Motorcycles, Misconceptions, and the Mexican Road

If you’ve spent any time on the roads of Mexico, you’ve likely formed one of two opinions about motorcycle riders. 1. They’re all maniacs and an absolute  danger to society. Who let them on the road? 2. I should get a bike. They look like they’re living their best lives.

The truth, as it often does, lies somewhere between a backfire and a blissful mountain curve.

Let’s be honest, motorcycling in Mexico has a reputation problem. And like all reputations, it’s not entirely undeserved. We’ve all seen the guy weaving through traffic at Mach 10, no helmet, one sandal, texting with one hand and eating tacos with the other. It’s impressive, in a Darwin Awards sort of way. And unfortunately, it’s what a lot of car drivers see every time they spot someone on two wheels.

But not all of us are trying to audition for The Fast & Furious: Mayan Drift. Some of us are just out here taking it slow, obeying the rules, and soaking in the wild, wonderful beauty of this country from a saddle.

And what we see from that saddle is something else entirely.

Imagine this. You’re cruising the coast with the sun on your back, a salty breeze in your helmet, the jungle to your right, and the Pacific sparkling to your left. You can smell grilled fish from roadside palapas and hear the squawk of birds overhead. There’s no A/C humming and no music blasting. There’s just the rumble of your engine and the beat of your heart syncing up with the rhythm of the road.

This is why we ride.

From Jalisco to Guanajuato, we see the same country you do, but with fewer blind spots and more butterflies. We get waved at by children in mountain villages, nodded to by abuelitas carrying bags of tamales, and even barked at by less-than-friendly street dogs, who, let’s face it, are the real gatekeepers of rural routes. We notice roadside shrines, fields lit golden at sunset, and the quiet dignity of a man fixing a flat tire on the shoulder with nothing but a wrench and a dream.

We’re not just passing through, we’re present, because riding a motorcycle demands it.

But while we’re busy noticing every wild detail the country has to offer, we’re also constantly aware of one thing. The auto drivers who don’t notice us at all.

We see the person changing lanes without signaling, talking on the phone, and brushing their eyebrows in the rearview mirror. We see the taxi driver who doesn’t check his mirrors, because why would he when he can simply swerve and pray. We see the SUV owner who seems to think their car is too luxurious to coexist with a motorcycle, giving us a whole ten centimeters of clearance like they’re being generous.

From our seat, we see distracted drivers, aggressive drivers, sleepy drivers, TikTok drivers, and “oops, didn’t see you there” drivers. And when one of them does finally acknowledge us with a honk or a side-eye, it’s often to scold us for existing.

The irony? They’re the ones in 1.5 tons of reinforced steel. We’re on what is essentially an engine strapped to a picnic bench.

Yes, some motorcycle riders in Mexico do take things too far. Splitting lanes at 100 km/h in rush hour? Not cool. Popping wheelies on the freeway with a toddler strapped to your chest? Come on, man. There’s a reason some drivers tense up when they see us coming, and sometimes that tension is earned.

But for every daredevil, there are dozens of us who are just trying to get to work, to someone’s house, or to the mountains for a quiet ride. We’re wearing our helmets, signaling properly, keeping our distance, and we’re still treated like bugs on a windshield.

Why? Because we’ve been lumped together, all painted with the same reckless brush. And when drivers don’t differentiate, things get dangerous.

Motorcycles aren’t second-class vehicles, so what if we treated each other like equals out there?.We pay the tolls, follow the same laws, and we deserve the same space. We’re not asking for VIP treatment, just visibility. Literally.

You know how many accidents could be avoided if drivers simply checked their blind spots or gave a meter of space? We’re not in your blind spot on purpose. Sometimes we’re just stuck there, because traffic’s jammed and you won’t let us through. Oh, and that  small tap from your bumper? Well, that’s a hospital visit for us. We’re not in your way, we’re on our way. Just like you. You just aren’t paying attention.

You, in the car with the tinted windows and the blasting reggaeton? You’re  missing out. You can’t feel the shift in temperature when you climb a mountain pass. You don’t notice the smell of pine trees and warm tortillas drifting from roadside stands. You won’t get a thumbs-up from a kid selling jícamas, or make eye contact with a farmer herding goats across the road.

You don’t wave to other drivers. We do. Every motorcycle rider you pass gives a subtle hand wave or a head nod. It’s our way of saying “I see you, stay safe.” When was the last time you waved at another car just for being on the road with you?

So, what’s the point of all this?

It’s not to shame car drivers or glorify motorcycles (okay, maybe a little). It’s to say that we’re all sharing the same crazy, chaotic, beautiful roads in Mexico, and we need to treat each other like it.

Motorcyclists need to chill out on the speed runs and stop pretending every red light is optional. But car drivers, you need to see us. Not just glance at us, and not just assume we’ll dodge you like acrobats in Cirque du Soleil. Actually look at us, notice us, and respect us. That’s how we all get home in one piece.

Motorcycling in Mexico isn’t just a way to get around, it’s a way to connect. To the land, to the people, and to the pulse of a country that hums beneath us.

So next time you see a motorcyclist, don’t roll your eyes and mutter “another loco.” Maybe they’re just like me. They’ve got their helmet on, their visor is up, their heart is full, their throttle is steady, and they’re admiring the sun setting behind the Sierra Madre.

And if you give us a little space, we might even wave and say thank you.