My interview with Stoyan was supposed to be a simple debrief about his broken leg in Mexico. Instead, it turned into a reminder of the realities riders face in the places we dream about.
And the messenger? - A man who lives in Alaska, someone I assumed would be more prepared than me, yet still found himself caught off guard. Maybe that’s why it hit so hard. Whether you’ve been riding 30 years or 30 days, the road has a way of levelling everyone.
Stoyan runs Ride65North, self-guided motorcycle expeditions out of Fairbanks on BMW R1300GSs. He didn’t build it to get rich. In fact, he joked about having to fight Alaska’s Small Business Development Center because he didn’t want to pay himself at all. He built it for one reason: “So we can show up somewhere epic and ride. Not haul gear. Not chase parts. Not follow some guide’s agenda. Just… ride.”
So he bought four ADV bikes, kept the rates low, and accidentally created the antidote to the overproduced, chase-truck, catered-meal motorcycle vacation. Ride65North is for the rider who flies into Fairbanks and says Give me a bike, give me a map, and tell me where the bears aren’t…. Turns out, they are everywhere.
But this isn’t Alaska. This story takes place deep in Mexico’s Copper Canyon.
The Fall
Stoyan loves finding himself in the remote parts of the world. Dirt guy through and through. And on this trip, he did everything right:
Garmin communications
Solid route research
A bike he trusted
Experience for days
Except he was sick. Fever. Chills. Dehydrated enough that his brain wasn’t firing at full power. But the next morning was perfect, blue sky, pine trees, 8,000 feet up, riding smooth after days of punishment.
“One moment I’m riding, the next I’m on my side with a broken leg.” Stoyan commented, I had just enough time to say “Hey, look, red dirt, and then I was down.”
He hit SOS on the Garmin.
“Leg’s broken. Spiral fracture. Not bleeding. No huge rush,” he told them. “But… would be cool if somebody came and got me.”
Garmin replied, suggesting the nearby town might have a clinic. In the meantime, locals rolled up in a truck, police who were enthusiastic and determined to “help.”
He laughs retelling it: “It was like 50 Keystone Cops. They tried to pick me up. I’m telling them, ‘No, my leg is broken!’ Then teaching them how to splint me, for the second time in my life, mind you.” Language barriers didn’t help; the translation system wasn't working. Eventually, one officer with decent English took charge.
They loaded him up and hauled him to a small clinic… and that’s when the next reality of riding abroad showed up. Everybody wanted their cut. 2,000 pesos for the truck ride. 2,000 pesos for retrieving the bike. 2,000 pesos for the clinic. 2,000 pesos for the transfer to the larger hospital. Cash only. No insurance processing. No exceptions.
He had enough for a couple of the charges. Not all of them, and the police weren’t letting him go anywhere until everyone got paid. Fortunately, one clinic employee had a PayPal account, and after enough arm-raising and signal hunting, Stoyan transferred funds to her so she could pay everybody else.
He was transported four hours away to a hospital with one orthopaedic surgeon. Travel insurance had not responded with a coherent plan in the 28 hours since they were alerted to the situation. The surgery team was so deep into prep the anesthesiologist was literally standing in the room waiting for signatures. Finally, when the insurance company replied with
options, they offered 9 in Mexico City, and they planned to get him there by ambulance. A 22-hour nonstop drive. More realistically: 30–40 hours with breaks.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” he told them. “Put your energy into getting me home. I’ll fix it here.”
He consulted a top orthopaedic surgeon in Miami, sending the admin so many X-rays (on film, mind you!) that she eventually handed the phone to the doctor. “You can’t travel with that leg unstabilized,” he said. “Have them fix it there. Then come see me.”
So he stayed and trusted the local surgeon, which turned out to be a success. Back in the States, the Miami surgeon gathered his entire office to review the X-rays, raving about the Mexican surgeon's skills.
If you’re new: The road isn’t out to get you, but it will expose shortcuts in your preparation.
If you’re experienced: Years in the saddle don’t grant immunity from bad luck, fatigue, or a bad line.
For all of us: Double-check your judgment. Everything is fun until suddenly it isn’t.
And if you ever find yourself in Alaska needing a bike? Look for the guy who already learned these lessons the hard way. He’ll hand you the keys, tell you to be careful, and let you find out the rest for yourself
