I attacked the asphalt until Coihaique in a fast rhythm feeling the sheer pleasure of mountain driving. At the city the indolence of a deserted Sunday and the threat of imminent rain awaited me. The room didn’t even have a table, but it was warm and good enough to dry off the contents of my back bag. The waves of the ferry crossing tested it and it didn’t perform well. It’s a serious flaw, a risk taken at the preparation of this journey, when the budget was already sliding and time for each decision was scarce. I managed to convince the hostal’s owner to prepare something to eat, I lacked the energy to find a decent cheap place. Even having been warned, I never cease to be amazed by prices in Chile . I woke up with the sun trying to peek, but it didn’t go beyond that. I went on by the Carretera Austral that followed the river towards north. Once again I was pleased to see that the asphalt went further than what the map said, and them some kms of construction, asphalt here, well pressed dirt there, while it drizzled a bit. But after Mañihuales there was no construction, no asphalt, and no well pressed dirt. All that remained was a narrow line, wrinkled and spotted by holes. Many and very round. They were more on the side of the cliff, which made me follow by the left side constantly; the rare vehicles didn’t seem to be bothered by that. The continuous rain got heavier and stopped only the following day. It was a really bad day of journey. The narrow dirt road repeatedly climbed and descended hundreds of ...
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