|Protests in Oaxaca City|
Actually it's not uncommon to find protesters on the road in the Americas. Sometimes you have to gently negotiate your passage through, with people lying in the road, rocks strewn on the tarmac to stop the cars, and fires blazing amongst the banners. Sometimes it can be a little intimidating and sometimes they take some persuading to let you through. This time though, despite the hundreds of riot police at the ready, the teachers union did not appear to be preparing for a battle of the violent sort. The police were pretty relaxed behind their shields and spent much of their time texting or chatting! We got through without confrontation from either side.
|The dancing farmers in Mexico City|
Within an hour of leaving Oaxaca city, we were well and truly marinated in Mexican rainwater. There was no stopping its relentless quest to seek out and destroy all dry areas!
|Rain all the way to Tuxtepec|
|Salvaging the paperwork|
Tuxtapec was lower down and warmer, although the rain continued late into the night as we set up camp in our 200 pesos a night hotel room (about £8). Here we sieved through the wreckage of what was once our luggage! Actually my Kriega side panniers had once again stayed strong and everything inside remained dry. The bag (Patagonia) I now used for my clothes had been saved from the worst of the wet by wrapping it in bin bags, and the top box, with all my electrical equipment had managed to fend off the attack with no casualties. My tank bag however, had, for the first time, failed me. I discovered the front pocket, home to my passport and all-important bike documents, were now paper mache. It took some time to prize it all apart and lay it out to dry on the hotel room floor overnight.
|hotel room camping|
That morning we spotted a place on the map called Chacalacas and both agreed, without debate, that
we had to go there. We knew nothing about it except that it was on the coast that we were heading for and that it had a REALLY COOL NAME!
|Taking a dip in the Caribbean Sea|
I have a love/hate relationship with sand! The first five minutes is always torture as you try to remember how you ever managed this before! I had dropped my tyres down to about 24 PSI but still Rhonda wriggled and squirmed in
|Finding my sand Rhythm|
for 45,000 miles without complaint! We should have shown some respect, but sand has a habit of turning even the gentlest of riders into a hooligan before too long! With faith in the big H engineering, we pushed the bikes hard and took respite from the long road miles. It was playtime - ready or not!