Loving this. Starting to understand why Mr Sanders attracts some severe criticism on this forum 
PanAM blog
- Thread starter monkeyboy
- Start date
Loving this. Starting to understand why Mr Sanders attracts some severe criticism on this forum
It's difficult with Mr S. I've been all over the world with the bloke and although he often fu*ks me off to the max and beyond, his trips are never dull and you absolutely get your moneys worth and more. They're never easy though, you've got to be prepared to take a lot of responsibility for yourself, do some very big miles in any conditions you find, be 'flexible' about the standards of accommodation and most of all, really enjoy a challenge, then you'll have a ball. The organization is often chaotic and plans are always changing and that's often what pisses people off. If you like to follow a plan, be home in time for tea every day and not push your boundaries, including your patience, then don't go. If you want to get from A to B and you're uber flexible about the 'to' bit though then he's your man. Would I go with him again? Absolutely, without a second thought
I want to get some Nicaraguan gifts and we're only passing through for a day so I head for a local market in a nearby town. You take any turn off the main road and you take your life in your hands and hold it tight. We spin around and waste time before finally getting to the market behind a taxi. It's hot today, much much hotter than yesterday, much hotter than an ice cream can stand. It drips off the stick quicker than I can lick it. We get lost, again, but this time in the capital Managua. This place is the centre of the oven it seems. I lean down to undo my boots at some traffic lights and let some air in. As I lean down a puddle of water appears on the ground beneath my bike. Water is literally running out of my sleeve. I'm thinking of starting a magic act. 'Please welcome the incredible Human Tap. Watch him fill a bath with his bear hands'. It's much more than perspiration… it's irrigation… it's mental. Out of the capital, eventually, and onto the Pan American again. Nicaragua is really struggling to keep up with it's neighbours. There is rubbish absolutely everywhere with piles of discarded plastic littering even the most remote areas, in some places the stink is just rank. Nicaragua is capable of being a consumer but not yet a responsible disposer. The big American corporations don't care and will pump as much plastic as they can into these places without considering the consequences. As we head north the land flattens and big industrial sized fields appear. Grain and other crops are on the go here and there are big farms with modern machinery to handle the scale of this big operation. It's quite different from the south. It's nice up here and quite relaxed. The towns are friendly and the people look happier. It's not what I would call poverty, not in an Indian sort of way. I'd call it basic certainly but not anywhere near as bad as some of the places we've seen elsewhere on this trip.
Later we approach the border, I've been dreading this all day as after yesterday we all expect the worst. Rock up to the border and there are more fixers than people to be fixed. This is a much smaller border crossing it seems. The Pan American isn't any longer the main Nicaragua/Honduras crossing point and the whole place is empty. Out of Nicaragua in 20 minutes. 'What? No waiting? But I've bought books to read and I was planing to use the time to learn Cantonese'. Oh well, I'm sure the Honduras border will be a ball ache. 15 minutes for the passport, then 30 minutes and $29 for the bike and it's done. I had to win a staring contest with the policeman on the gate (ok ok it was just a piece of ratty string across the road) but we're out and I'm riding in another place I never imagined I'd come. I tell you, this world builder theory - it's cast iron, Honduras looks immediately different again. The mountains are different, the trees are different, even the road is different. The Pan American changes character frequently with the different builders that tend to it. Today it's wide, smooth and seriously seriously curvy. It's been made with a special superglue surface and it grips like a miser to a fiver. Honduras looks quite affluent on first impressions. Some big houses with ornate fences and walls. Lots of building, lovely old style colonial houses, ranches, lots of men in Stetson hats. The towns are still quite atmospheric in an "I'm going to kidnap and kill you" kind of a way. The hotel today is out of town and the meals are a 'what we have left in the cupboard' kind of deal.
It's a no border today, YIPEEEEE. We're crossing the length of Honduras to get near the Guatemala border for tomorrow. The road system in Honduras is an absolute mare, there are just no straight routes from A to B and you have to go a long way out of your way to get where you want. Looking at a map is a soul destroying experience as you look at the road route compared to an 'as the crow flies' line. God knows how it came to be this way. I start the day riding alone but it soon becomes apparent that a single rider is police bait. Groups of 3 or 4 riders get waved through the myriad police checkpoints but I keep getting stopped. 'Documents'. There you go mate, I doubt you understand any of those, especially my PowerGen bill, my kids school report and a proposal for a 2 level dwelling with garage and observation tower. He looks through the passport and finds the $3 receipt for the entry stamp. '$3', I stare, '$3', I stare…. '$3', I stare, I don't care, I just stare. He wants money, I want to go. He points again, I don't respond. He blinks first and hands the passport back and I'm off to hook up with some others to avoid all this. I get into a group with a few others. Petrol, go, no, puncture, bollocks. Tubed tyre too. We use my side stand to break the bead but it bends the stand back a bit - double bugger tits and arse! We get chatting to a local who thanks us for visiting Honduras. Nice bloke, very good english. He reckons Honduras is the poorest country in Central America but that the people are happy. It doesn't look as poor as parts of Nicaragua or even Argentina to me though. The place is full of American chains like Wendys, Pizza Hut etc. Lots of big 4x4s around too, no mobiles though. It sounds strange but people look odd without a phone pressed to their ear or walking along in a daze concentrating on texting at the expense of everything around them. Natural looks unnatural. It's super hot again today and when we stop I drink a bottle of orange, a big bottle of Gatorade and two pints of milk but I'm still thirsty and I've not peed all day. More mental roads in the afternoon though, big duel carriageways with the super sticky tarmac sticking like a carpet grips shit. I'm chasing a mate on a KTM and he's fast. I wouldn't usually chase him because he's too good but today the bike is like an angry dog on a short lead and wants to go. We're climbing in wide fast mountain roads. I get to the edge and suddenly over… A peg touches hard down at about 80 and the bike suddenly slews sideways towards the barrier. Autopilot gets jiggy again in a hurry, foot down, speedway style and looks into the bend and away from the beaconing barrier. The front catches again and we're around with only a brown stain and a graze to tell the tail. I don't learn my lesson though, idiot. On and on the chase goes. To be fair my mate is still probably only at 80% and I've got all my concentration allocated to the job. Out into the country again we go, still very green but not much activity here it seems, its just too hilly to farm round here. They should just close the roads and make money renting them to bikers. Someone has dropped another load of sharp and steep corners in the hills. If you imagine someone getting a tube of tarmac and just randomly squeezing it over some steep mountains then you have the picture. It's playtime again and I'm trying to keep up with the maniac on the orange bonkersmobile in front. Two more 'motorcycle meets tarmac' moments over the next 30 minutes and it's time to slow down before I go tarmac surfing and hurt myself. Garage, petrol, side stand down, CRUNCH. The stand has bent double and it pointing in the air. I guess I could use it to hang clothes on but that's about all its good for now. The stand is wrecked and I break it off and get going…going..going…STOP. I'm riding along with three others and the bike just stops dead as I ride. Shit - what now. Won't start…ummmmmm… no petrol pump noise…ummmmm I reach down and feel the stub of the remaining bit of the sidestand. Sure enough it's flipped down and cut the engine. One cable tie later and all is well again, phew! We're going to Copan Ruinas today, the site of some ancient Maya ruins. It's down a stretchy road it seems. The map shows it's close but the miles keep on and on coming and we're still not there yet. I'm convinced its a rouse by the map makers. WHERE THE FUCK IS THIS PLACE - SHOW ME NOW. Then the twists come back. I'm just not in the fucking mood for this now. The steam is coming out of my ears and misting up the visor, my nails have grown to talons, my eye teeth are sticking out the bottom of my helmet and if you handed me a mapmaker now I'd eat the bastard alive and spit his bones in the river. It's dark by the time we arrive, for a change. Another beautiful old town with massive cobbled streets and atmosphere overload from the old lights and buildings. Like a lot of things here though there is a dark side. This place attracts tourists and their associated parasites. Local police have warned us that muggers will put a gun to your head. They will let you keep your passport (that's jolly good of them!) but if you show any resistance AT ALL, then they WILL kill you. That's nice to know at least. You forget where you are sometimes and how different life can be in these places.
Out of Honduras in a flash. Guatemala entry is the usual disappointing ball ache/patience test. Fill in a form, take it to the bank and pay then take the form back to bloke No.1 to get your sticker and stamp. Once bloke No.1 sees a big group of us he says he's going to do all of them together. I was here first for a change, flippin typical. 2 hours later and we're fast and loose into Guatemala.
Initially it looks like a step back but it soon changes a few miles in. Lots of industry, lots of chain stores, lots of activity. The people seem to have a lot more to do here. The roads at first are a struggle with mountains and crawling trucks pushing off heat and fumes as they labour up and down. Single yellow lines become dares, two lines are double dares. The only way to make reasonable progress is to overtake at every half opportunity. Its super super hot today too. I picked up a stone at the side of the road and it melted and dripped between my fingers. I was wearing gloves, obviously, otherwise I would have burnt myself. Despite the heat and lack of clouds it looks like its snowing. I've seen this before, in Mexico when I was riding round the world a few years ago. Later it gets even thicker. We're riding through a butterfly blizzard. There are millions and millions of them in the air, like little yellow blossom, like someone has hit a giant yellow bush, amazing. Get to Guatemala City and its the usual random signage arrangement. Guess, guess and guess again, ask, get lost then ask again. A helpful biker leads us out to the right road and we're back on the Pan American again. Now, you, stop what you're doing right now. Make a few sandwiches, grab a flask of tea, go out to the garage and sit on your bike. Now get your significant other, husband/wife, lover, other-half (or if you're in certain isolated parts of America, your 'brother-half') to wrap you and your bike in bubble wrap. Now carefully roll yourself into the biggest fuck off jiffy bag and get to the post office. Remember to jump when the bag is put on the scales, otherwise it will cost you a fortune. Post if to Guatemala City, sit back and relax. This section of the Pan American is very very special indeed. Today its really giving us all a special treat. This section has 90 miles of the finest quality, smooth Belgian dark tarmac expertly moulded and spread over curvaceous mountains up and over 10000ft with every single inch graciously blessed by 'Aralditie', the gorgeous Guatemalan goddess of grip. Think of the grace of a speed skater and imagine the skate drawing a road. Race circuits the world over employ designers and engineers to try and simulate the ultimate riding experience but mother nature always wins hands down. A road of real distinction. A graceful, beautiful, thrilling ribbon of road. The fact that it weaves through the most spectacular scenery consisting of mountains and volcanoes aplenty, and the fact that the sun is slowly dropping and backlighting the clouds, the fact that the heat of the day has given way to cool air that channels over you like a cool flannel, everything combines perfectly to create a really emotional journey. The last few miles are covered with the accompaniment of a spectacular evening light show as big orange cloud bombs explode all around the volcanoes before suddenly turning the lights off and plunging us into darkness. We head into Quezaltenango and feel our way through in the gloom. You feel like you're being watched by the mountains, their cooling presence is all around and its quite reassuring. Get to the hotel and its a beautiful old place with a feeling of indestructibility. Made of thick stone walls clad in lovely paintings with little cosy rooms off in all directions. Get on the net for the first time in ages and find Spurs have beaten Man City and are in the Champions League. The perfect end to a perfect day.
Later we approach the border, I've been dreading this all day as after yesterday we all expect the worst. Rock up to the border and there are more fixers than people to be fixed. This is a much smaller border crossing it seems. The Pan American isn't any longer the main Nicaragua/Honduras crossing point and the whole place is empty. Out of Nicaragua in 20 minutes. 'What? No waiting? But I've bought books to read and I was planing to use the time to learn Cantonese'. Oh well, I'm sure the Honduras border will be a ball ache. 15 minutes for the passport, then 30 minutes and $29 for the bike and it's done. I had to win a staring contest with the policeman on the gate (ok ok it was just a piece of ratty string across the road) but we're out and I'm riding in another place I never imagined I'd come. I tell you, this world builder theory - it's cast iron, Honduras looks immediately different again. The mountains are different, the trees are different, even the road is different. The Pan American changes character frequently with the different builders that tend to it. Today it's wide, smooth and seriously seriously curvy. It's been made with a special superglue surface and it grips like a miser to a fiver. Honduras looks quite affluent on first impressions. Some big houses with ornate fences and walls. Lots of building, lovely old style colonial houses, ranches, lots of men in Stetson hats. The towns are still quite atmospheric in an "I'm going to kidnap and kill you" kind of a way. The hotel today is out of town and the meals are a 'what we have left in the cupboard' kind of deal.
It's a no border today, YIPEEEEE. We're crossing the length of Honduras to get near the Guatemala border for tomorrow. The road system in Honduras is an absolute mare, there are just no straight routes from A to B and you have to go a long way out of your way to get where you want. Looking at a map is a soul destroying experience as you look at the road route compared to an 'as the crow flies' line. God knows how it came to be this way. I start the day riding alone but it soon becomes apparent that a single rider is police bait. Groups of 3 or 4 riders get waved through the myriad police checkpoints but I keep getting stopped. 'Documents'. There you go mate, I doubt you understand any of those, especially my PowerGen bill, my kids school report and a proposal for a 2 level dwelling with garage and observation tower. He looks through the passport and finds the $3 receipt for the entry stamp. '$3', I stare, '$3', I stare…. '$3', I stare, I don't care, I just stare. He wants money, I want to go. He points again, I don't respond. He blinks first and hands the passport back and I'm off to hook up with some others to avoid all this. I get into a group with a few others. Petrol, go, no, puncture, bollocks. Tubed tyre too. We use my side stand to break the bead but it bends the stand back a bit - double bugger tits and arse! We get chatting to a local who thanks us for visiting Honduras. Nice bloke, very good english. He reckons Honduras is the poorest country in Central America but that the people are happy. It doesn't look as poor as parts of Nicaragua or even Argentina to me though. The place is full of American chains like Wendys, Pizza Hut etc. Lots of big 4x4s around too, no mobiles though. It sounds strange but people look odd without a phone pressed to their ear or walking along in a daze concentrating on texting at the expense of everything around them. Natural looks unnatural. It's super hot again today and when we stop I drink a bottle of orange, a big bottle of Gatorade and two pints of milk but I'm still thirsty and I've not peed all day. More mental roads in the afternoon though, big duel carriageways with the super sticky tarmac sticking like a carpet grips shit. I'm chasing a mate on a KTM and he's fast. I wouldn't usually chase him because he's too good but today the bike is like an angry dog on a short lead and wants to go. We're climbing in wide fast mountain roads. I get to the edge and suddenly over… A peg touches hard down at about 80 and the bike suddenly slews sideways towards the barrier. Autopilot gets jiggy again in a hurry, foot down, speedway style and looks into the bend and away from the beaconing barrier. The front catches again and we're around with only a brown stain and a graze to tell the tail. I don't learn my lesson though, idiot. On and on the chase goes. To be fair my mate is still probably only at 80% and I've got all my concentration allocated to the job. Out into the country again we go, still very green but not much activity here it seems, its just too hilly to farm round here. They should just close the roads and make money renting them to bikers. Someone has dropped another load of sharp and steep corners in the hills. If you imagine someone getting a tube of tarmac and just randomly squeezing it over some steep mountains then you have the picture. It's playtime again and I'm trying to keep up with the maniac on the orange bonkersmobile in front. Two more 'motorcycle meets tarmac' moments over the next 30 minutes and it's time to slow down before I go tarmac surfing and hurt myself. Garage, petrol, side stand down, CRUNCH. The stand has bent double and it pointing in the air. I guess I could use it to hang clothes on but that's about all its good for now. The stand is wrecked and I break it off and get going…going..going…STOP. I'm riding along with three others and the bike just stops dead as I ride. Shit - what now. Won't start…ummmmmm… no petrol pump noise…ummmmm I reach down and feel the stub of the remaining bit of the sidestand. Sure enough it's flipped down and cut the engine. One cable tie later and all is well again, phew! We're going to Copan Ruinas today, the site of some ancient Maya ruins. It's down a stretchy road it seems. The map shows it's close but the miles keep on and on coming and we're still not there yet. I'm convinced its a rouse by the map makers. WHERE THE FUCK IS THIS PLACE - SHOW ME NOW. Then the twists come back. I'm just not in the fucking mood for this now. The steam is coming out of my ears and misting up the visor, my nails have grown to talons, my eye teeth are sticking out the bottom of my helmet and if you handed me a mapmaker now I'd eat the bastard alive and spit his bones in the river. It's dark by the time we arrive, for a change. Another beautiful old town with massive cobbled streets and atmosphere overload from the old lights and buildings. Like a lot of things here though there is a dark side. This place attracts tourists and their associated parasites. Local police have warned us that muggers will put a gun to your head. They will let you keep your passport (that's jolly good of them!) but if you show any resistance AT ALL, then they WILL kill you. That's nice to know at least. You forget where you are sometimes and how different life can be in these places.
Out of Honduras in a flash. Guatemala entry is the usual disappointing ball ache/patience test. Fill in a form, take it to the bank and pay then take the form back to bloke No.1 to get your sticker and stamp. Once bloke No.1 sees a big group of us he says he's going to do all of them together. I was here first for a change, flippin typical. 2 hours later and we're fast and loose into Guatemala.
Initially it looks like a step back but it soon changes a few miles in. Lots of industry, lots of chain stores, lots of activity. The people seem to have a lot more to do here. The roads at first are a struggle with mountains and crawling trucks pushing off heat and fumes as they labour up and down. Single yellow lines become dares, two lines are double dares. The only way to make reasonable progress is to overtake at every half opportunity. Its super super hot today too. I picked up a stone at the side of the road and it melted and dripped between my fingers. I was wearing gloves, obviously, otherwise I would have burnt myself. Despite the heat and lack of clouds it looks like its snowing. I've seen this before, in Mexico when I was riding round the world a few years ago. Later it gets even thicker. We're riding through a butterfly blizzard. There are millions and millions of them in the air, like little yellow blossom, like someone has hit a giant yellow bush, amazing. Get to Guatemala City and its the usual random signage arrangement. Guess, guess and guess again, ask, get lost then ask again. A helpful biker leads us out to the right road and we're back on the Pan American again. Now, you, stop what you're doing right now. Make a few sandwiches, grab a flask of tea, go out to the garage and sit on your bike. Now get your significant other, husband/wife, lover, other-half (or if you're in certain isolated parts of America, your 'brother-half') to wrap you and your bike in bubble wrap. Now carefully roll yourself into the biggest fuck off jiffy bag and get to the post office. Remember to jump when the bag is put on the scales, otherwise it will cost you a fortune. Post if to Guatemala City, sit back and relax. This section of the Pan American is very very special indeed. Today its really giving us all a special treat. This section has 90 miles of the finest quality, smooth Belgian dark tarmac expertly moulded and spread over curvaceous mountains up and over 10000ft with every single inch graciously blessed by 'Aralditie', the gorgeous Guatemalan goddess of grip. Think of the grace of a speed skater and imagine the skate drawing a road. Race circuits the world over employ designers and engineers to try and simulate the ultimate riding experience but mother nature always wins hands down. A road of real distinction. A graceful, beautiful, thrilling ribbon of road. The fact that it weaves through the most spectacular scenery consisting of mountains and volcanoes aplenty, and the fact that the sun is slowly dropping and backlighting the clouds, the fact that the heat of the day has given way to cool air that channels over you like a cool flannel, everything combines perfectly to create a really emotional journey. The last few miles are covered with the accompaniment of a spectacular evening light show as big orange cloud bombs explode all around the volcanoes before suddenly turning the lights off and plunging us into darkness. We head into Quezaltenango and feel our way through in the gloom. You feel like you're being watched by the mountains, their cooling presence is all around and its quite reassuring. Get to the hotel and its a beautiful old place with a feeling of indestructibility. Made of thick stone walls clad in lovely paintings with little cosy rooms off in all directions. Get on the net for the first time in ages and find Spurs have beaten Man City and are in the Champions League. The perfect end to a perfect day.
I should have known…. Countries typically have a "can't be arced" attitude to the areas close to their borders. Why waste time and money on things like the roads, signs and towns out here? Why encourage the people to live close to their richer neighbors? Take the road to the border, it looks a short and easy route on the map, looks quite straight too. Fact is, the cartographers couldn't be bothered to put all the twists and turns in because there are just too many. Tarmac quickly turns to 'tar-kak' too. All the signposts have been removed and smelted down and the towns are on big turntables so as soon as you go in it's entirely possible for you to pop out at exactly the same place. It's all just completely random and it makes the journey a long, hot and very frustrating ride to the border. We get out of Guatemala fine, now into Mexico. I know from previous experience what a compete ball ache this can be. First, fumigate the bike. My bike smells sweeter than I do it's been fumigated so often. There is a bit of a 'mix-up' with getting the fumigation ticket. I come very close to deleting a Mexi'cant' before being pushed out his office and having the door shut in my face. I think they carefully select the problem kids at school then nurture and encourage their skills before employing them all as border guards. What a complete bunch of tossers. One thing they can't do though is maths. I gave them 50 pesos and he gives me 30 change. 'A slight argument' ensues when he wont give me my ticket then he throws a strop, shoves me out the office and gives me my 50 pesos back. If I did that move about 10000 times I could pay for my holiday. Eventually we get some tickets and go to immigration. You have to pay 250 Pesos to enter Mexico and the others in our group all pay as they reach the passport window. For some unknown reason, maybe to do with the fact that the young computer operating tartlet riding shotgun to the head hombre with the stamper had just started attending to her fingernails, declined to take our money and decided instead to give us a ticket to pay the 260 pesos at a local bank. Yep, thanks, excellent, cheers mate, and may you knob drop off in your hand next time you shake it, git.
I loose the ticket before I even leave the office, fantastico, welcome to Mexico. There are approximately 250,765 border crossing points within 2 miles of each other down here so they all share one common customs post for vehicle imports instead of having one at each crossing. We're told it's 20 minutes from here and hidden in a maze just to make life interesting. There are no signs, no directions, no fucking sense at all. We eventually find the place and find ourselves at the back of a long queue. We wait…. time passes… (2 hours later) … we wait some more… We've lost an hour because of the time zone change and it's getting late. We've got a long way to go tonight. I'm doing the human tap thing again. I take off my jacket and put it over the bike….water continues to drip from the sleeves for a good 5 minutes. Someone makes the big mistake of buying a local map. 470km to our destination from here. The sky has opened, its absolutely shitting down and the sun is getting ready for it's bed. Its now 5pm local and we start a nightmare wet, sweaty, dark and dangerous journey to a small town way up the coast. You sometimes get to a stage where you just forget you're on a bike, forget the danger, forget what's real. These lights heading towards you illuminating every raindrop an inch in front of your eyes, that's a 40 tonne lorry so you'd better get back on your side of the road. That sensation of slipping and sliding, that blur of concrete just to the left of your knee, that loose gravel on the corner, they just seem to be images in a dream, nothing to worry about. You can just open your eyes if something bad happens and you'll be laying in a nice warm bed. That's most likely to be a warm comfy hospital bed at this stage. When you get to this stage you have to make a huge effort to drag your consciousness back into focus and actually process the information rather than just observe as if from afar. We stop, late. There was a sign miles ago, it read 'NoWhere'. I think we've about reached the middle. Unending dark extends in all directions. It feels like we're in an unmapped part of the world, off the edge of the maps, an area that is still under planet construction. Someone decides that now would be a great time to fiddle with his headlight adjuster… and break it. You just couldn't make it up. Middle of the night, middle of nowhere, we have the good fortune to be in the company of a mechanical gorilla with a uncontrollable fiddle fetish. The feeling is quite hard to describe. I look at him, I breath out, I'm really finding it hard to be bothered to breath back in. Kill me now. The bloke embarks on a 30 minute swearathon barely punctuated by any non profanities as the rest of us tell him its ok and to just get on with it while all our other faces are thinking what a dick he's making of himself and that perhaps if we all promise not to say anything we could just kill him and do the world a favor. We eventually get going again and follow the thin black line that leads us north. What a fucking stupid ride. At this moment, at home and around the world everyone is carrying on life as normal, nobody knows you're riding in ridiculously dangerous conditions whilst only 10% awake and perilously close to just letting go of the bars and letting fate decide how the day ends. We eventually arrive at dive central after midnight, soaking wet, no food, shit hotel. All good in the hood.
I wake up and hear other riders leaving about 6am. Such is the chaotic organisation we often don't know the day's destination until we've got our kit on and we're ready to go. It's like some sort of weird treasure hunt or something. Turns out we're off to somewhere near Mexico City today, about 500 miles is the guesstimate. We head out and immediately get ourselves on the wrong road. The signposting is completely shite and it is virtually impossible to get a map, the one someone bought yesterday is the only one in the country it seems. I found this last time I came here (so I really should have bought one with me shouldn't I!). None of the petrol stations sell maps, its just plain weird. We get onto the wrong road - tits. Lots of the roads have the same number (except for some have a tiny D underneath to distinguish them), anyway, it's generally a frigging nightmare unless you're on the autopista. We were looking for the 190 but got on the wrong version. As luck would have it, the road from Santa Cruz is one of the finest biking roads known to man. It's amazing. It's in my top 3 ever certainly. 90 miles and a million smiles. Etched on the side of the mountains again this road has HUGE positive cambers at every turn and it throws you from one corner to the next like brilliant black bobsleigh run, its a non stop thrill ride. Flick flacks, up downs and loads of arounds. As a motorcyclist you have to get used to looking a long way ahead of you on a road like this and letting your brain ride over road that your eyes saw and processed some seconds before. I know that is the same in cars but for bikes on switchbacks like this you will often be looking way over your shoulder and a long way up the road, like driving the car while looking at something on the rear parcel shelf. Difference on a bike is that there are no metal pillars, no passenger seats, no windows, nothing to fill or obstruct your vision, nothing at all. Your hands and feet operate the controls as you lean hard over and trust. You can feel it all happening beneath you as suspension try to control a huge lump of hot metal and flesh on two credit card sized bits of rubber. Its a weird, exciting, exhilarating balancing act as you thread the beast from one corner to the next without ever seeing anything of the machinery thats making it all possible. It really is like flying very fast and very low. This is a gold star road with distinction. If I could I'd give it a Blue Peter badge. We've had some fun but now we're late again and the only way from here has to be the autopista.
The autopista are the only way to average reasonable speeds in Mexico but their tolls make this a very expensive option, a very very expensive option. The tolls are way more expensive than the petrol. We were only on them for the afternoon today but they still cost $25 as the bikes get charged the same as cars. Off we chase to Mexico city. The autopista IS a fantastic piece of engineering on a huge scale. 100s of miles of big roads are carved through copper coloured rock,or pink, or red, or brown or any one of mother natures palette. Regardless of the terrain, the road goes through, smooth and easy, mountains, plains, valleys, anything. As you approach Mexico City the road begins to climb in huge constant radius bends to reduce the gradient and give the trucks a chance to make the climb to the capital. The city is at about 8000ft and it's a constant 80mph corner fest. You arrive quite suddenly on the main city and our road climbs above the mayhem below on a huge overpass giving us a chance to see the sea of static metal that is the Mexico City gridlock. There is suddenly a split in the autopista…left or right… decide now… sun in our eyes… no signs..errrrr…… too late and I take the left fork. The left fork is WRONG. The road descends into the melee and its time for road wars again. We've no idea where we are so I just follow the sun. Two hours, no real progress. They don't have a rush hour here, they have a quiet hour, once a year, at 3 in the morning, the rest of the time its chaos. The traffic is expertly packed into the space with every car looking like its towing the one in front using a 2 inch towrope. Driving in this city is an experience like no other. Its dark, we're lost, there are no signs and the engines are struggling. Mine comes within one bar of self destruction and that's with tuning off every time we stop. Should I navigate by the stars, get some divining rods, follow my nose, what. We keep asking but it turns out there are about 50 places called the same name round here and fingers point us in all different directions. About 3 hours, yes that's 3 hours after making the wrong turn we eventually get back onto the right autopista and head out of the city. Its now pitch dark, cold and quiet. We're cruising at speed, round a big long bend and suddenly the night is transformed. You know those rides in Disneyland when you sit in a little cart and go through cool dark tunnels then suddenly appear in huge rooms filled with scenery and light? That's the effect I saw as I came round the corner. I can't explain it. It must be in the shadow of a mountain or something as suddenly there are skyscrapers filling the night and a big commercial district below the road with big squares, restaurants and green areas teeming with bodies. The whole scene is rendered in a thin evening mist that glows with the lights of the buildings. It all looks just magical then as quickly as it appeared it just disappears again and we're back in the dark, alone with the sound of the engines and the wind. Even after all the nightmare of the city, the hours of frustration and sweating, the chaos and the feeling of helplessness, it was all worth it for that 20 second memory of the city appearing out of the darkness, it was beautiful. Get near to the hotel and ask a bored policeman who decides to escort us, complete with lights and siren, to the destination. Arrive at about 10:30 and we're the first here. Hardly anyone else makes it tonight, most just find somewhere near to wherever they got lost in the city.
More autopista, more pista off. Lots more money, heat and toil today. When you only need to cover 300 miles you have time to stop and take pictures, look at the local life in a little more detail, enjoy. when you move up to 500 then it mostly goes out the window and it's just the miles that matter, nothing else. Add the poor signage and an R1 that drinks more water than fuel and the day becomes a real trial. No photos, no time. I don't enjoy days like this when its just tolls and tarmac all day long. $70 in tolls alone today. I just want out of Mexico at the moment. I know there are some beautiful places here but they're not where we're going at the moment.
If a picture pains a thousand words then I need to write a few million to cover all the pictures I've missed on this trip. Today it's a 550 mile ride and there is no time to stop and stare. Its a shame but that's the way it goes sometimes. I've taken virtually no pictures in Mexico and I'm not happy about it. If any of you want to climb inside my head and take a tour of my mental gallery then feel free and take your time. This whole trip is now about getting to Alaska. We're a very very long way away and we've not got much time. The mileages are going to get stupid I'm sure and I just don't know how its going to end. It's taking up a lot of my day just trying to make a plan to get there and then across to New York. It's not going to be easy. We're out early today to try and make some miles before the heat comes in. Luckily for us they're having a heatwave. It's nearly 40 degrees in the shade but I'm dressed like a gimp in full black leather and a black helmet. Solar Panels 'R' me. The autopista in the morning runs close to the coast and there is a sea breeze to take my sweat away. Tolls, Tolls and more tolls. One of them is $10 alone. It's costing about $100 a day in fuel and tolls alone, fucking ridiculous. Chase, chase and chase the tarmac north. Mile pass slowly as 5 bikes take time at the tolls and fuel stations. After lunch the scenery changes completely. the land flattens out and there are miles and miles and miles of corn as far as the eye can see. I reckon we've wandered into 'Maizeico' by mistake. All the horizons are golden with the crop swaying in the breeze. Whatever crop it is there is absolutely shit loads of it. We manage to get to the hotel in daylight for a change and find we've gained another hour on the clocks - result!
Last day in Mexico today. I've really seen nothing of it this time though. All I've seen is road, toll booths and petrol stations with all the scenery far away on the horizon. 2000 miles of hot toil, just 4 average days on this tour. Mexico is so big though, the scale is a bit like America. It's HUGE plains today, never ending straight roads joined to the horizon and beyond. Loads of police about today too. They all cruise around in their pursuit weapon of choice, the Ford Mustang. It feels like I'm in GTA and I've got a 2 star wanted level, the buggers are everywhere. The only thing to break the tedium today is when one of our group runs into the back of another at a toll booth. Road, road and more road. I saw a bloke at a junction, he had round cages the size of beach balls and they all had big parrots in. We've seen all sorts of wildlife for sale on this trip. In Nicaragua we saw kids with parakeets tethered to sticks, and huge iguanas too, all being held up by their tails and up for sale to make a few pennies. Sad really. As I head towards the magnetic pull of the USA I see more and more change. The south of Mexico is proper Mexican and It seems to a real identity. As we get further north a lot of the usual north American suspects have a big corporate presence with fast food and chain stores that the Yank free south is still without. The American culture cancer is more and more evident with every mile we ride. Apparently the Mexicans are getting more obese than their neighbours. They're adopting the culture with such enthusiasm that they're loosing their native culture hand over fist. It's sad to see but I guess the whole world will end up looking like just another American state in the end.
We've stopped at a petrol station not too far from the border and as I get off the bike my bowel sends the emergency signal to my brain. Eruption approaching, countdown started, poo due. I hate using bogs at petrol stations but there is no choice and I head round three back to see what awaits. The toilet is a work in progress. A work of destruction in progress. Two stalls, only 1 has a door. The stall seems to have been designed for an infant too, it's tiny. Pressure is reaching launch level, go in, trousers down, shut the door… lock….. lock… where is the lock? The lock is probably still in a builders merchants somewhere and never made it to this toilet. So, I'm in a tiny cubicle and I've got the door shut with my fingers. My boots are sticking out under the door because the stall is so small. Then I hear voices, loud drawling American voices. The pressure wave breaks and I'm a Mr Whippy machine with the lever stuck down producing a constant stream of cappuccino ice cream. All the flies in Mexico smell food and are buzzing me like the planes round King Kong. Now you might think the fact that there are some motorcycle boots sticking out under the door plus the noise of a million flies together with the smell of a one man sewage plant would indicate that the stall was in use wouldn't you? Well, apparently not. Not if you're a stupid fucking witless American twat with a Tweedle dee figure (and dress sense) and the brain capacity of a carrot. Mr Twat just pulls the door right open and stares. I hope he has nightmares, idiot.
We head into the border town. They're always shoddy and this is no exception. We follow roads and just keep hitting the huge fence and nomansland that holds back the human flood waiting to burst in to the states. There are no signs anywhere so we follow the fence and find ourselves at the back of a huge queue of cars and trucks. We filter to the front - not a popular move - only to discover this is the USA border, bollocks. The Mexican border post is the other side of a huge fence and is either a) a long way round an unknown road system or b) the wrong way down a one way road then through some pedestrian access. Make that pedestrian and motorcycle access. Through we go and get ourselves out of Mexico. Option 1 from here is go round and to the back of the queue. Option two is to go back through the pedestrian access and push back in at the front. There clearly is no option. Maybe the USA border guards have been watching us as when we get through the barriers we have to sit and wait for about 30 minutes to get our passports stamped at some random office. Super Dumb and incredibly even dumber are on the desk and between them I don't think they have the ability to operate a propelling pencil, let alone a computer. How the hell America got where it is I have no idea. I think it imports the clever people from elsewhere. We get to the hotel, nice old place I've stayed before. 'Hi, I'm Elephantitia. welcome to the Gladstone'. How is it that someone thinks wearing distinctive brown contact lenses like polished Maltesers will distract your eyes from the fact that looks like someone has pulled the collar of her shirt and poured in 200 gallons of chubberrubber? She looks like a snowman in drag. One little ball on top of a huge one. She offers to show meet my room but it's on the 2nd floor and I fear for the building if she moves more than 1 foot above ground level. This hotel is old by American standards, 1930s maybe. It's a really nice place though, apparently haunted. I wonder if the ghosts are fat too?
I loose the ticket before I even leave the office, fantastico, welcome to Mexico. There are approximately 250,765 border crossing points within 2 miles of each other down here so they all share one common customs post for vehicle imports instead of having one at each crossing. We're told it's 20 minutes from here and hidden in a maze just to make life interesting. There are no signs, no directions, no fucking sense at all. We eventually find the place and find ourselves at the back of a long queue. We wait…. time passes… (2 hours later) … we wait some more… We've lost an hour because of the time zone change and it's getting late. We've got a long way to go tonight. I'm doing the human tap thing again. I take off my jacket and put it over the bike….water continues to drip from the sleeves for a good 5 minutes. Someone makes the big mistake of buying a local map. 470km to our destination from here. The sky has opened, its absolutely shitting down and the sun is getting ready for it's bed. Its now 5pm local and we start a nightmare wet, sweaty, dark and dangerous journey to a small town way up the coast. You sometimes get to a stage where you just forget you're on a bike, forget the danger, forget what's real. These lights heading towards you illuminating every raindrop an inch in front of your eyes, that's a 40 tonne lorry so you'd better get back on your side of the road. That sensation of slipping and sliding, that blur of concrete just to the left of your knee, that loose gravel on the corner, they just seem to be images in a dream, nothing to worry about. You can just open your eyes if something bad happens and you'll be laying in a nice warm bed. That's most likely to be a warm comfy hospital bed at this stage. When you get to this stage you have to make a huge effort to drag your consciousness back into focus and actually process the information rather than just observe as if from afar. We stop, late. There was a sign miles ago, it read 'NoWhere'. I think we've about reached the middle. Unending dark extends in all directions. It feels like we're in an unmapped part of the world, off the edge of the maps, an area that is still under planet construction. Someone decides that now would be a great time to fiddle with his headlight adjuster… and break it. You just couldn't make it up. Middle of the night, middle of nowhere, we have the good fortune to be in the company of a mechanical gorilla with a uncontrollable fiddle fetish. The feeling is quite hard to describe. I look at him, I breath out, I'm really finding it hard to be bothered to breath back in. Kill me now. The bloke embarks on a 30 minute swearathon barely punctuated by any non profanities as the rest of us tell him its ok and to just get on with it while all our other faces are thinking what a dick he's making of himself and that perhaps if we all promise not to say anything we could just kill him and do the world a favor. We eventually get going again and follow the thin black line that leads us north. What a fucking stupid ride. At this moment, at home and around the world everyone is carrying on life as normal, nobody knows you're riding in ridiculously dangerous conditions whilst only 10% awake and perilously close to just letting go of the bars and letting fate decide how the day ends. We eventually arrive at dive central after midnight, soaking wet, no food, shit hotel. All good in the hood.
I wake up and hear other riders leaving about 6am. Such is the chaotic organisation we often don't know the day's destination until we've got our kit on and we're ready to go. It's like some sort of weird treasure hunt or something. Turns out we're off to somewhere near Mexico City today, about 500 miles is the guesstimate. We head out and immediately get ourselves on the wrong road. The signposting is completely shite and it is virtually impossible to get a map, the one someone bought yesterday is the only one in the country it seems. I found this last time I came here (so I really should have bought one with me shouldn't I!). None of the petrol stations sell maps, its just plain weird. We get onto the wrong road - tits. Lots of the roads have the same number (except for some have a tiny D underneath to distinguish them), anyway, it's generally a frigging nightmare unless you're on the autopista. We were looking for the 190 but got on the wrong version. As luck would have it, the road from Santa Cruz is one of the finest biking roads known to man. It's amazing. It's in my top 3 ever certainly. 90 miles and a million smiles. Etched on the side of the mountains again this road has HUGE positive cambers at every turn and it throws you from one corner to the next like brilliant black bobsleigh run, its a non stop thrill ride. Flick flacks, up downs and loads of arounds. As a motorcyclist you have to get used to looking a long way ahead of you on a road like this and letting your brain ride over road that your eyes saw and processed some seconds before. I know that is the same in cars but for bikes on switchbacks like this you will often be looking way over your shoulder and a long way up the road, like driving the car while looking at something on the rear parcel shelf. Difference on a bike is that there are no metal pillars, no passenger seats, no windows, nothing to fill or obstruct your vision, nothing at all. Your hands and feet operate the controls as you lean hard over and trust. You can feel it all happening beneath you as suspension try to control a huge lump of hot metal and flesh on two credit card sized bits of rubber. Its a weird, exciting, exhilarating balancing act as you thread the beast from one corner to the next without ever seeing anything of the machinery thats making it all possible. It really is like flying very fast and very low. This is a gold star road with distinction. If I could I'd give it a Blue Peter badge. We've had some fun but now we're late again and the only way from here has to be the autopista.
The autopista are the only way to average reasonable speeds in Mexico but their tolls make this a very expensive option, a very very expensive option. The tolls are way more expensive than the petrol. We were only on them for the afternoon today but they still cost $25 as the bikes get charged the same as cars. Off we chase to Mexico city. The autopista IS a fantastic piece of engineering on a huge scale. 100s of miles of big roads are carved through copper coloured rock,or pink, or red, or brown or any one of mother natures palette. Regardless of the terrain, the road goes through, smooth and easy, mountains, plains, valleys, anything. As you approach Mexico City the road begins to climb in huge constant radius bends to reduce the gradient and give the trucks a chance to make the climb to the capital. The city is at about 8000ft and it's a constant 80mph corner fest. You arrive quite suddenly on the main city and our road climbs above the mayhem below on a huge overpass giving us a chance to see the sea of static metal that is the Mexico City gridlock. There is suddenly a split in the autopista…left or right… decide now… sun in our eyes… no signs..errrrr…… too late and I take the left fork. The left fork is WRONG. The road descends into the melee and its time for road wars again. We've no idea where we are so I just follow the sun. Two hours, no real progress. They don't have a rush hour here, they have a quiet hour, once a year, at 3 in the morning, the rest of the time its chaos. The traffic is expertly packed into the space with every car looking like its towing the one in front using a 2 inch towrope. Driving in this city is an experience like no other. Its dark, we're lost, there are no signs and the engines are struggling. Mine comes within one bar of self destruction and that's with tuning off every time we stop. Should I navigate by the stars, get some divining rods, follow my nose, what. We keep asking but it turns out there are about 50 places called the same name round here and fingers point us in all different directions. About 3 hours, yes that's 3 hours after making the wrong turn we eventually get back onto the right autopista and head out of the city. Its now pitch dark, cold and quiet. We're cruising at speed, round a big long bend and suddenly the night is transformed. You know those rides in Disneyland when you sit in a little cart and go through cool dark tunnels then suddenly appear in huge rooms filled with scenery and light? That's the effect I saw as I came round the corner. I can't explain it. It must be in the shadow of a mountain or something as suddenly there are skyscrapers filling the night and a big commercial district below the road with big squares, restaurants and green areas teeming with bodies. The whole scene is rendered in a thin evening mist that glows with the lights of the buildings. It all looks just magical then as quickly as it appeared it just disappears again and we're back in the dark, alone with the sound of the engines and the wind. Even after all the nightmare of the city, the hours of frustration and sweating, the chaos and the feeling of helplessness, it was all worth it for that 20 second memory of the city appearing out of the darkness, it was beautiful. Get near to the hotel and ask a bored policeman who decides to escort us, complete with lights and siren, to the destination. Arrive at about 10:30 and we're the first here. Hardly anyone else makes it tonight, most just find somewhere near to wherever they got lost in the city.
More autopista, more pista off. Lots more money, heat and toil today. When you only need to cover 300 miles you have time to stop and take pictures, look at the local life in a little more detail, enjoy. when you move up to 500 then it mostly goes out the window and it's just the miles that matter, nothing else. Add the poor signage and an R1 that drinks more water than fuel and the day becomes a real trial. No photos, no time. I don't enjoy days like this when its just tolls and tarmac all day long. $70 in tolls alone today. I just want out of Mexico at the moment. I know there are some beautiful places here but they're not where we're going at the moment.
If a picture pains a thousand words then I need to write a few million to cover all the pictures I've missed on this trip. Today it's a 550 mile ride and there is no time to stop and stare. Its a shame but that's the way it goes sometimes. I've taken virtually no pictures in Mexico and I'm not happy about it. If any of you want to climb inside my head and take a tour of my mental gallery then feel free and take your time. This whole trip is now about getting to Alaska. We're a very very long way away and we've not got much time. The mileages are going to get stupid I'm sure and I just don't know how its going to end. It's taking up a lot of my day just trying to make a plan to get there and then across to New York. It's not going to be easy. We're out early today to try and make some miles before the heat comes in. Luckily for us they're having a heatwave. It's nearly 40 degrees in the shade but I'm dressed like a gimp in full black leather and a black helmet. Solar Panels 'R' me. The autopista in the morning runs close to the coast and there is a sea breeze to take my sweat away. Tolls, Tolls and more tolls. One of them is $10 alone. It's costing about $100 a day in fuel and tolls alone, fucking ridiculous. Chase, chase and chase the tarmac north. Mile pass slowly as 5 bikes take time at the tolls and fuel stations. After lunch the scenery changes completely. the land flattens out and there are miles and miles and miles of corn as far as the eye can see. I reckon we've wandered into 'Maizeico' by mistake. All the horizons are golden with the crop swaying in the breeze. Whatever crop it is there is absolutely shit loads of it. We manage to get to the hotel in daylight for a change and find we've gained another hour on the clocks - result!
Last day in Mexico today. I've really seen nothing of it this time though. All I've seen is road, toll booths and petrol stations with all the scenery far away on the horizon. 2000 miles of hot toil, just 4 average days on this tour. Mexico is so big though, the scale is a bit like America. It's HUGE plains today, never ending straight roads joined to the horizon and beyond. Loads of police about today too. They all cruise around in their pursuit weapon of choice, the Ford Mustang. It feels like I'm in GTA and I've got a 2 star wanted level, the buggers are everywhere. The only thing to break the tedium today is when one of our group runs into the back of another at a toll booth. Road, road and more road. I saw a bloke at a junction, he had round cages the size of beach balls and they all had big parrots in. We've seen all sorts of wildlife for sale on this trip. In Nicaragua we saw kids with parakeets tethered to sticks, and huge iguanas too, all being held up by their tails and up for sale to make a few pennies. Sad really. As I head towards the magnetic pull of the USA I see more and more change. The south of Mexico is proper Mexican and It seems to a real identity. As we get further north a lot of the usual north American suspects have a big corporate presence with fast food and chain stores that the Yank free south is still without. The American culture cancer is more and more evident with every mile we ride. Apparently the Mexicans are getting more obese than their neighbours. They're adopting the culture with such enthusiasm that they're loosing their native culture hand over fist. It's sad to see but I guess the whole world will end up looking like just another American state in the end.
We've stopped at a petrol station not too far from the border and as I get off the bike my bowel sends the emergency signal to my brain. Eruption approaching, countdown started, poo due. I hate using bogs at petrol stations but there is no choice and I head round three back to see what awaits. The toilet is a work in progress. A work of destruction in progress. Two stalls, only 1 has a door. The stall seems to have been designed for an infant too, it's tiny. Pressure is reaching launch level, go in, trousers down, shut the door… lock….. lock… where is the lock? The lock is probably still in a builders merchants somewhere and never made it to this toilet. So, I'm in a tiny cubicle and I've got the door shut with my fingers. My boots are sticking out under the door because the stall is so small. Then I hear voices, loud drawling American voices. The pressure wave breaks and I'm a Mr Whippy machine with the lever stuck down producing a constant stream of cappuccino ice cream. All the flies in Mexico smell food and are buzzing me like the planes round King Kong. Now you might think the fact that there are some motorcycle boots sticking out under the door plus the noise of a million flies together with the smell of a one man sewage plant would indicate that the stall was in use wouldn't you? Well, apparently not. Not if you're a stupid fucking witless American twat with a Tweedle dee figure (and dress sense) and the brain capacity of a carrot. Mr Twat just pulls the door right open and stares. I hope he has nightmares, idiot.
We head into the border town. They're always shoddy and this is no exception. We follow roads and just keep hitting the huge fence and nomansland that holds back the human flood waiting to burst in to the states. There are no signs anywhere so we follow the fence and find ourselves at the back of a huge queue of cars and trucks. We filter to the front - not a popular move - only to discover this is the USA border, bollocks. The Mexican border post is the other side of a huge fence and is either a) a long way round an unknown road system or b) the wrong way down a one way road then through some pedestrian access. Make that pedestrian and motorcycle access. Through we go and get ourselves out of Mexico. Option 1 from here is go round and to the back of the queue. Option two is to go back through the pedestrian access and push back in at the front. There clearly is no option. Maybe the USA border guards have been watching us as when we get through the barriers we have to sit and wait for about 30 minutes to get our passports stamped at some random office. Super Dumb and incredibly even dumber are on the desk and between them I don't think they have the ability to operate a propelling pencil, let alone a computer. How the hell America got where it is I have no idea. I think it imports the clever people from elsewhere. We get to the hotel, nice old place I've stayed before. 'Hi, I'm Elephantitia. welcome to the Gladstone'. How is it that someone thinks wearing distinctive brown contact lenses like polished Maltesers will distract your eyes from the fact that looks like someone has pulled the collar of her shirt and poured in 200 gallons of chubberrubber? She looks like a snowman in drag. One little ball on top of a huge one. She offers to show meet my room but it's on the 2nd floor and I fear for the building if she moves more than 1 foot above ground level. This hotel is old by American standards, 1930s maybe. It's a really nice place though, apparently haunted. I wonder if the ghosts are fat too?
Humbug
Registered user
Att? Don't think so Sometimes if I'm related to anybody at all. Maybe I was the result of a failed experiment or something. I've been considering starting an antisocial media website where nobody ever visits.
Sometimes if I'm related to anybody at all. Maybe I was the result of a failed experiment or something. I've been considering starting an antisocial media website where nobody ever visits.OK - the final installment. Only a continent left, and covered pretty quickly.
Out of Douglas and we head north and quickly get to Tombstone, site of the famous 'Gunfight at the OK Corral'. Why did they call it the 'OK Corral'? "Hey, look at my shiny new corral. Do you like it?" "Well…it's OK" You wouldn't sink your lifetime savings into the 'OK Cafe' or 'OK Ice Cream emporium" would you? Bonkers!
On to the freeway toward Phoenix. After all the poverty and struggling we've seen in south and central America just to keep alive and to keep some sort of roof over your head then America just seems vulgar, vacuous and vain. Excess and waste is everywhere you look. Americans indulge themselves with as many toys, tits and tat as their chubby little hearts desire when just next door their neighbours struggle to get any pleasure out of life. It can't be right. Talking about vulgar, nothing exudes vulgarity like our destination today, Vegas. We peel off the freeway at Phoenix and head cross country, through vast plains of Joshua trees and up to the Hoover Dam. Across the top we go then descend out the mountains in the dark and into the warren that is Last Vegas then head straight for the strip.
It's always weird to ride your own bike down the strip, or anywhere that is so familiar but so far away. Last time I rode down here I nearly got deleted by a bus. This time is was closer, and much much more scary. We're at some lights, there are masses of people thronging along the pavements as the stripside shows entertain the masses. The neon frenzy is on full and its a sensory overload. Lights change, I'm in front, I pull away. 1st….2nd… 3rd….. SHIIIIIIIIITTTTTT. Suddenly from one side two men emerge from the crowd on the opposite side running full speed across the road. They're either drunk or they've just robbed someone. One is looking over his shoulder and the other is concentrating on getting away. I'm on a collision course. I hear the crowd at the side breath a collective 'AHHHHH' as they pr-empt the inevitable impact. It's imminent I'm sure. I'm braking HARD and I'm leaning well forward over the tank to minimise my impact with the screen and instruments. I'm steering for the gap between them but it's a moving target as they run. Last few yards…ready…here we go.. at the last moment I slip through the gap and just miss the lead runner by inches, my eyes are the size of saucers and my heartbeat is like a road hammer. I've no idea how we missed each other, it must have been very very close. To quick to think, wait for the consciousness to catch up again then thank lady luck for her help again, I certainly owe her one (again). We find the hotel easily for a change, biggest Super 8 in the world, classy! Harley Davidson cafe for dinner. Don't bother - shit food and very expensive. $8.50 for a sprite for Gods sake!
Vegas is like a painted lady. In the dark with all the slap on and the flashing lights blinding you it looks attractive, but next morning, in the cold light of day with no make up on and all the wrinkles laid bare you realise you've made a mistake. Its a light that draws a lot of sad and lonely moths that you see staggering about at this time. It's absolutely gross. Salt Lake City is the destination today. Not too far, maybe about 500 miles or so, we've decided to detour into Zion national park and maybe the north rim of the Grand Canyon. I've been here a few times and this is the coldest I've ever know it, even though it's in the middle of a desert. Everywhere we go they're having strange weather. Maybe it's the Icelandic volcano causing it, who knows! Up we go and into Zion. Zion is an extremely impressive place don't get me wrong. The views are absolutely staggering and spectacular, the rock formations are completely MAD. It's just a little too perfect for me. So weird in places that it looks man made.
We go north out the park and head across country. The sky in the distance looks pure evil, the dark dense clouds like a gang preparing for a fight and we're running straight towards them. Prepare as best we can, all dressed up warm, waterproofed to the max, ready to rock. Towards the maelstrom we go. Heading for bad weather on a bike you feel all the tiny nuances as the temperature falls a touch, the wind begins to drop and swirl, pushing and pulling you about. You feel the tiny spots of rain, then in this case, hail as it revs itself up for the main attack. You can see the line approaching, coming over the landscape towards you like a curtain. The sun is shining from behind us and curtain of water is illuminated in sharp contrast to the chaos on the other side of it. Through we go and the effect is immediate. The hail is bouncing off the road and pinging off the bike. It sounds like I've good a flock of woodpeckers trying to build a nest in my helmet. On a bike hailstones can sting, a LOT when they're this big. As we get through the storm and climb we quickly get to see all its hard work in the form of snow and slush. Cold, very cold with snow covered mountainsides and slush on the road. Sit tight, look up,concentrate, no stopping and on to the city. Salt Lake City is a place I've not been to before. Surrounded by mountains it has the Temple at the centre and all roads are numbered outwards from it in all directions. Might get to see a bit of that tomorrow.
Service day today. A BMW man comes over in his 4x4 to lead us out of town to the dealers 20 minutes away. Its a biggie, BMW and Triumph. I'm on a tight budget so I ask if I can borrow an oil tray and I'll do the bike myself using some 2 for 1 bottles of oil from the garage down the road. I ask if I can do the job in the car park but they kindly offer to let me use a lift in the workshop. They seem to have ordered the wrong side stand though which is an arse - to short. Tits, that's going to make life difficult. I get a tyre and I'm done - $217. Two of the riders I was with today had bills of $1100 and $1200 though. I could live for a year on that! Get the tram into Salt Lake City with a few others. We head straight for the Moron Temple. Yes, I did check that spelling. There are Morons everywhere. The grounds are full of brainwashed adolescent flies that buzz round you asking questions and just will not leave you alone. They all just seem so empty, just robotic and like the rest of the city, totally lacking any character. You just cannot take two steps without being pestered by these freaks. You just get rid of one then you immediately get another on your case. It drives us all just to leave - I just can't stand it. As you walk around the city it all seems a bit Dr Who'ish, like everyone is under some sort of mid control. They could all break out into simultaneous worship at any moment. I don't like this place at all.
We're fast approaching the end of the trip and I have to make some difficult decisions. I have two options. One way doesn't achieve the trip's goal but is safe and easy, the other way leads to motorcycle madness and me really pushing my limits. It's a difficult decision to make. I have 7 riding days left but others have more as they're flying back later. There are only a few of us left at this point as others have either given up already or can't push themselves to complete the last section. I just do not know what to do.
I still don't know what to do today. I went on google last night and looked at the route. Salt Lake to Hyder to New York. It was a bit scary, 7 riding days is pushing it hard. In fact its just plain fucking ridiculous. Take a look for yourself. I'm avoiding the decision and going to go with the remaining riders, 600 miles north. Still leaning towards Alaska but not committing. Out early and it's I15 all day long, easy as it gets, a practice day. I'm riding alone to see how I go and see if it helps me make a decision. The scenery is initially flat but get into Idaho and it gets a lot more bumpy. Idaho is the potato state, it even has a potato museum. Yes it does. It really does. I saw it. Into Montana, I've never been here and I'm surprised how beautiful it is. Snow capped mountains line the freeway. It's deserted. I want to take some pictures on the other carriageway so I ride over the meridian then down the other side the wrong way for a while - there is nobody around, weird!
The road descends into densely forested mountains with smooth curved roads laced between them, easy easy riding. I get to the motel first by some way. About 600 miles in about 9 hours - not quick enough really but not too bad and I did stop a couple of time for a drink. The ride I'm planning is going to be a lot harder but as long as the weather holds it should be possible. Maybe I'm just trying to convince myself. It's looking like there may only be 5 riders making it all the way to Alaska. 5 from 20.
Still dithering, no decision, still thinking, undecided I guess it'll wait until the absolute last minute. Out we go and north some more, across northern Montana. It's flat here and very very boring. There are three of us together in the group today, three of 5. It feels strange to have gone from so many to so few. We hit the Canadian border early. "Are you carrying any firearms? Explosives? Commercial goods?" "I'm on a flippin bike love. I'm going to have trouble hiding a pair of silk gloves, let alone a pump action shotgun, 3 tonnes of TNT and 4 washing sample washing machines" It seems she 's had a senceofhumourectomy and also had her smile muscles removed. We have to go in and give our life history to the officials inside. I didn't expect this. When I went round the world we crossed the Canada/USA border constantly with never so much as a hitch, just like going through a toll booth but now it all seems to have changed. Anyway, I tell the guard of my plans…twice, she didn't believe me the first time. I still haven't decided though, probably. Up into Canada we go. Alberta, land of the slow. Speed limits are lower than the US and are a lot more rigidly enforced. Last time I was here I got an official warning and was told to drive straight out the country. There is so much space, so many roads stretching to the horizon but you just can't chase the tarmac here, it's just too risky. In we go to Calgary. I can see the decision point arriving. Off in the distance I can see a big question mark hanging in the sky. It's like a huge icon on The Sims, spinning round and wanting my attention. That will be the junction on the east/west Pan Canadian highway. I still haven't decided. As we approach and the shadow of the icon looms my head is spinning, trying to ignore the inevitable. Suddenly here we are, Highway 1, Trans Canadian Highway. Left or right? Fight or flight? I look behind me and see the other 2 with their left winkers on and almost as an involuntary movement my left hand hits the winker button. The fight is on, I guess it was always going to be that way, my soul is making decisions that my body is not sure it can complete. Green light, like a free diver I take a deep deep breath and head to the west. I'll be back this way in a couple of days but I have a couple of thousand miles to do first. Out of Calgary and into Banff we go. I've been through here a few times but never at this time of the year. The mountains are still waking from their winter hibernation, rubbing the snow from their eyes and pulling back the ice blankets from the lakes. It's a spectacularly beautiful place. Take a quick look at lake Louise then run through to Jasper. The road to Jasper has to be one of the most scenic you can ride. 150 miles through the park along good fast roads. The Rockies are..well..exactly what they say on the tin. At this time of the year the road goes above the snow line and it's often down to the sides of the road, very cold but thankfully dry, a fantastic ride in piercing sunshine. You'd never get bored of this ride. Out to Jasper for dinner then dodge the elk and moose to a remote lodge with water that smells of poo. One of the other riders who split up with us earlier is here so it looks like it'll be 6 at the end. Alaska tomorrow, job done, then the fun begins.
I'm still in two minds this morning. The bike bungee is still pulling me east toward NY and home. What do you do? Flip a coin? Draw straws? Too easy. You need to make difficult decisions sometimes, it's all good practice. Head west and I get to Alaska and complete the goal but leave myself a mileage mountain to climb. Head east and I could see some sights, cruise for a few days and not really put myself under any pressure at all. I'm not a quitter though, I've started so I'll finish. I'll never get the chance to ride from the bottom to the top again and I'll regret it if I capitulate, especially at the last moment like this. OK, decision made. I take one last look at the road east. "Adios, I'll see you tomorrow" I Turn left towards the 600 or so miles west alone. Don't look back at the bike bungee getting ever tighter. Every mile done today has to be wound off tomorrow + a lot more more besides. Oh well, what else would I be doing? The scenery is constantly astounding up here. I love British Columbia, it's all just sooooo beautiful. I watch some black bears play with their mum at the roadside, watch the melting now bubble and fight over shallow rocky stream beds on its way to the sea, count a billion trees and let the miles roll by. Off Highway 16, two more turns to completion, the last piece of the jigsaw. Up 37 then finally the last left down to Hyder Alaska. The final 40 mile ride to Hyder is just fantastic. There are huge mountains everywhere and negotiating through them is like crossing the floor at a bouncers convention. They all stand shoulder to shoulder and the only road through often pinches wiggles through the dark gaps in between. You can feel their presence, their mass, their coolness as you brush past them on the way to my goal. Finally, here we are, mission accomplished, ground zero. Hyder Alaska. Not a euphoric moment, I've been here before and it's a one horse town straight out of the 1930s. Much better than corporate America though. I take the bike down to the water and stare out over the sound. Acres of logs are being corralled, bobbing about in the cool clear water. The air is super clean and fresh, straight out of a brand new air dispenser. How do I feel? Satisfied, yes. Happy, yes. Scared, certainly. I'll wait until I'm back in NY before I have time to relax and reflect. Tomorrow the tarmac treadmill gets turned up to the max.
I was quite sad to say goodbye to the others last night. The hard core group that came through everything and made it to the end. It takes a certain kind of person and I respect them all for that. There are some really nice people too. Maybe I'll see some of them again, maybe not. They're going to take a little longer to get back across to NY than me so that's it, Adios, so long, over and out. I'll really miss spending my days amongst them all.
I'm up at 4am. 3..2..1..Go. Let the madness begin. It's nearly dawn, misty and cold. The sun's dimmer switch is slowly unwinding and filling in the shadows but the mountains don't give up their cloaks of darkness easily and it's a slow ride up and out. Get onto the main road. It's deserted, wide and inviting. 'What have you got to loose?' it whispers. This is the most dangerous time of the day. All the animals are returning home drunk from a night on the town and they're liable to wobble out in front of you at any moment. I see a moose at the edge of the road, huge and statuesque with steaming coming off it's back. Hit that on 4 wheels and its a car insurance claim. Hit that on 2 wheels and it's a life insurance claim. Keep the speed down, resist the temptation to pull in the horizon as fast as possible. I've underestimated the temperature and I'm absolutely freezing. 120 miles in and I'm completely numb and shivering. It is 6:30 but none of the garages open this early. I can see people inside but they wont let a frozen biker in for a coffee and a warm up. I dig the heated waistcoat out the panniers and plug in then come slowly back to life as the sun climbs up and starts spreading it's joy across the landscape. Plan is to make Calgary today, about 1000 miles. 1000 miles is a flippin long way. 1000 motorway miles is not too bad but these are mostly A road miles. Speed limits, overtaking, traffic lights. I'm trying to maintain a 60mph average but its not easy and means illegal speeds pretty well all of the time. I have to come back through Jasper and Banff too. I just hope the animals are wherever I'm not as I've not got the energy for a close encounter today. By the time I reach Calgary its late, I've done 978 miles and lost an hour in a time zone. I'm really not looking forward to tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that…
I'm not in the mood for this today. Aching and tired, it feels to early. About 2 weeks to early. I'll just check the map. Ummmm, where's my map? It was in my tank bag yesterday but now it's gone. It must have flown out yesterday sometime late. I had a lovely map I bought in Salt Lake City, marked with my route and everything. Never mind, I'll just follow the sun out of the city then follow my nose out of Canada. It's only about 600 miles to the border I'm using, how hard can it be? Find the Trans Canadian and the going is easy. It's getting warm, not a cloud in the sky. Easy easy riding out to Medicine Hat and stop to bolt down some breakfast then get out of town. It's flat. Very very flat for a very very very long way. Flat plains like this are the wind's playground and today it's really enjoying itself. It's absolutely MENTAL. I think the Canadians have been to the South American builders merchants and have some super strong wind on trial. It's really savage, it's punishing and it's hard work. It doesn't bother me from a riding point of view but it's extremely tiring fighting the bike all the time. The turbulence behind the trucks is unbelievable, much worse than in Argentina. The bike dances around like it's treading on hot coals. I get tossed about and it feels like I'm being frisked by a clumsy brown bear. It's rough, it's tough and it's an all day experience. Any local I talk to tells me the same thing. As usual, it's unusual. Just another chapter in the freak weather tour I'm on. Towards the end of the day I get to the USA border, this should be a simple in and out right? Getting into the USA from Mexico was easy peasy. There is nobody else here. I deliberately chose a quiet crossing point to avoid a delay. I rock up to the customs officer. Usual questions. He's clearly not satisfied…I suspect with his appearance, his job, his sex life, the size of his hampton, nothing. The only thing that can satisfy this man is to unnecessarily waste an hour of a busy bikers time. 'I think we'll have you inside for some more questions' Greeeeeeeeeat! I get taken into the office and quizzed. All my pockets are searched. I'm questioned by TWO officers, one of whom looks scarily like an ex girlfriend of mine who must have been reincarnated just to cause me more pain. Then, onto the bike. They want to search the bike. Fate has a never ending supply of turds to throw at you whenever you're in a hurry and in this case it's in the form of two bored customs officers with a rubber glove fetish. Any excuse to feel tight rubber round their finders. I have to sit in an office and wait while they go over the bike. 20 minutes later and I go outside. They've had EVERYTHING out. It looks like someone has thrown a grenade in each pannier. They've had the tent and sleeping bag out, all my clothes, all the wrapped presents are unwrapped and everything is all over the floor. I've travelled throughout south and central America and I get the longest most intrusive search going from Canada to the USA, bloody astounding. Into North Dakota at dust. The wind here is even worse. There isn't anything above crop height to the horizon in all directions. The landscape has been raped to allow ever square centimetre to be put towards food production in order to overfeed the nation. You see rows and rows of combine harvesters ready to work in big gangs to bring in the crop. Trains that stretch beyond the horizon will take it all to the tables, tummies and toilets of the waiting population who sit like baby birds with their mouths open, never refusing a meal. I'm taking a road less travelled across Dakota and populated areas are few and far between. They're frequently a single road with a few dwellings along the side, no motels. the sun is busy setting in my mirrors and I want a bed. There is nobody about so I up the speed to 90 to get a move on. Suddenly a deer breaks from the right at full speed. The emergency pilot is on the case before I realise it. Brakes to full, poo door shut, mouth full of adrenaline. I'm lucky it's broken across a bit of open ground so I have a few vital moments to assess the situation whilst the autopilot steers and breaks as hard as possible. 30 yards and closing. I make eye contact with the deer for a microsecond…Dr Doolittle mode on…'Pull back….PLEASE'. Turns out it was more important to learn Deer than Spanish for this trip. The deer digs it's front legs into the ground and spins away from the impact at the last moment. That was defiantly a close encounter of the venison kind. "It's better to be late than 'the late'" as my old dad says. Point taken. 70 seems safer. The sun is sinking fast. All the lakes are cast in the soft final light of the day and turn a dark blue. The wind is so strong that there are little waves with white horses breaking at the shores. Eventually come across a small town just as it eventually gets dark. The only motel town has a huge Red Indian Chief outside, The Chieftain! Park the bike next to three hics playing some dice game in the car park. Fuck knows why they're playing out here, maybe they're not allowed dice indoors, who knows. It's late and the only place to eat is the sports bar attached to the motel. Soup and salad. "Soup of the day?" "Beer Cheese" Beer…and cheese? WTF! "I'll try that". She brings me what looks like a lump of processed Red Leicester that's been microwaved to a thick gooey consistency and had onions added. Can't see where the beer comes in. You can stand your flippin spoon up in it for Christs sake. Eat that and I immediately feel like someone has put a pair of particularly unfriendly Japanese fighting fish in my stomach. I leave the salad and retire to bed where I fully expect the soup to reappear and splash against the back of my teeth on its way out. I'm sure the soup was some kind of sick experimental potion. Come to think of it, the sexless bespectacled blob who served it to me did look a bit like Harry Potter. Walk back past the bike and glance at the rear tyre. Its flecked. That was new 5 days ago and now it's wrecked. I think I made a bit of a rubber selection error in Salt Lake. I usually think hard and select the one I want but this time I just picked the cheapest without even thinking what it was -what an arse, I just didn't think, that's what tiredness does. I reckon its a sportsbike tyre. The constant driving against the wind today has finished it off, it's done less than 4k. I'll have to get it changed tomorrow - TITS! And those weirdos are still throwing dice in the dark. How does that work? 870 miles today, more of the same tomorrow.
Up at 6, groundhog day. Chicago is today's target and I hope it will be easier as I get to the interstate network again. Hit I94, open the throttle, sit back and relax. Minneapolis first but every target is 100s of miles each. All is fine. Wind has dropped, traffic is light, sun is up, excellent. I'm getting a good average speed for a while, until I get to the roadworks. The first lot I pass off as inconvenient, the 2nd lot as a mild irritation…by the time I get to the 10th lot I'm steaming and I'm ready to kill. Hackles are up, fangs are out, I'm Mr Hyde in hide. These roads are bolloxed. More In-a-state than interstate. They're frequently concrete and are badly broken up. You have to queue with the cars, no filtering. I try it once and get hit on the back of the head by the spit and vitriol fired at me by a truck driver. They just don't like it, BIG STYLE. I've seen trucks be seriously dangerous with bikes that have upset them. They're just as likely to get on the CB to their shumucks in the trucks up ahead if they can't get at you themselves, it's just not worth it. The queues are enormous, it's hot and the bike smells like I've got a deer on a spit roast. On long rides something leaks from somewhere onto something hot and makes a right stink. When I stop at toll booths the attendants look at me with 'soap dodger' eyes. i don't want to think about what the problem might be. I'm sure the bike will continue to work….probably. I get to Minneapolis and take the route straight through the middle. Negotiating the cities is always a challenge. Going through at 70-80 you are like a ball bearing in a pinball machine. Every few seconds there are concrete choices of different avenues to follow and you need to concentrate hard. One slight distraction is the sign for 'Cretin Avenue'. Do the Americans have dictionaries? I almost take the exit just to take a look. Can there really be an avenue lined by cretins? Only in America. Out the city and onwards towards Chicago. Still a long way to go. These are long days in the saddle and I've no entertainment except the multiple personalities fighting for my consciousness. Think, think, think. What shall I think about now? How does a mind keep itself occupied for 14 hours with only a throttle, brakes and gears to play with? American roads are absolutely littered with signs. Advertising boards, information signs, protests, campaigns. All take a few seconds to process and catalogue. Someone has painted something on the side of their barn. "Protect our rights. Hunting, shooting, fishing" Umm, difficult to argue with that one, or they'll probably shoot you. I see a big billboard. It has a Shell sign , 'Fireworks', and 'Cheese' written on it. Nothing else. Can you get cheese fireworks from a Shell station? Maybe it's Zen. Maybe it's shit. "Vote Beardy for sherrif". "Vote Weirdy for sherrif". Make your flippin mind up will you. Wildlife is another distraction. Identify the dead usually. Lots of deer, racoons, porcupines, a few dogs, eagles, small things with long tails, I think I ever see a badger. Didn't know they had badgers here? Get a song in your head and that's fatal. I rode over 'Oldman river' the other day. I really did! That was me for the rest of the day. Chewing lips is another distraction and saves stopping to eat. Standing up on the pegs and creeping up on trucks is another. They look left and are faced with an 80mph crash helmet and they usually do a double take. Anything to take up the next few seconds and distract from the aches and pains that long distance riding give you. Towards evening and Chicago is approaching. Another billion tonnes of concrete and glass to find accommodation in. Ask an attendant at a toll booth about a motel. She's simple, excellent. Take a gamble. Out of town the motels are signposted and it's easy. In a big city it's much more difficult and it's not always simple to get back onto the freeway when you get off so I throw the dice and take an exit. Holiday inn. "How much please?" "$159 plus tax" FARK! "Anywhere cheaper?" "$129 plus tax" " Anywhere cheaper?" "$99 plus tax". I'm hoping if I keep asking "anywhere cheaper" she'll get down to $20 but she stops at $99. The bloke who's been looking down his big gay nose at me for the last few minutes takes the brain cell baton from the girl I'm taking to and tells me there is somewhere a mile away. He can hardly mention it's name, it's clearly a bad smell to him. Down to the unspeakable hotel I go. It's fine and only $60 too. Its late, again, and the only place to eat, believe it or not, is Hooters. I'm sure everyone out there knows Hooters? Girls…well…females..in tights orange short shorts and tits pushed up by scaffolding sell overpriced food and drinks to wanked out salivating blokes with bad video habits. It seems though that they have lowered their standards since my last visit. the only criteria now seems to be that you're willing to put your jumper lumps on parade and are less than 40….stone. Now, if I ran Hooters I'd have a special test at the interview stage. You know that game 'the wall'? Well my wall would have the silhouette of an average hight, size 10-12 slim woman carved in it. If they didn't fit through the wall then they're out. Try that at this place and the place would be piled with polystyrene pieces as 95% would end up in the water. The place is packed though. There are families here, with the kids. Right besides me there is a table of teenage boys trying to look simultaneously hard…and not hard. I put my head down and try to ignore the lurid lycra clad lardies putting me off my food. These girls where tights and some of them must be seriously tight I tell you. It's a miracle of modem technology and lard packaging. Head off to bed ASAP. All the roadworks have knocked me back today. Even though I finish late I only manage 830 miles. I got a map today - it says 879 miles to New York from here. I hope the interstates are better than today.
Up at 5:30 today, chisel the sleepy dust from my eyes and slap myself into some sort of consciousness. There is a rally in the states, the Iron Butt rally. They do up to 11k in 11 days. I've thought about entering in the past but now I know better. I've done 1600 miles in 24 hours and over 1000 regularly but constant long days are different. I'm about 2 minutes from I90 and I join it half asleep in the cool morning light. In the middle of 8 lanes of fast moving metal is not the place to be when you've only just woken up. It's 6:15 and the city is already gobbling up all the cars and workers it can. The roads are busy and we're in the pinball arcade again. I'm taking the toll road option today. I90 is toll across 3 states so I'm hoping for a clear fast run. Chicago is OK, through and out. Round the bottom of Lake Michigan then east towards the climbing sun.
What's this? A trick of the light? Flare? Sun spots? No…. it's fucking bloody wanky shitting pissing farting roadworks. I'm paying to sit in roadworks now. Fan-fecking-tastic. I want to stop for breakfast somewhere. Somewhere that doesn't serve you on polystyrene plates with plastic cutlery. If there is one thing I've noticed this trip its the trend towards disposable implements in restaurants. It's appalling. Even in sit down restaurants with waitresses I've had it. It seems it is cheeper to throw away everything than employ a dishwasher. I just refuse to eat like that. I90 might as well be on the moon. It crosses an area of little population for 100s of miles so there are not the usual opportunities for exiting to a Dennys for a bite. All the 'Plazas' have is the fast food shite of the disposable kind so have to be ignored. Its 400 miles before I90 toll stops and I80 begins. 400 miles before breakfast…or make that lunch. 400 miles before I see my first Dennys and peel off to eat. The roadworks have really knocked me back. It's 2pm - 3pm with the time zone change. I'm in a hurry so obviously fate get ready to throw me a treat. Rather than a turd, she throws me a 'tard instead. Get to Dennys, "Hi, my name is Ron, I'll be your server today and I'm a 'tard". Now…I'm not 'tardiest, I'm really really not, believe me. I thank the genetic lottery every day that I've had the good fortune to be dealt a half descent body and an able mind. To think my soul could just have easily been hosted in a disabled body, or one with HUGE ears, 6 toes, a birth mark on my bollocks or any one of a million different problems that effect humanity scares me shitless. I have genuine sympathy for less able people, I really do. I just don't need a 'tard dealing with my meal today. I've not got time to watch the instructions crawl from his ears to his brain then slowly fall down his arm to his hand. I've not got time to answer the same questions 5 times. I've not got time to get three things individually instead of all at once. I'M IN A FUCKING HURRY HERE MATE! I hope he gets a better deal in the next life, poor fella. I bolt down the meal, even having to go in search missing items myself which I've NEVER had to so before. Onto the I80 and I see my first sign for NYC. Its still well over 400 miles but it's the No1 target and the bike has spotted it to. It starts to hum sweetly like a horse smelling home and cantering to it's stable. Cantering straight into more frigging roadworks. These are the worst so far. Lanes merge 2 miles, 3 lanes into 1. Traffic is at a standstill. I get off the bike for a while and the traffic doesn't move. It's hot, I'm sweating and the bike's boiling. Fuck the trucks, I'm filtering. I get abuse but I've turned my bovered-ometer off and I don't care any more. 7 miles of roadworks, 40mph at best, single lane. Out, open the throttle, round the corner … AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 'Lanes Merge 2 miles, congestion ahead, lane closed'.
THIS IS MENTAL! The traffic is moving to slow to be in gear and the clutch is smelling. I'm overtaken……by a butterfly…..that says it all. The miles crawl by, roadworks are just everywhere. Average drops way below 60. Today my mind is completely preoccupied with how long it's going to take to get to NYC. The calculations are ever changing with all the speed changes and delays. I get up on the outskirts about 10 but I'm still a long long way out the city. Take the exit lottery and ask then find a 'Budget Inn'. 'Room 116, round the back' Ride round the back, it's a scary place - I don't like this. There are people here that look like they've just stepped off the set of the Thriller video. Room 116 is open already, there are bedclothes everywhere and it looks like a gang bang scene. "Room 116 is not ready mate, can I have a room round the front please?" "OK Room 121" I go to room 121. I open the door…without using the key. Room 121 has recently been opened with a boot and the lock is no longer part of the door. "Money back please mate, I'm off" It's 10:30 and I cruise down the road looking for an alternative. No motels, its residential so I take a random road and get thrown back on I80 again. SHIIITTTTTTT. Next town 20 miles..nothing again… I'm now approaching NY outskirts proper. I'm in the concrete pinball in the dark. A flipper hits me and knocks me onto 46 east - where the feck does this go? Bollocks! I stop at a Wendys to ask for directions but I don't speak Mexican. It's gone 11. I ask the only bloke in the place. Nice bloke, rides an RT. Talk bikes for a few minutes while I chew a lump of grease. He tells me there is a Holiday Inn up the road. Draws me a map. Fuck all use that turns out to be in the dark concrete assault course outside. I get there only by riding the wrong way down some roads then through some barricades then up a steep bank, probably not the usual way to arrive. "How much?" "$180 plus tax" "HOW MUCH!" "$150 plus tax" She's not playing the game and stops at $150, she won't tell me anywhere else local either. Back on the road. I'm lost, tired, it's nearly midnight and my body yearns for a bed. It can be quite disconcerting to be in that situation. The darkness makes it worse and you feel like you'll not find anywhere. I think about just stopping in a car park and kipping on a bench cos I've nearly had enough. I run into a load of buffers in the pinball machine and let fate decide. Random left, random right, on the way up an on ramp I spot a sign for a hotel on the road I'm just leaving. Without a second thought I ride over the big concrete central reservation and down the ramp then back onto the road I just left. I'm not sure how many laws I broke there but I like to do things in 3's. The sign says $75. "How much please?" "$95" - "What?" "And we're full" "WHAT?" She sees a breakdown coming on. "I have one smoking room left I'll do for $85 plus tax". I don't care if the room is still smoking, I'll take it. It's gone midnight. I started at 5:30. 850 miles is a slow day after this many hours. I take a last long look at the bike outside. We've both made it in one piece, we've both had a long week, the longest I've ever done anyway. Couriers will probably tell me they do this most weeks. In the last 7 days together we've done over 5000 of your Google miles. 5000 miles in a flippin week, that has what has been worrying me and preoccupying my mind for the last month or so. Still, it's done, and after everything it's not been that bad really. My fingers are numb and my shoulders feel like they've got bad sunburn but I feel surprisingly good. The body is a weird thing. Most bodies are pretty well the same, give or take, it's the brain that makes the difference. The body is capable of amazing things. It doesn't HAVE to eat 3/4/10 times a day, it doesn't HAVE to stop every 5 minutes and rest, or drink, or rub itself, or take a piss. It just doesn't. It's all in the mind, all of it. I'm not any different to anybody else, I'm not special (thought some may beg to differ), my body is the same as most other peoples, it's just that I don't give in most of the time. It's difficult, it's certainly not impossible but it's not easy either and I think that's where the difference is. Any road - I shower, lay my head on the biggest most comfortable pillow the world has ever seen and go out like a light.
Home today. Up at 7, a real lie in. Down to breakfast and its a dispose-a-fiest. Serve yourself, use as many disposable cups, bowls and cutlery as you want. Some bloke is employed to constantly empty the bin. It's obscene. I at least re-use everything to cover all I eat. It's all shit though, all gobble size cakes, waffles with butter and syrup, all cholesterol to go. The hotel is full of teenagers on some sort of trip. It's not a fashion trip certainly. American teenagers seem to have the fashion sense of a buffalo in a boutique. It's a random selection of cheap looking tacky shite covering as many colours and patterns as possible. The look awful, truly sad, like charity shop cases, and a particularly bad charity shop at that. There is no hope for this lot, no hope at all -- Get some directions to the nearest Walmart - I need to buy some jellybeans. For once in my life I manage to follow some directions through the maze and find the place, then on to NYC proper. I've promised my bike a ride through Manhattan but I'm a bit scared TBH. I'm not the world's greatest navagationalist, not even the 2nd greatest, I'm a 'follow your nose, seat of the pants' navigator. the road roulette round here scares me and now is not the time to get lost. I've got to get my bike to the shippers and then onto a flight home. Bugger it - you only live once - in we go! It's over there, I can see it, how hard can it be? Over the Hudson on the George Washington bridge then follow the Hudson parkway - that sounds about right. Traffic is dense and intense, they don't take kindly to dawdlers. Make a decision and stick to it. Down past the cruise terminal. The Queen Mary 2 is in and discouraging coach loads of rich wrinklies onto the street. Drivers are interested in the bike. Lots of questions from heavily New York accented drivers who spot the british plates. I've been to NY a few times now and sort of know my way around. Take a left into the skyscraper maze and head across the avenues.
Traffic is solid and I'm conscious of the time. As I sit I ask a van driver his thoughts on filtering. "Hey man, this is New York, who GIVES a fuck". That's my cue to queue jump. Through all the traffic and up 6th avenue for a while. A cyclist comes alongside. Human and iron horse power in perfect harmony. He's crossing the states by pushbike. A short chat as we cruise slowly between the scrapers then we touch fists and he's gone. Across and down 5th Avenue, past the Empire State then across onto 7th and down to the Holland Tunnel, off the island and onto the Jersey Turnpike. I know I'm in the right area. I grab a lorry driver at a toll booth and ask. Two exits down and off. I can smell the finish now, it's really close. Ask a geezer planting flowers, a really heavy accent this time, a drawl. Final instructions received and I'm on final approach looking to land. Surprisingly find the shipping agents easily and sure enough, there are some of the other bikes of the riders that cut and ran earlier in the trip. Engine off. Game over. Sort out the luggage then hand over the paperwork. Run my hand over the bike - "see you back home mate". My bike was one of the oldest on the trip, only an Africa Twin was older but that started with 3k on the trip and I started with 70. It's well over 90k now. All I've done is change the oil twice and the tyres, nothing else really. When others have had expensive professional services, mine has just sat outside like the poor kid at school. It's given me one or two frights and missed a couple of beats now and then but it's put up with all the shit I can throw at it and come back for more. Over 5k in the last week alone. Big BIG respect to that bike. Someone told me it looked derelict. That bike is a fighter, it's a survivor. It's like a terminator. It just doesn't give a shit what people think and it doesn't give up. So it's not shiny, it's a bit battered and bruised, it's not perfect. If you can read it, it can tell you a story.
Taxi to JFK please. "$75 plus tolls and tax - call it $100" How the hell does anyone survive and pay their way nowadays. Taxi is the only option from here though cos I've not got loads of time. I know it's only $55 from the city though which grips my shit! The taxi driver is a New Jersey boy, born and bred. Used to have a Ninja before someone cut him up and broke his knees. That was 10 years ago though. He's thinking of getting another bike, something more sensible. 'A Busa'. Yep, that's far more sensible. We're chewing the fat and he's complaining about the state of the States. How it's so dangerous. "Someone was shot in the street in Jersey yesterday". I tell him about the UK gun laws. Why would you need guns? He's quiet… "Have you got any guns?" I ask. "Well, I have a couple in the house, in case someone breaks in". "What would you do if they did?" "I'd shoot them in the leg". "What if they had a gun?" "I'd shoot them in the face! You gunna take my life I'm gunna take yours first" Then he goes on to advocate putting all the prisoners on an island and bombing them (which I sort of agree with) or arming them and letting them shoot each other. He starts complaining about the state of the US and finishes with a tirade of advocated violence. Maybe they left out 'irony' in the American version of the OED. Get to JFK - $90 plus tip - fuckidy bollocks! Fate hasn't finished with the turdballs yet. I'm flying Air Lingus. Auto check-in wont auto check me in. Middle names screw up the system apparently. Middle names are rare after all, hardly anyone has them do they. I'm always getting shocked looks and stares when someone sees a middle name in my passport. It's almost like I'm a freak or something. So I have to queue instead…and…JF fucking K has NO free trollies for luggage. They want $5 to hire one. Fuck them…fuck them all. I've had so many hands in my pockets already today I'm just not paying another $5 to move my luggage 200 yards to the check in desk - they should be free. BASTARDS! I've got more luggage than hands. Getting two aluminium panniers to the check in desk whilst holding my tank bag and helmet is like a Great Egg Race challenge. Shiny floor - low resistance - kick the panniers over the floor. I sound like a giant with a concrete club foot as I shuffle and hurd the two panniers over the concourse with my feet. When I do check them in they want another $50 for the extra baggage. "I didn't pay that on the way out". Blank look. "But they cumulatively weigh less than the baggage allowance". Blank look (I think I saw a twitch of terror at the word 'cumulatively' as it had more than 5 letters in it). I hit her round the head with a baseball bat. Blank look. This humourless automaton sitting with my destiny at it's fingertips is programmed only for simple operations. My logic does not compute clearly. FUCK! FUCK FUCKIDY FUCK FUCK. Another $50 disappears without trace. BOLLOCKS. Then the check in desk doesn't take the bags anyway. "Take them to machine 7". "Machine 7, is that another one of you clone weirdesses?" Bitch. I have to do the Quasimodo walk of shame over the hall again to machine 7 where I drop them and finally get to walk properly again. Onto the plane at last. "Hello this is Mr Englishaccent (relief all round). One blink and I'm home and back to work 
How do I reflect back on this trip? It was an exciting/disappointing/exhilarating/irritating/amazing/cold/warm/hot/boiling/tiring/refreshing/frustrating/annoying/uplifting/depressing/incredible/extraordinary/indescribable/piss taking/easy/relaxing/hard/stressful/chaotic(yep, it was definitely definitely chaotic)/educational experience for sure. I spent the last month of the journey often preoccupied with wether I was going to make it to Alaska or not and that was an unnecessary distraction. Having said all that, I'd get straight back on the bike tomorrow and do it all again without a second thought.
Out of Douglas and we head north and quickly get to Tombstone, site of the famous 'Gunfight at the OK Corral'. Why did they call it the 'OK Corral'? "Hey, look at my shiny new corral. Do you like it?" "Well…it's OK" You wouldn't sink your lifetime savings into the 'OK Cafe' or 'OK Ice Cream emporium" would you? Bonkers!
On to the freeway toward Phoenix. After all the poverty and struggling we've seen in south and central America just to keep alive and to keep some sort of roof over your head then America just seems vulgar, vacuous and vain. Excess and waste is everywhere you look. Americans indulge themselves with as many toys, tits and tat as their chubby little hearts desire when just next door their neighbours struggle to get any pleasure out of life. It can't be right. Talking about vulgar, nothing exudes vulgarity like our destination today, Vegas. We peel off the freeway at Phoenix and head cross country, through vast plains of Joshua trees and up to the Hoover Dam. Across the top we go then descend out the mountains in the dark and into the warren that is Last Vegas then head straight for the strip.
It's always weird to ride your own bike down the strip, or anywhere that is so familiar but so far away. Last time I rode down here I nearly got deleted by a bus. This time is was closer, and much much more scary. We're at some lights, there are masses of people thronging along the pavements as the stripside shows entertain the masses. The neon frenzy is on full and its a sensory overload. Lights change, I'm in front, I pull away. 1st….2nd… 3rd….. SHIIIIIIIIITTTTTT. Suddenly from one side two men emerge from the crowd on the opposite side running full speed across the road. They're either drunk or they've just robbed someone. One is looking over his shoulder and the other is concentrating on getting away. I'm on a collision course. I hear the crowd at the side breath a collective 'AHHHHH' as they pr-empt the inevitable impact. It's imminent I'm sure. I'm braking HARD and I'm leaning well forward over the tank to minimise my impact with the screen and instruments. I'm steering for the gap between them but it's a moving target as they run. Last few yards…ready…here we go.. at the last moment I slip through the gap and just miss the lead runner by inches, my eyes are the size of saucers and my heartbeat is like a road hammer. I've no idea how we missed each other, it must have been very very close. To quick to think, wait for the consciousness to catch up again then thank lady luck for her help again, I certainly owe her one (again). We find the hotel easily for a change, biggest Super 8 in the world, classy! Harley Davidson cafe for dinner. Don't bother - shit food and very expensive. $8.50 for a sprite for Gods sake!
Vegas is like a painted lady. In the dark with all the slap on and the flashing lights blinding you it looks attractive, but next morning, in the cold light of day with no make up on and all the wrinkles laid bare you realise you've made a mistake. Its a light that draws a lot of sad and lonely moths that you see staggering about at this time. It's absolutely gross. Salt Lake City is the destination today. Not too far, maybe about 500 miles or so, we've decided to detour into Zion national park and maybe the north rim of the Grand Canyon. I've been here a few times and this is the coldest I've ever know it, even though it's in the middle of a desert. Everywhere we go they're having strange weather. Maybe it's the Icelandic volcano causing it, who knows! Up we go and into Zion. Zion is an extremely impressive place don't get me wrong. The views are absolutely staggering and spectacular, the rock formations are completely MAD. It's just a little too perfect for me. So weird in places that it looks man made.
We go north out the park and head across country. The sky in the distance looks pure evil, the dark dense clouds like a gang preparing for a fight and we're running straight towards them. Prepare as best we can, all dressed up warm, waterproofed to the max, ready to rock. Towards the maelstrom we go. Heading for bad weather on a bike you feel all the tiny nuances as the temperature falls a touch, the wind begins to drop and swirl, pushing and pulling you about. You feel the tiny spots of rain, then in this case, hail as it revs itself up for the main attack. You can see the line approaching, coming over the landscape towards you like a curtain. The sun is shining from behind us and curtain of water is illuminated in sharp contrast to the chaos on the other side of it. Through we go and the effect is immediate. The hail is bouncing off the road and pinging off the bike. It sounds like I've good a flock of woodpeckers trying to build a nest in my helmet. On a bike hailstones can sting, a LOT when they're this big. As we get through the storm and climb we quickly get to see all its hard work in the form of snow and slush. Cold, very cold with snow covered mountainsides and slush on the road. Sit tight, look up,concentrate, no stopping and on to the city. Salt Lake City is a place I've not been to before. Surrounded by mountains it has the Temple at the centre and all roads are numbered outwards from it in all directions. Might get to see a bit of that tomorrow.
Service day today. A BMW man comes over in his 4x4 to lead us out of town to the dealers 20 minutes away. Its a biggie, BMW and Triumph. I'm on a tight budget so I ask if I can borrow an oil tray and I'll do the bike myself using some 2 for 1 bottles of oil from the garage down the road. I ask if I can do the job in the car park but they kindly offer to let me use a lift in the workshop. They seem to have ordered the wrong side stand though which is an arse - to short. Tits, that's going to make life difficult. I get a tyre and I'm done - $217. Two of the riders I was with today had bills of $1100 and $1200 though. I could live for a year on that! Get the tram into Salt Lake City with a few others. We head straight for the Moron Temple. Yes, I did check that spelling. There are Morons everywhere. The grounds are full of brainwashed adolescent flies that buzz round you asking questions and just will not leave you alone. They all just seem so empty, just robotic and like the rest of the city, totally lacking any character. You just cannot take two steps without being pestered by these freaks. You just get rid of one then you immediately get another on your case. It drives us all just to leave - I just can't stand it. As you walk around the city it all seems a bit Dr Who'ish, like everyone is under some sort of mid control. They could all break out into simultaneous worship at any moment. I don't like this place at all.
We're fast approaching the end of the trip and I have to make some difficult decisions. I have two options. One way doesn't achieve the trip's goal but is safe and easy, the other way leads to motorcycle madness and me really pushing my limits. It's a difficult decision to make. I have 7 riding days left but others have more as they're flying back later. There are only a few of us left at this point as others have either given up already or can't push themselves to complete the last section. I just do not know what to do.
I still don't know what to do today. I went on google last night and looked at the route. Salt Lake to Hyder to New York. It was a bit scary, 7 riding days is pushing it hard. In fact its just plain fucking ridiculous. Take a look for yourself. I'm avoiding the decision and going to go with the remaining riders, 600 miles north. Still leaning towards Alaska but not committing. Out early and it's I15 all day long, easy as it gets, a practice day. I'm riding alone to see how I go and see if it helps me make a decision. The scenery is initially flat but get into Idaho and it gets a lot more bumpy. Idaho is the potato state, it even has a potato museum. Yes it does. It really does. I saw it. Into Montana, I've never been here and I'm surprised how beautiful it is. Snow capped mountains line the freeway. It's deserted. I want to take some pictures on the other carriageway so I ride over the meridian then down the other side the wrong way for a while - there is nobody around, weird!
The road descends into densely forested mountains with smooth curved roads laced between them, easy easy riding. I get to the motel first by some way. About 600 miles in about 9 hours - not quick enough really but not too bad and I did stop a couple of time for a drink. The ride I'm planning is going to be a lot harder but as long as the weather holds it should be possible. Maybe I'm just trying to convince myself. It's looking like there may only be 5 riders making it all the way to Alaska. 5 from 20.
Still dithering, no decision, still thinking, undecided I guess it'll wait until the absolute last minute. Out we go and north some more, across northern Montana. It's flat here and very very boring. There are three of us together in the group today, three of 5. It feels strange to have gone from so many to so few. We hit the Canadian border early. "Are you carrying any firearms? Explosives? Commercial goods?" "I'm on a flippin bike love. I'm going to have trouble hiding a pair of silk gloves, let alone a pump action shotgun, 3 tonnes of TNT and 4 washing sample washing machines" It seems she 's had a senceofhumourectomy and also had her smile muscles removed. We have to go in and give our life history to the officials inside. I didn't expect this. When I went round the world we crossed the Canada/USA border constantly with never so much as a hitch, just like going through a toll booth but now it all seems to have changed. Anyway, I tell the guard of my plans…twice, she didn't believe me the first time. I still haven't decided though, probably. Up into Canada we go. Alberta, land of the slow. Speed limits are lower than the US and are a lot more rigidly enforced. Last time I was here I got an official warning and was told to drive straight out the country. There is so much space, so many roads stretching to the horizon but you just can't chase the tarmac here, it's just too risky. In we go to Calgary. I can see the decision point arriving. Off in the distance I can see a big question mark hanging in the sky. It's like a huge icon on The Sims, spinning round and wanting my attention. That will be the junction on the east/west Pan Canadian highway. I still haven't decided. As we approach and the shadow of the icon looms my head is spinning, trying to ignore the inevitable. Suddenly here we are, Highway 1, Trans Canadian Highway. Left or right? Fight or flight? I look behind me and see the other 2 with their left winkers on and almost as an involuntary movement my left hand hits the winker button. The fight is on, I guess it was always going to be that way, my soul is making decisions that my body is not sure it can complete. Green light, like a free diver I take a deep deep breath and head to the west. I'll be back this way in a couple of days but I have a couple of thousand miles to do first. Out of Calgary and into Banff we go. I've been through here a few times but never at this time of the year. The mountains are still waking from their winter hibernation, rubbing the snow from their eyes and pulling back the ice blankets from the lakes. It's a spectacularly beautiful place. Take a quick look at lake Louise then run through to Jasper. The road to Jasper has to be one of the most scenic you can ride. 150 miles through the park along good fast roads. The Rockies are..well..exactly what they say on the tin. At this time of the year the road goes above the snow line and it's often down to the sides of the road, very cold but thankfully dry, a fantastic ride in piercing sunshine. You'd never get bored of this ride. Out to Jasper for dinner then dodge the elk and moose to a remote lodge with water that smells of poo. One of the other riders who split up with us earlier is here so it looks like it'll be 6 at the end. Alaska tomorrow, job done, then the fun begins.
I'm still in two minds this morning. The bike bungee is still pulling me east toward NY and home. What do you do? Flip a coin? Draw straws? Too easy. You need to make difficult decisions sometimes, it's all good practice. Head west and I get to Alaska and complete the goal but leave myself a mileage mountain to climb. Head east and I could see some sights, cruise for a few days and not really put myself under any pressure at all. I'm not a quitter though, I've started so I'll finish. I'll never get the chance to ride from the bottom to the top again and I'll regret it if I capitulate, especially at the last moment like this. OK, decision made. I take one last look at the road east. "Adios, I'll see you tomorrow" I Turn left towards the 600 or so miles west alone. Don't look back at the bike bungee getting ever tighter. Every mile done today has to be wound off tomorrow + a lot more more besides. Oh well, what else would I be doing? The scenery is constantly astounding up here. I love British Columbia, it's all just sooooo beautiful. I watch some black bears play with their mum at the roadside, watch the melting now bubble and fight over shallow rocky stream beds on its way to the sea, count a billion trees and let the miles roll by. Off Highway 16, two more turns to completion, the last piece of the jigsaw. Up 37 then finally the last left down to Hyder Alaska. The final 40 mile ride to Hyder is just fantastic. There are huge mountains everywhere and negotiating through them is like crossing the floor at a bouncers convention. They all stand shoulder to shoulder and the only road through often pinches wiggles through the dark gaps in between. You can feel their presence, their mass, their coolness as you brush past them on the way to my goal. Finally, here we are, mission accomplished, ground zero. Hyder Alaska. Not a euphoric moment, I've been here before and it's a one horse town straight out of the 1930s. Much better than corporate America though. I take the bike down to the water and stare out over the sound. Acres of logs are being corralled, bobbing about in the cool clear water. The air is super clean and fresh, straight out of a brand new air dispenser. How do I feel? Satisfied, yes. Happy, yes. Scared, certainly. I'll wait until I'm back in NY before I have time to relax and reflect. Tomorrow the tarmac treadmill gets turned up to the max.
I was quite sad to say goodbye to the others last night. The hard core group that came through everything and made it to the end. It takes a certain kind of person and I respect them all for that. There are some really nice people too. Maybe I'll see some of them again, maybe not. They're going to take a little longer to get back across to NY than me so that's it, Adios, so long, over and out. I'll really miss spending my days amongst them all.
I'm up at 4am. 3..2..1..Go. Let the madness begin. It's nearly dawn, misty and cold. The sun's dimmer switch is slowly unwinding and filling in the shadows but the mountains don't give up their cloaks of darkness easily and it's a slow ride up and out. Get onto the main road. It's deserted, wide and inviting. 'What have you got to loose?' it whispers. This is the most dangerous time of the day. All the animals are returning home drunk from a night on the town and they're liable to wobble out in front of you at any moment. I see a moose at the edge of the road, huge and statuesque with steaming coming off it's back. Hit that on 4 wheels and its a car insurance claim. Hit that on 2 wheels and it's a life insurance claim. Keep the speed down, resist the temptation to pull in the horizon as fast as possible. I've underestimated the temperature and I'm absolutely freezing. 120 miles in and I'm completely numb and shivering. It is 6:30 but none of the garages open this early. I can see people inside but they wont let a frozen biker in for a coffee and a warm up. I dig the heated waistcoat out the panniers and plug in then come slowly back to life as the sun climbs up and starts spreading it's joy across the landscape. Plan is to make Calgary today, about 1000 miles. 1000 miles is a flippin long way. 1000 motorway miles is not too bad but these are mostly A road miles. Speed limits, overtaking, traffic lights. I'm trying to maintain a 60mph average but its not easy and means illegal speeds pretty well all of the time. I have to come back through Jasper and Banff too. I just hope the animals are wherever I'm not as I've not got the energy for a close encounter today. By the time I reach Calgary its late, I've done 978 miles and lost an hour in a time zone. I'm really not looking forward to tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that…
I'm not in the mood for this today. Aching and tired, it feels to early. About 2 weeks to early. I'll just check the map. Ummmm, where's my map? It was in my tank bag yesterday but now it's gone. It must have flown out yesterday sometime late. I had a lovely map I bought in Salt Lake City, marked with my route and everything. Never mind, I'll just follow the sun out of the city then follow my nose out of Canada. It's only about 600 miles to the border I'm using, how hard can it be? Find the Trans Canadian and the going is easy. It's getting warm, not a cloud in the sky. Easy easy riding out to Medicine Hat and stop to bolt down some breakfast then get out of town. It's flat. Very very flat for a very very very long way. Flat plains like this are the wind's playground and today it's really enjoying itself. It's absolutely MENTAL. I think the Canadians have been to the South American builders merchants and have some super strong wind on trial. It's really savage, it's punishing and it's hard work. It doesn't bother me from a riding point of view but it's extremely tiring fighting the bike all the time. The turbulence behind the trucks is unbelievable, much worse than in Argentina. The bike dances around like it's treading on hot coals. I get tossed about and it feels like I'm being frisked by a clumsy brown bear. It's rough, it's tough and it's an all day experience. Any local I talk to tells me the same thing. As usual, it's unusual. Just another chapter in the freak weather tour I'm on. Towards the end of the day I get to the USA border, this should be a simple in and out right? Getting into the USA from Mexico was easy peasy. There is nobody else here. I deliberately chose a quiet crossing point to avoid a delay. I rock up to the customs officer. Usual questions. He's clearly not satisfied…I suspect with his appearance, his job, his sex life, the size of his hampton, nothing. The only thing that can satisfy this man is to unnecessarily waste an hour of a busy bikers time. 'I think we'll have you inside for some more questions' Greeeeeeeeeat! I get taken into the office and quizzed. All my pockets are searched. I'm questioned by TWO officers, one of whom looks scarily like an ex girlfriend of mine who must have been reincarnated just to cause me more pain. Then, onto the bike. They want to search the bike. Fate has a never ending supply of turds to throw at you whenever you're in a hurry and in this case it's in the form of two bored customs officers with a rubber glove fetish. Any excuse to feel tight rubber round their finders. I have to sit in an office and wait while they go over the bike. 20 minutes later and I go outside. They've had EVERYTHING out. It looks like someone has thrown a grenade in each pannier. They've had the tent and sleeping bag out, all my clothes, all the wrapped presents are unwrapped and everything is all over the floor. I've travelled throughout south and central America and I get the longest most intrusive search going from Canada to the USA, bloody astounding. Into North Dakota at dust. The wind here is even worse. There isn't anything above crop height to the horizon in all directions. The landscape has been raped to allow ever square centimetre to be put towards food production in order to overfeed the nation. You see rows and rows of combine harvesters ready to work in big gangs to bring in the crop. Trains that stretch beyond the horizon will take it all to the tables, tummies and toilets of the waiting population who sit like baby birds with their mouths open, never refusing a meal. I'm taking a road less travelled across Dakota and populated areas are few and far between. They're frequently a single road with a few dwellings along the side, no motels. the sun is busy setting in my mirrors and I want a bed. There is nobody about so I up the speed to 90 to get a move on. Suddenly a deer breaks from the right at full speed. The emergency pilot is on the case before I realise it. Brakes to full, poo door shut, mouth full of adrenaline. I'm lucky it's broken across a bit of open ground so I have a few vital moments to assess the situation whilst the autopilot steers and breaks as hard as possible. 30 yards and closing. I make eye contact with the deer for a microsecond…Dr Doolittle mode on…'Pull back….PLEASE'. Turns out it was more important to learn Deer than Spanish for this trip. The deer digs it's front legs into the ground and spins away from the impact at the last moment. That was defiantly a close encounter of the venison kind. "It's better to be late than 'the late'" as my old dad says. Point taken. 70 seems safer. The sun is sinking fast. All the lakes are cast in the soft final light of the day and turn a dark blue. The wind is so strong that there are little waves with white horses breaking at the shores. Eventually come across a small town just as it eventually gets dark. The only motel town has a huge Red Indian Chief outside, The Chieftain! Park the bike next to three hics playing some dice game in the car park. Fuck knows why they're playing out here, maybe they're not allowed dice indoors, who knows. It's late and the only place to eat is the sports bar attached to the motel. Soup and salad. "Soup of the day?" "Beer Cheese" Beer…and cheese? WTF! "I'll try that". She brings me what looks like a lump of processed Red Leicester that's been microwaved to a thick gooey consistency and had onions added. Can't see where the beer comes in. You can stand your flippin spoon up in it for Christs sake. Eat that and I immediately feel like someone has put a pair of particularly unfriendly Japanese fighting fish in my stomach. I leave the salad and retire to bed where I fully expect the soup to reappear and splash against the back of my teeth on its way out. I'm sure the soup was some kind of sick experimental potion. Come to think of it, the sexless bespectacled blob who served it to me did look a bit like Harry Potter. Walk back past the bike and glance at the rear tyre. Its flecked. That was new 5 days ago and now it's wrecked. I think I made a bit of a rubber selection error in Salt Lake. I usually think hard and select the one I want but this time I just picked the cheapest without even thinking what it was -what an arse, I just didn't think, that's what tiredness does. I reckon its a sportsbike tyre. The constant driving against the wind today has finished it off, it's done less than 4k. I'll have to get it changed tomorrow - TITS! And those weirdos are still throwing dice in the dark. How does that work? 870 miles today, more of the same tomorrow.
Up at 6, groundhog day. Chicago is today's target and I hope it will be easier as I get to the interstate network again. Hit I94, open the throttle, sit back and relax. Minneapolis first but every target is 100s of miles each. All is fine. Wind has dropped, traffic is light, sun is up, excellent. I'm getting a good average speed for a while, until I get to the roadworks. The first lot I pass off as inconvenient, the 2nd lot as a mild irritation…by the time I get to the 10th lot I'm steaming and I'm ready to kill. Hackles are up, fangs are out, I'm Mr Hyde in hide. These roads are bolloxed. More In-a-state than interstate. They're frequently concrete and are badly broken up. You have to queue with the cars, no filtering. I try it once and get hit on the back of the head by the spit and vitriol fired at me by a truck driver. They just don't like it, BIG STYLE. I've seen trucks be seriously dangerous with bikes that have upset them. They're just as likely to get on the CB to their shumucks in the trucks up ahead if they can't get at you themselves, it's just not worth it. The queues are enormous, it's hot and the bike smells like I've got a deer on a spit roast. On long rides something leaks from somewhere onto something hot and makes a right stink. When I stop at toll booths the attendants look at me with 'soap dodger' eyes. i don't want to think about what the problem might be. I'm sure the bike will continue to work….probably. I get to Minneapolis and take the route straight through the middle. Negotiating the cities is always a challenge. Going through at 70-80 you are like a ball bearing in a pinball machine. Every few seconds there are concrete choices of different avenues to follow and you need to concentrate hard. One slight distraction is the sign for 'Cretin Avenue'. Do the Americans have dictionaries? I almost take the exit just to take a look. Can there really be an avenue lined by cretins? Only in America. Out the city and onwards towards Chicago. Still a long way to go. These are long days in the saddle and I've no entertainment except the multiple personalities fighting for my consciousness. Think, think, think. What shall I think about now? How does a mind keep itself occupied for 14 hours with only a throttle, brakes and gears to play with? American roads are absolutely littered with signs. Advertising boards, information signs, protests, campaigns. All take a few seconds to process and catalogue. Someone has painted something on the side of their barn. "Protect our rights. Hunting, shooting, fishing" Umm, difficult to argue with that one, or they'll probably shoot you. I see a big billboard. It has a Shell sign , 'Fireworks', and 'Cheese' written on it. Nothing else. Can you get cheese fireworks from a Shell station? Maybe it's Zen. Maybe it's shit. "Vote Beardy for sherrif". "Vote Weirdy for sherrif". Make your flippin mind up will you. Wildlife is another distraction. Identify the dead usually. Lots of deer, racoons, porcupines, a few dogs, eagles, small things with long tails, I think I ever see a badger. Didn't know they had badgers here? Get a song in your head and that's fatal. I rode over 'Oldman river' the other day. I really did! That was me for the rest of the day. Chewing lips is another distraction and saves stopping to eat. Standing up on the pegs and creeping up on trucks is another. They look left and are faced with an 80mph crash helmet and they usually do a double take. Anything to take up the next few seconds and distract from the aches and pains that long distance riding give you. Towards evening and Chicago is approaching. Another billion tonnes of concrete and glass to find accommodation in. Ask an attendant at a toll booth about a motel. She's simple, excellent. Take a gamble. Out of town the motels are signposted and it's easy. In a big city it's much more difficult and it's not always simple to get back onto the freeway when you get off so I throw the dice and take an exit. Holiday inn. "How much please?" "$159 plus tax" FARK! "Anywhere cheaper?" "$129 plus tax" " Anywhere cheaper?" "$99 plus tax". I'm hoping if I keep asking "anywhere cheaper" she'll get down to $20 but she stops at $99. The bloke who's been looking down his big gay nose at me for the last few minutes takes the brain cell baton from the girl I'm taking to and tells me there is somewhere a mile away. He can hardly mention it's name, it's clearly a bad smell to him. Down to the unspeakable hotel I go. It's fine and only $60 too. Its late, again, and the only place to eat, believe it or not, is Hooters. I'm sure everyone out there knows Hooters? Girls…well…females..in tights orange short shorts and tits pushed up by scaffolding sell overpriced food and drinks to wanked out salivating blokes with bad video habits. It seems though that they have lowered their standards since my last visit. the only criteria now seems to be that you're willing to put your jumper lumps on parade and are less than 40….stone. Now, if I ran Hooters I'd have a special test at the interview stage. You know that game 'the wall'? Well my wall would have the silhouette of an average hight, size 10-12 slim woman carved in it. If they didn't fit through the wall then they're out. Try that at this place and the place would be piled with polystyrene pieces as 95% would end up in the water. The place is packed though. There are families here, with the kids. Right besides me there is a table of teenage boys trying to look simultaneously hard…and not hard. I put my head down and try to ignore the lurid lycra clad lardies putting me off my food. These girls where tights and some of them must be seriously tight I tell you. It's a miracle of modem technology and lard packaging. Head off to bed ASAP. All the roadworks have knocked me back today. Even though I finish late I only manage 830 miles. I got a map today - it says 879 miles to New York from here. I hope the interstates are better than today.
Up at 5:30 today, chisel the sleepy dust from my eyes and slap myself into some sort of consciousness. There is a rally in the states, the Iron Butt rally. They do up to 11k in 11 days. I've thought about entering in the past but now I know better. I've done 1600 miles in 24 hours and over 1000 regularly but constant long days are different. I'm about 2 minutes from I90 and I join it half asleep in the cool morning light. In the middle of 8 lanes of fast moving metal is not the place to be when you've only just woken up. It's 6:15 and the city is already gobbling up all the cars and workers it can. The roads are busy and we're in the pinball arcade again. I'm taking the toll road option today. I90 is toll across 3 states so I'm hoping for a clear fast run. Chicago is OK, through and out. Round the bottom of Lake Michigan then east towards the climbing sun.
What's this? A trick of the light? Flare? Sun spots? No…. it's fucking bloody wanky shitting pissing farting roadworks. I'm paying to sit in roadworks now. Fan-fecking-tastic. I want to stop for breakfast somewhere. Somewhere that doesn't serve you on polystyrene plates with plastic cutlery. If there is one thing I've noticed this trip its the trend towards disposable implements in restaurants. It's appalling. Even in sit down restaurants with waitresses I've had it. It seems it is cheeper to throw away everything than employ a dishwasher. I just refuse to eat like that. I90 might as well be on the moon. It crosses an area of little population for 100s of miles so there are not the usual opportunities for exiting to a Dennys for a bite. All the 'Plazas' have is the fast food shite of the disposable kind so have to be ignored. Its 400 miles before I90 toll stops and I80 begins. 400 miles before breakfast…or make that lunch. 400 miles before I see my first Dennys and peel off to eat. The roadworks have really knocked me back. It's 2pm - 3pm with the time zone change. I'm in a hurry so obviously fate get ready to throw me a treat. Rather than a turd, she throws me a 'tard instead. Get to Dennys, "Hi, my name is Ron, I'll be your server today and I'm a 'tard". Now…I'm not 'tardiest, I'm really really not, believe me. I thank the genetic lottery every day that I've had the good fortune to be dealt a half descent body and an able mind. To think my soul could just have easily been hosted in a disabled body, or one with HUGE ears, 6 toes, a birth mark on my bollocks or any one of a million different problems that effect humanity scares me shitless. I have genuine sympathy for less able people, I really do. I just don't need a 'tard dealing with my meal today. I've not got time to watch the instructions crawl from his ears to his brain then slowly fall down his arm to his hand. I've not got time to answer the same questions 5 times. I've not got time to get three things individually instead of all at once. I'M IN A FUCKING HURRY HERE MATE! I hope he gets a better deal in the next life, poor fella. I bolt down the meal, even having to go in search missing items myself which I've NEVER had to so before. Onto the I80 and I see my first sign for NYC. Its still well over 400 miles but it's the No1 target and the bike has spotted it to. It starts to hum sweetly like a horse smelling home and cantering to it's stable. Cantering straight into more frigging roadworks. These are the worst so far. Lanes merge 2 miles, 3 lanes into 1. Traffic is at a standstill. I get off the bike for a while and the traffic doesn't move. It's hot, I'm sweating and the bike's boiling. Fuck the trucks, I'm filtering. I get abuse but I've turned my bovered-ometer off and I don't care any more. 7 miles of roadworks, 40mph at best, single lane. Out, open the throttle, round the corner … AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 'Lanes Merge 2 miles, congestion ahead, lane closed'.
THIS IS MENTAL! The traffic is moving to slow to be in gear and the clutch is smelling. I'm overtaken……by a butterfly…..that says it all. The miles crawl by, roadworks are just everywhere. Average drops way below 60. Today my mind is completely preoccupied with how long it's going to take to get to NYC. The calculations are ever changing with all the speed changes and delays. I get up on the outskirts about 10 but I'm still a long long way out the city. Take the exit lottery and ask then find a 'Budget Inn'. 'Room 116, round the back' Ride round the back, it's a scary place - I don't like this. There are people here that look like they've just stepped off the set of the Thriller video. Room 116 is open already, there are bedclothes everywhere and it looks like a gang bang scene. "Room 116 is not ready mate, can I have a room round the front please?" "OK Room 121" I go to room 121. I open the door…without using the key. Room 121 has recently been opened with a boot and the lock is no longer part of the door. "Money back please mate, I'm off" It's 10:30 and I cruise down the road looking for an alternative. No motels, its residential so I take a random road and get thrown back on I80 again. SHIIITTTTTTT. Next town 20 miles..nothing again… I'm now approaching NY outskirts proper. I'm in the concrete pinball in the dark. A flipper hits me and knocks me onto 46 east - where the feck does this go? Bollocks! I stop at a Wendys to ask for directions but I don't speak Mexican. It's gone 11. I ask the only bloke in the place. Nice bloke, rides an RT. Talk bikes for a few minutes while I chew a lump of grease. He tells me there is a Holiday Inn up the road. Draws me a map. Fuck all use that turns out to be in the dark concrete assault course outside. I get there only by riding the wrong way down some roads then through some barricades then up a steep bank, probably not the usual way to arrive. "How much?" "$180 plus tax" "HOW MUCH!" "$150 plus tax" She's not playing the game and stops at $150, she won't tell me anywhere else local either. Back on the road. I'm lost, tired, it's nearly midnight and my body yearns for a bed. It can be quite disconcerting to be in that situation. The darkness makes it worse and you feel like you'll not find anywhere. I think about just stopping in a car park and kipping on a bench cos I've nearly had enough. I run into a load of buffers in the pinball machine and let fate decide. Random left, random right, on the way up an on ramp I spot a sign for a hotel on the road I'm just leaving. Without a second thought I ride over the big concrete central reservation and down the ramp then back onto the road I just left. I'm not sure how many laws I broke there but I like to do things in 3's. The sign says $75. "How much please?" "$95" - "What?" "And we're full" "WHAT?" She sees a breakdown coming on. "I have one smoking room left I'll do for $85 plus tax". I don't care if the room is still smoking, I'll take it. It's gone midnight. I started at 5:30. 850 miles is a slow day after this many hours. I take a last long look at the bike outside. We've both made it in one piece, we've both had a long week, the longest I've ever done anyway. Couriers will probably tell me they do this most weeks. In the last 7 days together we've done over 5000 of your Google miles. 5000 miles in a flippin week, that has what has been worrying me and preoccupying my mind for the last month or so. Still, it's done, and after everything it's not been that bad really. My fingers are numb and my shoulders feel like they've got bad sunburn but I feel surprisingly good. The body is a weird thing. Most bodies are pretty well the same, give or take, it's the brain that makes the difference. The body is capable of amazing things. It doesn't HAVE to eat 3/4/10 times a day, it doesn't HAVE to stop every 5 minutes and rest, or drink, or rub itself, or take a piss. It just doesn't. It's all in the mind, all of it. I'm not any different to anybody else, I'm not special (thought some may beg to differ), my body is the same as most other peoples, it's just that I don't give in most of the time. It's difficult, it's certainly not impossible but it's not easy either and I think that's where the difference is. Any road - I shower, lay my head on the biggest most comfortable pillow the world has ever seen and go out like a light.
Home today. Up at 7, a real lie in. Down to breakfast and its a dispose-a-fiest. Serve yourself, use as many disposable cups, bowls and cutlery as you want. Some bloke is employed to constantly empty the bin. It's obscene. I at least re-use everything to cover all I eat. It's all shit though, all gobble size cakes, waffles with butter and syrup, all cholesterol to go. The hotel is full of teenagers on some sort of trip. It's not a fashion trip certainly. American teenagers seem to have the fashion sense of a buffalo in a boutique. It's a random selection of cheap looking tacky shite covering as many colours and patterns as possible. The look awful, truly sad, like charity shop cases, and a particularly bad charity shop at that. There is no hope for this lot, no hope at all -- Get some directions to the nearest Walmart - I need to buy some jellybeans. For once in my life I manage to follow some directions through the maze and find the place, then on to NYC proper. I've promised my bike a ride through Manhattan but I'm a bit scared TBH. I'm not the world's greatest navagationalist, not even the 2nd greatest, I'm a 'follow your nose, seat of the pants' navigator. the road roulette round here scares me and now is not the time to get lost. I've got to get my bike to the shippers and then onto a flight home. Bugger it - you only live once - in we go! It's over there, I can see it, how hard can it be? Over the Hudson on the George Washington bridge then follow the Hudson parkway - that sounds about right. Traffic is dense and intense, they don't take kindly to dawdlers. Make a decision and stick to it. Down past the cruise terminal. The Queen Mary 2 is in and discouraging coach loads of rich wrinklies onto the street. Drivers are interested in the bike. Lots of questions from heavily New York accented drivers who spot the british plates. I've been to NY a few times now and sort of know my way around. Take a left into the skyscraper maze and head across the avenues.
Traffic is solid and I'm conscious of the time. As I sit I ask a van driver his thoughts on filtering. "Hey man, this is New York, who GIVES a fuck". That's my cue to queue jump. Through all the traffic and up 6th avenue for a while. A cyclist comes alongside. Human and iron horse power in perfect harmony. He's crossing the states by pushbike. A short chat as we cruise slowly between the scrapers then we touch fists and he's gone. Across and down 5th Avenue, past the Empire State then across onto 7th and down to the Holland Tunnel, off the island and onto the Jersey Turnpike. I know I'm in the right area. I grab a lorry driver at a toll booth and ask. Two exits down and off. I can smell the finish now, it's really close. Ask a geezer planting flowers, a really heavy accent this time, a drawl. Final instructions received and I'm on final approach looking to land. Surprisingly find the shipping agents easily and sure enough, there are some of the other bikes of the riders that cut and ran earlier in the trip. Engine off. Game over. Sort out the luggage then hand over the paperwork. Run my hand over the bike - "see you back home mate". My bike was one of the oldest on the trip, only an Africa Twin was older but that started with 3k on the trip and I started with 70. It's well over 90k now. All I've done is change the oil twice and the tyres, nothing else really. When others have had expensive professional services, mine has just sat outside like the poor kid at school. It's given me one or two frights and missed a couple of beats now and then but it's put up with all the shit I can throw at it and come back for more. Over 5k in the last week alone. Big BIG respect to that bike. Someone told me it looked derelict. That bike is a fighter, it's a survivor. It's like a terminator. It just doesn't give a shit what people think and it doesn't give up. So it's not shiny, it's a bit battered and bruised, it's not perfect. If you can read it, it can tell you a story.
Taxi to JFK please. "$75 plus tolls and tax - call it $100" How the hell does anyone survive and pay their way nowadays. Taxi is the only option from here though cos I've not got loads of time. I know it's only $55 from the city though which grips my shit! The taxi driver is a New Jersey boy, born and bred. Used to have a Ninja before someone cut him up and broke his knees. That was 10 years ago though. He's thinking of getting another bike, something more sensible. 'A Busa'. Yep, that's far more sensible. We're chewing the fat and he's complaining about the state of the States. How it's so dangerous. "Someone was shot in the street in Jersey yesterday". I tell him about the UK gun laws. Why would you need guns? He's quiet… "Have you got any guns?" I ask. "Well, I have a couple in the house, in case someone breaks in". "What would you do if they did?" "I'd shoot them in the leg". "What if they had a gun?" "I'd shoot them in the face! You gunna take my life I'm gunna take yours first" Then he goes on to advocate putting all the prisoners on an island and bombing them (which I sort of agree with
) or arming them and letting them shoot each other. He starts complaining about the state of the US and finishes with a tirade of advocated violence. Maybe they left out 'irony' in the American version of the OED. Get to JFK - $90 plus tip - fuckidy bollocks! Fate hasn't finished with the turdballs yet. I'm flying Air Lingus. Auto check-in wont auto check me in. Middle names screw up the system apparently. Middle names are rare after all, hardly anyone has them do they. I'm always getting shocked looks and stares when someone sees a middle name in my passport. It's almost like I'm a freak or something. So I have to queue instead…and…JF fucking K has NO free trollies for luggage. They want $5 to hire one. Fuck them…fuck them all. I've had so many hands in my pockets already today I'm just not paying another $5 to move my luggage 200 yards to the check in desk - they should be free. BASTARDS! I've got more luggage than hands. Getting two aluminium panniers to the check in desk whilst holding my tank bag and helmet is like a Great Egg Race challenge. Shiny floor - low resistance - kick the panniers over the floor. I sound like a giant with a concrete club foot as I shuffle and hurd the two panniers over the concourse with my feet. When I do check them in they want another $50 for the extra baggage. "I didn't pay that on the way out". Blank look. "But they cumulatively weigh less than the baggage allowance". Blank look (I think I saw a twitch of terror at the word 'cumulatively' as it had more than 5 letters in it). I hit her round the head with a baseball bat. Blank look. This humourless automaton sitting with my destiny at it's fingertips is programmed only for simple operations. My logic does not compute clearly. FUCK! FUCK FUCKIDY FUCK FUCK. Another $50 disappears without trace. BOLLOCKS. Then the check in desk doesn't take the bags anyway. "Take them to machine 7". "Machine 7, is that another one of you clone weirdesses?" Bitch. I have to do the Quasimodo walk of shame over the hall again to machine 7 where I drop them and finally get to walk properly again. Onto the plane at last. "Hello this is Mr Englishaccent (relief all round). One blink and I'm home and back to work How do I reflect back on this trip? It was an exciting/disappointing/exhilarating/irritating/amazing/cold/warm/hot/boiling/tiring/refreshing/frustrating/annoying/uplifting/depressing/incredible/extraordinary/indescribable/piss taking/easy/relaxing/hard/stressful/chaotic(yep, it was definitely definitely chaotic)/educational experience for sure. I spent the last month of the journey often preoccupied with wether I was going to make it to Alaska or not and that was an unnecessary distraction. Having said all that, I'd get straight back on the bike tomorrow and do it all again without a second thought.
Excellent report 
One question (having read this and your Thailand one) - why did you use a tour operator for this one? It must have significantly added to the cost and most of your frustrations seem to have been a result of their inefficiency or keeping up with an itinerary - neither of which you'd have had to ut up with if you flew solo. I'm genuinely interested in the answer...
One question (having read this and your Thailand one) - why did you use a tour operator for this one? It must have significantly added to the cost and most of your frustrations seem to have been a result of their inefficiency or keeping up with an itinerary - neither of which you'd have had to ut up with if you flew solo. I'm genuinely interested in the answer...
Brilliant write up, 
Its a million times better than trying to understand wtf the missus has put on the telly.
Its a million times better than trying to understand wtf the missus has put on the telly.
Excellent report
One question (having read this and your Thailand one) - why did you use a tour operator for this one? It must have significantly added to the cost and most of your frustrations seem to have been a result of their inefficiency or keeping up with an itinerary - neither of which you'd have had to ut up with if you flew solo. I'm genuinely interested in the answer...
I think its a number of things. I'd been RTW with Nick so I sort of knew what I was getting myself into. Perhaps I just like to complain! Mostly though it's about time. Whenever I do these I'm on a time limit for work so I can't hang about. Even a few years ago it was a lot more time consuming to find accommodation etc on the move than it is now. Now booking.com has it all covered across the globe. I guess there was always the support angle too. It's flippin isolated down in Patagonia. Mostly though I guess it's just having the nerve to do it myself. Nowadays I'll just go and sort it out. I used motoexplorers for the china section of my Bangkok trip but just rode out meet others in Kazakstan alone and that was fine. I made a few good friends on some of these trips and it's nice to ride with others, even though I often just rode alone. I guess I like a challenge and Nick's trips are certainly that. They usually work out pretty good value for money too, but you have to compromise and not expect fantastic accommodation. I've stayed in some amazing places, both good and very very bad and there have been fantastic experiences in both.
I've just got to decide what to do next
Great read so far thanks. Got as far as "per fucking fecto" so far . I feel your pain ! Made me larrf though.
Another brilliant tale..loved it..
Thankyou very much for making your experiences available in the form of this RR. me and the Mrs. loved reading it. good luck on your next adventure
Brilliant write up, great read and photos.
Bengaz
Registered user
Your photos are fantastic
BOBAD
Registered user
A fantastic review which makes me want to ride the PanAmerican highway - starting right now !
Thanks for posting.
Thanks for posting.
Dunno how i missed this originally
Brilliant writing & photography as always
‘Bout time you headed out again surely ;-)
Brilliant writing & photography as always
‘Bout time you headed out again surely ;-)
Similar threads
