Puerto Montt does not seem to be a big fan of street signs. I wound up climbing a killer hill in the wrong direction — and then a second killer hill in a different wrong direction — before I finally found the right road.

I biked along, sometimes singing at the top of my lungs, hating the steep hills but otherwise having a great time. I didn’t make it as far as planned because it started to drizzle and my options were to pull over and dig out my raincoat from the bottom of my pack, or to just stop at the next hostal I came to, go inside where it was warm, take a hot shower, sleep in a cozy bed, and have internet access — plus, as it turns out, a hearty breakfast, which I’m very much looking forward to, having eaten nothing today but yogurt and bread.

Until next time… I suspect civilization will be sparser on the other side of the ferry ride, but I could be surprised.