We were very inland and looking for a turnoff to the beach, missed it and went down the wrong dirt road.  Turns out the road we were looking for, which happens to lead to a famous surf spot, had been obscured by surfers trying to discourage crowds.   We rode on the roof back to the main road, and a group of Mexicans passed yelling "Me amore!" to Mabel, the first I'd heard a Mexican raise his voice above a near-whisper the whole trip.

It was getting dark, and we'd been told countless times not to let the sun go down on us on a Mexican road.

And Kayak John said this especially applies to Sunday because of the church and tequila thing.  We didn't see anyone swerving around, but almost no one had headlights on even in the dark twilight, which made for some interesting driving.  The theory is they do this for the miniscule savings in gas, and the rumor is Ryk dented the steering wheel from gripping so hard.

 

Finally we reached our turnoff, but the fun was just beginning.  Driving on a dirt road at night in a Cyberbuss isn't the easiest thing in the world:  speakers and pans fly through the air, water spills from here and there, and the pissbucket wobbles ominously.   About two hours and a few bruises later we reached the fishing/surfing village, and none too soon.  We found any old place to camp and called it a night.  Phew.