Table of contents
- Motorcycle trip through Mexico Mayans, machos, myths
- It is almost never possible to go straight ahead
- Sitting there for hours
- Promising slope with a 3200 meter pass
- The best motorcycle route in Mexico
- Mexico’s north doesn’t have many highlights
- Arrogance and ignorance on the US border
Jo Deleker
34 pictures
Jo Deleker
1/34
Out and about in Mexico.
Jo Deleker
2/34
There aren’t that many in Mexico anymore, so everyone has to be in the picture.
Jo Deleker
3/34
Travel time: six weeks, driven distance: 8000 kilometers.
Jo Deleker
4/34
Capital: Mexico City; Area: 1.96 million km²; Independent: from Spain since 1821; Official language: Spanish; Population: 118 million.
Jo Deleker
5/34
The church of Nuestra Señora de los Remedios crouches in front of the smoking Popocatepetl.
Jo Deleker
6/34
Without a doubt, Mexico is one of the most diverse, lively and exciting countries in America.
Jo Deleker
7/34
Hardly any other country in America is as varied as Mexico.
Jo Deleker
8/34
Out and about in Mexico.
Jo Deleker
9/34
Out and about in Mexico.
Jo Deleker
10/34
Out and about in Mexico.
Jo Deleker
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The dry season lasts from December to April. Between July and November, hurricanes hit the Caribbean and the southern Pacific coast in particular.
Jo Deleker
12/34
Out and about in Mexico.
Jo Deleker
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The Zapotec and Maya cultures developed more than 2000 years ago.
Jo Deleker
14/34
Out and about in Mexico.
Jo Deleker
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The main roads are mostly well paved. There is a lot of traffic only in the metropolitan areas of the big cities.
Jo Deleker
16/34
Even from a distance of 80 kilometers, the volcano impresses with its size and picture-perfect shape.
Jo Deleker
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Still life in a back street of Guanajuato.
Jo Deleker
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Cardón cactus: It doesn’t do anything, it just wants to spur.
Jo Deleker
19/34
Mexico – one country, a thousand worlds.
Jo Deleker
20/34
Be careful on the platform: “El Chepe” is coming, the train to the Copper Canyon roars through the highlands.
Jo Deleker
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Fresh on the table: Indian women offer peas, onions and potatoes at the market in San Cristóbal.
Jo Deleker
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The day goes on, the people come: in the evening in the streets of Oaxaca.
Jo Deleker
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The ruins of the ancient Mayan city of Palenque in the dense jungle of Chiapas are surrounded by a highly mysterious aura …
Jo Deleker
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… The two men in Coscomatepec have nothing to do with it.
Jo Deleker
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Copper Canyon: roads made of sand, bridges made of wood.
Jo Deleker
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Greetings from Herbie, number 53 is ready for the excursion in Cholula.
Jo Deleker
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San Miguel – a city straight out of a picture book.
Jo Deleker
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Street scenes in Guanajuato: The two señoras on the ornate bench are probably saving the world.
Jo Deleker
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It tunnels under the city, free of traffic jams and cool. There are even bus stops underground.
Jo Deleker
30/34
The creative lock holds the chic hood on the rancid body.
Jo Deleker
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It has to be fun: An entertaining slope curves through the forest up to the Colima volcano.
Jo Deleker
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“Mom, can I have them all?” Balloon sellers on the plaza in San Miguel.
Jo Deleker
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The roads from the Pacific up into the highlands guarantee one thing in particular – endless curves.
Jo Deleker
34/34
In summer it can get well over 40 degrees.
to travel
Motorcycle trip through Mexico
Motorcycle trip through Mexico
Mayans, machos, myths
Hardly any other country in America is as varied as Mexico: Aztec and Mayan ruins, tropical jungles and cactus-rich deserts, colonial cities and warm people, smoking volcanoes and great motorcycle routes.
Joachim Deleker
02/05/2015
The customs officer gently puts eight stamps on twice as many papers and welcomes us to Mexico. Mexico, Nico and I had postponed this trip for years because of the bad news of the drug war. On the other hand, I also heard many beautiful stories from other travelers who finally convinced us to finally see for ourselves what it is like in the land of Mayans, machos and myths.
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For the first few kilometers it looks like across the border in Guatemala. The Mayans have been cultivating their land since time immemorial, growing corn and beans, keeping cows and sheep and living in Spartan houses. You’ve seen better times, but that was a long time ago. In the heyday of the Mayan Empire more than 1000 years ago, large cities such as Palenque existed. Its gray ruins are now hiding in the dense jungle of Chiapas and are still puzzling archaeologists. Why did the highly developed Mayan culture die out? What does your complex script mean? How could they accurately predict such complex astronomical phenomena as solar and lunar eclipses? Nobody knows, but that only increases the magic of this place, through which we wander almost alone in the light drizzle.
It is almost never possible to go straight ahead
The path from the tropical lowlands up to the plateau is winding. Even extremely curvy. We have 2000 meters of altitude ahead of us, straight ahead is almost never possible. Riding a motorcycle in February can be something nice. Only now and then are creeping vices torment us. And so-called topes. Concrete rocker panels lying across the road, an annoying specialty of Central America that is served in a wide variety of forms. The harmless, let’s call them third-course topes, are flat and easily recognizable. Others are even bike-friendly and have a tire-wide opening in the middle. Good aiming increases the chance of getting through second gear without collision. Then there are the first-course tops, nasty specimens of a concrete pipe cut in half, which can only be mastered without damage at walking pace. What is missing are the sneaky, asphalt-colored camouflaged, like to loiter around in the shade of trees and wait for victims, sometimes even on the open road. Loud swearing and frightening crashes are not uncommon to be heard here, and many a car journey ends with such a splendid example of Mexican traffic education.
Jo Deleker
The roads from the Pacific up into the highlands guarantee one thing in particular – endless curves.
We completed the first 100 Topes without any damage when we reached San Cristóbal, an enchanting colonial city in the cool climate of the highlands. Troubled VW Beetles – they are becoming less and less – rumble along cobbled streets lined with pastel-colored old houses. Colorfully dressed Indian women scurry to the market at sunrise. The tourists come later, treat themselves to cappuccino and eclairs in one of the cafes in the shady plaza. A place to feel good.
Further west it is only downhill, 2400 meters in altitude to the Pacific, which welcomes us with a humid 33 degrees. But soon the wind comes up, a vicious wind with eight Beaufort and frightening gusts, which forces us into an unstable incline on the dead straight expressway. No wonder hundreds of windmills rotate and produce clean electricity. It’s always blowing here. Finally the MEX 190 turns into the mountains and the spook is over. 210 kilometers it goes steadily uphill to Oaxaca. Our thick single cylinders hum comfortably meter by meter through fast curves upwards, from the green palm forest by the sea to huge cacti in the dry mountains. Stones and sand, red and cracked earth, gnarled pines and bare fields in winter await us in the highlands. Relaxed drive to Mitla, where we humbly marvel at the 2000-year-old bald cypress El Tule, 14 meters in diameter, branches like oak trunks. Monumental.
Sitting there for hours
And then Oaxaca. The ugly outskirts are tough and tucked away, but we find a nice hostal with an inner courtyard for the Motos, which is only a few steps away from the plaza, the Zócalo. The large square is an oasis in the middle of the old town. Large laurel trees provide shade, cozy cafes cuddle under the arcades of the colonial houses, couples in love on the park benches, in the evening the Señoras stroll in bizarre high-heeled pumps, Indios carrying vendor’s trays offer cigarettes, sweets and biscuits, shoe shiners polish black leather work, children stare at huge ones Bunches of colorful balloons, and a group of campesinos loudly demonstrated for their rights. We just sit there for hours and watch.
Promising slope with a 3200 meter pass
We continue to Orizaba, the highest mountain in Mexico. The MEX 135 turns out to be another dream road: hardly any traffic, places and topes, but an extremely entertaining mountain and valley railway through the dry brown solitude. The 5760 meter high volcano impresses from a distance of 80 kilometers with its size and picture-perfect shape. A small glacier dome adorns its summit. We circle the giant on a promising slope including a 3200 meter pass and then take a course for its famous brother, the Popocatepetl, who is hiding in the thick smog between the metropolises of Mexico City and Puebla. Only at sunset does the smoking “bottom” appear, showing its deep black contours against the red evening sky.
In the map we discover a fine gray line that snakes right between the volcanoes Popo and Itza. We have to try this way. The navigation system steers us out of the big city of Cholula onto the right road, which will soon swap its tar for gravel. Rumbling we dust up through the dense pine forest. How good it smells. The air becomes thinner and cooler, the altimeter finally shows 3690 meters when we turn off the engines on the Paso de Cortes. Why is this beautiful pass named after the Spanish conquistador who invaded the Aztec empire, plundered it, killed the ruler Montezuma and tens of thousands of Indians? Because he crossed this pass after the Cholula massacre in 1519. But no matter what the name of this pass, the landscape is simply stunning, the air breathtakingly thin and the heavily smoking volcano Popo is within reach.
The best motorcycle route in Mexico
In the west, the thick smog bell billows over the 20 million city of Mexico City. We definitely don’t want to go there, bypass the Moloch as best we can and finally dive back into the vastness of the hilly highlands. Meditative driving under a cloudless sky at 26 degrees, mostly straight ahead, speed 90, activate the inner Topes-Warner and let it roll. For hours. Until we reach San Miguel de Allende and spontaneously fall in love. In this beautiful old and lively city with its colorful colonial houses on coarse cobbled streets, the cozy street cafes and the relaxed atmosphere. Even the US retirees who spend the winter here hardly matter.
It’s time to go a few meters. Nico’s flight home from San Diego is getting closer and cannot be postponed. We aim for the Pacific, but on the way we definitely have to visit the most active volcano in Mexico, the 3900 meter high Colima. A lava dome grows continuously on its summit, from which large, glowing chunks break off and roll down the bare slopes in an avalanche of dust. Sometimes the volcano also puffs out light gray clouds. Fascinating. And much more exciting than the inconsequential MEX 200 coastal road, which we follow 800 kilometers through lush green land to Mazatlán. But then it will be really good. We take the old road to Durango under our wheels, perhaps the best motorcycle route in Mexico.
130 kilometers of curves, from 100 meters to 2800 meters and magnificent views over the mountain ranges of the Sierra Madre Occidental shimmering in the heat haze. Sometimes the road balances over ridges, where it descends steeply 1000 meters on both sides. A breathtaking panoramic route.
Mexico’s north doesn’t have many highlights
After so much euphoria, we need a lot of patience again from Durango. Two days of boring highlands, a pale green flat infinity, the longest straight is 120 kilometers. Mexico’s north doesn’t have many highlights. The top attraction is the Barranca del Cobre. From the famous vantage point near Creel, the 1,800-meter-deep Copper Gorge looks very nice. Not more. Only the spectacular new serpentine route, which plunges into the depths of the canyon to Batopilas, reveals the enormous dimensions. Once again we are speechless.
Arrogance and ignorance on the US border
And not in San Diego for a long time. 1700 kilometers to go. It’s hard to believe, but it gets even lonelier. We mostly forgot the few faceless places before they disappeared from the rear-view mirrors. The semi-desert becomes three-quarters desert, where it becomes too dry even for the huge cacti, and finally on the Gulf of California into full desert. The sea lounges motionless in sandy bays, fata morganas flicker over salt lakes. Then finally the limit. Dark clouds are coming in from Arizona. But the cold shower doesn’t come from above, but from the front. The US border guards don’t want to let us in. We are suspicious of them, we don’t have a visa and such strange license plates.
They hold us for three hours. Suntanned roosters are looking for drugs, weapons and dollars, and are questioning us. Modern inquisition. We have never experienced such a mixture of arrogance and ignorance, neither on the GDR border nor in sub-Saharan Africa. But the custom officers can’t find anything and stamp our passports. “Welcome to gods own country.”
You can read about how the journey will continue in MOTORRAD 6/2015 or here.
Long-distance travel with the MOTORRAD action team
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