Traveling down through Sonora was beautiful. Small roads wound through the valley with the hills on each side. At times the road was almost washed away, sand and rocks showed evidence of dry riverbeds making their home in dips in the highway. Huge birds circled the skies. The desert was green. The people smiled. The small towns I stopped at were friendly. Preparing for the Independence Day Fiesta, banners were being hung, cakes being made and streets fairs set up. I stopped to get myself a Mexican sim and some Pesos, struggling with my still poor Spanish. Different people sent me to different stores until I could find what I wanted. People stopped me in the street to comment on the bike. To see if I had found what I was looking for. To offer help. It was an amazing sense of community. When I told them of my plans they almost fell over. “Muy valiente…” they repeated. But I don’t feel brave. At times I don’t feel the need to feel brave, as there seems nothing to feel brave about. The people seem amazing, and I feel welcomed and respected, much more so than my time in Morocco. Yes, I appreciate my freedom, and feel so lucky for my heritage. But as a Gringo here I feel safe. If I was Mexican and living in a border town, this might be different. But traveling here in Senora, listening to the people, I think everything is going to be ok. The police blocks seem friendly; they see my papers and wave me through with a smile. I feel I could stop and stay in many of the towns, but I continue on to Montezuma before the setting sun.