The beginning..

OK we’re off! All met up at the airport and checked in. Some of the riders have more baggage than a small nation takes to the Olympic games, and some have more than a large nation takes. God only knows how they will carry it all. I’m sure some them have packed their double beds and favourite armchairs.

We’re on the plane. I’m sitting next to some bloke I don’t know. It’s 10.30 am but he smells like he’s spent the last few hours sampling every spirit on the rack. “Hi, who are you then” I ask. “Hello mate,” he replies, “I’m John and I’m an alcoholic… sorry, sorry… I’m your mechanic” Oh excellent I think. That’s good. I ask him about his breath problem and he says it’s medication from the doctor. Apparently he suffers from really bad ‘polo breath’ so the doctor prescribed some Jack Daniels flavour tablets to hide his embarrassing ‘minty halitosis’ problem.

We’re at 30000ft and it’s time to point Percy at some porcelain. Up to the back I go and wait behind a young girl with a bloke. He’s performing open tonsil surgery with his tongue and she’s bravely managing with only alcohol as aesthetic. Toilet becomes free. She goes in… and he goes in too. Eh up think I, that’s jolly neighborly…

We’re in New York. They seem to be rebuilding the airport unless some enterprising builder has just put a strip of concrete down and is charging airliners half price to land there. We head into town and it’s the same story, all the roads are being rebuilt and half the buildings. We go to catch the ferry the next day and the ferry terminal is being rebuilt too. Everything is being refurbished. I think they’re going to rename it New New York when they are finished.

We’re off to collect the bikes. TAXI! “Statton Island Ferry mate” “What you want to go?” “Statton Island ferry idiot” “What” “move over half wit, I’ll drive” I though I’d have problems speaking American, but I should have learnt Spanish instead it seems. “Could you open the boot” Bloke starts undoing his shoes… “er Trunk” Did the Americans used to drive elephants before they drove cars? Who knows. Over on the ferry you get a lovely view of NY waterfront but it looks weird now the towers have gone. Really bare. We’ve picked up the bike from the freighters and they all start ok thank god. Some are a bit damaged and mine has a bit missing that holds the tank bag on. BUGGER. First aid is administered with thick Velcro.

We’re on our way HORAH. A few of us have decided to head into Manhattan from Statten Island where the bikes were. It’s quite a way and the traffic is gridlocked. Filtering is illegal over here but I’m not from over here so I start filtering through the traffic followed by the others. We’re doing really well and I decide to do some low speed manoeuvre practice through the red barrels at some road works. “Whoop Whoop” goes the siren. Whoops! It’s officer Fatkowski on her lardy Davidson. “Yep… Sorry and all that. Nope… didn’t know it was illegal honest… I’ve only been here a few hours” Things are dragging on so I play my trump card. Being a resourceful motorcyclist I saved the fat from my morning bacon for just such an event. One sniff of my rancid rind had her little snout twitching like a schoolboy peeing on an electric fence. I chucked the rind and did a runner as she snuffled and dribbled her way through the fatty morsel. Went over Brooklyn Bridge and round Manhattan. Past ground zero and through Greenwich Village then all the way up the island to the Bronx and out over George Washington Bridge. More heavy traffic but I’d already forgotten what FatKowsky had said and we’re filtering again. The drivers look at us like we’re from another planet. Out on the open road at last. Heading 300 miles upstate to Painted Post. The scenery is fab. Big hills that have you driving upwards forever. “Are we still going up” “Yep still going up” “Are you sure we’re still going up?” “Yep I’m sure we’re still going up” “But we’ve been going up for ages” “Yep still going up” “Blimey we’ve been going up for ages” “SHUT UP”.

We see signs for “Granny Homes” but they appear to be wooden kit homes in a series that starts with rabbit hutches, goes through kennels, then sheds then homes for your fossils. They’re eco friendly cos when pop pegs out you just set fire tot the house and it saves the cost of the funeral. We see sign for “Bobs Busy Market”. I was going to go but I thought it would be busy so I went somewhere else.


The roads aren’t good just here with pot holes everywhere. Like everything else out here. The pots they seem to make the holes with are bigger than back home but at least it’s quite easily to navigate most of the time. We deliberately take the wrong turn out the motel and head south instead of north. An easy mistake to make DOH

We stop for fuel (again). I reckon this place must be near to a cloning lab. Asking for my money is a woman/walrus cross breed that must have grown up behind the counter because there is no way she could get through the door. I’m just hoping I don’t smell of fish when in flaps her identical twin sister asking if we have any seal cubs in our luggage. It feels about 300 degrees inside my leathers as we approach Niagara Falls. It’s a Canadian holiday weekend and the palaces chock a block with Canadian tourists. We do the maid of the mists then cross the Rainbow Bridge into Canada. The traffic is queued up for miles across Customs but we filter through whilst speaking German in very loud voices. Heading north out of Niagara we go past ‘Balls Falls’ with a big queue of adolescent boys patiently waiting to leave. We’re approaching a vital turn and my map flies out the tank bag. I’m doing about 80 as I head for the emergency lane to stop. It’s at this point I remember the emergency lane is loose shingle on this section. By this time my crapometer starts to register 20%. The bike start to weave and skid and the crapometer quickly moves up to 80%. OK.. I start looking for the eject handle as the crapometer goes through 100%. More by luck than judgement the bike sorts itself out and we stop. I don’t think I’ll be able to go to the toilet for weeks my bum is so tense. The bloke following me said it looked excellent with masses of dust filling the air. I tell him that wasn’t dust!

Wed Painted Post to Port Huron 400 miles

Getting into our strides now. 400 seems easy NOT. Today we go through some of Ontario. Flat and quite boring!

Thur Port Huron to WAWA. 500 miles across Michigan. Views to die for around the lakes but the police are on the warpath. We first get warned by a lady copper in a petrol station. Then we get pulled over by a car. I’ve worked out why these squad cars have 10 litre engines. It’s to power all their lights. It’s like having the mother ship from close encounters land behind you when they pull you over. Anyway. Out gets officer BigTashTalkingBollocks. An American Indian and direct descendent of the infamous Big Chief LargeBeardMumbleCrap. He has all the standard police features. Big gun, big glasses, and a gut you could cut off, hollow out, fill with water and keep a family of killer whales in. He says they have had complaints about bikers forcing trucks off the road. Now these trucks have 18 wheels, weigh 40 to 50 tonnes and are about 60 ft long. Our motorbikes however are not. This sounds to us not unlike washday in an old peoples home . Ie a massive wet and steaming pile of old pants. BigTaskTalkingBollocks tells us that the state police are covering our route, the troupers have been made ready, president Bush had been informed and they are tracking us with spy satellites with a view to shooting us off the road with their new star wars technology. That puts our minds at rest. We end the day in the Northern Lights motel in WaWa after driving round the edge of lake superior in the evening light, Fantastic. We sit down for dinner and some humming birds land next to us. The women don’t wash very often round here evidently.

Fri WAWA to Winnipeg. 730 mile

Long day starting at 6am. Mind the moose say the signs. Yea right we think till we come round a corner to find one in the road having just been hit by a car. Big mess to the car. Bigger mess to the moose. They were just waiting for the moose priest to arrive and administer the last rights. Poor thing. Back across some fantastic bridges into Canada and the long drag up to Winnipeg across the plains. Very long and boring day.

Winnipeg to Medicine Hat 650 miles

Start at 6.30 again and the first few hours are in the pouring rain and dark. Again, long hours of straight roads and flat scenery. Today must be the migration date for grasshoppers. Great big swarms of them appear in the wind. As you drive by the fields it’s “INCOMMING” and a squadron appears in your view with you as their target. It’s like someone flicking 100’s of giant bogies at your visor as they splat and disintegrate in front of your nose. By the end of the day I’ve got various grasshopper body parts all over me and the bike. I try and fail to assemble one giant grasshopper from the parts but just end up making a 20 eyed 40 winged 52 legged monster that ate two of the other riders before flying south towards Hollywood to look for a career in the movies Lots of eagles to watch today though. Arrive late at Medicine Hat. What sort of name is that anyway? And what is a medicine hat? “Hi doctor. I’ve got an incurable condition. Can you help?” “Certainly. Just wear this hat 3 times a day and you’ll be better in no time” Mad.

Sun Medicine Hat to Dawson 800 miles

6am start and very very long day. We drive through Banff and the Canadian Rockies. The place is just awesome and impossible to put into words. Majestic views round every corner. The planet designers really went to town on this place. Fantastic. Get to Dawsons Creek at 9.30 pm and collapse.

Mon Dawson to Muncho lake. 462 miles.

Driving through British Columbia along the Alaska Highway in the sunshine. What a fabulous day. The roads were just excellent and the scenery was magnificent again. We saw elk, caribou, chipmunks, eagles and someone saw a black bear. Last 20 miles spent blasting along a ribbon of road on the edge of Muncho lake. Clear blue water that you can see right to the bottom. Awesome. Some of the tighter corners had the old winker stinker twitching (I was sure I was going for a swim on a couple of occasions) but I managed to stay on and make it to the hotel. This hotel, blimey. Last nights was a dive, full of drunk cowboys from a rodeo that had just finished. Lots of things seemed to have passed Dawsons Creek by. Toilet door locks seem to come to mind for one thing. I must have gone into 8 bogs and not one had a lock. Perhaps they’re the quickest poo’ers in the world and locks aren’t necessary.
Tonight’s accommodation is something else though. The largest log cabin in north America on the edge of a lake with boat planes moored up outside. The place moved and vibrates as the planes take off and land, and when the larger than life waitress thumps around the restaurant. An amazing place in the shadow of some serious mountains.



Tue Munch Lake to Whitehorse. 450 miles

Some bugger has gone and ordered rain today, and lots of it. It’s tipping down for long periods as we continue along the Alaskan Highway for another 450 miles. We head into the Yukon and the scenery is once again spectacular. More open fast roads through mountains with lakes at every turn. We’re going north though and the weather is getting much colder. We pull into a garage famous for it’s ‘Yukon Breakfasts’. Out here the calorie is too small a unit of measurement and meals are composed of ‘killories’ instead(1 Killorie = 5436.2 calories). This breakfast is 2450 Killories and has to be bought to the table with the help of four strong men and heavy lifting equipment. Anyway, I feel like a fois gras goose after I’d eaten 6 of ’em but when in Rome… Someone spots another black bear running from the road. I’ve yet to see one though. The garage has a calendar on the wall with a list of sightings of wildlife that reads like an episode of a David Attenborough documentary. We end the day in Whitehorse and have to set up camp as the heavens open. Lots of riders wimp out and go in motels but we grin and bear it, idiots.


Wed Whitehorse to Dawson City 350 miles.

Short day up the Klondike highway alongside and over the Yukon river. The river is simply HUGE and very fast flowing but a beautiful light blue. It’s pissing down again and very very very cold. I’ve got 15 layers of clothes plus leathers plus waterproofs and other riders say they can still see my nipples sticking through. As for taking a leak, it’s just a case of ‘fire and forget’ because there is no hope of finding anything to grab hold of.dawson-city Ride all day in the cold until we’re numb then reach Dawson City. This place is just like a cowboy film. A grid of dirt streets with rows of old fashioned wooden buildings. It was a gold rush town and nothing seems to have changed. There doesn’t even seem to be a McDonalds! We’re at about 62 degrees north and we’re still going north tomorrow.

Thur Dawson City to Anchorage 500

top-of-the-word-highwayNow its really really cold! I wake up and every hair on my body is erect. I look like a piece of Vecro, and I feel like one as I put on all my clothes. Breakfast at Klondike Kates before getting a chain ferry across the Yukon river and up onto the top off the world highway. This is a truly amazing road through the mountains between Canada and Alaska. Were up at 4-5000 ft and way above the clouds in the valleys below. This road is full of the most massive potholes you have ever seen, not surprisingly. These will claim a few victims before the day is through. We get to the American boarder at 4200ft and cross into Alaska. The Canadian road was bad but at least it was tarmac. The first 40 miles to Chicken are all dirt roads with loose gravel on top, a motorcycle nightmare. I spend the whole time standing up on the pegs riding at about 40-50 and pooing my pants every 100 yards as we skid and slide our way along the road. Some of the more experienced boys are riding the road like loonies on their big trail bikes but my teeth are all loose and my nuts have been bashed more times than I care to remember. Good experience though and an absolutely fantastic scenic road that most people would never travel. We then blast over to Anchorage on good roads and do some serious speeds to make up for the morning. There are some enormous bumps that catch us out and some people damage their bikes. Someone in our group cracks the frame and we nurse the bikes back to town. The road into Anchorage is spectacular with the mountains that include Mt Mikinney (23000ft) running along side the road for miles. We pass glaciers and snow covered peaks and the temperature drops again. We arrive knackered, then have to camp. All night the campsite residents (mostly Eskimos it seems) are having massive arguments. Fri ( today). Supposed to be a day off but were servicing the bikes and the day goes in a blur of activity and frantic mending of bent bits.


sat Anchorage to Whitehorse 720 miles

OK so that was our day off, excellent!  By the time we have done our bikes and got back to the camp site it’s 7pm so there is no time for anything but food and bed. Up at 5.30, pack up the tents and  away by 6.15.  Anchorage is flanked by some serious mountains and the clouds hang in their side like wisps of silk as we climb up and out.  We’re heading back east and the sun is right in our eyes as we negotiate the mountain roads.  It’s bloody scary but worth it as we pass the glacier and reach the plateau.  Just over the trees there’s a huge bird circling round.  You can tell it’s big cos it’s wings flap  so slowly as we approach.  As we pass it goes just overhead at tree level, a huge bald eagle with it’s big white head, really spectacular.  We’ve got 700 miles to do and we’re losing an hour crossing time zones.  All the way west we gained an hour every day but now it’s working against us.  We’re back on the Alaskan highway that runs from Dawsons Creek to Anchorage. canada-yukon Much of the road is either loose gravel, unmade road or just completely knackered tarmac.  We’re getting complacent about the conditions and doing 80 over everything, stood up on the pegs like moto cross riders.  One slip out here and you’re dead.  I’ve no idea how the people out here get help.  They’re hours from anywhere and no mobiles.  They rely on CB radio out on the road but sometime you don’t see a soul for ages.  Go in a ditch and nobody would find you.  We find out the next day that a car went off on the gravel yesterday and killed the occupants, perhaps we should be more careful. Arrive at Whitehorse at 10.30 completely bolloxed.

Sun Whitehorse to Hyder 670 miles

Bloody long day again.  Start in the cold at 7.30 and it’ official, my arse and I are no longer speaking to each other.  In fact I can’t remember the last it spoke to me, it just mumbles quietly to itself and blows raspberry’s at me.  100 miles out and we get our first puncture.  Take of the helmets off and there are approximately 3 million bugs crawling all over me asking if I’d seen their brother/wife/aunt/girlfriend.  I tell them that I saw them just down the road but neglected to tell them that I saw them 2 inches from the end of my nose as they exploded like little bloody fireworks. We park in a garage and some old twat reverses his mobile home (or RV’s as they call them) into one of our bikes and knocks it over, excellent.  600 miles of really shit roads and gravel and I’m really pissed off.  I still haven’t seen a “Holy Shit what was that” and I nearly run into a black bear on the verge. Blimey. a bear!  I turn round and coast past where I saw them and wait.  Two black bears come out of the verge and walk around in the road just 20 yards away.  I get the video out and they continue to wander around, how lucky is that.  They look so cuddly I want to go and stroke them.  That would be a great idea right up until the moment they eat me so I decide to go. Few miles later and a mother with 3 cubs appears on the right then another on the left, this is getting better and better.  We tear down into some mountains and past another glacier.  We ride into a town that looks like wizards should live there.  Shrouded in mist and darkness we go into Hyder which is an American enclave just on the coast of Canada.  No customs to cross but they use US dollars, weird. The place is there basically to support tourists watching the bears.  There is a spot on the river where the bears eat the salmon.  At the moment the salmon are spawning.  The place stinks of dead fish that are lying everywhere.  It’s quite sad to see them all in their final death throws as they spawn and die.

Monday Hyder to Prince George 450 miles

Decided to ride alone today cos I want to get there early and set up camp. Ride up out of the mountains and avoid all the half asleep wizards wiping their eyes.  The roads are fantastic and very very fast.  The land is flattening out but there are lots of beautiful green lakes instead.  I come around a corner at something approaching the speed of sound and I think “Eh up. something is wrong here”  What I expect to be the back of a truck in my lane is in fact the front of a truck alongside and overtaking another truck on the inside.  “Oh Truck” I think as I dive on the brakes and take to the verge just in time to have both the trucks thunder past still 2 abreast. Now in the way cats have 9 lives, bikers have 9 pairs of pants and I reckon I used my first pair today.  Get to Prince George and set up camp.  I walk up to the garage and there is a health food shop next door.  It was empty. No surprise there.  I wander in and dust the cobwebs off the shop assistant and buy some dried fruit.  In my meanderings it seems to me that the only fresh things Americans eat are fresh doughnuts and cakes. The girl in the garage is a case in point.  I think she snacks between meals.  In fact I think she snacks between snacks.  We camp beside a busy road and wake up freezing cold.

Tue Prince George to Vancouver 475 miles

Another nice day in the Canadian Rockies.  Beautiful green lakes and bright sunshine.  More mountain roads and stunning views.  Then things get really spectacular as we head through the mountains past Whistler.  The roads here are absolutely mental and we take a few liberties resulting in scraped feet on the fabulous bends.  We go into Whistler for a coffee but the place looks like Disneyland.  Plastic building full of plastic people trying to look cool.  Loads of surf shops too, Eh?  Mountains, sea, same difference obviously!  We get split up so Marco and I crack on to catch up when whoops, here we go again.  An unmarked police car going in the other direction turns the lights on and it ‘Saturday night fever’ all over again.  Green lights, red lights, blue lights, white lights, blimey what a sight.  Now it’s a 60kph limit, and we were doing 160 so I think we’re in trouble.  Out gets Officer BeaverJaw.  This bloke looks like a 60 a day man.  Trees that is. His teeth look like they need their own separate life support system.  He grabs a log to nibble on and asks us the police equivalent of ‘does my bum look big in this?’.  “So boys” says BeaverJaw. “How fast were you boys going then”.  Predicting a speed auction we start our bidding “Oh must have been about 80” .  “More like 120” he says “maybe 90 we say”, “any advance on 90” he says, “going once, going twice, all done at 90 then”.  He starts to give us the full monty but his teeth are visibly growing before our eyes and he realises if he doesn’t fell a giant redwood in the next five minutes his teeth will grow into his neck so we get cautioned and go on our way to the sound of “TIM-BER” behind us.  Get to Vancouver late as the sun sets across the bay.

Wed Vancouver to Bend 470

South out of Vancouver we go and down I5 towards Seattle.  Out of Canada for the last time on this trip and back to the land of cheap petrol.  We haven’t been on an interstate for weeks and it’s soul destroying travelling through 8 lanes of rush hour traffic.  There’s a black pickup behind us and yep, you guessed it!  I’m going to write a book on the different unmarked police cars the yanks use.  This time 7 of us get pulled at once, but this bloke just wants a chat to see where we’re going.  We go through Seattle and it’s like hell in concrete.  It’s really really nasty with huge concrete roads everywhere and I’m glad to get out.  As we leave Seattle I spot a sign. In the UK we have park and ride but the Americans always have to go one better. The sign says ‘park and fly’ with little helicopters parked outside. We get some new tyres and head off again into gridlock.  Trying to filter here is too dangerous cos the drivers absolutely hate it and they’ll squash you into a truck without thinking about it.  We try it and one of the riders get squashed into a truck. See, I told you. We head out into Oregon and it’s suddenly like Little House On The Prairie.  Rolling hills and grazing animals then up some mountains into the Redwoods.  The road goes up over 5000 ft with huge lakes and dams, and hillsides covered in the huge red trees.  I guess this is where Officer BeaverJaw takes his hols.  Out to camp in Bend on lovely lush grass for a change.


Thur Bend to Gurlach. 600

Out of Oregon and into Nevada and the scenery seems to change instantly. Huge plains covered in scrub grass with mountains into the distance and roads that are always reaching the horizon.  The sky is full of eagles and I spot one on a post.  I get a shot of him just before he flys off to kill something.  Typical American.   Big roadworks too.  It must be some sort of strange punishment for people that don’t do well at school to have to hold the signs to control the traffic.  I spot one such individual with a cap on backwards and mouth wide open holding a sign saying ‘slow!’. Enough said. We get closer to the destination and climb through yet more mountains.   Up through 6000ft again and it gets cold really quickly but then heats up just as fast on the way down.  Into Gerlach and the place is just like a mad max set.  Small town in the middle of the Nevada salt flats.  All around are memorabilia of the land speed record attempts including thrust2.  We were there to meet up with a load of American ‘ironbutts’.  The ironbutts are bikers who think that doing 1000 miles a day is a miracle only achievable by those naturally gifted with a 60in waist and arse cheeks you could land a 747 on.  After it gets dark we all ride out onto the flats or ‘playa’ as they call it to a bonfire.  What a weird experience that was.  The salt flats are not that flat for a start.  50 mph is OK but I don’t fancy 800. On the way back off the flats one of the ironbutts crashed his bike on a bump and it took 30 blokes to lift it back up.

Fri Gerlach to Furnace Creek 450 miles

Out across the salt flats and plains.  The scenery is speckled with homesteads that provide the only greenery in the searing heat.  Getting very very hot and sticky as we head south.  The petrol stations are getting more an more hard to find and BUM I run out of petrol just outside a wooden house with some people sitting outside chatting.  I put my spare can in and go over to ask where the nearest petrol station is.  They’re all very chatty and friendly and hand me a flyer.  It’s a menu.  Here we go then.  French… eh?  Salt and pepper eh?  Half and half….. CLICK.. we’re in Nevada aren’t we… and prostitution is legal… and this is a whorehouse DOH.  Bit shocking to suddenly realise that though.  I make my excuses and leave.  I then notice them everywhere.  Nevada is full of them.  MacDonalds even does a special ‘fishy McMuffin’ unique to the state.  Be careful where you go to eat out here though.  If you see $50 per head, chances are that you’ve wandered into Cottontail or Shady Lady by mistake. Off over the plains again and big cacti, some in flower.  Over to death valley.  Now think of things that don’t go together.  Drinking and driving, Gary Glitter and children, George W and The Presidency, motorcycle leathers and death valley.  Now children, let’s try this at home.  Get a set of motorcycle leathers plus helmet plus boots, get a chair and sit on the drive.  Now get mum and dad to go to the local friendly RAF base and borrow a Tornado jet then park it on the drive.  When dad gets home from work get him to build a 20ft high 20 ft thick wall  in front of the jet.  Get Squadron Leader BigPotatoes to give the plane some revs till the engines go that lovely red colour an sit behind the plane on the chair in your kit.  That’s what riding through death valley is like.  Now don’t move for at last 3 hours, and repeat for the next 10 days.  We head for Furness Creek in the valley.  Furness Creek… typical American overstatement.  In the UK we’d call it LittleWarmerThanAverage or something.  Nice motel for a change with a good pool filled with warm spring water.

Sat Furnace Creek to Las Vegas 150

Up out death valley.  Strange rock formations and lots of heat.  Quick ride to Vegas to sort things out.  Get a new part for my helmet and do some washing etc. Driving through Vegas is HELL.  Hotter than ever at 39 degrees and stop start traffic, nightmare.  Vegas is crass and full of fat ugly people whose skin moves completely independently of their skeletons.  We gamble a few dollars and cruise the strip, gotta be done. Late night though.

Sun Las Vegas to Durango 770

Blimey, lots to do today.  Quick trip to Hoover Dam, very disappointing though, then up to Zion national park which is eerie.  The rocks here are outstanding, spectacular.  Layers of coloured rocks in huge canyons with switchback roads.  One of the riders comes off and brakes his colour bone. Out to the Grand Canyon to have a look at the view which is predictably spectacular.  I see a sign for Buffalo Burgers.  I didn’t know buffalo ate burgers but it looks quite popular with lots of buffalo in the field next to the restaurant.  Across the Colorado river at Marble Canyon and past all the red Indian stalls selling trinkets etc.  Getting dark and we’re 100’s of miles from the destination so we leave monument valley out and head down towards the campsite.  Someone does a u-turn in front of us in the dark and my fellow rider has to use one of his 9 pairs of pants to avoid him.  Arrive 12.30pm and pitch tents in the dark amongst the skunks.

Mon Durange to Alpine 720

Dipped a toe in lots of states today.  Started in Colorado, then into Utah and finally New Mexico.  It’s hot today to put it mildly.  They’re having some record temperatures.  Yesterday today and tomorrow we have temperatures over 40 degrees and drink constantly.  The day is long with huge bare plains to cross with strong winds.  There are animals grazing though.  They must be used to it.  All day we’re passed by police cars.  They seem to have a 3 to 1 citizen to police ratio out here.  We go through Roswell and say ‘jerjerhhh uf thherr likekei’ to the aliens and head south.  Through the sunset and we’re into another national park.  The local adolescent rabbits are playing chicken across the road but it’s 2-0 to me as one gets squashed and another hits my foot and ricochets off into the night.  Later I’m stopped by an older rabbit who asks me to sign a petition to get a pelican crossing.  Arrive hotel about 12 after loosing another hour across time zones to find they don’t have enough rooms and we’re going to have to share beds.  Bugger that (if you’ll excuse the expression) so I opt for a couch.

Tue Alpine to Big Bend 120

Only a really short day to allow us to pitch tent early in Big Bend national park and maximise the mossie bite opportunities to the full.  A ranger comes up to us later and warns us there are bears, mountain lions, scorpions (two in the gents loos) tarantula spiders and rattle snakes around the camp.  I opt to sleep in my crash helmet.  Hot noisy windy (barbecue food!) uncomfortable night

Next Page

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *