Oaxaca Dreams
Back in the early days of 2020 our friend, Chris, proposed a spring trip to Oaxaca. At that time it was hard to imagine we could pull it off. The pandemic had just arrived in our corner of New England and going to the grocery store, much less southern Mexico, felt fraught with uncertainty. During months of living a more insular existence, we dreamed of riding in the Sierra Norte, eating mole negro, and just being out in the world. Thankfully the plan persisted and on a rainy day in April, 2022, we found ourselves flying south.
We celebrated our first night in Oaxaca together with tacos al pastor and Negro Modelos on the roof of our casita. Our celebration was short lived though as we had 12 hours to catch up on sleep and assemble our gear in the hopes of making it to our mountain campsite the next day. That first day of riding turned out to be a bit of a doozy. The route, courtesy of Cass Gilbert and the crew at bikepacking.com, started with a stout climb to 10,000 feet under a blazing sun.
Following many hours of riding/hike-a-biking we topped out at sunset into forest magic. Oaxaca’s tag line should be, “Come for the riding, stay for the bromeliads!” The forests are a collage of trees, epiphytes, lichens, and mosses, all growing in one vibrant mass.
Over the next five days we wound our way through the high mountains, searching for Oaxacan singletrack. While we knew from Trail Forks this area contained a spaghetti bowl of trails, we had no idea it was also the hub for Mexican enduro riding. We were passed a few times by riders in full face helmets and enough suspension to handle the rowdiest singletrack. Their dust still lingered in the air as we picked our way down drops and gullies, trying to stay upright on our rigid bikepacking bikes. While the enduro crowd tossed their bikes on top of adventure vans and drove back to Oaxaca, we camped out at a lovely eco reserve and dug into entomatadas from the local comedor.
Oaxacan singletrack, like so much of Mexico in general, is both familiar and totally unique. We rode trails nearly identical to our local trails in Vermont, with loads of shapely berms and flowy benched rollers. We also rode loose and dusty chutes that felt more like surfing than anything resembling biking.
Our original plan had us looping back to our casita via a couple of small communities south of Oaxaca. Many of these communities have been close off to outsiders since the beginning of the pandemic and, heading out on this tour, we weren’t 100% which ones had reopened. Our morning ride had us dropping down several thousand feet and climbing back up to the villages of Latuvi and Benito Juárez. As we began the climb to Latuvi we came across a small sign that read, “No hay pasar.” After flagging down a few cars and asking about the road, we were convinced that we couldn’t go to or through these villages. Wanting to be respectful of every communities method of managing a pandemic, we rerouted back the way we came with the idea of spending a day in the city of Oaxaca.
Our reroute was not a loss — no one has ever complained about spending a day kicking around the city of Oaxaca. The food alone is worth a week of exploration. We’re all suckers for a rooftop terrace, which is just what we found blocks from the Zócalo, on the outer edges of downtown. What a treat to sit with three filthy, dusty friends and enjoy a bowl of sopa de guías while the city hums below!
I would highly recommend Oaxaca to anyone looking to escape Vermont’s mud season. Cycling here is not without it’s challenges — it gets real hot below 9,000 feet, the grades are steep, and the rainy season, which begins in mid-April, can produce intense storms. But every place has it’s challenges (ever try to ride Vermont singletrack after the leaves have fallen?) and Oaxaca was good enough that we were planning to return before we had even left.
