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geoffrey
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- First Name
- geoffrey
- Last Name
- noble
The message for Paul was… “after four hours of hairpin turns, sweeping turns, banked turns, steep turns, I was begging for a straight road, just for something different..you should have come. ” I had done several 1,000 plus mile rides with Paul, both on our Ducati st-2s , our exhausts resonating like tuning forks through California’s redwoods. Now Paul and my son Forrest were stuck in a cold wet northern California winter, bikes put away in the garage, desperate for some sunshine.
For me, I had just returned from a last minute, impulsive ride. Starting point( and ending) being in the Mexican “altiplano”, state of Guanajuato. The weather had been unusually wet and cold for January in this part of Mexico for the past two weeks, but today, perfect cloudless sky. My destination for that night was the town of Xilitla, in the state of San Luis Potosi. Elevation 2300 feet, home of the late eccentric artist Edward James. He had created some bizarre concrete art in the jungle and his partner’s family was trying to continue the legacy with a hotel near by.
The reason for the trip wasn’t the town or the warmer climate. The reason was the result of a brief encounter with three veteran riders that had pulled into San Miguel De Allende (my current domicile) one afternoon. I first saw their bikes in the town square. Ducati Multistrada, Bmw 1150R, and KTM 950 Adventure with plenty of long distance paraphernalia stuck here and there. We got talking, which led to dinner at one of our Italian restaurants, which led to their account of that day’s ride. After a couple of really good Margaritas they recounted many of their rides all over the world, Italy, Germany Switzerland, South America, Alaska. But then they all agreed that the ride they experienced that day, in Mexico,in my backyard, had more turns, more vistas, more traffic free roads, more of everything than any other ride experienced to date. They had started at Xilitla , my destination.
So that was a month ago. I had to find out for myself, could it be that good? I had heard of the road up to Durango from Mazatlan, it was the road of a 1,000 curves. This had more. I just hoped that it wasn’t like the road to Puerto Escondido, road of a 1,000 topes (Mexican version of the speed bump..more on that later) . Not that the topes were a problem for the klr 650. It ate topes at any speed..in fact the faster the better. The problem with topes is you have to see them coming so you can transfer your weight to the pegs..that takes a lot of focusing when many of the topes have no warning sign or paint. Oh sorry got distracted..so that was a month ago. Now I am headed east with the midmorning sun shining in my face and it feels really good. Even at 6200 feet the air didn’t have the bite of the more northern penetrating cold this time of year. Now that I have you involved with my tale thus far, let me try to explain what it’s like riding in Mexico.
There are many myths and you have probably heard them. Banditos, animals on the roads, poor gas, people on the roads (as in intoxicated peoples) etc etc. Well it’s all true which makes for an adventure and if I’m not mistaken on some level isn’t that what we want? Let me break it down so we can isolate the adventure issues.
First on everyone’s mind is the security issues. Do we need to worry about people stealing our bikes, our money our ipods. The key to this question is location, location, location. Some areas are dangerous but most are not. Even in the reported bad areas, daytime riding is just fine. Let me give you an example.
My wife and I were making the journey from Acapulco to Puerto Escondido along Route 200 which stays within a few miles of the pacific most of the way. We had stopped at a roadside restaurant which typically in this part of Mexico was an extension of some family’s kitchen that happened to be located within 50 feet of pavement. As we were there enjoying the pollo special, a beer delivery truck pulls up to the restaurant. This is your normal beer truck you may see in any u.s. city making its deliveries to supermarkets except for one difference. When the wide side doors swung open to access the corona we were surprised to see a uniformed guard holding a AK47 looking gun, ready for action. Now you probably are putting two and two together just like we did down there in that southern state of Guerrero, Mexico. There are people holding up beer trucks for cash (and probably beer). And here we are, two defenseless gringos on their red motorcycle, we have cash (and probably beer). So the lesson in areas like this. keep moving in the daylight. Whether that be on the coast or in Mexico city. If the heavily mustached and armed uniformed person blows his whistle at you, waving his arm to pull over, the lesson again? Keep moving in the daylight.
Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t the Mexico you will find out on the open road away from the hot spots. In fact, just the opposite. We feel more secure, more relaxed, riding in Mexico than we do in the states. The reason for this has to do with our next “adventure issue” ..the people along the way.
Mexican people are just plain nice. They are hospitable, they are kind. Yes they have other issues, but when it comes to riding through their front yard, they take it very well. They display an amazing amount of tolerance for everything happening around them. Just don’t ask for directions. There is something about directions where everything goes awry. It could be a question as simple as “Where is the main square”. They are just not thinking along the same linear paths our brains are used to working. Not that there is anything wrong with that, it’s only different, and hard for us to follow, literally. Let me illustrate.
I entered the town of Peñamiller in the state of Queretaro as shown on my detailed Pemex map. I was on a “main road” according to the map, although I already suspected a shortcoming with the cartographer involved with this portion when the road deteriorated several times into nothing more than a washed out hillside of sporadic gravel. As I entered town the road abruptly ended in a residential neighborhood with either a left or right turn. I meandered through town without any sign of a way out. Finally I broke down and asked for directions to the next town on the map. I listened carefully, faithfully noting each turn and landmark that Mario identified. Then I made an intuitive decision. Do just the opposite. I was soon accelerating up out of town on my way. But there was still a lingering doubt that I had made the right call. The gps didn’t help. It showed I was traveling out of town on a road paralleling the road I had come in on. Better stop and reconfirm. This is where the lesson begins.
There are no Ace hardwares in Mexico. Constructorama is their store. Every town has a few, and Penamiller was no exception. I pulled up and immediately attracted the attention of Romero and Juan. They both came out from behind the open air counter to greet me and offer any help I might need. “Am I on the road to Japon?” Yes replied Romero, the senior employee of the two. That was too elementary for Romero. It was important to him that I get a thorough grasp of every puebla, bus stop, and intersection between there and Japon, and not leave out an invitation to his families hot mineral baths. In fact it was so important , he felt it necessary to draw a map for me with all of the above locations duly noted. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not opposed to local knowledge and I was grateful for his instruction. Its just that my Pemex map (which he was not able to decipher) had all these features listed, but in different locales.
The valuable info I learned from Romero was not spatial. It was his grasp of the people that made up the little pueblos along the road to Japon. “Don’t stop for gas in Landa De Matamoros, you could get into trouble”. “Make sure you stop in Pinal De Amoles, The food is good and the people will treat you kindly”. Herein lies the vast chasm between the Norte Americano’s mind and the Mexican. Mexicans are about people and relationships. Americans are about getting to your goal, your destination. So if you get lost, enjoy it. You will make it back. But in Mexico you will have a few stories to tell about the way back.
Let me get back to that ride I was telling you about. I traveled about an hour flat out on my klr 650 trying to meet up with the Sierra Gorda . Flat out is about 80 mph , which equates to about 50 miles when you take in the various distactions in my way. The most common would be the public works projects along the river crossings. The road would be world class right up to where the rubble pile notified you that its time to apply both brakes..hard. At the same moment its important to use your peripheral vision to locate the widened cattle path you are passing that will take you across the dry river bed. is a bridge across the river. The cattle path usually meanders along or under its modern support columns. Its just that the bridge is not connected to that world class pavement. Just a space…a deep space that one would not want to be careening down. It leaves scratches on one’s bike.
The Sierra Gorda looked endless. Peak after peak headed toward the carribean sea. The west side I was approaching was devoid of green.. All removed during the great silver mining era. It had the appearance of a shale moonscape that was in a continuing downward slide into the deep ravines. The visual impact had a disturbing but at the same time dramatic effect on your mood. On the upside, the usual trash along the road had also plummeted into the ravines. It was a clean environmental disaster.
Also looking endless was the string of pavement winding up, over, around , and sometimes right through these mountains. I could probably look ahead ten miles along that beckoning grey string, with not one vehicle in sight. You know what that means.
Three hours later, at an elevation of 10,000 feet I broke up through the grey and into the green. The smell came first. The air was scented with green, deep green pines, blue green cedars . It was a powerful emotion, only adding to the experience at hand. The gps was telling me 12,000 feet before I was headed into the first valley. It felt like the continental divide, rivers now flowing alongside the road , clean rivers cascading down rocks. This continued for another hour as I headed back into civilization. I new it was near by the plastic. At some recent time a flood had lifted the plastic bags and bottles into the thick brush. At first I couldn’t imagine what it was. White leaves all flowing in the same direction….to be continued.
For me, I had just returned from a last minute, impulsive ride. Starting point( and ending) being in the Mexican “altiplano”, state of Guanajuato. The weather had been unusually wet and cold for January in this part of Mexico for the past two weeks, but today, perfect cloudless sky. My destination for that night was the town of Xilitla, in the state of San Luis Potosi. Elevation 2300 feet, home of the late eccentric artist Edward James. He had created some bizarre concrete art in the jungle and his partner’s family was trying to continue the legacy with a hotel near by.
The reason for the trip wasn’t the town or the warmer climate. The reason was the result of a brief encounter with three veteran riders that had pulled into San Miguel De Allende (my current domicile) one afternoon. I first saw their bikes in the town square. Ducati Multistrada, Bmw 1150R, and KTM 950 Adventure with plenty of long distance paraphernalia stuck here and there. We got talking, which led to dinner at one of our Italian restaurants, which led to their account of that day’s ride. After a couple of really good Margaritas they recounted many of their rides all over the world, Italy, Germany Switzerland, South America, Alaska. But then they all agreed that the ride they experienced that day, in Mexico,in my backyard, had more turns, more vistas, more traffic free roads, more of everything than any other ride experienced to date. They had started at Xilitla , my destination.
So that was a month ago. I had to find out for myself, could it be that good? I had heard of the road up to Durango from Mazatlan, it was the road of a 1,000 curves. This had more. I just hoped that it wasn’t like the road to Puerto Escondido, road of a 1,000 topes (Mexican version of the speed bump..more on that later) . Not that the topes were a problem for the klr 650. It ate topes at any speed..in fact the faster the better. The problem with topes is you have to see them coming so you can transfer your weight to the pegs..that takes a lot of focusing when many of the topes have no warning sign or paint. Oh sorry got distracted..so that was a month ago. Now I am headed east with the midmorning sun shining in my face and it feels really good. Even at 6200 feet the air didn’t have the bite of the more northern penetrating cold this time of year. Now that I have you involved with my tale thus far, let me try to explain what it’s like riding in Mexico.
There are many myths and you have probably heard them. Banditos, animals on the roads, poor gas, people on the roads (as in intoxicated peoples) etc etc. Well it’s all true which makes for an adventure and if I’m not mistaken on some level isn’t that what we want? Let me break it down so we can isolate the adventure issues.
First on everyone’s mind is the security issues. Do we need to worry about people stealing our bikes, our money our ipods. The key to this question is location, location, location. Some areas are dangerous but most are not. Even in the reported bad areas, daytime riding is just fine. Let me give you an example.
My wife and I were making the journey from Acapulco to Puerto Escondido along Route 200 which stays within a few miles of the pacific most of the way. We had stopped at a roadside restaurant which typically in this part of Mexico was an extension of some family’s kitchen that happened to be located within 50 feet of pavement. As we were there enjoying the pollo special, a beer delivery truck pulls up to the restaurant. This is your normal beer truck you may see in any u.s. city making its deliveries to supermarkets except for one difference. When the wide side doors swung open to access the corona we were surprised to see a uniformed guard holding a AK47 looking gun, ready for action. Now you probably are putting two and two together just like we did down there in that southern state of Guerrero, Mexico. There are people holding up beer trucks for cash (and probably beer). And here we are, two defenseless gringos on their red motorcycle, we have cash (and probably beer). So the lesson in areas like this. keep moving in the daylight. Whether that be on the coast or in Mexico city. If the heavily mustached and armed uniformed person blows his whistle at you, waving his arm to pull over, the lesson again? Keep moving in the daylight.
Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t the Mexico you will find out on the open road away from the hot spots. In fact, just the opposite. We feel more secure, more relaxed, riding in Mexico than we do in the states. The reason for this has to do with our next “adventure issue” ..the people along the way.
Mexican people are just plain nice. They are hospitable, they are kind. Yes they have other issues, but when it comes to riding through their front yard, they take it very well. They display an amazing amount of tolerance for everything happening around them. Just don’t ask for directions. There is something about directions where everything goes awry. It could be a question as simple as “Where is the main square”. They are just not thinking along the same linear paths our brains are used to working. Not that there is anything wrong with that, it’s only different, and hard for us to follow, literally. Let me illustrate.
I entered the town of Peñamiller in the state of Queretaro as shown on my detailed Pemex map. I was on a “main road” according to the map, although I already suspected a shortcoming with the cartographer involved with this portion when the road deteriorated several times into nothing more than a washed out hillside of sporadic gravel. As I entered town the road abruptly ended in a residential neighborhood with either a left or right turn. I meandered through town without any sign of a way out. Finally I broke down and asked for directions to the next town on the map. I listened carefully, faithfully noting each turn and landmark that Mario identified. Then I made an intuitive decision. Do just the opposite. I was soon accelerating up out of town on my way. But there was still a lingering doubt that I had made the right call. The gps didn’t help. It showed I was traveling out of town on a road paralleling the road I had come in on. Better stop and reconfirm. This is where the lesson begins.
There are no Ace hardwares in Mexico. Constructorama is their store. Every town has a few, and Penamiller was no exception. I pulled up and immediately attracted the attention of Romero and Juan. They both came out from behind the open air counter to greet me and offer any help I might need. “Am I on the road to Japon?” Yes replied Romero, the senior employee of the two. That was too elementary for Romero. It was important to him that I get a thorough grasp of every puebla, bus stop, and intersection between there and Japon, and not leave out an invitation to his families hot mineral baths. In fact it was so important , he felt it necessary to draw a map for me with all of the above locations duly noted. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not opposed to local knowledge and I was grateful for his instruction. Its just that my Pemex map (which he was not able to decipher) had all these features listed, but in different locales.
The valuable info I learned from Romero was not spatial. It was his grasp of the people that made up the little pueblos along the road to Japon. “Don’t stop for gas in Landa De Matamoros, you could get into trouble”. “Make sure you stop in Pinal De Amoles, The food is good and the people will treat you kindly”. Herein lies the vast chasm between the Norte Americano’s mind and the Mexican. Mexicans are about people and relationships. Americans are about getting to your goal, your destination. So if you get lost, enjoy it. You will make it back. But in Mexico you will have a few stories to tell about the way back.
Let me get back to that ride I was telling you about. I traveled about an hour flat out on my klr 650 trying to meet up with the Sierra Gorda . Flat out is about 80 mph , which equates to about 50 miles when you take in the various distactions in my way. The most common would be the public works projects along the river crossings. The road would be world class right up to where the rubble pile notified you that its time to apply both brakes..hard. At the same moment its important to use your peripheral vision to locate the widened cattle path you are passing that will take you across the dry river bed. is a bridge across the river. The cattle path usually meanders along or under its modern support columns. Its just that the bridge is not connected to that world class pavement. Just a space…a deep space that one would not want to be careening down. It leaves scratches on one’s bike.
The Sierra Gorda looked endless. Peak after peak headed toward the carribean sea. The west side I was approaching was devoid of green.. All removed during the great silver mining era. It had the appearance of a shale moonscape that was in a continuing downward slide into the deep ravines. The visual impact had a disturbing but at the same time dramatic effect on your mood. On the upside, the usual trash along the road had also plummeted into the ravines. It was a clean environmental disaster.
Also looking endless was the string of pavement winding up, over, around , and sometimes right through these mountains. I could probably look ahead ten miles along that beckoning grey string, with not one vehicle in sight. You know what that means.
Three hours later, at an elevation of 10,000 feet I broke up through the grey and into the green. The smell came first. The air was scented with green, deep green pines, blue green cedars . It was a powerful emotion, only adding to the experience at hand. The gps was telling me 12,000 feet before I was headed into the first valley. It felt like the continental divide, rivers now flowing alongside the road , clean rivers cascading down rocks. This continued for another hour as I headed back into civilization. I new it was near by the plastic. At some recent time a flood had lifted the plastic bags and bottles into the thick brush. At first I couldn’t imagine what it was. White leaves all flowing in the same direction….to be continued.
