Another mild night. Seems the weather gods have been looking out for me.

I make an effort to get on the road a bit earlier this morning, there being over a hundred kilometres to Potosi, with for sure a lot of slow uphill for hours on end to achieve the city's 4200m altitude.

Nothing much to say about the morning. The road following a cultivated valley; small fields, brown with freshly turned earth. Would be it all like this, I wish, the whole way.

Its hard to say what altitude I am at here, without a cycle computer metering altitude. I'd say though not much over 3000m above sea level. So a long climb is on the cards before the day's out.

Just a mention, today is my birthday. I'm 51 years young. Seems no time since my last birthday. Happy Birthday to myself. The last year has been lived to the full in my present nomadic lifestyle

Its a case of counting down the numbers on the kilometre-boards. The decreasing kilometres to Potosi.

On the map this road, route 14 joins route 1: the junction of which, to Potosi has 37km marked. I should reach the junction with 1 by lunchtime. The 37km on should be manageable before nightfall, long climb notwithstanding.

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Well, I've just passed kilometre-board 5. I'm gasping short of breath. The chain is on the biggest sprocket(cog) at the rear as I struggle to keep pedalling. My legs numb with pain. The road looks deceptively flat from where I'm sat on the bike, looking ahead up the road; though, when I stop to get my breath back, I look back, seeing the road goes downhill behind me. I'm on a plateau with a range of hills ahead, the road will climb up through.

I stop to lunch in the shade of a concrete billboard painted with election paraphernalia: "EVO si 2020 2025" someone has angrily painted in red over "si" with a big "no".

This appeal to vote "si" (yes) is everywhere. On roadside billboards, on the walls of houses, on the road. Si, si, si. Its as if, if people see "si" often enough, they'll become hypothesised. Brainwashed. Their pen will automatically without thinking tick the "si" box on the ballet paper, because its the right thing to do; its painted all over the neighbourhood, isn't it?

As I eat my sardine sandwiches, I watch an old indigenes woman sat waiting to hitch a lift at the junction of a little road coming in a hundred metres back. Every car that comes along and turns in the little road, she suddenly rises waving her arms in the air. When the car shows no sign of slowing to lift her, she runs out into the road, after the car shouting incoherently. No one wants to stop to lift her it would seem.

I thought the half hour rest with something to eat would've given me renewed vigour, but riding on my legs feel just as knackered as before.

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Beyond the junction, there's a village with a shop where I buy a 2L bottle of coke. There wasn't much water left to drink at lunchtime. I sat for a while outside the shop gulping down near half the bottle of coke. It seems to have given me new life in the legs as I ride further.

Anyway I've reached the range of hills mentioned earlier. The road now in a clutch of hills, winds steeply up a narrow ravine, with me stopping more often to breath.

Later. This range of hills is as deep as it looked wide from the plateau before noon. The road goes on up along the ravine, now for about 30kms since leaving the road junction village.

About 5 the road eventually emerges out upon a high plain enclosed by hills to the side, which the road descends to the middle of before starting a steady gradual climb. Ahead beyond the horizon of the single tone ochre plain I see an irregular pyramidal hill, which I think is "Cerro Rico" the silver hill at Potosi, so not far to go.

I was thinking all afternoon I perhaps wouldn't make it before dark. The sun now hovers just above the western horizon, but there is no possibility of camping, as there are lots of farms and mines to the side, as the gradual incline toward "Cerro Rico" slows progress. Worse is there's lots of loose dogs on the road.

I stop once again to rest by a farmhouse, from which two dogs emerge. They watch until I start off again; whereupon, one comes aggressively after barking at my heal. I shoo the dog off with a loud shout, loosing my breath I'd regained from the rest. Frustrated. I wish I'd a gun, I;d shoot the dog.

Its always when you're anxious, stopped looking at the map, or in this case, anxious about reaching my destination as dusk descends, that a dog will come barking.

I don my orange hi-vis vest for the final few kilometres with my rear light flashing. The last couple of kilometres thankfully downhill into the city centre, arriving in the main plaza after nightfall.

The only thing now is to remember where the hostel is.