The next morning we sneaked into the ruins and had them to ourselves for over an hour. I was impressed by the extent of the restorations and the carvings. After a few hours, though, we felt like we had pretty much seen the place, and headed back to our hotel to pack and jump on our bikes. The road to Valladolid was a nightmare, heavily-trafficked and without a shoulder. The headwind felt especially brutal under these conditions. An underground swimming hole was a welcome stop along the way, although I could have dealt without the urchins in the parking lot screaming \"watch bicycle!\"
and scamming for pesos. Valladolid itself didn't seem like anything special, but it was crowded with daytrippers from Cancun seeking the \"real Mexico.\" We had read that the road from here to Cancun wasn't a viable option for cyclists and booked passage on the next available bus, some three hours later. To kill time we checked out the Cenote Azul in the center of town, and had a lengthy repast in a café which looked over it, periodically checking to see that our bikes weren't being molested by the scruffy youths hanging out in the parking lot. Cancun was like a bad dream, full of speeding cars, fat tourists and fast-food restaurants.
Upon arriving we were approached by a Frenchman who proposed a room nearby. He didn't balk for an instant when I told him we'd prefer a room with a big bed. We thought we'd check out the homo scene that night, but I was unable to find the page I'd ripped out of the Spartacus Guide, and I took it as a sign that we needed an early night's sleep anyway.