Last spring I began a conversation with my friend Noe’, who runs the Copper Canyon trips, about another fall trip; I thought we might spice it up a bit this time. I suggested that we look into a route that would take us up and over  connecting the two main canyons of Urique and Batopilas. 12 years ago I had helped a friend guide a backpacking trip there and we discovered an incredible trail that wound through the high mesa between the two canyons. At the time, I thought, what a perfect riding trail. When the chance to find that trail again surfaced this past spring in those conversations, I was really excited. Careful what you wish for.

Central Mexico was just coming off a 50 year wet cycle and the drive through northern Chihuahua which is usually dead-brown, was more like driving through Kansas in May. The knee-high green grass stretched on forever. Wildflowers were blanketing almost every hillside and water ran through ditches like hurricane season. We had timed this trip perfectly.

We spent the first few days after arriving in the Sierra Tarahumarha riding around and exploring the higher elevations. The trails through the mountains have been regular foot paths for the locals for generations. The Tarahumarha natives are tireless world class trail runners but riding these trails on a mountain bike was an unbelievable challenge. The ground is more like a dry stream bed and smooth is an illusion.

Most of the good riding is on dirt roads and we did plenty of that as we worked our way 60 miles over the high country before plummeting 6000 feet in 10 miles through several vegetation layers into Urique canyon. I had been to Urique 12 years ago when we ended our hike. Not much had changed. The town had just gotten electricity when I first visited and it was still a quiet place. On the out-skirts of town we had found a small refuge and hostel started by an american, Keith Ramsey. 12 years ago he had one small house and a few young fruit trees. I remember him talking of big plans for being self-sustaining and “off the grid”. I was not prepared for what had changed there. The place was almost unrecognizable. I had to walk through a full jungle of fruit and coffee trees just to find the original building. There were now several buildings, all built with native materials on site. They were magnificent buildings, the biggest was probably several thousand square feet with twenty foot ceilings. The trees were too many to count. Full and ripe with mangos, lemons, avocados, mandarin oranges, coffees beans; running off into the jungle. The climate at that elevation and latitude is tropical and everything lives in the tropics. Mandatory bed checks for scorpions and spiders always make for a good night’s sleep.

We stayed a couple of nights at Keith’s. It’s a shame he wasn’t there. It would have been good to see him again. We were, however, well cared for by Maruka. Maruka is a beautiful local woman who cooks and cleans for the hostel during the main tourist season. She also teaches cooking classes using all local ingredients and techniques. Homemade yogurt, Mole’ and fresh roasted coffee were her specialty and we were treated to all of it. Noe’ conferred with her son, Alonso and his uncle-in-law Tomas about our route over to Batopilas. Both were local guides and had plenty of Tarahumara blood in there feet. Somewhere in the translation, my original memory of the old trail was forgotten and a different route was chosen. The Camino Real was the old silver route used by natives and mules to carry ore over the mountains. It was the most direct and today is a two to three day backpacking route to Batopilas. It was the one we chose.

We started the day at day-break. We knew the route was long but thought once we got to the top we could ride the mesa and make good time. Not a fucking chance. It took us almost six hours to climb 6500 feet in elevation on a trail that would challenge the best of goats. The trail was more of a dry stream bed tilted at a 45 degree angle. We shouldered our bikes and climbed……..and climbed. We reached the top by early afternoon but still had a long way to go; but the riding should start soon. Wrong, so fucking wrong. There was some riding……a hundred feet or so before the pushing or carrying would start again. Ride some, walk some; the afternoon drug on. Acacia thorns flatted our tires…..while we were carrying them! By the time we reached the other side of the mesa and begin a 6500 foot descent, it was starting to get dark. It took close to five hours in the dark descending on the same type of vertical stream bed to reach the trail head and an incredibly steep, eroded dirt road awaited us. Our lights were starting to fade one by one and we still had long way to go. Darkness has a unique ability to terrorize, confuse and elongate time all at once. Six hours of it after the ass kicking we had already had that day put us all at the end of our ropes. At almost 2 a.m., we reached Batopilas with one light to spare. 18 hours of which 13 or 14 were spent carrying our bikes in bike shoes, not comfortable hiking boots and the ass fuck of the century was over. My only consolation came the next morning after breakfast when Tomas visibly limped down the stairs. Once in a while you need a good ass kicking to put the rest of your life into perspective. I think I’m good for now.