We set off early for 220 km to the top of Brazil. The road might be impassable is the rumour, a bridge in the Indian reservation area has been burnt. My tummy rumbles as a bread roll with butter and coffee is not quite enough. Sweat rolls into my eyes and drips off my nose.
Red dirt, some puddles, occasional mud, scarily deep pot holes and terrifying bridges. After making just 30 km in just over an hour and not another sign of life, we were both separately having thoughts about the sanity of these trips. Monkey screams broke the silence.
We crawled around the road craters and the relief of seeing a fuel tanker lumbering at half our pace up ahead was unbelievable. Someone else was out here too, phew!
The burnt bridge had been bypassed by a slippery trail, blocked initially when we arrived on the scene, by a huge pile of gravel. That was soon flattened by a grader and they waved us through. No thanks, the fuel truck in front of us can flatten a swathe through the freshly dumped gravel. But it got stuck and had to be hauled out by the bulldozer. We wavered through the melee, feet down and back on to the main piste.
The bridges on this 220 km section are something you have to see to believe. Wooden and rickety describes the best of them, but most have missing slats and are just lethal for motorbikes. Not to mention the planks that are just lying there and rears up as your tyre hits one end of them.
All in all a great day on a rough road and we were keen to see the bitumen after 8 hours! Photos here