Yesterday's road was one great dog-leg; swinging south, then swinging round west and back north again. Apparently going straight west with the road wasn't possible because of mountains in the way. The village of Jama, the aduana, I could now see, about ten kilometres ahead of me, around the shore of another salina; looking small, at the base of a brown hill; silver boxes glinting in the sun. Though getting near I could see the place had an YPF service station which I gladly made for.

The heating was turned up in the cafeteria. I alternated between blowing into cupped hands and wrapping my arms round myself strait-jacket-like, while grimacing in pain with nausea and a light head as circulation rapidly returned to numb cold hands. It was a matter of time, feeling sick, until progressively the feeling returned and I felt fine again when, I took of my steamed up glasses to clean, before going to the counter to buy breakfast of double expresso and media lunas. I spent nearly an hour over coffee, then went up and bough a second cup with more media lunas. All the time sitting warm and snug, watching the world pass by; or, looking over at the babble from truck drivers at the other tables and the trucks coming and going outside the window. Before leaving I bought two packets of biscuits and more water for the road.

On from the service station, the place had a hospidaje and a few red block and tin-roofed houses, then a line of trucks backed up to the aduana building. I got an exit stamp in my passport and set off up the steep hill, pulling into a car park near the top where there was a well weathered board inscribed with "Paso de Jama" and covered with scratched on names of people who had come this way and the date they were here. There was also an interpetation board about the road's construction.......and the date of openning which was only a few years ago. So Is travelling on a pretty new road; even newer after crossing a white line; Argentina's limit with Chile, where the road onwards was fresher and had a more even surface: and I passed the first kilometre board: KM155, so, the woman in the restaurant back in Susques was spot on with her reckoning that it was one hundred and fifty kilometres from here to San Pedro.

The road onwards traverved a plateau between two peaks where the land sloped away on both sides; and I could see away across to the left, where I'd bivaced the night. On this stretch a chilling wind picked up from the west and Is glad when the road dropped down the sheltered side of the hill ahead, coming down to a salt lagoon where there was a circular stone walled rest place on a headland up from the shore. Here I lunched: a packet of biscuits today. I didn't bother openning the bag to get out the stove to make tea, instead making do with water natural. A brief stop; then I'd to face the music, the wind as the road continued up and over the headland shore, and round the bottom of the hill into the wind. I saw ahead. The road veered left and bridged the lagoon where it narrowed and petered out; then the thin line of the road swung right and continued over an empty plain rimmed by bare brown hills. I could see twenty kilometres or thereabouts that I'd be out in the open, riding against the wind. It took half an hour struggling with a headwind, then a crosswind crossing the lagoon, then cirving round into a headwind again. The gusts got stronger then, and Is forced off, and had to walk. I would think it had calmed enough to get on again but when I did, I only rode a short bit when a big gust brough me to a dead stop and almost blew me over. I was walking again. I just wanted to reach the hills at the far side. It took all afternoon until Is getting near. The road then veered right so I'd a crosswind which wasn't as bad, as I could ride again. Ahead the road dropped down into a hollow with a salt lake basin stretched across the bottom; and another circular stone walled rest place up the slope from the shore. Good timing as it was just after five. I got the tent out but before putting it up, I scurried round, coming back with stones to weight down the pegs and guys as there wasn't much hold in the gravel underlay. When Id the tent securely up along a wall, I went and got more stones to make the tent as secure as possible against the wind. After a supper of polenta, it was an hour before dark when I got into the sleeping-bag and then spent an evening where the wind ruffled and shook the tent violently.