Travel Log Moroccan Bike Trip 2011

The air is fresh, the sun is shining, the road is clear and smooth, the scenery breath taking, I roll the throttle open a little more before squeezing the front break tightly, then releasing and banking the bike in to yet another tight bend. The suspension settles and I feel the bike grip the tarmac and pull round hard right, then hard left, I check my mirror and glance at the vehicle behind me to make sure we are still close together. The road opens up and you are torn between taking in the visa and enjoying the road. We pass small mud brick adobe houses contrasted against a crystal blue sky that has not a trace of cloudy. The air is full of unusual aromas, wood smoke mixed, animal dung, sweet mint tea and roasting mutton. There are few sensations in this world that can compete with the freedom and exhilaration of traveling by motorcycle in a distant land and today nothing else matters. When you travel by motorcycle, you feel the land, you smell the air, you meet the people in a total different way to any other form of travel and today there is a feeling of relaxed excitement and energised expectation as I realise I would not want to share this moment  with anyone else than with my brother Richard. We have at last arrived in Morocco.

We leave Portsmouth on the ferry bound for northern Spain at 10pm, already with a cold beer in hand and thoughts and expectations of the coming days travel and adventure. There is almost a party feeling on boards, a feeling of escape from the looming dawn of seasons change to winter, as looking around, it seems somewhat apparent from the age of our fellow travellers , that most are retired and heading south not just for a holiday but for their winter homes on the costa del Sol, where in no time at all they will be enjoying fish and chips and a pint in the local with all the other ex-pats that have bought places in the sun, then treat it like England – why do people do that?

We have a good lay in, which is quite easy to do as there in not a flicker of light in the room, it’s absolutely pitch dark, which make decending the ladder from my bunk bed for a pee, more than a little comical. I should have just pee`d on my brother, that would have taken us back to childhood.

There’s not much to do on board, except stroll around the deck and read, which is fine, as I haven’t even picked up a guild book on the country yet, so time is well spent doing just this and organising some play lists on my I-pod as well as getting a treat letter in the day seeing some Dolphins alongside the boat merrily jumping out the water.

We retire early as we are getting in to port at 6.30am and it’s a long day’s ride down to Granada in southern Spain, but this will break the back of this part of the journey and make for a slightly easy next day.

We are greeted in Spain by a cloudless sky and a fresh sea breeze as we head in land, make our first fuel stop and grab a breakfast of the staple contental sandwich, ham and cheese, with the addition of an excellent espresso, something that is not as easily found on the highways of the UK. The roads are relatively free of traffic and we make good head way before the sun starts to really heat the day. At our next fuel stop I manage to drop my sunglasses and run them over while wheeling the bike backwards, so I do some impromptu shopping in the garage and select a stylish orange pair!

 

The day is easy, if a little dull and uneventful, but today is about mile crunching, so as we pass Granada at around 5pm, I lament that I will have to see this fine Andalucía city another day. We hit the coast at around 6.30pm and ride another hour west before stopping in a small tourist town, feeling tired and hungry.  Tonight’s accommodation is a hostel, but at 30 euro and being right next door to a half decent resurant, it will certainly do. The days dust and sweet washed off we plant ourselves in said restaurant and order up two very well deserved and needed, ice cold beers.

A hearty plate of fresh fish is ordered, if the Spanish can do one thing well its fresh fish. Tiny nondescriped looking morsels that tastes like heaven and calamari that is as soft as butter, beautiful. 

Up early the next day, we are both filed with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Excitement for the coming week’s adventures and trepidation for what we have read is a ball ache of a border crossing. But first breakfast! We have been riding for about an hour when we pull in to a restaurant just outside Malaga. Now we all stereo type, but as soon as I ask for desyona (breakfast in Española) the waitress immediately asks if we would like egg and bacon, clearly my English ancient is quite clear, but either way I reply “of course”! And it has to be said that the place exceled itself, it was indeed and excellent egg and bacon and complimented with two excellent espressos.

We arrive at the port town of Algeciras at 1pm, in view of the British out post of Gibraltar, our last colonial holding and I shed a tear for our distant glory days. We book on to the 2pm ferry for the Spanish enclave in Morocco, there version of Gibraltar in fact. The boat is a catamaran and we are under the impression it will be a smooth and fast crossing. Well not exactly, is was surpassed to be 35 mins and took an hour and 15 mins and the boat bobbed around like a cock in a barrel and left me feeling somewhat queasy, so queasy I could eat and that has to be pretty bad for me to say that I can tell you.

Third world border crossings are nothing new to me, Richard on the other hand has only every crossed European borders, which in essence you just ride through. As we came to the caoss that is the Moroccan border I could see his eyes getting wider and wider with disbelief. We pulled over to take stock and he just looked at me and said “is this it” clearly somewhat shell shocked. We joined in the throng and the “helpers” descended upon us like flies to the proverbial. Swarms of men dressed in dresses and turbans flocked around us offering up there services to help with the burocracy that lay ahead. The reality being, it would all be so simple if they would just leave you alone, but it’s the system so we just selected two to “help” with paperwork. The look on Richards face as this pantomime unfolded was a picture, it was of wonderment and disbelief at the same time, at times I just had to sit back and watch as yet more people came up and offered there help to him, even though they could see we had “help”, it was quite the sight.

30 minutes later we rode out of the chaos and I pulled over and we shook hands, it was a lovely moment. The next trial was to tackle entering a town and finding some accommodation. This is always a difficult task given the size of the bikes, no map and next to no French language skills. It’s something that is OK with one bike, but with two it becomes a little harder when faced with taxi drivers from hell. After faffying around for 30 minutes and Richards temper starting to rise, we took the tactical disccion to get out of the metropolis and see if we could find something along the way. We had time on our side as we had gained 2 hours leaving Europe.

Once out on the open road we stopped at a tiny village and took a breather in a café and sampled our first Berber whisky, betting known as mint tea. It would be the nearest we got to whisky for the whole trip. I have never been one for doing much research on countries when I visit, I just get an idea in my head, read a little, then head off and this trip was no exception to that rule, so over our tea we looked at our options and by chance the next town along the road was Chefchaouen, described in Lonely Planet as a must see! Well that can be a curse and I have fallen in to that trap before, however on this occasion they were not wrong. The medina is a labyrinth of multiple shades of blue and turquoise, you walk around dazzled by the beautiful contrast of old stone splashed with such vivid colour and with every turn there is a new shade as the evening light starts to fade.

We leave town early to start making our way south, we head across the Rif mountains and swing through lovely mountain roads where the morning mist hangs heavy when we are on the left of the peak and brilliant sunshine when the road heads to the right, put a less poetic way, the left was f—king freezing and the right glorious! After a long day we overnight in the town Sefrou where we encounter the grumpiest of hotel managers and one of the coldest showers I have ever had. Fortunately we did have the foresight to bring a very large bottle of rum with us, so a large rum and coke made the evening feel so much better. 

By the next lunch time we were at the town of Midelt, the gateway to the Atlas Mountain and the start point for some dirt road. After gaining some local knowledge we headed out along the marked road, but fell foul of poor guess work and map reading and ended up in some dry river bed that was never going to be traversed on the fat old heifers that we were riding. We licked our wounded prides and decided to get some better directions and have a go the next morning, hoping to be in the village by the following lunch time. We decamped to a respectable hotel just outside of Medelt enjoyed some AC, a hot shower and a cold beer (amazing they do have beer in this country).

With various guides to the state of the road and the length ranging from great and only 3 hours, to shocking and 8 hours, we head out of town at 9am – we will not be at our next stop until dark, very tired, very hungry and one bike a little beaten up!

The road started well with easy graded gravel, but soon became a rather vague trail that had you asking yourself if you had taken a wrong turn or missed a sign. But with the odd encouraging gesture from a few Berber shepherds, we carried on until we for sure knew we were on the right path. We crossed over in to the next valley and started to descend a rugged step trail, very similar to what I have experienced in the Andes. I have to point out that while my brother is a very experienced biker, he has never done this kind of trip before and I could see that he was a little outside his comfort zone. The decent was perhaps more than we should have taken on with the road tyres that we had equipped our bikes, but once you’re in your in.  I reached the bottom of the valley and looked for Richard, but saw that he seemed to have stopped half way down, but as I focused in, I realised that the colours of his bike seemed to be in the wrong place and rather too close to the edge of the road. 

“Oh dear we have a problem!” I legged it back up to where he was and whilst his bike was not looking too good, at least he was all OK, but it had been a close call as the bike was balance very precariously on the edge of the road, with a drop of around 100 feet to the dry river bed, he had fallen some 15 feet down the hill side, if the bike had followed, then it would have made for a very uncomfortable scenario indeed. With the help of a local shepherd we dragged the bike back on to the road and assessed the damage. Fortunately it was only cosmetic and the damage was to bothers ego and confidence. In these situations you have no option but to carry on, there is no AA or RAC and the road back can be harder than the one in front, but I know how hard that challenge mentally can be. 

We took some time out in the shade, ate some food and just took some time to relax. I have done some difficult roads in my time, but I didn’t let on to Richard that this was a bloody hard one, much better to reassure and tell him that this was the norm. Inside I was just hoping that this would not get any harder, as I knew we were at the limit of what these bikes are capable of and I was not expecting the road to be quite this bad! We had to scout a few obstacles, but after 30 miles and 3 hours, we found some tarmac and thought to the rest of the journey would be easy. It wasn’t exactly that way, but by the time we arrived in Imichil at 5.30pm, we were both pretty knaked and Richard had indeed been introduced to adventure motorcycling. 

We rode in to the clear morning air rested, but still tired towards the Todra Gouge, one of Morocco’s high lights. The Atlas Mountains are a beautiful place to travel on a motorcycle, the roads (when there are some) are great and the scenery is majestic. Small Berber villages whose inhabitants still wear authentic ethic clothing and have not yet been polluted with the MYV culture, although I would suspect it’s not far away. The scenery is vast and at times distance is hard to judge, you roll over a mountain pass and gaze with wonder at the valley below. It’s a barren landscape, with few trees, the only water it a little rain and in the winter, snow fall. Which makes me glad we are here in autumn as the road would be impassable in the spring as the road crosses what are now dry river beds, which at the right time clearly are torrents.

By night fall the land scape is totally different as we approach the dessert town of Merzouga and the Sahara.After 6 days in the saddle we take a day off to rest, clean the bikes and do some laundry, there is only so many times you can turn your undies inside out and sand was starting to get in to places where it should not be.

That evening we had to do the whole tourist thing and take a camel ride out in to the desert. Now I hate these animals, well to clarify, it’s not them, its being on the back of them I detest. It’s so God dam uncomfortable, I feel sea sick and my balls feel like they are being torn off and they are so slow, it’s quicker to walk. After an hour purgatory we arrive at our “authentic” Berber camp and our guide sets about knocking up some grub. Now it was an awful experience getting out here, but the sand dunes of the Sahara are something to behold, as the sun went down and the sand turned golden then red, it was truly a beautiful visa. I have been in many deserts, but I have never seen 300 foot high dunes, quite extraordinary.

The other thing you come to the desert for, is the clear sky and the visibility of the stars, however as the night drew in, so did the cloud. And soon after, bolts of lightning, thunder and a wind like a hurricane. We are in the desert and its pissing with rain. A wet tent, sand in my eyes and sharing a bed with a stinky camel, or is that just my brother?!

In the mooring we are awoken by our Beduin “guide”, without even a cup of coffee and it’s still dark. We climb a large sand dune as the dawn breaks and the first light of day is there to guide us up the 100 meter slope, the sand is cool and damp beneath our bare feet. We reach the top and gaze at the horizon as the first rays of bright orange sun glimpse over it, instantly illuminating the orange sand and giving the place a surreal hue, its neither day or night, it’s that magical time when the dessert world begins to stir and the chill of the night starts to burn away and just before the sun heats to air around you to beyond oppressive.

Our camels and our guide are grunting with displeasure that we are lingering too long over this short lived pleasure, so with a grunt of my own, in more ways than one, I remount the ungainly creature and we set off back to the civilisation of our hotel. 

The day before we had washed these bikes, but this had been in vain, as the nights rain had brought with it sand and grit that made them look like we had just done the Dakar Rally. We rinsed both the bikes and our selves, then set off for a day’s ride to Agdz, out of the dessert and back to the foot hills of the Atlas. To keep with the current climatic conditions, within 10 miles we had to stop and don our waterproofs as the clouds darkened and the wind picked up and before too long we are riding in torrential rain that is bouncing off the road surface and little rivulets form across the road. As the clouds break and the sun shines through, I look in my mirror with fascination, as the spray from the bike forms rainbows that are blown about by the turbulence and the horizon ahead is clear blue sky, fantastic.

Our route takes us through the wide expanse of the Dades Valley, we belt along beautifully tarmacked roads, there are high mountains to both sides of us and each are experiencing some pretty extreme weather of their own. We watch as dark cloudy heave out bolts of lightning on the black rocks, while we continue our journey under a clear blue sky, following the Qued Dades River and the forests of date laden palms.

We reach Agdz before sunset and bed down for the night in a very run down palace, I’m sure it was quite something in its day, now well past its prime, but full of character and the odd bed bug I’m afraid.Our plan for the following day was to ride through the Dades Gorge, another great Atlas spectacle, but as we start to make our way up to the entrance, again the heavens open upon us and with though of washed out roads and flooded river crossing, we decide on the slightly more stable road through the Dades Gorge. And it does have to be said that we are guided by our stomachs a little here, as we know exactly where to stop for a good lunch!

We don’t escape the rain, but at least we are well fed and the landscape as we re-trace our steps, has changed dramatically. Amazing what a little , or maybe call that a lot of rain does to a landscape; the rock is black and the grass has a lush green evervesence, that before looked sun bleached and harsh, now , with the sun splashing through, feels like it has come alive. We have a long, but extremely rewarding ride back to Imalchil, we are damp and cold, but have had a great days riding and I have captured some of the best photographs of the trip so far, very rewarding. 

An early start, crisp mountain air and clear blue sky greets us the following morning. We stop to watch a herdsman help one of his goats give birth by the road side, before we finish our time in the mountains and start to make our way down to the lowlands. It doesn’t matter where I am riding in the world, its riding in the mountains that always makes me think that a trip is worthwhile and the Atlas have been no disappointment, I only wish they stretched up to the sea.

As we come down from the clear air of 2000ft and reach around 150 ft above sea level the air hits you like a hair dryer, the faster your seems to go, the hooter it becomes, one day someone will build and AC unit to go on a bike, fuck it was hot. We push on through to the quaint hill town of Moulay Idriss, apparently revered due to the fact that some relation of Mohammed was buried there, or at least his remains where taken there to make the site a place of pilgrimage.  The best thing that we found there was the lively square ad some great people watching while sitting having a coffee after a long and sweaty afternoons ride and we were both glad to feel the heat of the sun decrease as it makes it way towards the horizon. 

A brief visit and I mean brief visit was paid to the Roman remains of Volubilis the following day, not only was it blisteringly hot walking around in bike gear, but the site, described as Morocco’s best archaeological site, was nothing more than a pile of stones and just about worth the 10p it cost to get in. Another hot day in the saddle, but we made good time back to Chefchouen in time to have a wonder around the beautiful blue medina before the sun set and now armed with previous local knowledge, where able to find a place selling cold beer. See Morocco does have beer, not much of it, but for the intrepid and adventurous, it’s out there to be found. We slept well that night. 

Up early, we made Ceuta by 11am, losing 2 hours as we crossed back in to Spanish territory and claimed our seat on the boat back to Europe. We made it back to the mainland for 2 pm and heading in to Gibraltar, which has to be said we a real dive, no idea why anyone goes there, it just seemed like a quirky British sea side resort, all kiss-me-quick hats and fish `n` chips.

Back along the coast road we stopped at the small little tourist town, I forget the name, but it was the kind of place that you would forget the name of; we found some half decent seafood, but some very very cold beer. The air was balmy warm and the air was filled with the laughter of the Spanish enjoying a Saturday night out with friends. You would never know that this country was bankrupt.

Spain has done well out of its membership of the EU and this is clearly evident as we ride away from the coast and make our way inland. The infrastructure that has been built in the past ten years is staggering; dams, wind farms, major roads, with hardly a car on them, which makes for easy travel, perhaps they have built them for 50 years’ time, but as their population is only just increasing, like most other western European countries, you can’t but think that its easy to spend money when you have not earned it. 

We spent the night in a rather non dispirit Spanish town, but managed to find very interesting hotel, that was the anti-building to an old church, that sat upon a hill top overlooking the valley. The place had been restored and sat illuminated as the sun went down and the night air chilled.  The place had a questionable restaurant that served up a set 5 course meals and was accompanied with a bottle of local wine. Now please bare in-mind that we are now very close to the Rioja area, so you would think that it would be at least OK. Not a bloody chance, it was more drain cleaner than wine. The waiter clearly had an air of snobbery about him and seemed to think that serving a couple of scruffy bikers was not deserving of his station. With this in mind, I had already spotted a good bottle of red, sitting not too far away, so as he disappeared, yet again, I grabbed said bottle, but realising we had no bottle opened, Richard volunteered to try and push the cork in to the bottle; bad idea, very bad idea! With red wine splattered over him and a table cloth, we did our best to cover up our phopar and retired for the night, giggling like naughty school boys. 

And so to bed ,to dream of yet another great journey!!!

End of the road, finally.

The End of the Road


After 34,000 miles and 10 month of riding, I have reached my journeys end, New York City. My trusty BMW is now with the shipping company and will hopefully be back in the UK in around 5 weeks, personally I will be flying back to England on Monday 12th October, almost exactly one year from leaving on 16th October 2008. This leg has been considerably longer than the first to South East Asia, when I clocked up 18,000 miles in roughly the same time frame and bearing in mind that the circumference of the planet is 25,000 miles, it puts in to context just how big the Americas are.


Its been a long but enjoyable road and I would like to thank the many fantastic people I have meet and spent time with along the way. I have been fortunate enough to spend time with some old friends and I have also made some great new ones along the way. The things that you see along your travels are great and beautiful, but without the people, a journey of this length would be empty.





Leaving Vancouver and heading across Canada

I rode out of Vancouver on Friday 4th Sept after spending a week enjoying this great city and the company of two great friends I had made on my travels to Asia, Bobby and Jessica. In the time I was there I managed to get in some yoga to stretch out the aches and pains of the 7000 miles I did in Alaska and the Canadian north, as well as some great food and some serious R&R. From Van I headed to Whistler to spend a couple of nights with Mike and Lori who own a place there and enjoyed some good banter, with of course some wine. From here I headed to the joint national parks of Jasper and Banff, that run down what must be described as the most spectacular part of the Rocky Mountains and the Canadians have been gracious enough to build a road all the way through, The Icefields Hwy.














Its the kind of place that you want to just take in the views, kick back with your feet up on the crash bars and ride through slowly. Which is precisely what I did. There are days when you just want to do some miles and days when you just need to take in your surroundings, absorb the energy of a place and experience what you are on the road for. The Icefields Hwy is exactly what you imagine when you think of Canada's Rockie's, it epitomises the Canadian image and hence it is used in almost every brochure you will see of this country, its is beautiful.










It took me two more days to ride across the flat lands of Alberta and Manitoba once I rode out of the Rockies and to my next destination of the Flying V ranch, owned by friends that I made while in Montana, Rhonda and Alan. Alan attempted to turn me in to a cowboy, but unfortunately my abilities on a horse, are only matched by my abilities at ballet dancing and my attempt of riding bare back was meet with an extremely undignified departure from the said animals back, followed by an extremely rough landing and some extreme bruising to my ego.





















I did slightly better at driving his Semi truck, whilst I may not have found a new vocation for my life, I did enjoy it immensely, in fact I was like a kid with a new train set, and if you would like to wittiness this, please have a look at the video at the end of this blog.



Back in to the USA

I crossed in to the US at some tiny border post, where clearly not many Englishmen on lard arse BMW's ride through. After nearly being strip searched, I was allowed in to the Land of the Free!











It took 4 days of meandering travel to ride across the sates on North Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin,past the great lakes to Illinois, Indiana, stopping off at the rev head destination of Indianapolis Motor Speedway, where unfortunately there was no racing, but at least i picked up a sticker for the bike,Ohio and eventually arriving tin West Virginia late on the evening of Thursday sept 17th to visit my friends Summer and Andrew. I met Summer way back in 2006 when I was traveling in Uganda. The weekend was spent indulging ourselves in way too much alcoholic consumption at the river festival called Gualeyfest.

I took a weeks break here to recharge the batteries and look around the area and catch up with old friends, never something that should be rushed.I left West Virginia heading to Philadelphia , on one of the wettest journeys that I have ever done. It rained for the entire 300 miles and I arrived my friends Marc and Suzanne's house, more like a drowned rat than the round the world traveler that there had been reading about in my blog. However, no amount of rain could damped the pleasure I felt in seeing such good old friends.
















I have known Marc since I was 16 and we have always been biking buddies, having both ridden as motorcycle couriers as well as doing many a stupid thing on two wheels. Marc came to America way back in 1985 and I worked with him roofing when I lived here back in 1991. We have always been good friends and it was great to catch up with him and Suzanne over a cold pint and of course have the piss taken out of me for looking like a hippy.

New York City

I rode up to NYC on Sunday 4th October to catch up with a fella that I meet in the Himalayas when I was riding up to Leh in Kashmir , India. Will has a swanky penthouse in Manhattan and as I have never been to NYC, I snapped up his offer to spend a few days with him and to see this iconic city. New York is without doubt one of the places that you must see before you die. No where else has the image and some would say ego as this place, it is truly a 24 hour city and the energy on the streets is palpable. I loved just wondering around the busy streets and seeing such famous places as the Empire State Building, the Rockefeller Centre, Grand Central Station, ground zero, Macy's, Times Square, the list is endless.


After living for 5 years I am a bit over living in big cites, and I have to say that I doubt that I would like to live in this one either, but to visit and just see how this monolithic place operates is a spectacle in its self. I was somewhat taken a back by ground zero, in that its just a big building sight. America being America, I expected a monument to have been erected and something in place to commemorate the attacks of Sept 11th 2001, after all it is 8 years.



I walked around Central Park which is quite a spectacle in such a busy city and it always seems strange that the most expensive properties in a city are the ones that over look nature. Man can build what he wants, but we all feel better when we can see what nature provides.



















I dropped my bike off at the shippers on Thursday 8th October and I fly out on Monday 12th to the UK.


Some Views on America

Its hard to imagine that America has a long tern glowing future when you observe the unhealthy state of so many of its citizens. I have never traveled amongst so many sick looking people. For a long time we have all been aware of the obese in America, a trend that unfortunately Britain along with many other western countries following.But its not just the overweight that look unhealthy, so many men and women have pasty complexion and skin, which is the biggest indicator of an diet devoid of nutrition. Not caused just by eating at fast food outlets, but feeding themselves at home. Supermarkets have row upon row of medication for stomach acid and indigestion. Rows and rows of vitamins, adds on TV continually trying to sell you a chemical cure for all your ills.

As America is "the" global icon, are we all destine to go this way? Is the whole world going to poisons self with food that lack any nutritional value? I sincerely hope not , but how do you change this? You can walk in to a store the size of the average British supermarket, that only sell vitamins. Whats wrong with good food?

But for all its ills and failings, America, as I have said before it a great place to visit and I have never been shown so much hospitality as I have here, the people can be slightly over nationalistic with all the "God Bless America" rhetoric, but I do truly love it here.














In Conclusion


The Low Points


* Crashing after hitting a dog in Argentina
*Waiting for seven weeks to get the damage sorted out
*Freezing my balls off crossing a 4900 metres pass in Peru at night. Thanks Christian, I would have turned back if you had not been following me
* Eating guinea pig in Peru
*Being so far away from my friends and family
*Deleting my entire Itunes catalogue
*Almost drowning in monsoon rains in Ecuador
*2 and half weeks of rain in Alaska, and camping in it
*Riding the Ruta 40 in 100mph side winds on road tyres



















The High Points

*Seeing Torres del Pain mountains in Chile for the first time, then waking up with them as my back drop
*Riding in the Ushaia, the most southerly city in the world.
*Riding through the desolated beauty that is Tierra del Fuego
*Riding out of Mendoza after getting the bike repaired
*Seeing the Nazcar Lines in Peru
*Crossing the equator in Ecuador
*Riding across the Arctic Circle
*Meeting up with me old mucker Baggy in Philly
*Riding over the Andes, time and time again
*Wine tasting in Mendoza, quite a few times
*Riding in Peru at over 4000 metres for what seemed like weeks
*Eating freshly smoked salmon in Alaska
*Getting off 1000km of dirt road in Argentina and feeling beautiful smooth tarmac

I had a thirst for travel and now I have quenched it. I feel satisfied and content with my choices and achievements. Thirst always re-occurs and I am sure this one will indeed re-appear in my life at some stage, but for now I have drunk my fill. I have ridden from one end of the Americas to the other, along the way seeing some of the greatest sights there are to see in the world, some of the most spectacular landscapes and greatest cities, meet some fascinating people, ridden some of the greatest roads there are and learnt much about my-self along the way.

Many people are now asking me what next. Well, Im not quite sure to be honest, I have some ideas that I need to look at closely when I get back and there are some other ideas that are not in the UK. It will not be easy to settle in one place after experiencing so much freedom, for so long , but also I have reached a point of travel exhaustion, when new things are no long stimulating me, its time to sit still and push my life in a new direction. This adventure has its roots back to March 2005 when I met a guy in Luang Prabang, Lao who had ridden out from London. This has been without doubt one of the greatest events of my life and it has changed me, for the better, immeasurably. Leaving England on April 2nd 2007 was a hard day, heading out in to a path with no experience of over land travel was daunting, you have no idea what the road will have in store for you. Now I have come to the end of the road its time to reflect on the great places I have seen, things, good and bad that I have experienced and to draw lessons from it all. I am in no doubt that it was the right thing for me to embark on this path, leaving Woodford Motorcycles and stepping in to the void of uncertainty was exactly what I needed so that I could rediscover who I was as a person and not just be Stuart the motorcycle dealer with only one focus, money.

I now have a whole world of opportunity ahead of me and a new view on the world, this could be a very interesting period.


Thank you all for you support along the way, when there have been difficult times and there have been many, it was having friends somewhere out there that cared and where there to help, that made the difference between giving up and quitting. So until the next time and there will be one, adios amigos , X.

Alaska ,back to Vancouver - and on to New York?

The last time I wrote I was in Fairbanks, Alaska, drying out from a couple of days of rain since crossing the border from Canada. Unfortunately this weather pattern set the climate and the mood for the coming two weeks - rain! Constant drizzle that made a London Monday morning look bright and shinny.

I couldn't see any on Denali National Parks famous Mt McKinley, even if it does poke in the sky to an altitude of 20,000ft. It rained in Anchorage, it rained at the coast, it rained in the mountains, actually that's all it bloody weel did do. I did stop , briefly in Wasilla, Sarah Palins home town, where I hope to buy some SP memorabilia, but unfortunately I couldn't find anything with a moose with lipstick on it, oh well next time.

I did manage to see some really spectacular scenery riding along the Glennallen Hwy and especially the Haines Hwy, but in fairness , quite a bit of this was when I crossed the border in to BC again, before returning to Alaska further south. It is without doubt on of the prettiest places on earth, surely all those documentaries that I have seen over the years cant all have been lieing? I did manage to glimpse the stunning scale and magnitude of the mountains at Haines. This small fishing port is the quintessential small American town. Only a few shops, where the staff all know the customers names ( except mine that is) and restaurants full of locals and not hordes of tourist, but there were a few. It is surrounded with towering mountains that plunge deep in to the fjords below and glaciers sit suspended , mid air, in there irrepressible decent to the sea . I did at last glimpse a bear, a mother with two cubs , happily eating berries on the side of the road, and a slightly larger grizzly, who was a little more camera shy.

But it was still raining as I arrived by ferry to Skagway, a famous town in the gold rush to the Yukon, but now a deep water harbour for cruise ships and the tourist horde. The rain just got heavier as I crossed the border back in to Canada for the last time and arriving in Whitehorse, it seemed like the worst of the rain was over, so I pitched my tent and crossed my fingers. But you will guess right, it rained.

Packing up and wet tent and putting on damp riding gear is not much fun I can tell you, especially when you are heading to Watson Lake. This town has an air of desperation about it, bordering on the angry; the inhabitants are angry at you, because you are getting out of the place and they are stuck there, condemned to eat the shit food they serve you up, drink copious amounts of alcohol and smoke endless cigarettes, because there is nothing else to do but to get fat and ugly. Of course there is, this is not Cuba, no one is really stuck, and interestingly some people come here for its sort of remoteness and because they find the kindred spirits of other drifters and losers.

So the tent was put up again feeling rather damp, as I was myself, of course there is the option of a cheesy motel, which are dry, but frankly appalling value for money, so I did have a choose, so no need to feel to much sympathy. I just struggle to cough up the dough when the place is little more than a shack, but cost what a 5 star hotel does in Bangkok. Still thats how it is in the north. The rain did easy and it was actually looking like I might get a dry night, but alas that was not meant to be and it pissed down all night. Waking in a veritable lake,I headed off down the Cassier Stewart Hwy, which should have been a highlight due the the scenery and to be fair there were some breaks and it is a truly beautiful vista, but there where far too rare a glimpse.

The town of Stewart is located 40kms off the main hwy and the road is flanked by beautiful mountains, which for once I was actually able to see, and has hanging glaciers gripping like limpets to a boats hull along the side of the road, its a great ride and you have to cut your vision from the road to the mountains as every turn produces a jaw dropping scene. Its a small town of 600, which makes it feel like a city compared to its neighbour in Alaska, Hyder, population 65!

The reason to take the turn off, apart from the mountains was to try - in vain - to see bears feeding on the salmon that are spawning, I got to see the salmon, which is a spectacle in its self, the migration of thousands of fish thats sole purpose is to return to the place of there birth, breed and die. I was happy to see this, as its a true wonder of the world, but not a bear in sight.

Next stop was back at my friend Tylers, were I was pleased to find some dry weather at last. 2 and a half weeks of rain, out of the 7000 miles that I have done on this leg, 3000 have been ridden in the rain. Im glad that I have ridden up there as it was the goal of the journey and a place that I have always wanted to visit, but I dont feel like I have seen what Alaska has to offer, I would like to return one day, but perhaps not on a bike. I met a couple of lads that had flown up and rented a camper and were just hitting the best fishing spots and doing some sights. A nice dry camper and some fishing, now that sounds like a great idea to me.

With a combination of rain and poor visibility due to forest fires, the north has not revealed its true beauty and I feel like I want to end this trip with some greater memories. So I have decided to end it New York. Not that I think NY is so stunning, but there are some parts of Canada that i have yet to see and if I dont do it now I probably never will. But quite importantly there are some friends that I have made along the way and in life that are scattered about north America and I have managed to aline the stars so that I can almost ride in a straight line across and spend some time with them all. And if there is one thing I will take away from this journey, its how important your friends are and how empty life would be without them. But NYC is, defiantly the end of the road. I want to just be somewhere for more than a few days and not be thinking of packing up a tent and what rubbish food am I going to have to put up with today, plus the bike is starting to feel as knacked as the rider, she has been good to me and its time to put her in a garage for a long long time.

I have just spent a few days relaxing in Vancouver, a city that I really love and hope to come back to at some point, its incredibly clear and open city, right on the ocean and flanked by mountains, its a hard setting to beat, and makes London look like an absolute flea pit of a place. Ill head out this weekend, after spending some time in Whistler and then make the slow crossing of the North American continent and hope to be in NYC for 4th Oct. Its a long road ahead, but I can see the horizon.

Alaska at last

My last update left me in Colorado, Im now in Alaska, so Im am doing a travelogue to just fill you in on where the trip has taken me and some of the places that I have seen, sorry if its rather long, Ive just been a slack arse.

After having the 4^th July weekend with friends, while I happily waved the Union flag and a tear came to my eye at the loss of one of the colonies. It is of course a great celebration, for which I am not exactly sure all Americas actually realise what they are celebrating, just as in the UK we don’t really teach our kids why we are burning to death a “Guy” on November 5^th, history and time just blurs it in to a ritual. But of course America is a proud country and its populace are extremely nationalistic, too much at times. And this simply over flows on 4^th July, when everything is available with the stars and stripes emblazoned across them, plates, cups,serviettes, camping chairs, t shirts, shorts – you name it, you can get it with a flag on.

But travel is about observing your surroundings and enjoying what you see around you and this is the first time that I have been in the states for this holiday and it is a special time. Americans are some of the most hospitable people you will ever meet, some English that I know, being of a conservative nature, find this rather over powering, but if you open yourself to this hospitality, you really do find genuine friendship and a sincerity in there, something that I have to be said you don’t find everywhere.

So moving on from the festivities of Colorado, I made my way up to Yellowstone to try to find Yogi bear. But it would seem that the hordes of RV driving tourist had scared him away to his cave, perhaps that he shares with Osama, now would that be great if they found him living in the US. Now Yellowstone is a fantastic place and I have always wanted to go, as I have wanted to see wild bison for as long as I remember. The advantage you have when travelling in the US,is that there national park system is one, extensive and two, that everything is easily accessible. The down side of this is that everyone and their granny can get there with relative easy. Therefore, they become something of a Disney Land, with motor homes and 4x4 blocking every turn. Heaven forbid that an animal should be so foolish as to walk next to the road, then you have a tail back more akin to Friday evening on the M25, its hell on earth.

I did however manage to see the bison that I desired, as one conveniently parked himself right by the camp that I had my tent pitched at, so I was able to sip a nice cup of tea, whilst gazing upon these magnificent creatures. The herd that roam the 2.2 million acres of Yellowstone, number around 2000. That is in contrast to the some 30 million that used to roam the mid states of America. This has to be one of the saddest and cruellest exterminations of an animal by man. We (humans, this is not a national thing) slaughtered these beast firstly for there coats, leaving the carcass to rot on the plans, then for there meat to feed the workers of that rail roads and then in one of the worst events of the 19^th century, to starve to death the Indian tribes that used to follow the great herds on there migration, and who used every part of the animal for there survival. Man has and still does such despicable things.

I rode on through Wyoming and in to the big sky state of Montana, where cowboys still roam the range and the horizons seem to stretch to the ends of the earth. The rides were long and the scenery at times rather monotonous, and when it rains, it really rains. I arrived at Glacier National Park in one of these storms and was glad to find some shelter under which to pitch my tent and get some warm food inside myself. The next day was bright and sunny and I rode in to the park to do one the fabled “most beautiful” roads in America, the Highway to the Sun, well Im sure it would be, if again it was not for the tourist horde, which I know I am one, but you always want these things to yourself, bad timing I think, Im sure if I returned at the end of September, I would have an open road. But alas I didn’t and I also ran in to one of those pain in the arse anal bastard road workers, how threatened to radio the cops because I had filtered past a line of stationary car, please, get a fucking life. At this point I had had it with the place and I returned to my camp for a swim in the remarkable warm lake and to enjoy the last rays of the sun the day had left.

Up bright and early I was able to get to the Hwy to the sun, without to much drama or nazi jobsworths reading me the riot act. I crossed the Canadian border and headed west in the direction of Vancouver, with the sun lowering in the sky and directly in front of me. There is nothing like riding in to the sunset on warm evening, with not a care in the world. I arrived in Vancouver on Saturday 26th July, to meet up with a fella I met in Laos and who lives right in the heart of the city. It was quite a shock to be in a city again, with cars and people all around, horns beeping and pedestrians crossing the street at inappropriate times, mainly the drunk ones that is. Vancouver is a very bright and cosmopolitan city, but every city has its underbelly. I was warmly greeted by Bobby and told to rapidly get my self cleaned up, which was quite a task after 2 weeks of camping and getting the odd wash in a river, as we had to get up to Whistler to meet up with friends of his. Shaved and scrubbed up we headed up the highway to a place I last visited to ski back in 97 and here I got to spend the weekend in a comfy bed, drink good wine, eat good food (vegan, umm) and swim in a beautiful clear lake and lounge in the sun, tough life at times.

I met up with Axel, my riding buddy over on Vancouver Island. We had parted company when I has hamstrung in Mendoza, Argentina. We shared a bottle of rum and talked shit for the night ( not hard for me) then , slightly hung over I made it up the island to visit a mate from India whom lives in Comox, 3 hours north. I spent a couple of night there, filling in the day with a few bits of work on the bike and some sea kayaking out to a friends yacht for some supper and a few glasses of wine to watch the sunset. Axel and I met up on the Saturday and took the ferry across to the mainland and started out northward journey.

Now you are probable thinking that Im in Canada, cool weather, pine trees, snowy mountain, but let me tell you, the interior of British Colombia get almighty hot in summer and we spend the first couple of days riding in 3o+ degrees and roasting our arses off and I can assure you that there is nothing like jumping in to a clear blue lake at the end of a long hot ride, it really is fantastic. We spent a few days with a friend of mine, Tyler, who has been guiding on a few raft trips that I have done around the world. Last time I saw him was with malaria in Uganda. His home town of Quesnel is a huge logging centre and he showed us around some off the plants and explain how the pine beetle in decimating the trees of the area, a natural phenomena that is occurring from Colorado, all the way up to Alaska. The little bugger has got a grip due to one, milder winters, but two,human intervention in naturally occurring forest fires. The result is that in some areas, 90% of pine trees will are dead or dying. A good time to bye cheap pine if you need any!

We headed north again and towards the Yukon, a name I have associated more with cartoons from my childhood that anything else. I remember watch little gold miners running around with pick axes and gold nuggets, all with very strange accents and long grey beads, formative years obviously. We stopped at the town of Watson Lake and hitched a quick spine with a helicopter pilot that Axel had met in Colombia, he was up there helping out with the forest fires, the same ones we had witnessed the day before and that had almost blocked the sun in the sky with a thick haze. It looks unattractive, but nature needs this process to clear out the dead wood and as described earlier, the pests that feed on the timber. In our short time on the planet though, we fail to comprehend the loss of the forest and the fact that it takes 50 to 60 years to fully re-grow. Its just another symbol of how small and short our lives are on this great planet.

Next stop was Whitehorse, which was a boom town in the Klondike gold rush of the late 1900s, a brief my momentous period when 1000s of gold hungry “stampeders” sold everything there had in the hope of sticking it rich, which of coarse very few did. The place is a somewhat dull affair, with what has to be the most expensive take out food on the planet, justified with the frase “that’s the way it is in the north” a frase that would ruffle my feather more than once.

We had come in this direction, as we wanted to ride the Dempster Hwy. There are two roads that lead way up the north, the Dempster, in Canada and the Dalton in Alaska. Both cross the Arctic Circle and the Dalton actually goes a little higher, but the Dempster has the better scenery and neither actually gets you to the Arctic Ocean, so we opted for the Dempster. Its 750kms of dirt road and if you get caught on it in the rain, it can be a real nightmare as it turns to a slippery mud bath. Fortunately we had the weather with us, even if the forest fires were keeping visibility down to 3 or 4 kms, a shame when at time you can possibly see 120.

The overnight stop is at Eagle Plains, a rather desolate place, but there is camping and more importantly fuel. The next day we hit the real bench make, the Arctic Circle, which is really just a sign in the tundra, but is a major milestone when you have ridden up from Tierra del Fuego in Argentina. We pushed on for the day as we wanted to get in to Inuvik, our final destination at a reasonable hour and we had two river crossing, fortunately by ferry, and a lot more dusty dirt road to finish. We arrived in to Inuvik at around 8pm, feeling tiered from the dust and the concentration, that on a motorcycle you have to apply at all times, even on a good dirt road you never know when the road might change.

Inuvik is a box ticking exercise in reality, there is not much there of interest, it is just the end of the road, the farthest you can go north (in Canada). Being this far north though does have a special feel, there is 24-hour daylight, although we had missed the all night sun, and there is atrue frontier feel about the place, because it is the frontier. You can go a little farther north to Toktoyuktuk, but only be plane, and an expensive one at that.

I showered the next morning and just let the hot water run over as if trying to wash away all the aches and pains of the journey and reflecting on all the countries and events that have led me to this point. It’s been 7 months of almost constant moving and over 25,000 miles. I could have done quicker; I could have done it slower. But the most important thing is that I have done what I set out to do, ride from one end of the Americas to the other. If I am blowing my own trumpet I don’t care, but Im bloody proud of it. Im no hero and many people have done it in the past and will do in the future, but when I look back a few years in my life, then I would never thought I would have done what I have done in the past few years. I felt tired after that shower, but also immensely relieved that most of the journey was behind me, and I could now start to think about what else I want to do with my life. I did very little that day- there wasn’t much to do anyway – I just felt like sitting still.

We rode back down the Dempster and on to the town of Dawson City, another gold rush city that sits on the confluence of the Klondike and Yukon rivers. Part living city and part museum, Dawson is the kind of place you go to escape the rest of the world and hence attracts its fare share of “characters” most of whom are no doubt running from something in there lives or from themselves. This is where I ran in to the “that’s the way it is in the north”, but this time it ruffled my feathers too much. Its not just the words, but the way almost everyone uses it to justify what ever it is they are talking about and therefore you have to accept it that way. After 25 years of retail, I can tell you that if one of my staff ever said that to a customer, I would dismiss them on the spot. Things are the way there are because people make it so. In a town where there only have 4-month season, custom service should be a priority and one lady didn’t appreciate me pointing this out to her. Ill get off my soapbox now, sorry, it just really pissed me off.

Dawson is 150kms from the Alaska border and as you depart Canada, you ride over the Top of the World Hwy, a beautiful stretch of road that exposed to the weather, but provides hue vistas of the outlaying mountains. As soon as we had crossed the border, things instantly changed. In Canada, gun ownership is not a big thing, unlike the US, were the right to bare arms is seen as being next to religion as something you most have, remember “God, Guns and Guts”, and hunting is at the front of many peoples priorities. Within 3 miles we come across a scene that was to say the least macabre, beads to Caribou littered the floor around several ATV with riffle racks, blood ran from the back of pick up where the animals had been butchered. Gun toting red necks proudly showed off their day’s kills and explained how and where they hunted and how they carved up the poor fallen beasts. The same creatures that only the day before I had patiently, if frustratingly, tried to photograph. I felt sad and disgusted at this abuse of nature. And this is only the Caribou, let alone the moose, bear, wolf or anything else on four legs.

We rode through the one horse town of Chicken, yes there is a town called Chicken, Alaska and on to the town of Tok, where there were more Caribou heads strapped to the seats of ATVs, which I am sure will be proudly displayed on the wall of some trailer.

So as you might tell, first impressions of Alaska are tainted, but I am only in the town of Fairbanks, where it is raining, hence I have time to update the blog. The best is yet to come; I am really looking forward to the glaciers, salmon, bears and freshness of the coastal region. I have always wanted to fish for salmon and I am here at the perfect time of year and they are running up the rivers as we speak. I will hopefully also get to see the bears fishing, but not too close to where I am.

Quick update - in to the Colonies.

Sorry for the lack of updates, but I have either been covering miles, catching up with old travel buddies or had no internet. Its quite amazing that there is better coverage for a traveller in the third world than in the heart of the first. Everyone has it in there homes, but internet cafes are somewhat lacking, plus I have just been plane lazy.

Im now in Whitehorse in the Yukon and am travelling with Axel, whom I meet in Argentina. We meet up on Vancouver Island and have ridden up through British Colombia together. Tomorrow we leave for Dawson City (1500 inhabitants, City?) and up the Dempster HWY, across the arctic circle and the highest point north that I will reach, Inuvik.

I will write up a more detailed travelogue when the time permits, for now I am

concentrating on getting the journey completed and see as much of the great land has to offer. As yet I have not been attacked by any grizzlies, but there have been some ( very safe ) encounters with bear, moose and bison. As for salmon, only in the supermarket I am afraid, but I intend for this to change in Alaska!

God, Guns and Guts.

I left Miami after taking in the delights of this cosmopolitan city, its quite something to be sitting outside a bar at 2 am, watching a drunk rolling around in the gutter, a crack hoe plying her wears on one corner, a group of gang bangers plying theres on the other and a convertible Lamborghini at the lights. It really did feel like a scene from Miami Vice, thankfully no pastel box jackets though!

I spent my birthday, June 3rd, if you need to put that in your diary for next year, with the US side of the family, in Boynton Beach. I haven’t caught up with this branch of the family tree for nearly 18 years, so it was good to see the clan again and acquaint myself with the growing brewed. I now have 12 second cousins, as my cousins pop out new sprogs at a right old rate.

From here I set out cross country towards Arkansas, which only claim to fame is that ex-president Clinton used to be its governor (better that Schwarzenegger I suppose), to catch up with some friends and take a break from the drudgery of riding on the US interstate systems. Its great for eating up the miles, but the landscape on the east is, lets say rather flat and there only so many Denny’s, International House of Pancakes and Waffle Houses you want to eat in. I managed the trip in two days, however I totally under estimated the distance and on day two, spent 17 hours in the saddle and covered 850 miles. I assure you that I will never do that again. And I suppose that you will ask why I did? I really cant give a valid reason, I could have just pulled in to any one of a thousand bland motels, I didn’t have to be anywhere at a certain time, so I think the best explanation is that I’m a stupid wanker!

After recuperating from said ride and getting some work done on the bike, I set off cross country again, for a place that I have always wanted to see and somehow, even after travelling in the states several time, managed to miss – Monument Valley. On route I crossed through Oklahoma and New Mexico, this is an extract from my personnel journal – “I enter the BigDs diner and every head turns to see what has walked in through the door. The place is in Nowheresville Oklahoma, on the great plains, it stinks of fried food and stale air, the clientele are straight out of the stereo type text book; dudes in Stetsons, boots and big belt buckle or tie die shirts, filthy baseball cap and discount store Timberland rip offs. There is only one window and no ventilation, although the weather outside is a beautiful sunny day. A sign on the wall reads, “I don’t skinny dip, I chunky dunk!”, which is entirely appropriate, as everyone, with no exception, is at least 50lb overweight, including the waitress. The coffee is weak, the air is stinging my eyes and the food is greasy. But this place is so irresistibly mid America, it personifies everything that is wrong and

everything that is right about America”.

It took me two long days from Arkansas to get to the Utah border and on this night I camped by a river just 40 miles from Monument Valley. I rose early the next day extremely excited about eventually getting to see these rocks that I had seen so many time is western movies as a child, with John Wayne riding around on his horse, chasing Indians telling people to get off there horse and drink there milk and proving how the west was won, or stolen depending on how you look at it. By 7.30 am I was riding through the “Land of the Gods” and marvelling at the giant sand stone bluffs that tower above you, that have been carved out by a million years worth of sand storms and water erosion. My next thrill was riding down the road that featured on the album cover of the Eagles, Hotel California and is a piece of music and travel legend. Not only is this a great place to cruise through, it is a fantastic place to photograph, so I spend quite a few hours sitting around waiting for the light to be perfect, but your could be here for weeks, even months and come up with so many different shades of light, that none would seem perfect, but I was happy with what I could achieve given the limited time scale.

The next stop was Moab, the stop off town for Arches NP and some of the most spectacular rock scenery there is in the world. The first night I was there, i camped on the banks of the Colorado river and tried to get some photos of some of the arches , but missed the good light, so returned to my camp in the wilds, where I attempted a camp meal in the absolute pitch black of a moonless night and having only my head tourch for company. Unfortunately all this did was attract a hoard of flys, that either landed in my food or my mouth; now that's fresh protein for you.

I had better luck with the photos the next day, catching a storm coming in behind the arches, unfortunately I got caught in the storm on the walk back to the car park and got totally drenched, but I was happy with the night efforts. I had moved my tent to an RV park, so at least I had something a little more luxurious to return to - no fly soup tonight.

I rode out of the desserts of Utah on an extremely chilly morning, stopping at one of Americas great institutions, the diner! American cuisine leave quite a lot to be desired at times, but there do know how to do breakfast ( apart from coffee, its shockingly bad, there should be a law against what surely is mud mixed with hot water), I rode in to the Rockies and to the ski town of Teluride, surrounded by towering granite, this small town is the epitome of old time America , in the new modern age, with charming old houses lining its streets and crystal clear streams running through the place.

All day long I was straining my neck looking up and around at the magnificent countryside of what could be Americas most beautiful state. Forests of pine and aspen cover the mountains and streams and rivers tumble down them, I was truly enchanted. I stopped for the night at Ouray, which is clustered in a giant amphitheater, not only is it a beautiful to camp, it has the added bonus of have a natural thermal spring to help soak away the aches of the long days ride.

The following day I took to some of the jeep trails of the area, which I had been informed where of relative ease. Well maybe in a 4x4 jeep, yes, but on 500lbs of BMW, I assure you that is not the case. These roads indeed tested my resolve of both rider and bike and I would put some of this section as the toughest roads I have been along , anywhere, I really was on the limit of the mine and the bikes capabilities. In fact it got to the point where it went over the limits and I ended up with the bike on its side in 2 foot of muddy water and some very moist feet. Unfortunately, I had inadvertently taken a wrong turn, hence I was in to tough territory and with no one in sight, having to pick the heifer up on my own. After that I was in to mood for finding my way out and some lunch. The trail took me to the quaint old mining town of Silverton, which sits amongst the mountains like a forgotten relic of a bygone age, with old western style shop fronts, saloons with swing doors and even a small gauge steam train service.

I tied up my bike at the front of an eating establishment and consumed some Mexican food, whilst my socks and boots sat drying in the sun. I rode back to my camp with a school boy grip of misadventure on my face, happily covered in mud and sweat and enjoyed a cold beer with the camp host, from the fridge of his massive RV ( recreation vehicle) the sort if thing that we only see in the UK at a Formula 1 meeting, but in America are everywhere. Recession, what recession?

I left my beautiful camp ground and headed over Red Mountain Pass ( there is a red mountain there!) where first it started to rain and then it snowed. Excuse my profanity, but I was fucking frozen, there is only so much my heated grips can do, and I couldn't even feel them. I rode, shivering down in to the town of Durango, where I stuffed my face at an all you can eat Chinese buffet, were I certainly got my monies worth, as I started to warm up at the lower altitude and the glimpse of sun that shone through the window. I camped that night at a camp called Big Bend Camp, fun enough it was on a big bend in the river, so descriptive these Americans. Now do any of you remember the film National Lampoons Vacation, staring Chevy Chase and with a glimpse of Christy Brinkley? Well it was filmed at this very camp. Unfortunately Christy was not around, so I had to make do with the gentle sounds of the river to lull me to sleep.

I rode on through the Rockies and the great log cabins that people dwell in in this part of the world, stopping off at the cute little town of Lakecity, which is rather an exaggeration for a town with a population of around 500, clearly the founder had big expectations. The main pass time hear in trout fishing in the clear waters of the river the runs through town. I didn't have the time to stop and fish, but I have picked up myself a rod and have high hopes of hooking out a couple of specimens to roast over the camp fire later in my travels. Im now staying with friends near Breckenridge, where in years gone by I have enjoyed the skiing. Now I am relaxing in the mountain air and getting ready to enjoy the celebration of 4th July, when I understand, they celebrate removal of them selves from the commonwealth, what a bizarre thing to celebrate. I will of course be sporting my Union Jack shorts and waving the flag of the Empire.

I would like to share some words of wisdom that have been passed on to me while in this ex-colony -

"God , Guns and Guts, that what made America great" Alabama

"You cant ride to Alaska, Alaska is an Island!" Colorado.

Fantastic! Ciao x

Miami

Well quite amazingly I have retrieved my bike from US customs in record time, I literally had the paperwork cleared in around 5 minute, it took me much much longer to field all the questions from the highly inquisitive cargo handlers at the warehouse, who I tantalised with stories from Iran and Pakistan. As soon as you mention these countries to American, there faces take on a look of terror, I find it most amusing.

This is just a quickie, to say all is well and that me and the bike are safely on out way in America, the previous post has a lot more details of what I have been up to over the last month or so. Thanks for reading, Ciao.