Not having considered shelter when pitching the tent, the wind rose during the night, waking me. I'm kept awake by the tent shaking violently wishing I'd had chosen a less exposed spot.

It's only a few kilometres ride into Santa Maria, though much longer into the town centre through a very long deserted tree-lined avenue. I stop at the first supermercado I come to, nothing more than a small shop with a poor selection of produces, but find just about what will do me.

A little further is the main plaza where I find a panaderia (bakery) on the corner for breakfast, five facturas (pastries), vanilla cream ones. The only other ones are filled with Dulce de Leche, which is put in everything here.

I sit in the plaza eating while children climb the climbing frame and slide down the slide, before setting off.

The ride out of town is equally long as the ride in, with many villages strung out along the road south. The last being Puerto de Balast, with irrigated farm fields enclosed in windbreaks of tall elm trees, where I picnic lunch by a roadside water channel.

The way on in the afternoon is bleak high desert and a strong cold wind comes from the south.

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Progress is laboured as I'm hampered by strong headwind, covering about only ten kilometres per hour. At this stage it's 140 kilometres to the next town, Belem. Then to make matters worse, the front tyre is soft and going flat. There isn't even a post to lean the bike against. There's nothing but thorny desert to either side of the tarmac road with a loose sandy shoulder, and as for fixing the puncture in this wind.

With all panniers off, together with the bike in an awkward pile on the gravel shoulder, and the front wheel off, I sit with my back to the wind with grit raining on the back of my neck. It's a case of keeping light things such as patches and nyon tyre-levers somewhere where they won't be blown away, as I pump air into the innertube, that deflates almost as quickly as the air goes in.

I find the source of the leaking air is abrasion. There's lines scored in the rubber of the innertube, one of which has worn through the rubber, caused by chafing from the inside of the tyre, which has buckled leaving the inside casing rough.

I put a fresh innertube in and pump the tyre up hard.

I struggle on for another hour until coming to a bridge across a dry stream, the bridge supports below providing good shelter from the wind where I pitch the tent.