Typical of valleys in Patagonia, there's pale green brownish slopes, or barrancas rising to tabletop hills all along either side. Part of the view from my campsite this morning in the willow trees of the riverbank, while the river slips by. A good sleep as always on grass, I'm out of the tent before seven with the usual birdsong, being greeted to grim skies. Dark cloud having moved in.

The riverbank opposite is a steep bank of dull white and brown rock strata, with the usual willows above contrasting with the bare tabular hills beyond, where those ominous dark clouds are rolling over the tops. There's still a glimps of blue sky to the valley's eastern side, but rain is fast moving in.

Now having pushed the bike back out to the road and crossed the bridge, the river called by the way "Rio Catantil". The road then follows the valley for about twelve kilometres until I'm back on the tarmac, the 40. I had been optimistically thinking the rain would pass. It was looking to be brighting up a bit, but now the sky is black ahead. There's even a rainbow showing the rain coming down.

Even though I've turned right the road still follows the valley, the Rio Catantil, as drizzle comes on. Not heavy but enough to worry me about being out here in the open. The valley now extremely bare dark green under leaden sky. The rain making it cold even though now I'm gradually climbing. With a bit of a crosswind, its almost like the wild country of the north of England on a bleak rainy day. Ahead the road rises out upon open moor. Further there's a pine-tree plantation, making it look and feel even more like Durham or Northumberland.

As the rain persists and I get ever colder, I'm glad to come to a bus-shelter around midday. Ideal timing for lunch. I have chickpeas and a cube of gouda cheese left from Saturday, but what I need most is coffee. I warm my hands on the stove as I wait for the water to boil, as well as siting close in enough to give the body a bit of warmth. I am almost for getting the sleeping-bag out and getting inside to warm up. Then while drinking the coffee I cuff my hands around the hot mug.

Setting off again is chilly. My teeth chattering.

Though the rain has stopped as a glint of sun tries breaking through grey sky.

A few kilometres on I reach "Cuesta del Rinconada" whereupon begins a long descent, as the way to the right of the road opens to a great wide hole in the ground, a kilometre or more across with bizare steep rocky tabletop hills on the far side; that look especially dramatic in today's light: the contrast of dark green bottom, black hills sylhouetted against coal and leaden sky.

At the very bottom of the descend down a clift-face, there's a fork in the road, route 40 going right. Further I cross over a long narrow old concrete bridge, across "Rio Collon Cura" before swinging right and following a valley upstream.

At this point I feel I'm on the home straight. The rain has long stopped now, leaving grey sky but with wondrous play of light as the sun tries breaking through. I certainly missed the camera today.

Its rare cold though, as the road climbs up a pass through a gap in the hills with another valley opening up ahead, revealing forest mountain slopes on the far side with fresh snow above the tree-line. The Andes.

There is a long descent then to Junin de Los Andes along Rio Chimehuin. Another river enclosed by willows with a backdrop of barren tabular hills. The river is the world's fifth most important sport fishing river, according to the hostel owner where I've checked in.