We continued west, skirting along the coast when possible. Often it was. The roads were tiny:
There wasn't much passing room, not even when stuck behind a smoke-belching, fire-breathing asphalt tar truck:
There wasn't much out there. A few fishing villages, a few decaying buildings:
We stopped in a fishing village for lunch.
The sign looked promising. "PESCADO FRITO"
We grabbed a seat...
...and watched some guys work the nets, unloading their catch:
After a few minutes, one guy walked up with a couple fish and asked us which we wanted... a few minutes later we had this:
In Progresso we found a seven-kilometer-long pier
with cruise ships at the end. We tried to ride out there but the guard wouldn't let us through
We rode on to Campeche. It's a very clean and modern city, right on the ocean and full of pretty colonial architecture. Why didn't I take any pictures? I can only guess it's because the previous coastline was so insanely awe-inspiring.
One interesting thing about Yucatán state: The anti-narcotics forces there don't mess around. Big military checkpoints, soldiers with M16s and stocking masks to hide their identity. They went through my panniers with a surprising degree of thoroughness. Oddly, they didn't check the drybag in the pacsafe net on the tail. It would have been a big pain in the ass to unload and reload.