Non stop Fernandez drove like a man possessed, a full moon kept watch as we rode through the Sonara desert. At 4am we pulled up to a lone barn, sitting in a moonlight shadow at the foot of a mountain, the saloon doors swung into darkness, the silhouette of a hand reached out to crank up the dimly lit gas light hanging against the wall, revealing a gaggle of middle aged women all silently fanning, and hanging in hammocks dotted about the place, all very relaxed and memorable. The Thumb felt like it was living in some old classic Wild West movie. Everything bar the freeway, truck and jar of Nescafé was as rustic and authentic as an English mind could imagine.
Fernandez forged on into the night, morning and early afternoon...
Around midday we rocked up to Hermosillo , Fernandez stuck his official shirt on and asked us to take our bags out while he offloaded his cargo in the depot. A large open,bustling restaurant stood right before the Truck.... we got fed and watered and watched Holland stuff Spain.
Sadly Fernandez pulled out of the depot and headed straight back where he'd came from, he didn't see us. Would of liked to say goodbye, but that was the end of the line for us and him...cracking ride.
Christina Silva dropped us a off at a coconut shack by a railroad, Carlos a robust man of few gestures and words but happy to break out in song every 10 mins took us into Obregon.
300km south was Los mochis. A Rodeo crew pulling an open trailer of horses dropped us off at a Motel on the outskirts...sunset, tacos and beer With the boys in an open top jeep was a fine fine way to push on down route 15.