Copper Canyon - Mexico Pt. 1

Mazatlan to Creel

The sun had set a half hour ago. Blin hurried to make it back to his hotel room before dark. It's not wise for a gringo to be walking around by himself in this part of town after dark. It draws unwanted attention.

This was not the place he had pictured when he decided to come here, but now he was stuck for the night so he didn't dwell on it. Set on the golden beaches of the Pacific where they meet the calm waters of the Sea of Cortez, Mazatlan sounded like the ideal location for a little R&R; a place where you could sit back, suck down a few brews, and watch the last rays of the sun, burnt orange and red, slip below the horizon like a wildfire in on the prairie. But he was wrong.

Mazatlan is just another dirty town along Mexico's northern keel. It's only expected that after the highlights of Mexico City and Guanajuato, Blin was setting myself up for a let down, and that let down was Northern Mexico. The further he pushed into this hot, dusty plane the further he felt from the cultural heart and soul of Mexico. It seems that the closer one gets to the border, the more one can see its effects on the people. Most of them have lived in the US at one time or another and have brought the worst parts of it back with them: a strong resentment for Americans and, at the same time, a strong desire to emulate them. Young hoodlums dressed like Cholo gangsters cruse the streets blaring rap music and yelling ¨¡pinche gringo!¨ (fucking American!). Yeah, it was time to get off the street.

He awoke early the next morning, packed up his life and, with a monotonous sign, slung his big backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his day pack with his free hand. It is a routine he's done a hundred times before in a hundred different places. It's almost automatic now, like brushing your teeth before you go to bed. He grabbed the early bus to Los Mochis, a lonley country town, set in a dust bowl, 400 Kms north along the west coast of Cortez. He had no intention of staying and as soon as he arrived he hopped on the next bus out of town.

Sometime after 5pm he lands in El Fuerte, another country outcrop that clings to life amid the dry cactus planes of the north. It was a nice enough town, with a shaded zocolo that offered breezy benches in the cooler evening hours. He checked into Hotel San Jose, a real shit hole, with a hose spout for a shower, no toilet seats, and a hole in his door big enough to allow small dogs and large rodents the opportunity to come and go as they pleased. But it was cheap and, with an emancipate bank account, that's all he cared about.

He chose this town because it was the starting point for his journey on the Ferrocarril (Railroad) Chihauhua Pacfico. A stunning piece of engineering achievement, the railway, or Chepe for short, is over 650Km (390 miles) long, crosses 39 bridges and 86 tunnels, climbing from the barren flat lands at sea level to the high plateaus at 2,500 meters (over 8,000ft) and connecting the Pacific Ocean with Mexico's central desert territory.

Making his way out to the station the following morning, Blin brought a ticket on a second class car and climbed aboard. The scenery was incredible. These impressive canyons, seven times the size of the Grand Canyon and in some areas much deeper, were formed sometime in the late Tertiary Age, when northwestern Mexico was in an extreme period of volcanic and tectonic activity. Huge earthquakes and thousands of volcanic eruptions combined to create this vast expanse of craggy mountain tops, high plateaus, and steep river valleys. Chepe, cutting directly through this rugged terrain, was the best way to see it.

He spent most of the trip in the corridors between carriage cars taking in the unobstructed views and feel the crisp sub-alpine air brush past as they climbed further into mountain country. It was early evening before the train finally pulled into Creel, the 'backpacker's' pit stop on the line, with cheap accommodations and do it yourself trips to the deeper recesses of the canyons.

On the surface, Creel seemed a likable place. It sits in a basin surrounded by mesas overlooking the Traahumara valley, cloaked in pine forests and open granite planes. It had a broad main street crowded with old tavern like buildings with low hanging awnings and high walkways; it looked like a moderized town in one of Sergio Leon's Spaghetti Westerns. And a slow-paced rhythm that was easy to fall in step with. He found a cheap hostel on the edge of the plaza, $10 a night for a bed, breakfast, and dinner. He was beginning to like this place, but that was before Creel reared it's ugly head. It seems that, even high up in mountain country, there still exsists the ¨pinche gringo¨ attitude of northern Mexico.

The following day, he rented a bike from a local outfitter, set on taking a tour of the surrounding hills. He stopped first at the super to get some water and fruit for lunch and then back at the hostel to pack up before he head out. He set his bike in the courtyard and went back in his room. He returned a few moments later to find his back brake unhooked and he was unable to reconnect it. Perplexed, he took it back to the shop where the owner told him someone had switched the tire out. That was impossible, he thought, he was only in the store for a moment and the only other place he went was the hostel.

¨Well, there's your answer right there,¨said the owner said.

¨But, they wouldn't have done that,¨Blin protested, ¨Would they?¨

Then he remember that while he was in his room packing, one of the front desk staff had come in as struck up a conversation, a bit strange since he hadn't said a word to him the whole day before and now was leaving the front to come in a chat with him. Not to chat, to distract!

¨Those pinche maricons!¨Blin exclaimed. ¨They're not going to get away with this!¨

He raced back to the hostel, mad as all hell that they would take advantage of one of their guests like that. But, half way back, he realized that if he went in there, guns a-blazing, there was no way he'd get the wheel back. So he decides to be a bit more shiesty.

¨Hey man, I think there's been a mistake,¨ he said as he came back through the front door with the bike. The clerk looked up with a strained blank expression.

¨What seems to be the problem?¨

¨I left my bike out in the courtyard earlier and I think one of your guys must have thought it was one of yours 'cause someone switched the tire out.¨
The clerk gave nothing away. ¨Are you sure it was here? Maybe you left it on the street, that's quiet common on the street.¨

¨No couldn't have been, only been at the bike shop and back here.¨ A lie, but a necessary one.

The clerk tells him to wait while he calls the bike guy on his cell phone. Blin study him as he makes the call, he acts genuinely concerned, he's good, but he doesn't know he's dealing with a master. The guy comes back and again, Blin explains the situation. The guy just shakes his head and says that he didn't see anyone and it must have happened on the street. This guy was good too, obviously they had done this before and knew what to say. Then Blin breaks the farce with one word.

¨Are you sure, maybe there's a new guy who doesn't know the difference between the bikes. You might want to make sure 'cause the guys down at the bike shop are pissed, they want to call the police!¨ There eyes both meet his at the same time, then each others, then back to his. He knows hes got ém.

¨Yeah, really pissed,¨Blin continues, ¨guy wanted to call them right away, but I told him to wait 'cause I wanted to see what happened first.¨At this point the clerk starts looking around anxiously as if maybe they'd been called anyway.

¨But I'm sure it's just a mix up... with the new guy, right?¨

¨Oh, yes¨the clerk chirps, ¨there is a new guy.¨He gives a quick glance to the other guy. ¨Yeeeeah,¨the guys says catching on, ¨The new guy. He's just a kid and doesn't know the bikes that well, let me call him and find out.¨

Ten minutes later, they bring the bike back out with it's original tire and Blin takes off on his ride. It's a great day, peddling through open vistas, through fresh aired pine forests all below an electric blue skyline. He has lunch by a lake overlooking the sweeping summits of the surrounding canyons. The whole while he's got a semi-permeate grin stuck on his face. 'Ha ha,' he thinks, 'you just can't shiest a shiest!'