With the exception of an occasional car-transporter truck with Paraguay number plate, with consignment of Chinese cars from the port of Antofagasta, or returning for another-this road was empty all day yesterday. But this morning, there's a truck labouring up the climb every five minutes. Also, excursion mini-buses. I assume taking tourist up to the border crossing to Bolivia, where they board jeeps for four day jeep-tours to Salar de Uyuni, on to finish in Uyuni. And a few silver box pannier touring motorcyclists, each raises a hand in salute as they pass me either slumped over the handlebars gasping for breath, or pedaling exhaustedly another hundred metres to a halt to breathe deeply to get my breath. Still. I thought I'd reached the summit yesterday evening, but find this morning there's quite a way to go yet.

Its cold today. I keep my down jacket on. Underneath I've two fleeces and a thermal vest. The chill is kept from my fingers by my thick winter gloves. The road has crossed a crest and gone down a bit before a short rise. Farther there's snow banked up along either side of the road and snow streaked stony black and red hills to both sides. The steady flow of traffic earlier has petered out, supposedly they all wait in San Pedro at night, then set off altogether in the morning. The road near enough empty from late morning on.

An icy wind blows from about noon, pushing me from behind, though it makes it colder and I just want to keep pedaling to generate heat.

Then the road veers to the left and I've a cutting crosswind for a short stretch before veering right, whereupon, I enter a valley with a continuous salt lagoon in the depression along the right side.

About here the local authorities have built a rest-place with a stone wall for shelter, so I stop to lunch on half a packet of oat biscuits and an apple. And while eating a hire jeep pulls in upon the gravel apron. The doors open and there's chatter as it occupants get out. All warmly dressed. One come over and asks me in faltering Spanish where I'm from and is very impressed that I'm cycling this road. Then another come with a camera and asks can he take my photo. Yes, I say. He says he's Swiss and his father cycle tours.

About an hour on bowling along the valley with tailwind, the lagoon still to the right, when the hills close in and the inevitable climb out of the valley starts. Once again I'm halting slumped over the handlebars gasping for breath between short exhausted intervals pedaling of not much more than fifty metres until lack of energy halts me again. Then the road swings right so I've that cutting crosswind again and I'm off pushing the bike up the remainder of the hill.

Once over the final rise, the road zig-zags down steeply with tight hairpin bends. Then starts a long straight downhill toward another salt lagoon in the bottom of a tan coloured valley, eventually levelling out with another rest-area. Well, a big gravel circle stonewalled around the circumference. A stop to view the lagoon below. And although only quarter to four, I decide this is a safe place with its wall for shelter to camp. There's even stones arranged on the gravel by the most sheltered east facing area of wall that says people have camped here previously.

I pitch the tent and anchor it well with stones.

I pull the sleeping bag up round my waist to keep warm while cooking pasta during the two hours left of sunshine, before the sun starts to wane and the temperature plummets and I snug deep into the sleeping bag for an early night.