Wednesday evening: I write in a new note pad in front of a warm log fire in Salamandas hostel. Finding this note pad was the main adventure of the day. A rest day I call it but it's been anything but. I was out of the sleeping bag as soon as I woke up. The time 5.50. And straight away make my way from the tent in the garden into the house. Sit down and open the computer. Then spend the morning, first procrastinating on the CRAZY GUY website, before getting started on putting my notes together online for the wee by-weekly radio program. I know it's a spoof, but it's a good idea that serves a purpose of being a short, or I'd prefer saying manageable journal to keep people abreast of things without me spending excessive time. Such as previously when updating all my daily pen written journal online.

Thursday: A pair of trousers. My trousers, the sole pair I keep for wearing on days off the bike: Levi 501, used to be said they were first made in San Francisco for gold miners back when there was gold. So why after not much more than a year's light use, the knee is out of them and soon the backside will be out too. It's like just about everything you buy these days. They last only a pitiful short time until they break or wear out and are useless. It's a conspiracy to keep us buying. To spend money.

A tip to avoid this scam, at least when buying clothing, one learned from my brother-in-law, an architect who is often on building sites, is to buy trousers sold in hardwear stores. The kind made for tradesmen. Tough and hard wearing. Avoid the flimsy high street brands. Though, I'll be able to say just how strong a pair of trademan's trousers are in a couple of years, when the pair I bought today, are still holding together, strong. No hole in the knee, or split in the backside.

That was my main business into town today. Into the big Sodimac home care centre, which has a picket of strikers at the car park entrance. Thereby the car park was near empty and not many in the shop, either. But a skeleton staff of non-strikers. The thing is I wasn't called "scab" or anything for crossing the picket-line. Apart from that I food shop at Umart. Buying my now daily treat of Kruchen, Apple strudel. Popular here due to the area's German heritage.

Other news: I checked the value of the Pound. One Pound presently buys 827 Chilean Pesos. Down from one to a thousand in March. But the Pound is making a recovery against big currancies, especially the Dollar. Which has dropped in value after the election of Donal Trump. The Pound is therefore looking boyant; as it has also rose in value against the Euro since last I checked.

This evening in Salamandas hostel, I write to the company of a large school group from Chile Chico. It's a nice distraction as it was very quiet before. Though, I'm glad I'd peace to get the journal updated, with just finishing touches to do. As it is hard concentrating with all the yelling and screaming going on. Never mind the increased usage of Wi-Fi, making it slow. But I can't complain. In a few minutes, I'm off to the sanctery of my tent out in the garden. Only other thing is this new pen I write with, I bought yesterday, is excellent. I could do with a few more.

Friday 11 November, Coyhaique day 3: The new pen is so precise to actually improve my autography. The only thing it doesn't do is think. Now, that would be something. I'm trying to think what I did today which warrents writing about. At the same time, Tim the hostel owner is spoiling my concentration with his chainsaw, doing the daily firewood cut. The hostel, a log cabin with poor insulation can be cold in the evening, so it's important to have a good fire going. The grounds are a steep plot of pine trees planted in the 1970s, that Tim plans to fell and revert back to native beech. The pine trees take all the water out of the ground and block out sunlight, and cover the ground with pine needles and cones.

I think I'll sum up as follows: it was another evening when I managed to finish off a bottle of excellent Chilean wine, so I slept as soon as I hit the sack, literally as I use a full stuffsack as a pillow. Then was motivated to get out on waking this morning, by the desire to finally finish, do those finishing touches to the journal. Having done with that, I have a late morning breakfast-lunch: omelelet on buttered toast. Simple food, but not always available when out in the wild. So I make the most of these little things now when I can.

The hostel is quiet, again. There's just me and another young man who works in Mamma Gauchita cafe in town.

Saturday 12 November: Communications has been good insofar as the Wi-Fi in the hostel is the fastest, as fast as Santiago. According to Tim that's because Coyhaique is the communications hub for the whole region. So I've taken this opportunity to get some e-mails sent out. Other than that, I've been into town to the bike shop. Coyhaique has two useful bike shops. Useful, meaning well stocked with accessories not usually found in South American bike shops. For instants: I'm looking for a 700×35 inner tube. There usually only 700×23, little narrow ones for racing bikes. No good at all for broader touring tyres. Put a narrow inner tube like that in a wide touring tyre, it'll work for perhaps a day, before going flat: the narrow tube having split. So it was good I could buy one here, as the inner tubes I have are well used with many patches. I wanted to buy some duct tape, but Sodimac's still on strike. Closed. Not much to say about that.

Sunday 15 November: I start writing today's instalment in a break from duties as Chef de Parti, grating cheese and slicing tomatoes for a pizza we're cooking for dinner. We? The other people checked into the hostel this evening. Michael and girlfriend from the Czech Republic is organising the kitchen. They are long-term travellers, currently looking for a farm property in Southern Chile to developed a project. I ask what kind of project would that be. A substainable living project he elaborates further on an organisation called earthship.com. The ship concept, not meaning stewardship, but self-sufficent living without much if any input from the outside world, like a ship at sea far from lànd. He plans to build a house with it's own rain harvested water supply. The water will be reused many times; ie, after it's been used in a shower, it'll feed a hydroponic food growing house. But won't that require chemical fertilizer to feed the growing of vegetables in the hydroponic or soil-less system, I ask. No, Michael replies. We will rear fish in the water reservoir that'll excrete, providing nutrient rich water. The water with keeping to the Earthship concept will be evaporated, rather than drained off into the ground water and into rivers.

Monday 14 November, Coyhaique day 6: I was supposed to set off today, but that doesn't seem to be happening due to the rain. Yes, it rained heavily all night and I had to evacuated the tent early because of growing puddles round my sleeping bag. The tent is definately the most unrainworthy tent I've owned. I moved it into a shed, where I wait for the sun as I write to dry everything that got wet. I think I'll take myself into Sodimac home care and buy some plastic sheeting and string. With which to make a rain-proof cover for the tent. It's bad when it comes to this.

I didn't mention it earlier, I know. I woke up not only to the wet but with terrible gut problems. I think it's called indigestion. I didn't know what it was. I thought I's dying at one point; it was cramp, pain beyond pain. I put it down to last night's pizza: too much protein. I mean there wasn't just cheese and sausage, there was chicken, eggs and tuna, too. Though later I've come to the conclusion the pizza dough may have had too much baking powder. As such, over use of baking powder in the past, has made me feel the same. In any event, I didn't want to sound ungrateful by saying I'm unwell after last night's pizza, the pizza you baked. So I suffer in silence.

Tuesday 15 November, Coyhaique day 7: This morning as I look out the window of the hostel, it's trying to rain. It can't quite make up it's mind whether to be a wet morning or clear up.

A big group of twenty-something backpackers wait down by the gate for a mini-bus taxi to take them into town, to travel further south on the Caratera Austral to Cero Castillo. Where they'll spend a few days hiking. Such a place is just one of the wonders that lay ahead for me. For now the hostel is back to being just me, the sole guest.

It didn't rain after all. It remains cloudy and cold. I wish I had gloves as I cycle into town after half eleven. I'm on my way to another hard wear shop, as Sodimac workers are still out on strike. Though the shop is still open, run by a skeleton staff, whether non-union members? I don't know. In any event, I didn't want to cross the picket line at the gate, because the strikers had stood out all day yesterday in the rain having donned bin-liners with holes for head and arms as makeshift waterproofs, and all morning in the cold. And today as I pass it starts to spit icy pellets and I've no idea where the alternative shop Tim told me about is and explained the way. I thought I knew the place, but I've been riding round in circles in this sharp sleet. It would perhaps be easier to cross the picket line.

Well, on the way back, having not found what I's looking for, the strike may well be over. There's a woman addressing the picketers. Then when she has finished loud cheering.

The other important thing to report, is my time spent with Google map navigating a possible route that'll connect up two branch roads off Route 40 going west toward the Corderilla over in Argentina. Namely between Provincial Route 39 branch off at Bajo Caracoles into Lago Posadas. Which I was on in January 2010. I'm interested in getting from Lago Posadas directly south to National Park Perito Moreno if that is possible. The national park is connected by Provincial Route 37, which would be my way back out to 40. Anyway, a track is shown winding up a steep hillside to the west of Lago Posadas to crest and drop down the other side into a valley heading toward Sierra San Lorenzo, where it fizzles out. And from the Perito Moreno end, a track continues from the end of RP37 into the mountains before fizzling out. But, I've a Departmento Vial, roads service map showing that there is clearly a track the whole way through. By any means the area is not the place to be caught out in rough weather.

The next page is all about my ride to and on from Lago Posadas in 2010.