Despite still recovering from the ride the previous evening, we got up early and headed off before the heat of the day kicked in. We wound our way north from Cardenas to the coast, along roads littered with speedbumps that remind you to slow down with a violent jolt, not a gentle UK-style bump. These things are the bane of our lives, as the road authorities seem to delight in dotting them every 20m through villages or laying them slap bang in the middle of a dead straight road, cunningly concealed in the mottled shadow underneath a lone roadside tree…normally just as our heavily-laden bikes have hauled themselves up to cruising speed. Hitting one of these at 50mph is a teeth-loosening experience as you desperately grab a fistful of brake, give up and clatter over the lump, panniers rattling and suspension grounding out as you hang on for grim death to avoid parting company with the bike, wincing as the frame, pannier racks and suspension take another beating. Sods. The soupy smog blanketing Mexico City must be due in no small part to these speedbumps, as they force cars and lorries to slow to a crawl, heave themselves over and then accelerate hard through 1st and 2nd to the next one in a gouting cloud of dense, black, oily, stinking diesel fumes. Anyway…enough about speedbumps. They’re there for a reason, children. The only other point of interest was crossing two huge bridges, both of which had very impressive names. Mexican bridges all have names…every single one. Even when there’s not a single directional road sign for ages and ages, every bridge has a name. Bigger bridges have bigger names…a little bridge across…well…nothing, really, in the desert might be called “Puento de Morillo”, or even “Puento de Morillo II” if it’s really junior. The two big bridges we crossed were called something like “Puento de Maximillan Guillarmo los Amores dos QUinta” (I made that up, but you get the picture) which gives you an idea of how far up the bridge pecking order they were. One spanned an estuary in an almost pyramidal shape, and must have been about 600m across…superb views of the mangrove inlets and winding rivers for miles. The other took joined two mainland spurs, leading us into Ciudad del Carmen…the bridge was bizarre, stretching for probably a kilometer across the intervening water at about two metres above the surface with a hump at the far end so that ships could pass underneath. Very similar to one near Seattle. Evidence of the previous crossing means lay slowly rusting and sinking to our right as we crested the hump…three ancient car ferries, probably from biblical times judging by the amount of rust, decayed slowly at a disused dock. Ciudad Del Carmen is a quiet seaside town, and although we’d been told it was a pretty happening place, we couldn’t find anything…well…happening. Dinner at the same restaurant twice kinda sums it up, although on the second day we did manage to get our less than wholesome washing done for us by a very helpful chap for the equivalent of 2.50GBP each. Bargain! Eight hours later Matt ventured heroically across town in a torrential downpour and tropical thunderstorm to fetch our neatly dried and pressed clean clothes. It was very nice to have some time off to calm down, wander round the town, check out a couple of local markets and sort out washing, email etc, even if it was just a single day. Roll on Cancun, when we have a bit longer in one place!