Brake lights appear on the horizon and a deep feeling of relief comes over me. My friends are at an unexpected fork in the road. We turn right, pushing through deep sand, and in the distance I see a lonesome campfire and pickup truck. We roll up to a man seated at the campfire, and I stall again. As Miles helps bump start my bike, more and more people emerge from the shadows and begin surrounding us. We are outnumbered and vulnerable, but soon a man is drawing a map in the sand, speaking rapidly in Spanish. Eventually, my enthusiasm for our current state runs thin and I begin trekking back down the road.
Before long, I see a motorcycle on it’s side. Robert has fallen in deep sand and is pinned underneath his bike, but luckily they’re both fine. For a while we’re lost in a labyrinth of dirt roads, turning down six different dead-ends that have a strange familiarity to them. I drop my bike while u-turning at a dead-end, then Bruce drops his bike, then Miles, then Stevie. Finally, we’re rewarded with a wooden sign, “Cuatro Casas Hostel - this way”. In desperation I break off from the group and start rolling down the road. There, glowing in the distance, is the hostel. We’ve had some close calls, but we’re safe. It’s an experience we’ll never forget.