2025 San Miguel to Guatemala by Moto
Tuesday, February 18th to March 5th – 16 Days
This year, our big moto trip was to be Guatemala, in search of adventures, volcanoes, and Guatemalan culture. We limited ourselves to four riders to keep things simple.
Neil Parker: Neil is a resident of San Miguel de Allende and Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. Neil is 56 years old and started riding at 30 years old when he switched from 4-wheel money pits to 2-wheel money pits. When living in Canada, he raced a 430 horsepower turbo charged Suzuki Hayabusa, with his best time of 8.52@170 mph. He presently has a KTM 890 Adventurer R, KTM 390 Adventure and a big-ass BMW R1300GS. When he retires, he has dreams of creating a riding directory of Mexico. He’s good to have on as long as he’s got a large screen TV on his 890 for navigation.
Rick Crandell: Rick lives the retired life in Las Vegas. His brother Ron and I used to have a motorcycle race team called Team Stupid in our teen years. We were inseparable friends in those years, racing every weekend possible. I only knew Rick as Ron’s older brother, and being older, a guy who could buy us beer. He and Ron were planning on coming to Mexico so we could ride together. Tragically, Ron died last September. I casually mentioned that Rick could still come and ride. He needed no encouragement.
Rick has a unique habit of being admitted to hospitals in seven countries, with the majority of these admissions being motorcycle-related: India, Nepal, Ecuador, Vietnam, Thailand, Cambodia, and Peru. I believe we were very fortunate he didn’t add Mexico and Guatemala on our trip, especially since three days after his return to the USA, he went in for emergency gallbladder surgery. Rick rode my BMW F700SG
Robert Bouffard: Bob lives in the San Francisco Bay area and met Randy many years ago via a mutual motorcycling buddy when Randy was invited to attend an annual moto ride, "The Pinecrest Ride", which traverses the Sierra Nevada mountains in northern California. This year will mark the 42 running of this epic event. Bob and Randy quickly became good friends and have remained so ever since. Bob is an experienced rider with multiple adventure tours around the world; Northern India, Thailand, Colombia, Mexico, and Tibet, to name a few. Bob also has a spectacular sense of hair style and can be heard saying on any given day, "How's my hair?". When Randy moved to Mexico, Bob vowed to visit him, and in 2019, he joined Randy for a most enjoyable trip through the Sierra Gorda mountains. When Bob found out about Randy's plan to ride to Guatemala in 2025, he could not resist, and before you knew it, he was on a plane to San Miguel, Randy's base of operations.
From left to right: Neil, Bob, Randy & Rick, with the Oaxacan mountains as a backdrop.
Day 1: San Miguel to Puebla
Our first day’s goal was to reach Puebla, clicking off a lot of kilometers.
Not far into the trip, we had just gone through a toll booth when Bob made a mad dash to the side of the road, something dangling on the lower left-hand side of the bike. It was his shift lever that had lost a c-clip, and the lever was dangling pathetically. Bob and Neil set to work on a roadside fix. A piece of tire belt wire was found in the ditch, and it was such a small diameter that it could fit into the C-clip groove. That repair, a testament to Neil and Bob's resourcefulness, was to last the entire trip.
We were back in business shortly, riding down notorious 57D, a dangerously overcrowded four-lane toll road (cuota) that exceeds 12,000 trucks a day. We were on one of the sections where the median was wide and covered with trees. We could not see the opposing traffic as it was above and behind the median. We were minding our own business when, all of a sudden, there was an unidentified flying mass. It was a truck axle connected to a set of wheels. It was high in the air when we first saw it, and it was coming in our general direction, bouncing each time the tires hit the road. It made a dozen bounces before coming to rest in the ditch, miraculously not hitting a single vehicle.
While it was far enough ahead and fortunately bounced out of our lane, it was still breathtakingly wild. It felt as though we had cheated death. If we had been down the right a half second later, who knows what blood and guts would have been involved?
The rest of the ride to our lunch stop was uneventful, and our heart rates resumed to normal. Neil found a great seafood restaurant, not a standard pick, being hundreds of kilometers from any ocean. Marisqueria Deja Vu was a find. Owner Marie was a gracious host, and we just had to have some group photos before she wished us a good ride.
Now, on the highway called Arco Norte, dodging rain all the way to Puebla. At dinner, the stormy weather caught up with us, and we were treated to a downpour. After dinner, I insisted we go Mezcal tasting at the fabulous El Sitio Mezcaleria. Pueblan Mezcal is the real deal, and I think the Poblanos are a little pissy about Oaxaca getting all of the attention.
Central Puebla is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, with 2,600 historic buildings and a total of 266 parishes, not counting the chapels, shrines, and oratories. A fabulous town in which to walk and wander. t’s famous as the birthplace of mole poblano, widely considered Mexico’s national dish. And then there’s the chiles en nogada and the cemita sandwich. Some fine eating in Puebla. Quiz: Do you know the name of someone from Puebla? A Poblano, of course.
On May 5, 1862, a small Mexican force kicked the French Army’s ass. Puebla is nearly alone in Mexico in celebrating Cinco de Mayo.
The next morning, we did some exploring around Centro, grabbing a few quick photos. And then we were off, cause we had another big KM day ahead.
Day 2: Puebla to the City of Oaxaca
Today was another high kilometer day, as beautiful as a ride as uneventful.
We were following the Sierra Madre de Oaxaca mountain range. It begins just outside Puebla, at Pico de Orizaba, and extends in a southeasterly direction for 300 km (190 mi) until reaching the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Peaks average 2,500 m (8,200 ft) in elevation, with some peaks exceeding 3,000 m (9,800 ft). Cerro Zempoaltépetl is the highest peak in the range. We were to ride this range all the way to the Isthmus. It’s very sparsely populated but rich in vast, natural beauty.
Somewhere along the route, we stopped for gas, ice cream, and popsicles. Both are imperative when traveling. Enjoying our frosty snacks, we watched a tour bus roll in and lots of Eastern European people pouring out.
Bob was greeted by a very animated Polish man. So, we all gathered under the FCK Super* sign and talked nonsense to each other. It’s one of the joys of traveling. Smiles, laughs, backslapping, hearty handshakes, and wishes of good travels. This particular Pole was quite enthusiastic and had lots to say, but all of it was in Polish. There were several mentions of Trump, but we couldn’t get a sense of whether he was a lover or a hater.
We arrived late afternoon and hot in Oaxaca, and Neil had nailed a place near Centro. It was a pretty nice, tiny two-story home, but I drew the one shitty room. No lighting, no electrical outlet, and no fan. My only room complaint for this trip.
That evening, we strolled around town a bit. Oaxaca is a bustling place at night after it cools down. But no great stories to tell this night. We had other places to go.
* I could find no chain of FCK Super convenience stores. The closest match was a Danish football merchandise shop (FCK Fanshop)
Day 3: Gulf of Tehuantepec Tehuano Winds
Good morning to ya on Day Three at Ruta Para San Juan del Rio, Tlaxiaco., )axaca. Kissing the clouds at breakfast in the Oaxaca mountains.
Once leaving the restaurant at one of the first passes in the Oaxacan mountains, we rode a brand new cuoto (tollway, Autopista, you call it what you want). It's not an engineering masterpiece but an epic and expensive road-building project with maybe the most beautifully engineered exits ever. It's hard to explain without a photo. We rode in the clouds along a ridge and down graceful sweeping curves carved out of the majestic mountains. Ecstacy.
And then down, down, down into a sweltering 36-degree oven. Turning east near Salina Cruz, I warned the guys about this stretch of road being extremely windy when I rode it last March. I convinced us into a false sense of confidence.
Earlier in the day, I read the weather forecast: South Pacific: Cool to cold weather with fog banks in mountainous areas of Oaxaca and Chiapas. Cloudy skies with torrential rains in Chiapas, intense rains in Oaxaca, and heavy rains in Guerrero, all accompanied by electrical discharges, which could cause an increase in river and stream levels,
There are a couple of cold fronts coming through. It's no big concern. We fueled up, and the employees warned us about the high winds. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
The first encounter was when a pickup truck overturned and ended in the ditch. Wow, action was beginning to pick up.
The further we rode, the higher the gusts. Our bikes were noticeably leaned into the wind, and gusts would move us 3-4 feet across the lane. Ahead were police cars with lights on. A semi-truck in the opposite lane had been blown across our lane and had landed in the far ditch. That was quite a scene.
We rode on because that's what we do; we ride. The chatter on our intercom system was laced with "oh shit," "fuck", "damn," and other suitable exhortations while experiencing life-threatening conditions.
But the final act was yet to come. Another semi-truck had flipped over and blocked almost all of the two lanes. A large bus was in front of us, inching along as we approached the crashed vehicle. I yelled, "Move, move, move, go, go, go" as the driver inched his way forward. With no forward momentum, each wind gust buffeted our several hundred-pound bikes. The policemen spread their legs wide, forcefully leaning into the wind to remain upright while guiding traffic. Just as I started to pass the crashed truck, a huge gust pushed me right into the truck's fender. The impact was my rear luggage case and his protruding fender. I managed to keep the bike on two wheels.
"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality
Open your eyes, look up to the skies, and see
I'm just a poor boy; I need no sympathy
Because I'm easy come, easy go
Little high, little low
Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me.
Very, Very Frightening!"
This was spectated by a group of 15+ Harley riders standing on the roadside, trying to hold their bikes, likely to console hysterical fellow riders and their wives. I don't know how it ended for them, but they were left to wait it out.
Another Weather Report: "Norte" event of 40 to 60 km/h with gusts of 80 to 100 km/h in the isthmus and Gulf of Tehuantepec and waves of 3 to 5 meters high in the Gulf of Tehuantepec.
And today's route was meant to be a slog day, just racking up miles to get to Guatemala.
I researched what we encountered: The Tehuano wind is a meteorological phenomenon characterized by intense, northerly winds originating in the Gulf of Mexico and funneling through the Isthmus of Tehuantepec in southern Mexico. These winds are particularly fierce over the Gulf of Tehuantepec and occur predominantly in the winter months, often following the passage of cold fronts in North America.
When these systems descend southward, they create a pressure gradient that forces cold, dense air through the Chivela Pass, a gap in the Sierra Madre mountain range. As the air is funneled through this narrow passage, it accelerates, resulting in strong, gusty winds over the Isthmus and the adjacent Gulf of Tehuantepec. Tehuano winds can reach 74 to 111 km/h (46 to 69 mph).
But oh, that mountain ride. Good night to day three. You delivered an epic performance. We all sagged our emotionally and physically spent carcasses into the Playa del Sol sunset. https://maps.app.goo.gl/2BWuhsUo7u2L7g9z7
Harrowing shit, it called for some sturdy rum.
Jalisco Adventure Rally
On the first weekend of October, three of us participated in this motorcycle event. Briefly explained, you are given a list of checkpoints (70+) to visit and provide proof of your visit (a selfie). Neil had carefully planned a route that hit some of these checkpoints while delivering incredible scenery and roads. We set a pace of “enjoy” rather than “win at all costs”. We aren’t as fierce as competitors as when I was a teen. Back then, a 10” plastic trophy was easily worth the very real risk of a trip to the hospital. I have many X-rays to prove it.
The ride to Guadalajara (Rally starting point) was green and flowery. But the last 90 minutes were brutal as we had to ride entirely through this city of five million people on the hot, pockmarked back streets. Seemingly, the entire network of major roads was under construction in preparation for next year’s World Cup.
The next morning, we were up at the crack of mid-morning and rode to the starting point. The point where everyone serious about this, had already left an hour earlier. We made our way north to Amitlan, the gateway into Tequila country. Our second checkpoint was east, overlooking an expansively gorgeous valley. Neat cornfields in the bottom, silvery sage agave fields carpeting the hillsides, and wildflowers anywhere they could squeeze in. We were off to an epic start.
Next up was Tequila, where at 10 AM, it’s well into drinking time. Any time in Tequila is drinking time. Obviously touristy but in a welcoming, warm way, a not-in-your-face way. It’s worth a longer visit someday. And did I tell you about that beautiful valley? Oh, and then there is the Volcan Tequila that towers above the town.
We now had a long stretch of riding beauty through agave fields (what else?), sugar cane, and cornfields on the way to the village of Ameca. Neil spotted an American-style barbecue restaurant on Google Maps, and we were all in. BBQ isn’t common in Mexico. Barbacoa, yes, but BBQ.
We arrived in town, and all five of Neil’s GPS guidance systems were in agreement that we had arrived. You know that look when you see somebody looking around for something, but is basically clueless? The clueless tourist look? Well, we didn’t have that look cause we’re cool motorcycle riders. But we certainly couldn’t see any restaurant, even while dripping with all that cool. A lady walked out of a business named Alaska Suspensions and strongly beckoned us to follow her. She said something about being at the right place. She turned her back after directing us to follow her... into the back of a mechanic’s shop.
Oh yes, of course, the BBQ restaurant was inside the shop. Getting off the bikes, we were greeted by a few folks with warm smiles gathering around and admiring our sparkly steeds. Customers, employees, and a smattering of hangers-on. There was an older gentleman behind a desk who looked like he might run the place. An employee in the car pit is doing an oil change. And our greeter, who directed us to the only table in the establishment. Seating for four. Yes, we had arrived at Robert’s Brisket.
Perusing the menu, it appeared that this might be the real deal. A delectable listing where one wanted to be sure to order the perfect meal, as the next authentic BBQ experience could be years away. Not everywhere can you find a Smash Brisket Burger.
While we waited for our food, we took a self-guided tour of the place. Sure enough, they did tire repair, welding, oil changes, ironworking, mechanic work, and a logical business extension, American-style BBQ. Everybody in the shop was having fun watching us having fun. All this time, the heavenly smell of smoked meats wafted through the air.
There was some serious talent in this shop. Somebody or some people were exceptionally talented metalworkers. Of typical note were two log splitters that should be patented. And the Michelin man was a riot. Not only could they bend iron here, they had a finely crafted sense of humor.
We moved on to the Smoker Museum, where several vintage smoke pits were lined up against the back wall. Again, masterful creative talent on display. It makes one realize that what Mexico might lack in capital, it more than makes up for with its rich human assets. Not usually the thought I would leave with, exiting a BBQ joint.
On the road again, we were headed to the night’s destination of Jocotepec, located on the east shore of Lake Chapala. We rode for kilometer after kilometer along a road lined with greenhouses. How big is this business, I asked myself? And I said, “Greenhouse produce in Mexico is a massive, fast-growing industry, with around 133,000 acres (over 53,800 hectares) under cover. The annual industry value is about $2.7 billion USD.” See, I told you, I saw lots of greenhouses.
Jocotepec has an impressive malecon (scenic promenade). The town is famous for its birria (goat, lamb, or beef stew). Our hotel was a cat house, with dozens of felines roaming the grounds.
For dinner, I tried yet another new Mexican dish on this trip, called chavendecas. It’s in the same branch of the Mexican food family as quesadillas, synchronizadas, and gringas.
We turned in early, and the rest of us fell asleep. But Neil couldn’t resist the temptation of having women on top of him the whole night. I guess I should mention that they wore heavy shoes and were a floor above him. But still.
Early on a Sunday morning walk, I spotted a goat being milked on a table. The night before, the table sat people at what was an outdoor seafood restaurant. It was a rather spare marisqueria serving ceviches out of an extra-large cooler. This place knew how to hold the line on expenses. But why the goat being milked here?
We rode on through villages headed toward Ajijic, a brisk chill in the air. Now, here was a cow tied up, being milked in the town we rode through. Not much further, and there are three cows in a row, along the roadside, also being milked. They were joined by some villagers standing around drinking their steaming morning beverage.
We entered a larger village and saw a dozen milk cows, with about three times as many people standing around. No, cow milking was not a spectator sport. I slapped the front of my helmet as it dawned on me that people were gathered to imbibe in the famous Jalisco breakfast drink. Yup, Pajarete! The recipe is freshly squeezed cow’s milk, chocolate, coffee, sugar, and grain alcohol, making for a scrumptious hot milkshake. Drink enough of them, and you can see God on Sunday morning without the inconvenience of traveling to church. I couldn’t get the guys to stop and enjoy one for the road.
Our next stop was the town of Arandas, the grittier little brother to Tequila (the city, not the drink). In the middle of agricultural country and a hub for some of the finer artisanal tequila distilleries. It was lively on a Sunday afternoon, with an informal parade of classic cars circling the Jardin, a Danzon band playing in the gazebo, and masses of Catholics on the streets. And a massive Neo-Gothic Church: The Parroquia de San José Obrero. As we walked to the rear of the church, we observed that it is still under construction, but is currently open for business. I subsequently learned that it has been under construction for over 100 years.
From the south, roiling thunderclouds built quickly, and that was our cue to head north...to Aguascalientes for the night. A city that is underwhelming, with miles of uninspired industrial architecture and bland churches. And Aguascalientes’ big hot springs are, well, not very hot. It’s best summarized as the height of mediocrity in Central Mexican cities.
But the rest of the trip? Hell yeah, Jalisco delivers.
October 5, 2025
