October 27 Return to Cuauhtemoc for Magna Sin

Our map showed an unimproved road leading into the Parque National and ending at a tiny dot with Batopilas written beside it. We weren't sure what sights we had missed the night before, as the road seemed to turn in every direction and we tried to gage distances across valleys by oncoming headlights. "Where's the canyon?" was the first thought in my head. We had an outstanding breakfast, an amenity that came with the room. Several Europeans joined us at the table. Most seemed uncertain about the day ahead. They talked of going to the waterfall with a local tour operator. We had a Trooper and could go anywhere we wanted, until we learned there was no gasoline in town. We most wanted to get a glimpse of the canyon, but we had no idea where it was or how far it would be to a vista. The Europeans told us there was an overlook where the train stopped at Divisidero, but the service road along the tracks was impassable. The train was slow and undependable. We had it in our minds to go to Batopilas. Locals advised we should go to La Junta for magna sin, unleaded gasoline. We did, but there was no magna sin. About twenty-five cars waited in line for regular leaded gasoline, the energy source for most cars in Mexico. It would be more difficult than I thought to buy a classic VW Beetle, which were still being made in Mexico, because it would need to be converted to unleaded for use in the U.S. We continued to retrace our steps, back over the fallen bridge and across the open field. We found magna sin in Cuauhtemoc and purchased twenty-five gallons, including our spare tank. We found no shortage of topes on the highway and more horse and wagon rigs, on modern automobile tires, under gray skies in the Zona Mennonita. As we crossed over the river, on the remnants of the old bridge, we saw the Tarahumara man, from the day before, still watching over the scene. And, passing through the woods we found lumber yards and mills, which had not been visible in the darkness. The land was rugged, but not as dramatic as we expected of mountains containing the largest canyon in North America. We lost a day searching for fuel, but it was easy to return to Margarita's, where we felt at home. I asked about the Tarahumara man who waited by the bridge. One of the cooks told me it was his job to watch for trouble in the zona peligrosa and if there was an accident, he would run into town for help. It being quite a distance, I started to understand why the Tarahumara are called "The Runners." Another excellent meal came with the price of our room. Though quite affordable, purchasing three beds, heating, hot showers and two meals for each of us at only $30 U.S., the 90,000 pesos we shelled out made us feel like big spenders. Una Coca for 1,000 pesos, no problem. Dos mil for Queso Mennonita y saladitos, gracias. NEXT PAGE