Well, here’s the story of the first day’s ride from Guerrero Negro to Vizcaino…it didn’t happen. We started off down the road and I swear to God I was riding a wet noodle. Where did my strong steel steed go?? Apparently even the strongest of steel has a bending/breaking point and I could tell mine was rapidly approaching the point of no return.
We had pedaled perhaps a kilometer out of town before I hailed Dom. I told him what was happening and we agreed it would be foolish to continue.
We checked into a little motel on the outskirts of town and began to methodically go through all my gear. By the time we finished there were two piles. One was stuff I’d decided to send back to Vegas and the other was my cold weather gear. I figured I could forward this along to Culiacan.
I couldn’t send anything at the moment since I didn’t have anyone’s address in Culiacan. I called Will and he didn’t have any of their info either but said he would get someone’s by the next morning.
Dom and I retired to our hotel where they happened to serve dinner. A bowl of soup and a fillet of fried fish put an end to an otherwise somewhat dismal start.