There are things that cycle-tourers need: the most pressing are places to buy food. Every town and village has them. They usually stick out a mile on the main thoroughfare through. The town of Caleta Oliva is different though. I cycled many kilometres from entering town to leaving and did not spot any supermercados.

I sat in a cafe looking out upon a gray sky and light rain. I wondered should I cycle the 75km to Fitzroy this afternoon or return to the campsite. I had spent the morning updating this journal after an hour wasted looking for a place with wifi. It was after midday when I had finish so decide to have some lunch: the cheapest thing on the menu besides toasted sandwiches was a Hamburger which I order. The service is very slow: it being so hard to attract the man's attention: it took a half hour to order; and 25 minutes for it to come, which when it did, was so small, not enough to feed a mouse: costing 20 pesos (£3.33). And the beer cost 15 pesos for a half litre. So I had spent 35 pesos (£6) for a snack.

I came out and seeing that it was not raining too mush decide to ride on to Fitzroy. I needed food and fuel though before leaving, as I had no idea what size of a village Fitzroy is or if it has a shop, but could I find one. I'm sure I missed something, as Is already in a bad mood after spending so mush time looking for a place with wifi in the morning; and I really didn't want to be wasting more time. I needed to get on the road as it was now after two.

I cycle along the puddled street towards Route 3 South for a kilometre or so past banks and all types of businesses, none of which were food-shops. So I double back to the centre where I eventually find a small shop, though it did not have alcohol for the stove which was the main item I needed. I had to go to a chemist in the end were it cost me alot more. Now it was after three and I needed to get a move-on if I wanted to reach Fitzroy before dark. I still lacked water though, so I go to the service-station thinking I would find a water-tap, but no, there wasn't.

I decide to take my changes on finding another service-station on the way out of town. Now Is angry having spend so much of the day looking for things. Worse was to happen: already riding in the rain, the last thing I needed was roadworks with a long stretch on an unpaved diversion road, but roadworks there were and a muddy dirt-road diversion. And then when I'd rode a 100 metres on it to the top of a hill with brown watery mud splashing up all-over the bike, a service-station came into view on the opposite side of the new road being built, so I had to retract my way back and around, luckily there I found a water-tap.

The rain had stopped when I eventually reached the end of the roadworks and left the town behind. The road surface for the first few kilometres was soft with deep truck-wheel ruts in it with great high ridges at the side where it's normal to ride. I ground the pedal a few times on it. There wasn't much traffic until an hour after I had left town, then it all came seemingly at once. There is nothing for me more depressing than that whinging sound a truck makes as it approaches from behind. Thus it was on a long gentle hill, two trucks in a line came with no oncoming traffic to hinder them pulling out and giving me space. The first of which blasts the fog horn in a way that says "get off the road" but I stay put and it brushes past me very close. I did not wait to be nearly driven over by the second truck following up behind. I rode off to safety on the gravel shoulder and it past tight on the edge of the road. In anger I shout "asshole" as it passes. Then at the top of the hill the two trucks had pulled into a lay-by for a pause, the two drivers are stood between the vehicles laughing at me as I pass. Moments later; as I'm descending the same two trucks pass on the opposite side of the road, this time giving me lots of space. They had just been playing stupid crazy games.

The evening remained gray as I counted down the kilometres to Fitzroy. To amuse myself I sing. Sometimes I like to laugh by singing with a mocking accent. I sang "Wonderful tonight" with a strong Scottish accent and Bob Marley "Is this Love" with a strong Northern Irish accent. Ay-I-wanta-no-wanta-no-wanta-no nahow. Ay am wil-lin un a-bil, so a put mi carrits unda table.

Thus I past the time until I reached fitzroy, a small village surrounded by flat featureless steppe. I had expected Nancy and John to be on the camping-site, but they weren't there. Two young guys, I ask did they see a family on bikes, directed me to a cabin where I found the family sat inside having decide on indoor accommodation after the wet day. John was in a gloomy mood: Nancy told me that he fell of the bike today. "The arm is grazed" replied Nancy, when I ask was He hurt. "The brake-lever shattered" when I inquire is the bike damaged.

I had to find food as the next couple of days I won't be passing through any villages. The same two on the campsite direct me to a small shop. I didn't have time to buy all I needed tonight so I ask the young lady behind the counter what time the shop opens in the morning, but because Is thirsty, I could not form the words properly. The phase came out as a long drool. I tried three times and still I was not understood. By this time the lady was grinning. I chance the phase to "open at nine in the morning". Finally I'm understood. "No no mas temprano" she replies.

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