Mexico – The ExhaustNotes Blog

Dos Ojos Cavern Dive – Mexico

By Mike Huber

Introductory Disclaimer: So as I have been writing these blogs the last few years it’s quite enjoyable and therapeutic to literally vomit out the stories without having pressure to place any bullshit spin or embellishments (they really don’t need any embellishing). I take pride in highlighting my successes, but also annotating my shortcomings and owning them through my writings. Enjoy!

My main purpose of traveling to Mexico was tacos, but diving was a close runner up as a reason to visit this incredible country again. Diving over the past six months has almost replaced my addiction to motorcycling, making it yet another bad decision as a hobby choice. For those of you that have read my previous diving adventures will fully understand this.

I am currently on the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico and much of this land was created from a giant asteroid. That would be THE giant asteroid that created the Ice Age and killed off the dinosaurs. With this massive disruption in this area, the ocean floor was lifted in a strange way that created cenotes. These essentially are old caves that are now flooded with fresh water. There are about 5,000 of these cenotes throughout the Yucatan Peninsula and they are quite magical. Having to mark my checklist off (I’m making this list up as I go, by the way, as a month ago I couldn’t tell you what a cenote was) scuba diving in one of these seemed like it would be incredible, and it was. Sorta.

In Thailand I had done a few swim throughs. Not even caves or caverns, but about 20 meters. It wasn’t something I ever enjoyed but it wasn’t the worst experience, either, so I wasn’t quite sure how I would feel during a 52-minute, ¼-mile dive through my first cenote. Upon arriving and seeing the other divers in the crystal clear water with the sunlight mysteriously peering through the overgrowth of old forest above the cave, I instantly was put into a state of awe based on how beautiful it was. After donning our scuba gear and jumping into the cenote, the cool water was quite refreshing from the heat and humidity in the jungle above us. After a few minutes of joking around and performing a buoyancy test, the five of us were ready to begin exploring this cenote underwater.

It didn’t take long before the beautiful glowing natural light was absorbed by darkness. We had nothing but our small flashlights and a string along the bottom to guide us for the next hour. As we swam along there were stalagmites and stalactites on either side of us. Some were so old they had formed natural columns in the still crystal clear and dark water we were slowly navigating through.

We were about 30 minutes or so into the dive when I noticed my heart began beating quite rapidly. It was beating at a rather uncomfortable rate. I tried to shake it off as mentally I felt great, but it seemed to be getting worse. With my heart now beating faster, my breathing also began to increase. I knew I had plenty of air as I am religious on checking my oxygen levels (see my previous diving blogs) so I did what I could to dismiss it, but my mind wouldn’t allow me to shake it off.

With all this going on I began to float to the surface. Normally this would just be frustrating and I would have to close my eyes, exhale and I would sink back to the level I wanted. The issue now, though, is there was no surface. There was only the cavern ceiling. If I hit the cavern roof, I would probably hit my head and it would possibly be a “lights out” situation. I did not want this. We were in a semi-single-file line (although I was a bit more elevated than the others, in several ways now that I think about it). There really was nothing or no one I could reach out to for help. What were they going to do? Give me a hug? I was on my own here and as with previous situations, I had the rest of my life to determine how to resolve this mess and get my head (and more importantly, my body) under control.

It took a couple of minutes to do just that, and a short while later I was enjoying the cave, being super calm and relaxed. It felt like coming out of an intense psychedelic trip and realizing that you are on the other side of it (and a stronger person for having undergone the experience). Then, it happened again. Not quite as intense but enough for me to mentally note that this sort of diving wasn’t for me, or at least it wasn’t for me at this particular time.

As we neared the entrance of the cavern where we started from the shimmering neon green light of the sun causing the water to glow and seeing the other divers floating gently above me was a beautiful sight. My first cavern dive had been logged and as I surfaced I looked to me new friends around me and simply said “Well, that was quite a trip.” I chose not to do the second cavern dive that day (for obvious reasons) but I am looking forward to my next dive in a few days. That dive will include close encounters with bull sharks. Until then I am long overdue for a couple of cold Tecates and some much-needed tacos.

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The New Year Comes with New Adventures

By Mike Huber

Having spent 11 months abroad and successfully (I am the one gauging the definition of success, by the way) traveling through 7 countries (some multiple times) returning to my home country of the United States of America was a welcome way to round out 2024. The past month has been filled with catching up with family and friends, as well as catching 3 mice and 12 flying squirrels that seem to have filled my vacancy in my parent’s house in Maine. The break was also filled with replacing some of my gear and clothes that were “gently used” throughout my travels in Oceania and Southeast Asia. Outside the occasional waking up at 3:00 a.m. and freaking out that I am sleeping in my old bedroom at my parents’ house, homeless and unemployed (clearly, that should be my intro if I ever join a dating site), it’s been a really productive month.

With the New Year approaching my plan was to begin traveling through South America for the entire year by motorcycle. In November that plan quickly changed (imagine that) when a fellow rider I had camped with four years ago in Death Valley National Park messaged me and stated that he and another rider were about to embark on a 1-month motorcycle journey through India, Pakistan, Nepal, Bhutan, and Bangladesh in February on Royal Enfield Himalayans. I wasn’t too impressed as I figured it would be some BS tour with a guide and not really count as a motorcycle adventure. He replied stating that was not the case and it was just the two of them. It took me about 15 minutes to reply stating that I was in. He promptly let me know that he wasn’t inviting me and was just discussing the trip with me. At any rate I invited myself and they seemed okay with that. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I am an absolute joy to be around.

This will surely be one of the more challenging adventures for me in quite some time. It really began to hit me while packing my gear in freezing cold Maine. Even though this nomadic lifestyle has been my life for the past eight years, there always is some anxiety that comes when the reality of the adventure begins to sink in. After India, per my usual I have no plan and must mentally prepare to face isolation yet again for an unknown amount of time. Of course, that is until I meet 100 new beautiful friends, which is sure to happen. Another issue I am concerned with is I sold my BMW GS1250 to my friend who was babysitting it and fell in love with the bike (that’s not hard to do as it’s a great motorcycle). Well, he sold it, and with it my helmet, jacket, etc. So, riding these countries with rental gear is something I am apprehensive about. Buying new gear really isn’t an option as once this trip is wrapped up there is still no definitive plan for my next location or activities. As in the past, I place that as a problem for “Future Mike Huber,” and he is pretty good at figuring these things out.

In the meantime, there are still a few weeks to kill prior to motorcycling India. I thought scuba diving Mexico would fill that void. Mexico will also serve as a solid way to ease back into traveling and rebuilding my confidence for what is sure to be an adventurous New Year with plenty of stories to come.

Happy New Year to all.

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Sonora, Mexico

By Bobbie Surber

When is the perfect time to ride Sonora, Mexico? Any chance you get!

Fresh off a ride in Ecuador, I was itching to hop back on my Triumph Tiger GT Pro 900, fondly named Tippi, when my pal Destini (an ace adventure rider) suggested we hit up a rider’s event in Banamichi, Mexico. I did not hesitate for a second. Hell yeah, I’m in!

The first stop on our adventure was a pre-trip visit to Destini’s home in Bisbee, Arizona, an old mining town. Tombstone, a nearby a wine district, and plenty of riding were nearby to keep us busy. Our plan included riding to Agua Prieta, a quick ride from Bisbee, to sort out the next day’s border crossing. With our paperwork ready, we were back on the road aiming for the best tacos in Bisbee!

After enjoying a delicious meal of epic tacos, we gathered in front of the impressive motorcycle shrine at Destini’s (and her husband Jim’s) Moto Chapel. We officially christened Tippi by adding her name to the tank. The Moto Chapel, a vision brought to life by Jim, never fails to catch the attention of visitors. It is a small garage with a pitched roof, complete with air conditioning and even a bathroom. It’s a true paradise for gearheads and motorcycle enthusiasts alike.

On the road again, with Destini leading the charge on her GS 800 named Gracie, we breezed towards the border. Or should I say, Destini and Gracie breezed through, leaving Tippi and me oblivious to the inspection signal, which led to a comical episode of me doing my best to charm the officers while trying to avoid a bureaucratic whirlwind between the US and Mexico. With a little acting (okay, a touch of exaggerated age and frailty), we were back on the road and free as the wind.

We savored every moment— zooming down the desert open roads of Mexico’s Highway 17, enjoying the breathtaking mountain vistas and sweet tight twisties along Sonora Highway 89. That is, until we faced a water crossing. Destini, cool as ever, told me to keep my eyes up and just go for it. Turns out it was a breeze, but then she casually dropped a story about moss and a rider wipeout on a previous ride! Thanks for the heads-up, Destini…you did well telling me afterward!

Our destination was Banamichi, a charming town steeped in Opata indigenous culture and Spanish colonial history. Banamichi was a bustling trading hub, attracting merchants from far and wide. We strolled through its charming streets, greeted by well-preserved adobe houses adorned with vibrant colors and traditional architectural elements. The town’s rich cultural is evident in its festivals, art exhibitions, and handicrafts that highlight its residents’ talent and creativity.

We settled in at the Los Arcos Hotel, hosted by Tom and his lovely wife Linda. Their hospitality matched the hotel’s enchanting courtyard and old-world charm. The weekend whisked by in a blur of exhilarating rider tales, mingling with the aroma of delectable food and more than a few Mexican beers to ease the heat. The morning included a tour by the mayor, including the town square’s church.

Lunch that day included a visit to a small local ranchero for Bacanora tasting. Bacanora is akin to Mezcal, a beverage to enjoy while being careful about how much you are willing to partake! The tasting and lunch were a leisurely affair. We savored the flavors of this year’s Bacanora harvest while enjoying a laid-back lunch with regional dishes that appeared abundantly and effortlessly.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, evenings were a symphony of vibrant hues, margaritas, and captivating rhythms of Folklorico dance. Each of the dancers’s steps told a story—a mesmerizing tribute to Sonora’s rich cultural tapestry.

And as the second night ended, my mind buzzed with the tales of fellow riders and the warmth of the Bacanora nestled in my belly. The air hummed with laughter and camaraderie, each story adding another layer of adventure to the weekend’s memories.

Sunday morning heralded a poignant end to our short escapade—a bike blessing conducted by a local priest. It felt like a closing ceremony, encapsulating the spirit of our epic weekend. As we bid farewell to fellow riders, we reluctantly rode out of Banamichi. Its charms lingered, a reminder of the joy found exploring quaint towns. It was a weekend filled with epic riding, new friendships, and a gentle nudge to continue seeking such delightful adventures.

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Naco Taco Thanksgiving Run

By Mike Huber

For most, Thanksgiving is a time to spend with family and friends watching football and performing the “eat, drink, nap, repeat” cycle. This is, of course, never a bad way to spend this holiday but finding myself in Bisbee, Arizona I thought changing it up from the traditional turkey feast would be beneficial.

Bisbee, Arizona is a late 1880s copper mining town that turned in its explosives, shovels, and rock drills to grow into a more artistic town with historic hotels, quirky shops, and lots of festivals. Being that this tiny community is nestled in the canyons of southernmost Arizona (just minutes from the Mexican border), an idea struck me. I had not visited Mexico since February, and although this sounds crazy, I was craving tacos. Being this close to Mexico it felt almost a necessity to partake in a run to the border to extinguish my craving.

Fifteen minutes later I found myself parking the car and walking about 50 yards through a turnstile much like you would see in a New York City subway entrance. It was that easy and I was in Naco, Mexico. Another 200 yards and I was at a restaurant called Asadero Los Molcajetes which I had frequented several times when I crossed on my BMW GS to ride mainland Mexico. This restaurant to me always represented the gateway to Mexico and was a symbol of happiness.

Asadero Los Molcajetes is a perfect stop for when you are riding across and must get your visa stamped and the bikes inspected since it is right next to where you have those tasks completed. The restaurant provides you the opportunity to celebrate entering Mexico with some outstanding tacos (along with a cold Pacifico or margarita) to wash them down, while taking in that special moment to realize that your trip has officially begun.

The tacos were exactly what I had been craving. Even before the tacos were served, we had a large plate of several different hot sauces. Chips, cucumbers, and onions rounded out this first course. Usually, chips in any Mexican restaurant are one of my biggest diet downfalls. They put that bowl out and its rare I don’t require it to be reloaded prior to my food arriving. By then I am much too full to fully enjoy the meal. This time, however, I managed what little self-control I have and made sure to go easy so that I could enjoy the carne asada tacos.

The brilliance of Mexico is that when you order two tacos, there is an extra shell underneath. This is for when all that deliciousness of your fully loaded taco falls out. BOOM! You now have a third taco!

After four tacos (six with the extra shells and my sloppiness) I felt just as full as I would have had I eaten a normal Thanksgiving feast. It was time to burn off a few calories by walking around Naco before my 200-yard journey back to the United States. Returning to the United States was just as easy as entering Mexico. “Reason for your trip to Mexico, sir?”. I simply stated, “Thanksgiving tacos, sir,” and I was waved through.

A unique Thanksgiving for sure and as I drove back to Bisbee, I could feel it was time for a solid nap. The nap would signify completing the “eat, drink, nap, repeat” cycle. I next started wondering how late Asadero Los Molcajetes was open for the possibly of Cycle Number Two.

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Baja in the Slow Lane

For a motorcyclist one of the easiest and most rewarding trips a rider can undertake is Baja, Mexico. It’s a 1-day drive to the Mexican border from most of the Southwestern United States. I have been fortunate enough to spend many months in Baja over the past four years, but always mixed the experience in with working, so I was never able to fully detach and enjoy it. For my fourth time riding Baja this had to change. I wanted to allow myself to embrace this epic part of Mexico at a slower pace and savor each day. It’s Baja. This is the time and place where you are meant to slow down and relax.

The week prior to my departure a friend gifted me this giant stuffed sloth for my birthday. I promptly named him Slothykins, which seemed to fit since I already traveled with a little stuffed lamb named Lambykins. Two days prior to departing for Baja while packing my gear I noticed the sloth in the corner of the equipment room staring aimlessly at the wall.

At that moment an idea hit me. Now usually (always) my ideas are a bit… off and this one would prove no different. My thought was to use my Rok Straps to secure the giant sloth on the passenger seat of my BMW GS1200 and ride the 3,000-mile roundtrip from Sedona to Todos Santos. What better way to embrace the slow lane of Baja life then with Slothykins as my passenger!

As we slowly departed Sedona it wasn’t long before I noticed something moving around in my rearview mirror. I quickly pulled over and saw everything was secure and started off again. I was in 3^rd gear and again saw a flickering of movement. Well, it turns out it was Slothykins. If I went above 50mph his arm would begin flapping in the wind and it gave the perception he was waving at everyone. The whole scene was hilarious. Other vehicles along the road would slow down, scratch their heads or wave back to Slothykins as we happily motored along desert backroads on our way to Mexico.

One thing I didn’t factor into this whole scheme was the attention I would receive once crossing the border into Mexico. This usually is a nonevent; however, with Slothykins I was promptly ushered into the “This guy definitely requires a further search” lane, to include an over friendly German Shepard which did a thorough job of sniffing Slothykins and the rest of my gear. It took a few minutes of the dog jumping all over the BMW before the Mexican Immigration Agents cleared me to proceed. Welcome to Mexico, Slothykins!

After the border dogs provide you with their approval to enter Mexico your senses are instantly overwhelmed with the sights and smells of fresh food, while your mind awakens to the new obstacles in the road to include but not limited to horses, donkeys, cows, potholes, and large trucks along narrow roads with no shoulder. This sensory awakening can make you become pretty hungry. Finding some street tacos and a strawberry Fanta from one of the many vendors you pass by is a rather easy task in Mexico. While sitting on the sidewalk I begin enjoying one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had. Meanwhile, I look over to see my motorcycle parked with Slothykins as a sentry keeping a watchful eye on the new surroundings. THIS is life at its finest in the slow lane of Baja, Mexico!

Baja is a thin peninsula with only four main highways, so when you meet fellow travelers along your journey it is more than likely you will bump into them again at some point. The people of Baja have very kind hearts, so running into them repeatedly is a great way to build relationships along this journey. It didn’t take long for me to inherit the nickname “The Sloth Guy.” Which I found comical since I am a rather fast rider (ask any Massachusetts State Trooper).

For the next two weeks with Slothykins as my tent mate and passenger we happily camped on some of the world’s most beautiful beaches while riding almost the entire length of Baja to a turnaround point on Playa Pescadero, which was just south of Todo Santos. I never tired of hearing “Hey Sloth Guy come over for a beer” or “Sloth Guy want to join us for dinner?” The hospitality is incredible in Baja, more so for motorcyclists, and as I learned, even more so for motorcyclists with a giant sloth as a passenger.

With the relaxing two weeks nearing an end there was an outstanding question that I had to answer. What should become of Slothykins? I couldn’t keep him as he was much too large, and I already had the immense responsibility of Lambykins, who is quite the handful. An idea hit me on the final night in Kiki’s Camp in San Felipe. Why not donate Slothykins to an orphanage. After some time on Google and Google Translate, I happened to find the manager of a local orphanage called Sonshine Hacienda who lived just a few blocks from where I was camping. I called him and he was an ex pat who had been living in Baja managing the orphanage for several years. I promptly drove over, met him, and donated Slothykins to his new home to where he would become a big hit and make many new friends. On the return ride to Arizona the bike felt a bit lighter without my buddy on the back waving happily at passersby. While crossing back into the United States I smiled to the border agent while reflecting on the ride, the people, and the beautiful experiences over the past two weeks of traveling through Baja, Mexico.

Here’s a link to the Sonshine Hacienda.

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Used Sportsters: Who knew?

I think CSC gets $3995 for a new RX3 these days, and that’s with all the goodies…skid plate, luggage, ABS, 300W alternator, auxiliary accessory switches, the 19-inch front wheel, and probably a few more things I don’t know about. That’s my RX3 in the photo above. I’ve been riding it for more than 5 years. For the Sinophobic haterbators out there, I’ve never found any fish oil in it, I’ve spent substantial time in the factories where they make the RX3 and there are no children chained to the manufacturing equipment, and the Zong techs are most definitely not slave labor. My RX3 has been and still is a good motorcycle.

Looking over the windshield, on the road in Baja.

I know you can buy a used Sportster for what a new RX3 costs if you shop around; the topic comes up nearly every time I mention the price of an RX3. It’s a silly thought, actually, because I’m still looking for that prospective buyer who is trying to decide between a used Sportster and a new RX3. I’ve been on that quest ever since I started writing about the RX3 six years ago, when the keyboard commandos first started pushing the used-Sportster-in-lieu-of-an-RX3 argument.

Here’s a hot flash: That person (the dude or dudette struggling with such a decision) doesn’t exist. You either want an ADV motorcycle, or you want a used bar-hopper with “much chrome” (as the Sportster ads often highlight). I have never met, or even heard of, somebody pondering whether they should buy a used Sportster or an RX3.

Behold: The financial equivalent of a new RX3.

I hear the same kind of keyboard drivel when Janus motorcycles are mentioned. They’re stunning motorcycles, and I’ve had good times riding them through northern Baja. Invariably, though, the used Sportster financial comparison will emerge. Janus is always polite in their responses. Me? I’m a noncombatant and I don’t respond to such Internet drivel. If you want a used Sportster, it’s a free country. Go for it.

To listen to the keyboard commandos, there must be a lot of folks out there dreaming about used Sportsters. Maybe that’s the answer to Harley’s problem. Even though motorcycle sales in general are up sharply since the pandemic started, Harley’s sales most definitely are not. In fact, to read The Wall Street Journal, Harley is circling the drain. Not to worry, though, because I think I have the answer: Rather than rewiring or hardwiring or screwing around with $30K electric motorcycles, or hiring high-priced executives with zero motorcycle experience (as they seem to love to do), Harley should simply stop production and only traffic in used Sportsters. There would be no need for a factory; that’s a huge savings right there. More savings? Harley wouldn’t need to spend anything on advertising; there’s a potful of worldwide web wannabe wizards pushing used Sportsters already doing that for free.

Used Sportsters. Who knew?

Back to my RX3: I’ve covered a lot of miles on it here and overseas. I had it out this Sunday charging through the smoke we call breathable air here in the Peoples Republik of Kalifornia. I hadn’t ridden the RX3 in a couple of months, but it started right up (like it always does) and it’s still running strong (like it always has).

Good buddy Greg on the road to the cave paintings in Sierra San Francisco, Baja California Sur.

It’s kind of a funny story about how the RX3 came to America. I was in China on a consulting gig for another client when CSC asked me to poke around for a 250cc engine for its line of Mustang replicas. It’s funny in the sense that a lot of Internet people told us they’d buy the Mustang if only the bike had a 250cc engine (instead of its 150cc engine). I found a source for the 250cc engine (Zongshen; they weren’t very hard to find). CSC put the 250cc Zong engine in the Mustang and sales…well, they remained essentially the same. All those yahoos who said they’d buy one if the bike had a 250cc motor? They went MIA. I don’t know what they did after CSC introduced the 250cc engine, but they sure didn’t buy a new Mustang. Ah, I take that back…I do know what they did…they posted more comments on Facebook. It’s hard work being a keyboard commando, I guess, and it’s lonely down there in those basements. But they kept at it. Why buy a CSC Mustang, they said. You could buy a used Sportster for that kind of money, they said. Actually, most of the CSC Mustangs were optioned up by their customers so much that their cost approached and sometimes exceeded what a new Sportster would cost, but that’s neither here nor there.

A 250cc CSC Mustang, accessorized to the max.

The arrangement with the Big Z was a good one, and it led directly to things like the RX3, the RX4, the City Slicker, the TT250, the SG250, and more. It’s how I came to own my RX3, and like I said above, I am still riding and enjoying it. Even though I could have bought a used Sportster.

Good buddy Kyle from China, somewhere in South Dakota’s Black Hills. Don’t worry; he’s not armed (and if you’re wondering what that’s all about, you can read that story here).

I’ve been up and down Baja lots of times with lots of RX3 riders. I’ve been across China, including the Gobi Desert and the Tibetan Plateau, and I’ve ridden around the Andes Mountains in Colombia. I’ve ridden to Sturgis, then back across the top of the US, and down the Pacific Coast with a bunch of guys from China. Gresh rode with me on a lot of of those rides. I know, I know, he didn’t get invited on the Colombia adventure, but hey, he didn’t invite me on the Russia ride, either. But to stay on topic: It’s all been on the RX3.

Riding into the Gobi Desert with Joe Gresh as my wingman. Or was I his? In 6000 miles and 40 days of riding across China, we did not see a single Sportster, used or new.

Those early RX3 rides were marketing demos, basically, designed to show a few guys having the time of their life and demonstrating to everybody else that the RX3 had real chops as an ADV bike. But don’t think I wasn’t nervous. We took 14 guys and one gal on a 1700-mile ride through Baja literally the same week the first RX3s arrived in the US from China (I was sweating bullets on that one), and then we immediately took another 12 or 15 guys from China and Colombia (and one motojournalist from Motorcyclist) on a 5000-mile ride from southern California to Sturgis, back across the top of the US, and down the Pacific coast on what was arguably one of the most highly-publicized (in real time, too) motorcycle publicity stunts ever. I was scared the entire time, thinking something might break and generate a lot of bad press. I guess I didn’t realize how well things were going until the last night of the trip, 4700 miles into it, when Gresh told me to relax. “You won, man,” he said. He was right. But just think: I coulda had that used Sportster.

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Tequila!

Jose Cuervo is no friend of mine. Not after I’ve seen how (and where) the good stuff is made.

This, my friends, is the story of how tequila is manufactured. It occurs in one place and one place only: Tequila, Mexico. And it all begins with the blue agave plant. That’s what you see in the big photo above.

Yes, Tequila actually is a place. It’s about 50 miles northwest of Guadalajara, Mexico.

The origins of this story, for me, go back to the early 1990s, when Baja John and I rode our motorcycles the length of Baja and then took the ferry across the Sea of Cortez to mainland Mexico. John and I stayed in beautiful Guadalajara for a few days on that awesome trip and I fell in love with the place. I was determined to get back there someday, and that someday occurred sooner rather than later. Just prior to a 4-day Memorial Day weekend in 2003, I bought three AeroMexico tickets, and Susie, our daughter Erica, and I explored Guadalajara and the interesting places around it. One of those places was Tequila, with good buddy Carlos as our guide. You’ll see Carlos a photo or two down.

Making tequila starts in the fields with the blue agave harvest. The blue agave is a majestic plant that grows in the red earth of the region, where the soil, water, sunlight, and everything else the tequilameisters worry about is Goldilocks perfect.

The blue agave takes about 8 years to reach maturity, and each one produces about 8 bottles of tequila. As you might imagine, security around these fields is tight.

The guys that harvest the agave plant are the Airborne Rangers of the operation. They chop away the pineapple leaves (the pineapple is the plant’s heart), and they do so with a tool that made me nervous just looking at it. It’s a deal that has a plate-sized blade on the end of a long handle. The operators keep the plates razor sharp (they carry stones and sharpen the blades constantly). The scary part is they hold the pineapple down with one foot and whack at it with that tool, missing their toes by millimeters. The plants are tough, the guys work quickly, and when I asked our guide Carlos about it (that’s Carlos in the photo above), he told me accidents are not unheard of out in these fields. Think about that the next time you sip a good tequila.

Here’s the agave field after it has been harvested.

The pineapples weigh between 80 and 120 pounds, so the guys doing this get a workout all day long. I imagine the truck you see below was resting on its axles after it had been fully loaded. I’ll bet those guys sleep well at night.

The pineapples are then transported to the factory to be turned into tequila. The process goes like this: Bake, squeeze, ferment, distill (a little or a lot), age (a little or a lot), bottle, label, and drink (a little or a lot).

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s throttle back a bit to see what it all looks like.

Caldera is Spanish for boiler, and the heat and steam produced by the boilers is needed for the slow agave pineapple bake. Hang in there; this is about to get very interesting.

The tequila pineapples are delivered to the hornos in the factory. Horno is Spanish for oven. It’s where all that heat and steam from the calderas gets put to good use.

The hornos are room-sized brick ovens that are stacked full of the harvested agave pineapples. Think of them as immense crock pots.

After an all-day bake, the pineapples are soft and mushy. Carlos peeled off a piece for us and we tasted it. The plant had a sweet and faint tequila flavor, but it contained no alcohol yet. It would make for a good candy, but the plants are too valuable for that. There’s more money in turning them into tequila.

The baked blue agave hearts then go through crushers, which separate the juice from the pulp.

The juice goes on to giant vats (we’ll see those in a second) and the pulp is sold separately as an agricultural byproduct. Farms use it for feed (lucky cows, I guess) or compost.

The vats shown below are where the agave juice ferments for 2 to 5 days. That’s where it develops its initial alcohol content. Carlos explained that it is basically a tequila-based beer at this point. When the Spaniards arrived in the New World, they found the native Mexicans making and drinking this. The Spaniard’s contribution to the development of tequila was the distillation process, and that’s what takes this gift of the gods from agave beer to tequila.

I noticed that some of the vats were bubbling, and I asked Carlos if there were air injectors or heaters in the vats. Nope, that bubbling occurs naturally as a consequence of the fermentation process.

The factory helps the process by planting fruit trees that attract a certain kind of insect around the fermentation building. The bugs are drawn to the scent of the fermenting tequila juice. They fly into the vats and drown, and their decomposition accelerates the fermentation. It’s a good thing I developed a taste for tequila before I knew that.

The photo below shows the distillation line.

Distillation is followed by aging in oak barrels, and how that’s done is a big part of what makes for different grades of tequila.

The pecking order for different tequila grades goes something like this:

- Cheap tequila is produced from the juice of the agave plant mixed with other juices. You can get a pretty nasty hangover from this kind of tequila (like I said at the beginning of the this blog, Jose Cuervo is no friend of mine).
- The next big step up is tequila made of 100% blue agave juice. If it’s that kind of tequila, there will be a notation somewhere on the label that says 100% agave. If it doesn’t have that, it’s the cheap stuff, not matter what some smooth-talking liquor store dude tries to tell you. 100% blue agave tequila is less likely to give you a hangover, too.
- Higher grade tequilas are aged in oak barrels, and the amount of time they are aged makes for a better grade of tequila. Longer is better.
- Really good tequila is distilled multiple times and aged.
- Really, really good tequila is aged for 2 years in French oak barrels. This kind of tequila has a dark brown appearance, and when you turn it in the light, it looks like it contains little flecks of gold (it doesn’t actually have flecks of anything in it, but it looks like little pieces of gold). This tequila can go for hundreds of dollars a bottle.

After distillation (and after aging, if you’re going for the good stuff), the next step is bottling. Then the bottles are labeled, and then they’re packaged.

Our tour was at the La Cofradia distillery in Tequila, about an hour northwest of downtown Guadalajara. Surprisingly, the La Cofradia distillery had a tasting room (just like you’d see at a vineyard), and we sampled different tequilas after the tour. The bottle that our guide, Carlos, is holding in the photo below is the good stuff with the dark brown color and gold flecks. I tried a sip, and it was very, very smooth indeed. I was tempted, but I wasn’t going to drop $400 (in 2003, or for that matter, at any other time) on a bottle of tequila.

Just for giggles, I Googled “expensive tequilas” and I found that you can pretty much go crazy spending money on tequila, including one that sells for $6700. I’m not into it like that. I’ve found that the best place to buy reasonably-priced 100% blue agave tequila is Costco.

I am glad we visited Guadalajara and Tequila when we did. With the pandemic and the drug cartel situation down there, I don’t know if I would do it again today. I looked up Guadalajara safety and it’s rated as a medium risk city. By today’s standards, that’s probably accurate. Truth be told, I’d much rather visit Guadalajara than, say, Portland, Chicago, or Seattle these days. The pandemic will pass; the drug situation in Mexico will take longer. I hope the Mexican government gets on top of it soon. I’d like to explore mainland Mexico again.

If you’re planning a ride into Mexico, make sure you insure with the best and our favorite: BajaBound!

Want to know more about riding in Baja? Just click here.

If you enjoyed reading about how tequila is produced, you might enjoy our story on Jack Daniel’s, too.

Baja 2009: The KLR Khronicles Part II

This is a story about a 2009 Baja KLR ride. In Part I, we covered the ride from southern California to Rosarito Beach.

The breakfast at Velero’s in Ensenada was impressive (it always is), and it was a glorious morning as we rolled south.

Two KLRs headed south in Baja. John forgot his toothbrush, and I wasn’t going to let him use mine, so we stopped at a farmacia so he could buy a new one.

We had several offroad explorations in mind as we rode deeper into Baja that morning, but our first stop was at a farmacia. I like Mexican pharmacies. Here in the US in 2009, all the stories in the news media were about the drug wars in Mexico. Right church, wrong pew, as they say: The US news media had the wrong story. The real drug story in Mexico was (and still is) how cheap prescriptions are down there. You don’t need a prescription in Mexico for many of the drugs that require prescriptions in the US (like penicillin, and prednisone, and Lord knows what else), and meds are trivially inexpensive. The drugs are the same as what we get in the US (literally, the same, from the same US manufacturers in many cases). I wish our so-called “investigative journalists” would write an expose on that topic, but they were too focused in 2009 on killing the tourism industry in Mexico with distorted news about the drug wars. Go figure.

We continued south on the Transpeninsular Highway. There’s about a dozen miles of traffic leaving Ensenada, and then Baja switches suddenly from squalor to splendor as the road climbs into the mountains and descends into Baja’s wine country. It really is spectacular. If you’ve never made this ride, or if you’re idea of going into Mexico is TJ or Ensenada, you need to venture further south to start to get a feel for the real Baja. Trust me on this.

John and his KLR on the Transpeninsular Highway in Baja’s wine country. This is where the beauty of Baja begins to emerge.

Ah, Baja. It was beautiful. It always is.

Our first excursion in the dirt would be to the abandoned mission in San Vincente, well into the desert and well south of mountains. We saw a sign for the mission and took a dirt road heading west from the Transpeninsular Highway. As it turned out, there was a lot more out there than just an abandoned mission.

The sign pointing to the Camino Real mission ruins.

We first saw a building we initially mistook for the mission. It was a private home (one of several). We were stunned. The homes were magnificent, tucked away in the hills down a rough, soft sand road. I’d been by San Vincente on many prior Baja rides, but I had no idea the hills held such secrets.

We saw a young lady and asked her for directions to the mission. She pointed and told us to go over a hill. We did, and the first thing we found was a well-maintained rural cemetery.

I’m in no hurry to be buried, but when it’s time, this might be nice. If there’s such a thing as elegance in a graveyard, this place had it.

There was something about the cemetery that was simultaneously captivating and tranquil. It seemed to come from another era, and after reading the headstones we saw that it did. It was meticulously maintained. It’s always nice to see that.

Impressive. A family plot. The wife lived to be 100. Imagine that.

Magnificent. I shot all the photos in this series with my old Nikon D200 and the first-generation 24-120 lens. It was state-of-the-art in 2009. I took a lot of pictures with that camera.

After the cemetery, we found the San Vincente Mission. The local folks are restoring it. I’d seen signs for the mission on the Transpeninsular Highway, but this is the first time I’d ventured off the asphalt to see it. John and I were the only folks out there that day.

The San Vincente Mission was built about 300 years ago. It’s one of several that run the length of the Baja peninsula. I’ve been to several, and a few are still working churches. What’s left of the San Vincente Mission is not.

What’s left of the San Vincente Mission. The restoration was a labor of love. The mission’s adobe walls were being resurfaced. I need to get back there to see how it looks today.

The mission walls underneath the restoration.

We rode through the soft sand back toward the Transpeninsular Highway to the town of San Vincente’s contemporary church (which is visible from the highway). It offered great photo opportunities and we took a bunch. We wanted to enter the church, but it was locked.

John relaxing in front of the San Vincente church.

John yanked on the cord, and that bell was loud. We stopped. We didn’t want the San Vincente residents to think they were being summoned.

It was fun being out in these remote areas on the KLRs. The experience was a lot different than seeing Baja from pavement only, and John and I were enjoying it. I’m normally not a guy who likes riding dirt, but John had talked me into getting off the highway and I’m glad he did.

Shortly after leaving San Vincente, it was time to check off another item on our wish list, and that was seeing the Isla Del Carmen shipwreck. I wanted to see it, but I didn’t know exactly where the wreck was other than that it was somewhere off the coast near San Jacinto, so we took another dirt road due west for about 8 miles and hit the Pacific coast. Our plan was to intersect the coast several miles north of San Jacinto, follow it south, and find what was left of the Isla Del Carmen.

The dirt road along the coast was rough, and I’m being charitable when I call it a road. It was mostly soft sand. At one point the sand was so deep it was nearly impossible to control the KLR, so I wrestled the Kawasaki up into the weeds. It was a marginal improvement. I couldn’t see where the wheel was going, but at least the sand wasn’t calling the shots anymore. And before you tell me the trick is to get up to speed and float on top of the soft stuff, all I can say is hey, I was there. You weren’t.

Then we encountered something we hadn’t expected: Dogs. A pack of dogs, actually. And they were pissed. At us.

Well, that’s not quite accurate. Their anger was focused on me. Specifically, me. At least that’s how I felt.

In California, you almost never see a dog off a leash. In rural Mexico, you almost never see a dog on a leash. Those things are aggressive, too. We were chased by more dogs on this trip than I have been chased by in my entire life. They weren’t just interested in scaring us or getting a good laugh. Those things wanted us for dinner. Or rather, they wanted me for dinner. I’ll tell you more about the angry dogs of Baja as this story progresses, but one dog story at a time for now. And this one was enough.

I don’t like dogs. I was mauled pretty badly by one when I was kid, and I still have the scars to prove it. I know that those of you who have taken the Motorcycle Safety Foundation course or who have read about such things are thinking that being chased by a dog is no big deal. I know about slowing down, letting the dog calibrate his intercept based on your reduced speed, and then accelerating to confuse the cantankerous canine. That works on pavement if there is one dog. Try doing it in soft sand when there’s pack of four or five that are fanned out along your flank. In that situation, you are not just a motorcyclist. You are a potential meal. And that was the situation I found myself in that fine Baja afternoon.

A tranquil scene, don’t you think? It was right after I shot this photo that the dogs descended on us.

We were approaching a rinky-dink little fishing village, eyeballing the coast for the shipwreck, when the pack of dogs came after me. I think it might have been my green fluorescent riding jacket. Maybe they had an unhappy childhood. Maybe someone unfriended them on Facebook. Who knows. Whatever the reason, they were snarling and spitting and literally smacking their jaws as I tried to fool them with the slow-down-speed-up maneuver. In soft sand. Trying to keep the motorcycle vertical. Wondering what the hell I was doing down there.

Then it happened. One of the dogs got me.

I felt him crash into my right leg, and when I looked down, the thing had clamped down on my motorcycle pants just above my ankle. The dog was literally being dragged along for what seemed like an eternity. It locked eyes with me, and if there’s such a thing as telepathic communication, or maybe interspecies body language, the dog’s eyes said it all. It was not a pleasant message in either direction. The dog might have thought I was a sonofabitch; I had no doubts about him being one. I’ve known some SOBs in my life, but this bastard was the real deal. I didn’t feel any pain, but that’s normal in a traumatic situation. I didn’t know if the dog’s teeth broke the skin around my ankle, but I knew what it would portend if it had.

“Not good,” I thought.

I could see it all the while that miserable sonofabitch was clamped down on my leg, as he was being pulled along at 30 mph. What I saw was me making a beeline for the border to get medical treatment. Rabies shots, and who knows what else.

To be continued…

Hey, check out our other Epic Motorcycle Rides, and watch the ExNotes blog for the next installment of the Baja KLR Khronicles!

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Tracy!

During the summer of 2016, your blogmeisters (Arjiu and Dajiu) rode RX3 motorcycles 6000 miles across China. Tracy was our translator and he was funny as hell.

Our good friend Tracy is an up and comer in the Zongshen organization. He sent an email to us recently, along with the above photo. Tracy is being reassigned to the Zongshen team in Mexico, and Gresh and I may take a ride down there once Tracy is in country. You can bet the beer will flow freely when that happens!

Hey, buy two or three…they make great gifts!

If you’d like to read the story of our ride across China, you can do so here. It was a great ride and an amazing adventure.

On the border…

You ask Why. I ask Why not?

Whoa, it’s toasty…as in 112 degrees Fahrenheit. The folks out here are complaining about the humidity, but it feels dry as a bone to me. Certainly less humidity than we’re getting in So Cal, and way, way less than in other parts of the US. The drill today was Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, Ajo, and Why, Arizona (Ajo means garlic in Spanish, in case you were wondering, but I didn’t see a single one).

We were right on the border in Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, and we opted for the 21-mile dirt road loop into the Ajo Mountains.

Awesome. South of Ajo, south of Why, and right on the border.

One mile. I didn’t to go any further because I didn’t know if I’d be able to turn around.

The star of the show, the Organ Pipe cactus. They grow here and no place else on Earth.

Our route….a 21-mile round trip through the Ajo Mountains. It was beautiful.

After the ride through Organ Pipe, we settled into Ajo for the evening. It’s a cool place, even though it’s still 109 outside.

They like murals in Arizona. It’s a photographer’s paradise.

And that’s it for tonight. I noticed there were a couple of questions and comments on the ebikes (thanks very much for posting those). I’ll do my best to get answers for you.