How to ride a motorcycle to Mexico and Central America at age 65

Sextagenarian Rides Motorcycle from Maine to Central America...Twice    

 

                                                        Hierve Del Agua, Mexico

                                                                  I wonder…all the time.
                                                              How did I get to this place.

How did I get to this moment.

I took this photo at a church outside of Guanajuato, Mexico.  Looking at the Baroque exteriors of the churches in Mexico I often think about the atrocities that paid for their construction.  Then, as I came around the corner of the church I found this beatific man.  I saw in this holy man’s face, a face that exudes peace.  It was then that I realized that Mexico's turbulent history must have brought out some of the best in humanity as well as some of the worst. 

Here’s what I’m thinking: how do I get the most out of what’s left.  What’s left of my days?  What’s left of the money I’ve never had. What's left of the world that is fast leaving me in the dust?  Questions, asked on the road.

I've spent  a part f the last three years riding my motorcycle through Mexico and Guatemala.  On a bike there is a feeling that you are part of what is going on.  Enclosed in a car, a plane, bus or train one is removed and safe. On a motorcycle you are not safe.  You are exposed and because you are exposed you get to feel your surroundings.  You feel the dirt and the grime of the road.  Every turn in a new city brings on a new experience.  Every corner in the mountains of Oaxaca brought me to life.  A ride from Guadalajara to San Patricio on the Pacific Coast was so filled with exquisite terrors that I can easily re-live most of the day's experiences.  There was a time my rear tire hit sand just as I was rounding a turn.  I had just enough time to see that I was on a cliff and could not see the bottom of the ravine a foot to my right.  An unannounced detour took me on a three hour delay.  This caused me to arrive in the dark.  Arriving in a new town on a motorcycle is something I always try to avoid.  I found my reserved hotel and had a memorable stay despite the tribulation of getting there.  I followed some good advice and took a more reliable route home to Tlaquepaque where I was staying for the month.

On the way to Oaxaca

Hostels

My first trip was to Mexico.  I celebrated my 60th birthday at a hostel in Oaxaca.  The staff there were great.  They brought me a cupcake for breakfast with a candle in it. I think the place is closed now.  Staying in hostels is usually a good idea.  It depends on your attitude.  Yes, it is usually a group of young people but the idea of the "youth hostel" is long past.  Today you will most likely find older adults staying at hostels.  This makes for a great stay at a great price and there is often a kind of camaraderie that can't be beat that builds around the residents of a hostel.   Information is shared independent of age.  Often there is a kitchen which can save money.  Be aware that many hostel rooms are mixed sexes.  If you are uncomfortable with that make sure you find one with single sex dorms.  Most the hostels are very comfortable.  There is always something going on.  It can be a great experience.  I have never had a terrible experience at a hostel.  Of course some are better than others but most of the time you will not be staying long in a hostel.  So you can always move on if it's not comfortable.

Border Crossings

Entering Guatemala

Border crossings can be pretty exciting.  Or dreadfully dull depending on how you see it.  The main takeaway I can share is to be prepared with as much paperwork as you think you should have. I spent hours figuring this out.  In Mexico they want a copy of your license, registration and title.  Of course your passport is a must.  In Mexico it is recommended that you get insurance.  I have never been asked for my proof of insurance.  However, I never wanted to test this out so I bought it.  Make sure you look carefully at what you are getting.  I get the basic of basic insurance.  They will always try to sell you more than you need.  Let's face it, if you end up in an accident in Mexico you will be the loser no matter what.  A $300,000 policy won't do you much more than the $50,000 policy in my opinion.  The companies actually try to hide the fact there is a $50,000 policy available.  You have to look for it.  Now of course a visit to the hospital is not a good thing and may be costly.  The insurance they are selling is for liability only.   Mexico has a reputation for good medical services.  I have never needed it, knock on wood!  I think this decision is up to the individual.  There is an importation deposit which is value dependent.  My bikes are old so I paid $200.  You can get this back once you re-cross the border leaving Mexico.  You must go back to the "bank" called Banjercito to collect your deposit.   I did this with a credit card to protect myself.  Just make sure you do it before you leave the country.

Guatemala didn't require insurance as far as I could tell.  Crossing into Guatemala is a real event.  Hawkers try to assist you in every way possible.  You can do it without help!   I got help because I liked the guy.  I paid him about $7.  I brought copies with me but they would not take them.  I had to go to a bodega and have them made.  I know this is a racket but sometimes I go with the flow just to ease the process.  the paperwork is the same as Mexico. I had color copies they insisted on black and white.  I will never know why.  I think the copy guy has a little racket going. 

The Roads

In general the roads are fairly good.  I do remember my first introduction to a road that did not fit the description.  It was the road from Matemoros (Brownsville) to the ruins of El Tajin.  It is a two lane road that is incredibly busy because it is the main thoroughfare along the gulf coast going north/south.  Trucks, buses, mopeds and a few horses take this route to wherever they're going.  The main rule is that there are no rules.  This is understood and accepted.  It works after you get the feel of it. The shoulder is the road.  Pass when you can.  Watch out for animals.  Watch out for anything and anyone appearing from any direction.  Signs are at your own risk.  Directions are approximate at best.  This seems daunting, and it is, but somehow it works.  Often there are road blocks with guys with machine guns.  Nod as you go through and they leave you alone unless they want to look at your bike.  Some are pretty serious, especially the Federales.  Local police seem like they are not really interested in a lone biker.  They have other things on their mind.  

Potholes are big enough for you and the motorcycle to disappear in.  I don’t like to use GPS.  It makes no sense I know.  However, I was not brought up with GPS nor computers for that matter.  I guess it feels like cheating for me.  Ridiculous For sure but I do like doing things the old way with a map.  Yes this gets me into trouble more often than not but I feel more accomplished when I get to my destination.

Outside the ruins of Tikal, Guatemala

This picture shows the rewards of travel by motorcycle.  Bringing your bike right to a great campsite is one of the best feelings in the world.  In this case the campground is right outside of one of the most spectacular ruins in the Mayan world, Tikal.

The Bike

I see a lot of adds for motorcycle touring.  Youtube is filled with advice.  Very few talk about one of the biggest problems I faced riding in the south.  This is the eventual occurance of the bike falling over.  My first bike was the Kawasaki Concours pictured above.  This was a heavy bike and when it laid down it was really hard to pick up.  It happened once while I was stopped at a turn off looking out over the mountains in central Mexico.  I  don't know how it happened..it just did.  That time I was able to put it back up but really messed my back up.  The second time it happened was in Guatemala.  I had run into a roadblock on a mountain pass heading from Lake Atitlan towards Antigua.  The road was very twisty and steep.  As I came around a corner a truck was coming down the other way.   I got slow and the bike just when down.  I had just filled the tank so it was really top heavy.  The problem was twofold.  One, I was on a steep hill. Second it was laying on it's right side.  The kickstand is on the left side. I wasn't sure what would happen once I got it upright.  Here's the thing, for me to hoist it up takes all my strength.  On  the left side there is a hand hold for putting the bike on the kickstand.  This gives me the leverage I need to right the bike.  On a steep incline on the right side I had nowhere to get purchase while holding the brake lever.  

This is when I received help from a Guatemalan guy who just blew away all the stereotypes we hear in the media.  This guy stopped.  Helped me with the bike and got me safely to the other side of the road and to safety.  Five minutes later, as I was putting things back together he returned.  He wanted to make sure I was alright and to tell me of a easier road to take to get me to Antigua. The road he told me about is still one of my most treasured memories because it took me through some amazing sights; small villages, beautiful farmland and some interesting towns.  I am still so thankful to that unknown Guatemalan who really saved my backside that day.

So, my advice to anyone, specifically people who are "age resplendent"  is to find a light bike.  There is absolutely no need for speeds above 80 mph.  In truth 70 is a good max speed.  In most cases any motorcycle will be able to pass on a steep hill which is when you need it.  Smaller motorcycles are  easier to weave in and out of traffic when the time calls for it.  Lighter bikes will take cobblestoned streets a little easier too.  There have been too many times that I have been caught on a steep cobblestoned street on a steep hill hoping against hope that I didn't blow a clutch at a stop.  Do not get me wrong I love my BMW R1100RSL and I felt the same way about the Kawasaki.  However, if I were to do it again it would be on lighter bike.  I am six foot 3 and 250 pounds.  I love what my big bike can do on the highway.  If highway driving was all I needed to do I'd be all set.  When I go south again it'll be on a 650 or something similar.   

I have my current short list of bikes that  would be great.  I suppose the Suzuki V-Strom 650 is a top contender.  The BMW 650 or 750 is right up there.  The Yamaha Tenere is so popular you can't get one so that's out of the question.  The Honda 500 might be the best overall because, after all, it is a Honda.  I try to maintain my bikes so I usually do not have to many maintenance issues. But that Japanese  reliability is a real plus when it comes to visiting out of the way locations.  I have played with idea of the Honda 300 and the Kawasaki klx 300.  I have a friend with one and he certainly gets around on it.  Great gas mileage and lightweight, as I get older and somewhat wiser this looks better and better.  Last but certainly not least is the good old KLR.  This is what you see the most of down south of the border being ridden by adventurers.  You can't blame them.  Chain driven, carburated, single cylinder with easy to find parts is a recipe for a completed trip.  The thing is any bike will do.  I just think the lighter the better.

I am in the mood to publish this blog as it is.  There is more to say about my motorcycling but fo now this is what I've got and I want to get it out and into the ether.

My motorcycling trips to the south have been some of the best days of my life.  I would suggest anyone with a sense of wonder and adventure try it.  You do not have to ride from Maine...renting is always available.  I just always pictured myself leaving from my driveway and ending up at a Mayan ruin.  When I first realized how little we are taught about the Maya and how incredible their society must have been and that it was possible to reach their fantastic cities from my backyard taking my bike was, to me, the way to go.

Tikal

Motorcycle Ride to Mexico's Pacific Coast...I should have known...

Ruta Ochenta

Mexico 2021

"Should’v Known"

By Geoffrey Huppé

"I know better but what the hell, shouldn’t be too big a deal. Let’s go”. You know what, I’ve said those same words too many times to count. The fact is I really never learn. I’m a “what the f@#K!”junkie. I always look for experiences where I know I’ll say “what the f@#K!”

I said those words bunch of times during the day today. I rented a bicycle in Mexico City. It’s done electronically. What the hell isn’t. It took a day to figure out how to sign up. When I was done I really didn’t want to go for a bike ride anymore but I am my father’s son and there’s no way in hell I wasn’t going now that I paid for it. Walking is an event in Mexico City let alone riding a bike. I will never ride my motorcycle here, I hope, but you never should say never if you’re me. Riding a bike is a serious challenge here. Not only do you have to find out where the electronic corrals holding the bikes are but somehow you have to negotiate the meter set up to unfetter the metallic ponies that will whisk you away to your destination. Today it was the City’s Anthropological Museum. An amazing modern warehouse holding some of Mexico’s greatest antiquities. I am an antiquities junkie too.

There are bike paths here. One way paths or so the signs say. One way except for the other bikes, mopeds and motorcycles going the other way. Parked cars, people selling stuff on the path and roads a goat wouldn’t walk on are a constant threat. The bike paths lead right into busy cross-sections where cars will turn right...that is right into you. You’re guard must be up all the time. The worst WTF moment was the situation that I’m always ready for but still scares the hell out of me. The inadvertent door opener on the left passenger side (right side for the Anglophones). My hand was an inch from the sharp edge of the door and I was ready for the searing pain and the inevitable fall. It’s amazing what can run through one's head in a split second, I saw my hand opened up, not for the first time, and thought what a Mexican Hospital would be like. But I screamed “WTF” in English and the door shut just enough for me to wriggle the handlebars out of hazards way. I’m out of shape as it is after being shut in with Covid for the last however long it’s been. But I wasn’t worried about the car door anymore it was the intensive care cardiac unit I was now facing because I knew my heart was gonna blow. It didn’t; “WTF”?

But riding a bicycle isn’t what this story is about. This story is about riding Pearl, my 1994 BMW 1100 RSL motorcycle, to San Patricio, Maleque, Mexico and Ruta Ochento (route 80) from Guadalajara. 

People seemed surprised, when I left the Guadalajara Language School on Friday for the coast, when I told them I was using the “direct” route. The other way, the road normally used, looked ridiculously out of the way. Route 80 looked like there were some good twisty, turny, parts so I figured that’s why I was here in Mexico. So I went in search of some ”WTF”. I got it right away and right in Guadalajara.

Here’s something I wish I would stop saying to myself while driving in Mexico: “this road looks right”? It never is right. It should be right but it just isn’t so. “Biker- man”, “now what cha gonna do”, I could hear Pearl say in her sexy German/Spanish accent. She then went on to say, “Let’s break out the GPS before I decide to throw the clutch or something else. I will come up with some other disasters if you keep going needlessly in circles”. “And”, she continues, “why are we in the scariest part of town again”? “Weren’t you a big badass pilot”? “Didn’t the Navy teach you how to read a map”? Anyone who has read Stephen King’s, “Christene” knows how pissed off motorized vehicles can get, right?

To appease Pearl I broke out the cell phone and figured a way out of the jam. Or so I thought. Here’s the problem. In Mexico there is a system. I believe it is a system of one way roads that confound me despite the fact I have ridden here, by motorcycle, three times. There are huge roads in the cities with 5 or six lanes. For all intents and purposes they should be two way. They are not! All five or six lanes in the middle of the city go one way. Once you are on them, that’s it. Hold on tight! Signals are useless and the driver has got to get over all five lanes and hope to make a turn to the left. Then the next hope is that one can find an opposing 5 laner. There is a knack to it but often you go way out of your way to make a U-turn. This usually occurs at about noon to two o’clock when the Mexican Sun come out to boil blood and motor oil.

I made the U turn. Made another wrong turn but decided to just go with it. I found, via GPS, there was an alternative way to route ochenta. Eventually I was so happy to finally find the road that I stopped for a cup of coffee at my usual road stop “OXXO”.

OXXO is a 7 Eleven type of convenience store. It is a safe haven from the odd places one finds on Mexican roads. I know I can get a simple cup of coffee, cheap.

The road now wandered through the Mexican countryside which is currently colored in mixed hues of brown and green. There are areas of thick flora and equally thick ground cover in browns of every shade. As the miles passed I started seeing the Mountains of the coast. Thrusting tectonic shapes shoved up from the convergence of the continent.  I was riding on this plate as it floats on the hot liquid below.  The magnitude of the convergence (or subvergence or some kind of vergence) was awe inspiring.  I knew it was soon time to get busy. It did and I did. The road began to climb then descend. The road curved. Then it curved some more. The curves tightened like a belt after Thanksgiving. The BMW was in her glory and loved every second of it. I did too. It was glorious. The road dropped off below and went straight down where no bottom was visible. The mountains were not round. They were precipices. The vegetation seemed to hold on the sides of their homes with claws. The vistas were continuous and breathtaking.

Finally Pearl and I made it to the first waypoint, Autlan de Navarro. I paid strict attention to the road, a necessity for not getting lost. Got some fuel at the PEMEX. PEMEX is the state owned petroleum company. We were off for the next stage. It looked like we were going to make great time. So I thought. However, Ochenta was far from done with me and Pearl.

Pearl and I moved on. Things were good. The road continued to meander then emptied out of the mountains into a verdant plain filled with farming. From what I could see it was mainly sugar cane. Miles and miles of it. The next waypoint was a town called La Huerta. This is a place I will never forget. I knew that after La Huerta there was one more stretch of mountain curves. The last stretch was about 60 kilometers. Even in the mountains this was do-able. So Pearl and I roared off. After a few unexpected “topes” (speed bumps) we reached the end of town. Without any warning the road closed. Just stopped. No warning no alternates just ended. I believe the hurricane that had past through had washed out part of the road. This happens often on these roads. The sides of the cliffs are so steep and so unstable that heavy rains take them out easily. I remember riding through Guatemala and the same thing happened. I should have known better. I am not a geologist but the nature of this volcanic terrain allows for very hard rock dispersed with lots of sand. There never seems to be much gravel, just rock and sand. A geologist will read this and correct me I’m sure. That’s ok, these are just observations I’ve made.

I was at a loss. I looked at the GPS but the signal wasn’t strong and I couldn’t find a road to take me to the coast. I saw one but it looked like it would take hours. This was confirmed when I talked to some taxi drivers I saw waiting by the bus terminal.  However, one of them said there was a route that would only take about an hour and a half. It would go to a town on the coast called Cihuatlan. I saw the route but still asked one more person before I took another wrong turn. Wrong turn? Me? He made a point of saying I should be able to do it but the road stopped being paved after awhile. So off Pearl and I went, off to Cihuatlan and the Pacific coast.

I was pretty depleted by this point in the day but the thought of a new adventure spurred me on. I found the road and all was going well. I saw a turn to the right and convinced myself that this must be the turn. A quick check of the GPS would have told me differently but my ego overruled and I kept going. By the time I asked for assistance I had gone pretty far and knew I had made a mistake. Two local police confirmed my error. They both took pity on me, the wayward gringo, in no-man's land and told me to follow them. I did and they took me back to the turn off I had ignored. There were no signs. It is local knowledge that rules here. Now I was back on track. I ran through another town and was lucky enough to see out of the corner of my eye a handwritten sign pointing to the road to Cihuatlan. A close call and one that would have really sent me down a thorny path. I now knew I was on the road to success. I was confident. I should know better.

The road started to descend and then, turned to sand. My BMW is made for the autobahn. It is heavy and the tires are smooth. It doesn’t seem to mind but I do. I do not like sand under my wheels. Underneath the sand was smooth rock so I would go from good holding to ice-like slick. The road would drop away into nothingness to my right and my left. When I had a chance I would take my eyes off the path for an instant and see absolute splendor in the vistas around me. Taking my eyes off the road for more than an instant was sometime too much. I hit the inside corner of a turn and the rear wheel went down and went squirrelly. The inside of the turn felt like it was giving way. For an instant I felt myself going over the edge into the nothingness below. I punched the throttle just a bit. Too much and I would lose control. Too little and I would sink and fall. I made it but that was the last time I came close to the inside corner. I met a few cars coming the other way but only a few. It was good to have a motorcycle because with a car it would have been an awkward duel to see who had the guts to back down or go up.

I came to a fork in the road. To me the GPS was wrong. It wanted to bring me to the right. The road looked more traveled to the left. I was there deciding and was about to take the right (wrong) way. A car passed and gave me a beep. I was pretty sure that it was a warning. I believe the road was washed away on the route I was going to choose.

The road now got steeper. I am amazed at the quality of the BMW motorcycle. Though I know the brother to my bike is called the GS and is better suited for this kind of terrain I was continually amazed by the way my bike kept me safe and sound as I got weaker and weaker. The GS BMW and the RSL like mine are different only in their geometry. Hands off to BMW and their engineers and technicians.

When I thought I could take no more the road became steeper and more grueling. We kept going and finally saw the outskirts of Cuhuitlan below. I made it to the town. Stopped for a much needed coke a cola. Realizing I was going to be riding in the dark, a taboo motorcycling in Mexico, I set off for my final destination. I found it after a further exhaustive search due to more road work. I eventually found my hotel in San Patricio. There was a good restaurant around the corner. After a burger and fries I went to the hotel and welcomed a sound sleep.

There were times during this trip that pushed me beyond what I thought were my limits. As much as I do not want to admit it at 64. I do not always have the capacity and endurance I had as a younger man. The truth is the younger man part of me will not stop. The younger man tells the older to keep moving even when the older self knows better. This is perhaps the most difficult part of finding one's mortality. It becomes obvious that things are changing yet the self does not want to let go of what was. When I think about how I feel now I start to understand the building of the monuments of antiquity. The pyramids of the Maya and of the Pharaohs in Egypt never made sense to me. Why would anyone spend all that time and energy and resources for such immense projects. Even though I know they did it "because they could". It seemed ridiculous as to the "why". I now know the why. As I age I want to hold back the oncoming inevitability of death. I want there to be vestiges of my youth left. I want to be remembered for having been here. It is obvious that it’s not totally possible. Some structures will last as will some art and literature. Eventually all will fade away into what was.  It is for the clever to know that the NOW is the most important part of our lives. It is not the future nor is it the past because both are fleeting and will not last. The NOW gives us all what we need because we have no more and never will.

I should know, better.