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| Haunted Highways: La Espinazo Del Diablo |
The road winds like a serpent through the mountains of northern Mexico.
Fog coils across the asphalt, blurring the edge where pavement meets the abyss. The headlights slice through the mist for only a few feet before it swallows everything again. Somewhere below, the sound of rushing wind mixes with distant thunder, echoing off the jagged cliffs of the Sierra Madre Occidental.
Locals call this stretch of highway La Espinazo del Diablo—The Devil’s Backbone. It’s a name whispered with respect, fear, and more than a touch of superstition. Even the most seasoned truckers grip the steering wheel tighter when they reach this part of the road. Because up here, among the twisted turns and crumbling edges, you’re never truly alone.
Where the Mountains Meet the Sky
La Espinazo del Diablo is part of Federal Highway 40D, connecting the cities of Durango and Mazatlán. It cuts through some of Mexico’s most breathtaking—and dangerous—terrain. The road climbs over nine thousand feet above sea level, hugging cliffs so steep that one wrong move means a fall into endless fog and stone.
Before modern construction, the route was even worse. Drivers called it a “ribbon of death,” notorious for fatal crashes and disappearing vehicles. The original highway was narrow and unguarded, with over three hundred sharp turns and constant rockslides. Even after improvements, accidents are common. Many say it’s not just the treacherous landscape—it’s something else. Something that watches from the shadows.
The Legend of the Devil’s Backbone
Stories of the road’s haunting go back generations. Locals claim the Devil himself once crossed this mountain range, carving the road with his own spine after losing a wager with God. The jagged cliffs, they say, are his bones—still jutting through the earth, marking the place where light and darkness meet.
It’s not unusual for travelers to speak of strange things on the road: headlights that appear behind them and vanish without a sound, phantom hitchhikers waving for help, and black shadows that dart across the curves before melting into the fog. Some drivers report feeling the steering wheel pull on its own, as if invisible hands were trying to guide them over the edge.
Others tell of hearing whispers in the wind—soft voices calling their names, urging them to take their eyes off the road. And when they do, even for a second, the Devil’s Backbone claims another soul.
The Ghosts of the Sierra Madre
In the 1930s and 40s, dozens of travelers vanished along the mountain pass. Some were later found miles below, their vehicles crushed and burned. Others were never recovered at all. According to local legend, their spirits never left.
Truckers say that late at night, when the fog is thickest, you can see figures walking along the roadside—men and women in outdated clothing, their faces pale and wet as if they’d just climbed from the wreckage below. They don’t speak. They just stare as you pass, and if you glance in the rearview mirror, they’re gone.
There’s also the tale of the Phantom Bus—a vehicle seen careening down the cliffs, flames bursting from its windows, only to vanish before it hits the valley floor. The story traces back to a real tragedy: a bus that lost control in the 1930s, plunging into a ravine with everyone aboard. Locals say on certain nights, you can still hear the screams echoing from the gorge.
The Devil’s Deal
Among the mountain towns near Durango, some believe La Espinazo del Diablo is cursed ground, a place where deals are still made with dark forces. Old folk tales claim travelers once left offerings—coins, liquor, or even animal bones—at roadside shrines to appease the Devil for safe passage. Those who didn’t sometimes vanished without a trace.
One enduring story tells of a weary driver who pulled over to rest one foggy night. A stranger approached, tall and thin, his eyes glowing faintly red. The man offered to guide him safely down the mountain—but in exchange, he wanted something in return. When the driver refused, the figure smiled, revealing teeth sharp as glass, and vanished into the mist. The driver made it to town, only to find deep claw marks along the side of his truck.
To this day, some locals leave offerings of cigarettes and tequila near roadside crosses, “just in case.”
Real Danger, Real Fear
Even without the supernatural, La Espinazo del Diablo is deadly. Before the construction of the modern toll road, hundreds of people died each year from accidents. Many occurred in clear weather, with no apparent mechanical failure. Survivors described “feeling watched” or “blinded by lights that weren’t there.”
Truckers who drive the mountain route say radios often cut out near the highest peaks. GPS fails, and headlights flicker even in new vehicles. One Durango driver claimed to have seen a figure standing in the middle of the road at 3 a.m.—tall, dark, and motionless. When he swerved, his truck stalled, and by the time he got out, the figure had vanished. Only a faint smell of sulfur lingered in the air.
The Crosses Along the Road
If you ever drive the Devil’s Backbone, you’ll notice something haunting: crosses. Hundreds of them, lining the roadside from Durango to the ocean. Some are simple wooden markers, others painted white, with names fading under sun and rain. Each marks a life lost on this stretch of highway. Many have candles, flowers, or ribbons tied to them. At night, the wind blows through the plastic petals, making them whisper like voices.
Local families maintain these memorials not only to remember loved ones—but to keep their spirits from wandering. It’s said that if the dead are forgotten on this road, their ghosts become restless, drawn back to the place where they died. And when the fog is thick enough, the living and the dead sometimes share the same road.
The Folklore Behind the Fear
In Mexican folklore, the Devil is often less a destroyer than a trickster—testing the faith and pride of mortals who cross his path. Roads like La Espinazo del Diablo become symbols of temptation and danger, thresholds between the safety of the known and the chaos of the unknown. Mountains themselves are considered sacred and unpredictable, home to both saints and demons.
Some folklorists believe the stories surrounding the Devil’s Backbone grew from centuries of indigenous and Catholic beliefs blending together. The Sierra Madre was once believed to be inhabited by spirits of the dead, while Spanish colonists brought tales of El Diablo’s bargains. Over time, these merged into a single legend: a road built on cursed ground, where souls travel side by side with shadows.
Even today, you’ll find small roadside chapels scattered along the cliffs—tiny sanctuaries built by survivors who believe the road spared them once but may not again. Candles burn behind glass, prayers etched into wood: “Gracias por otro viaje.” (Thank you for another journey.)
Modern Sightings
Despite the construction of a safer toll route, the old highway remains open—and haunted. Drivers still report seeing lights weaving through the fog when no other vehicles are nearby. A few claim to have encountered spectral animals: a black dog with glowing eyes that appears suddenly in the headlights, or a massive birdlike creature gliding alongside the cliffs before dissolving into mist.
One chilling account from 2016 tells of a pair of travelers who stopped to help what they thought was a man standing by the guardrail. When they got closer, they realized he had no face—just smooth, gray skin. As they drove off in terror, their car radio filled with static, then laughter that wasn’t their own.
In 2019, a group of motorcyclists traveling from Mazatlán to Durango posted dashcam footage showing what looked like a shadow darting across a curve near kilometer 186—seconds before their camera abruptly cut out. When the footage resumed, one rider could be heard saying, “There was someone in the road.” But when they reviewed it later, there was nothing there. Only the sound of wind and a faint whisper beneath the static.
Locals also talk about the “Screaming Turn,” a bend near the highest peak where multiple accidents have occurred despite clear weather. Truckers say they sometimes hear a woman’s voice screaming just before rounding the corner. Some believe she’s the spirit of a young newlywed who died there decades ago when her car went off the edge. Others think she’s trying to warn travelers before it’s too late.
And in 2022, a night security officer stationed near a toll booth reported seeing headlights appear out of the fog—two bright beams speeding uphill toward him. He stepped aside to wave the vehicle through, but no car ever emerged from the mist. When he reviewed the surveillance footage, the lights were gone, yet his own reflection could be seen turning to watch something that wasn’t there.
Whether these stories are real or imagined, no one denies the unease that settles over the mountains after dark. Up here, where clouds drift across the road and shadows move of their own accord, the Devil’s Backbone feels alive.
Similar Legends
Route 666 (U.S. 491) – The Devil’s Highway – Once infamous for its cursed number, this stretch through the American Southwest is said to be haunted by phantom trucks, hellhounds, and shadowy figures chasing cars under the desert moon.
Karak Highway – Malaysia’s Ghost Road – Known for its endless accidents and eerie sightings, including a phantom Volkswagen Beetle that appears in rearview mirrors and a faceless hitchhiker searching for his mother.
A75 Kinmont Straight – Scotland’s Ghost Road – Drivers report disembodied faces slamming against windshields, phantom animals, and unseen hands gripping the wheel. Truckers call it “the road that drives back.”
Clinton Road – New Jersey, USA – Deep in the Pine Barrens, this twisting road is infamous for cult sightings, ghostly children, and headlights that vanish mid-curve. Many say it’s America’s own Devil’s Backbone.
La Rumorosa – Baja California, Mexico – This twisting desert highway is haunted by the spirits of travelers who perished in crashes along its cliffs. Drivers report seeing spectral women in white, phantom soldiers, and even burning vehicles that vanish when approached. Locals say the wind that howls through the canyon isn’t just air—it’s the voices of the dead.
Each of these haunted highways shares a single truth: danger invites belief. Whether it’s the Devil in the details or the echoes of those who never made it home, the road remembers. And sometimes, it calls the living back to join it.
Final Thoughts
La Espinazo del Diablo is more than a mountain pass. It’s a reminder that some places belong to forces we can’t explain. The road winds, the fog thickens, and the cliffs seem to shift closer. Maybe it’s the altitude, maybe it’s exhaustion—but if you listen long enough, the wind starts to whisper your name.
So if you ever find yourself driving through the Sierra Madre after midnight, and you see a figure standing at the edge of the road, don’t stop. Don’t look twice. Because on the Devil’s Backbone, the line between the living and the dead is just one wrong turn away.
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