This morning, I woke up to the comforting aroma of Mexican Chiapas coffee brewing—a warm reminder of the life I share with Patti and our chocolate dog, Lexi. As I settled onto the sofa with a freshly toasted and buttered bagel, several incoming texts caught my attention. Messages from Todd and Mike seemed to buzz with excitement and concern over our impending January 2025 Mixteco motorcycle ride to Mexico.
Mike, a rider we recently met at the annual Banamichi meetup in Sonora, Mexico, decided he wanted to join us on our annual adventure ride. He had initially planned to ride his Moto Guzzi on our planned three-week Mixteco ride, but as the conversation unfolded, he considered switching to his Triumph Tiger 800.
This brought back distant memories for Todd and me. Todd chimed in, sharing recollections of our past adventures, particularly when our mutual friend Dale rode a similar Triumph Tiger 900.
“Your speeds are killing me!” Dale exclaimed as the four of us tore down the highway from Mazatlán. While Dale’s bike was a powerful machine, it guzzled fuel when we pushed it close to triple-digit speeds.
Dale’s fuel tank was no match for our thirst for speed. On a particularly wild ride just after paying the cuota (toll) to leave Mazatlán, Dale’s speed got the better of him. He was some distance behind me when I finally saw his headlight disappear. When I turned around and headed back, I noticed Dale was now facing traffic in the opposite lane. It seemed that a spoke on his brand-new Triumph Tiger’s rear wheel had collapsed, causing the other spokes to explode and locking up the chain and all of the mechanical components. This sent him crisscrossing and sliding across the highway, narrowly missing oncoming truck traffic.
It was a heart-stopping moment for poor old Dale and for any motorcycle rider who witnessed the outcome. However, Dale’s skill as a dirt biker saved him that day. His bike was subsequently totaled, marking the end of his ride. After some effort with the non-working SOS telephone, several calls on WhatsApp to a tow company, and back-and-forth Google Map pins, I finally managed to summon a tow truck to return the bike and rider back to Mazatlán. The bike was then shipped to Mexico City for possible repairs that never happened. Eventually, it was palletized, wrapped in cellophane, and shipped to Nogales for Dale to pick up.
Despite the setback, Dale didn’t miss a beat. He flew to Mexico City, rented a BMW motorcycle, and rejoined our crew, ready for more adventures. Yet, the challenges for poor old Dale didn’t end there. While riding on a winding, twisty road in Chapala, as everyone else dodged a treacherous pothole in the middle of the road, Dale must have been in La-La Land at that moment or fixated on that monstrous pothole—or perhaps the Mexican spirits were at play.
When a motorcycle’s front wheel hits a pothole of Mexican proportions, several things can happen, depending on the motorcycle’s speed, the size and depth of the pothole, and the motorcycle’s design. Depending on the rider’s skill level, the sudden jolt can transfer a significant amount of force through the front suspension, potentially causing discomfort or injury. That impact may disrupt the rider’s control, leading to a loss of balance. As a result, the ride can become wild, with the motorcycle swerving and possibly resulting in a sudden and unexpected crash.
In my friend’s case, the front wheel’s cast rim bent, causing a rear tire blowout. Five of us rallied together that day to help poor old Dale get back on the road. Through all the mishaps, laughter, and camaraderie, each incident—whether that day, the next, or the previous one—only added to the tapestry of our riding adventures through Mexico and Chiapas.
This story could go on endlessly. For instance, when we finally had the tire fixed and were all ready to go, Frank couldn’t find his motorcycle keys. We searched high and low, walking around looking for them, but still no keys. Joey had Frank take off his adventure pants and dump them onto the ground, but still no keys.
This exercise in futility continued for possibly another hour before we rallied again. The second time Frank’s adventure pants were dumped, he felt something hard deep down toward the very bottom part of his right pants leg—his keys had fallen through a small hole in his pants pocket and were now wedged firmly at the bottom.
In Mexico, the Mexican spirits have a way of either working with you or against you, as every adventure comes with its price. Forget about the cartels or the federales; it’s the Mexican spirits, in the form of “Pay The Piper,” that you must worry about. “The cost for some is simple: give up your memories of the entire journey. The thrill, the beauty, the food, the freedom to ride, the friends you made—all must be forgotten.
And in exchange, you may return home safely.
The memories of my adventures are precious to me, I said.
But the thought of losing them for a safe return is daunting.
After a long moment, I shook my head. “I can’t give that up. These memories are a part of me.”
The Piper’s expression shifted from playful to serious. “Then you will face the consequences of your choices,” he warned. “But remember, the journey does not end here.”
I began to share my tales of riding in Mexico with others on a blog I call Trawlercat (for my Trawler catamaran), inspiring some to seek their own adventures.
Slowly, the memories of riding in Mexico began to return to me in fragments at first, rekindled by the stories I told and the friendships made while still riding motorcycles to distant places.
Though he had faced the Piper, he emerged stronger, ready for whatever adventures lay ahead, knowing that sometimes, the true payment is simply in the journey itself.
Trawlercat
End
Trawlercat Chronicles 