We rode through the incredible Hayman Fire burn area (from the 2002 fire seasn) on the second day out. People told us it was like World War III, but we found it quite different. There was lots of ground cover, lots of green. The black trees were quite stark, but it was really a pleasant day. But the Goose Creek road we took had us gaining more than 4000 feet of elevation, and it was rough! What a day1

Here we go - we're leaving right now. There's a picture on the front page of us loaded with our gear. Nancy has about 30 pounds of gear and I have about 65 pounds loaded in the BOB trailer (too much!).

Our route: First southwest in Colorado to Gunnison for my 30th high school reunion. Then I'll continue on to the Northwest through Wyoming, Idaho, Washington state, and British Columbia to Vancouver. Nancy will fly up to Vancouver to ride the last week of the trip. Full details on the route page.

Wish us well!
-Randy and Nancy

The Raramuri (as they call themselves) or Tarahumara (as the Spanish named them) are quite famous both as perhaps the least acculturated people in the Americas and as world-class runners. (Raramuri means something like "people who run".)

They're known to be quite reticent about picture taking and overall interaction with outsiders, and I didn't get to know any, but was fascinated to see them once I got to see many outside the contect of simple crafts sales and such. Seeing native peoples in their native costumes in a park in a tourist town is not too exciting, but backpacking along and coming to a town in the middle of nowhere and seeing that they actually wear the real traditional garb is pretty amazing.

I didn't take pictures of any Raramuri, but found some on the web that might be interesting to you. The men wear a skirt-like cover over a loincloth:

The women wear wonderful multicolored skirts and scarves and everything. I've never seen a more beatiful set of clothes on anybody anywhere than the bright colored getup that a woman had on the bus from Batopilas. It was simply gorgeous, with so many beautiful colors.  

The Coppercanyon-Mexico.com site has a bit more on the Raramuri.

I decided to backpack up to the Raramuri village of Muneriche, past the mestizo village of Cerro Colorado. It seemed like an interesting hike, but one I could do alone without much worry about getting lost. It was a great choice, just a delightful two days.

Although the hike starts at tropical elevations and it was hot, it wasn't brutally hot. Maybe like Denver some days in the summer. The hike proceeds up the river and then up an arroyo toward Cerro Colorado through hillsides and beautiful cactus. There is a road to Cerro, and one truck did offer me a ride, but most people have to walk it.

In Cerro Colorado, a village with no electricity or running water, I stopped to visit with the Candelario, the teacher at the 1-room primary school, and his students. We chatted for hours, then he went on up the canyon with me for a few minutes to his favorite swimming hole and we took a swim and a bath. (He has no other bathing facilities, so every day is a river swim day for him.)

In the late afternoon I continued up to Muneriche, which has no electricity, water, or vehicle access. You get there on foot. And there's a full boarding school there for Raramuri (Tarahumara) kids who walk as far as 4 hours to get home for the weekend. 50 students and 3 teachers. It's amazing how the school system works!

A dozen or more kids from the village came to watch me put up my tent and cook my dinner. 13-year-old Antonio, who speaks quite good Spanish, shared a bit of dinner with me. They all thought I was pretty funny.  read more here... lee mas aquí... »

Batopilas is way, way below the high point I started at. You start at an elevation where they have snow in the winter, and end in a place where there are palm trees everywhere. This is in the course of 45 miles of riding.

The road is dirt for the last 45 miles, and it started to rain as soon as I started out. A fitting event for the Great Divide route! There was lots of significant climbing (as I should expect) before the descent began, but it was manageable. But what a beautiful day! It was raining and cloudy and misty with beautiful steep, green mountainsides everywhere, and canyons stretching off everywhere you look. Incredible. And completely different from the ride to Urique - the mountainsides everywhere are steeper and greener. It looked a lot like the Peruvian Andes- you expect to find Macchu Picchu around every bend.

The final major descent was similar in nature to the big drop to Urique - the road just switches back and forth down a cliff for thousands of feet. But it wasn't as hard to ride as the descent to Urique. It wasn't as steep and was nowhere near as loose. So even in the rain it was easier (and probably a bit shorter, since there was a more normal descent leading to it).  read more here... lee mas aquí... »

I decided to ride to Batopilas, which is another canyon-bottom town like Urique, but a little larger and with a longer history (clear back to Spanish times). I set out on Sunday morning after buying groceries and making calls and such, and rode to the Cusarare waterfall a few miles out of town, then continued on.

The first 45 miles or so of the road are paved with nice, new pavement. And there was hardly any traffic. And it was incredibly beautiful. Unlike our first several miles riding toward Urique, where we couldn't see into the canyons until the end, I could see huge expanses of canyon at every crest. But WOW, was it hard riding. I was ready for the up-and-down, but this was almost disspiriting. You'd ride up a steep incline for 20 minutes, then ride down 5, then up 30, then down 5. I was foolish getting lulled into thinking I knew about the up-and-down, because the last canyon must have taken 2 hours to climb out.

I got to the top just a dusk, nearly out of water, and stopped at the little store there (which was my goal for the day - it's the intersection with the Batopilas dirt road that goes down into the canyon). Rather than have me camp on a flat section of gravel next to their family dump, they put me in an upstairs room, which was very kind, especially since it rained a lot in the night.  read more here... lee mas aquí... »

For the whole of our trip from the Mexican border to Creel, Ron and I saw not one gringo, and heard not a sentence of English being spoken on the street. It was amazing. Surely US tourists went by us in their cars, but we didn't see or hear them.

Then we arrived in Creel, on the railroad line, a major stop for tourists from all over the world. And we stayed in Margaritas, which is the local magnet for travellers of all types, but especially for international "backpackers", the mostly young people who move around the world on buses and trains with their belongings in backpacks on their backs. They usually don't do any backpacking, but they have their stuff in backpacks because they can carry the stuff around that way.

So we ate and hung out with young people from England, Poland, Israel, Germany, Austria, the US, Mexico, and Argentina, to name a few. They all seem to go to the same hotels in the same major cities that are reachable by bus, and form a sort of migrant subculture. Everywhere they go they find the discoteques and entertainment where there are other backpackers. And they see some cultural sites, then take a bus to the next major stop on the "Gringo Trail". It's quite amazing what a distinct subculture it is.

It reminds me of how good and natural bike touring is. You move slowly, you see what's between those cities. You're forced to interact with the local people. It's a delight. And while it's a pleasure to meet some of these young people and see their lifestyle, I think the bike touring way is the way for me.

If Mexican Immigration is one of the least efficient organizations in the country, the Mexican buses are one of the most efficient. Riding to and from Chihuahua to get Ron sent north reminded me of the beauties of Mexican buses.

These days all the main line buses are tremendously modern and comfortable, with big, tall, padded seats and a courteous, skilled driver. They still do usually stop for people who wave them down on the road, and they let people off where they need to be let off along the way. It's a nice thing.

At most stops, a vendor or two will come on the bus and offer burritos or tamales or sodas. Sometimes they just get on and then off; sometimes they ride the bus to the next stop, then ride a bus going the opposite direction to get back.

Yesterday we had a wonderful guitarrist and singer get on and serenade us for several minutes - quite a pleasure. I got to talk with him a bit, and like most of the other men in Chihuahua, he had worked in Colorado for some time, but was happy to be at home.

And all of the four or five people who sat next to me were pleasant, sharing their stories. In the US, bus travel is used only by a few, who generally have no other options. In Mexico, it's used by everyone, so you get a more comfortable mix of people. The buses are marvellous.