We travel on to Los Mochis with the company of the couple on the BMW. They start off with us again the next day, but after 56 miles my Triumph is throwing a sicky, and so they continue on while we stay back to sort it out. It’s the other piston dying on me. We are at the Navojoa railway station, 190 miles from Nogales and the United States border. There doesn’t seem to be a town here, just a station.
Brian makes some enquiries. There is a train leaving soon for Nogales, and after a very brief discussion we buy tickets. From Nogales I might be able to ride the distance to Tucson, the first big United States town, and fix the bike there.
We hang around waiting for the train. It’s very hot and dry, and we suck on a few ice blocks as we wait. Then, we’re onto the train, bikes locked in a goods wagon, and we’re off.
All’s well until the conductor comes along with an armed soldier to check our tickets. He throws a wobbly: our tickets are for the day before. Brian’s Spanish is very good and, after a lengthy debate, the men calm down and the rifle is taken out of our faces. We pay no extra cost.
Was it a deliberate scam? Some people would pay twice just to resolve the problem.