We’d already drunk most of our bottled water—liters and liters of it—and only a centimeter or two of bathtub-hot liquid remained. I yanked a plastic container out from under a bungie cord and poured the last of the water it held onto the bandannas that Rafael and I wore around our necks. Most of the liquid slopped onto the bike or ground as we hit a bump, but enough soaked the scarves to cool our necks for a few blissful seconds.