Reality check

After a long, hot ordeal to get from Santa Ana to Ciudad Obregon (maybe 280 miles but it felt like a 500 mile day) on the Mexican equivalent of a freeway, I decided that I'd had enough of all that and would get on to some smaller roads today. This turned out to be both a good and a bad idea.

It started off well enough, the major freeway type roads in Mexico are anything BUT freeways, the tolls are extortionate. So heading out on a free road that had only the same number of large potholes as the toll road had me smiling at the saved cash. The road was still dead straight and could be ridden at 60mph, as long as you a) watch constantly for potholes and b) spot the "topes", sleeping policemen/speed humps that are sometimes signposted, sometimes not, and often almost invisible. I'm sure I'll take out the rear shock on one.

I was heading for Los Mochis but after an initial signpost saying "Los Mochis - libre" there were no more. Determined not to go back to the toll road I pressed on, following roads that were generally headed south, and looking for towns that I passed through on my road map. The tactic worked well until I got to the small town of Huatabampo. There I encountered some road cones and a guy trying to direct traffic through one lane. The other lane was disappearing rapidly as flood water was washing it away.

I pulled over - essentially to take a picture - and realised that all the surrounding fields were underwater. A flatbed truck pulled up and the driver got out and started talking to me, superfast.

"No entiendo, no hablo Espanol" I explained.
"From?" he asked.
"Inglaterra. Ingles"
"You TV? Writer?"
"No"
"What you do?"
"Errrr, fix computers", I said, realising I didn't have the faintest how I could possibly get network engineer into Spanish. "Internet" I offered, and motioned a computer keypad.
"National Geographic?"

After another go I managed to convince him I wasn't a journalist. I'm not sure if he was disappointed or relieved. He asked me what I was doing in this particular, flooded, corner of Mexico then. "Viaje" I said. I'm just a tourist mate.

After pointing out that the flood had buckled the railway lines, he said to me "dangereuse here". I asked why and he tried to explain, I think the upshot was he was worried I had got into town but wouldn't be able to get out again because the water was rising. I thought that seemed a bit extreme but thanked him and we shook hands.

It was only as I rode on into town that the extent of the flooding and damage became apparent. Power substations, fuel stations, whole streets were underwater and many surrounding fields too. All the traffic was being funnelled along one decent street. At one point I took a wrong turn, the bike was up to it's axles in brown water, there was a strong smell of excrement and I wondered just how people could cope with it all. The flooding must have emptied a sewer or something. A guy came over and tried to explain this road was closed. I thanked him and he clapped me on the shoulder like an old friend.

As I pulled through the water back the way I came the bike smacked down into a submerged pothole and I started to worry about having dented the rear rim. Sweat was streaming into my eyes, dripping off my nose, and I started to fret about what would happen if I keeled over here in the intense heat.

Getting out of town the speed picked up and the temperature became bearable again. I passed devastation - the sort I've seen on TV before - homes full of mud and branches after the water had receded. I thought about the old guy who was probably a local, worrying about me getting stuck here, and I wondered if his home was wrecked too. It occurred to me that my own problems, which were few, were kind of inconsequential.

It's not rained since the day before I left Tucson. But I guess it's raining somewhere.

The flooding seemed localised as it was just the one town and surrounding area. Picking up the main road I passed into Sinaloa, the next state down from Sonora. The landscape changed on cue from brush and scrubby trees into fields, but still there were thousands of butterflies. I passed my third or fourth military checkpoint, the soldiers were all under shelter and no one bothered me, I just got waved through again. I guess it's too hot for standing around in the sun. Instead of ploughing on to Los Mochis, I detoured down to El Fuerte, a town founded in 1564. It was by this time 4pm, taking the back roads had added miles and hours to my journey. I found a hotel and realised I'd again lost an hour, although checking on the Internet Sonora and Sinaloa are on the same time, which means my watch has been wrong since I left the US. I have to stop doing that :)

I'm going to press on south tomorrow, probably on toll roads to speed things up a bit. Until then, hope all is well where you are.

Frase.