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I was all ready and set to leave Tandil this morning, I just had a couple of things to do in town before setting off.

I had only 14 pesos after paying the bill at the hostel so needed to visit an ATM.

The ATMs in Argentina are usually inside the bank building, access being via a separate door besides the main door. The bank I visited, by the corner of the plaza had a queue outside as only one machine was working. The person using that one machine was taking ever so long that people outside began to think the machine was empty or out of order. It was hot waiting in the sun. An elderly woman behind me stepped into the recess of the door which was in shade. And I am wondering how much longer and would I be leaving today. The door eventually opened and the person that had been taking so long came out and confirmed there was money in the machine.

I would soon need a new map and there is a ACA (Automovil Club Argentino) shop in another corner of the plaza. ACA, the Argentine motoring association which produces good detailed maps of each province of the country. I buy a map of the province of Chubut which I'll be spending alot of time in. It's good because it also features the Northern half of it's Southern neighbour Santa Cruz. There isn't much need for a map farther South, as the continent tappers to a narrow cone and there remains but few possible roads. So this will be the last map I'll need for a while. Except, outside the shop, I realize I left the city street map of Tandil in the hostel which I'll need to get out of town.

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I cycle along to the info centre which is also in the Plaza and collect another city map. It was while I's outside looking at it that my eyes glance down and see something terrible out off place with the trailer wing-arm. Yes it was broken, I looked at a clean cut tube end which had shifted out a few millimetres from the end it hitherto had been part of. It only remained attached by a thin slither of metal. The whole looked like a coke can which had been cut in half except for a small bit which held it together.

I am now angry. This is the second time the swing-arm has broken and the mesh floor is crap (see the photo, it is tied with wire as the weld breaks when ridden off-road). If I was asked what I think of Bob-yak, I would say, "It's a trailer only suitable for smooth roads over a long period of time". Alternatively, "the people at Bob-yak seemingly haven't done any tests on their produce, otherwise, they would've come to the conclusion that the swing arm should be stronger,ie of thicker metal at the point where the bottom tubes of the swing-arm joins to the swivel tube" It's like where the down-tube of a bicycle meets the head-tube, it's always re-enforced, such is the stress at that point.

Next thoughts were, I cannot leave town now, at lease not until I sort it out. I, although I didn't think so, was lucky. The last time the swing-arm broke, I was near Lago Cardial, a bleak middle of nowhere place, though stunningly beautiful all the same, 120km from the nearest village where I could get it welded. That day I relied on flagging down a van and saw the itinerary looking out the window, that I would've preferred to have seen cycling.

That day in Tres Lagos, the village 120km away, there where two places I could get it welded, the first I visited the owner was on holidays, so I's really glad that I found some one at the second place so I could get it welded.

Today, what better place to have a mechanical than in a city. I had to do alot of asking directions though. The first two garages I visited only did gas-welding and then I's directed to a motorcycle place that did electric-arc welding

The owner, Sandro, a smiling happy man with a business repairing and selling scooters, motorbikes and quads, done the job at once, knocked off the sooty impurities with a hammer and sprayed it black. Yes, before he'd gotten that far he put a few extra runs of the flashing arc across the swing-arm tube swivel-tube interface to increase the metal thickness, a kind of stick on re-enforcement at this point of high-stress. And when I asked how mush, he shrugged his shoulders and refused to take any money. He had asked and I'd replied on all the details of my trip and so felt an honor in helping someone that had travelled so far. His son then came into the workshop and he blushed as he said, "this is Sean from Ireland.....". He took my photo with his father. It goes without saying, they were nice people.

It was now after eleven and very warm. I thought, and then decide, it was a little late to be leaving in this heat. I cycle back to the hostel and check in for another night.