Volcanoes

From Chos Malal I rode 130km of rolling hills with a gentle tailwind. How the winds had calmed. I stopped at Choriaca for water and spoke to a family for 30 minutes to understand the purpose of their government outpost. The couple filled up my 6 liter water bag and I tied it to my rear rack with bungee cords. Their home was pleasant, with antiques and a wood interior and it was strange to see the comfort in the midst of the desert. I rode on and I could not find shade so I ate lunch under a small shade of a bush yet the water bag fell and burst leaving 2 liters of dirty water. I pushed on at a good steady pace, the legs having recovered from a great respite from the strong winds and ripio. There was much cheering from cars that past and tears came to my eyes each time I encountered such encouragement. A motorcyclist stopped on the road and asked me if I needed anything. I told him I was fine and riding to Las Lajas. He said there were big clouds there. Rain? No, just big something sort of clouds. We wished each other merry Christmas and I continued. A car passed me and stopped to the shoulder of the road. A family came out of the car, a man, a woman, and a son, and stood there waiting with a painters mask. They told me a volcano had exploded 200km away and I needed to wear the mask for the next 20km. I could see the smoke to the West and it was hazy and it smelled funny. Was this the volcano outside of Buta Ranquil? I then understood what the motorcyclist warned me about--the big clouds were from the volcano, and I was in the middle of it. I took the mask and said goodbye and they rode on but it was hard to ride with the mask ad so I put it in the rear of my jersey. Eventually at 7:30 I grew tired and pulled up a dirt road where there was a holding pen and shack for the slaughter of goats. It was crafted of sticks, logs, metal roof, and small branches. Inside the roof was charred from smoke. Rabbit and goat furs laid to dry. I needed to leave early if I was to camp. I explored the area for a camp spot and found a perfect place next to three tall trees. I pushed the bike uphill in the thick sand and leaned the bike against the center tree at which point bees began to attack. I tried to push the heavy bike in the sand away from the bee hive and the bees attacked my hands but were protected by the gloves, then legs, which were protected by shorts. I swatted the bees in great violence and prevailed and was not stung. I set up the tent in light wind, washed myself with the dirty water, and ate a dinner of crackers, mayonnaise, 2 tins of pate, and peanuts. I brushed my teeth. I thought about riding the next two days and spending Christmas alone in the terrain on the way to San Martin.