The Spanish word is "lomas": low hills or undulations. The place is like a dark brown rolling sea of scrubland. The only feature is an occational lone sheepfarm nestled behind those low hills sheltering from the wind. The hightway is dead straight: it rolls down into a hollow and climbs straight up the other side. After seventy kilometres of this road, it's a relief to descent into the Chubut Valley, which looks like a great wide trench. The sides are rocky white-ish escarpment: the valley floor table flat plain; green with straight field divisions of lofty popular trees. And ahead peek the white high-rise-block skyline of Trelew.

I turned right towards Trelew centre and continued on on Route 25 eventually leaving the city behind; where, I stopped to ponder a place and kilometres to that place green roadsign. This one had Esquel 615km. I needed a day or two before setting out on such a stretch, knowing that it's a long lonely road with services few and far between. I cycled seventeen kilometres more, finishing the day in Gaiman which has a campsite down along the river.

Nov 1 Saturday: Yesterday was a sightseeing day. I cycled back to Trelew to visit the museum: Pueble de Luis: literally Lewis Town, but in Welsh Trelew. The museum is inside the town's old railway station opened in 1885. The first room formally a booking office had lots of framed portait photos of the early pioneers in the area: bearded, well dressed and solemn. I made a few notes of the text underneath some I thought worth a mention such as: Abraham Mathews who became the colony's first pastor. And his wife Elizabeth Humphrey who had the honour of being the first Welsh woman to step ashore in Argentina. And her daughter Maria the first European born in the colony. Thomas Murrey who later done much to explore inland towards the Andes.

Later I went into Cafe Espania, where sat enjoying a beer at a window table in a rustic pooltable bar-room, a heavily built man with mousy hair, clear blue eyes and ruddy face came over and began talking to me. We exchanged names. His was Evans. He seemed to have drunk a lot and I could tell where the conversation was leading. He finished the glass of the small drop of beer he'd been holding and asked could I buy him a drink. But as it was time for me to be going, I said I didn't have much money and got up and left.

Cycling back to Gaiman I got caught in the rain. At the campsite, the Belguim couple on the tandum had disappeared. Pam from New Zealand and her boyfriend Richard informed me they'd left for Dolavan. That evening we lit a fire in the fogane which is a standard block wall fire surround feature on all Argentine campsites. Pam and Richard grilled Chorizo for dinner while I done the same with a slab of steak. They poured me a small measure in my cup of a spirit they'd taken with them from Uruguay, telling me it's something the guachos there drink all the time. Taking a sip it tasted extremely poton. I had already drank half a bottle of wine. The next morning at seven, I felt dehydrated, then had breakfast of cornflakes, milk and a bannana. Suddenly terrible stomach cramp and nauea came over me and it was as much as I could do to crawl back into the tent. All plans of getting on the road early gone as I lay upon the sleepingbag. An hour had pasted before I began to feel less like vomiting.

I had a short day after that cycling nineteen kilometres west to next town Dolovan. I asked the man at the campsite there had he seen the Belgium tanduem couple. He said he had. They'd left that morning. The following day was a long tedious day across open windy stepp to hydra-eletric dam Digue Florentina. On such a day I Iook for a distraction. Struggling against the wind I look forward to seeing the next kilometreboard: a feature on most Argentine highways they're a small white sign board on a low post; each has KM followed by a number and is a count of kilometres from where the road starts. They are used in addresses too: Gaiman is KM37 and Dolavan KM56. In short with a strong wind trying to push me sideways, it can take an age to reach the next kilometreboard and when it does come into sight up ahead, I feel I'm making some progress. The day after that onwards, there was no wind and so by contrast while checking my watch each kilometreboard came and past every two minutes.

Not long after noon Is within twenty kilometres of Las Plumas; my destination for the day. At that point the road swung sharp right and went up an incline for two kay before going over a crest, beginning a wide curve right around to the left. I finish the day on the long descend off to the south and back to the Chubut River which I'd been separated from since leaving Gaiman. It was reasuring too to see the red sandstone country of the Central Chubut Valley ahead. No more open stepp.