Moto Explore Mexico Tour—Day 3, Oaxaca To Puerto Escondido

Wow! This is truly a side of Mexico I did not know existed. We awoke early and dressed, our plan to leave by 7 a.m. and head in to the mountains for breakfast. The plan changed, though, when we learned the secure parking lot housing our bikes would not open until 8 a.m., despite being assured otherwise. No matter, it is an adventure, right? The unexpected and unplanned are par for the course. We found a restaurant in the city and enjoyed a spectacular breakfast of coffee, fresh orange juice, and huevos rancheros. As a guilty pleasure, I had more than my share of fresh, homemade banana bread. Yum! We hopped on the bikes and wound through town, south toward the mountains. The traffic was intense, requiring absolute focus and deft maneuvering. But after a day of riding in the country, I was well acclimated and quickly found my groove. After 20 minutes, we found the city limits and sped up toward the rural foothills. But the rhythm would soon be interrupted. Our guide Apollo hit his hazard lights and pulled over, indicating a flat tire. We limped to an old roadside shack where we shed our gear and assessed the problem. It was clear the guides had the situation under control, and that was fine by me; I have fixed countless flats in my time and was happy to leave this work to the eager beavers.

While they worked, I explored. The shack was home to a young couple who used the small space as a rural convenience store. Inside was an old, sputtering cooler with lukewarm drinks and rusty metal shelves containing various bags of candy and chips. I grabbed a coke and banana, then fumbled through pleasantries (my Spanish is atrocious) before paying for the snacks. I regarded the shopkeeper as she bustled about, marveling at how different our lifestyles were. I considered the elusive definition of “happiness,” wondering if her life path would have made me happier, should I have found myself walking it. In my youth, it was easy to believe that my dead-run lifestyle laced with shiny toys and travel were what defined happiness. Now older and with time to reflect, I am not so certain. Could it be that I was now sharing space with a person that was far more content with life than I?

My introspection was interrupted, as whoops and hollers revealed a successful tire repair (in Mexico, everything is celebrated), and we suited up for some spirited riding. The roads became twistier, climbing southwest into the cool, green mountains. I was surprised by the smooth roads, thick foliage, and pleasant winds, all elements that were new to me in this country. We stopped for coffee and talked about riding technique, sharing ideas that we practiced as we continued on. At the crest of our climb, we found dotted villages, vibrantly painted and clustered impossibly along sheer mountain faces. We descended, the heat rising as we re-entered the arid desert. My fuel indicator lit at 49 miles, and I watched it drop to 30, then 10, then 5. Other riders had similar troubles, making it known to the lead rider via all manner of gesticulation. But I wasn't worried. I could see the ocean now; a town with fuel must be close. And surely our guides had planned out gas stops based on our available range. As a longtime motorcycle tour guide, I took great solace in the problems I did not have to concern myself with on this tour.

Sure enough, we found fuel with 3 miles to spare. We topped off and headed to our beachfront hotel. We arrived before our support truck, placing us on hold while we awaited our luggage. I stole the moment to walk along the sandy beach, resting in my riding suit near the white water. After hours of intense riding, this was exactly where I wanted to be.

The truck arrived and we switched to shorts, heading for the oceanfront town. The water was tumultuous and a little frightening, but we took a swim just the same. We enjoyed the sunset from a small beachfront restaurant, eating fish and shrimp and drinking (a lot of) mescal. Another swim—this time in the hotel pool—and it was off to bed.

Tomorrow we head northeast, back over the mountain via a different, more intense route, I’m told. It will be hard to leave the beach, a perfect end to a great day of riding.