Micah dot Motorcycles

I’ve made it a good ways since I last wrote from Banámichi! I’m back at 100%, health-wise, and things have been kicking into gear.

Well, they did after one more small bump in the road. As I rode into Mexico, my motorcycle starting having some issues, with power cutting out and then surging back, sometimes just sporadically and sometimes really struggling. I had a good guess at what was happening - on my model year, there were some issues where they got paint inside the gas tank which eventually sloughs off and clogs up the fuel filter. Of course after 16 months owning the bike, this would present itself the day I cross the border.

At first I thought I would need to turn back to Tucson to a Honda dealer there so they could take care of it. The thought of returning to Arizona and withering in a hotel for probably another week waiting on something completely out of my control was about as appealing as gouging my eye out with a spoon. So, it was off to the city of Hermosillo. It’s a sprawling, muggy industrial city, the hottest city in Mexico, population a bit shy of a million, capital of Sonora. It wasn’t on my list, but it had a Honda shop, and it was an easy day’s ride away, and it was not Arizona. And it turned out to be absolutely the right choice. I dropped the bike off on Monday morning, and they had the tank off, fuel filter and tank cleaned, and everything buttoned back up inside of three hours, and asked about $50 for their trouble. The bike has been working great since. Huge relief.

So, from there, it was back to the direction I had originally been pointing - east into the Sierra Madre Occidental mountains. The riding has been fantastic. Winding two-lane roads through the mountains, with very little traffic and just enough potholes, boulders and cows in the road to keep things interesting. The road is punctuated every half hour or so by a small pueblo, crucially offering tacos to the weary traveler.

En route was the Cascada de Basaseachi, the second tallest waterfall in Mexico and a harbinger of things to come.

From there I headed to the town of Creel, a charming, if touristy mountain town. I stayed on the outskirts in a compound of cabins themed around a town of the Old West. Besides being an excellent place to stay in general, it is also notable as the first place this trip which had a cat amenable to me petting it.

Creel serves as a gateway to Las Barrancas del Cobre, the Copper Canyon. It’s a stunning set of canyons, named for its red rock with green scrub patina, formed by six different rivers which eventually flow into the Gulf of California. It was a short ride to the rim this morning from Creel, and I was blown away when I first saw it.

Seriously amazing, and I had never heard of it before. It is home to the indigenous Rarámuri people, who retreated to the canyons from the Spanish invasion. They are known for their long distance running ability, and you can see their villages on the canyon floor, only accessible by foot.

As I was riding around, I ran into a guy from Oregon riding his motorcycle to Guatemala, and we pulled over and chatted for a bit. It was my first time encountering someone on a similar trip to mine, so it was nice to exchange notes. He directed me to the nearby tourist trap (“Parque de Aventuras”) and told me that the zip line was worth it. What the hell. I paid up, put on the harness, got an instructional and security briefing which I understood approximately none of, and uno, dos, tres.

It was, in fact, pretty rad, including the rescue because I didn’t have enough junk in the trunk to make it the whole way, despite the sandbag they strapped to me. From there it was a short hike to a gondola back to the rim. After walking around a bit more, I decided I wasn’t tired of the view yet, so I splurged on a room in a hotel right on the canyon rim. It’s totally extravagant by the standards of this trip – 2,000 pesos (~$100) for the night, at least 4x my typical budget – but come on, this is the balcony of my room, where I am currently watching the canyon as the sun sets:

Incidentally, there is also a train that stops right across the road from this hotel (and also in Creel). It’s called El Chepe, and it runs from the city of Chihuahua, along the Copper Canyon, and onwards southwest to the coast. Allegedly one of the most scenic trains on the continent. So, here’s a vacation idea for you, no vehicle required: fly to Chihuahua, take El Chepe to Copper Canyon, base out of a hotel on the rim and hike into the canyon by day. You won’t be disappointed.

From the mail bag, Jeff from San Francisco writes: “Put more selfies in your blog goddammit.”

Whatever.

Thanks for the good thoughts, y’all. They must have worked because I started feeling a fair amount better after that last post. The fever’s gone, and most of the sore throat. My head still feels like it’s stuffed with wet gauze in the nights and mornings, but I’ll take what I can get.

And, with my health on the upswing, I was up for riding again, so I have finally crossed my first border into Mexico! Thank god. Besides the sickness being terrible in its own right, I was losing my mind being cooped up in a motel for five days. The sheer vacuousness, the monotony of it, moreover contrasted with what I was supposed to be doing, and on top of all that I was paying for the privilege of being in this misery. Really, I don’t mean to harp on this, but waking up on the fourth day of feeling not a lick better than the previous day and dragging myself to the (very nice) hotel manager to plop down for another night in paradise, and I really have zero other choices, none… Garbage.

Where was I? Right, back on the road, new country, all that. The border itself was really confusing. There wasn’t a single stop crossing the border - one moment “Mexico Border This Way” and then suddenly “Bienvenidos a México” and I was riding through a Mexican town. And then it turns out I had to stop at a poorly marked turnout 10 miles (rather, 16 kilometers) down the road to get my passport stamped and motorcycle paperwork filled out. But I got it all sorted, and now I’m in Mexico, and that is pretty neat!

I’m really very jazzed about it. The immediate change in atmosphere that came with crossing the border (literally, even, with all the dirty diesels and the old cars running rich) was a big boost for me. It feels like this has finally really started, riding past all the llanteras and paleterias and men in the middle of the street offering all manner of mysterious treats.

After I got off the main highway, the ride was really nice too.

A quiet road through the Río Sonora Valley, bringing me to my destination for now of the quaint mission town, Banámichi. It’s a great town to stroll around, but the thing that brought me here is my accommodations. I’m at the Hotel Los Arcos de Sonora, a very charming place, and one that serves as a first stop for many American motorcyclists doing the same kind of thing I am. The proprietor is a motorcyclist himself, and a very kind man, who has already spent a lot of time chatting with me and getting me up to speed about the area and riding in Mexico.

No cat, though. One star.

Even as I was writing my last post, I was feeling tinges of something off, which I willfully ignored as long as possible.

I made it to the Grand Canyon, which was fantastic.

I just walked along the rim a bit the evening I got there, and shuffled around the area a bit until I found a nice campsite just down the road at a Forest Service campground. I settled in for the night, increasingly unable to ignore the aches and sore throat that were popping up, but determined to hike down into the canyon a bit the next morning.

And that I did, and it was very nice, many pretty rocks, lots of them.

After doing that in the late morning, I set my sights for a cheap motel in a tiny copper mining town some 260 miles down the road. 5 hours later I stumbled into my room absolutely whipped, and woke up the next morning feeling like garbage. I found myself in a predicament, because I could try to rest up there, but the nearest urgent care place was 80 miles away, and I might find myself feeling the same or worse the next day.

I made the right call and let the power of DayQuil get me to Nogales, AZ, which had been my original plan. It’s a fairly small, fairly crappy border town about an hour south of Tucson (which, in retrospect, is where I should have stopped).

That was Sunday afternoon, and that’s where I’ve been ever since, holed up in a motel with a terrible sore throat, fever, fatigue, and aches. Strep is out, having not materially improved after three days on antibiotics. Mono is a possibility.

And it sucks. It’s a bummer to get knocked out like this before the real fun even begins, but so it goes. It is convenient that this happened while I was still in the US for insurance and communication reasons, so there’s that.

I’ll stay holed up here in beautiful Nogales until I’m feeling better, then finally cross the border. I’ll keep you posted, and in the mean time, think good thoughts for my health.

At least the continental breakfast here has Jello cups.