Somebody please throw that alarm clock out the window into the ocean. Please, I beg of you. Last nights samba dancing festival has it's revenge today, and the day is just starting. I have the buyers' remorse. I should have chosen sleep over dance. Right! It's Brazil, life is short, and last nights memory will be something I'll cherish forever, and today's pain will be quickly forgotten.
Today is not a day for mucking about. 140km's of riding over the entire day. Its starting early, and it's going to end late. It'll be a race with the setting sun as to who reaches their destination first. Strap on your panties ladies, it's going to be a rough and fabulous ride.

Swollen and puffy eyes like I went seven rounds with Mike Tyson look back at me in the mirror. My legs are limp noodles. I hear the hypnotic rhythm of the Forró band playing in my head, and my brain is still repeating to itself, two left, two right, spin, doh!! Fail.

We're going the wrong way! Vila Kalango is not this way. It's 3am and Mitu assures me as we stroll down the sand filled streets of Jericoacoara that he knows the route home. But I know he's lying to me by his sideways grin. We turn the corner to see the only lit building still open, the late night padaria. We're stopping in for midnight munchies, known as larica in Portuguese. Midnight munchies snacks consist of fresh baked bread topped with either chocolate, bananas or cheese. The padaria is only open from 2am till 7am for the sole purpose of feeding inebriated souls like ours returning from a night of dancing at the Forró.

As I stare at the giant flippers sticking off the end of the bed I think to myself, man does Norm ever have big feet. He slumbers away in the bed next to me, sawing logs while falling asleep listening to poker on the radio. Who falls asleep listening to radio poker? With a couple of grunts and farts, he wakes, pulls back his beauty mask to reveal his puffy swollen eyes, and gives me the middle finger with a smile. Good morning! He wears the beauty mask every night to sleep, but I don't have the heart to tell him that it isn't helping. He's still ugly. But the perfect bunk mate on this epic journey. We keep each other humble with the endless ball busting. He's a unique cat to say the least, and one super cool dude.

Did anyone get the license plate of the truck that ran me over? Damn my body hurts. I am definitely not the man I used to be.
As I, let's call it, roll out of bed, my bones ache like a twenty year NFL lineman veteran the day after Super Bowl Sunday. I swear I could hear creaking like old barn doors those first couple of steps off my horizontal heaven. Did we really cover almost 70kms yesterday along the Brazilian north coast? By the pain I feel everywhere in my body, that is a big ten four.