The Secret Roads of Copper Canyon Creel to Creel: A Five-Day, 300 Mile Circle Trip on “Quadrimotos”
There are no long distance ATV rides ATV’s in the U.S. We had heard of Copper Canyon in Mexico – remote, beautiful, with gravel roads – perfect for exploration on ATV’s!
Our research started with asking acquaintances and strangers, “Been to Copper Canyon? What do you know about it?” Most had only driven to Creel, maybe on to Divisidero, or had taken the train straight through the canyon. “What about the roads to small towns? Would we find hotels? Restaurants?
Research on the internet turned up little additional credible information. Because we wanted to at least be able to retrace our steps, we purchased a GPS for the trip. We pulled out our own, and bought, every other map we could lay our hands on – all the travel guides, the Chihuahua state map, the Gui Roji Mexican Atlas and finally a Bicimapas Chihuahua map for GPS’s.
None were either accurate or complete. One map showed this road, another map — another road. None showed the all-important back roads we wanted to make a loop trip.
So armed with this patchwork of information and a sense of adventure, we set out simply not knowing what to expect. Would we get lost? Would we have to back-track? Would the back- country locals be friendly or hostile? We didn’t know.
This is the story of that adventure in April 2007.
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| Our rig in Creel, Chihuahua before the trip. |
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| LOVE this photo of Mike. Makes me laugh every time! Little dusty isn't he? |
The First Leg of our Trip
They reminded me of bread crumbs, sprinkled by Mexicans in pickup trucks along our route into the heart of Copper Canyon (or the more poetic Barrancas del Cobre). These “bread crumbs” were red and silver Tecate beer cans tossed out with abandon, which we followed deeper and deeper into these magnificent canyons. But, why only Tecate, we wondered?
My husband, Mike, and I left Creel, Chihuahua early in a cool April morning on a pair of “quads” or ATV’s (all-terrain vehicles). Our blacktop road headed southwest towards El Divisidero. The Copper Canyon train (Chihuahua-al-Pacifico Railroad) is well known and it’s route parallels the first sixty miles or so of our trip to Bahuichivo. We stopped at El Divisadero, where the train also stops for fifteen minutes, and had astounding view of numerous canyons beyond.
The local Tarahumara Indians displayed their well-made baskets and other wares on the patio surrounding the lookout. A small market splayed on both sides of a set of steps leading up to the tracks. A couple of Indian women sat weaving small baskets and a man asked one for permission to take her picture. “Yes,” she replied, “ if you buy the basket.” He asked how long until she was finished, then agreed and wandered off to have lunch in the meantime.
Lunch was at the top of the steps, where several venders sold gorditas with various fillings – pork, potatoes and beef, vegetable – all absolutely wonderful. We added these gorditas to our list of other Mexican street foods we love —carnitas and tacos al pastor. They made a great lunch before we hit the road.
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| Vendors at Divisidero train stop |
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| Views near Divisidero |
On the blacktop road again, we flew along at a seemingly rapid twenty miles an hour which gave us time to watch for cars yet gaze at the scenery. We shortly came to the small town of San Raphael where the blacktop ends. We found the “gas station” and asked for “llene, por favor” (pronounced yeah-neah). Never pass up a chance to buy gas in the back country! Gas is procured from a barrel where it is either poured or siphoned into a smaller four or eight-liter container, then poured into your tank with a funnel. We grimaced each time we saw an attendant start the siphon by sucking on the end of the plastic tube!
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| Our "gas station" Note jugs of gas. |
Always looking for a chance to talk to the Mexicans, Mike asked if this was the correct way to Bahuichivo. The helpful fellow gave us precise directions to turn LEFT at a certain T- intersection several kilometers down the road. Turns out that this was a shortcut that saved us several miles – though we didn’t realize it until we rolled directly into Bahuichivo without reaching the fork in the road we’d been expecting.
That important left turn did lead us into a mile of dusty, silky, powdery silt that roiled up in clouds of white dust. I felt sorry for my husband following behind, but I got my turn later. We were still following the trail of Tecate cans. Incredibly, they all seemed brand-new tossaways, leading us to assume that as the Tarahumaras are walking, they pick them up to sell – a modern source of income to their old subsistence way of life.
At Bahuichivo, a group of men standing on the railroad tracks in front of a idling train engine gave us directions to Cerocahui, about twelve to fifteen miles away on a very main, but dirt road. As we near Cerocahui, Mike barrels up beside me. “I saw dirt-bike handlebars at a place above the road just back there. Do you suppose that is where we want to go?”
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| The normal "back country taxi" |
Now frankly, this whole trip hinged on finding information about a certain road from Urique to Batopilas that was shown on one map, but not on others. I desperately wanted that road to exist so that we could do a circle tour, rather than retreating to Creel, then setting out in the opposite direction to Batopilas. According to our website research, a man who led dirt-bike adventures in Cerocahui was the man who could, no doubt, tell us.
Meeting Justin Just in Time
Good luck was with us: we rode in and four guys from Arizona on dirt bikes and their fearless Mexican leader had just returned from a multi-day trip. The guys from Arizona welcomed us, happy to have new faces to exchange stories with. And we were relieved to have found our man.
Justin Lopez was just the man we wanted to meet, but not with the information we wanted to hear. Over beers, he told us that no, that road does not exist; it is only a Tarahumara foot trail. He did, however, tell us of another road we could take to complete our circle: down through Mesa de Arturo to Tubares, then east over the mountains to Batopilas. But, this route was a little longer: a total of ninety miles to get to Batopolis, not the thirty as I had hoped!
Justin Lopez was raised in the U.S., then married Oralia, a Mexican girl. They now have three children and have built a motel and their home outside Cerocahui. Excellent home-style breakfasts and dinners can be purchased with your room and are eaten communal-style in the large dining room of their just-finished home. He leads dirt bike adventures in Copper Canyon, choosing terrain to match the skills of his riders. He obviously knows the canyons well. (Unfortunately, with the ensuring years of cartel violence near that area of Mexico, his website is no longer functioning. So sad.)
We had a great evening drinking beers, eating dinner and trading stories with our new-found friends. (Good) Friday morning, Justin and Raul, Justin’s wife’s uncle and trip driver, loaded the pickup with the luggage and the four Arizona guys mounted up on their bikes for their final ride of the trip. They all headed back to Creel where their vehicles and trailers were parked at the RV campground.
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| The motel at Justin's |
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| The countryside of the vast Copper Canyon |
We headed the opposite direction for a day trip to Urique – through about twenty miles of pine/oak forest before we reached the mirador (lookout) for Urique Canyon. And what a view it is! This is as far as the tour buses go – and for good reason, as we looked down at 5200 vertical feet of decent with dozens of switchbacks to get to the bottom.
We started down these steep switchbacks, each turning back on itself. Vegetation becomes drier and drier as we descend into a desert climate with scrub brush and cactus. We finally crossed a wide band of bare dirt at the edge of town before coasting downhill to the main drag. A short walk and lunch later, we filled our gas tanks (and paid the equivalent of $4.50 gallon) and headed back up the switchbacks. We watched our progress: below, then level, then above a distinctive rock formation. Mike doesn’t like heights and was much more comfortable going up, than coming down into Urique Canyon. But even he agreed that the views were magnificent.
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| The Tecate Beer Store. A fortress! |
In the village of Cerocahui, Good Friday festivities were just winding down at the square and market. The Mision de Cerocahui Hotel is across the street from the church and appears to be quite upscale and no doubt expensive.
We stopped to buy beer at a small, concrete fortress with tiny windows. This is the only place in town that beer is sold and it is run and regulated by the county –and the only type of beer available is — you guessed it: Tecate. One mystery solved.
We arrived back at Justin’s. After an excellent home-style supper, we fell into bed at a little after eight!
Saturday – Our Big Day
Ninety miles of unknown territory on quads with no room reservation at the end on Easter eve – just a little unnerving. The ladies in the kitchen accommodated us with an early 7 AM breakfast and we hit the road by 7:40. The first thirty miles or so of the day’s ride was through the pine/oak forest with glimpses of great canyons to the west of us. After driving through a gold mine and all of their trucks, we began dropping down, down off the mesa; the vegetation becoming much drier as we descended.
We rounded a switchback and came across two burros tangled together and fighting. The long tether rope of one was entangling both. I approached them carefully and gently unwound them as they stood quite still for me. Then, off they happily went, one trailing his long, loose tether.
We kept going down and saw Tubares off in the distance in the bottom of the huge valley. It was amazing how far we had already descended and how much longer it took us to get to the valley floor. We reached the triangle of roads – a land mark – and rode across the bridge into Tubares to look for gas, which we found just on the edge of town. One look at the “restaurant” there convinced us to have gorp and water for lunch! The old mission, about a block away, looked interesting, but we had miles to make, so we turned and left town the way we came in. Later I read – post-trip – not to venture into Tubares past the mission. Something to do with illegal crops, I believe. . . .
We crossed back across the Urique River bridge and turned east towards Batopilas. Almost immediately we ran into a BMW GS biker, followed by two quads. They had been to Choix, then Batopilas for the night, and were headed back to Justin’s following the route we came down on. I asked if they were the Colorado group that had left their pickup and trailer at Justin’s the day before. Indeed, they were.
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| Two more gas stops on our 90-mile day |
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| I always cringed at siphoning gas |
We forded the river, and this being the dry season, it was a bit scary, but it was not a problem. I’m sure it’s a different story in the rainy season. Further on, we crossed a dry creek with beautiful purple and blue rocks – and a bit further saw the (dry) waterfall from where they fell and tumbled down the river.
We began climbing towards a large butte with unusual yellow-green rock. We circled around the base of it and topped out at the crest of Batopilas Canyon with great views down the valleys in both directions. As we started down towards the town of Batopilas, we could see the Mission de Satevo off to the right. As we rolled into Batopilas on Easter (Semana Santa) eve, our odometers turned over 200 miles for the trip so far and our watches – 5:30 P.M.
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| Back country Barranca del Cobre |
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| Our first view of the Mission de Satevo |
The town was full of people. Pickup trucks with young men riding in the back were cruising the main drag – up, round the corner and back again. All were wearing the traditional white hats of Mexican men, but these were skinny teenagers, no doubt checking out the girls.
At first glance, I was startled to see three young girls, about ten years old, in their native Tarahumara dress, each with a baby in a rebozo on their back. They were talking and laughing as they walked down the street, and I realized they were probably babysitting their siblings.
We found the Hotel Mary, a place we had heard of. Mike tried talking to a young man at the door, but he just blew Mike off. I wasn’t sure he even was associated with the place, so went inside and asked two boys on a bench where the office was. Receiving nothing but blank looks, I retreated. (We later learned that the method of getting a room is to walk down the walkway of the interior courtyard looking into each room with an open door. See one with no belongings in it? Put your things in, close the door and it’s yours. Unique system.)
We stood on the corner and wondered, now what? No signs, not many tiendas (stores) open. Where to start. . . ? Mike walked across the street and heard English as he was walking past a jewelry store, then spied the blonde proprietress. She is the only American in town and has been here for sixteen years after dropping out of her native state of Michigan. She tells the story that she sold everything in the states, then bought the “air” above her brother’s second home in Batopilas and built a second-story house for herself. Then, with a Mexican partner, she opened a jewelry store.
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| Saturday night out for the chicos! |
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| Our bubbly benefactoress, Lynne |
Mike asked her about a hotel and she immediately walked a couple of doors down the street and spoke with Feo (yes, it means ugly in Spanish, it’s his nickname, and yes, he likes it!). No, no, no, no, he wasn’t renting a room for the night to anyone on bikes. American? No, no, Older? Still no. (And keep in mind, he hadn’t even seen us yet completely covered in dust.) Well, maybe he could call the manager in Chihuahua. Feo was just “hotel-sitting” and refused to make a decision to rent a room to us on his own!
In the meantime, Lynne told us, “Go down this side street to the Zaragozza (bar) and get a couple of beers and ‘chill.’” Mike and I walked in to the Zaragozza; and I started in but I stopped at the door, looked around at the 100% Mexican male patrons and slowly backed into the vestibule. Mike bought two beers from a cranky bartender, who insisted “para aqui” (drink them here). Mike brought them to the vestibule, where we stood a couple of minutes, then slipped out the door, and down the side street one-quarter block to the river, where we quietly sat on a rock and drank them – and properly disposed of those Tecate cans, I might add.
By the time we got back, Feo had called the manager – and he got his first look at us. Lynne kept trying to convince him, and us (oh, you will love the place). Finally, in exasperation, he begins telling Lynn the “rules.” Tell them they can’t find new friends on the street and bring them back to their room to party. Upon hearing this translation, Mike and I burst into laughter, in hindsight, probably not exactly a proper response! But we assured him we would do nothing of the kind, and he led us down the street and into this charming Victorian home/hotel, with no name that we ever heard. We had a three-room suite between two patios – very private. And very expensive for this location: $100 dollars, but it was so fun for one night!
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| Our cook for the evening. |
By now it’s 7 PM; we stop by Lynn’s store which she promptly closes and escorts us to a “fixed menu” restaurant – the only one that we could find in the main part of town. We sat at a family kitchen table, as the two “restaurant” tables were full. We visited with Lynn, as the owner served us and cooked tortillas for the entire group on her cast-iron stove.
Lynn said when she first moved here, she would sit on the porch of this house/restaurant and listen and listen. She didn’t know a word of Spanish. One day she arrived and stated, “Estoy aqui!” (I am here!) and the entire family, including Grandma, surrounded her with hugs and congratulations. It was a start.
At a low elevation of about 1600 feet, it rarely snows in Batopilas. However, Lynn told the story of an American woman who had just arrived in town, then frantically contacted her. “I must leave now”, she insisted. She was adamant that she couldn’t wait until morning and she would pay anything. Lynn helped make arrangements and the woman left with her driver. That night it began snowing -- and snowing. By morning a meter (remember, nearly three feet) of snow closed down everything for three days. And the woman? She was a “channeler” apparently sensing a disaster or trouble of some type and wanted to leave before whatever it was, happened.
Later, a slow stroll around the main plaza brought on the realization of how tired we were. We wanted to stay up to watch the band and dancing, but couldn’t stay awake past 9:30. No Feo, there will be no wild partying in our room with new-found friends tonight!
Easter Sunday and a Day of Rest
After a light breakfast, we rode the quads about four miles south of town along the lovely Batopilas River to the huge Satevo Mission Cathedral. It is a mystery why so large a church, and technically the seat of a bishop, was built in this incredibly remote location. It was apparently once a large Tarahumara village. The records of who built it were lost in a fire, but it is thought is was built between 1760 and 1764. The nearby town of Batopilas was not founded until over a hundred years later, around 1880.
It was a lovely morning to be out, but surprisingly Batopilas and Satevo were very quiet. Many of the Easter festivities in these small towns had been held earlier in the week.
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| View of the Batopilas Valley |
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| Ruins of a silver baron's mansion |
Back in Batopilas, we asked about a restaurant for lunch. Feo sent us to one, but as we walked in, again it was all Mexican men. Since there was no food in sight, I asked about beers. Big mistake! In this macho, small rural town, women do not order beer! The man shook his head and muttered in Spanish, “maybe later” in Spanish.
After trying fruitlessly to find something else open, Feo took pity on us and went in to this same place and bought us three beers and brought them out wrapped in brown paper. We rummaged up some grub from our packs on the quads, and spend the afternoon reading on our peaceful hotel patio.
About four we wandered out and Feo’s mother found us to ask if we were ready for our room. At the same moment an American man and his wife had just parked their car, saw us and asked very anxiously “English?, do you speak English?”
This was our introduction to Wally and Susan from North Carolina who just arrived in Batopilas without a single word of Spanish. Quite gutsy, we thought, and a delightful couple. We had dinner together at the fixed menu home/restaurant and Mike was interpreter for them with the restaurant owner and Feo’s mother. They asked many questions about traveling in Mexico and we gave them a lot of tips. Until then, we hadn’t realized just how much we had learned in our past two trips of traveling in Mexico.
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| Susan, Mike and Feo's cute little mother |
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| Lobby of 2nd night hotel. |
At seven the next morning, we all met for breakfast and invited two retired Mexican teachers from Chihuahua City to join us. She spoke no English, but her husband, Manual, and I had a great time visiting in English (him) and Spanish (me). Good practice for both.
Riding Through the Batopilas Canyon
About 8:30 we all pulled out of town and headed up the most beautiful canyon I’ve ever seen. This single canyon – although not as extensive as the our Grand Canyon – rivaled it in spectacular vistas near and far with sheer dropoffs and tall rock formations. The Batopilas River, parts of which have been run in rafts, was beautiful and interesting to watch as we climbed. For the next two hours, we rode and gawked and stopped to take pictures. I could have happily turned around at the top and rode back down again. Because it was so early, we had the road nearly to ourselves – almost no traffic in either direction.
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| Note the ribbon of road down the valley |
We reached the top of the mesa about 10:30 after ascending through nearly 30 miles of the gorgeous Batopilas Canyon. We then continued on for another two hours to the junction with the blacktop highway at Samachique. We are now back in the pine/oak forest that we encountered on our ride to Cerocahui and Urique.
In this area, we met many Tarahumara. As we ride, we try to be very courteous, slowing down and swinging wide around them as they’re walking. Even at that, I remember a girl of four or five holding her ears at the noise of our engines. Their world is a quiet one.
The Tarahumara and Mexicans both live here, but the Tarahumara women and girls are distinguished by their colorful full skirts of peacock, crimson or gold. Their full blouses are equally colorful. They carry their babies in rebozos on their back and are seen walking everywhere or occasionally riding in the back of a pick-up with several small children. One, a snip of a girl who seemed no more than fifteen, had a baby and two small children in tow.
Their houses are generally small wood cabins, not close to one another and connected by foot paths all over these mountains. Because their distances are so far, the men have become incredible runners. This morning we saw two young men wearing the traditional kilts. As much as I would love to take pictures of both the men and women, it seems intrusive and impolite.
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| Now THIS is a lot of switchbacks -- over 20! |
The Final Leg of our Trip
After a light “saddlebag” lunch (always carry some food with you), we dressed warmly for the faster-speed trip back to Creel on the blacktop. It was a pleasant 2 1⁄2 hour ride with little traffic and nice, though not spectacular, views.
A glance down different side roads as we pass prompts the thought, “ I wonder what it down that road?” However, when traveling through this land, it is prudent to stay only on known roads or go with a guide. Your exploring may be misinterpreted if you wander down the wrong road, or at the very least, you may wander into someone’s home property, unannounced and unwelcome. (Today, 13 years later, the cartels have changed the situation so much, that we will not go back, sad to say.)
This was a grand adventure, even though we only touched the surface of this wonderful area. Since we’re no longer able to row heavily-laden rafts down the Grand Canyon as we once did, this has been a delightful substitute adventure.
Second Trip to Copper Canyon
In October, 2009, two years after our great “circle” ATV trip of Barranca del Cobre, Chihuahua, we returned. In Creel, we had several Tarahumara children who stopped by and began playing with Mollie.
Other photos are from around the vast canyons of Copper Canyon, and of our return trip, via ATV to Batopilas.
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| The little girls were a bit afraid of Mollie |
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| Feo recognized us immediately when he saw our ATV's |
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| Mike with Mollie in her "riding" spot |
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| Such a beautiful area -- we hate not being able to go back. |
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