through the booth and to the roadside where we began the process of giving the beast a once over inspection and trouble-shooting the problem. It was at this time that 3 federal policemen approached us and inquired as to what we were doing, where we were going and what was the problem. One spoke decent English and together with Curtis' command of the Spanish language we were able to tell them that the fan had quit working and we were looking for a place to examine the bike, tear it apart and get the thing running.

One of the officers, Subofficer Rojas, commented to the others about the "crazy motorcycle guy" up the road on Culiacan who could probably deal with this. The officer who spoke English told us to go ahead, but stay on the Libre, we would enter a construction zone and we should look for a junkyard on our right, where we should ask for "Tonke Toke."

So we headed up the MX-15 Libre, saw the construction zone and stopped at the first junkyard on our right that we saw. However, the men in there must have thought we were insane when we kept mentioning "Tonke Toke, Tonke Toke" and told us they didn't have anything to offer for "motos." The two adolescent boys outside who looked as if they had just enjoyed a bag of glue weren't any help either, even if we could have understood them. We figured we would just go back to the Cuota, and head to Mazatlan, a bigger city with a dealer who could help us. However, because of the construction we had to proceed further up the Libre before we could perform a U, and then, much to our surprise we saw a junkyard with the sign "Yonke El Koke!" Those guys told us we had come to the right place, but that the man was on the other side of the road and we saw another "Yonke" over there, so we crossed MX-15 and pulled into a large gravel lot.

Apparently "Yonke" in Spanish means "junk" or "junker" and based upon what I observed, what these guys did was take wrecked or abandoned cars and trucks and dismantled them piece-by-piece by hand. "Koke," who spoke good English came up and after introductions called his employee Marco Antonio Torres, who is apparently, at least according to the local federal police, the crazy motorcycle guy. Through Koke we explained the situation, showed him the relevant wiring diagram from the Cylmer Manual, and in about 15 minutes Marco had the bike torn apart, had trouble-shot the problem (blown fuze) and fixed my bike.

Curtis' bike in the foreground with all my gear, panniers, etc.
My bike in the background torn apart.

The Yonke El Toke guys. Marco is on the far right, and Koke on his immediate left.

Marco working on my bike.

Kawasaki did not make trouble-shooting an electrical problem with these bikes easy or simple since there are two sets of fuses - one under the sear, and another under the right front panel. To get to the set under the seat you have to take off the panniers, the left sub-frame covers and then the seat. To get to the ones under the panel you have to take off the right panel (and to properly diagnose the fan, you have to take off the left one as well).

I gave Marco 150 pesos for fixing my bike and thanked him and Koke for saving our asses. Sure Curtis and I would have eventually figured out that it was the blown fuse, but it probably would have taken us 2 hours to do so. Marco, based upon a lifetime's knowledge of working and riding motorcycles, was able to do it in about 15 minutes. For his efforts we were both truly grateful. Thanks Marco.

Before heading on down to Mazatlan we headed back to the toll booth to thank the federal policemen who had directed to Koke and Marco, but they had apparently already moved on. Once I got back I drafted a letter to Mexican President Calderon and copied the Mexican Tourist Bureau hoping they will be able to identify and extend my thanks for their help.

El Fuerte

2011-01-11T19:14:00.000-06:00

After exiting the Copper Canyon we stopped in Choix for fuel and water, and we reset our tire pressures for asphalt. Then we headed on to our evening destination, El Fuerte.

The cathedral in the center of El Fuerte

Cobblestone streetscape in the El Fuerte Centro

The city was founded in 1573 by the Spanish Conquistador Francisco de Isbarra who built a fortification against the persistent attacks by the local indigenous Native Americans. The fort was destroyed and its ruins became a the historic Hotel Posada del Hidalgo hotel and restaurant, whose courtyard houses a life-size statute of Zorro:

The outside of the old fortification

Courtyard - to the left you can see the entrances to the guest rooms;
behind and to the right is the outdoor restaurant

Zorro Statue

The city has sent built a reproduction of the fortification

Entrance to the fort

Side view

Ancient hay and alfalfa baling machine

We stayed at the Hotel Herradura which had two key features -- secure off-street parking in their foyer, and a hot shower.

That evening, after cleaning up, we went out on the square and found a great restaurant where I had the best fish filet in sauteed peppers and onions, with popcorn shrimp (honestly though, after Ramen noodles, chips and Coke for dinner the night before in Batopilas, banana, crackers and Coke for breakfast, and Coke and chocolate cookies for lunch earlier that day, roadkill horse probably would have tasted just as well).

We wandered the streets that evening and toured the city municipal building (the courtyard of which is pictured below in the daytime). Eventually we found a farmacia (a Mexican pharmacy) who sold me some Q-Tips for cleaning all the dirt and dust out of my ears and nostrils.

A little different setting than the Davidson County Public Building and Courthouse?

That morning we had some wonderful breakfast and headed out toward Los Mochis for our rendezvous with MX-15 and the long trek south to Mazatlan and an extra day of (sorely needed) R&R.

The Road Not Taken (The Scariest Day of My Life - Part 2)

2011-01-09T17:12:00.005-06:00

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

I quote from this famous Robert Frost poem because it perfectly describes the choice we had (and ultimately took) to get out of Batopilas. We could go back up to Creel the way we came to the north (the one more traveled), or as members of the Adventure Riders forum have posted up about an alternative route to the south through a town called Tubares. However, there are no maps or signs for this route -- looking on a printed map shows just a black hole. To say I wasn't sure is putting it mildly, we had just run the hardest, most dangerous route I had ever experienced the day before, but at least it was regularly traveled.

[Edit: Another Frost poem came to mind during this ride - "A Servant to Servants" - where the line "He says the best way out is always through" has been abridged/adulterated to "The Only Way Out Is Through." In any case, once in Batopilas the only way out of there is through one of two routes; no helicopter was going to swoop in and take us away]

The road to Tubares is, at least initially, even more technically challenging -- steeper and quicker switchbacks, but it is hardly ever traveled. On the other hand, if we went back up to Creel, it would put us at least a day off of our schedule to get to Mazatlan, and ultimately put a real wrench in our plans. When we awoke at 6:00 the next day and prepared to leave, Batopilas was completely shut down so we walked the town and discussed our options, all the while looking for the local gasoline vendor - who later confirmed the southern route out of town and its up and down nature. Finally, Curtis prevailed upon me that this was the best route to take and stay on our schedule, and we proceeded out.

Calling this route technically challenging is too mild, at times it was nearly impossible to control the bike. The grade up and down was at least 30 degrees (for perspective, the grade on I-24 at Monteagle is about 5 degrees and it has runaway truck ramps).

But there were beautiful vistas (if you looked, which I did not)

And rock filled arroyos

With hoses or electrical lines running through them

But at least we had friends

Not only was the route more technically challenging, but it was narrower, less "graded" (if you could call it that), and of differing substances -- sometimes hardpack, sometimes large rocks and ruts, and often just a bright white dust the quality and texture of chalk dust or talcum powder. This dust was often 3-4 inches deep, and it was so white, and the sun so bright, that no matter whether we had our smoke shields up or down you just couldn't make out the base. Curtis commented that he seriously expected to look down and see Neil Armstrong's footprint. Often we'd hit this stuff in a turn or curve and there would be rocks and ruts underneath and the front wheel would just go it own way. It was particularly hard to manuever navigating a 700+ lbs. motorcycle pushing downhill into a sharp curve! For me it was a whole other level of concentration working the clutch, throttle, front and rear brake -- all the while saying to myself: "Don't lock the front, don't lock the front, don't lock the front." Locking the front would just result in dropping the bike or sliding off the edge.

After about 2 hours of this I came down to a wide, level curve where someone had erected a little shrine (these shrines are really all over the place in Mexico), next to which sat this very old man in a cowboy hat, jeans and patterned shirt. On the shrine lay a machete - not any normal machete, but one with a wide and curved top -- the tool for harvesting the agave plant for tequila and mescal production. I decided to stop and have a drink from my canteen. He declined my offer of "agua" and about that time Curtis came rolling down and got off his bike. We next heard the voices of children and two boys came running up another road that met this plateau. Since I had some peso coins and a few American quarters, dimes, nickles and pennies, I handed them to these boys, explaining the American coins were from "Estados Unidos." They were fascinated with the coins, showing them to the old man. We bet that given this truly remote location they had never seen Americans all geared up with helmets and big bikes stop by and greet them -- we must have looked like aliens to them. Since we still had no idea how far we had to go it was time to mount up and continue.

When we got down the road became more hardpack and flat so it made for better (read: faster) going. We proceeded further down and went through a number of arroyos (dried out creek and river beds). As I came around a looping right hand corner another broad arroyo opened up and there was a white Ford pickup truck and 6-8 men carrying automatic weapons who quickly entered the path and ordered me to stop -- Curtis soon followed.

These men were all dressed in an assortment of clothes, many in street clothes, one in faded fatigues. Their weapons were well used AK-47s, some with fixed and some with folding stocks. One immediately removed my canteen from the back of the webbing holding my rucksack and commented "Agua!" They patted the rucksack, and because of all the dust we had gone through that day and the day before it just coughed up clouds of dust -- they all laughed. They ordered us to take off our helmets and since Curtis had the better command of Spanish interrogated him as to where we had been, what we were doing, and where we were going. One of the guys, realizing we were from Nashville said he had lived in Nashville for 5-years and kept saying: "Murfreesboro Road & Thompson Lane, Murfreesboro Road & Thompson Lane, Nolensville Road." I just nodded, smiling and said, "Yes, me East Nashville." Another came up to me, patted his AK and pointed to my panniers as if to query whether I had a weapon. I said "No," and opened the pannier to show him what was inside - they were interested in my computer case, but the guy that had been in Nashville just said "computer." After about 10 minutes of this, they handed me back my canteen and said we could go on. As we left and proceeded uphill and to the right I saw two other men dressed in all black (similar to what we observed on some Mexican Army personnel) manning more automatic weapons.

Curtis was convinced they all were Mexican Army. Whether they were or not we'll never know, but I am sure that if we had run that roadblock/checkpoint (which some online advice says to do), the guys in the arroyo would have shot off a warning shot and the guys on the hill would have cut us down! Based on that experience I picked up my pace considerably, and as I crested a hill I saw this (what I thought at the time) wonderful sight:

If you look out into the river's bend you can see piers for a bridge and a town - which I thought was Tubares (I was wrong). But then I looked downhill and saw another set of these endless switchbacks. Those two minor distractions were enough to break my concentration, slow the bike too much in this chalk/moon dust, and the bike just fell over on its right side. Luckily Curtis came up soon thereafter and helped me get it upright.

Bike re-righted (though I had gas all over my right leg)

Panoramic of this area

We were looking to cross this river twice, the second time as we entered Tubares. The opposite side of the first bridge was an immediate hard left up a long steep climb, so I flew across the bridge, hit the turn and just climbed; Curtis got a shot before doing the same:

A shot of some of the ground we had covered

About 10 more miles later we came to the second bridge and entered Tubares which had a little bodega run by a nice lady. While she didn't have any hotdogs, she did have cold cokes, prepackaged chocolate cookies and gasoline. I had taken us over 4 hours to go the 37 miles from Batopilas to Tubares, and never did a Coke and chocolate cookie lunch taste so good.

See the gas hose handing down to Curtis' left?

Even in the middle of nowhere Mexico they have satellite access

The 'town' of Tubares

The Tubares Mission

The river on the way out of Tubares

The road out of Tubares was better graded (and traveled), and while we had to do some climbs, it was not nearly as treacherous. There was this abandoned mission that once overlooked the river:

The remainder of the ride to Choix from Tubares was generally uneventful, except for this low speed noise and vibration I kept getting from my front sprocket area. I turned up the speed, found the asphalt outside Choix and buzzed on in. I was never so glad to see asphalt! From Choix we went about another hour down to road for our evening destination El Fuerte!

But back to Frost and the Road Not Taken. There is good reason why the road to Tubares is less used - it is much more challenging, less used and remote. However, I am glad we took it - not just because it kept us on our plan - but to overcome the challenge (including a serious Army checkpoint). It made all the difference.

Batopilas

2011-01-06T11:48:00.001-06:00

Batopilas, is the town of about a 1,000 inhabitants at the bottom of the Copper Canyon. The silver mines of Batopilas were some of the richest in Mexico. In the 18th and 19th century both Spaniards and Mexicans gained great wealth out of the area. American John Robinson purchased an old claim in 1861 which turned out to have a large, hidden vein. He decided to sell the claim to fellow American Alexander Shepherd for $600,000 US in 1880.

Alexander Shepherd was the last mayor of Washington, D.C. and had been ousted under unproven corruption charges. Once Shepherd moved his family to Batopilas, he filed over 350 mining claims and formed the Batopilas Mining Company. His mines became some of the wealthiest in the world at their peak.

Noting the difficulty and time (over eight days) of transporting the silver ore to Chihuahua, Shepherd opened his own facilities and foundry along the river at his Hacienda San Miguel. Over 20 million ounces of silver were extracted from the mines, and this great wealth allowed Shepherd to bring cultural events and technological advances to this once sleepy town. Batopilas was the second city in Mexico to have electricity. His hydroelectric works provide the towns power still and he also built an aqueduct which is still in use today. So famous for it's wealth were Shepherd's mines that Pancho Villa once robbed a mule shipment of $40,000 US in silver bars.

Hacienda San Miguel on the opposite bank of the Batopilas River

After riding down the trail of fear, we arrived late in the day -- nearly sundown, though dusk arrives earlier at the bottom of the Canyon since the horizon is 7,000 feet above you. Our guide book has several suggestions for lodging and we elected to stay at Juanita's which permitted secure off-street parking in their courtyard.

Street view of entrance to Juanita's

Juanita's Courtyard

However, we cannot give Juanita's or Batopilas a good review. When we arrived at Bato the town was basically shut down and no restaurants were open -- we ended up eating Pop Ramen, cookies and Coke (FYI - Diet Coke is referred to as Coca-Cola Light in Mexico). Unlike everywhere else we've been the people in Bato seemed to resent our presence and were generally unhelpful. Moreover, I was dreading the ride out the next day.

The layout of Batopilas is pretty simple, two, one-way streets that parallel the river for about a mile. Reportedly, because of the need to support the silver mines, Batopilas was the second city in Mexico to get electricity -- there is an aqueduct north of the town that leads to a hydro power generation facility. Some pictures of the town square and other sites around Bato:

Municipal Building and Police Station

Batopilas' Centro Square

Bandstand/Gazebo on the Main Square

Curtis also got some good shots off the hotel's courtyard:

The Batopilas River that ran along the east side of the city and just outside our hotel

This guy was washing is SUV in the river that morning

Before we settled down for the night in Bato, we quickly unloaded the bikes and headed for the abandoned Jesuit Mission of San Miguel de Satevo, known as the "Lost Mission" as there are no records describing its existence, but believed to have been constructed in the 1760's, the mission is one of the Canyon's best preserved with an ideal setting next to the Batopilas River.


First view of the Mission

The Scariest Day of My Life (Part 1)

2011-01-05T20:50:00.000-06:00

After returning from Divisadero, and Curtis checking out what the Three Amigos had to say about the possible alternative route out of the Canyon (which was "No se"), we headed out and down. This was supposed to be the highlight of the trip -- little did I know that it would be the most frightening, and yet exhilarating and exhausting activity I had EVER undertaken.

Bikes on the main drag in Creel while Curtis was talking to the Three Amigos


Waiting at the Train Depot in Creel

The total trip from Creel to Batopilas is approximately 72 to 75 miles. The first 30 are paved and easy to travel. As you go along the vista opens up and you are treated to some very nice sights. The turnoff to Batopilas is at the village of Napuchi with the village of Samochique nearby. Some of the information lists one or the other as the turnoff point. There is a Pemex station just before the turnoff which is one that we were not expecting! Our map conflicted with the actual road and very good signage, so we stopped to make sure and a Senor in a truck was kind enough to confirm the turn for us so off we went.

A little basic information before the trip down. Creel is at 2338 meters which is 7715 feet and Batopilas is at 495 meters which is 1633 feet. This means we are descending 6082 feet into the Canyon! The government had obviously been improving the road from the turn off as it was early on newly paved 2 lane, then changed to graded aggregate, then later to graded pea gravel (which caused the front wheels of the bikes to swim -- very disconcerting). Here are some pictures of the vistas and sights before we started the journey down (in the last one you can just make out some of the road and switchbacks below).

If you zoom in near the bottom you can see the trails used by the indigenous people.

See that faint line way down there? That's part of our road!!!

Without warning the road changed from graded gravel to two track, dust, rock (not aggregate), goat, cow and burro dung, along with the animals themselves. We decided at this point to mount the GoPro camera on my helmet for a part and video some of the descent. Curtis, as the stronger off road rider than I, went ahead, and he encountered to boys, one riding a burro, and the other walking along with it. As I came up, the burro had apparent kicked the off the one, and the two of them were chasing it. You can see it all below (please bear with all the setup) [Again, we're going to have to wait until we have access to a land line in order to upload video, so we'll update upon our return].

What we can report is that for the next 4+ hours we sent back and forth on switchbacks where one wrong move and you get to experience first hand a Game Over Event -- hundreds, if not thousands of feet straight down without any barrier.

So for the next 4 hours and 40 some odd miles we (I) inched down 5 feet at a time, turn by turn, rock by rock. It was not too soon into it that just the knowledge of the camera on my helmet was too much of a distraction on the level of concentration necessary that I turned it over to Curtis. What he caught was one of the bars that occupied one of the innumerable switchbacks, and a goat clinging to the side of the mountain watching us come down [Video will be added when we get to a land line].

I thought that when we got to the first bridge that we had made it, but was I wrong, we had to go up and down the other side, and herd some cattle before we finally got to the bridge to Batopilas.

First Bridge to Cross

The Valleys of the Frogs, Mushrooms & Erect Penises

2011-01-01T19:43:00.000-06:00

On the road out of Creel to Batopilas we came across Valle de las Ranas (Valley of the Frogs), Valle de los Hongos (Valley of the Mushrooms) and, supposedly further away Valle de los Monjes (called Valley of the Monks or, in by the indigenous Tarahumara the Valley of the Erect Penises). What these consist of is rock formations that have eroded over time to look like frogs, mushrooms and erections (to some). The story is that the locals changed the latter to the Valley of the Monks to be more appealing to the tourist trade. We don't think we ever got deep enough into the valley to see the latter but did get some good pics of the former:

Another tourist dad asked Curtis if he could get a picture of his son on Curtis' bike:

And there was the abandoned San Ignacio Mission in this valley as well:

But, we were wasting daylight and still had a long trek down to Batopilas in the Canyon so it was time to go.

A Cold Morning in Creel & Divisadero

2011-01-01T19:13:00.001-06:00

After arriving in Creel we elected to stay in the Parador de la Montana a nice little motel with off-street secure parking, however we had no water pressure and kept making the mistake of locking ourselves out of the room. The former was an inconvenience, and the latter not a big deal in the early evening, however, when I did it at 0600 the next morning in sub-freezing temperatures, and when Curtis was only wearing his long-johns it can be a very big deal. Luckily the night attendant was able to secure a master key (after 2 tries) and save our asses. There were a group of German students also visiting Creel and staying at the Parador at the same time -- probably for the hiking. Here's a picture of the interior parking area early the next morning:

And when I say it was cold, it was freezing (for those who cannot tell otherwise, that's frost on the fairing):

The hotel also had a great fireplace (which was most welcome when we got in the night before) that had a fantastic painting of the nearby Basaseachic Falls, the second highest waterfall in Mexico:

Before heading to Batopilas and into the Copper Canyon we elected to go to Divisadero at the top of the canyon. It was a beautiful ride up there, and the views were stunning:

When we got up there the indigenous people were just setting up their goods for the tourists. What was most interesting was seeing these people that, relative to us, really have nothing, but here were their children, in particular a little boy wearing bright blue pants and a jacket (likely made by hand by his mother) running around playing with the rocks and birds that were dancing around, as happy as can be. It just goes to show, if you have the simple things in life: shelter, clothing, food, the love of your family, you have everything you need for true happiness.

Luckily for Curtis and I, Hotel Divisadero was up there (you can see it off to the right in the second panoramic shot), and they were still serving breakfast. It had this huge stunning hand carved front door (the first picture is the unpainted inside, the second, the colored outside), and it has no locks because this hotel is always open:

We decided to video the ride back from Divisadero to Creel and if you look closely you can see some of the indigenous people by the roadside and tracks waiting for the trains and buses, and you get an idea of how beautiful of a day it truly was (or at least began):

Entry into Mexico

2010-12-31T19:17:00.001-06:00

Sorry about the lack of updates, but as you'll see we've been off the grid for a few days.

As part of our plan, we entered Mexico in the early morning hours of 27-Dec. in Agua Prieta, across from Douglas, and was it cold!!!!

We received more scrutiny from the US Border Patrol than the Mexican Border Guards. The US guys wanted to know whether we had any drugs, weapons, more than $10,000 in cash and any RPGs. Of course we had none of that. The Mexican guard asked Curtis where we were going (he just said Mazatlan) and waived him through. I couldn't hear what was said, and he asked me the same and I kind of laughed and said "Creel, Batopilas, El Fuerte, Mazatlan, Durango, Zacatecas, Guanajuanto, San Miguel de Allende, Real de Catorce, Saltillo, and finally, out at Eagle Pass, Texas." He smiled and asked to inspect one of my panniers. We stopped to take a picture before we hit the long road to Creel:

The road past Auga Prieta was uneventful, but cold. We went through a few military checkpoints (i.e., soldiers with automatic weapons and some manning crew fed machine guns, but they just waived us through. We did have to stop for a break though (not the cowboy boot over the buried telephone line marker)!

We had to make our first stop for fuel in Janos, Mexico, and just outside Janos we encountered our first detailed inspection of our papers. Since everything was in order we quickly proceeded to Nuevo Casa Grande where I changed some American dollars to Mexican Pesos to pay Curtis back for acquiring our panniers and we had lunch:

Since we had a lot of road to cover to get to Creel by nightfall we didn't linger. As we made our way we saw a lot of interesting sights (but didn't have time to stop and take pictures): cowboys on horseback, harvesting and drying of chili peppers, and numerous roadside vendors.

However fast we went, it just seemed like we were running out of light and as we entered San Juanito it was dark and we experienced firsthand the utter reliance this nation has on wood fuel. It was smoke filled and dark -- literally as if it were out of Dante's Inferno. At points I thought the eyes of the people walking along the road were going to glow red like the characters in Batman Begins after Ra's al Ghul released the toxin from Gotham's water supply. It was other worldly. We decided staying there was out of the question and proceeded on up to Creel, in the cold, dark night, and finally made it around 7:00 pm, cold, beat and ready to call it a day - 13 hours and 400 miles into our adventure!

Night Ride Across the Desert

2010-12-27T01:26:00.001-06:00

The journey began with another hiccup -- a blizzard on the East Coast stymied air travel across the country, resulting in Curtis being 2 hours late out of Nashville, and he did not get into Phoenix until nearly 4:00 pm vs. 2 pm. He still had to finish installing his bags, repacking and gearing up. I seriously thought we were going to have to stay in Phoenix. However, Curtis was correct, if we had the whole journey would have been messed up since Day 2 is a 300 mile ride, and there is no way we could do that and the leg from Phoenix.

Therefore, we left Phoenix on Sunday, December 26, 2010 at sunset heading for Douglas, Arizona. From Phoenix we took I-10 East (I-10 begins in Norfolk, VA and terminates in LA) to Benson (southeast of Tuscon) and then AZ-80 to Douglas. We traveled approximately 250 miles on this night, and did it in 4 hours, stopping for gas just outside Tuscon and in Benson. From Benson we went through Tombstone, AZ (yes, the Tombstone of Wyatt Earp fame) and Bisbee (Lynn Bracken's hometown) and finally to Douglas.

Since I spent 5-years at ASU, I took the lead out of town, and kept a pretty decent pace, but these bikes being what they are, really couldn't get much over the speed limit, which outside of the cities in Arizona is 75 mph. Also, these bikes being what they are, the mirrors leave a lot to be desired -- oh, sure you can see something behind you, but it seems especially at night what you get looks more like Dali work than a vehicle behind you -- from 50 yards you cannot tell whether that object is a 2 or 4 headlight car, or a single headlight motorcycle.

Thus, as we approached Tuscon and our course through the city in I-10, I began to get concerned that Curtis wasn't right on my tail, so I cut it back from 70-75 mph, to 60-65. And cars kept passing me, and passing me, and passing me, and passing me - for many miles. So finally, after this went on for 10s of miles, I decided to just pull over and wait for him to catch up and found a well lighted exit ramp at Exit 208. And I waited, and waited, and waited and waited (a hundred cars must have passed me by). I sent Curtis a terse email as to his whereabouts -- because if he went into a ditch or the median in the pitch black of the desert night, I, with my already poor vision, would never be able to see him. Finally, with about 5 min. to go before I called 911, Curtis came up and pulled over. He said that over 72 mph if he raised his head above his tank and windshield his bike would wobble/wallow uncontrollably - so he had to either lay down on the tank at speed, or slow down when sitting up. We decided to let him take the lead for the next 25 miles, and we'd pull over and fill up. Sure enough, I saw the phenomena - and it scared me. We're pretty sure its a weight distribution issue in his pack and will get it corrected on Day 2.

The other issue to report is the marked temperature drop off in the desert outside the cities - with the Tuscon-Benson-Douglas leg probably being the worst. Now, it was a reported 41 degrees in Douglas when we arrived, but I questioned what is the wind chill of 41 degree temperature at 70 mph. Sure my toes and throttle hand were cold, but my core was fine, and it certainly is not enough to get either frostbite or hypothermia. The rest of our riding is going to be in the daytime -- with the early morning hours likely the most chilly. I suspect we'll be zipping in the fleece liners in the AM, and zipping them out by lunch everyday - except those days we're hugging the Sea of Cortez on the way to Mazatlan.

Hopefully, we'll have Internet access when we get to Creel tomorrow and have more to report regarding our journey into Mexico and across the Sonoran Desert.

Repairs & a Comment on Motorcycle Dealerships

2010-12-24T08:38:00.000-06:00

I was able to only have to replace the back half of the left side control module, leaving the original front which had all the electronics and obviating the need to snake the cable to the wiring harness. The bark buster was easy. Left the clutch lever in place as it works fine and can fix when we return.

The right side starter module was pushed down by the mirror stem so all I had to do was push it back up. However, that module has a unique fastener -- a bolt with a purpose-built and permanently installed washer that fits neatly into a pair of notches. When the thing got pushed down, the bolt pulled its head and washer through the out and was a real PIA to get out. I took the new bolt-washer from the replacement unit and am good to go. Removed and reinstalled the right bark buster and everything is good there.

I discovered additional damage upon personal inspection. The windscreen blew out 2 of 3 fasteners. The Kawasaki dealership did not have any and couldn't get any in time. Missing 2 of 3 (only the middle one remained), one of which was also missing the nut. So I positioned the 2 nuts on the outside, got a bolt from another part and then rigged up something that works for the middle. It is secure now.

Each fairing was damaged. The right more obvious than the left. The standoff on the right was crushed (but at least not broken), and the brackets were both bent, the bottom more than the top. Straightened those and reinstalled more or less to spec. The left standoff broke (which I'm trying to setup overnight in JB Weld; which didn't work). The left should be fine w/or w/o the standoff because it has 3 fasteners (2 on the radiator cover, and one above on the subframe).

Panniers arrived today and installed so there is no apparent (other than scratches) damage to the Happy Trails rack.

I do have a comment though about this Kawasaki dealership, and motorcycle dealerships in general. They appear to have a complete lack of enthusiasm for their purpose, and in my opinion customer service is a foreign concept to them. When I phoned last week with my parts problem, there was zero interest in my situation -- they basically said, "Well, these parts may arrive by Wednesday, or not, we don't know (or care)." In fact, I had to get them to double-check on the availability. Today, was more of the same -- no interest in this strange guy from Nashville here in PHX buying $400 worth of parts, nor was there even any query whether there was anything they could do to help me out (or even whether I needed any help). They did cut Curtis a nice key though -- for $15 (you'd think that if they just sold someone $400 worth of parts they could throw in a key!).

Repairs Effected

2010-12-24T08:27:00.002-06:00

Can Someone Be Addicted to Heroin and Crack at the Same Time?

2010-12-22T11:35:00.000-06:00

Okay, so I'm at BNA waiting to board my 5:35 pm flight to Chitown, where I'll connect to PHX for an ETA of 11:00 pm Mountain (that's like Midnight Central, and borderline catatonic for those that get up at 3:30 am to prepare a house for owner absence). As I go through security, which is remarkably light, I encounter this obviously impaired brunette -- she's having trouble with her belt, shoes, laptop, you name it. Thankfully, she was in another line (ahead of a couple that had not 1, not 2, but 3 strollers; 2 for the kiddos, 1 for the shit), and did not impede me (Little did I know).

Since my flight was delayed until 5:55 I had some time to get a bite to eat and went to the Nashville staple - O'Charley's. Well, as I am waiting for my fried cheese wedges, who stumbles in -- our favorite inebriate! After dropping her carry-on somewhere in the vicinity of the bar, she hauled herself up on a stool and ordered something unintelligible -- I know, because even though she had her back to me and I couldn't hear her, the bartender couldn't understand her either and had to get her to repeat her order 3 times before she discerned our friend wanted a Bloody Mary (she was about as bad as the inbred Cajun from the Adam Sandler movies). I ate, left and prepared to get in the infamous Southwest Airlines que.

While I'm hanging out at the gate seeing if I can get a few seconds of free charge on my phone from the kiosk before having to board, but who ambles up -- right, our favorite inebriate! She is now nearly un-understandable -- squinty eyes, heavy speech, spittle, you name it. She clearly does not know the protocol and prepares to cut in front of all of the As, when I make the mistake of pointing out that she didn't even have a boarding pass and would have to go to the counter and get one (likely in steerage and hopefully near the back of the plane next to the lavatory).

As an aside here let me give a useful travel pointer -- don't cross the Southwest A's -- those people guard their status more zealously than a mama grizzly does her cub, certainly with more of a hair trigger than Sarah does Trig. I was A48, and had A47 get in my face and say I had to "get behind him." Buddy, what is it worth that you can pick your seat before me or get off the plane infinitesimally quicker than I? The whole Southwest boarding pass phenomena needs further academic study.

As another aside (not Southwest specific) but don't sit in the right front aisle seat (which is where I sat from Chitown to PHX) if there is any risk that an old lady is going to use the front lavatory but not properly shut the door -- there are things that you can't unsee!

But back to our story: well, our impaired friend didn't think that was the best solution and proceeded to try and crash the gate with whatever piece of paper she had in her hand at the time. Thankfully, the gate attendant pointed out to her (again!) that her "document" wasn't a boarding pass and that she'd have to get one from the counter. Inwardly I'm cheering because with a completely full plane there is no way this gal is getting anything but the unquestionably worst seat on the plane -- middle seat, last row against the lav. I may get a toddler, I may get an expectant mother with an outie, but at least I won't have this precious next to me! Little did I know!

As I am waiting for all the passengers to board I decided to put my iPhone into Airplane Mode (no radio activity whatsoever) in order to conserve battery, and listen to the soundtrack to Long Way Round (heavy on the Stereophonics and Radiohead -- great road-trippin' music). While I'm sitting there kind of jammin' out, waiting for the plane to fill up, and a not insubstantial part of me anxious for this whole adventure to start, but who ambles up but our brunette inebriate and she proceeds to take the middle seat between me an another normal guy. I'm really disappointed!

Well, I figure, I'll just keep these total immersion headphones in and pretend to be blissfully unaware of her presence - that is unless she throws up in my lap (which as we'll see later became a distinct possibility). Hopefully, she'll just take a nap and be none the worse for wear. Unfortunately, despite this gal being so "influenced" that she could barely navigate airport security, and took 3 tries to negotiate her drink order, she could just not sit still. If she wasn't getting up and down to go to the lavatory, she was fidgeting in her seat or crossing her right leg over her left and kicking it into my right leg (repeatedly and apparently unaware of what she was doing).

As we were preparing to land in Chitown, the weather was uncooperative and the crew had us come off our portable devices (aka shields against imbecile disturbance). Which meant I was going to have to turn of my iPhone and take off my headphones (certainly I could have kept the phones in, but then I would have been definitely tagged an ass). Now I was forced to deal one-on-one with the barely intelligible squirrel to my right. What did I find?

"Candace," at least that is how I think she pronounced her name (picture to the right). I'm pretty sure she repeatedly said she was 50-something (how that is an asset is beyond me). She kept putting her feet up against the seat ahead of her, which I'm certain pissed off that guy since he shoved his seat back into her feet at least twice (clearly she failed the airplane etiquette protocol). Then when she spoke it was if she'd recently undergone oral surgery, spoke with her mouth full of cotton or had a marked speech impediment -- imagine talking to someone whose tongue is 2 to 3 times its normal size -- she was barely intelligible. Yet she was also apparently bouncing off the walls of the plane -- thus, can someone be addicted to heroin (an anesthetic and depressant) and crack (a stimulant) at the same time? If so, Candace of SWA Flight 1735 BNA to MDW you take the prize!

However, the best is saved for last: as the plane started to descend into Chitown "Candace" started to involuntarily "burp" "chuck" or IMHO prepare to puke. She was complaining about how she had problems with the altitude adjustments associated with landings and at numerous times during the longest 5 minutes of my life I thought I was going to have to grab the barf bag (I've never had to do that and I have 10 and 8 year olds - imagine the likelihood?). Thankfully, "Candace" did not lose it.

The picture was taken soon after the risk of vomitous had subsided and when I explained I was going to write about this experience in our blog, "Candace" kept repeating how she wanted me to post her "phone number" in our blog. Even though I gave her several reasons why that was a bad idea (sexual assault advertisement?) I finally relented and said I post it. So Candace this is for you:

For a good time, call Candace: 867-5349!

An Omen?

2010-12-20T11:11:00.002-06:00

Despite our careful (some might call it compulsive) packing of the bikes for shipping to Arizona, the carrier somehow backed a forklift into Jeff’s bike. At least we think that’s what happened. The tank fairing on the right side is bashed up, and the bike was leaning left when dropped off. One mirror was snapped off, and many of the handlebar mounted controls were broken. Jeff ordered parts and has a few days to repair before we leave. Silver lining: Jeff gets to practice his mechanic skills, and maybe we have some spares in case we dump our bikes in Copper Canyon.

Choice of Transportation/Bikes

2010-12-07T19:41:00.000-06:00

When we decided that an adventure ride such as this was possible we began to look at the available mode of getting there and back. Because of the nature of the roads in Mexico, many are unimproved dirt/gravel, and even the state highways and toll roads have these speed features called topes -- essentially giant speed bumps -- taking our street bikes would not be in the cards. Therefore we turned to the choices in so-called dual sport, on-road/off-road adventure bikes. These boiled down to:

Sure there are other equally deserving considerations, the Kawasaki Versys, a recent offering from Yamaha, and the veritable jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none, Suzuki VStrom. However, each of those would either be a significant compromise or require prohibitive modification.

Our criteria were:

Proven in the field (BMW, KTM & Kawasaki)
Longevity (in other words, have been doing this for more than a few years; same as above);
Medium weight with rider & luggage (this rules out the BMW GS1200 as overweight, and the Suzuki DR and Honda XR as underweight);
Availability of replacement parts to take and worldwide (if we prepped beforehand a KTM or BMW this wouldn't be an issue, but in Mexico, KLR parts, particularly tires and tubes, should be generally available);
Capital Cost.

Which leaves us with the veritable Kawasaki KLR650, a middle-weight, dual sport that has been around forever. Indeed, until the 2008 model year the KLR has remained practically unchanged since 1987! Which means it has a proven design that works. It also means that it has an abundance of replacement parts readily available. Finally, even off the assembly line the KLR is a relative bargain, and used its a steal compared to the BMW and KTM. Since we're only going approximately 2,500 miles, and not around the world, or even Tierra del Fuego, it is the ideal choice.

Bikes are on their Way

2010-12-07T17:56:00.000-06:00

We secured these purpose built motorcycle shipping pallets from Castle Powersports in Hendersonville, TN. Curtis has a friend who owns Holistic PetSource and they have a large warehouse and shipping dock. So after choking on siphoned gas, and securing the bikes with an inordinate amount of tie-down, we're about as ready as we can be.

Our concern is that the pallets are 108' wide/long and how difficult it will be to load them on a narrower trailer, or getting them off at the in-laws in Phoenix. As you can see, there are white triangles at the bottom to mark where to slide the forklift in; however, we understand that these same slots won't accept a pallet jack, so Grampie in Phoenix may be in for an interesting unload.

What this is all about

2010-12-06T17:57:00.069-06:00

My name is Jeff Miller, and I'm a health care lawyer practicing in Nashville, TN. My good friend and law partner is Curtis Capeling. We're both avid motocyclists; indeed, unless it is monsoon raining, or there is ice or snow on the road I ride a Suzuki GSX-R600 to work everyday (fortunately I only need to go 3 miles each way, and I'm not going to get hypothermia or suffer frostbite in 3 miles, no matter how cold it is). Curtis, on the other hand rides a much more exotic bike, a KTM SuperDuke, but not to work because his OCD regarding his bike and gear would not allow time for work.

That's me, obviously NOT on the way to work.

Curtis in his Stormtrooper gear.

So how did all of this take a motorcycle to Mexico talk start?

About a year ago this time I came across Ewan McGregor's adventure The Long Way Around. Those guys chronicled their adventure of taking a pair of motorcycles from London to New York City going East. Read the book and watch the episodes, they really had the time of their life. Now they had pretty much unlimited funds, a pair of trailing support vehicles, medical staff, security, and went on $20,000 BMW GS1200 adventure bikes, kitted out with communications, GPS, and recording gear, plus a whole film crew. We wouldn't have any of that (well, maybe the GPS, and if you count hand signals, we have communications too).

So that got us talking about doing something similar. Curtis is a Cannuk, and his family retired in Placencia, Belize, so we thought, "Why not ride a pair or bikes down there at Christmas, meet our wives and children there, sell the bikes and fly back?" Well, a number of reasons why that was a bad idea:

Import duties are prohibitively expensive. We discovered that bringing a vehicle into another country is not quick and easy, as you have to basically temporarily import the vehicle for a modest duty, but if you don't export the thing within 6-months you have to pay a duty equivalent to 150% of the value of the bike; and
Flying 2-wives and 4-children to Belize and back, at Christmas is also prohibitively expensive.

So we had to opt for a trip into and out of Mexico that could coincide with the lull in our profession that sometimes (if you plan correctly) can occur at the end of the year. In later posts we will detail our choice of bikes, how we went about getting them and kitting them out, and our planned route. We hope you enjoy sharing in our adventure.