Through the fierce hills of Oaxaca we rode; through Puebla state, Morelos, Mexico and Michoacan, where the road dipped and soared gently through the high contours, where sulphur hung on the air and plumes of pure white steam leaked from geothermal vents. We found charming, lively towns: Vallee de Bravo, where it takes a brave cyclist to tackle the quaint, but painful, cobbled streets; Morelia, where we ooohed and ahhhed at the music and fireworks show at the cathedral; Uruapan, self-styled centre of the avocado universe, disappointingly devoid of avocados, but where a passing Kelloggs delivery driver stopped to chat and load us up with snacks from his van. The avocado dearth was cured later that same day when we discovered three men with truckloads of the little beauties, and accepted a bag full of them.
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