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Pedro had barely slept in Guasave, was exhausted after the escapades of the previous day, and so decided to sleep in. Miguel rode out first and I went to a supermarket to get some snacks for the day. I am sure I’ll be going to their bakeries in the future because I was amazed by the deliciousness and cheapness. They had slices of cake and other wonderful things for only 4 pesos, which is about 30 cents. I got a couple and have decided they make the perfect breakfast, and quite possibly lunch too.

I caught up with Miguel and then it was a gentle climb out of town followed by some pleasant rolling hills. The agriculture that had lined the road for the previous few days had vanished and the vegetation became sparser. There were even a few cacti on display. By 10ish, we made it to a restaurant with a big sign outside saying they sell cheese, and were happy to stop for breakfast. It was a very pretty little restaurant, run by a couple of chatty older ladies, although mainly about things I couldn’t understand.

After breakfast, which included sampling their delicious cheese, we were sat around in the rocking chairs giving our food a bit of time to digest before getting back on the bikes, when one of the ladies started asking if we wanted something. I was confused, but she kept repeating the word hamaca. We didn’t understand, but followed her behind the restaurant where there were two hamacas, which are, as they sound, hammocks. We couldn’t believe our luck and enjoyed a delightful couple of hours snoozing in them. The only thing missing was a cold drink.

Around 12:30, Miguel woke up and told me he thought he’d seen Peter going past in the back of a pickup truck. I was surprised, but figured he must have had a serious mechanical issue. We tried calling him, but were unable to get a reply, and as it was closing in on the hottest part of the day, were wondering what we would do. Thankfully, we continued to procrastinate long enough that Pedro turned up. He had been waved down by the husband of one of the two ladies. Turns out he hadn’t been in the truck; he just hadn’t left Guamúchil until around 11.

We sat round while Pedro had lunch and told us how baking hot it was outside. I looked on Mike’s GPS and in the shade it said it was 35c (95f) whereas in the sun claimed it was 46c (115f). Toasty! Over lunch, Mike mentioned enjoying the ride and, for the first time, the rolling hills. However, with it having heated up so much he was in two minds about riding on to Pericos and was considering taking a lift. The deciding factor seemed to be when the ladies at the restaurant mentioned that there was nowhere to get water before the small town of Rancho Viejo, just before Pericos.

Pedro set off and then a while later, as Miguel walked to the road to start thumbing a lift, so did I. I was only a little surprised 5-6km later to see a shop on the side of the road, even though we’d been told there weren’t any. I stopped and gulped down a couple of litres of water before setting off again. Being hydrated and having a gentle breeze meant that I didn’t find it to be that hot and made it to Rancho Viejo with plenty of water left.

Pedro was sat at a little restaurant enjoying some tacos when I pulled in and we sat round for an hour or so. We hadn’t seen Miguel come along, and then, just as we were about to set off, he pulled in with sweat dripping down his face. He’d tried unsuccessfully to get a lift for about 15 minutes before realising that, if he was going to be in the sun, he might as well be riding. I was impressed that he’d decided to continue riding in the heat, as I know how easy it can be to take a lift.

After Mike had finished eating, rehydrating and cooling down, we set off for the last 40 minutes to the small town of Pericos. It’s set off the main highway and so doesn’t see much traffic. Nearly everyone that saw us looked in confusion, not understanding what three people were doing in their town on fully laden bikes. The first port of call was at a small tienda to get Miguel and Pedro some beer where we saw a couple of fighting cocks sparring. Next the joy of trying to find a motel which took us 20 minutes of riding round following conflicting directions, during which time a guy stopped to whisper in my ear asking me if I wanted company, a car pulled over to try to sell Pedro some powder, and a group of teenagers waving baggies filled with something green. The first time the seedy underbelly had appeared, not too surprising considering Sinaloa is one of the strongholds.

Lunch place

Talking with Mike

Guamúchil


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