In our last episode, the Furious Five, having conquered the Arroyo of Despair and arrived mostly intact at the village of Milpillas for refreshments and merriment, are now ready for the 2nd half of the day's adventure. We saddled our steel horses and set out south for Aramberri.
Way back in 2007, 25 riders gathered in Galeana to conduct the initial recon for the first MexTrek. Our goal was to split into small groups and ride the different routes that would ultimately make it into the ride guide and form the basis for the MexTrek rally.
During that recon, Uncle and two other riders explored the route we were riding today. Upon returning to Galeana Uncle cursed at me for sending him on that route. He said stuff like, "if we crossed that dang (except he didn't say dang) river once, we crossed it 30 times", "I am never riding that again", and "You owe me beer. Lots of beer."
I've always wondered about this route. And today was the day I was going to find out exactly what was what.
Off we went.
"Hmmm...this seems okay."
Then we reached the river. And, sure enough, if we crossed it once, we crossed it 30 times.
But, truthfully, it wasn't a big deal. Maybe the water level was lower than when Uncle went through here 10 years ago. Or maybe it seemed easier because I was riding a bike that weighted less than half the one he was riding back then. Whatever the reason, the route was fine. I would do it again. Even on a big bike. As long as the water wasn't unreasonably high.
A few miles later we popped out on pavement and rode the remaining distance to Aramberri at a bit more than legal speeds.
Once in town we tried to check into the hotel but there was a short delay. Somebody bought some cold beer that we enjoyed while waiting for the room situation to be sorted out. Finally, after getting the rooms squared away, JT decided to go for a dip in the pool. However, a spiral staircase got in the way, resulting in a gash to his head. He still got in the pool, except now his reason for doing so was to wash the blood out of his eyes.
Luckily, in the immortal words of Monte Python, "It was only a flesh wound". Once Doug had stemmed the flow of blood and it we were sure JT was going to live, we set out in search of supper.
Aramberri is a sleepy little town that gets even quieter on Sunday evening. Just when it seemed like every eating place in town was closed, we located Pollo Asado Ortiz - i.e. Ortiz's Grilled Chicken.
We asked Pat (refer to Saturday Night Live for more info on Pat) if we could eat, but Pat said there was no food cooked.
"Well, can you cook some food for us? We don't mind waiting."
"Okay, but it will take an hour."
"That's fine. We will watch English tv dubbed in Spanish and drink beer while we wait."
Pat got busy grilling chicken and sausage for us.
Pat on (your) right, Zeke in the middle, and helper guy (sorry, I didn't get his name) on the left.
The beer was cold, the chicken was good, and we were happy to have a hot meal.
With our bellies full, we wandered back to the hotel for a bit more beer (and tequila). Tired from the day's struggles, I called it an early night.
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bravo ! 
