I´d be lying if I said I didn't have any trepidation about driving down here. 
Lots of it in fact. 
The roads are so unpredictable you can never relax--even the toll roads which are by far the best, are so full of chuckholes, abrupt drop-offs with no shoulders, bumpy pavement, errant animals, rusty motorbikes... We just passed horses wandering in the median. On a toll road median! Cows graze where the shoulder would be if there were a shoulder-- with or without their cowboy. It's nuts.
I was driving yesterday on a stretch that miraculously had shoulders so for a minute we could relax a bit. But just as I was coming abreast of a farm truck I was passing there were two men pushing wheel barrows up the left shoulder. I'm horrified! 
What the? Where did they come from? I'm already up to speed--the only thing I can do is try to squeeze between them and the farm truck and hope to heaven it doesn't cross the center line.
Those men had no idea how close they came to meeting their maker.
There's just all kinds of craziness happening on these roads and you never ever get to just sit back and enjoy the ride. You're always on hyper-alert.
Take today. We´re heading inland to a quaint colonial town of Alamos for one night on our way to Mazatlan--a little side trip to break up the ride our friends Bob and Donna tell us.
We've been traveling with them since Nogales or we'd really be freaked out. They're awesome. AND they have a good gps--ours stinks.
Anyway, just one block before our campground we run into barricades across the road--they´re grading the street. We´re stuck. It´s not like you can just go down a side street and wind your way to it. Looking at some of these streets I'm not even sure we'd fit.
Tall Bob walks down to the RV park to see if it´s possible and comes back with an employee on a bike to show us the way.
Little man on bicycle leads us down crooked slanted, cobbled streets, up dirt pathways and past people´s back yards and flapping laundry till we turn up another dirt path and come out at the street near the RV park entrance. 
Awesome. Until I see what´s next. I was aghast. Since the street´s being graded there´s a 4¨ drop-off from where we are to where it is. We need to ease down on to the roadbed, make a tight right turn, go 15´ and climb back up onto the sidewalk to enter the campground. 
That would be simple compared to what we had to do. 
Because by now the grader's working right in front of us so we can't get out on to the road. We have to drive up the block on. the. sidewalk.
Picture a 25´ motorhome driving on the sidewalk --and this between a steel sign that's anchored into the cement and the abrupt drop-off.
But we do have a happy, smiling Mexican easing us along--a little more left, more, more left, he motions. More?
We go more left and we're over the edge. But if we don't we're gouging the side of our motorhome with the pointy edge of a heavy metal sign.
I swear, half the tire was hitting air as we passed by, but we made it.  
I know I should have been taking video of all this, but they had to resuscitate me before I could breath again.  
Next morning the grader was gone and all we had to do was negotiate the 4" drop-off and drive over the freshly graded road, lift the barricades and out we go. On our way.