I didn't sleep as well due to a day lacking strenuous activity. I could hear cars cross overhead on the bridge in the early hours, meaning the wind had died down and when I awoke again at 06.00, it was completely still, so I sat up, boiled water and sipped mate watching the sun rise over the hill on the other side of the river. 

It was 06.50 when I set off up the track and up the the steep hill from the bridge just as the wind was starting to rise. While the climb faced west-northwest, so as well as climbing I had a headwind funnelling down the cutting upon me and thought once over the summit, the road would swing left, so it would be a little more manageable crosswind. But no, over the summit I could see the road run straight on, west-northwest.

The wind went on getting stronger, causing me to weave about, struggling to maintain a walking pace. Then it was dishearting to reach a Kilometre board with km 1405, which meant I had only come 12  kilometres from the junction with Route 26, where the ķilometre board was 1417 and the sign had Rio Mayo 53, so I'd another 41 K to get some place.

Eventually, I was off walking and pushing the bike along while hoping to get a  lift and indeed, not much time passed  until a Chilean truck slowed and pulled over onto the shoulder.

The trailer was a flat deck with cargo strapped underneath a tarpaulin and I wondered where the bike is going to go, but, having removed the bags the driver lifted the bike up onto the bridge between the cab and trailer, securing it underneath the coilled hoses going to the trailer and tied it in place against the back of the cab. I then got into the passenger seat which was too high, perhaps a child had sat in it previously. The driver got in and let it right down so I could see out the windscreen without stooping.

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Chilean Spanish is so different to Argentinian, but the driver had his work cut out for him watching the road to talk much, such was the broken potholed nature of the surface. For long stretches he drove on the left side, or wrong side of the road while there was nothing oncoming, as the surface on that side somehow was less fractured. One stretch was so broken up he had to drop down the gears with the beast of an engine deepening its howl as the speed was reduced to a crawl. 

I was let off at the YPF. The Kona hadn't fallen off.  I thanked the driver, before he drove on. 

After gorging myself on a milanesa sandwich and chips at the services cafeteria, I rode into town and checked into Hotel Americano for two nights.