Back when I was in college at SFA around 1975, I had a roommate whose father was a banker in San Antonio. The Father held some interest in a Ranchero near Guanajauto. We planned to go fishing at the Ranchero one Spring Break as the Father was going to fly his plane down there.
At the last minute, the Father had something come up and he couldn't fly us down there. He suggested that we instead take the "bikes". The next day, my roommate and I rode two Harley 74s from San Antonio to Laredo to Monterrey, to Saltillo, to Zacatecas, to Guanajuato, to the Ranchero.
It was like nothing I had ever done. We caught over 100 bass each day and every one one was 4-5 lbs. One of the hands at the ranchero filleted the fish and froze them so that my roommate's father brought them home on his next trip there.
On our return, we went through San Luis Potosi instead of Zacatecas. Even though we sported the "Mescal grin" the entire trip, I will never forget it.
We had no trouble whatsoever, but like Tom, I would NEVER do it again.
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"Filet that fish? Hell naw! I'll scale him, gut him, fry him up in grease, take him by the head and tail, and play him like a French Harp!" - Uncle Paul sometime in the 60s.