bigplatcool

Between the Canadian Navy and Salt Spring Airways we were treated to an afternoon show. The Canadian Navy had five ships arrive and dock here in the late afternoon. This was accompanied the entire afternoon  by the landings and takeoffs of float planes. At one stage the frequency reached about one landing or take off every ten minutes.

The Navy Arrives at Salt Spring

All 5 ships docked. A party in town tonight

Because float planes do not have runway they always try and land directly into the wind. This is generally judged by the direction which the boats which are moored to buoys lie as they always end up bow into wind.

A beaver drops in to land

Today’s wind meant that the Beavers, Otters and occasional Caravan on floats had the hotel as their final approach path, swooping low over the veranda and then touching down a few hundred feet from us.

At the same time the Navy flotilla was busy docking one by one until all 5 boats had berthed in an impressive display of handling.

I was joined by another couple on the veranda, from San Fransisco. A man and his obviously second or maybe third wife. Significantly younger and very confidently so. He was also a pilot and aircraft owner, as interested in the goings on as I was and then in what I am doing.

A turbine otter taxis in

It is a small world. In the nearby bar where I went for a quick dinner the man sitting next to me is the Captain of one of the bigger boats in the harbour this evening. Skippers it for Vancouver family who spend the entire summer on the boat never leaving Canadian waters. He knew Cape Town well having been there to collect a Robertson and Caine Catamaran for delivery to the US a few years ago. he proudly informed me his name is on the wall at Panama Jacks for having consumed the most Rum in an evening! Richard from Canada is the name to look for. He also tells me that the navy flotilla are all training ships and that the five are part of 60 such vessels in active service.

Now for those who are starting to worry that I have not been on my game, fear not for the real stuff is about to follow. Soon. I have been gathering breath and girding my loins.

Ladies you will soon be finding out why you should have married a BP!. This is not a Boy Pilot as the new pilots in SAA were affectionately called, but rather a Biker Pilot. This rare species is at the pinnacle of sexuality. All will be revealed and will put paid to myth of 50 Shades of “Poepall” Grey. In this part of the world they have not heard of Grey et all. The woman here are reading ” The women who run with the wolves” and “In the realm of the Hungry Ghosts” . This is a serious island! Also known as “Bed Spring” Island because of all the goings on. The rutting season is apparently in spring, when everyone is tired of their partners after a dismal winter and they move on.

Tomorrow I will catch the afternoon ferry to Vancouver. This, on a Tuesday, is not direct and stops in at three of the Islands on the way. So the trip will take three and a bit hours rather than 1h45 for the direct one. No problem for me as I will get to see more.

The past few days have been bitter sweet. Lots of great people. The Canadians ares super friendly. A beautiful place but very lonely for me as I desperately would have liked “someone” here to share it with.

My next You Tube attempt will also be up in the next couple of hours if you are interested. Just look under Bigplatcool trip to Alaska

Good night and good luck

Salt Spring Island

Situated off the eastern coast of Vancouver Island, lies Salt Spring Island. This is one of what is known here as the Gulf Islands. They all lie in the Salish Sea, not in Puget Sound as I incorrectly wrote in an earlier blog. Puget Sound is an offshoot of this area and the Salish Sea.

My route here brought me over the sea on the CoHo ferry from Port Angeles to Victoria, the major city on Vancouver Island. Vancouver Island is vast and Victoria is situated at the South Eastern corner.

Waiting for the CoHo

The CoHo arrives

There are a number of other bikers on the ferry. Many are simply coming over to ride on Vancouver Island for the day and will return to the US in the evening. I see a couple on a Harley and note that they are my age or more. n the ferry I grab some breakfast at the small canteen and look for a place to sit. This couple call me over to sit with them. We introduce ourselves and have breakfast together. Mike and Kim. My accent intrigues them as it does most Americans and it is always a great conversation opener. Kim is also a granny and immediately got the fact that Eveanne had chosen to be with Nikki and the twins, rather than with me on the bike. That being said they did at least one long trip a year together on the bike. Mike and Kim thanks for your company.

Leaving Port Angeles

On the ferry

As the ferry approached the city and the harbour it was immediately evident that this was a different country. The architecture is dramatically different for a start. This, like the whole area, is boat country. The more one is here, the more you realise why. It is ideal boating water. Sheltered waters are virtually always calm. Hundreds of small places to go to, means lots of alternatives, rather than what we have in South Africa where we always leave and return to the same place. Here you can cruise in these waters for a month and stop in a different town every evening or simply drop anchor in a protected cove for a week. Abundant sea life everywhere makes it a fisherman’s paradise.

Victoria beckons, house boat suburb

Float Plane Heaven

Float Plane docking station Victoria

On arrival my first sight was of a small aircraft dropping towards the water and harbour. I realised this was a float plane. These are used as day to day rapid transport throughout Seattle, Vancouver and nearby islands and also in Alaska. I will be getting used to them.

So off the ferry. Through Canadian Immigration who are very friendly and into the city. I have no idea where I am going to other than I need to catch another ferry. I know nothing of Vancouver Island or Salt Spring Island. The only reason I am going there is that it has an outstanding Relais and Chateau Hotel, Hastings House on the Island and I am booked there for three nights.

Ferries are big and used by all

Onboard the ferry

Jerry my source of information on the ferry

So I follow the GPS, with one small snag. I have two GPS’s and they are both telling me different things. So I go with the one. It is about 60 kms to the correct Ferry terminal according to the chosen GPS. This is at a small town north of Victoria called Sidney. On the way I drive past Island Motorcycles, the BMW agent and they are having an open day. I drop in and enjoy the vibe. I find one of the staff members who has driven, not ridden, to Alaska. It is doable he tells me and cannot stop telling me how awesome the scenery is.

Bonnie arrives note Relais flag behind

I am off again, coffee’d up. I get to Sidney. The ferry terminal is massive and a hive of activity. I get to the Salt Spring Island entry and there are no cars. This will be easy I think. I buy my ticket and the lady informs me I have to hurry as the ferry leave in under a minute. This is why there are no cars. I proceed, as instructed to lane 30. The ferry is not about to leave. There are numerous motorbikes waiting and hundreds of vehicles including a tractor with a mower, cyclists and pedestrians with dogs galore.

Whenever people and in particular motorcyclists see my Michigan plates and load, they strike up a conversation. Across the US is a big deal and to Alaska a huge deal, so breaking  the ice is easy. I find out from Jerry that Salt Spring is a major daily destination and Saturdays are the day because they have the biggest market in the area. A flea and natural produce market.

Salt Spring is apparently a super cool place. Once, a home for the West Coast Canadian Hippy community. It is now home to artists, a few wineries, musicians and some of the super rich as a weekend and holiday destination. It is like a Midlands Meander on steroids. The trip over takes about 90 minutes. The water is super smooth and the islands are visible throughout. More people come and talk to me.

My room on the right in the old barn

Soon we are at Fulford and off the ferry. I follow the GPS again but have a better idea of where I am going. 20 kms to go, these pass quickly. It is very scenic. I arrive in Ganges which is next to the hotel. It is a heaving mass of people for the market. I find my way to the hotel. This is situated in pole position at the end of the bay next to the Marina. It comprises the old manor house, which houses the bar and restaurant and then various out buildings in which are the bedrooms. I am in one of three rooms, in what was the old farm barn. Very comfortable. Terra who greets me and shows me to my room and apologises for the lack of air-conditioning but says it rarely gets as hot as it is. I do not like hot and this is certainly not hot, only warm. The cool ocean has a moderating effect on the climate.

Hastings House = The manor

View from the hotel veranda

Christo, the do everything guy, comes to help me offload. He is South African. A game ranger from the Waterberg, he met his Canadian wife who is a vet, when she spent time in the Waterberg on a research project. We are soon babbling on in Afrikaans, both delighted to have found a common link. He has lost his Afrikaans and I think that to start with, mine is better than his. I am hungry and am directed to a hotel over the road which has an all day restaurant. A bar meal. The lady who runs the bar, Alicia is a friend of Terra’s and makes sure I get well fed and carries on conversation with me.

Someone always has a bigger one

After lunch I walk to the market. It is a flea market and not my scene. On the way back I stop. Am I seeing things? In my path is a snake! I soon realise it is the black household type, something similar to the one I found in my briefcase in my Farm office many years ago.

I keep on hearing aircraft taking off. It is a regular procession of float planes dropping people off and collecting them to take them to other islands and Vancouver itself. There are boats everywhere. Some small, some big and then a huge boat arrives.

On my return I find a note from Aiicia, the assistant manager inviting me to join her for a drink and then for dinner with her and her partner, Curtis who also rides bikes. Aiicia is a very exotic lady. Dark good looks. A great figure, this is not just WODES talking, she is the product of an Indian Father and a half Indian mother. Vancouver is home to a very large Asian community. She tells me her parents had an arranged marriage and then decided to drop out and become hippies, after which they moved to the island. They are still here some 25 years later.

She is on duty on her own for the first time this season as Kelly, the GM is off. She is very nervous that all will go well. Curtis arrives. It is clear that he is not at all happy about sharing his evening with this exotic being, with me. However once we start talking and sharing biking and golfing stories, the ice is broken and we all have a great evening and a great meal. Curtis has ridden as far as Las Vegas and on one occasion has done and “iron butt”, this is 1000 miles in a day. The challenge is staying awake. I will share the solution with you as even Curtis did not know it. The solution is chewing gum. Not to stick your eyes open, but because you cannot go to sleep whilst you are chewing something. Excellent wine and food. The noble late harvest with the cheese finishes me off.

Incidentally I ask him what he likes the most about biking. It is the smells of everything around you he replies. It is what I also tell everyone.

Soon after I get into bed I hear sirens galore. I wonder what it is all for. This is a backwater and this is a big noise. I go to sleep. A busy day ahead. In the morning a sleep in and a massage, then dinner in the evening with Christo and his wife. I think I will go to the nearby beach for a swim as well.

I only find out on Sunday afternoon that the sirens were the fire brigade and that some of the diner guests had started a fire in the garden, which spread out of control. Aiicia had only just arrived at her home when she was called back. They had four fire engines here and had to evacuate some of the rooms. Did not worry me at all.

So today, after watching Wimbledon, a quick breakfast, the massage.

The masseur hit the spots immediately. My lower back and left arm have been taking strain. My back for obvious reasons, but my left arm I suspect because of constantly using the two large fingers for changing the clutch. My left wrist has increased in size dramatically. Many of the people here, like D the masseur, are caught up in a dilemma, the same one people in her position find themselves in, in for example Franschhoek. These places, initially an escape for many, are now super popular and expensive, too expensive for them to rent and continue living in , but it is where the jobs are. Not in winter as everything also closes down and their summer is very short.

Afterwards I go for a walk to Churchill Road Beach. I pass a deer on the side of the road. We both stop and observe each other, then I move on keen to swim. The beach is not a beach as we know it. Shell and rock base, no sand. It is not a Danger Beach in St. James or Salt Rock, which is where the breakfast waitress comes from. There are South African’s everywhere. More than half the Doctors and Dentists on the island are from SA.

My new friend

I think we do not really understand the extent of the brain drain over the past few years. Walking along I think about our various Beach houses. St. James. Simonstown, Arniston and St. James Again. I swore never again will we own a a beach house or a boat. Here I am thinking that here one of each would be very nice. No alarms and security companies needed here. With a boat, so many things to do. Am I loosing it? Has my mind gone?

The beach BC Style.

A tread very gently over the stones. They have coral pieces on them. I am reminded of the first few days of our annual St. James holidays before our feet had toughened up. Walking to the beach on the very hot pavement. Treading on the curbstones. Eager to get to Danger Beach and see my heart throb lying there. No time for them to toughen up her. The water is great and not a glacial lake. I wallow around enjoying the salt water on my body. An obligatory wee in their sea.  Soon it is time to get out and brave the sore feet again. I make it and soon am back at the hotel.

Hotel Herb Garden

Dinner with the boere tonight will be a pleasure. Tomorrow I am playing golf with Curtis. He will be a more formidable opponent. 40 ish and semi retired, he plays 5 days per week. I will see how my “you have the best swing ” routine works. Later I will ride around the island and then on Tuesday I take the ferry directly to Vancouver.

Alaska now draws ever closer. I have now been away from Eveanne and the clan for five weeks. It is a bit like hitting the wall in a marathon. I am asking myself a lot of questions. This is the reason one does these endurance based activities. To test oneself because it is only when you reach these points that the answers start emerging. In the US for four and on the road for three. There are nearly 4000 miles behind me and the real adventure is only just about to begin,

From my hotel room in Port Angeles on the northern tip of the Olympic peninsula of Washington State, I can see Vancouver Island.

My choice of the Red Lion Hotel was an inspired one, as it is less than two minutes from the ferry terminal, My ferry for Victoria leaves at 08h15 and I have to be there an hour before for passport and customs. A ship’s foghorn has just shattered the calm. It is the evening ferry on the way. It sleeps in Victoria and leaves there at 06h15 for the 90 minute trip to Port Angeles.

This is part of Puget Sound. For those of you have not been to Seattle or Vancouver, but have been to Sydney, this is a Sydney on massive steroids. My ride today took me from Astoria, over the Columbia River and into Washington State. I was not with the program this morning and should have been wearing my GoPro.

The bridge over the river is spectacular. Withing a quarter of mile from the shore you find yourself at a height of about 300 feet above the river. This is to allow the ocean going vessels, which sail up the river to Portland and further to collect grain and lumber, to pass underneath.

You then drop down just as quickly onto a causeway, which then runs for the whole two mile width of the river. I debated going back and redoing the run with the camera on, but there was a ry/go on the bridge for construction work and the backups were immense.

I will not bore you with more descriptions of the magnificent scenery. It just goes on and on, seemingly endless. Trees and water everywhere. I did however have to stop in Big Bend and have some crab, as this is where it all began.

Big Bend WA, where it all began

Crab and Fries for lunch. Great crab, shitty fries

From Big Bend onwards, it was not a pleasant ride. The summer is here and people are out in force going on vacation. Everywhere has filled up since earlier in the week. The going is slow. Bonnie and I are getting frustrated. This is never good. relationships break up when thing get tense. I take a back road. This is better, but not for long. I calm her and myself down.

A post office appears. I have bought Oregon postcards for Moshe and Stevi, and one with pansy shells on it for my dearest beloved. I get ready to post them. I have quick glance at the pansy shell  postcard. Fortunately I do, for in addition to the pictures of the shells, it has some words of wisdom on it. It is born again Christian stuff! I look at it and tear up the card. If this arrives, she will think I have lost my marbles, or that I am gearing her up for an elopement with one of my girls.

Another Postcard to Gregg and Stevi -on the way

I am ravenous and stop in a small (tiny)  town called Quilcene

South Africans are everywhere

Here I go into the restaurant and meet Claire. Guess where she was born. Durban!!

Lunch here

Claire. Born and bred in Durban. Now in Quilcene WA

Soon I am in the outskirts of Port Angeles. I fill Bonnie up. Rule no 1 for a good night and early start -always make sure your girl is well fed, filled up and watered. A huge truck (Bakkie) nearly rides over my bike. It can!

Filling up. For you Dane. An F250 on steroid springs

After checking in, I walk the town. All three streets of it. Tonight I am going to have a really good dinner, especially after last nights fiasco in Astoria when I walked out of the first restaurant because of appalling service. Give Clemente in Astoria a wide berth. Then the second choice only managed to scrape by, forgetting my soup and salad out of an order of three items.

Olympic Mountains. View from Main Rd Port Angeles

So Michael’s it is. I have  superb dinner. Oysters, Alaskan King Crab and salad plus artisan apple cider and great service. I am soppies though. This should be shared with someone. I have packed badly! Bonnie gives me a great ride and responds to most of my day needs, but she is battling with the night time issues.

Into bed earlier tonight.

Tomorrow “My Bonnie goes over the Ocean, My Bonnie goes over the sea”!

My ferry leaves. I am on it tomorrow

The plot and characters for my novel are forming in my head. Poppie, I also have a response for you on “grey” issues but it will have to wait for the weekend. It is all to do with BP’s!. All will be revealed in due course.

Good night and good luck!

The Pacific

First I smelt it, then I saw it and finally I touched it. The Pacific Ocean, a few miles west of Tillamook Oregon. The largest ocean in the world. Separating the West and the Orient. Home to the great sea battles of the Second World war. This is the ocean that saw the attack on Pearl Harbour, Midway, Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima. It is here that the Bounty had its mutiny and it was in these seas that “From here to Eternity” was filmed. 2400 miles to Hawaii and then 4000 miles of nothing.

First view of the Pacific. I wet my feet here

And here I am, a little “yidlach” from Koster “nogal” on a motorbike. I have reached the West Coast and I am standing on the beach with the sea lapping over my boots.

I had set out from Portland, a city spanning the mighty Columbia River. Down this river travels the grain and corn grown in the plains of Idaho and Montana. It is from here that my friend Garrett’s grain is shipped to the east. From here that America feeds the world. Garrett solved a minor problem for me. All over the west I had seen signs saying “The Port of this” and the “Port of that”. Discussing his farming, he told me that they ship their grain in barges from the nearby port. It was then that I realised that the rivers are the transport mechanism and the ports are where they load everything onto the barges. Another penny had dropped. I keep on learning something about this great country.

So all the rivers to the north west of the Tetons, The Rockies and the Black Hills feed into the Columbia. Into this and the Colorado, being the mighty rivers of the west, in the same way that the Mississippi and the Missouri are the great rivers of the east.

A quick update on my route, for more important things happened to me today. I wanted to get to the coast as quickly as possible and my end point was Astoria, which is on the banks of the Columbia River on the Oregon side (South). Tomorrow I take the massive bridge over the Columbia into Washington State and up to Port Angeles on Puget Sound near Seattle. From there I take a ferry on Saturday morning to Victoria, the largest and only city on Vancouver Island.

I have driven the coastal road between Seattle and Astoria on a few occasions, but never the part I was on today. This took me from Tillamook up to Astoria.

On both previous occasions I ran late and had to take the direct route from Astoria along the Columbia to Portland. Randy can be a bit of a granny at times and one of the things that makes him really edgy, is when you are late.

It was sitting eating fresh crab, north of Astoria many years ago, that the first flickers of the plan to ride across America, were actually born. Sitting in the sun on a bench near Bend WA, I idly thought of a bike trip from Seattle to Portland. I even mentioned to the CI person with whom I was travelling to a Warn distributor’s conference. We even discussed hiring Harley’s for the trip.

Mother of Mercy, I do not know what I was thinking. This is as bad as driving a Mercedes or flying an Airbus rather than a Boeing. Erotica, the patron saint of hot women and fast cars, or is it of fast women and hot cars, (I always get confused), would have instantly deleted my name from her VIP Gentleman’s Club mailing list if she had seen me in or on any of the above. So I am delighted it is my thoroughbred filly, Bonnie who is with me.

I decide not to wear my headphones for the trip out of Portland. I need to focus as the traffic is nearly as violent as it is in Seattle, breeding ground of vicious motorbike assassins. Randy wants me out by 08h00 so that he can get to a meeting. I know he will be edgy well beforehand. Highly organized, I hit the road at 07h45. I stop at a nearby Starbucks. A quick Caramel Macchiato and I am soon back on the road westbound.

Bonnie is purring along, contented with her warm up and her morning rider. However I am not concentrating properly. My mind is wandering. At last free from the past years and looking into the future. This is what I have been waiting for. My mind is once again full of ideas, some good, some crazy and some stupid.

So I think I am going to write a book. The ideas for this race through my mind. The miles disappear. So much for concentration. I miss most of the magnificent scenery. I have a few things in mind. I am inspired by a recent blog written by Poppie, a friend of mine from the Free State. She has written about 50 Shades of Grey. Highly critical about the book and the author’s poor attempt at erotica.

I think she may have missed the point, which is to get your mind started on a track. Some other people tell me her descriptions of sex are right in the mark. The fact is that either way it is a huge success, something which tells me that I am not the only one thinking about sex all of the time. 500 million woman around the world seem to be on the same wavelength.

Personally I have not yet read the book. I have enough of this stuff in my mind without any stimulation. I have bought it for my wife and left it next to her bed. My youngest daughter is an avid reader. This I know because I gave her my old Kindle which is still linked to my Amazon account. She buys all her books c/o Dad and so I can see these waiting for me in the Cloud on my iPad Kindle App.

Next thing I know I am in Tillamook. This is the home of Tillamook cheese, the best-known cheese brand in the US. Every supermarket has Tillamook cheeses displayed. I ride past the factory. There are literally hundreds of people at their visitors’ center.

I am so inspired about what I am going to write, that I do not want to forget the core themes. I stop at a Starbucks. Unpack and armed with my laptop I buy another latte and start writing. Two hours later I leave, some key ideas cristalised.

I ride down to the ocean. People are on the beach. Summer is here and the holidays are starting. I see a Weimeraner. Miss Molly’s American sister, Seuss. We meet formally with a sniff and a pat.

Bonnie on the Beach. About to sink in

I go back to my bike. Bonnie’s front wheel has sunk into the soft sand in the parking area as she is packing a few pounds for Alaska. I make a plan and go out forwards. I will have to remember this. Up the coast I go to the lighthouse at Cape Meares. The scene is reminiscent of the coast of the Pacific in Chile.

Pacific view

Cape Meares

On Bonnie again and heading North for Astoria. A quick lunch and I keep moving. Through Garibaldi. I like this name thinking it would be an excellent nickname for Blake who already is short of hair. Maybe the name for our next Grandson!

Blakes new home

I have definitely had too much coffee. From a coffee drought, to about ten cups today. I need to stop far too often.

Motorcycling Hazards in Oregon

Then through Rockaway beach. Here I can clearly see that it is beach holiday time. The WODES is over. They are here in every shape and form with, in true American style, everything hanging out. They are either walking or sitting and stuffing their faces with ice cream.

The traffic is like St. James in season. I cut inland and it abates. On the side of the road I see a sign for a fish hatchery and go in. They breed Coho Salmon, Rainbow Trout and Steelheads. They are very happy to show me around. The fish have fantastic sight and as we near the breeding ponds they all rush towards us assimilating the approach of humans with feeding.

Steelhead fingerlings

I see a roadside shop with a gas pump and stop. The gas pump looks old and maybe they do not sell much fuel. A bad thing. But then I see the signs and this is not someone to trifle with. I go inside to pay and know I have made the correct decision. These people shoot first and ask questions afterwards. Have a look at the pictures and you will see that it is your typical American service station shop.

You pays your bills here. Look at the sign over the door

Typical selection of goods in garage shop in Oregon. Look at the centre left back

Back on the road and soon in Astoria. Here I am reminded that in the morning I have to make a very important decision. The route to Washington State over the Columbia entails using a very big elevated roadway. This afternoon as I approach Astoria, the wind is howling down the river. On the elevated roadway (bridge) this wind would be too strong for me on Bonnie. It will blow us into the side. If it is like this tomorrow I will have to go upriver for at least 30 miles which will add over 100 miles to my route. So I think an early start will be called for.

Tomorrows elevated Road. Hope there is no wind

My hotel, The Elliot,  is an art deco refurbished hotel reminiscent of the Commercial Hotel in Pietermaritzburg, only much nicer. The Commercial Hotel is where I cut my teeth in that part of the world, when we started the group. No air-conditioning and the best rooms, they were awful but better than some others,  were directly opposite the main police station. At night, with windows open in the stifling heat, the noise from the charge office was deafening and continued unabated all night.

Bonnie arrives at the Hotel Elliot in Astoria

Here too there is limited air-conditioning, but at least it is cool. My room is on the road and I have learnt the secret of earplugs. Dinner service at the Clemente Restaurant is appalling. The only really poor service I have experienced on this whole trip. I write a scathing review on Trip Advisor having left before my food arrived.

More than 3300 miles are behind me. I have about the same amount to go  until I arrive in Anchorage.

Randy and Lynn thanks. Being with you in your homes was the best cure for whatever was ailing me. I am now feeling fantastic and ready for the adventure ahead.

More about my book will follow in due course. Duck for cover now!

Hi all.

My apologies as I believe that the original post did not upload. So here it is updated from Starbucks in Tillamouk on the Oregon coast. I am now on the Pacific and all the way across America.

So here we were, on Friday evening,  sitting on the veranda of the Norris’s home in Redmond watching the sun go down on the Deschutes River which runs through the canyon about 300’ below. The snow glistening on the four mountains in the distance and Randy, Lynn and I discussing what it is that makes the Bend/Redmond area consistently rank as one of the 10 best areas in which to live in the USA, when a magnificent Gulfstream G55o flew in front of us, gear and flaps down, as it prepared to land at Redmond/Bend regional airport nearby.

“Phil Knight commuting from Portland to his nearby ranch” Randy informed me. So Phil Knight is the founder of Nike, which is based out of a suburb of Portland. The commute is about 100 miles as the crow flies. About 15 minutes in a G550. If you have it, enjoy it.

Randy then told me a great story about Phil Knight. Apparently he wanted to write a book. He is an MBA graduate from Stanford and has donated Hundreds of Millions of Dollars to his two Alumni, Stanford and the University of Oregon. He consulted the various universities about the best courses to do to help him in his quest to become a better writer, as he did not want a shadow author. Eventually he decided to take a one year Creative Writing 101 course at Stanford.

So he enrolled and attended class twice a week keeping very low key throughout. At the end of the course the students were asked for their feedback and comments. A number of them commented that there was this interesting older guy who attended. When he spoke of gave a presentation he clearly had a presence. More interestingly a number of them said he was very cool, because after late afternoon classes he would invite a few of them out for a pizza. He would never let them pay and always asked lots of questions as to what shoes and things they liked. But even more interestingly, he told them that he lived in Portland and would fly home in the evening. What they found the strangest was that he never seemed to worry as to what time his flight was. It never occurred to any of them that he had a G550 waiting at a nearby airport, to take him back whenever he was ready.

The area is so highly rated because in one day you can

• Ski in the morning
• Play 18 holes of golf in the afternoon
• Trout fish in the early evening

In addition it has a great climate and nice people.

My time with the Norris’s was just what the Doctor ordered. I needed a rest. Close on 3000 miles under the saddle, I was knackered. Throughout the first ten days I had been nursing some bug. Like a cold. I arrived on the Friday. Sorted myself out. We had a simple but great dinner and I passed out.

On the Saturday morning, with my experiences of the past two weeks fresh in my mind, I went shopping. Out went the discount tent. Out went the lightweight sleeping bag. Out went the big camping cooker. All replaced with more appropriate kit. I was in bed early and out for the count. Woke at 3 am in sweat. The bug had arrived in full force. Aspirin and water and back to sleep.

Around 04h30 my cellphone goes off. No one calls me on that phone and never at that time of the morning. I stagger out of bed. Blake UK it says. Worried I answer. “Dad your son and his crew have just won the Thames Cup rowing at Henley!” As bombed as I am, I cannot help but being delighted for him. This is the most prestigious prize in club rowing and the hard work and effort of the past two years is starting to pay off for him. Well-done Blake! A great achievement.

So Sunday disappeared in a fog of much needed sleep. By Monday I was feeling much better and by Tuesday well enough to take Randy’s money in a golf game. This is only the second time I have played since Harold and I were ripped off by the scam doctors in Somerset West last December. Borrowed clubs and I played really well. Getting ready for Hoffman and De Villiers I am!.

On Monday evening we had dinner with the Norris’s neighbours, Bill and Penelope Valentine. Interesting people. Bill is a PhD in Psychology with a passion for endurance sports. From what I can gather he has, over the past few years, walked the entire west coast of the US in stages and he is an avid cyclist.

Penelope is extremely astute. We were discussing my trip and my blog. Randy commented that it was full of sexual innuendo. Her retort was instant, “what do you expect when you have a big thing vibrating between your legs for most for the day”! My type of gal!!

The Valentines are also dog people. Three dogs, one of which is a German Wire Head Pointer named Fritz. In December Bill and the dogs went out of town where Bill was going to cut down a Christmas tree. While he was doing this the dogs were running around. Time to go and no Fritz. After an extensive search, still no Fritz. Back the house and Bill prepared a “dog lost poster” with pictures of Fritz and contact numbers etc. SPCA and all eventualities lead to nil.

About four weeks later Bill receives a phone call from a farmer who says he thinks he has seen Fritz, but on approaching the dog, it ran away. Bill visits the area, but no luck. Then two weeks on, now five weeks from the loss, the farmer phones again and says he is sure that Fritz is hiding nearby, but does not want to frighten him again. Bill is back. Stops his truck, gets out and calls Fritz. Like a bolt of lightening Fritz is out of hiding and into the vehicle. He had lost over 50 % of his body weight, down from 80 pounds to 40 pounds. A foot injured in a snare, but otherwise alive and very, very happy to see Bill and Bill happy to see him. Great story. Apparently Fritz has not learnt much and still chases scents everywhere.

For people into more extreme pursuits and more thrills, there are also the Smith Rocks. These rate second only to El Capitan in New Mexico as the most difficult extreme cliff climbing faces. They are magnificent and tower vertically for over 700 feet of sheer rock face that are scaled using no ropes of belays.

So today is 4 July and I am now in Portland at Randy’s Portland home. He has meetings in the morning and then leaves on Friday for SA and meetings with CI. We have both been tap dancing around some issues for the past four days. I do not want to stand on Sean’s toes and Randy wants to get me involved.

The ride from Redmond to Portland was relatively short, 183 miles. West out of Redmond to Sisters. Named after the three mountains nearby. Nothing like our Three Sisters near Beaufort West. These are permanently covered in snow. Then into motorcycling Nirvana. A motorcycling G Spot!.

Three Sisters Oregon Style

From Sisters to Detroit! Yes Detroit, but in Oregon not Michigan. My 3000 miles from home went past in Detroit OR! A quick lunch in the Korner Post Restaurant, which has the logo “motorcycles spoken here” and then on a back road to Estacada.

Korner Post Detroit OR. My new lunch dive

More Paraphenalia

Korner Post Detroit Oregon. Motorcycle Mad

This is probably, along with the Glacier National Park, the motorcycling highlight of my trip. I will have my GoPro movie ready later tonight or tomorrow and will send the link. It is difficult to describe the spectacular beauty of this road. Towering pines, all the way down to the road, creating a Pine Corridor. The Clackamas River running next to the road for over 40 miles. People camping on the river, canoeing, fishing and rafting.

This is a road to which all my girls should be brought for a ride. This is it to date. It hits every spot. I was delighted to be back on Bonnie in this environment. Both of us flexing our muscles and virility in a perfect playground.

Estacada. Christmas Tree Capital of America

It was over too soon and I was near the urban sprawl of Portland.

Redmond, Oregon and getting there.

So I am now with Randy Norris and his firecracker wife Lynn. I apologize to all eager fans for having gotten a bit behind with my blog. I know that there are many of you waiting for the next installment in the life, times and sexual fantasies of a travelling biker and salesman.

So first of all a disclaimer:

The thoughts and ideas in my blog do not necessarily reflect those of the author or in anyway represent what is actually going on in his head. His head is confused at the best of times. The ramblings are the result of a meta physical feed from his late Grand Mother and the damage done to his head due to 31 years of having to deal with children, dogs, trade unions, doctors and motor bikes. No insults or hurt is meant or intended and I therefore apologise in advance if anyone finds anything I have or will write offensive or offhand. If you do find any of it offensive, pleas let me know and I will step up the attack.

I would also like to say, in advance, that this blog is an attempt at humour and at writing a very different blog as I am sure that no one wants to read a “today I went to” type of travel diary. There are enough of them around – called travel guides.

That having been said, after all this is the most litigious society in the world, the reason that I am behind in the the program can trace itself to my flat tire in Idaho. Yes Mom they spell “tyres” in the US, tires. So the money you spent on my education was not in vain. They also call electrical plugs – outlets, lifts – elevators and petrol – gas and robots – traffic lights!

So on Friday, instead of arriving in Walla Walla around 16h00, I eventually wheelied down the main drag at 20h00. Pulling up at the hotel, not a Relais and Chateau mind you, but a Hampton Inn, I noticed an extremely attractive woman standing at the entrance texting on her mobile. I had no idea where she had got my number – or who she was, but I was late so she must have been texting me.

So I am in that geographic area of the world known only to explorers and adventure motorcyclists. It is a WODES aka “ a woman desert”. My day goes like this. Wake up. Breakfast. Pack up and leave. Ride for 8-10 hours per day. Arrive. Unpack. Check in. Shower. Charge all electronics. Download photos. Find somewhere for a quick dinner. Catch up with blog and e-mails. Read if eyes will stay open. Remove Kindle from chest where it has fallen. Sleep.

Repeat the following day. Simon Huxter, you will also discover this WODES when you ride with me in South America early next year.

Riding a motorbike is also really hard work and very physically demanding. You cannot relax or take your eyes off the road for a second. Unlike a motorcar, a motorbike is inherently unstable. This difference is like that between a fixed wing plane and a helicopter. Or between a middle aged woman and an 18 year old having her first love affair. I have flown most of these and in all cases, all of the latter types are unstable. So if you take your hands off the controls in a fixed wing aircraft or a motorcar, the status quo will remain, all things being equal. The same does not hold true for a helicopter or a motorbike or —-! Hands off or lack of concentration equals disaster!

So by the time you reach your destination, you are tired. (Mom, in this case it is not the round rubber type of tyred but the exhausted tired). So the WODES  becomes  a self perpetuating reality. Once and explorer finds himself in a WODES, there are only two types of women, attractive and very attractive. The lady texting in front of the hotel fell into the latter category.

You should also bear in mind what she was seeing. A motorcycle, overloaded. Not a Harley but a real man’s motorbike! An apparition, by American standards, getting off it. Not in jeans, a T-shirt and a bandana, but rather a black BMW suited, helmeted, gloved space invader. I had stopped at a Best Buy a few days ago and walked in whilst taking off my helmet. There was a little boy standing with his parents. His eyes opened in amazement when he saw me. He looked at me and gasped in awe, “where do you come from?” and then said “ Mom – I want one of those suits too!”

Anyhow I am sure that this very attractive lady was not thinking that “she wanted one of those too”, however we did great each other and it was immediately apparent that neither of us was from the US. We established that I was from SA and she told me she was from BC. In this part of the world from BC does not mean Before Christ or from the Free State, but rather from British Columbia. I asked her where in BC and she told me Penticton. Now Penticton is exactly where I am going after Vancouver, as it is the wine capital of BC.

Turns out that she and the friend she was travelling with are in the wine business and are both married to the owners of two successful wineries. As a result I now have a full list of where to go and what to see and an altered agenda in Penticton, where I thought there was only one major winery, called Red Rooster that I am scheduled to visit. Turns out that there is a much bigger game in town with over 100 wineries. Unfortunately I will only be able to spend one full day in the area, as I will still have over 2800 miles to get to Anchorage and a date by which I have to get there.

It also turns out that the reason that the ladies were in Walla Walla is that this area is the wine capitol of Washington State. Another big find. There are sensational wines being produced in this area and the next morning as I headed out of town the topography and soils made the reason for this abundantly clear. Very similar to the Western Cape, in summer.

So, after an evening in Walla Walla, it was on the road again. Given the temporary plug in my tire I decided that a new tire would be the best option. I sourced one in a nearby town called Kennewick in Washington State. I had originally wanted to ride to Redmond in Oregon, which is where the Norris’s live, via Pendleton home of the famous Pendleton Mills. www.pendleton-usa.com We are great fans of their blankets, which are famous in the USA. Unfortunately this was now a non-event.

I arrived at the address in Kennewick, to find horror of horrors, that this was a Harley Davidson dealer. This is like arriving at an address for a blind date and finding out it is your ex girl friends digs! So in I went. The tire was waiting and they undertook to have me out of there, new tire fitted within an hour. Once again I had to unpack the entire bike. I am now an expert at this.

Harley Hell Pit – The man’s bike is on the left. The rest are for pussy’s

Two hours later I was still waiting. Off I went to the workshops. The arseholes had not even taken the wheel off the bike. I can do this in less than five minutes and they were still messing around. So I told them to stop. Repacked the bike, strapped the new spare on top of my load and off I went. Two and a half hours wasted. Nikita will not be a Harley.

Bonnie and I look like a Tunisian spare wheel dealer and his camel. We are loaded. It was still a very long ride. Over 250 miles to Redmond. Music on and balls to the wall.

Arlington for lunch. Note the tire on the top

A quick stop for lunch in a small town called Arlington on the Columbia River, my latest major river in the US. A dump, but one of the best burgers to date. The topography is changing, Getting drier. Wind Turbines everywhere. This is eco friendly territory. On virtually every hilltop there are hundred of these prehistoric looking wind generators. Just for Naomi. In the Northeast of the US more than 70 % of their electricity is produced by clean methods, mainly hydro and wind.

Grass Valley Hotrod

Then on through Grass Valley, where I stop for gas. The garage owner has a collection of hotrods. I talk to the owner. Everyone is intrigued by my trip. On the road again. 80 miles to go. Rain threatening. I stop. Wet weather gear on. Takes 10 minutes. Precious time. Off I go. No rain and I get too hot. Stop again. Gear off. Another 10 minutes. I should have been at the Norris’s at 16h00. Now 19h00 and still 30 miles to go. Harley arseholes. Could have been having my first beer and more.

Through Madras. Nearly there. Then at 19h45 I arrive. Randy and Lynn are waiting. The beers are ice cold. The biltong from Biltong USA has arrived.

Unpack again! A shower, which is like bliss. Shorts on and I join my hosts on their veranda overlooking the Deschutes River and the snow covered mountains in the distance. Other than the lack of my riding partner, it could not be better. I have five days in which to relax, regroup and enjoy.

Arrived. Beer view from the Norris’s

I will update you on my stay and some very interesting things such as

• Phil Knight, the founder of Nike, who has a ranch nearby
• Sorting out my kit and bike.
• Golf and Skiing
• The Smith Rocks
• Bend
• Bill and Penelope
• Kobayashe

In my next blog.

Tomorrow is the 4th of July which is the Day of Independence here. Randy and I are heading back to Portland tomorrow for the evening. He then heads to South Africa and I head to Vancouver Island for the weekend.

Rewinding to the day (Thursday) that stared in Spokane. I was determined to ride around the Lake at Coeur d’ Arlene. It just looked so magnificent on every map. The name also sounds sexy.

So off it was, east bound this time. On the I 90 to get there fast because the roads around the Lake were certain to be slow and full of turns and cutbacks. Great for riding but time consuming. My end point was Walla Walla, a night stop that I had chosen for no other reason than I liked the sound of the name. It turned out to be the wine center of Washington State, but more about that later.

Onto the highway. A twist of the wrist and I immediately new that Bonnie was not on her game. A bit sluggish and tired. Normally when I wind the throttle she jumps forward, ready for action and in a hurry to go. Not this morning. Maybe I was imagining things.

The highway was also one of those roads that you know is going to be tough. Resurfaced sometime ago, it had a ridge in the middle that makes lane changing on a bike so difficult. Any of you who have ridden a pedal bike and tried to cross railway lines at an angle will know what I am talking about.

I have fallen off my pedal cycle twice in the last thirty years. Once, in Franschhoek on my way to climb the pass, during Argus training. Crossing the railway lines in Groendal I lost my front wheel in the tracks and off I came. There were a number of very small coloured children playing nearby. They all stopped and then ran to me, not to help but to gloat. “Kyk die Wittie, sien hoe hy val” they shouted. That day Connie Mulder jnr. nearly ended up with my vote.

Then for the second time, earlier this year when I was cycling with Blake in Cambridge. More like just trying to keep up with him, rather than with him, we turned off the road onto the cycle track parallel to the road. There was a small concrete lip and I never got the correct angles to cross it. Once again off I went. No-one to gloat this time. Only a son, who was worried that his father had broken something.

Anyhow freeways on a motorbike are never my best. Motorists become like assassins on a freeway. You are not seen by them and the traffic comes at you from both sides. Shortly after getting onto the freeway I noticed this Ford truck (bakkie) coming at me from the right. I immediately knew this was a determined assassin. Female judging by the hunched over the steering wheel look. Female assassins are the deadliest species. I was correct in my assessment.

The assassin veered across me as if I did not exist. A femme fatale! So apart from the ridge in the middle of the road, I also had this Taliban nightmare to contend with. Thinking of female assassins made me think of the epic movie Nikita. I like that name, perhaps my next bike will be called Nikita. Dark, brooding and mysterious. Latin, a Ducati maybe.

But then I have had my Latin lover. A Ferrari 305 GTS in the early 80’s. A wonderful mistress, but you never knew where you were with her. How the day was going to start, if it was going to start at all. On her good days she was exceptional, on her bad days not even the Ferrari doctor could coax a decent performance out of her. No good as a lover or mistress, who by definition, has to be ready at the drop of a throttle.

My Porsche Turbo 911 was probably the perfect mistress. Ultra reliable. Massive and insatiable performance. Ready to start immediately you hit the go button. But what made that generation of Turbo’s the perfect mistress was their edge. Unlike the newer 911 Turbos that have all the safety features such as four wheel drive, ABS etc. Mine was the last of the generations with out this technology. If you took her one step over the edge, she could and would bite you in the back. Instantly.

So Nikita will probably be a BMW 100 RR or the new 1600 GTL.

With these thoughts in my mind I turn South off the 90 onto the Idaho 97 to Harrison. This road runs on the edge of the Lake. Filed by the Kootenai River, the water almost luminescent. Houses dot the shoreline. Now I see why Coeur D’ Arlene is rated one of the top 10 cities to live in the USA.

I pass the prettiest filling station I have seen in years on the road. Have to fill up. Drop in to the shop. They have great looking pizza, so I order one. 30 minutes later I am back on the road.

The Prettiest Gas Station in the US

Bonnie and I are not meshing. It must be me I think. No tempo and timing. I am a poor lover today. So I go slower. This is not what I had in mind. This should be a great ride. An epic day and I am not enjoying it.

I suspect the tires, but then I am neurotic about rubbers and potential leaks. I am the hypochondriac of tires. I stop and get off. I look at the rear tire. It looks fine. My pressure gauge is buried under mounds of stuff. I kick the tire using this tried and trusted high tech method of tire pressure testing. Tried it once on a 747 walk around and nearly broke my foot. Still looks fine. Must just be me imagining it. Fuel consumption the same so it must just be me.

Shall I cut the ride short and head for Walla Walla via the shortest route? No I want to go via Moscow. Yes you read right, Moscow. Some Idaho billionaire bought Moscow at the height of the collapse of the Soviet Union and moved it to Idaho. Americans will do anything and if you have the money you can make your dreams come true in the USA.

It really Exists

Just joking about buying Moscow, but there really is a big town in Idaho called Moscow and it is also actually very nice. It has a University of Idaho campus with great facilities. I stop again and look at my rear wheel. It is not wearing well and will not make Anchorage where I have already pre-ordered a new set of tires for the return trip. My thoughts run around this. Although there are many more BMW’s in this part of the world, where will I get Michelin’s. Eugene, Portland. I do not know that there is a dealer in Clarkston, which is no more than 30 miles from Moscow. I only find that out later that evening when I am miles away.

Idaho is of course famous for potatoes. One of the largest fortunes in the US has been made by a potato farmer, one JR Simplot. Having left school at the age of 14 he made his first money growing potatoes and then supplying the US army with dehydrated potatoes. He then supplied McDonalds with potatoes for fries and revolutionized his and their business by offering to process the potatoes into frozen fries ready for the restaurants. The deal between Simplot and Ray Krok was done on a handshake and exists today. No contracts no supplier audits no nothings. Only a relationship. The rest is history. Idaho is also home to the nations largest lumber products company, Boise Cascade and signs and the smells of the lumber mills are everywhere.

After Moscow I leave for Walla Walla. At Dusty I stop and it s there, as per my previous blog. I find that I have a slow puncture.

Today is Saturday and I am now with Randy and Lynn Norris in their house at Redmond Oregon overlooking the Deschutes River and the snow bound mountains near Bend. I am her for the next four days when I leave for Vancouver Island via Eugene and Port Angeles from where I will take a ferry.

Deschutes River. The Norris’s view

So I am a day behind as I have to get you from Walla Walla and my new wine friends to Redmond. This update will follow over the weekend.

Stay Chilled.

Good evening from Walla Walla in Washington State.

I should have arrived here by 16h00 this afternoon, all going to plan.

But as you are all aware, plans are there only to make the planner feel good. Like a budget they go out the door when the first shots are fired. So it was with me today. Bonnie just wasn’t with the program. From the start of the day she was like a lover who had been hit over the head and was with me in body only, not in soul.

No matter what I did I could not get her to perform properly. Eventually I thought it was me. A poor rider always blames his mount. I had not slept well and maybe my timing and tempo was out.

I visually checked the tires. All seemed well. My tire pressure gauge was not readily handy and unlike my two other bikes, Jayne in the UK and Spot in SA, this bike, Bonnie, does not have the tire pressure monitoring system on it. I was concerned about the state of my rear tire, as with only just over 4000 miles on it, it looked like I was going to have it replaced in either Oregon or Vancouver. It would definitely not be up an Alaskan Highway trip.

I was also loathe to have to do a repair on the rear tire if there was a slow puncture as this would mean unloading the whole bike, panniers and all, before removing the wheel. She was rideable, but only just. Like a lover whose time is over and both of you are just going through the motions. A Sunday after noon mercy pomp.

This blog will be expanded over the next few days with more details about the route, which was fantastic, once again. However so that I can get some desperately needed sleep this evening, it will be short.

After about 200 miles I stopped for a drink in a very small town named Dusty. Yes Dusty. A local farmer pulled up next to me in his truck, on the back of which was big air compressor. This was a good time to check my rear tire, because I only carry a small pump and he had a cannon by comparison. Found the gauge and sure enough the pressure was sub 1 Bar. It should be about 2.9 Bar. These tires don’ t leak unless something has gone through them. A brief inspection revealed a small screw in the main section of the tire.

We used his compressor and inflated the tire to 3.5 bar which  I figured would keep me going to Walla Walla, 70 miles away and my night stop. It was not to be. Withing 20 miles Bonnie was once again behaving as if she had had a punch in the broeks. I now knew her tire had to be fixed and soon, or else I would not make the hotel or anywhere for that matter tonight.

So I pulled in at the  first farm house as I needed a flat hard surface to work on and did not want to be unloading and working on the limited side shoulder of the road. I also saw a UPS truck pull out of the farm so it was likely that the inhabitants were there.

So in I went and parked on some concrete outside the garage. Knocked on the front door. No one. Carefully to back door as I did not want to get shot at. No one, so I set about off unloading and repairing the tire. Just then a very friendly black Labrador arrived followed by a young guy and a girl. Garrett and his Girl friend Nicole. They could not have been more friendly or helpful. Thank you guys.

They were amazed at this mad South African and all his kit going to Alaska! The dogs wanted to lick everything better. Incidentally the Lab was recovering from a Rattle Snake bite! And Porcupine quills everywhere. That is one thing the dogs never learn about.

So about an hour and a half later the tire had been removed, the screw taken out and the hole plugged.  Garrett also had a real pump on his truck and re-inflated it within seconds. Back on. Panniers on, Bags on, photos taken for their records and off I went.

All in all four hours lost and a lot learnt. Will stand me in very good stead for the hard part of trip to come. But some interesting twists to the whole story as I will elaborate over the weekend as the delays allowed me to meet some very interesting people at my hotel.

Also my tool kit is lacking and this was sorted out thanks to Garrett. I will rectify mine on the weekend with a torx socket and wrench of the correct size for the wheel bolts. My tool kit only as an allen key torx with which to do the job!

Challenges are what make adventures with these girls so exciting. Treat them properly and you are in for the ride of your life. However if the rubber runs its course, trouble is on the way.

Bonnie and Nicole

Hi everyone from Washington State where I am sleeping in Spokane Valley.

Another day of scintillating touring. I keep on wondering if I am going to tire of this riding everyday. Now just over 2350 miles from Michigan in 9 days and I cannot wait for the next day to start.

I am finding that I am a bit slow off the mark in the mornings as there are a bunch of things that I need to get tucked away before setting off. E-mails, Skype calls home and elsewhere. Packing up as everything comes out of the bag every evening. A bit of laundry to be folded. Wash, shave, breakfast, get the gear downstairs as nothing lives on the bike overnight. Strap it on. Program the GPS’s. Kit on. Go! So about 10h00 is a good start and sometimes, like this morning more like 10h30.

Weather was still a bit iffy, with heavy clouds north of Kalispell, the direction I was planning to ride in towards Eureka and then back down along the Kootenai River. This is the largest river in Montana. It feeds into the Columbia River and the Libby Dam is, according to everyone a must see item. I have attached some photos taken at the dam information office which tell the story better than I can.

So west again, on the US 2 directly to Libby. Much cooler this morning. In fact cold at about 56F. So I have layered up a bit more. No longer only a T Shirt and my riding top. Now a Helly Hansen vest and the Gore Tex inner for the jacket and a Buffy under my helmet.

My girl also responds to the cooler weather. She likes it. Frisky she is, ready to rock and roll. I decide that I can no longer refer to her as “my girl”. In fact each of my bikes needs a name. You cannot have a love affair with a no name object!

Now you may ask why I say bikes. I have had motorbikes all my adult life. I was introduced to them while a student at UCT. David Espen, at that time a medical student and good friend of mine had a 125 cc Suzuki. David was and is huge, over 6’6” tall. He used to ride this bike to the Ellis Williams flat in St. James for Sunday dinners. This was the place to be if you were a student and in particular if you were a male student. Almost unlimited food, roasts were the specialty and four gorgeous daughters. On one particular Sunday David gave me a lift on the bike. Imagine the two of us on a 125! Well I was hooked.

I came from the prevailing background at that time, which was that motorbikes were dangerous! I won a Zundapp 50 cc in a school walkathon competition in which I raised the most money. I was not allowed to take delivery of it by my parents and had to settle for R300 worth of Defence Bonus Bonds instead. Remember them. An investment in ensuring I was going to be shot at not much later in my life.

Anyhow I had soon invested in a Kawasaki 250 Triple. My parents knew nothing of this. My Grandmother was in on the secret and thought it was great. Two accidents in quick succession did nothing to cool my ardour for these sexy women. I soon worked out that the most dangerous thing about motorcycling was the other driver. Since then I treat every car driver as a potential assassin, anticipating the worst all the times.

The 250 was then traded in for a Kawasaki 500 Mach 3. This was the hottest bike on the block. It had so much torque that when you opened up the throttle it actually twisted the chassis. This made riding it in anger similar to having a bucking bronco in your bed.

Back to Johannesburg and the Airline. A bit more money in the pocket saw a Yamaha 1300 straight four arrive. In my parents garage, to their horror. This bike and the 175 Yamaha, which Greg and I took to Lesotho, served me well until shortly after Eveanne and I were married and the small people started arriving.

In fact, the first time I took Eveanne out, not as a friend but as potential playmate, was on the 1300. She was in Johannesburg on business and staying at the President. She came to my parents to have dinner with Susan. I had been out on the bike and arrived back.  I asked her out and we went to Raffles at the Rand International on it. Eveanne wearing her skirt. With a warm jacket and helmet borrowed from me. Dropped her off at the President late that night, delivered by bike. Not having any idea she would end up marrying a biker.

Once the ankle biters arrived I felt that maybe bikes should be put on the back burner and was content to ride scrambler on weekends at Morningside. So the 1300 went.

Then in 1993 I had my brain tumour and was grounded. No longer able to fly, I needed an outlet for my adventure libido. I had been reading about the new BMW 1100 GS and ordered one of the very first to arrive in SA. It was love at first sight and since then I have had 5 GS’s in SA, plus a 1200 HP, which is the hot off road version of the GS – it was too hot for me! In fact the next owner of the bike did himself in on it. So for this sort of riding I now have a 650 X Challenge on the farm. My current GS in South Africa is a 1200 GS Adventure.

Then in the US I also have 1200 GS Adventure. This is the bike I am on at the moment. In the UK I have 1200 RT, which is the touring version of the GS. A bit more refined, an on tar only long distance runner. Heated seats and a radio designed and made by PI Shurlok.

So I look at the GS’s as my go anywhere, get down and get dirty, try anything chicks and the RT, in the UK, as my city slicker chick, more at home on Silver Street in Cambridge or browsing along the Champ Eleysee.

So what to call these girls? Girls have to have a name. When I was a young pilot in SAA, the Chief Air Hostess was a battle-axe named Dinah Taute. She had been an air hostess since the Wright brothers first got airborne. Rumour has it that she was once good looking. Certainly by the time I first saw her, whatever looks she once may have had, had fled! She must have had a uniform specially made for her because uniforms did not come in her size. She was square, at about 5’6” by 5’6”. She hated pilots!

I can only assume that she had been on the losing end of a couple of one-night stands with some desperate or drunk pilots. Why I am telling the story is this. She always lectured the new air hostess early during their training. Amongst the words of advice she gave these new girls, all eager to experience whatever their dreams had in store for them, were the following words about pilots:

• Never trust a pilot
• Do not sleep with a pilot, especially married one’s, as they will only be using you.
• If you do not listen and do all of the above, then when you wake up with him in the morning and he calls you darling, do not think that he loves you. It is only because he cannot remember your name!

So I do not want darlings. They need names my girls do.

I wanted a US name for the bike I was manhandling! I have eventually settled on “Bonnie” with Bonnie and Clyde in mind.

Faye Dunaway.  My all time no 1 sexy actress with Warren Beatty in the epic movie. A close second would be Marthe Keller in “And now my love”, a Claude Lelouch epic, but I think Bonnie is more appropriate in the US. There is something wild and mysterious about it.

Maybe Marthe will be the name for my RT? But it should be a more English name even though my bike has German lineage. Queen Elizabeth also has German ancestors. So my choices narrow down. I like Jayne with a “y” after Jayne Mansfield. Although an American, it also so very English, Jayne with a ”y”. So my UK girl will be a Jayne.

And my South African Girl? Has to be something completely different. Not a Bokkie for sure. Had a boat called “In Control”. More about boats in a later blog but you know the saying – If it flys, floats or —–, rent it don’t own it. I keep on making the same mistake.

Can’t be anyone we know or a friend’s wife’s name. Or one of Charley’s friend’s names. So the field is narrowed. My South African girl knows how to get to me. She is a bit older than my US girl, one model year older and I still have more time on her than any of the other bikes. That will change after this trip. For know I still know her the best of all my bikes, so I think I am going to call her Spot, for G Spot. She hits it every time.

So now my girls all have names, Bonnie, Jayne, Spot and then there is my wild fire 650 X Challenge. She also needs a name. She cannot be Molly. She is friskier. She will be Lesley for reasons which I am not free to divulge in this blog, but be rest assured it goes back way before my Yamaha 1300 era.

So there you have it, Bonnie and I are headed to Libby and then to the Libby dam. Why the Libby dam, read below. I give Bonnie space to enjoy the road. We lean into the turns together. This is intimate stuff. You can tell we have been spending time together. The view through the helmet visor closes every out except the trees on either side of the road. It is like hurtling along in nature’s own tunnel.

I have had all sorts of problems setting my GoPro Camera up on the bike, as it is very difficult to find a place to mount it. Eventually I have mounted it on my helmet and the result of the first effort can be seen on this You Tube link.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E3XiZ4ArbzMI

There is a lot to be learnt and I will improve. Unfortunately I had missed the very best of the road by the time I decided to stop and get the camera sorted out once and for all. The best was the portion leading up to McGregor Lake and Thomson Chain of Lakes.

I stop at McGregor Lake for coffee. A huge white Toyota truck, a bakkie in SA terms pulls up. Out gets a lady. She walks over and we start talking. Terri is her name. She comes from Libby where she and her husband own and run a construction company.

We start talking about Lake front properties. I am very taken with Montana and think this will be an excellent place to buy a summer property. Bring the Grandchildren for a few months of fishing, swimming, walking and evening card games. Leave their parents at home to look after the wine farm etc..It has to be a good deal out here. So much water and so few people. I am shattered when she tells me the prices. They have just paid an horrific amount for a lake front property.

I am once again reminded of the strength of this economy. Here they are in a small town. Their company has 60 employees and they are in a position to spend real bucks on house that  they will only be able to use for a very few months of the year. Montanans do however make the most of summer.

She tells me I have to go to the Libby Dam. After my Ashland lady and Jakes, who am I to ignore her advice. This is why I go to Libby and it is worth every bit of the ride and diversion.

For the fishermen, the Kootenai is the US’s premier trout fishing river. The Montana record rainbow trout of 33 lbs was caught in 1997 below the wall of the dam. The dam also generates a major percentage of the North West’s electricity and there are a number of other very interesting facts in the photos.

Two hours later I left. Now ravenous I looked for somewhere with healthy food in Libby and found a great little place. All the vitamin and organic nutters I know would have been in 7^th heaven. However the only food they made was a great smoothie. So for you Blake, I had the Mocha Munchy, which was great and bought some nuts.

Then off to Spokane. When I realised that I still had 165 miles to go and it was already 15h30, I knew Bonnie had to be given a good shove in the rear. Perfect roads and a liberal speed limit in Montana made this easy and soon I was in Idaho. Here my first slow down began. I was caught up in a roadwork stop. And who should be directly in front of me, no other than the sheriff. No speeding for sure.

Bonners Ferry and then Sandpoint.  These are two towns situated on a magnificent piece of water called Pend Oreille. I have to come back here. It is breath taking beautiful.

I stop for coffee also to let Mr. Sheriff move ahead. A lady gets off a pedal bicycle. She is about my age but difficult to tell as she has all the gear on including helmet, rear view mirror on it and mirror shades. We start talking and swapping travel stories. She is on a 10 day tour around Montana and Idaho riding 120 miles per day. She is on the last day and looking exhausted. I prefer my woman to her’s. Maybe what she is riding is a man and hence why she is so tired.

I wanted to stop in Coeur D’ Arlene as it is meant to be the most beautiful city in Idaho, but time is running out and the smoothie is no longer filling the hole. I am tired. Hungry and tired is not a good way to be with Bonnie late in the day. She is at her most demanding in a crowded environment and the roads are very busy. I need to be strong and awake.

I push on to Spokane Valley. At Post Falls I cannot wait any longer. I have to eat. Off the freeway and into the nearest restaurant. A small place called Capone’s. I am more than surprised with a great salad and one of the best burgers I have had in the US. A Coke and I am back on the road. I arrive at my hotel at 19h30 and find out that I have lost another hour as I am now on Pacific time.

The west coast beckons. I am almost there. Already over all the mountains and tomorrow Oregon. On Friday I will be with the Norris’s and in one place for four nights. A pleasure for sure.

I will update this blog in the morning with Photos. Now I am exhausted after being with Bonnie for the day. Good Night all.

Going to the Sun road – and rained out

This was one of my “Big Thing Days”. The Going to the Sun Road is one of the most famous pieces of scenic highway in the US. Up there, with Route 66 and the US 1 to Key West in the Florida Keys. It is a must do ride and drive.

So I set off from Great Falls in Montana, still feeling a bit iffy but not willing to get further behind in my miles. This was not going to be a major mileage day, but I knew there would be plenty of stopping to look, see and photograph the scenery.

I 89 North is a wonderful piece of road, stretching out with great vistas. Big Sky Country at its best. My bike seems to be getting fuller and fuller with ever more bits and pieces. I am not shopping or buying anything, so I do not know where the junk is coming from. I am getting to be an expert at finding nooks and crannies to fit pieces into.

Tough to find space

Tougher to do it their way

I am thinking this as I open up on the road. Great music in my ears and my thoughts start wandering around. The fitting into nooks and crannies has the wrong effect on these.

So those of you who know me well will be aware that I have a few real passions. Adventure trips in 4 x 4’s, motorbikes, flying, wine and then sex!

I think that these passions come from my late maternal grandmother, the well-known Edna Anne Love Machanick. A true spirit, she was brought up in a good English home. Went to Cheltenham College for Young Ladies. Then onto the London School of Economics.

Next thing she was in South Africa at a very young age. From what I can gather she found a job as a secretary for one Solomon Machanick. A confirmed bachelor, he was the doyen of the wheat industry in South Africa, at one stage buying and selling more than 50% of the county’s entire wheat crop.

At this point the facts become a bit blurry so a bit of poetic license is needed, because somehow she ended up driving the said Solomon Machanick on one of his extended purchasing trips around the Western Cape. These trips always took a few weeks as he dealt individually with each farmer. This was before the days of the wheat and maize boards and fixed prices. Every farmer had to fend for himself.

Now as you are aware the Cape in winter is a cold and inhospitable place. In this environment even the most dedicated bachelor was no match for the charms of a smart, good looking and determined 21year old Brit. No need to sleep alone when you can enjoy a warm bed in Moreesburg and all the fun that can be had in it. This ushered in the Machanick clan.

My grandfather died relatively young, in his early 50’s, from asthma. My Grandmother then set about travelling with a vengeance. Africa, with her friend Margaret Ballinger, who went onto become a member of Parliament for the United Party. Two white women in a Chevrolet through darkest Africa. As far north as the Belgian Congo. Undaunted.

Then to India where she trekked on ponies to Kashmir and lived on a houseboat for a few years. She met and married again in India. He did not last, as apparently his libido was suspect. My grandmother in her memoirs (much to the horror of my father) candidly talked about her rather casual attitude to sex. Something very unusual, for a woman of those times.

She then returned home because her baby daughter had been cradle snatched and marked for marriage by a much older man. My father. I often wonder how my father, who was the most intensely proper person with more integrity than anyone I have known, allowed himself to commit the cardinal sin of getting involved, no only with someone in the office, but also with his own articled clerk who was 20 years his junior! But then when I look at pictures of my mother at that time, I know the answer. He was but human!

I never really knew my father well. I do not think any of us do. He always worked very hard and travelled. He was in his 40’s when I was born. However my Gran, who was known as Mrs. Mac to all and sundry, was very close to me.

When I was at university in Cape Town I had dinner with her every Thursday and often we would go out together for a Film Society evening or dinner with some of her friends. She could drink and smoke with the best of them and loved a party. She encouraged me to go forth and try things. She loved to hear about the goings on and in particular about girl friends and who was busy with whom. She knew everyone in Cape Town, so nothing gave her more pleasure than knowing something about one of her friends granddaughters that was not meant to be in the public domain.

So here I was now in the US, on a BMW instead of a donkey, fulfilling her dream of adventure travel and thinking about sex . So I used to think I was abnormal as I thought about it all the time. Then I read somewhere that the average man thinks about at least once every five minutes. I think about it every 30 seconds. So this was in my mind and I was motorcycling in Montana.

Up through Choteau – a very nice little place. I stop at the information center to have some coffee and a break. They have a thing about dinosaurs in rural America and Choteau was no different. Dinosaurs,at the information center and a couple in a car, acting furtively when I pull up. They look too old to be fooling around. I stop take my coffee out and watch them. They are huddled over a small laptop. Then I get it. It is not porn. They are bandwidth rustlers! Somewhere there must be an open wireless network. I pull out my iPhone and check. Sure enough Choteau information bureau has an unsecured wi-fi and hence unlimited free bandwidth.

Choteau Silos

Choteau Information signs

Bandwidth Rustlers

Then north again. More and more bikers going to the sun, also some Japanese tourists. Music in my ears reminding me of so much. Bob Seeger and the Silver Bullet Band. I first heard him when I was in Denver in my SAA days. I bought one of the very first Sony Walkman cassette players. Remember those tapes and Bob Seeger was one of the only tapes I could get.

UB 40 – Red Red Wine. David Bowie – Lets Dance, The Pretenders – I’ll stand by you, Simon and Garfunkel –Mrs. Robinson, The Beetles – here comes the Sun and Antonello Vendidti – Chow Chow Dominica.

This is a cold part of the world. Snow marker of over 6 ft in height tell me it gets heaps of snow in winter. Snow fences in open areas to stop snow drifts building up on the roads. everyon

I stop at the US Post office in Bynum to post postcards to my new grandchildren. Remember when postcards were all you received whilst people were travelling. No e-mails, no sms’s, no calls! I used to write long letters to Eveanne. Now we only write to each other when we are really upset and angry.

Suddenly the mountains are in front of me. The Tetons. Covered in snow and majestic. I need to concentrate as the road is deteriorating. Roadworks. Loose gravel makes my girl very frisky. No longer a well known bed partner. Now a nervous young girl in a new bed. A delicate hand is needed. A sure touch. An instructor.

The Tetons Appear

First Sight of the Glacier National Park

Lake St Marys

The back wheel wants to push out. The weight on the back affects the bike’s handling. I would not like to be riding these roads when they are wet. It will be like sliding on glass. Soon I am at the entry to the Glacier National Park. The lakes are crystal clear. Turquoise and aquamarine water. The road runs along Lake St Mary. I have entered on the eastern side of the park. 10 miles of shoreline on my left. Water rushing out of the mountain on my right.

The road starts climbing. The peaks tower above me everywhere I look. Covered in snow and the glaciers run from them right down to the road. It is a perfect day. Not a cloud in the sky just a slight nip in the air. I stop and drink from one of the streams running out of the mountain. The water tastes so good. It is pure, filtered by time and nature.

Lions Head

Then over the top. Mount Logan at a bit over 6600ft. Then next piece of the road is probably the most spectacular road I have ever been on. About 20 miles of the most incredible beauty with waterfalls every few hundred feet, spilling out onto the road. We have to stop for some road works and bighorn sheep are grazing next to us. Down and down we go to Lake MacDonald.

Hole in the road

The Road Down begins

Roadwork stop on the way down

Bighorn Sheep

For those of you from MIX and Shurlok who are following this blog, I can assure that it is not named after Dear John. Another spectacular lake. I stop at the Lake MacDonald Lodge, which is big and inquire about accommodation. I figure this will be a perfect place to spend two nights. To read, write and dream about you know what. Tight places and tricky lies (as in on a golf fairway, of course). They are full and no amount of charm can get me a room.

Lake McDonald

A small torrent near campsite

So it will be onto to Columbia Falls or Whitefish for the night. Heading out two more spectacular streams, torrents actually and then a beautiful campsite at Sprague Creek right on the lake. Then and there I decide this is a perfect place to have my first nights camping.

It is a wonderful spot. Perfect weather. Lots of time to set up as the days are long. Here it is an honour system. You fill in details on an envelope. Put $20 it and tear off a slip which you put on a post next to your site. All done and out with the tent. Ground sheet down. Justin it is too big but not too worry.

Tent up in 20 mins. Thanks Harold for insisting that we put it up once before I left SA.  Got it all right first time. All the rest of the stuff out. Realise I have only one tin of Tuna for dinner and no wood. So back to Lodge where there is a store. Ten minute later 2 beers, a bundle of wood, liquid firelighter and a tin of corned beef hash and I am on the way back to the campsite.

Tent set up -Dry

I look for the showers. Great toilets, but no showers. I am sure the ranger at the entrance said all the camps have showers. Seems, when I ask around that they only have latrines. By the way, the US does long drops in a way that they smell like the Perfume Store at Harrods. Don’t know how they do it but someone needs to get the secret to SANParks. They do not need to smell like a camel has died in them.

So I need to clean up. What does a good South African do? Thank you my morning gym and sauna partner for insisting on a swim after the sauna throughout the year. What the hero and sex fundi does, is he dives into the lake. I now know why the call them Glacial Lakes! With everyone watching I stay cool. Do not have to try and keep cool! Rub myself up and down and stroll out nonchalantly. We do it all the time in South Africa I tell them.

I am immediately invited for a beer by one of the couples. Stephen and Luanne. Easy to remember – Eveanne, Luanne etc.. Turns out that they are going to Alaska as well. Both professors at a small university in New York State called Alfred. Specialises in the performing arts and ceramic design. This is mainly focused on glass and ceramics as it is in an area of NY State which has a rich history in this area with Corning Glass being based in Corning NY. Incidentally Eveanne and I have been to Corning and their museum of Glass is worth making the trip to see if every you are going by road to Niagara Falls.

She is a professor in the music department. He lived in Fairbanks Alaska for 8 years and established a performing arts department specializing in Shakespeare at the University of Alaska in Fairbanks. They have kept a house in Fairbanks and return every year for the summer making the trip by road and camping on the way there and back.

I cannot believe there is a university in Fairbanks and that it has a performing Arts Faculty. The university has over 5000 students. Once again I am impressed. It is this extensive Tertiary education system in the US that adds so much strength and diversity to the country. Alfred, which actually has two colleges in this tiny town and Alaska that has universities in Anchorage and Fairbanks – wow!

So back to my campsite for a quick bite and sleep. Greg Wright I am going to send you a link to this blog because the next bit could have been taken from that epic trip you and I did to Lesotho in the late 1970’s without the Crocodile Inn at Buthe Buthe experience.

First I was distracted while heating up the hash in my new German Jet cooker. They make such good equipment, the Germans. It all works top well. In seconds I smell burning and the bottom of my hash is charcoal. Fortunately I am not cooking the tuna.

The fire won’t start, as the wood is too wet. I spray fire lighter on it. A poor substitute for our South African wads. Eventually I have had enough. So I throw the whole tin of fire lighter on the smoldering embers. In two minutes I have a fire but only after everyone thinking that Osama Bin Laden had arrived to take his revenge.

Twenty minutes later I am in bed with the fire roaring to keep the bears away. Wrapped up in my sleeping bag dreaming of life and love etc.. My new blow up matrass is very comfortable but I have yet to find an inflatable pillow that works well. I wonder who would like to be with me in the tent. You are either a camper or city slicker. My gran and my father could do this stuff. Never my mother or sister. Eveanne always, our children, some of them. Will Greg or Stevi become campers?

With these sort of thoughts I drift off to sleep. It seems like only seconds have passed when I wake up. Something is wrong! A bear? My fire out of control? No. Osama? For sure a roar, and a mighty one at that. Thunder? Yes, thunder?

My thoughts rush back to that night at the top of the Drakensberg in Lesotho with Greg. The two of us in a leaking two-man tent. Freezing cold, my sleeping bag getting wetter and wetter. What have I left out to get wet this time? So my current tent, bought on a sale in the UK after my last big motorcycle trip proved my previous tent to be too small, is of a different design.

A motorbike camping trip differs from a trip undertaken by car. On motorbike camping trips there is nowhere to store your camp items and clothes whereas when you are camping and have a car available you can throw everything into the car if it rains, including yourselves in an emergency.

This was the problem facing Greg and myself, for we had undertaken our epic trip in my father’s Chevrolet Nomad (A piece of shit if ever there was one) and a Yamaha 175 motorbike. Now a Chevy Nomad for those of you who remember them, was a South African designed and built off road vehicle that had no canopy.

As an aside, my father employed a driver named Simon, as he preferred not to drive himself. Simon used to drive him to Morningside Farm on Friday and then my mother would bring Susan and I out on Saturdays, as I had school on Saturday mornings at St. Stithians.

So on one particular Saturday morning Simon was tasked to drive my father around the farm in the Nomad. At the furthest point from the farmhouse the Nomad stopped. Nothing would get it going. My father, who was not very mechanical, decided to get involved. He soon saw that the fuel gauge was on empty and deduced that the vehicle had run out of fuel. Simon was soon on the receiving end of a royal shitting out. He was an arrogant fella and protested that he had filled the vehicle up before leaving that morning which only served to infuriate my father further.

So Digby Howarth, the famous Digby was summoned on the radio, also to be shat out for not ensuring that the vehicle had been filled. He also protested that it had been filled. My father was now close to going supersonic. Digby crawled under the vehicle and lo and behold – the fuel tank was no longer there! It had fallen off. Such was the build quality of Nomad.

So on my first night camping in the US I had rain coming at me and nowhere other than the tent in which to store all my clothes etc. This new tent has a small porch, which is important, as it is an area in which you should be able to keep items dry. The porch does , however, have one very important design flaw as I am about to find out. It is missing an integrated floor like the rest of the tent. This in turn means that water can run into this area. I only realise this at 04h00 in the morning. Not when I bought it on the sale. My experience of over 40 years ago jars me into action. I scoop up all my bike gear and other items in this area and toss them into the sleeping area.

Then the rain arrives and the hail and then the lightening. I am lying in the tent with Jehuda throwing everything at us. Thor, Hades, Poseidon’s missiles and a few hand grenades as well. I lie in thought. Pray will not help. It is clearly the lack thereof that has placed me in this predicament.

I try to remember whether or not tents are safe in lightening storms. I am on a rubber inflatable mattress. This is insulated and my tent poles to not protrude. Does this make it safe? Were the girls from St Mary’s who were killed on a school camping trip in a tent?  Do I make a run for the toilet block and shelter in Harrods Perfumery? Do I ask the Professors if I can jump in their car with them? Or do I just die like a man? It will be very quick, at least!

So back to sleep I go. I am dry. My tent does not leak. One less thing to worry about!  So this is not the reason it was on the sale. The design is poor and it is difficult to erect and, as I am going to find out, even harder to take down. A Viagra tent! In fact this tent is going to give me all the side effects of Viagra, as by the time I am finished it will not want to come down and I will also have a headache.

I wake up to peace and relative calm around 8am. Still raining but lightly. I struggle out of the tent. Why is it so difficult? The reason becomes immediately clear. My integral floor in the sleeping area is keeping a pool of water from flooding into my area. The tent is almost floating. What a dick! Why did I not see this when I erected it? My site is in a slight hollow and three inches of rain over the campsite has come careering into my area.

So now, it is really interesting and a challenge to

• Get out to the toilets
• Get back in to get dressed
• To drop the tent and pack it all up.
• Whilst keeping everything reasonably dry.

An hour later I am very happy with myself. A bit of hopping on one leg, use of the camping chair (thank you Harold again) and my waterproof riding boots and I am almost there. Only the tent to go. To do this on my own would be impossible due to the design.

So I enlisted the help of two Canadian Couples. All four, men and girls on their own BMW motorbikes, the girls too. They had arrived after I had gone to sleep the previous evening. So we dropped the tent and sort of packed it.

Thanks guys much appreciated!

All packed by 10. About to leave and a Ranger arrived. Announced to all of us that the US Weather Bureau had issued an extreme (not a heavy weather warning but extreme) weather warning for the area. Hail and lightening expected in the next 20 minutes. Not again! Now only the Harrods perfumery available!

Fast thinking and I was on the way to the lodge and into their restaurant for breakfast and to sit out the storm, What arrived made the previous evening’s donner and blitzen look like the dress rehearsal. This was the biker’s coupe d’ grace. Fortunately this biker was eating bacon and eggs.

At 12 it all looked over so off I set. Another mistake. A few miles down the road and it was clear that the lull was a sucker punch. The man meant to get me. I had no shelter and no options. This was undoubtedly the toughest riding I have experienced. Rain in torrents. Gusts of wind as he tried to take me off the road. Cold 48 F.  The Jake’s Lady in Ashland wasn’t joking when she said that she and her husband had been snowed on when they rode the road the previous year. For sure it would be snowing on the pass with these sort of temperatures at the bottom.

I get to Columbia Falls and call ahead to the Hilton in Kalispell. They have accommodation. I ask them to hold a room for me.  I feel comfortable in these hotels. In true US style they are all the same and good value. A big room, great beds, fridge, microwave, fast Internet and safe bike parking.

30 Minutes later I walk through the front door, looking like I have come out of Afghanistan. There are bikers queuing up for rooms and all are full. They have to look elsewhere.

It is not biking weather!

A few chores to take care of. I call home to tell Eveanne I am safe. I give her a brief version of the events. I am expecting a hero’s welcome. Ever practical, she instructs me to dry the tent out failing which it will get moldy. So the tent is now standing in the passage outside my room drying.

Outside my window is Kalispell airport. Scully, especially for you, an Extra painted with a Russian star on it.

Kalispell Room View

Music in my room. Sheryl Crow, Al Green, Jack Johnson, Cat Stevens –I started a joke!

And that is that. Enough for two days. My sniffs have vanished and I have decided that camping will only be an absolute necessity which I believe it will be on the way up to Alaska through British Columbia.

Maybe a new tent in Portland or Vancouver. A grandpa’s tent. One that comes down more easily than it goes up!