A Kind of Bullfight

In the morning I drove to the outskirts of town to watch the racers coming in to the finish. Hundreds of Mexicans line the route as the modified dune buggies, pick-ups, motorcycles, bugs and motorcycles came crashing out of the desert. Drunken spectators wait right in the middle of the dirt path and play a kind of bullfight game where they do not dive out of the way of a speeding vehicle until the last possible moment. In places there are little hills where if you sit just right the cars practically jump over you as they get air clearing the rise. My camera and I were covered with dust that night when I went back into town to watch the racers speed through town, screaming around corners and across the finish line, where the party wasn't as wild as I'd thought it would be until I realized how exhausted the racers were upon arrival.  I tried chatting with some Tecate girls, trying to convince them I was a writer/photgrapher/ racing-type guy, but they weren't real impressed. Back at the hotel bar, the Insanity Pepper had hatched a plan. He had found a taxi driver who was going to take him out El Ranchito, a whorehouse outside of town somewhere. I'd never been to one, so I decided to go along, just to see what it was like.