Cuarenta y ocho.

Close to Gualeguaychu (approximately 230 km northwest of Baires) a nail on the road pricked the last tire I bought from big Moscow bicycle shop. All my efforts to find the same tires for Chagan in Sudamerica culminated in failure. Fucked rare beast. Well. By the way, where I'm? Let LP talks - "Gualeguaychu has a famous carnival, with women, feathers, orchestras, etc, and today - what a lucky boy you're! - is a final repetition day of this happening". Alright, buddy, why not. Not so fast, amigo! Hoho, identity check, where's your fucked i.d., scum? Sure, I dropped it in the hostel room. Disgustful smell from the forgotten north lands. I spent with Argentinian police two hours in efforts to explain that I'm not so dignified to keep them company for a whole night. Their jail on the right hand was so cute, so after I got free I took direction directly to bed. Next day I left the city by bus. Stupid coppers. Without Chagan I started a new life. It wasn't really cool! Especially at the beginning.