Home Again, "None the Worse for Wear" ... Well, Not Much Anyway.

Despite hail storms, tornadoes, and floods ... federales, the gun-toting Mexican Army, and every friggin' cop in the entire state of Chihuahua (that's not an exaggeration!) ... dust devils that'd flat lift your ass out of the seat ... the mirror-hungry Batopilas "Stairs From Hell" ... goats, cows, burros, and mad dogs around every corner ... dusky senoritas scented in peyote and mescal offering the smoothest tequila ever to pass human lips, free of charge! ... enough dust to choke out an Egyptian sandstorm ... unmarked twisties that'd suck you in so fast your bike would be sideways before you could say "Oh shit!" ... vultures that refuse to yield up the roadway ... abandoned mines ... cheap, knobby-tossing, knock-off-brand tires ... and the completely unfathomable route from Batopilas to Urique, we four gringos have returned from our adventures culturally enhanced with the ability to say "por favor," "muchos gracious," and "What the fuck'd he say?" with the best of 'em.

Full ride report as soon as I catch my breath. Watch my website or this blog. Trust me, you won't want to miss it!

Los gringos:

bahwolf, his own sexy self.

Chris of the fine GPS and beloved sheepskin.

Danny Septic Tank (missing from the bike in this photo -- d'oh!)

Rich of the Million-and-One Maps.