I’m no hero. But I have chosen an unusual life, twice abandoning a successful career to travel the world by motorcycle. Unlike others whose stories of intrepid solo adventures to spectacular, far-flung places have inspired my dreams, I’m a somewhat unremarkable traveler. I’m not attempting world records or challenging myself to do something that has never been done before, and not even facing the world alone. I ride with my partner, Aidan, who is always there to help pick up my bike and to put me in the right headspace to tackle the tougher trails. He goes first, and if his heavier BMW F650GS can do it, then surely so can I on my lightweight Honda NX250.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll never be a fierce rally rider, flying over sand and loose gravel like it’s nothing, but I still fully intend to reach awe-inspiring locations! One such place came up after we’d left Vancouver and were riding the Baja California coast. Other riders we met kept asking if we’d seen YouTube videos of Copper Canyon, which is deeper than the Grand Canyon. That settled it. We’d been enjoying the holiday feel of the lonely beaches and cactus-studded deserts, but it was time to move on to the “real” Mexico waiting for us on the mainland.

Saddle up and ready to go.

To get to Copper Canyon, we’d planned on taking the ferry to Sinaloa, but reports of drug cartel activity put us off. The locals told us it wasn’t safe and online reports concurred, so we decided not to camp in the area. That meant a short detour into one of the canyons to a hotel at the town of Urique. The locals in Choix told us it would take about six hours to cover the 100-mile distance to get there, so we figured the road was in bad shape. But it hadn’t looked all that tough on YouTube, and the shots of stunning views into the canyon convinced us do it.

During a fill-up, a gas station attendant further warned us not to foray into cartel territory; the knowing look in his eye was cause for anxiety. How bad was this road? Was I headed for more trouble than I could handle? What if… I had to stop those thoughts right there. I’d never reach those wildly beautiful places if I chickened out every time someone said something would be difficult.

Leaving the last small village behind, we began a tight-turned climb that drew us quickly upward, my ears popping along the way. White clouds lazily moved across the sky, keeping the scorching sun at bay along a road surface that was hard-packed and even. This wasn’t so bad at all! I cleared the worries from my mind and relaxed, fully present and in the moment, even having fun. As if to affirm my change in attitude, a gap opened between the leafy trees to a stunning view over an indigo-blue lake in a canyon deep below.

First view into the Copper Canyon.

After we took a wrong turn, the driver of an oncoming truck leaned far out of his cab with a big smile and waved us in the right direction. This sent us downhill across loose stones the size of watermelons, where deep ruts formed in the wet season when the road temporarily became a river. Aidan stood on his pegs, which I knew by then was the right thing to do, but I still hadn’t mastered the technique, so I stayed seated for the precarious ride. The sun came out, warming the cool mountain air—we were squelching in our gear, wrestling the bikes over ambitious inclines, around rim-bending potholes, and through small river crossings.

River crossing with an audience.

Every now and then, we’d come across a beat-up old truck coming in the opposite direction. Often, a driver’s weathered face under the straw cowboy hat would burst into a smile as he lazily raised two fingers off the steering wheel in the universal peace greeting. The further we rode from civilization, the more surprised they seemed to see us. But the greeting was a far cry from any gun-wielding cartel henchmen we’d almost expected.

Around noon the valley opened up, making space for a picturesque river alongside the road. I was fading, making silly mistakes from the lack of concentration, so we stopped near the Ruinas Iglesia Jesuita for a sandwich of buttered bread layered with green salsa-flavored tortilla chips. It’s all we had in the panniers and was surprisingly good.

Stopped near the Ruinas Iglesia Jesuita for a lunch break.

From there the road climbed back into the mountains, taking me far beyond my comfort zone. The sheer inclines and descents demanded my full attention. The surface was unpredictable, constantly changing between loose sand and corrugated gravel, with deep potholes and stone-filled ruts hidden from view until the last moment in the glaring sunlight. Rocks protruding from soft sand would suddenly throw me sideways as I sped down an impossibly steep section, barely able to maintain control of the bike. A tight bend at the bottom perforated by deep and diagonal ruts forced me to pick a line and commit—no time to think—just ride! Then up the other side, the bike bouncing wildly over loose stones as the rear tire spun freely, never coming off the throttle for fear of sliding backward. I finally reached an easier section and took a breath… then off again, braving the next bit. It was impossible to relax into a rhythm. I had to take each new challenge one at a time with adrenaline-fueled focus. I was pushing myself to my limit.

The road surface became unpredictable and I was pushing myself to my limit.

But just then, an approaching dune buggy ripped me out of my trance. I was surprised to see a tourist way out there but also relieved because it meant we are nearing Urique. The road became wider and easier as we passed a working copper mine, the dump truck drivers greeting us with lazy two fingers as we slalomed around them on the slippery gray mud. Leaving the copper mine behind, we sped up, changing to third gear for the first time since morning. The well-graded gravel road took us even higher, into pine forests where I was finally able to relax a little.

Of course, this easy bit was when I crashed, almost like it was overdue. I struggled and failed to pick up the bike until Aidan came to the rescue. The sun was getting uncomfortably close to the horizon, but we allowed ourselves a quick break overlooking a lush green valley. Another tortilla chip sandwich and a good giggle at Aidan’s beard being white with dust below the helmet line was just what I needed to muster the energy for the last leg.

Crashing on the smoothest bit of road we have come across all day.

We’d arrived at a viewpoint we had seen in the video. From there, the river and town of Urique below were nothing more than a silver line surrounded by a few indecipherable dots at the hazy dark green bottom. It seemed impossible that just 12 miles would get us there. But a few lights were coming on, twinkling like stars and reminding us that it was time to get going.

A murky stream crossed the road, posing the usual questions of how deep it might be and whether there were hidden rocks or holes. But before we could get off our bikes to prod it with a stick to find out, an oncoming minibus slowly rolled across, providing all the assurances we need. We rode in with a big splash and emerged damp but unscathed on the other side. Around the next bend, the narrow dirt road steeply twisted down the canyon wall in tight switchbacks. We nervously feathered our clutches and brakes back in first gear, exhausts popping as the engines reduced our freefall to slow motion, fishtailing through occasional spots of loose gravel and rocks, tossing our bikes precariously close to the unfenced edge for a great view into the canyon.

It took us a good 90 minutes to cover those last 12 miles to town. We found a hotel and fell into bed, completely exhausted yet exhilarated. We’d made it! This was by far the most challenging ride we’d ever done, and to my surprise, I found that I really enjoyed the trickiness of it. Today, we are heroes, too.

Unusually flat section of descent to Urique.

Inspired at a book signing during a motorcycle show in London, Maria Schumacher and her partner Aidan decided to ride around the world by motorbike, even though they had never sat on motorcycles before. Since then, they have led a life interrupted by travel across Europe, Turkey, Georgia, India, and Australia. They started their journey on a pair of BMW F650GSes, but while Aidan still rides his, Maria switched to a Honda NX250. They have lived in Vancouver for the last few years and are now on their way to Argentina.