I was still a little leery of our guide. He gave his name as José, although he was a different José than the one who had first put Rafael in touch with his grandmother. He was human and appeared to be in his forties, with graying hair and stubble on his chin. He wore black jeans and a black shirt with a tear in one arm, and a grimy yellow bandanna around his neck that he pulled up over his mouth to keep out the dust when he rode. His cowboy boots were also black, with tinkling spurs that he’d assured me were real silver. He wore a glove on his left hand, but his right was bare so that the vehicle control rig jack in his fingertip could make contact with the input stud on his bike.