Some of my friends told me I was crazy. "You're riding a motorcycle alone halfway across Mexico, then you're going to sell it in Texas, buy a new one and ride back to Mexico City, one of the world's most unfriendly spots for bikers?"

Maybe it was a little crazy.

For starters, getting out of Mexico City was a logistical nightmare. It was a Thursday and happened to be my no-drive day (you can only drive four weekdays a week in Mexico City. It's to cut the pollution and your license plate's last number determines your no-drive day). My plan was to leave at 4 a.m. and get out of the city before the no-drive rule takes effect at 5 a.m.

I ran late getting ready, of course. I couldn't find my gloves or saddlebag tie down straps or glasses. I hadn't even left yet and things were going wrong.

I finally got out of the house at 4:30, got gas and was on the road. The next problem was to get out of the city without traveling on the three main highways - the Periferico, which loops around the city; the Viaducto, which goes east to west; and the Circuito Interior, which makes a circle around the city's mid-section. Authorities banned motorcycles on those roads a few years ago because of a rash of assaults, thefts and murders by crooks on motorcycles. They'd go up to someone stopped in traffic, rob them at gunpoint and make their getaway weaving between cars. So I had to get out of the city taking side streets and then taking a toll road that goes along the city's western edge. There were zillions of speed bumps and I didn't make it out by 5 a.m. But I didn't get stopped by any cops, either, so I was on my way.

As soon as I got off the toll road and got on to the regular highway that goes north to Queretaro I just about got ran over by a huge semi that I didn't see. It was drizzling and dark, the road was covered with oil, and there was heavy truck and bus traffic. A lot of them don't have brake lights, of course, and I almost rammed a bus from behind because I misjudged the distance. I had already been riding for maybe 90 minutes and I wasn't even out of the metropolitan area yet. It's a huge city with some 20 million people in it and the surrounding valley. I was a little rattled and also freezing. I stopped at the first safe place - a truck stop - to have some hot coffee and pull myself together.

The next several hours were tough because of the cold, but I stopped often and eventually temperatures warmed up. I had good riding for the rest of the day. I stopped after 13 hours and spent the night in Saltillo in northern Mexico.

The next day was not as bad - nine or 10 hours. I had my import permit for the bike cancelled in Nuevo Laredo - you can get into a lot of trouble if you don't do that. Then I road to San Antonio and spent the night.

The next day was a Saturday. I went to a Yamaha dealer in San Antonio ready to buy a bike. The sales people were of no help and said only the owner could deal with me. He was on a phone and had a line of people waiting for him. So I left and they lost their sale. I got on my Yamaha and went 25 miles to another dealer. I spent a few hours looking at their bikes and riding them and we did the deal. They gave me $3,700 for my '94 Virago, which I thought was a good thing.

I rode 700 or so miles in Texas, including a trip to Beaumont, east of Houston. I was going to see a DEA friend of mine. I got rained on and soaked, of course, and had to buy some new dry clothes to make my appointment and not look like a drowned rat.

The next day I went back to the Yamaha dealer and had the first service done on the bike. I then took off for Mexico, crossed the border at Laredo, did the paperwork for the bike and headed south. Mexican customs agents and cops stopped me several times and tried to find a reason to seize (steal) the bike, but my papers were in order and it was off to Mexico City.

I spent the night in Saltillo again and left the next morning. Temperatures were in the 20s just south of town, but it was clear. There's an interesting stretch of road near Saltillo where Indians - mostly women and children - stand by the roadside and wave to passing cars. There are hundreds of families along about a 10-mile stretch of road. I asked what that's all about and was told that the Indians do that so that motorists toss them money. Well, it's a living, I guess.

Other Indians along that same stretch sell genuine snake oil, snake skin, wild birds and other creatures that they capture in the desert. It's a pretty strange, desolate area.

Watching the sun come up was great. The edge of the mountains against the sky was so sharp it looked like you could reach out and touch it.

I had a pretty good ride to Mexico City. But the temporary plate that the dealer gave me ended in the number 1. So guess what? It was my no-drive day - again!! I got off the road, found a little store that sold black magic markers and I did a little creative writing on that number 1, turning it to a 3. So I guess it wasn't my no drive-day after all. Maybe my fortunes were beginning to change.

Not!

Getting into the city was a nightmare. It took two hours, traffic was very intense -- five lanes of traffic filling what is supposed to be a three-lane road. There's no place to run, no place to hide. There's traffic even on the shoulder. I was stuck for a long time and the bike was heating up. Then the sun went down and the temperature started to drop. I missed a turn on the city's north side and accidentally went into Ectepec, a nasty, crime-ridden section of the city. So you can imagine the head-turning, people looking at me, wondering why I was there and probably asking themselves just what they would need to do separate me from my brand-new Road Star. You have to understand, you very rarely see big cruisers in Mexico. They're 40- to 60-percent more expensive than in the States. There's no strong tradition of riding. And so you almost never see them.

I got out of Ectepec as quick as I could and found my exit for that toll road that loops around the city's west side. I missed another turn and accidentally got onto another toll road that leads to Toluca. I pulled over and tried to correct my mistake and a bus going 50 or 60 mph came by so close I could almost feel it brush my leg. I had no choice but to take the toll road to the first U-turn something like seven miles down the road - actually up the road since you begin to go up a mountain pass and enter a pine forest. I couldn't find the U-turn and stopped to ask where it was. A man sent me down a cobbled road that led to a bunch of rustic cabins and restaurants that serve fresh trout. It was dark and just about every place was closed. I found one that was open and asked a man where the heck I was. He sent along another road that turned into a dirt road and by some miracle it led back to the highway.

Traffic was again horrendous after I got off the toll road and headed for home on the south side of Mexico City. My hands were hurting; I was real tired and anxious to get home.

I finally made it, parked the bike in my courtyard and secured the steel gate. Then I headed to the 'fridge and popped open a cold Modelo beer.

"Ahhhhh!" was about all I could say after the weeklong trip that had me logging some 2,665 miles on both motorcycles.

And I'd say if you made it to the end of this long yarn you deserve a cold one, too.