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When I look out first thing this morning, the sky is red: a sure sign of rain. The sun has risen somewhere revealing dark grey-blue cloud has closed in overnight.

The culvert where I'd camped last night is where the road swings up and out of the Rio Chico valley, and crosses the edge of a brownish-white dry lagoon surrounded by black hills.

I pack up and push the bike back up to the road; and set off with a tailwind pushing me along. That changes to crosswind as the road swings sharp left to climb away from the lagoon. A gradual climb through a low saddle in the hills that goes on for about five kilometres. And nearing the top the cloud is almost black over the other side of the hill. On cresting that final rise and beginning to roll downhill, I'm suddenly pelted by big raindrops and l stop quickly and put on my raincoat.

The rain comes down persistently for ten minutes, wetting the road to a black sheen as a mixed smell of rain and tar lingers. The landscape dark brown blending with the sky's vertical shafts of grey. My hands numb as I hold on shivering as the road rolls down back toward the Rio Chico valley, looking like a vast dark crater rearing up on the far side to a rim or bleak level horizon of barrancas, where I realise the road further on travels along the bottom of.

As the rain eases off the wind strengthens and it's a struggle with crosswind the rest of the morning until the final descent to the Rio Chico, where the old 40 turns off south (the other end of which I passed yesterday morning) with a long bridge over the river at the beginning which I cross over, because there's an access track in to the riverbank on the opposite side and reasonable shelter among the riverside willows to lunch. I pitch the tent as it threatens another heavy shower; having a restful lunch with a nap afterwards.

Although it'd be good to remain camped here for the day, I'd like to get a bit further; so I pack all away and get back on the road at half three.

The rest of1 the afternoon is riding with headwind, slightly to my left, so pushing me off the road onto the gravel shoulder with my efforts at countering it resulting in a sideways weaving progress. And by six o'clock I've had enough. I was also worried about having enough water, but having come to ma deep culvert providing good shelter, with a water hole with an irrigation channel across the fence. So I pitch the tent, using stones to anchor it down as my bed is concrete.