Mountain Biking Oaxaca’s Sierra Norte
Any cyclist who has done significant time in the Mid-Atlantic knows how bleak the winters can feel: the dark days, the cold weather, and the mountains spending at least a month in slumber under a blanket of Appalachian corn snow. As someone who views cycling as more an activity than a sport, doing time on the human hamster wheel (trainer) just doesn’t cut it. Come February, the momentum of the holidays has long dissipated, and time seemingly comes to a standstill while waiting on warmer days. Over the past decade, I have taken to winter travel, heading to the southwest in search of sunshine and dirt waves worthy of an extended stay. This year, the destination was Oaxaca, Mexico, with Charlie Snyder and Sam Skidmore for some shuttle riding.
Charlie approached Sam and me with the idea in the spring. A week of fully supported shuttle riding in Mexico seemed like a no-brainer. Charlie set everything up through Oaxaca Bike Expeditions which handled all the logistics and accommodations, including meals, shuttles, guides, rides to and from the airport, and even a doctor to show up the day before we flew out to give us our COVID-19 tests for reentry to the U.S.
Charlie and I arrived a day early to get our feet wet by riding with Cass Gilbert, a Oaxaca resident whom I met on a bikepacking trip a few years prior in New Mexico. We got right into it with a proper first day beat-down, weaving among vintage Volkswagen Beetles, customized auto rickshaws, and commercial trucks; passing the many muraled walls and roadside bays of independent entrepreneurs peddling goods and services. In front of a tire shop, a worker watched as a dog tossed a full-size tire about. A fellow at an intersection juggled machetes for tips from stopped motorists. The sound of a PA system crackled with an over-modulated voice. It was sensory overload.
Eventually, we turned onto a farm road and the pace reeled back into something more social in nature as we began our traverse. We climbed up through forgotten dusty jumps and deep ruts of loose, textured rock lined with sharp brush in route to Tule, where we consumed enormous cups of shaved ice and juice before cruising a bike path back to town. Sam arrived after dinner that night, and we caught up while getting everything squared away to head high up into the Sierra Norte the next day.
In the morning, I took in the sunrise with coffee on the patio as hummingbirds darted about and the mountains looked on from afar. After breakfast, we piled into the truck and made our way across town, stopping briefly at a bodega for snacks and water. Charlie scoped out a juice spot across the street that sold huge cups of fresh squeezed orange juice for 30 pesos — we hit it up daily.
It was about an hour’s drive to the top of the mountain, where we stopped to pick up permits and a driver before heading into Ixtepji Bike Park, the destination of all our guided riding. The trails in the upper regions were relatively short, dusty troughs through open woods with a flowy, freeride vibe. After a couple runs on these, we plugged into the longer trails traveling along lush ridge lines twisting among moss-covered trees hosting large, red bromeliad air plants and, in some areas, agave plants taller than head high. From there, it was into thick pine forest before spitting out onto seemingly endless exposed noses of gnar and steep, loose troughs. Fading brakes and pumped arms characterized our 4,000' descent into a small village, where we often ate a late afternoon lunch.
One day, Sam and Charlie mapped out a ride from our lunch spot, which was about halfway back to town. After consuming food and coffee, we left the group and set out on dirt tracks, passing through a couple small towns on the way to an ecological reserve. We met up with Cass there and did a singletrack loop before mashing back across town through traffic. The ride left us with just enough daylight for Sam to connect the dots on a heavy line he had scoped out, dropping into a drainage from an old aqueduct. The streets of Oaxaca are filled with banks, stairs, ledges, and wall rides with nary a skate-stopper spotted. It would be great to get back and spend time around town with a smaller bike, but the taste we got on the big units was sweet, nonetheless.
On another afternoon, we made it back in time for a quick ride behind the hotel. It was a mix of single- and double-track, climbing up to a huge cross that overlooks the city and passing a couple small towns before dropping right back behind the hotel.
Our guides Hoicho and Alberto took us out to a lucha libre wrestling match. The match was at a ring in a dirt lot, covered by a huge canopy and enclosed by a brick wall with colorful shards of broken glass on top. We had front-row seats on folding chairs, and at one point a wrestler took a shot to neck and writhed in pain at our feet as medical staff tried to get a neck brace on him, secure him on a backboard and get him out of the venue. The match never skipped a beat though, and I’m still unsure whether he was actually hurt, or this was just some of the best acting of the night.
Other nights, we opted to walk the city streets, wandering into galleries, mezcalerias, and open-air markets on the way to meet our guides for dinner. No sooner than we’d grown comfortable with our routine, it was time to fly home to frigid temps, snow on the ground, and the harsh reality that spring was still three months away.
