Okay, so the deal with the Yield is that when you get to the Yield, you can find out which teams are behind you. Then, you can decide to "Yield" one of them, meaning that when they reach that marker, they'll have to stand around while an hourglass runs out. Wow, that is a horrible idea. I can't imagine anything less satisfying than seeing Guido, for instance, lose because somebody flipped a card on them, as opposed to by...you know, losing. The only good news in sight is that each team can only use it once, and the continued bad news is that there is no limit to how many times you can have it used against you. So yes, you can gang up on the team that looks the strongest and make the race much harder on them than it is on anyone else. It's an utterly ass concept from start to finish, if only because now, we're going to have to listen to these people give the "I lost because I was a threat" speech to which every other show subjects us, and that's just...sad.
Anyway, Donny says he and Alison won't be Yielding anyone, because they're in the front of the pack, so why bother?
Jim and Marsha and Kami/Karli are back at the dock, and they're still. Looking. For. The. Flag. But finally, they manage to find it and rip the Maldonado clue. Apparently, they lost a half an hour looking for the clue, because "the other teams are about to disembark." And yes, KarliKami said "disembark." And disembark they do, all five of the trailing teams, at just about 9:00.
Over in the world of meat-carrying, Alison is encouraging Donny, who has paused for a rest, with the news that it's only two more blocks to the butcher. "We're not stopping again," she authoritatively declares, at which point if I were Donny, I would have dropped the side of beef right at her feet and said, "Roger-dodger! Knock yourself out, there, Polly Pushypants." Bob and Joyce and Linda and Karen are also making their way down the street with the meat, being encouraged along by some locals who, among other things, appear to be offering coffee or something.
Charla and Mirna have collapsed into serious meat melodrama. "Charla, please help me, God help me," Mirna whines. "I'm tryyyyyying! You're not leeeeetting me!" Charla whines in return. Mirna despairingly voices over that the beef was disgusting, and that she doesn't eat meat anyway, let alone raw meat. Well, you don't have to eat it, dear, you just have to move it. I don't eat grass clippings, but I can move a bag of them if it's potentially worth a million dollars. Charla picks up the packs as Mirna continues to struggle with the cow. "This is so heav-eeee, [Phyllis]," Mirna gripes. Charla tells Mirna that if she can carry both packs, Mirna can carry the meat. Mirna discards the gloves, only to have Charla tell her she has to put them back on. Mirna says she can't, and she will just go ahead and "get mad cow disease." I'm starting to think she already has mad cow disease. She certainly has something. Finally, Mirna just throws down the meat. "God help me," she moans. "Oh, God help me." As Charla runs ahead with the packs, Mirna paces in misery, unable to move the meat. (Ew.)