We leave the hostel Very early, with Jana. We part ways with her (sadly, she is really the best friend we have met on the road) and hop on a bus up to San Martin De Los Andes. The bus ride is spectacular, gliding in sunshine through incredible countryside, with views of dozens of surreally blue lakes and the distant Volcan Lanin, a picture perfect cone that stands along, magnificently covered in snow. We arrive in San Martin, which is a perfectly beautiful, quaint, lakeside town in the mountain forest, and go exploring. It is one of the loveliest places we have seen, and Casey in fact makes definite plans to retire here. I am more in favor of a remote estancia in the lake district from which I can access the impressive Bariloche and the charming San Martin. We have a lunch of chicken sandwiches and strawberry milkshakes down on the beach, in blazing sunlight but constant brisk wind. We wander through the sweet town, rent bikes for the next day, and return eventually to the hostel which is almost empty but where (surprise) we find (in our dorm room) our two French buddies from the ride up to Bolson. It's a small world when you are traveling around the end of the earth, we are beginning to find. We go out for pizza and choripan (argentine favorite, chorizo sandwich) and great artisanal beer, another local specialty. Wandering back through town we witness and eerie, extremely vicious dog-fight, but otherwise the town is silent, although there are occasional choruses of dogs barking all through the night. 
The next day we pack up our things and step out into bright sunshine with a spring in our step. It is still cold and windy, but the sun is brilliant. We pickup our bikes (which are barely worthy of the name mountain bike, tiny, with now handle bar grips, or suspension, or anything, but we're not complaining) and hit the trail. The day just happens to be the day of a huge local marathon, so the first mile or so up Very steep hills down which runners are speeding to the end of their race. It is a big event and very cool to witness, although peddling up endless hills takes most of our focus. We make our way up dirt roads to the top of a ridge above town, where rough paths guide us through flickering sunlight with the sounds of the town below (primarily dogs barking and the announcer telling the runners times). We are in beautiful national park Lanin, in ancient forest, and although the biking is hard work, it is well worth it. Eventually we make it to an incredible viewpoint at the too of a spit of land, and look out over the vast, magnificent Lago Lacar. It is one of the most stunning panoramas either of us has ever seen, and we spend a couple hours at the top, nestled out of the wind with our backs to a cozy, moss covered bank, drinking it all in. We read and relax in the sunshine, in another one of those perfect spots. Suddenly a small wisp of cloud covers the sun, and I look up to see a vast bank of clouds speeding across the lake towards us. Within ten minutes the mountain weather has changed utterly, from bright sunshine to the darkness of heavy clouds. As it begins to rain we retreat a little ways down the hill to a cottage that serves food. We sit in a beautiful little cabin of carved wood while a cheerful hostess makes us delicious and much needed burgers. The rain clears a bit and with energy restored, we attempt to speed back down to the town. But the trail we are following down becomes impossibly steep and narrow, as well as covered in slippery leaves, so we make our way fairly slowly. Finally we arrive at the town, were we make our way out along a road that wraps around the lake (amazingly smooth and paved after a morning of steep gravel and mud). But suddenly the weather comes crashing down for real and we find ourselves speeding along through a fierce rainstorm. We glide downhill back into town, with rain flying into eyes and face and chilling our hands
until they are fairly stuck to the handlebars. We drop the bikes at the shop and retreat into a fantastically
Cozy chocolate shop called Abuela Goye where we huddle at a wooden table by a crackling wood stove. The place is bathed in golden light and exudes cheerfulness and relaxation, especially with the rain outside. After a milkshake and a waffle (an incredible mountain of waffle, homemade raspberry jam, blackberries, raspberries, calafate berries, walnuts, almonds, fresh cream, chocolate flakes, chocolate sauce, and gourmet chocolate rope, we are lounging in decadent splendor. Eventually we reluctantly leave and board a bus back to Bariloche , where we nap heavily and wake to watch more lovely, albeit stormy, Lake District panoramas sweep by in shades of green and blue and turquoise. Back at our beloved hostel, we feast on a pile of empanadas and hang out with Pepe. The crowd is fairly obnoxious (unusual, but definitely possible, in a hostel) and so it is an early night, but we sleep splendidly. I rise for a brisk walk through gorgeous, sunny, cool, Bariloche. I run some errands (replenishing my vast but constantly disappearing supply of optical antibiotics) and then meet Casey at the hostel and we return to the station. Our bus this time heads back to Buenos Aires (20 hrs) and beyond that more adventure. For now, however, we are on the bus, luxuriating in 1st class (or coche super cama, sleeper class) with great food, champagne in plastic champagne flutes, great service, movies, and fully (seriously, Fully) reclining seats. And all for about 10 dollars more than normal class. We are treating ourselves as we roll onward through the splendid mountains, forests, plains, rock formations, and gorgeous lakes.