Then everyone formed into three lines in front of the kitchen and Romayne Wheeler handed each person (more than 800 adults and kids) a sandwich and a cold drink.
Wheeler, looming over the Tarahumaras, seemed at ease in the role, occasionally saying something in Spanish to someone in the line otherwise concentrating on the rapid delivery of the food into eager hands. Lastly, free towels were handed out, the kids scrambling with glee to seize as many as possible. As it grew dusk, most headed back to their homes. By this time Wheeler and his guests were ready for a meal and some rest. Pilar and I arranged to meet him the next morning at the Eagle's Nest for an interview.
The Eagle's Nest is a short distance from the other houses, and clings directly on the canyon's edge. We entered and descended a staircase into a large room, in the front of which stood Wheeler's 1917 Bechstein grand piano. A large window on one side gave a wide panoramic view along the length of the canyon. Wheeler led us outside through a side door and along a narrow path to a bench under a tree looking precipitously down into the canyon.
Born in 1942, he grew up in California, graduating from high school in 1960. Already writing music at age seven, in 1952 he heard Segovia give a concert in San Juan, Puerto Rico and on the spot determined to become a musician. Another early music influence was in Santo Domingo where he experienced music that is in tune with nature.
He went to Austria in 1961, spent a year in Salzburg then studied in Vienna, earning degrees in composition and as a concert pianist. Returning to the USA in 1968, he started playing as a concert artist, nationally and internationally. At this time he also became interested in the origins of mankind and acquainted with the beliefs of the Hopi Indians in the relationship between the world of nature and the soul.
During a weather-delayed trip in New Mexico in 1980, he came across a copy of National Geographic magazine in an Albuquerque cafe which featured a story on the Tarahumara. He spent months in 1980 and 1981 hiking the area and sleeping in a tent. He teamed up with a young Japanese tourist who knew no Spanish, but was an expert in origami (making designs out of paper) which endeared them to the Tarahumara. Of this time, Wheeler said: "I felt I had come home".
After some twelve years of visiting the Tarahumaras in the late 1990s he made the life- changing decision to live among them. In Creel he met Father Verplanken SJ who painted a stark picture of the Tarahumaras' health needs. Their remoteness and nomadic lifestyle, and a lack of resources from the government produced some horrifying statistics, particularly regarding infant mortality. Convinced he needed to do something, Wheeler contributed from 1985 to 2000 three quarters of his concert earnings to the Santa Teresita hospital in Creel.
A connection, born in his experience with the Hopis, between the world of nature and the world of the soul is what Romayne Wheeler finds in the life of the Tarahumaras. As a composer he creates music which is in tune with the nature which is all around him in the sierras. But he needs to go back regularly to the modern world to perform concert tours for income to support his local health and scholarship projects. Before we left our airy perch under a tree, we handed over a check which was the result of fund-raising in the Big Bend area of Texas; Wheeler asked if we were happy with how he planned to spend these funds, a modest question from a modest and private man.
The last night we visitors and a handful of Tarahumaras sat on seats and on the floor of Wheeler's living room close to his Bechstein with the canyon visible behind. For an hour and a half he played a selection from Liszt to Scott Joplin interspersed with his own work, ending in the pitch dark with a Chopin composition.
After he finishedWheeler talked about how he felt living among the Tarahumara and how it affected his work as a composer. It was not only the majestic landscape but the people's lifestyle themselves which inspired him, he said. Sharing rather than competing and living simply without the acquisitive desires of western societies, the Tarahumara were in tune with nature and in some ways just the opposite of us North Americans. "I have finally arrived where I yearned to be," he concluded.
Romayne Wheeler has become part of a community which initially seemed totally alien to the one where he was born and raised; yet today this very community is an integral part of his world and an inspiration for his music. We returned to urban life in Cuauhtemoc the next day with memories of the high sierras, gentle people and beautiful music performed by a good friend and benefactor of the Tarahumara.
2011
RACE DAY
IN THE COPPER CANYON
March 6, 2011 dawned warm and cloudless in Urique, a town of around 1,000 inhabitants deep in Chihuahua's Sierra Madre range, and the site of the annual Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon. Urique Canyon (depth 4,265 ft) is one of only two canyons in the area accessible by road and public transportation. This was how the international runners arrived, by bus or van from the station at Bahachuivo on the rail line from Chihuahua City. The Tarahumaras arrived on foot from various parts of the canyon region, travelling along trails known only to them. The 7th Ultra Marathon, for men and women, pitting Tarahumaras, more correctly known as Rarámuris, against mestizos against North Americans plus a few runners from other countries, was about to begin.
Our group of five visitors from Texas arrived the previous evening as it was getting dark. (Pilar Pedersen of Alpine, our sixth group member, had gone ahead to help with race preparations). We crossed a wide paved street, sloping sharply uphill, on which two small planes were parked. This is Urique's airport. We checked into the Figueroa Hotel. Thin sheets, bright green walls, bare bulb illumination and a private bathroom cost ten dollars per room. We are right behind the large, ornate Presidencia (City Hall) and a mariachi band was playing at full throttle.
In the tropical warmth, Rarámuri runners in breech cloths and huaraches (homemade sandals) were strolling around the plaza or sitting watching the folkloric entertainment. They were handsome, dark in complexion, slight in build and impassive in demeanor. Standing taller by a head or more, and very much in the minority, were the gringos who were mainly attired in conventional running shoes, shorts and t-shirts. Visible because of his lean, tall frame and shaven head, was Micah True, known as Caballo Blanco - after whom this race was named, the Caballo Blanco Ultra Marathon. Above the din of the band there was a hum of discourse. Greetings were exchanged, hands were clasped and hugs given as racers and friends reunited. Race officials in green t-shirts darted around making last-minute arrangements for the race which was to start at 6.30 a.m. The Urique director of tourism, vivacious, English-speaking Cecy Villalobos was in constant motion, greeting people and giving instructions for the next morning.
This race was very little known until the publication in 2010 of Born to Run, an account of the race's origin and the role of Micah True, long time resident of the Copper Canyon, and promoter of the race. "White Horse" (Caballo Blanco) worked tirelessly to bond gringo and Rarámuri runners and to bring assistance to the Rarámuris who, despite their outstanding running prowess, have dire health statistics.
It was still dark when the race started the next morning. The runners bunched together in a street in front of the Presidencia. A dog in the street delayed the start for five minutes. In front of the main pack, sprinting madly, were teenage local kids who were not competing; next came the mass of Rarámuris gliding along in their distinctive style, while the gringos brought up the rear. There were 307 runners, the majority in Rarámuri traditional costume and sandals, even a few Rarámuri women in skirts. Twenty-six were internationals, from USA, Canada and nine other countries. A gringo from Mason, Texas, still in street clothes, spontaneously joined the pack at the rear wanting to share the experience.
The course was 52 miles long, and described a figure of eight loop which brought the runners back through the town after approximately 21 miles, continuing to do a second 21-mile loop before again passing through Urique for a final loop of nine miles. The whole course encompassed 9,300 feet of elevation gain, and equal descent.
When the runners
departed was a good time to reflect on what an extraordinary event this was. A remote location and fundamental cultural differences were overcome by good will and a shared joy in running. A couple from Seattle had cycled here, and one of them was running. A young Canadian working in New York heard Caballo Blanco give a talk, decided to sign up there and then despite never having run more than 26 miles, or even been to Mexico. An English tourist in Mexico City heard about the race and somehow found his way to Urique. As the day progressed it was apparent that something was happening here. Everyone was in this race: runners, helpers, spectators. They were all energized by the joy of the event, the beauty of the canyon setting and the bond of the race.
Thanks to the course layout, the spectators in the plaza saw the runners four times. On the way back through town for the second time, with only ten miles to go on the last circuit, some runners were plainly stressed. One Rarámuri was having his legs massaged at the aid station by Cecy, the tourism director. Friends of other runners ran with them through town to encourage them. Drinks of water were extended, bananas also. Two Rarámuris ducked into a shop, bought two Cokes which they consumed, then continued. Some quit here at mile 40; others insisted on completing the final circuit, even if it meant walking. They arrived after dark when the awards ceremony was almost over.
Shortly after seven hours had elapsed, the lead runner appeared - twenty-year old Miguel Lara. There was particular elation in the plaza, since he was from Urique and he had set a course record of seven hours four minutes, arriving 24 minutes ahead of the next runner. Cecy was bouncing up and down with joy, clapping and shouting. Lara was still moving briskly (seven miles per hour speed overall) when he breasted the tape showing little sign of fatigue. Seven other Rarámuris followed him. The first foreigner came in at eighth place. One hundred and thirty-three runners completed the course. The first woman runner was from Chihuahua City, the second from Japan, and the third from Ohio all with times over nine hours. Lara posed for photographs, patiently answered questions and walked around a bit. Fifty miles is a short distance for these runners.
Speeches, folkloric dances, more music by the mariachis, and the presentation of prizes took up two hours. Some of the speeches, when the awards went to foreigners, were translated by the indefatigable Cecy. Checks for up to $3,000 each were presented by the mayor to the first three winners, male and female. Every finisher received a voucher for 500 pounds of corn; in the spirit of the occasion, all the gringos donated their allowance of corn to their Rarámuri co runners. This was korima in action, the Rarámuri word for "sharing", which is central to their culture.
The town emptied quickly the next morning as pickups and vans transported gringo runners to the rail station. The Rarámuri left as quietly as they had arrived heading upwards along trails towards distant ridgelines and into other canyons. We Texan spectators got ready to hike for three days to Batopilas Canyon, some 35 miles. We had a burro and mule handler coming with animals for us to put our bags on, and maybe if needed to ride. Now it was our turn to exert ourselves.
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