On Sunday at Club Nautical in Rio Grande, after seeing off Mathius, the other cyclist, in the morning, there was nobody but myself there the rest of the day; which gave me uninterrupted time to up-date the journal. I sat by a heater as it was very cold and the wind blew hard out. I was not looking forward to riding tomorrow if the strong wind continued; especially on Route 3 after Saturday's incident with a truck. I had had enough of 2 days retracing my way North on Route 3; so began to think of the alternative, a road I've heard of from other cyclists: a turn-off South of the city of Rio Grande; West to the Chilean border at a place called Radman.

"Si, comidas, cambio, mercado: tene todos" replied Carlos. Carlos and Norma, remember are the caretakers at Club Nautical, returned in the evening and Carlos was replying to my question "what is Radman?" He told me it was a village on the Chilean side of the border in which I could eat, change money and buy food. So, I felt reassured, that this, an alternative route, was a whole lot better than a third day retracing the same road North: so I went to bed that night with renewed enthusiasm.

Morning came; and I said goodbye to Carlos and Norma, then cycled off; stopping by the Supermercado to buy the usually many-day's supplied of food when leaving a town where it isn't sure how many days it is until the next chance to buy food. My shopping included; a box of Oats and a bag of coffee for breakfasts; a bag of rice and cans of fish for lunches; packets of biscuits and crackers for quick snacks; and for evenings, packets of soup and instant mash-potatoes. And remember, Is limited to what foodstuff I'd be allowed to take into Chile. I was hoping to augment the above with some fresh ingredient like cheese or whatever I could buy in Radman.

Meanwhile, people in the street were rapped up warmly against a cold wind and the sun shone only intermittently in a watery sky. I wore three layers to keep warm; my rain-coat on top to keep out the wind; and warm gloves to keep my fingers from getting numb. I soon warmed up though cycling out of the city which was easy as for some reason there didn't seem to be allot of traffic at ten on a Monday morning. Even while riding the 13km on Route 3 South to the turn-off, where only a few cars past.

After turning right at the turn-off, the big green-sign at the beginning of the new road I'd chose informed me that it is 70km to Radman which tallied with Carlos estimation. And unlike paved Route 3, it is a bumpy gravel road ahead; and so, I probably wouldn't be getting there today. The road wound it's way, within the first kilometres, past an estancia, a big cluster of red and white buildings in the shelter of a dull green low hill; characteristic of the rolling treeless landscape. It was a long and lonely way until the next habitation of any kind, a farmhouse and out buildings, a mush smaller estabisment, where the farmer was walking across the field from his house with his dog to gather-up sheep. All day the road twisted and turned around and over these low hills. The road surface remained comparatively good, though progress was slow because of crosswind. At one point the increasing dark cloud closed in and it came on a heavy cold shower of sleety rain: at the time, Is stopped by the roadside, so I could do nothing else but cowered down with my back to it, rather than the misery of cold hail in my face. The rain moved off to the left and a ray of sun shone again, and so I continued.

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I stopped for a late lunch, at almost four o clock, on a high height, with a view all-around but of nothing other than uniform rolling hills. I leant the bike against the fence on a grassy roadside patch there, where I done my best to shelter the stove from the cold wind. The view did though reveal the fence Is leant against and others running off into the distance. The whole countryside fenced in.

After lunch afternoon tea rolled in one; the countryside ahead went into transition to dwarf wooded hills as well as the usual fenced sheep pastures. And the evening brighted up. But, the road surface deteriated to part washboard part big enbeded stones sticking out. And after slowly bumping along a while over stones I heard the familiar ping of a spoke breaking. It was a soft ping sound from the rear wheel, and I almost knew as mush before checking, that it was the non-drive side, and as such, didn't cause the wheel to go out of turn.

I past one more estancia in the yellow evening sunshine, a massive big sheep-shed with corrals and pens in front; and a row of workers houses with their pick-up trucks parked in the paddock in front. I cycled up and over the hill which was the shelter to this scattering of buildings to where there is woodland, which isn't Christmas tree pine forest, but, the twisty dwarf Lenga trees native to the area and having lots of level grassy places in between, as well as dead wood, and a good place to camp, which I did.

And was there "comidas, cambio...": find out in the next page, where I reach and past through Radman rather disapointed.