We’d picked up the motorcycle for a cheap price in Tenochtitlán on the day the earthquake hit, and set out early the next morning. It was now Friday, and we were in the middle of our third eight-hour day of riding. The bike was a Dodge Sidewinder, painted with a distinctive diamond pattern that mimicked the rattlesnake after which it was named. I’d wanted a bike with a more comfortable seat—I could feel every bump and pothole through the worn padding—but Rafael had considered the bike a lucky find and had insisted that we buy it. It seemed appropriate, somehow, that we were using a bike named for Mama G’s totem animal.