The End

Altogether now - 'If I can make it there....'

... I'll be at home drinking tea and playing Touch Rugby before you can say Rumpelstiltskin. Must dash now though, laundry to do.

Massachusetts and it's islands.

When you enter the Commonwealth of Massachusetts from New York State, there are a number of compensations. Firstly, you'll have left the State that's been responsible for both of your punctures. Secondly, although you enter Massachusetts via the Berkshire Hills, they're not as bad as you may have imagined, from a cyclist's point of view.

Before I go any further, it's only fair to tell you that I am exceedingly fortunate to have some relatives who live in the Berkshires. In order to try not to exarcebate an already desperate tourist situation, the exact location shall remain a mystery.

Now, I am a big fan of this area and, should the opportunity arise, I'd move there before the hat hit the floor. There are several compelling reasons for this and only one, so far as I can tell not to. The con is the presence of the Deer tick, for its size, it packs a nasty little punch.

The Pros are many and varied but all I need to know is the surrounding countryside is my idea of heaven. Wooded hills through which streams wend their lazy way. The usual urbanization that accompanies a trip through the United States has been banished almost completely. This has been achieved without a slackening in the standard of living (I'll go further and say that I have difficulty imagining a better standard of living, although I've never been in winter). There are big roads but these are hidden away, always, it seems, in the next valley and you don't notice it until you're right on top of it.

Accompanying this relaxation in the concreting of America is an abundance of cultural activities. You may not always avail yourselves of these delights, but it's always nice to know that the Summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, for example, is a couple of stone throws away. There should you ever need it.

If I were you, I would make every effort to find some long lost family connection in the Berkshires and turn up unannounced. You will not be disappointed.

This brings me to the Islands of the South East Coast of Massachusetts. You'll probably have heard of them and if you're anything like me, they'll have been good things. As a consequence the ferry ride to Nantucket was a veritable hive of anticipation, and not just on my part.

The reality proved somewhat different. There's a saying somewhere about say something good or nothing at all.

The ferry ride from Oak Bluffs on Martha's Vineyard to New Bedford on the mainland was really fast.

Close followers will have seen plenty of pictures of Precious reclining alongside an ocean. Those to date have featured the Pacific Ocean. The one pictured here is the Atlantic Ocean. f one can have a home ocean, this is it.

Precious, having done remarkably well in getting me from one to the other with a paltry two punctures, now has the small matter of Provincetown to New York to complete. She is doing so under a bit of a cloud. I've told her that if she suffers another puncture, I shall trade her in for a left hand drive model. The little darling is petrified.

Anyway, today featured another cycle trail, The Cape Cod Rail Trail. There haven't been many and they rarely go from anywhere to anywhere. This one is particularly odd. It starts in the middle of nowhere and finishes there too. It's all rather pointless although, I'll admit, there weren't any cars to deal with. The trail does go very close to the 'Chester Ranlett Tool Museum'. The name was irresistible. Unfortunately it was closed, hey it's July and it was 1 pm. I'm told by an unreliable source (everyone down here appears to be drunk) that it features tools from down the ages right up to the present day. The Simon Cowell exhibit is a must see.

Apart from that Cape Cod has been a bit of a disappointment. For some reason it had always exerted a small pull on me and now it doesn't. OK so Provincetown is nice and quaint, but anywhere with a predominantly homosexual population is going to be nice and quaint. The rest is really quite (Cape Cod lovers should close their eyes now) bedraggled. Nothing more than some beaches and strings of motels. They even have a road called Ocean view Drive from which no view of the Ocean can be seen, masked as it is by trees. Maybe the Fall works. And, as I've said, everyone appears to be drunk.

It's OK you can open your eyes again.

Tomorrow sees the islands of Nantucket and Martha's Vineyard. Fingers crossed they redeem the situation.

Revolution, Redcoats, Revere and Red Sox

Those with an inclination towards history will find Boston an obliging city. There simply cannot be another U.S. city with the variety of locations available here. You'll see pictured an example of late 18th Century graffitti.

Boston resonates with names and neighbourhoods that you'll be familiar with. Paul Revere (Silversmith and Messenger), James Otis (Liftmaker and Lawyer), Samuel Adams (Statesman and Beer drinker), Benjamin Franklin (Ambassador and not a President (Apologies Gordon)), John Hancock (Serial Autographer and bloke with slang for 'Penis' in his surname. Also, first signatory of the Declaration of Independence) et al.

Anyway, Boston has sensibly modernised around the iconic buildings of it's past and to a large extent they can be visited, providing the visitor with human sized structures amongst the skyscrapers. These are sturdy, brick buildings from which the American Revolution blossomed, freeing the citizens of the 13 colonies from the clutches of tyranny as represented by the British Empire.

And who can blame them? Can you, hand on heart, disagree with the slogan, 'No taxation without representation!'. OK maybe I'd have sat down and drunk the tea rather than throw it overboard but I like to think that I'd've played an active part in throwing off the yoke of oppression.

Now I'm an Englishman, no matter how many people think I'm an Australian, and prouder of it than you think. It would seem odd to enjoy visiting a city that revels in it's role in sending England packing but weirdly, it doesn't feel like that at all. The sense is of a wrong being righted and you're almost glad that England was taught the lesson. Try to imagine for a moment a world in which the American Revolution had never taken place. Hard, isn't it.

As someone privileged enough to have been in the Croke Park crowd when the GAA opened its gates to 'foreign' sports, the solemnity of the occasion was never so bad as to make you wonder if it was safe to bellow 'God save the Queen' at the top of your voice. Even if you were craven enough to wear a Rugby shirt emblazoned with the words 'British and Irish Lions'. And so Boston's Irish heritage ensures the city remains as friendly and accommodating as Eire itself. Even if they do want you out.

Canal and Cooperstown

Every year 500 odd cyclists voluntarily choose to cycle aong the Erie Canal from Buffalo to Albany. This year, 2008, the canalside found itself ahving to cope with 501 odd cyclists.
Yours truly chose to set off along the canal at precisely the same time as the Erie cyclists. This wasn't planned.
As far as the trip goes, it was exceedingly good timing on my part. Not only were there plenty of conversational companions bu the rest stops were more than happy to keep this insane Englishman, sans name tag, fed and watered. "Just feed him and he'll go." they whispered.
Cycling along the canal presents a bit of a dilemma. It's flat, fast and traffic free. You'd like to do nothing else but cycle along it all year. Unfortunately, these very conditions result in you flying along it and, before you know it, you're 100 miles in and comingto the end of part of the towpath. Some considerable portions of ithe towpath are not there anymore and a combination of State, Town and County authorities are currently battling to get it completed. Don't hold your breath, I suspect money is involved and it could take decades. However, when the towpath is there, it's an absolute joy.
Never forget, however, that you are on a canal. A waterway designed for the safe and secure transport of goods. This means that there are no hills. Waterfalls can play hell with your perishable goods. New York is not a flat State. Upon leaving the canal to head to Cooperstown, the home, allegedly, of Baseball you will find a great deal of hills of humidity. The statistics show that on a 60 mile day, I rose and fell more times than all bar one previous days. Yes, I know. Without getting ahead of myself. The Cooperstown leg became the third highest rise and fall the very next day.
Cooperstown is the home of Baseball's Hall of Fame. This is where Baseball's greats go when they've hung up there helmets. It is a masterpiece of sporting nostalgia. The names of the men honoured here will be recognised in kitchens the length and breadth of this country and their deeds fondly remembered whenever and wherever their names are mentioned. Personally surprised at the presence of Wade Boggs - close readers will remember that name from a past post - it occurred to me that Mr Boggs was the only player I could name from my first visit to a ball game.
The Baseball Hall of Fame is full of that calibre Baseball player, you may not know it at the time but every so often something special comes along and you remember. For example, every follower of English Cricket will remember who Shane Warne first English Test victim was.
Cooperstown itself is suffering from a bit of complacency. With the Hall of Fame there, it's not really surprising. Of course, unless someone blows the whistle on the slightly eccentric method by which Abner Doubleday came to be known as the founder of baseball. Should that happen, and this is one of the great things about America, the Hall of Fame could easily be moved brick by brick to the Elysian Fields, New Jersey and Cooperstown will find itself alone and unassisted.
No offence Cooperstown, and this goes out to the shopkeeps, motel owners and gas station attendants, no tears will be shed here.

The Joy of Math

June 26 8:05:39 Jackson - Ferndale 80.63 miles

July 1 7:04:44 Ferndale -Wallaceburg 67.98 miles

July 2 7:38:08 Wallaceburg - London 78.5 miles

July 3 10:53:03 London - Grimsby 92.13 miles

July 4 17:30:16 Grimsby -Youngstown 75.10 miles

July 5 4:34:34 Youngstown - Lockport 25.74 miles

July 7 10:26:37 Lockport - Newark 100.19 miles

July 8 10:46:27 Newark - Oneida 87.45 miles

July 9 8:24:41 Oneida - Cooperstown 59.80 miles

July 10 14:21:27 Cooperstown - Great Barrington 121.37 miles

July 14 6:28:35 Great Barrington - Palmer 61.84 miles

July 15 8:23:11 Palmer - Boston 75.41 miles

Lucking out in Lockport

It's been a while since we last spoke and, with great sadness, I must inform you that Precious suffered a puncture after 4,625 carefree miles.
If I remember rightly, we last met in Detroit.
Since then things have been pretty uneventful. Mostly in Canada.
There are several points of note for those whose lives would be meaningless without this blog. The first is the insane situation presented to a cyclist in Detroit. Detroit is separated fom Canada by a river, over which a bridge spans and under which a tunnel bores. Should you wish to cross the border you must use a form of transport with an engine. You can neither walk nor cycle across (I didn't ask about inline skates or skateboards). The mind boggles 'Why?' and it will continue to boggle because no matter how long you think about it, you will not be able to come up with a valid reason why that should be the case.
You will be forced to cycle a pleasant 40 miles north, alongside a lake and a river, and cross on a small ferry onto a Canadian Indian reservation.
As a small digression, did you know that the 1st of July is Canada Day, all together now, 'Oh Canada'.
This part of Canada, Southwestern Ontario, is littered with small towns named after locations in my youth. London, Tilbury, Chatham, Colchester, Maidstone. The counties are named Essex, Kent, Middlesex, Oxford and an unpredictable Elgin. The comforting place names ally with the flat, unobtrusive farming landscapes to send the mind into an uninspired auto pilot. The type of adjectives that spring to mind are forgettable, placid, apathetic.
Through this area runs the River Thames, who'd have thought it, which winds through a number of towns and, with the honourable exception of Woodstock, these towns don't quite work. I will return to London but not this one.
The closer you get to Lake Ontario, the better it gets. You can see Toronto from a surprisingly long way away, at least 30 miles, probably more. It's skyline haunts the Southwest corner of the lake and keeps you company when you first hit the ridge that brings the lake into view, in my case, Grimsby ON, until you leave it, in my case, Olcutt NY. The Canadian side of the lake greets the Niagara River with a lovely recreation trail along which you cycle next to the river. The US side bids farewell to the river, although you won't notice, obscured as it is from view by homes. The same goes for the lake. Disappointingly, US rivers and lakes are, generally speaking, private delights. Which is a huge shame. There are, usually, public access points that allow you to launch the boat but I would bet a great deal of money that lakes around which you could stroll in their entirety are very rare, if there are any.
Niagara Falls, visited as it was, on 4th July, remains an extremely busy tourist trap. As you'll find, the second time you visit can be a real chore although happily, it's a place that lends itself to walking. Again the Canadian side is preferable. The US side, I'm sorry to say is simply a slum. Why a bit more of an effort isn't made is beyond me but if you are going to separate humans from a natural beauty by placing a two lane highway in between, you get what you deserve.
The US side improves as you head North. Lewiston, particularly is a town worth the name and your time and money.
For the record, the 4th of July is a holiday in the U.S. and as a consequence of a thin supply of motels and hotels, the emergency tent was pressed into service. Vindictively, as Precious had to spend the night in the open air, the ensuing puncture was her way of evening the score. This is where the luck came in. Knackered by a restless night's sleep and distraught at the puncture, a quick glance at the map indicated a sizeable town south called Lockport. Hoping to find a bike shop you'll find instead a canal path that runs all the way to Albany. Most cyclists out there will tell you that canals are the bike routes par excellence. With the exception of the North of England (honourably excepted by a stretch between Leeds and Bradford/Saltaire) canals provide the cyclists with a perfect environment. There is no traffic and the only things you have to worry about are being hooked by a casting fishermen and whether you should stop at this lock or the next for a tea. The areas around towns can be a little busy but the stretches in between are usually deserted. You, the bike and the butterfly rule the roost.
The next two days will be spent by the canal, I may be some time.

Take me out to the ballpark.

Swish me with your light sabre.

Colour me purple or pink.

Feed me with rare steak and gourmet bread,

and Nemo's drinks 'til I burst at the seams.

And it's win, win, win, for the Tigers.

The old English D marches on.

'Cause it's bears, beers, bread and baseball,

with the Collins'* family.

*with apologies to the triple syllabled Binkowskis and sole syllable Stoers.

Nature's Napster

If you leave Chicago via the South Eastern suburbs. You will encounter industrial roads by the bucketful as well as Indiana. Now, I never thought I'd find myself saying this but perservere because soon you will encounter some unlikely heroes - The trees of Southwestern Michigan. Ordinarily you wouldn't expect to hear praise for this part of the world. Not only do they eschew road signs in a cunning plan to stop the Red Hordes (Imagine this for a moment, the Chinese have crossed the Rockies and the great Plains only to be stymied by their inability to find Three Oaks and Buchanan (with an 'ew'), Niles and Vandalia.) but they put a bloody great hill in your way as soon as you realise you're lost. Bastards.

Anyway, SW Michigan's farms aren't as ubiquitous as they are in Minnesota, Wisconsin and Northwestern Illinois. As a consequence, Water Towers are the unchallenged Kings of the horizon and there is room for lots of trees. That, my friends is a good thing. Now these trees, although not quite every shape and size, are sufficiently varied to ensure a changing vista at every turn and the colour green rules the roost, occasionally interrupted by a deep purple. Having been battered into submission by attempting to walk around a suburban Chicago for a long weekend, this becomes close to paradisiacal (Spelling? Anyone.). Incidentally, here's the CDC advice for walking in US suburbia - Don't! The trees also provide a service to humanity that as far as I know carries no fee. They help to suck up the pollution caused by the industries along the Sothern Lake Michigan coast.

But the best result of the plethora of trees is the greatest of Evolutionary joys, birdsong. There have been some exceptions to this, that lady who played the elf? who gave up immortality in'Lord of the Rings' springs to mind, as does Precious (the bike, not the ring), but these are the exceptions. Birdsong rules the genetic roost. There can be no-one unmoved to song when a chorus of tweets rents the air. One particularly odd species sounds exactly like R2D2. I'm no poet but hearts uplift and spirits soar as joy rises from your well of life. It's no coincidence that such verbs mirror the acts of birds. The motley melodies resonate wildly and before long you'll be tunelessly singing the music of your youth before an audience of roadkill and startled sheep. Birds will temporarily be quietened into curiousity and, with luck, begin to follow, confused into an evolutionary dead end. Soon, they'll return to their own youthful soundtracks and begin again singing with the all the exuberance that summer musters. Next time you're out amongst all the glory nature has to offer and you hear the birds clearing their throats, before you know it, you, too, will be making up the words to 'Songbird'.

An angry old man.

During the course of my time cycling across the United States, my motto has been Honi soit qui mal y pense. The primary impulse for this has been my desire not to get a puncture. However, a correspondent to this blog has wondered where all the ranting about the failures of American Society has been.

I've tried to resist but after a few days in Chicago where I've attended a Rugby Festival, which put me in a good mood and the Museum of Science of Industry (which didn't - being the industrial propaganda machine that it is) where the only half decent exhibits were a model train set - a mode of transportation largely ignored by the American public - a second world war German Submarine and the pictured banana boat.

The submarine exhibit is extraordinarily interesting and you'll find a proclamation explaining that the US was breaking the Geneva Convention back then. This extraordinary comment manages to be both surprising AND unsurprising - really, why they sign anything is a mystery to me.

But back to the point, following the news channels over here is a painful process. Not only does there not appear to be not much news, rather a succession of talking heads explaining why the needs of the American Heartland trump anything or anybody else on the planet. Again we're back to the oil. Here's the thing, the United States consumes 25% of the World's fossil fuels. I've been to China and I've been to Russia and any of you out there with an environmental bent will be saddened by what you see in those countries. Compared to the United States, these are not as well developed. The US is probably the most developed country in the World and what do you think the individual American is doing to mitigate the damage that fossil fuels do to the planet. They are watching the television with their air coditioning at full blast, placidly believing the advertising by Big Coal and Oil telling them that the continued exploration and use of these resources is good for the environment.

I'm no longer going to depend on the youth to get angry and shall henceforth try to watch Fox News for longer than 10 seconds without spitting and report on the steps that the most advanced country in the world is taking to protect humanity from a multitude of wars caused by populations migrating from their soon to be inhabitable homes.

I'm not suggesting that the Americans should be protecting humanity but I am suggesting that they should stop lying to everyone and the rest of the World can then review exactly where their interests lie. And when the rest of the World recognises that the US is nothing but a rapacious consumption machine devouring everything it sees and then everything else it can't, like some kind of Alien locust, perhaps we will stop sticking silicone in our breasts and gullibly hanging on every word uttered by such polymaths as George Clooney or Arnold Schwarzenegger and start thinking for ourselves.

When you spend your money in a shop, think about how much finds it's way into the profits of American Corporations which will then, likely as not, donate it to their favourite politicians. You, by your spending may be partly responsible for the most powerful man on the planet believing in God (whether you think so or not -the American President is a person about which you need to care). Complacency is something that I've been guilty of for a long time, wondering existentially, what on earth can I do or whether, indeed, I have the right to do. It is our biggest enemy. Now for evil men to triumph, many good men may indeed get shot, but if you're good, the least you can do is try to stop it, anonymously if necessary.

Here's couple of definitions for you;

Liberal - Not limited to or by established, traditional, orthodox, or authoritarian attitudes, views, or dogmas; free from bigotry.

Obviously, there are others but only in the Land of the Free (to have two jobs in order to eat and be too tired to pay attention to the piss we're taking out of you) can this have turned into a derogatory term.

Fascism - A system of government marked by centralization of authority under a dictator, stringent socioeconomic controls, suppression of the opposition through terror and censorship, and typically a policy of belligerent nationalism and racism.

Does the latter sound like the Unites States to you? Because it sure as shit does to me.

We need to start with the recitation of the pledge of allegiance in schools. Either that or change it to 'Two legs bad, four legs good'.

Having said all that, should the citizens of the world choose to challenge rhe Great American Dream, expect blank stares from any Americans they meet because they simply will not understand. The previous sentence is complete as it stands. To elaborate, here's a small vignette for you.

Crossing the Chicago River was delayed by a bridge lifting to allow some yachtsmen through.

"Where are they going?" says I.

"To the lake." says a Chicagoan.

"Then where have they come from?" says I.

"Probably from the Mississippi, haven't you heard about reversing the flow?" says the Chicagoan.

"No." says I.

"The river used to flow into the Lake but they reversed it to stop the Typhus infecting our drinking water which we get from the lake." says the Chicagoan.

"Oh I see, then where did the Typhus go?" says I.

"It doesn't matter, it's not in my drinking water though." says the Chicagoan.

"Oh I see." says I.

Unbelievable.

It is Sunday morning in Chicago and the conversation that is currently taking place on CNN is revolving around this incredible premise. Because the US has spent a lot of taxpayer dollars in Iraq, then the Iraqis should be selling their oil to the United States at a discounted price.
Think about that for a second and then, when you've got your breath back, try not to cry.

USA - World Champion

This is a picture of the Sears Tower in Chicago. It used to be the World's Tallest Building but now it is merely 'The Tallest Building in the Western Hemisphere'. I'm not sure entirely how and when the Western Hemisphere appeared. Unlike Latitude which has a solid, scientific basis, it seems to be largely a construct based on where Longitude was discovered. Happily, for the Sears Tower, there are no plans to build a taller building in Portugal, Belize or Fiji, so it'll hold the title for some time.

Uniquely (well, almost) American Sports, two of which I'm a big fan of, have a self delusional trait which induces them to refer to the Top team each year as World Champion. You may be surrised to hear, particularly if you're still laughing at Zidane's head butt, that the current Football World Champions are the not very Italian, New York Giants. This penchant instils in the American people a belief that there is something superior about them and their society. You would hope that these kinds of exaggerations and distortions, which they are bombarded with from every media outlet, would raise objection or suspicion.Not a bit of it, rather because they're so busy trying to earn a living, the fanciful glorification of America and everything about it merely validates their existence. As an example, the current cost of gasoline is provoking a great deal of ranting on the TV media about the failure of the oil producers to rape their reserves in order to allow Mr Simpson of Springfield, Anystate,USA to spend less money on his impetus. It doesn't appear to have occurred to anyone to build cars that travel further than 30 miles on one gallon. Nor has it occurred to anyone that Saudi Arabia, for example, doesn't actually have to sell oil to the USA.

But I digress, the point of this piece is to tell the American people that they have a new World Champion in their midst. Last night, in my hotel room I held a World Championship, not just a Western Hemispherean Championship and this morning, as the USA slowly woke up, Nigel Webb of London, England became a World Champion Wanker.

(Millwall) Rugby's in the air. Da da Da da da!

Firstly, let me just say do not, repeat, do not go out of your way to travel along Illinois Highway 38 no matter how scenic your map tells you it is. It is not scenic, it is historic because it is part of the first transamerican road for automobiles and is known as, inter alia, The Main Street of America.

Now to the Rugby. Firstly, The Churchll Cup has arrived in Chicago, a mere day before me and on Saturday, a Rugby fest awaits.

Secondly, and much more importantly, the mighty Millwall Rugby Club has a new committee and one that instills hope in the most jaded souls. The reason for this is that (for me, anyway) it contains Rugby men (and woman), something that (for me anyway) we'd been lacking for a number of years.

There are many reasons why this committee should gird your loins with vigour, (and I don't mean that type of vigour, Mr Ward). Going from the top down, consider Mr Costin nobly reprising his role as Chairman. OK, you might be thinking that it's about time he got out of the road and it is, but presumably no-one else fancies the role and as a last resort, he's not the worst option. A quick word to his Committee colleagues - get to the free eats first. Then we have the sartorially challenged Big Vic at Secretary (it's safe for me to say that, I'm in Chicago, just don't try this at home). Big Vic's physio has been trying for years to convince him to rest his ankle and the opportunity to sit down at numerous Committee meetings is just what the Doctor ordered. Plus, he can spell. Let's hope that he can read the RFU's regulations too. That way we might avoid any more unfortunate (you have no idea how difficult it was not to write Stupid there)breaches.

Moving swiftly on to our Treasurer, Mr Leftley. This one's a little odd, I've never met anyone willing to trust an Australian with money before and, together with Mr Costin, he's bound to increase Committee Trough expenses. His aptitude for hoovering up International Tickets with his "Volunteer hours" (gag, vomit) might spell trouble for those hoping to bag a spot at Twickenham this year, especially if he increases Raffle Ticket costs. Also, he borrowed a tie off me last year and it still hasn't been returned, but let's look on the bright side. He maintains, vociferously, his Englishness and is, therefore, trustworthy. He's a nice chap and he works in a bank.

This brings us to the First Team Manager, Steve 'Crazy Horse' Fleming. The nickname's interesting, either it's to celebrate his penchant for galloping upfield, ball in hand, like a headless goat or something happened on Tour that, should stay on Tour, but will be universally known by Friday. This critical position requires someone that knows the game of Rugby and can play it. Ignoring the sense of impetuosity, on both counts we can count ourselves lucky.

The Second Team manager needs no introduction. He'll have already done that himself. His Rugby skills and knowledge need no praising from anyone, they're that obvious. His attempts at Alpha Malery may be laughable but that shouldn't stop you from appreciating his obvious intellect and wicked sense of humour. He'll need both in Spades as the heir to Miss Dipper's Llamas.

The Third Team Manager's, heretofore unknown, ability to drive will be crucial this year.

At last, we arrive at the Social Secretary. This year's pick has had me chuckling to myself as soon as I found out who it was. Mr Ward, bless you. If this year's Social events aren't the most interesting, funny, and well attended events in our short history, I'll eat one of Mr Costin's hats. The more career minded amongst you will want to avoid the Tutu and Leather night, no matter how harmless Mr Ward says it is.

Oops, I've forgotten about the Club Captain. Mr Eason is a Prop and knows how to enjoy himself.

He remains a bit of a mystery to me having only been here a year but I did see him in Dubai so he can't be all bad.

Ditto, Ruth Evans, but good job anyway.

Finally, to our fixture Secretary, Miss Dipper. Yes I know, but let's face it. Miss Dipper is our best Referee by quite some margin and can be counted on to wear a tie on Saturdays. His Rugby pedigree is well known and he, some might say, is the best 7 ever to put on a Millwall jersey. He is also a quiz whizz, best known for knowing within 3 miles an hour, the quickest speed ever attained on a bicycle (167 miles an hour by the fantastically named Fred Rompelberg - Dutchman). Miss Dipper's diplomatic skills will stand him in good stead when confronted with the intransigence of his opposite numbers and the comrades at Victoria Park.

And so, as you gird your loins ready to drive into next week, anyone fooish enough to try to stop the march of Millwall Rugby Club to another inevitable division title, rest assured that the majority of this committee have, had and will be doing exactly the same thing. They know who you are.

La Crescent et La Crosse

Whilst the World agonises about a clash of civilisations, the Christian and Islamic worlds should take a leaf out the cities of La Crosse and La Crescent's book.
These two cities had a huge barrier between them. A river. And not just any river. It's not the daddy of all rivers but it's close. When it's not vying with the Missouri for the title of the U.S.' longest rivers. It drains the 3rd largest land area on the planet. This is the Mississippi river and it plays a starring role in 'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn'.
The two relevant cities successfully built a bridge between them over which people cross daily. This interconnectedness has prevented war from breaking out between these two cities ever since the bridge was built.
Crossing the Mississippi is a surprisingly elevating experience. It's not so big that it overcomes you although, upon entering the road that traverses it at La Crescent, you're informed that La Crosse is 3 miles away, but you do feel a sense of moment. This is the Mississippi flowing beneath your feet and there aren't many rivers that the whole world is familiar with. Once at La Crosse, if you're sensible, you'll start heading South and join The Great River Road. This road follows the course of the river as far as Prairie du Chien. This means that, if you're cycling and choose to spend a couple of nights while you're at it, you'll spend 60 odd hours on a journey of 50 miles. It'll be worth every second.
The Great River Road continues past La Crosse but no longer parallels the river, so you may choose to head inland. The next great aquatic barrier is Lake Michigan. Before you get there you have a great deal of Southern Wisconsin and Northern Illinois to cross. If it's anything like the road between Lancaster and Platteville, it'll be hugely enjoyable. For the most part this road follows a ridgeline . The highest ridge for some way. You'll feel a little precarious as the verdant farmland either side of you slopes away and then up again to the next ridge. The trees clump around the hollows, sucked towards the many riverbanks as if by a Black Hole. These engorged creeks, streams, brooks and rivers all career headlong towards the majestic Mississippi, all the while watering this emerald vista.
Freshly painted farmsteads compete for attention as the steel domed farm buildings, glinting in the sun, first draw then dazzle the unwary eye. Little specks of black, white and rust alert the viewer to the inevitable cattle. This is Wisconsin, after all. It will all feel oddly familiar and homey, even to the urbanites amongst us. It will make you feel at peace with the world. Unlike the Crescent and the Cross.

Math on the Mississippi

June 10 5:30:06 Pipestone - Windom 62.93 miles

June 12 8:19:43 Windom - Waseca 107.8 miles

June 13 8:57:29 Waseca - St Charles 90.47 miles

June 14 6:38:23 St Charles - Stoddard 62.87 miles

June 16 10:0:15 Stoddard - Platteville 97.28 miles

June 17 9:10:42 Platteville - Oregon 95.41 miles

June 18 3:21:03 Oregon - DeKalb 34.94 miles

June 19 4:49:36 DeKalb - Elmshurst 49.2 miles

June 23 7:50:06 Elmshurst - Michigan City 75.2 miles

June 24 8:44:35 Michigan City - Three Rivers 82.1 miles

June 25 7:58:27 Three Rivers - Jackson 73.5 miles

Tornadoes, Floods amid a sunny Eden.

If you'll permit, a word or two about Southern Minnesota is in order. After the Pipestone debacle, Minnesota has put on her Sunday best and (apart from the mad weather yesterday, forcing me to hunker down) she can be quite beautiful. She is flat which, when you're cycling, is close to heavenly. She does try to provide the odd hillock now and again for variety. However, they are mere goosebumps and, apart from an entirely unnecessary lump on the outskirts of Mankato, no match for Precious.

For any English people out there, imagine Lincolnshire. The roads are straight and the small hills keep the horizon at a comforting distance. The farmed fields either side lead up to ridges where small copses provide shade for the farmstead whilst happily shielding the less attractive farm buildings from view. Every so often a derelict barn comes into sight, begging to be explored. Those not fearful of bats would have a ball. As the road bisects numerous small lakes (not for nothing is Minnesota the Land of 10,000 lakes), birds twitter as their shadows dance on the road.

Towns and villages are numerous enough to allow a sedentary pace and plenty of stops. Satisfyingly, like small English villages heralding their presence with a church steeple, each small town can be seen from afar as their grain silos jostle with their water towers for pre-eminence. The bulbous water towers win out through sheer otherworldliness.

Tomorrow, if a crossing point can be found, the Mississippi will be crossed and the River Road south will be followed (Good thinking, Alf). Minnesota will become a memory and a very pleasant one.

The only blot on the landscape is when you reach the evening's destination and settle down to rest for the night. You'll turn the television on and be greeted by Chris Martin warbling limp pop at you. Where are all the angry young men?

Tornado Watch

As you wend your way across the Northern States of the U.S. you are likely to encounter a Tornado Watch. So far, four Tornado watches have been encountered first hand. Now, before you get excited, a Tornado Watch merely tells you that the conditions for a Tornado exist, not that you are going to be lucky enough to see a Tornado. Call me suicidal, but I reckon that would be quite exciting.
Ah, as we speak, the current watch has been turned into a warning which is altogether more real. That means, if I could understand the voice correctly, that there's a tornado in Dundee which is about 15 miles East. Oo err missus.
Anyway, tornadoes have affected every state in the U.S. and, should you ever visit, you should be aware of the procedure you should take when you are in a Tornado Warning area.
1) Put on a big hat.
2) Go to the Motel Courtyard.
3) Open a can of beer.
4) Chat to the good ole boys about previous tornado experiences.

The History Channel

History begins as soon as it is past. In that sense following a bunch of lumberjacks or oilmen about the place and then televising it could be construed as History. It's not exactly Trajan's Column though is it ? You losers.

An apology to the Discovery Channel

The television programmes taht were the subject of an earlier rant - Black Gold, Ax Men and Deadliest Catch are not, with the exception of Deadliest Catch, broadcast on the Discovery Channel. Therefore I apologise unreservedly to them and am pleased to state that you may continue watching it.

Salmonella in the Tomatoes? Err.

Subway are currently selling footlongs for five dollars. I can recommend the Spicy Italian, it's gorgeous. Today, however, tomatoes were off the menu. A spicy italian without tomatoes ?!?! What's the point? You'll be pleased to hear they gave me extra olives instead and it was still delicious although a little less red. A close cross-examination of the staff about the sign that said something like "The FDA have warned people against eating raw uncooked tomatoes (as opposed to raw cooked tomatoes) so we've voluntarily taken them off the menu." revealed nothing.

Subway aren't the only ones, many other fast food chains have taken a similar cause of action. They have taken this action because of a Salmonella outbreak. And there's me thinking it was a bacteria that needed the kind of environment most often found in digestive systems to survive. As I've said before, I'm no botanist, and before we use words like Genetically modified, I'd like to suggest we raise the Terrorist Colour Code to Yellow.

It's a matter of hours before those bloody foreigners are blamed. Does anyone know if the U.S imports tomatoes from Iran? If so, hold your breath, that'll be identified as the source and the mere mention of tomato ketchup in a telephone conversation with your loved ones will result in the FBI knowing you prefer to be called Doreen at the weekends.

My advice, stock up on tomatoes now, they'll be cheaper than gas and everyone loves tomato soup.

Welcome to Minnesota.

The first object of any interest should you cross into Minnesota from South Dakota on Highway 34 is the Pipestone National Monument. It was "...established by Congress in 1937 to protect the historic pipestone quarries ... considered sacred by many American Indians."
It's relatively interesting on a purely geoligical level, given the uniqueness of the stone, but the fact that it's the place from where all Indian peace pipe raw materials are quarried raises it to an entirely different level.
There is much else of interest to commend the park to you and so I do. However, the main thrust of this blog is to discuss the interesting entry fees. An individual is allowed into the park for US$3 which is perfectly reasonable. One man and his bike and an hour of semi-spiritual wandering for the price of a Quarter Pounder with Cheese. It's a bargain. Should you arrive in a people carrier with 5 adults and 2 children immediately after one man and his bike, all of you will be allowed in for US$5. Errr.
To elaborate, should you have chosen as a group, to have a spot of lunch in Historic Downtown Pipestone and strolled to the monument, you would have had to pay US$15 but because you drove, it's a fiver. I checked, the US$5 fee is the entrance fee for the car and anyone in it. If you don't come by car, it's US$3 each.
Petrol over here is at an all time high, at around US$4 per gallon. Not a lot compared to European rates but, as I said, an all-time high in the U.S.. Car drivers, therefore, have quite enough expense on their plates and I'm not here to demand that they should pay through the nose to enter U.S. National Parks. What I'm not sure I understand is why those that choose to arrive by a mode of transport that doesn't have a combustion engine and four wheels are essentially subsidising those that do. I wish I'd asked what a couple arriving on a Motorcycle would've paid. Up to now, the entry fees into U.S. National Parks for one man and his bike have been reasonable when compared to carloads. For example, there's no entry fee into Mount Rushmore National Park although there is a parking fee.
Just so you understand, this isn't a Family fee. If it were, I wouldn't be whinging. This is a carload of anybody. A Rugby team, a Frat house, a Bucks party.
How on earth did anyone arrive at this tariff. According to those responsible for charging it, "..I don't know but now you mention it..I guess we just don't get many that don't come by car". Further interrogation was futile, although immensely good fun. Anyway yours truly has been known to refuse to enter 'Tourist Attraction' when they've taken the piss with entrance fees before. Despite levels of lividity not experienced since that waitress in Portland helped herself to the tip, Pipestone was enjoyed immensely. Have a look at the soothing waterfall pictured.
Now, to all of you car drivers out there, this isn't personal. To those of you responsible for setting the fees at Pipestone National Monument, please take this as personal as you, you retards. What on earth do you think you're doing. For a start, it's a geological site which means that you want to keep anything that's capable of damaging it as far away as possible. That means encouraging people to turn up not surrounded by a couple of tons of steel and variable momentum. In addition, the spiritual nature demands the kind of respect usually afforded by silence, not revving engines and the slamming of doors. Furthermore, you cretins, as the National Park Service, you should be aware that the 'Park' referred to in your name is the type of park that usually discourages cars i.e. trees, grass, children, not the type of park referred to in such phrases as 'Car park'.
Oh, and there is one other thing, you buffoons, how much are you going to charge one person who turns up in car? Well?

South Dakota - Where every day's a Sunday

As I stare out the window at Pierre, South Dakota's State Capital. A general comfortable numbness rears it's head. South Dakota has been good to me. Apart from the Black Hills, it's fairly flat and although the weather has been variable. It's been predictably variable.The thunderstorms begin between 5 and 7 pm and take place over whichever town you happen to be staying in. The most interesting consequence is finding new rivers. To date, I've discovered and named 3, the Rivers Dobbo, Ash and Stretch.

The trouble with South Dakota, I think, is that nothing much seems to happen. Only today in Hayes, which according to Wikipedia, has been assigned a Zip Code, a shop bearing an open sign was visited. Behind the counter was a man on a telephone, conducting a conversation with somewhere further away than the shop's only customer of the day. Exactly seven minutes later, the customer left the shop empty handed. There is no reason whatsoever for anyone to visit that shop if they had not just spent 2.75 hours battling a vicious crosswind for 22 miles.

I suspect the shop is visited no more than ten times a year. This is South Dakota in a nutshell.

It encompasses over 77,000 square miles and it manages to squeeze in 781,919 people. You will rarely see any of them. Even on a Friday afternoon, I'm in the Capital remember, a late afternoon walk may result in a chance encounter with another human, but it's unlikely. The Capitol building is open to the public so in I went and strolled around for 20 odd minutes. It's a lovely building and I know that neither politicians nor their acolytes can't be expected to work on Friday Afternoons but did I see anyone. Did I fuck!

That was a bit unnecessary wasn't it? I hear you cry. Not a bit of it. This is simply impossible to describe, excluding the traffic, there is nobody about. The shops will have a dozen cars parked outside so in you go hoping to have a conversation with another sentient being. Are there any in there? Nope, only the tellers. I said sentient, remember.

Don't get me wrong, as I said earlier, South Dakota's been good to me and it is a lovely place. The Black Hills, although Green (I know), are decidedly delicious to the eye and the monuments to Crazy Horse and the Presidents are truly monumental. The River Missouri flows majestically down through the middle of the State and the Capital, adding to the beauty as only rivers can.

And yet, and yet, there's no-one here.

Hello! Hello! Hello! Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?

Deadliest Catch, Ax Men and Black Gold

Firstly, here's a picture of the Black Hills of South Dakota. Green, aren't they?

The Discovery Channel, which is nothing to do with the Discovery Institute, is a television programme producer and procurer dedicated to educating the world about such diverse subjects as marine biology, geology and botany. It was also, until recently, the proud sponsor of a cycling team that helped Lance Armstrong help himself to a hatful of Tour De France yellow jerseys.

This channel's reliance on factual documentaries has ensured it's continued participation near the top of my TV channel Top Ten.

However, a disturbing trend appears to be flexing itself. The Discovery Channel is foisting on it's viewers a number of television programmes which rely on a group of men going about their daily business. The first problem is that it's dangerously close to reality television, which as a phenomenon is well past it's sell by date. Secondly, I don't want to watch a bunch of blokes burping and scratching their arses. If that isn't bad enough, men as a rule just aren't pretty. Even when thy're not picking their nose.

Despite all this, there is really quite a big problem with the Discovery Channel focussing on a trio of occupations which, however honourable they are, all contribute to the continued destruction of the planet's national resources most related to the human contribution to the Earth's history, global warming, or if you want to butter it up into an 'easier on the conscience - less likely to kill me' phrase, climate change.

Fact number 1 - Chopping down a tree reduces that tree's ability to suck up Carbon Dioxide, a prime contributor to global warming.

Fact number 2 - Drilling oil means that more climate changing particulates will be chucked up into the air, thereby hastening doomsday.

Fact number 3 - Fish have feelings too. Plus they haven't recovered yet, especially in the Black Sea. (I know that Deadliest Catch is set in the North Pacific but that's not the point).

What are we to make of the Discovery Channel's choices of occupations to focus on? We are to make our minds up not to watch it.

Frankly, I'm beginning to think that the Discovery Channel is related to the Discovery Institute. As they smugly think that the world is going to end anyway and, as they're first in line at the gates because they're Christians, (the only true religion, obviously) hastening Armageddon by glorifying those occupations most likely to cause it, is a good thing, right.

Here endeth the lesson.

Presidential primaries and nuclear nincompoopery.

Firstly, I'd like to point out that 'nincompoopery' is a great word. Secondly, whilst the World slept, the Presidential Primary season came to an end in South Dakota. Frankly, everyone was getting a little bored with the whole process so it was about time. Apparently, because Hillary hasn't actually conceded yet, the nation's journalists are getting themselves into a tizz. Some, I've no doubt, are imagining closed off corridors and Hillary and Barack, alone and unassisted, discussing where to take things from here over a nice cigar.

Anyway, Nora will be pleased to find out that White men are more sexist then racist. Stick that in your powder box and smoke it.

For the record, next year either Barack Obama or John McCain will be the most powerful man in the world. Time will tell whether that's a good thing. However, I'm going to stick my neck out and say that it'll certainly be a better thing than currently.

Having visited the United States on a number of occasions and encountered a highly educated, civil, generous, polite and gregarious population each time. The mind boggled when they elected Dubya to be their president, not once but twice. Some will vehemently argue that it only happened once but, the citizens of the world have had to put up with him for eight years. Those citizens, who haven't visited the U.S., will be convinced that U.S. citizens, without exception, are entirely mad.

So, here's the question, where are all the nutters who tuck their guns into their waistband and take them to church ready to slay the emissaries of the devil (they're the ones studying elementary Biology) at the first sign of the rapture - raining frogs? These lunatics, for that's what they are, are perfectly happy to pay taxes in order to subsidise the already impossibly rich supporters of Republican Presidents (of recent vintage anyway) because it s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle etc. As a side issue, while we're talking taxes, the British Empire's death knell was indubitably the Second World War where we put ourselves in hock to the United States to continue fighting the Boche. So here's a quick question to all my American readers out there, two at the last count, who owns your debt? Whose money is making your current wars possible ?

At the last count America's National debt is US$9.5 trillion. I don't know how much money that is but it sounds like a lot. 25% is owned by foreign governments via their central banks, predominately China and Japan. Now as soon as you start looking at U.S. economic numbers, the mind does start to boggle. Suffice to say that the current debt probably isn't critical yet. Even though interest payments run at US$318 billion, which is approximately 15% of tax revenues, the U.S. government does maintain reserves of over US$400 billion.

Wait a minute, did I say reserves are held in billions and China is holding US$1 trillion of debt instruments. Oh shit. What happens then, if China finds either Barack or John a little tiresome? For example, let's imagine that the U.S.A.F. accidentally flies Ballistic missile components to Taiwan?

Is the world still sleeping?

I would imagine that China would choose to divest itself of all those dollars. There's not much point propping up a foreign government's military industrial complex if it's got you in it's sights? Now, what would happen if that happened? I don't know and neither does anyone else (not even the Bankers, I asked a couple but they were too busy enjoying lunch), but it probably wouldn't be raining frogs and no-one would be paying any attention to C-SPAN anymore, if they ever were. I know what you're thinking, 'that's OK, the Japs will take up the slack, they'll be only too happy to stick a couple of fingers up at the Chinese.' and you're right. The only trouble here is that the Chinese aren't scared of the Japs anymore and the U.S. might even view a small skirmish between the two as no bad thing. During the U.S. hosted Sino-Japanese peace negotiations, I can just imagine John or Barack taking Wen Jiabao aside and saying, "about our debt old boy, any chance of waiving it?" whilst simultaneously telling Shinzo,"Sorry buddy, we can't do anything until you 've given us our money back."

So while Mr Gates (Robert, not Bill) is sacking, excuse me, asking to resign, a number of the U.S.A.F.'s top civilian and military staff for, amongst other things, accidentally flying Ballistic missile components to Taiwan. Do not be surprised to learn that this turns out to have been deliberate ("if we hadn't done it, North Korea would've got the coin") in a cunning plan to start a conflagration between the U.S. top two creditors.

As I'm running out of time, the nuclear nincompoopery refers to the U.S.A.F. accidentally flying live Nuclear missiles from North Dakota to Louisiana last year in an apparent attempt to stop Louisiana banging on about Katrina, enough already.

Also, here's a picture of the monumental work in progress that is Crazy Horse. A man who learned the hard way America's willingness to break international treaties.

Another day, another deadline.

Today, Custer, South Dakota.
June 21, Toyota Park, Chicago, Illinois.
C'mon, England Saxons.

Double Maths

May 18 7:40:53 Powell -Missoula 57.29 miles
May 20 9:54:52 Missoula - Lincoln 79.18 miles
May 21 5:40:16 Lincoln - Helena 54.99 miles
May 22 6:24:50 Helena - Three Forks 70.28 miles
May 23 2:26:53 Three Forks - Bozeman 29.7 miles
May 25 7:52:2 Bozeman - Mammoth Hot Springs 69.84 miles
May 26 9:10:25 Mammoth Hot Springs - Old Faithful 54.71 miles
May 27 5:46:30 Old Faithful - Lake 38.81 miles
May 28 9:54:20 Lake - Cody 79.69 miles
May 29 5:45:44 Cody -Greybull 57.17 miles
May 31 12:56:33 Greybull - Sheridan 95.29 miles
June 1 12:27:1 Sheridan - Gillette 110.06 miles
June 2 6:58:48 Gillette - Upton 48.58 miles
June 3 7:33:56 Upton - Custer 65.78 miles
June 4 12:19:09 Custer - Wasta 88.62 miles
June 5 4:44:51 Wasta - Philip 44.34 miles
June 6 7:35:05 Philip - Pierre 86.06 miles
June 7 9:42:57 Pierre - Wessington Springs 103.16 miles
June 9 9:53:33 Wessington Springs - Pipestone 118.33 miles

I can only imagine.

Disapointingly, after a few days sans television in Yellowstone, I've found myself paying attention to the goggle box when I should be warming down. Mr McCafferty will kill me. Anyway, there's a startling array of services being pitched at you over the ether. The first that springs to mind is that stalwart of spammers worldwide, penis enlargement. I kid you not. The star of this advertisement is dressed up as Santa and his queue is staffed entirely by ladies with expectant smiles on their faces. The punchline is, 'The gift that keeps on giving'.

Another magic pill concerns losing weight, "and I quote, "[brand name] is clinically proven to help you lose pure body fat with no change in lifestyle!'. One or two questions spring immediately to mind, for example, how can this magic bullet know which fat is pure?, even more alarming, How are we to get rid of our impure body fat? I don't know the answer to either of these questions but I do know that we shouldn't have our scientists wasting time clinically proving diet pills.

Science brings me to an advert for popular chocolate treat. As we know, scientists are directly responsible for global warming. Ask yourself, would it have occurred to you without them? Anyway, the consequences of global warming are many and varied and there are many and varied reasons why we should take action on it. Ensuring our future generations understand that documentary about Emperor penguins for one. Another excellent reason why we should tke action on global warming that won't have occurred to you has been pointed out by a certain chocolate manufacturer. If we don't then all our chocolate will melt. There can't be anyone on the planet, alive or dead, who would want that. Diet pill manufacturers included.

The last advertisement to attract my unwarranted attention is a music compilation, "..chockful of power christian anthems...". There are all sorts of reasons why you should avoid using the word power when you're merely mortal and believe in an all powerful deity. Nevertheless a multitude of well known artists have contributed to this medley. Among them is Michael Charles' 'In Christ Alone', Rick Mullins' 'Awesome God' and to cap off this imaginatively titled trio, Twila Paris and her 'God is in Control. For those who would lie to purchase a copy, it's entitled 'I can only Imagine'.

Yes, quite.

Tea inter alia.

Dear all,

as I sit on a motel bed in Greybull, Wyoming (130 miles East of Yellowstone Park which is in the Northwestern corner of Wyoming - You know who you are), two things spring to mind. The first is how on earth am I going to make it up tomorrow's climb to 9022 ft from 3750 ft without at least one part of the body giving up the ghost. The second is that now I've worked out how to allow people to comment without going through the hassle of registering, you lot better bloody start keeping in touch.

The third is I lied about how many things spring to mind, because now loads are. The good people of the Weather Channel now appear to be following me East as the exciting weather drifts across the continent - bastard.

And now to the main feature - Tea. To whit, why is it impossible to get a palatable cup of tea the instant you leave Blighty ?

The core constituents of the stuff aren't difficult to accumulate and yet the desired result still isn't forthcoming. It's clear that this is a recent phenomenon as there is no way we could've built an Empire without being fuelled by the real Amber Nectar. Therefore, something must have happened around the turn of the century to create a world without appropriate Tea. Geo-political considerations aside, could it be that, with the exception of Merrie England, there really is something in the water? Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you that there's always something in the water, even in England, not to mention Oliver Cromwell's urine (look it up). For example you'll all be familiar with hard and soft water and whilst the chemical compostion is broadly similar, there are subtle differences. Soft water, so far as I can see, exists merely to preclude rinsing properly. That is not to say that a decent cup of tea can't be made with it. I had one in Windermere ony last year and it was a perfectly decent, although Northern, cup of tea. Also, last time I looked, Cumbria is in England. While I'm absent could someone keep an eye on the Scots, they'll be annexing Carlisle as soon as they realise we're all pissed after 2pm. No, wait a minute, they're half cut by 11am. Forget the Scots. So, it's not the water.

How about the Sugar? That's never been English has it? Could the Caribbean producers be getting their own back for decades of slavery? Perhaps, but then surely they'd make sure that we drank rubbish tea at home, rather than ambush us on holiday? Unless they're really, really stupid. Which they're not. So there, it isn't the sugar. Besides, some of you out there don't have sugar, and I bet you have as much trouble finding decent tea as the rest of us.

This brings us to the tea itself. I'll be the first to admit that there are plenty of teas out there that aren't quite the ticket even at home, Earl Grey, for instance, and anything that has a type of fruit in it's name. Even Aunt Sally's Rose Hip concoction isn't tea. No, there's an entire industry of hot beverage hawkers out there selling stuff they like to call tea because it's drunk with hot water and contains leaves. We are ignoring them because those drinks are rubbish everywhere, even 2 MacQaurie Way, the tea drinking capital of the world. We are dealing here solely with what the rest of the world refer to as English Breakfast Tea (Does anyone know why that is?) and I refer to as PG Tips. I suppose, for want of making this blog even more impossible to finish, that PG don't know which leaves are finishing up in England and which aren't, so they can't differentiate. Even then, Lipton's monopoly on tea ex England (how did that happen?) make it almost impossible to test that principle.

Lipton's, therefore are today's scapegoat, and the fact that the rest of the world deals primarily in that devil of a temperature scale, Fahrenheit, rendering it impossible for the water to be boiling at 100 degrees. Johnny F cannot make a decent cup of tea because they haven't decimalised their thermometers. Er that's it.

Yellowstone Park

You will be savaged should you ever visit Yellowstone Park. There's a multitude of wildlife to choose from but, even if they leave you alone, nature does her own savaging.
Assaulted from every side by rivers, mountains, waterfalls, cliffs, rockfaces and an array of geologic phenomena operating on a time scale we can appreciate. Plus, frozen lakes. If you visit in summer, I suspect, it could be hell on earth.
There is also a very real sense of having been transported back in time. The custodians of the park have obviously shunned modern technologies such as television and the internet. And it's a bloody good job too.
They've also kept most of the park building free. The exceptions - Mammoth Hot Springs, Norris, Madison, Old Faitful, Canyon Village, Lake Village, West Thumb and Grant Village - are very tastefully arranged, particularly Old Faithful and Lake. Old Faithful is all wooden cabins and the Inn is just gorgeous. Lake, on te other hand, is yellow and pink. Despite this it, also, is a place to die for. You will feel as if you have been transported into an Agatha Christie whodunnit. The scenery is simply impossible to describe. If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I'd like to meet the beholder that first sees the lake and the Absarokas and considers it anything other than utmost beauty.
The giveaway is that from about 20 miles out, everybody is grinning from ear to ear. They do this because they are in a part of the world that, hourly, presents new aspects of candy to the eye. You don't want to be there when it goes off, although you don't want to be anywhere on this planet when it goes off, so yu may as well enjoy it while you can. As for cycling, by all means, but expect hills.
And when you leave, it doesn't stop at the Park's limits. North you have the Yellowstone River Valley (the Yellowstone is apparently the U.S.' longest undammed river), East, the Shoshone River Valley, South, the Tetons and West the mountains of the Continental Divide and the Rockies.
Go and enjoy.

Wild West Weather.

As we speak, geneticists the world over are hunting down the gene that compels Englishmen to spend so much time talking about the weather.

Accordingly, it would be remiss for any Englishman not to consider the weather whilst in the U.S.. So here goes.

In total, per square mile, the U.S. has exactly the same amount of weather as the U.K.. However, the U.S. has more square miles than the U.K.. Therefore, it has more weather. Fact.

So much more weather ensures the demand for a television channel entirely devoted to this phenomenon. As a consequence of it's size and the subsequent weather possibilities, every day there is a part of the U.S. that is concentrated on by this channel, chosen by virtue of the excitement potential of the weather. By that I mean, if the weather is sufficiently lively to cause fatalities, the Weather Channel sends in meterologists by the dozen to cover it. As a consequence, Weather Channel meteorologists regularly feature in the Top Ten most dangerous occupations in the U.S. Throughout April and early May, the local weather has been sufficiently dull not to feature greatly on the Weather Channel. Two days ago, all that changed. Crossing the great divide two days ago has turned out to be perfect timing. There's not much chance of getting over it for a few more days now. However, the system causing such damage is also attracting inclement weather over Yellowstone Park. In Bozeman, not 100 miles from Yellowstone, it is merely raining on and off. The problem here is whether to visit Yellowstone when the weather is disappointing. The answer to that is a resounding NO! Citizens and tourists alike are being advised to avoid elevations over 6000 ft, mainly because of the traffic jams caused by a nation's weather reporters, but also because of the wintry storms taking place there. Yellowstone averages 7000 ft.

We've met snow before, at the top of the Lolo and Flesher passes. This snow was extremely placid, Lolo's was merely melting and Flesher's, although fresh, was intermittent and sparse. By all accounts, the current snow related excitement over Yellowstone and the Great Divide is enough to place a cyclist wearing plastic bags over his feet into the insane category. The only option available then is to spend a few days in Bozeman, Montana. There's nothing inherently wrong with Bozeman but Tourists who spend longer than four days here are regarded not with curiosity but with suspicion. However, having found a relatively cheap motel with a laundry next door and, crucially, access to the internet that is precisely what yours truly is going to do. Fortunately, it's the weekend, the Memorial Day weekend to boot. So the first two days shall be spent in an alcoholic haze and when I wake Monday, all the part-time long weekend tourists who ignored the warnings, will be departing the Park, along with, fingers crossed, the exciting weather and journalists in body bags. Then and only then will you be able to read about the natural wonder that is Yellowstone. Provided it doesn't blow up before then.

Math and the Missouri.

Street signage on U.S. roads can be unnecessarily distracting. They are on the whole informative, it's just that sometimes the information isn't always required. For example, every time you cross a bridge (and there are lots of bridges) you will be informed via White lettering on a Green background that you have just crossed Prickly Pear Creek or Six Mile Creek or Dry Canyon Gulch. A little earlier today another such sign was spotted. This one said 'Missouri River'.

You may have heard of the Missouri River, if so, congratulations and the following may bore you but please, read on. If you haven't heard of the Missouri, here's a brief synopsis. It rises here in Three Forks, Montana, (the Headweaters are pictured above) and spills out into the Gulf of Mexico just below New Orleans, Louisiana. That's 1,567 miles as the crow flies. The River Missouri does not flow as the crow flies. It crosses 2,341 miles in doing so, making it the longest river in the United States (Maybe, the argument with the Mississippi still rages). It is fed by the Jefferson, Madison and Gallatin rivers, at it's source, and goes on to drain one sixth of the United States, flowing through Montana, North and South Dakota, Nebraska, Iowa, Kansas, Missouri (where it joins the Mississippi), Illinois, Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi and Louisiana.

In short, it's a river worth the name. Another vital point about the Missouri River is a very personal one. It flows East. All the rivers I've mentioned to date have been on their way West to the Pacific. With the Great Divide now behind me (although I'll flirt with it again in Yellowstone), I will meet no more rivers that run to the Pacific. It's not all downhill from here but, unless by choice, there will be no more Mountains.

May 22 6:24.50 Helena -Three Forks 70.26 miles

May 21 5:40.16 Lincoln - Helena 54.99 miles

May 20 9:54.52 Missoula - Lincoln 79.18 miles

May 18 7:40.53 Powell - Missoula 57.29 miles

May 17 7:57.49 Lowell - Powell 66.28 miles

Ryan Giggs - Welshman

The ride into Helena, downwind and downhill, was enlivened by the pealing of Church bells. Now there are a lot of churches over here. They are of every stripe and persuasion but I cannot recall ever hearing Church bells before. Usually, their sound disturbs a fitful sleep and they're heard often enough to be taken for granted. But when they're not, their surprising sound is heavenly indeed. Obviously they remind you of home. To make matters worse, it's now midnight in Moscow and the bookies are taking odds on whether Drogba or Ronaldo are going to make the difference in extra time. My guess is that, given these are Engish teams playing abroad, penalties are inevitable. But, having written about a man starting his Baseball career yesterday, I think a word or two about the remarkable Ryan Giggs are in order. He's just come on in the Champions League Final to wrest the record for Manchester United appearances from Sir Bobby Charlton. It occurs to me that Mr Giggs has led, so far as I can remember, an exceptional life. Those players who come through the Manchester United ranks seem to have this in common; Scholes, Neville, Giggs etc and it's those that have come from elsewhere who carry a little baggage; Rooney, Ronaldo, Tevez.
Bobby Charlton himself is hard to mock but we can always rely on his hair. But how do you mock Ryan Giggs. Actually, he's Welsh isn't he? That'll do. This blog, which was going to laud Mr Giggs to the heavens can now end, because he's Welsh. Take that.

P.S. It seems it may be Drogba making the difference. Not in the way he'd've hoped.
P.P.S. Ditto Ronaldo.

Red Sox Nation

Many moons ago, perhaps, even, many, many moons ago a now sadly deceased Aunt took yours truly to his first ever live Major League Baseball Game.
The venue was Fenway Park and the competing teams were the Boston Red Sox and the New York . As first games go, you don't get much better than that. There's not much still fresh in the mind other than the curse (Boston not wining a World Series since they flogged the Babe to the New York Yankees) was still well and truly in effect, Wade Boggs was playing for the Sox and the Red Sox lost. They did that back then. Since then, I've considered myself a member of the Red Sox Nation.
In case you don't know the curse has been lifted. In 2004 to be precise, after a memorable pennant game versus, who'd've thought it, the accursed New York Yankees, coming back from 3-0 to win 4-3. They are also the current World Series Champions. They have done this with such memorableplayers as the nonchalant left fielder Manny Ramirez, the veteran catcher Jason Varitek, 'Big Papa' David Ortiz and the current Sox who can do no wrong, Kevin Youkilis.
However, Centre Stage yesterday went to a 24 year old left-handed pitcher, Jon Lester. For such a young man, last year's winning of the World Series would've been enough to keep his Grandchildren, rapt, on his knee. That was not enough for Mr Lester. Yesterday he chose to pictch a no-hitter against the Kansas City Royals. I'm not sure you can call a no-hitter rare. Boston's catcher Jason Varitek has caught four including one last September. But if they're not rare, they don't come along every day. During the fourth inning of yesterday's game, Jacoby Ellsbury took an extremely athletic catch keeping the no-hitter intact. Although at that point, no-one was talking about it. A no-hitter is a game where the opposition batters do not hit the ball and successfully reach a base. As with yesterday, batters can get on base, or even score, through walks or errors but should any batter through the course of the nine innings manage to hit the ball and run to first base, that's the end of the no-hitter. One lucky swing is all it takes. And these are Major League Baseball players who usually do not need any such luck.
And to cap it all, at the end of his, fingers crossed, long career, Jon Lester may find himself looking back and, with many great achievements already, he may very well consider his greatest to be his successful battle against Non-Hodgkins Lymphona, a rare form of Blood Cancer. Jon Lester - 24 years old.

Down by the riverside.

Who'd've thought it? A corner of Idaho that is forever Rachel. Not me, that's for sure. This creek, like many others that most would refer to as waterfalls, cannons into the Lochsa River at a rate of knots that would burn the fingers. We met the Lochsa earlier, it ends up as the Middle Fork of the Clearwater that we first saw at Lewiston. The Lochsa, though, deserves special praise. It accompanies US Highway 12, all the way from Lowell to Powell, and anyone that rides along it.
This memorable stretch of road rises 1750 ft (ish) but takes 64 miles to do so, rendering it mostly harmless (apologies to any Douglas Adams readers out there). All the while alongside, the Lochsa fumes and furies and froths and frets. Assaulted from all sides by numerous equally angry creeks and streams. All freshly impetusised (if that's a word) by the snow turned to water by a dazzling sun.
The road follows the North bank while the South bank, all forested slopes, houses one of the biggest pure wilderness areas around. The Selway Bitterroot Wilderness allies with the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness to cover a very big area indeed. So big, you've got more chance of winning the lottery than bumping into someone. The names alone deserve their own chapter but (if) you could walk, so I'm told, 150 odd miles due South, before encountering a paved road. For the US, that's remarkable indeed. You can reach this wilderness via a number of trail bridges, all picturesque and all, should you be standing on them while the river races under, unnecessarily rickety. They aren't but the pace of the river dizzies the mind. You couldn't play pooh sticks, there's simply not enough time to turn around and catch the sticks. This river flows.
As you watch this river, your mind will inevitably start to thinking, where on earth is all this water coming from. You know it's not a deep river, and you know that you're in the middle of a mountain range, but the volume and rate at which it's travelling boggles the mind. If I were from Idaho, I would be a kayaker with holes in my boat.
Should you finish the day at Powell, you'll find an oasis called the Lochsa Lodge. As the river departs the highway, the intervening space is filled by a human paradise. Wooden lodges, camping sites, a restaurant, a bar, a shop and even a cute filling station all combine to bring to mind childhood memories of playing in the woods. A carefree spot salving the mind, body and soul. A perfect end to a perfect day.

The way forward

Dear all,

In the vain hope that someone is actually reading this, here is a very rough itinerary of the ride.

One of the reasons for this is that, although I'm trying to see lots of interesting stuff, the U.S. is a country full of it and I wouldnt want to go straight past something dead good without realising it.

If you know of somewhere cool or have been somewhere along the way let me know. And if you haven't chat to your friends, family, pets, strangers in pubs and, as a last resort, your work colleagues and see if they know anything. Just think, your suggestion could find it's way onto my route. How exciting is that?

Today - Missoula, Montana

Tomorrow - Lincoln, Montana

May 21 - Townsend, Montana (Flesher Pass permitting)

May 22 -Livingston, Montana (via source of the Missouri)

May 23 - Mammoth Hot Springs (Yellowstone), Wyoming

May 24 - Madison Junction (Yellowstone), Wyoming

May 25 - Lake Junction (Yellowstone), Wyoming

May 26 - Cody, Wyoming

May 27 - Greybull, Wyoming

June 2 - Rapid City, South Dakota (Mt Rushmore, Crazy Horse)

June 7 - Pipestone, Minnesota (Pipestone)

That'll do for now. Get busy and research stuff that might be along the way. I'm depending on you.

Three times a river.

Kamiah is a town in Idaho. If you approach it from the East you will drop down to it from the Camus Prairie. Now, although it's a very important place to the Nez Perce, you won't be sorry to leave the Camus Prairie. It's largely open to the elements and other than a lake near Winchester and not so distant views of the snow capped Rockies, there's not a great deal to please the eye.
Kamiah is a different kettle of fish altogether. Even the truck and trailer graveyards you pass on the way down the hill appear fascinating. Some of the trucks have been driven into trees.
Then, at a suitable distance, homes appear, each sporting a sign supporting this fellow for Sheriff of Lewis County, another, that fellow. Oh no, it's not just a new President being elected this year. Then you'll pull up outside a Cafe for a breakfast. You'll enter and find yourself in a building that would not be out of place in the middle of the City. High ceilinged, wooden panelled, mirrored counter and freshly painted. A sight for sore eyes after the sheer functionality of the prairie. Then, before you know it, you're being served Eggs over easy by the Sister in Law of Her Majesty's Government representative in Tunisia. Yes, quite. He'd been in the Sudan when Bill Clinton bombed the Aspirin factory. Not anymore.
If you stay long enough to survive the opening pleasantries, "My brother in law's a British Ambassador don't you know", you'll hear all about Sig Grove. This chap, whilst devising an irrigation system for his lawn in 1957, unearthed a Mammoth's remains. On top of all this, it's also part of the Lewis and Clark Trail and two miles away from the Nez Perce's legendary 'Heart of the Monster' rock formation. It's a good story with shades of Maori legend, look it up. All this plus the River Clearwater too. Kamiah has a population of 1,106.
The River Clearwater features in the image accompanying this blog. It's the one immediately to Precious' right. The river flowing from the left of the picture is the Lochsa, the one from the right, the Selway. They usually carry Rocky rains but they've been swelled by melting snow after two hot days and they've churned up the silt enough to turn the Clearwater into the not so Clearwater. With the Lolo pass a couple of days away, they've also doomed my desire to show Precious the snow. Dammit.