The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

The story goes like this.

Tuesday 3/16: Alan and I spent our energies pedaling hard and steady to the gap known as Charouleau, then down the back side for some snow melt CDO refreshment. The water was moving fast and was ice cold; in contrast the day was hot and slow. We stood around enjoying the cold water and hot air, then went to explore a pack trail to a prospect. The fire damage was impressive, though the winter rains had given rise to green grasses and yellow flowers. Samaniego is definitely burned, but CDO west fork does not look ridiculously bad.

We both squeaked out a clean ascent of the whole CGAP trail, which required a hefty energy investment. By the end of the day we were both sun tired ready for rest. Upon arriving home we decided to set up the swamp cooler since we were already hot and sweaty. That took a while and then I really needed to get out of the sun.

I checked my email and the phone machine. Both modern communication devices held messages from Lee indicating that a trip to Mexico was quickly becoming a reality. We had talked about such a trip during the weekend’s Canelo Pass ride, but I had set the likelihood of it happening at about 5 percent. But Santiago, the great Argentinian adventurer had responded to Lee’s email, and things were set in motion.

“Oh, boy” was all I could think. I checked the internet for the current temperature in Hermosillo: 97 degrees. “Oh, boy.” Is this serious? I called Lee and indeed it was serious. Take the opportunity when it is presented to you, he says. Suddenly the trip was no longer a 2 day affair, but 5 days, and it included camping and/or staying in small towns on the bike. Almost everything was unknown, except that we were going. I was a bit hesitant, but I knew I had to go on the ride.

I read about the area including David Yetman’s excellent entries. I read “the steepest highway in Sonora” which led to a grin, “El cruz del diablo”, “1000 foot cliffs”, and a larger grin. Then “most remote town in Sonora,” yikes.

I tried in vain, yet again, to find an online source of mexican topo maps. The UofA library, I think, is my best shot, but it’s all in paper form.

Day totals: 21 miles, 4500 feet gain, 5:30 time

Wednesday 3/17: A sluggish morning spent preparing for a trip that I didn’t really know how to prepare for. Were we camping–by the car or on bikes? Were we staying at someone’s house? A hotel? What about food, and water? I eventually pulled things together and was out the door to Tubac and Lee waiting anxiously to head south. The drive down wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t much of a rest.

We met Fausto Burgos at the Hotel Bugambilla and began to plan out the trip. Sergio arrived a bit later, followed by Santiago. After a while, I turned off my pitiful spanish translation abilities and started to tune out on the ride plans. It was all up to Lee and I was happily just along for the ride. The plans sounded more than a bit dubious, but I was confident that things would work out in the end. The worst that would happen was some discomfort (temperature or otherwise) and fatigue for a few days. I knew I could handle any amount of riding my companions could, despite the fact that my legs ached and I grew more and more tired as the planning meeting tired on.

Thursday 3/18: Santiago, true to Mexican form, showed up about an hour late at the Bugambilla. Acceptable, but we had a four hour drive ahead of us and it was already getting hot. The drive was long and windy–but my hopes improved as we drove through large mountains full of green trees. Things certainly looked quite different than southern Arizona.

We found the Pemex station in Huasbas, where Fausto Burgos had supposedly set up a safe place to keep the truck while we rode. The attendant did not seem to care who Fausto was, basically indiciating that he was going to be of no help. So we drove into town, looking for a spot to park. Lee simply approached a family sitting outside their house, asking if he could park the truck on their property. They didn’t seem to respond much, but after Lee offered some money per day, the guy hopped up and started digging out his fence to make an opening large enough for the truck.

It was high noon and the sun was burning. At a mere 1800 feet, I would say the temperature was near the mid 90’s. Lee and I threw things around in our packs, trying to decide what to bring, while Santiago sat wisely in the shade. Finally we rolled out of town, hot and fully loaded. I was thankful for the flat road, because the dry air was barely enough to cool us. The flat was soon to end.

I stared dumb at the highway weaving up the mountain range to our east. There was not a tree or possibility for shade along the whole route. This was the steepest highway in Sonora: from 1800 to 4000 feet in 5 miles. The destination? El Cruz del Diablo, a series of thousand foot cliffs at the top of the road. It was a mental challenge to ride slow enough to not overheat. I was itching to ride after such a long trip by car, and I love the challenge of a tough climb. But we had days of riding ahead of us, so a measure of restraint was called for. The combination of a full load (180 oz of water + gear) and the mental restraint served for some very slow climbing. I kept myself busy clearing the road of rock falls–scoring some nice flicks. We joked that they should hire me to ride all the highways, merrily flicking rocks and ensuring the safety of Mexican drivers. It was not too long before we reached the top and an incredible vista. The cliffs of the devil were quite impressive, and the 4000 foot air was noticably cooler. The valley was now far below us.

We continued on the highway, encountering an odd car every twenty minutes or so. We kept thinking that we were on ‘the downhill’ when steep hills signed ‘Frene Con Motor’ appeared. But it was not so, steep downhills were paired with equally steep climbs, with no hint of things letting up. The landscape continued to grow more impressive as I was simply content to stare around as I rode.

Eventually we reached a significant downhill section, framed by a strangely symmetrical cone mountain. A very odd, scenic little hill. We snapped photos and rolled on to “El Coyote” — which consisted of a Tecate Deposito and restaurant. There was a steep climb out of El Coyote that lead to the junction with our road to Bacadehuachi and Nacori Chico. At last we were riding on dirt, and cruising downhill.

Here we ran into the first of many unrideable cattle guards. Hitting one at high speed would have serious consequences, and though I could probably ride across one without problems, the penalty for failure is very high, even at low speed. With a hefty pack on my back and somewhat dazed from the sun, it was not a challenge I was about to accept.

We rolled into Bacadehuachi, a very charming little town. For some reason the paved streets surprised me. I suppose it was the feeling of being in the middle of nowhere (we had encountered maybe one vehicle on the road to Bacadehuachi, which was about 24k). Some nice cobblestone roads, a beautiful plaza (much nicer than Moctezuma’s) and a strange looking church all provided some interesting sight seeing. I crossed a narrow pedestrian bridge on the way out of town.

While approaching and riding out of Bacadehuachi all of us were scanning the south eastern mountains for signs of the road to Nacori. A few could be seen, and one looked like a ridiculously steep road–the kind cut by idiots in jeeps who drive straight up hills. We wondered if that was our road, but agreed that there was no way it could be. Soon we were furiously dropping gears to granny, desperately trying to maintain our balance, all on this very road. I actually enjoyed this section, choosing the more challenging, steeper section when there was a contouring option. I almost walked at one point, and Lee admitted to thinking about getting off to walk also. We climbed the ridgeline then struck into a canyon, gaining elevation like madmen. The sun was dropping, but progress was being made. Fausto had told us that there were three “passes” on the way to Nacori. He had made it sound like the Devil’s Cross was the only big climb on our route, but this climb was much, much harder.

We climbed and climbed, never reaching an identifiable summit or pass. Two logging trucks were inching their way down the hill, coming from Chihuahua. Their drivers told us we would not make it, that it was “up up up” and more than two hours to Nacori. If we had not made it to the first pass yet, we were in big trouble. I figured we had just missed the first one as we approached a very steep climb to a real pass. We dropped down the other side as the sun disappeared from the horizon. The third pass had been cobblestoned in on its steepest section. I’m not sure if the cobbles made it harder or easier for us, but I do know I was in granny gear and barely hanging on. From the top of the third climb we spied city lights in the distance, an encouraging sign. A fiery sunset was in progress, but we rolled on down the road, using what little daylight we had. Lee and I flipped on our LED lights while Santiago rode behind us. Then he rode around us and into the darkness. Not much later we heard some skidding then saw him standing in front of a deadly cattle guard. He continued without lights in front of us, earning the nickname “el gato” for his cat eyes.

The road into Nacori seemed very long (longer than it looked from where the city lights were), and eventualy it got dark enough that Santiago let us pass so he could ride in our lights. We rode into the edge of town, greeted by a street light and the beer depositos. It was somewhat surreal in town. People were out and about, and everything seemed very strange.

We inquired about the hotel of Quela Ruis, where Fausto had told us to go. A guy in his shop offered to get in his truck to show us where it was, but it turned out to be about a half block away. We were welcomed in the hotel (a house really) and shown our very nice room. She started fixing us a much needed dinner. I was just relieved to be out of the sun.

At dinner we spoke to a guy from the EPA-equivalent in Mexico. He’s in charge of regulating ranches and forests, and told us tales from his job. Most interesting was the 40,000 dollars people pay to kill a big horn sheep, trapped and nearly caged on somebody’s ranch. The gov’t gets $16 of the 40k.

It was difficult to sleep in my sun baked state, and every few minutes some genius drove his truck around the plaza, blasting umpa-umpa polka music loud enough that it shook the walls. It seems that even in the smallest and most remote towns of the world, getting in a car, cranking the stereo and “cruising” is always cool. I know I was impressed by it–each and every time they drove by. Santiago was out like a yesterday’s news, snoring away happily on the bed next to me, unaffected by any of this.

Day totals: 51 miles, 7500 feet of elevation gain, 7 hours.

Friday 3/19: We awoke slowly and were served breakfast of full of good food, but food that I rarely, if ever, eat. I probably ate more meat on this trip than I do normally in two months. Breakfast was pork, eggs and some very milky milk. Again, all things that I rarely, if ever eat. I thought my stomach was destined for major problems, but it surprisngly held throughout the trip. Bueno Suerte.

We didn’t get out on the bike until 10 am or so, and it was already scorching. The road was flat and gentle to the town of Buena Vista, where the women weave the sombreros out of palm leaves. We were on a mission to reach Fausto’s ranch of Satachi, so we rolled by. He told us this section of the road was “moderate”, which in comparsion to yesterday’s riding, could still by very hard. It was not too bad, but the climbing numbers racked up until we faced a very steep downhill down a canyon. We rolled the descent, determined to reach the ranch and hopefully some refreshment and rest. I doubted whether the ranch was worth reaching, or if any welcome whatsoever was waiting us there. So far Fausto’s arrangements had not exactly panned out how he said they would (he supposedly called the mayor of Nacori, who was going to greet us and possibly pay for our hotel and food there). But this was Lee’s trip, so I rolled with it when I might have preferred to stay closer and check out the sombrero’s. Mainly, I was simply not recovered from all of the sun of the past few days and it was too hot to be out riding.

At first we could not find the ranch at all, but we did find a very nice rushing river, which gave me some hope. Then we backtracked to find “a” ranch, with no one home. It was down a hill that was filled with palm trees. Fausto had radioed to his ranch hand’s that we were coming and to expect us today. At least, supposedly he had. We cooled off in the river, then I moved to find a shady spot, but could not find one. Lee yelled at me to come sit on the porch of the ranch, even though we weren’t sure if this was the right ranch. A vaquero rode up with his dogs and donkey as I was about to head up the hill to the ranch. He saw Santiago and asked “where are the other two cyclists?” An astute observation of his–that there were three bike tracks leading to his ranch. He had not been told we were coming, but immediately welcomed us, knowing we were friend of Fausto.

He was quick to give us cold water, hot coffee and food (Venison, tortillas and beans). It was likely obvious from the looks on our faces that we needed it. I have never had deer meat before, and I can’t say it tasted very special. But any food at this point was welcome. The vaquero, Miguel, was very kind and interested to talk to us. Lee enjoyed some nice conversation with him, while I sat roasting in the shade. I was still too hot, even in the shade.

Then we pulled out the burlap hammocks and took a siesta. I was lying down for what seemed like a few minutes, but soon General Lee ordered his troops to get up and head out. I thought he was jumping the gun, but it appeared that I had fallen asleep and it was now getting late in the afternoon. Shock, it was tolerable, even in the sun. The ranch Turkey chased me around as I snapped a few pictures of the ranch. Then we said goodbye to Miguel, offering sincere thanks for his hospitality, which he was under no obligation to give.

I don’t know if it was the deer meat, the nap or simply the lack of burning sun, but I rode like a new man on the climb out of Satachi. Lee and Santiago were not far behind also riding strong. It felt great. We cruised in big chainring, aided by a kind tailwind which brought us back to Nacori just as the sun fell for the night. As we entered town kids excitedly followed us on their BMX bikes, forming a large group behind us. We smiled, and laughed as we rode en masse to the plaza. Here Lee took some photos, which they really enjoyed. Then Santiago started hopping curbs and such, and I joined in on the fun. There were a few interesting stairs and benches to mess around on, but my trials skills are not what they used to be. A few of the kids were imitading my moves and laughing along. They asked questions about our helmets, pedals, suspension and gears. Lee was doing a much better job of talking to them than I. I guess they were supposed to be in the church singing, but they found us more interesting. They really took a liking to Lee, huddling around him as he meticulously lubed his chain, asking hime about his gears and combinations.

We went for a short walk around town, to stretch our legs, noting some drunken cowboys on horses near the depositos. Otherwise people were out and about, or sitting enjoying the nice evening.

Day totals: 45 miles, 5300 feet gain, 5 hours moving time

Saturday 3/20: Time to head back. We knew we had an arduous journey ahead of us, so we planned to get up early and get out before the sun rose. It was really our only choice if we had any hope of getting back to the truck in one day. So we packed up and were on the road before dawn. I started getting warm quickly and wondered if we should have just ridden all night instead. But, as the sun illuminated the sky, un milagrosa grande: clouds. But, how long would they last?

The clouds held throughout the big climb up and over to Bacadehuachi. It was like riding with a second, third and fourth wind. I barely took a sip of water during the 2 and half hours of riding. It was almost too easy, until I encountered the Pacifico truck, speeding down a steep pitch of dirt. I saw him coming, he saw me, and I kept saying to myself “he’ll slow down, he’ll slow down, drivers are more considerate of cyclists here”, but he did not slow down, and barely moved over. I jumped off the side of the road, stopping completely. After he sped by I turned around to make sure my friends didn’t get hit, but fortunately the (likely drunk) driver was forced to brake because of an exposed, dangerous turn. Lee said he saw the driver throw out a Tecate can (supporting his company no doubt) into the middle of the road. I stood for a minute amazed at how close his tire track was to the side of the road.

In Bacadehuachi, Santiago and Lee wanted coffee, and Santiago needed more food, so we stopped in town. After inquiring for a cafe or restaurant we were directed to and invited inside the police station. They thought it was funny that I didn’t drink any, and also that I don’t drink cervesa. The policeman was very kind and interested to talk to us, as he sat under a machinegun and a few nightsticks. It was nice for a while until I started realizing that the clouds would not last all day, and we were wasting time.

In the end it was of no consequence: our miracle held for the entire climb back to the Devil’s cross. Along the way there was a large group of construction workers who cheered and yelled as we rode through. They looked like they were having a good time building culverts or a bridge–and all by hand. As we rode higher up we could see some road grading and berming that had also been done by hand.

When the sun did finally peek out, it was with vengence. We sat in the shade of the hill for our last break and it was getting very warm. But all that remained was to tuck down and coast the steepest road in Sonora back to Huasabas. The air heated up as we descended until it finally felt like 100 degrees, as it did when we left days ago.

The truck was there, safe and sound, and we made PB&J sandwiches and were off to Hermosillo. In Hermosillo we took a tour of Santiago’s independent/alternative/hippy radio station (Radio Bemba), being broadcast out of a closet, but with an antenna constructed by him. They were playing some good music when we listened, and a voice of independence can only be good in Hermosillo, or anywhere.

We buckled down for a long trip back to AZ, not wanting to camp it or hotel it another night. I returned home a bit after midnight after 6-7 hours of riding and 10 hours of driving, broken by some rests and tasty food stops (quesadillas!). Now I’m excited for more multi day adventures/tours, though I’m not going anywhere near Mexico until it cools down. We barely got away with this ride so late in the year. A truly unique experience in a unique and beautiful place.

Day totals: 51 miles, 6800 feet elevation gain, 6 and a half hours

Grand totals: 150 miles, 20,000 feet gain

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