Empty Bottles, Broken Spokes.

Ciudad Constitution. Five p.m. and the thermometer reads 34 degrees celsius. That´s 93 farenheit, and the sun is already way past the apex of its daily arc. Only two days out of Loreto and dreaming of a shower, a cold beer, anything to clean me off. To cool me down.
Two nights under the stars on top of my sleeping bagin the salt incrusted shorts, the same stained and rancid t-shirt I spent all day riding in. Two nights bug bitten and sweat soaked. Too hot to sleep. Snakes under my bags in the morning, Tarantulas (small ones granted, but still....) skitteing through the beam of my flashlight at night.
Climbed out of Loreto and into the mountains, a long steep grade winding through the hills. Heard the first spoke go about ten miles in. My rear wheel´s trying to tell me something.
"I´m tired. I can´t take it anymore".
"Well me too. Shut up. Just get me through the day and I´ll fix you later."
Uh oh. Talking to the bike again. Must be the heat. Gotta remember to drink more water.
Camped in the sand of a dry riverbed under jagged, moss covered rock peaks. Decended into the agricultural flats of Villa Insurgentes and Ciudad Constitution. Leaving camp before sunup and putting in as many miles as possible before being forced to wait out the miday heat in the shade of some dusty roadside tree, some crumbling cinderblock structure. Rationing our water, nervously aware of our empty bottles and hoping that the next chance to refill is just around the next turn, just over the next rise. Hearing the muted but unmistakable "ping" of spokes finally giving out under the weight of my load. Two days. Three bikes. Seven flats. Enough said.
Now three days and three nights later. Three sunburnt and red eyed days of hoping for that next glipse of the sea. La Paz. Bustling capital on the gulf. A turningpoint. A Nexus. Here´s where Jessi splits off. Leaving us and making her way back to Victoria, Canada. Back to life. To friends. To Family. To work and save and plan for next years adventure. She´ll be missed dearly. The balance she lent to the group and her level headed coolness in every situation. We´ll see you in Victoria, Jessi.
Jason and I are catching the first ferry out of dodge. Out of the desert. Crossing the Tropic of Cancer into Mazatlan. The next leg. The mainland. 954 miles in. A third of the way there....