Mexico. So close and yet so far.
I’d never ridden in Mexico, despite my friend Hank asking me to go on several occasions. Hank had run motorcycle tours there for years, so he was certainly familiar with the place. Being Hispanic and speaking Spanish didn’t hurt either.
I had a break in my work schedule and was anxious to ride somewhere, when he called to tell me he was leading a small group into Mexico to attend the Mexican BMW Rally in the interior. To be honest, I wasn’t totally crazy about going, my last trip there to a resort ending in the worst stomach virus or food poisoning I’d ever experienced in my life. Though irrational, it had been so bad that I never wanted to risk that again. Yet, I wanted to break the mental barrier of international travel so I said “Sure!” quickly before I could think of a good excuse. The plan was to leave in a few days from Laredo.
Unfortunately for me, my GS began having issues of intermittent stumbling with a really bad drop in fuel mileage. Typically I was getting 40 mpg but it suddenly dropped to 32-ish and I spent my prep days chasing parts and ghosts. After changing fuel filters, plugs and more, the general consensus was to just dope the tank with injector cleaner and hope for the best .
Heading for a foreign country with a poorly running bike was not high on my list and I really wrestled with going or not. It had been such short notice I didn’t really have time to get it sorted, but Hank being a BMW mechanic, assured me we could deal with it if necessary.
We were all due in Laredo for a leaving at 8 am on Monday, so on Sunday I packed the bike, filled the tank with gas and GumOut and headed south for Laredo.
I stopped in briefly at Hank’s shop, “MotoHank”, and dropped off a GoPro housing, where a disassembled KTM 950 was being reassembled by its owner, Cullen. He'd ridden in from Nevada for this rally trip and was doing some last minute prep to his bike. I stood around and pointed at things while he worked and Hank supervised. From there I headed south to Laredo in a fierce headwind, serious heat and a setting sun to swap some cash for pesos and get some rest for our early morning rendezvous. My gas mileage to Laredo was a horrendous 29 mpg. I didn't sleep well due to the bike issue and nerves about entering a country where I could not speak the language.
Exciting pics from the Motel 6:
Note the copious amounts of Pepto. There was more stashed all over the bike.
High tech, eco friendly usage of air - note that the position of the insoles not only dries them, but deflects a tornado-like air current into the sweaty boots. Pure genius in action.
Ok, I’ll admit the pictures are boring, but what else do you do in a Motel 6 besides count all the other creepy people staying there?
MONDAY 8 A.M. The plan was to meet in the parking lot next to the motel at 8 am and head for the border to beat the crowds, but Hank called and had had a fuel pump failure just a couple blocks from his shop and was running late. I wandered into the adjacent Denny’s for breakfast and spotted a couple of other riders, whom I guessed were part of the group. Jim from Texarkana and Rob from Michigan shared the table with me. Our group was going to consist of Hank and his girlfriend Sherry, Cullen from Nevada on his KTM 950, Jimmy from Texarkana on a 1200GS and Rob from Michigan on his 650 GS twin. In addition we had two other riders, Jim from Michigan and his son Matthew from Arizona, who were going to cross with us and then part ways in Monterrey.
Hank and Sherry arrived about 9:30, Hank having swapped in a new fuel pump on his bike. We formed up and headed for a gas station to top off and exchange more pesos if needed, then headed through the old section of Laredo to the original International Bridge rather than to the newer crossing. It was near the Inmigracion and Aduana buildings and would save some time.
Cullen on his Katoom 950
I was pretty nervous for some reason and paid the toll to cross the bridge. Once across, there are a few lanes with red or green lights that appear over them as you arrive. If you get a random red light, you pull into an inspection area or if green, you just go through. I was last in line and three of our five got red lights and inspections. Rob and I did not and for some reason Rob rode off to find the Aduana. I followed him, both of us missing the turn and eventually finding our way back.
Hank and crew were waiting as we headed inside, with only a few folks ahead one of the benefits of a Monday morning. The process took a couple of hours and we were on our way through Nuevo Laredo. Hank took a loop along the Rio Grande that bypasses the main section of town and leads to the highway heading to Monterrey. We were dodging and bobbing in traffic, seeing lots of armed policia and federales, then passed a large machine gun emplacement hidden behind sand bags in front of the Holiday Inn Express on the loop. Needless to say, that got my attention and I realized Toto and I weren’t in Kansas anymore.
The cartel violence in Mexico had spiked, especially with the Zeta’s and this was a real reminder. The border areas were notorious for turf war violence, so it was with much speed that we headed out of Nuevo Laredo for the interior. A lot has been made of the danger in Mexico, but as Hank had told us, as long as you were staying away from any drug related activity you weren’t worth a nickel to the cartels.
We were soon on the main highway at high speed for Monterrey about 140 miles away. We were traveling about 90 mph and into a strong headwind. I watched as my fuel gauge went slowly down, my stomach sinking at the same rate. We’d gotten on the tollway through the bleak landscape and I seriously didn’t think I would make it before running out of gas. I was last in line and they were far ahead, trying to conserve speed and fuel. I knew they’d have no idea I’d run out of gas for a very long time if I did.
As we got closer to Monterrey, the air was thick and hazy - whether smog or natural - and I was barely able to make out the shapes of mountains ahead. Just as my low fuel warning light came on at 115 miles instead of the usual 180 miles, I began seeing signs of the city and we finally rolled in to a Pemex station. We filled up with gas and I was genuinely wrestling with continuing my trip since the bike was getting such poor mileage. If I was to quit, it had to be now or never as I’d never be able to find my way back to the border as easily. I debated whether to and told Hank, but he said fuel wouldn’t be an issue.
The usual lunch restaurant was closed, so Hank led us to a neighborhood flea market where the food search began. The only vendor was an old man with a cart full of roasted chicken, sloppily piled against dirty glass. I watched as he grabbed pieces with his greasy hands and tear them apart for the buyers. My worst nightmare was getting violently ill again in Mexico, and this setup looked to be a veritable bacterial sickness laboratory. Everyone else was buying chicken from him and I thought. “Well, what the hell, if I die in Mexico, I’ll die in Mexico.” Despite my trepidation, the chicken was absolutely delicious.
I tagged along as we rolled for Saltillo, listening to every rumble in my stomach just in case. I’d filled up the bike with Premium and the gas gauge had slowed in its rapid descent. The bike got better mileage on the second tank, likely due to higher altitude where it uses less gas. I was finally able to relax a bit and check the scenery. We raced south, passing innumerable "Vulca" or tire changing sheds and shacks, stacks of bagged onions or lemons on the inside lane, horses and sheep grazing the medians along the highway. At the speeds we were traveling 80-90, you needed to be alert at all times. We raced past a freshly rolled old Ford pickup in the center median, the bodies having been drug out and surrounded by a crowd of locals, feeling that terrible sense of guilt in knowing there's nothing you can do. It seemed we stopped at innumerable toll stations and I was beginning to wonder if I'd changed enough cash into pesos at the rate I was handing it out.
We were in the “altiplano”, the high mountain desert to the west of the Sierra Madre range. The beautiful desert mountains rolled past as we flew along, with no time for photos in the race against a setting sun. We finally reached the cut-off for Cedral north of Matehuala, where we topped off on gas before turning onto a 12 mile cobblestone road through the desert and up into the mountains. The road was an amazing site to see and the vistas into the setting sun were beautiful. I snapped a quick pic while riding but the cobbles made it a challenge.
We did switchbacks up into the mountains until reaching a tunnel which goes entirely through the mountain and leads into the old town of Real De Catorce. We waited for a truck to come through before paying a 20 peso toll and proceeding.
I can't remember the length, but the old tunnel was a couple of kilometers long, dark and musty. It was a great ride.
Bursting out the far end into the light and into the old town was like stepping back in time.
Cobblestone streets and stone buildings, street vendors and crisp mountain air. The tiny streets are steep and rough, but it's a beautiful place.
We found the hotel just about dusk, showered and went out for a meal in the darkness.
It was dark but here are a few shots:
Real De Catorce was a spectacular place and I was anxious for daylight to explore!
The Route: