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Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

The Just One More Mile story of Paul's Trans Americas 2009 motorcycle expedition.

Monday, 31 August 2009

 

Into Copper Canyon...

Despite this being a Bank Holiday in the UK, there's no respite for the hardened Adventure Motorcyclist, who wakes again at 6.30am, has breakfast of runny porridge and excellent scrambled eggs, then wanders round town looking, unsuccessfully, for a wireless hot-spot he can hack into in order to update the blog...

When I went to move the bike from the secure compound back to the hotel, it was very reluctant to start, probably a symptom of the altitude (2,500m) but quite worrying as we're going much higher later in the trip. It un-nerved me a fair bit, as last time it played up I dropped it doing a u-turn in the car park of the BMW Road Skills course prior to my advanced training session with Kevin...once loaded, it behaved itself again and so Nick and I rode out of town, then back in again to find fuel, before riding out once more. Up into the mountains on twisty and winding roads, with gravel nicely laid in the centre to unsettle the bike and me some more, and it's immediately obvious my head's in the wrong place again, my riding a poor imitation of its normal fluid self. Several stops for water and to eat biscuits seems to settle the nerves, made worse by the knowledge that we'd shortly be riding the Copper-Canyon road, 45-miles of steep, downhill gravel and dirt to the hotel...

One thing struck me during these numerous stops in the middle of nowhere, and that was that there was always someone else there. Usually stood staring into space, or perhaps sitting on their haunches, but in the absolute middle of nowhere. How they got there, why they were there, and how they would get home again is a complete mystery, but it seemed like every time I stopped, someone would be there, staring into thin air...

As the road climbed into the mountains, the surface improved, as did my riding and my mood, and soon I was marvelling at the spectacular views, especially when looking back the way we'd come, with the road winding its way back down the mountainside...


Looking back the way we'd come, in the mountains of Mexico...


We stopped at a fuel station to re-group, then it was time to hit the dirt... Initially the road was fine, just a wide, dirt road with a thin layer of gravel leading past some quarries and various road-working machinery, then it started to wind its way downhill in a series of easy hairpin bends. But that wasn't to last, as first we encountered a section where recent roadworks had been undertaken, leaving deep sandy-gravel with large ruts for several hundred metres, starting just round a bend. Luckily, I'd been following my mantra of riding so I can stop in the distance I can see, so saw it early and once in a rut, stayed in it, trying to keep the wheels in line and the power on. Then I saw Kevin coming the other way near the end of the sandy-gravel section and looking like he was going to enter the same rut I was in... fortunately, he didn't, stopping and getting off his bike, then running back the way I'd come shouting something about warning the others...

But that was only the start of the “fun” as the road suddenly started to fall off the mountainside in a series of rock and gravel hairpins, some very tight and most badly rutted. The sections between them were either heavily corrugated or deeply rutted, and sometimes both, with loose rocks, thin layers of loose sandy-gravel and pot-holes everywhere. The pace dropped and I spent most of the time in 1st gear, trying to pick the best line both round the corners and on the straights, forcing myself to relax and let the bike move underneath me whichever way it needed to, whilst at the same time trying to maintain my chosen course, using pressure on the footpegs to steer, whilst standing up and using me legs to absorb the shocks as the bike bounced this way and that... The road wasn't the only hazard, either, as there were numerous cows, donkeys and dogs scattered about the road, usually sitting in the middle just round a blind, rough bend, and in no hurry to get out of the way... And then there was the other vehicles, mostly pickup trucks, that we'd encounter coming uphill, usually where there was no room for them to pass, and where they still passed us, forcing us right to the very edge, over which would have been a long drop before we stopped suddenly...This continued, with a few stops to drink and eat energy bars, for the best part of 4 hours... and 45 miles...

The scenery when we did stop was breathtaking (although I was already breathless from the exertion of trying to get down in one piece), with the road clearly visible winding its way down one mountain, across a bridge, up the next and over into the valley below...


Copper Canyon and the dirt road...


I was riding most of the time with Nick, either following or leading, but he wasn't having the best time. He'd dropped the bike near the sand section where I saw Kevin, and then again when he hit a rut and it pushed him up against the rock wall, his confidence on the dirt still shattered after the Dalton. Then near the bottom of one steep section I was ahead, and as I rounded the bend I heard the sound of pushing gravel and wondered if he'd gone down again. Watching my mirrors for signs of his headlights, when they didn't come, I pulled over, took off my helmet and gloves and shouted to see if he was OK. No answer, I guess because he couldn't hear me, so I ran back up the hill, for as far as I could before my lack of fitness forced me to walk, and rounding the corner I could see he was stood up, his bike on its side facing uphill...


Nick's bad luck continues...


Fortunately, he was unscathed, though clearly winded and more than a little fed up. His bike was also undamaged, apart from a bent screen, and so we hauled it upright and I did my best to cheer him up, and restore his tattered confidence. At this point, we still had the best part of 15 miles to go, the road conditions showing no signs of improving. The last section, though flatter, was equally challenging, with deep sand on some corners, right on the line we needed to take to set ourselves up for the next section, the lines being critical if we were to avoid careering off the road down into the river some considerable distance below...

Finally the most beautiful sight appeared, a massive residence built into the hillside, which was clearly our hotel. And there, on the terrace high above the road, were the early birds, Andy, Nigel and Richard & Karen, shouting about how there was a cold beer waiting for us... heaven... without even taking our boots off we drank 2 bottles of cold Dos Equis each, Nick starting to look better as soon as the 1st one was down, me just relieved to have made it without going down myself...

When the rest of the group arrived the casualty list was much shorter than expected, with no injuries to any riders, but Jim's panniers needing banging back into shape, Danielle's bike in the van (she'd made it almost all the way down before her sickness robbed her of any remaining energy to do the last 10 or so miles). With Andy also having had a tip-off after being surprised by a truck, the total number of “offs” was just 6, surprisingly low considering the condition of the road...

… and the good news? Well, we get to ride back up it the day after tomorrow, as there's only one way in and one way out of Copper Canyon...


Some of the mobile hazards come to inspect the bikes parked outside the hotel...


When I finally managed to drag my backside up to the room to shower and changed, the humidity levels had reached a peak, and I was soaking again seconds after I'd dried myself. Only one thing for it, another beer, and even that didn't help, so I stopped drinking before dinner, which was served in the hotel. Considering they'd only opened the hotel for us (they have 11 rooms, we needed 12 but fortunately there's a triple, so Jeff didn't have to sleep in the van), the food was excellent, with a delicious soup followed by some kind of meat in a rich sauce. Not spicy, but nonetheless very tasty... The highlight of the evening, though, was after dinner, when Gerald sat back in his chair and surveyed the rest of us... and when asked what he was doing responded thus (best said with a thick Devon accent):

Got eyes like an hawk,
Ears like taxi doors,
See all,
Say nowt,
So shut-up

We still don't know what it means...and so to bed, having managed to stay awake until 9.30pm, although some of the group did sneak an early evening siesta before dinner...


Nigel catches 40 winks...

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