Cycle News - Archive Issues - 1990's

DUAL SPORT Great Motorcycle Adventures early 1920s. It was odd seeing these blonde-haired blue-eyed Mennoite farmers, all wearing demim overalls, living among the local Mexicans. They looked straight out of Little House on the Prairie. It was here where we called it a day. Normally we would've continued another two hours to Creel, which is approximately 80 miles north of Copper Canyon, but French and our trail guide, Craig, noticed on a map a dirt road from Cuahtemoc to Creel that they wanted to explore. The next day, all the riders, except for Petty, who was green with food poisoning he got in El Paso, rode the back way into Creel, while the trucks, driven by French and his daughter, took the pavement route. The all-day ride was beautiful. At first it was wide open two-track dirt roads through flat farm lands that eventually led us into the wooded mountains. We stopped a couple of times at small Mexican villages for cold drinks and snacks, and it was obvious by the stares of the villagers that motorcycles and our colorful garb wasn't an everyday sight. Nevertheless, they all seemed to enjoy our brief visits and were extremely friendly. About five that afternoon, Monday, we rode into Creel, a small logging town that was founded in 1907 as a railroad station. Creel, named after a railroad promoter and builder, now primarily caters to tourists visiting Copper Canyon by train. Les and the "chase" vehicles had long since arrived and all our accommodations were already taken care of. We just climbed off our bikes, grabbed our gear bags and were pointed to our rooms and hot (okay, lukewarm) showers. Craig, once again, led the way out of town the next morning, Tuesday, as we headed to the rim of Copper Canyon. We could've gone the easy and direct route, the same way the cars/tourists go, but we took the more scenic and "off the beaten path" route. As we headed out of town on the main dirt road, we suddenly detoured off the side of a mountain and down a rocky and much more technical two-track dirt road. Every few miles or so we came across a small town, including one operating a saw mill. A large diesel engine, which supplied power to a couple of big children trying to sell us hand-woven belts, bowls, and dolls. But while enjoying the view, we heard the train pull in down the road, and when we turned around, the Indian women were gone. They had left us in order to solicit the tourists getting off the train. The people on the train only had 15 minutes to soak up the view before the train continued on to Creel. For us, it was about two hours later before we rode back to town. The next day, Wednesday, we checked out of Creel and began our 80-mile journey down to the bottom of Copper Canyon. While we rode, French chased in the van with all our street clothing and food. It was a ride I will never forget. At one point, we reached a section of dirt road that overlooked the huge canyon about 30 miles east of where we were yesterday. Here the trail zig-zagged straight down for seven miles. Seeing the traversing trail directly below us was a sight out of an off-roader's dream. Once at the bottom, it seemed so strange to rack up seven miles on the odo but to travel no more than about a half-mile horizontally! It was a whole new world down there. It was much warmer, and there were huge cliff walls on both sides of us. Upon Riding along the edge of Copper Canyon is a thrill and a half. Most of the people who make it this far usually get here by train and only stop for 15 minutes before it's, "All aboard." We got to enjoy the scenery for hours. (Above) This is the dirt road that goes to the bottom of the canyon, seven miles of descending switchbacks. At the bottom is the river, you follow it for 20 miles, ending up at the town of Batopilas. (Left) We stopped at a few Indian villages along the way. In the background, you can see caves in the canyon walls where some of the Tarahumara Indians live. circular saws, roared and billowed black smoke out of the exhaust pipe. It was the job of a small boy to douse the engine's big radiator with a bucket of water every few minutes. We continued down the dirt road which eventually dropped us into a sandwash, where we followed a river for about 10 miles downstream. We must have criss-crossed the shallow river 20 times or more before stopping where the water suddenly became angry as it dropped down into a narrow and rocky gorge. To our right we could see big holes high up in the canyon walls where a Tarahumara Indian family lived. It was amazing to me that only 300 miles from the U.S. border, people still live in caves. We rode on and eventually came across the original dirt road that we had earlier turned off of when leaving Creel. Fifteen miles further down the road, we rode up to the rim of Copper Canyon and the view was simply spectacular! The overall scene was similar to that of the Grand Canyon, but the big difference was that Copper Canyon was arguably prettier, and we got here on motorcycles! As soon as we rode up, we were bombarded by local Indian women and reaching bottom, there was a tiny Indian store off to the side of the trail and a few houses (more like huts) scattered about, which more or less made up the town of LaBufa, where an extremely rich gold mine was once found. From here we followed the dirt road that parralled a river for another 20 miles. It wasn't long before we had spread out because the trail was dusty. I was by myself and so overwhelmed by the view, I stopped and turned off the motor. I sat there for about a minute absorbing the sight when around the comer walked a Tarahumara Indian. Now this ought to be interesting, I thought. A few steps behind him emerged another Indian, this time a women, with a baby strapped to her back. I stared at them and noticed they were wearing modified car tire-treads for sandals, and they stared at me. As the man walked past me, I waved hello and he returned the wave. Whoa! I don't know why, but I really didn't expect him to wave back. Now that doesn't happen everyday, I thought. I hung out there until the last two riders, Kinney and Craig, rode up, and the three of us continued on our way. About five miles later, another surprise.

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