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.

Lewis and Clark

Despite what you might think, Lewis and Clark are not the latest crime-busting duo to hit your television screen. Rather, they are a pair of late 18th, early 19th century explorers best known for opening up the Western United States. They did this by traversing America from St Louis to Seaside. Where's the the I hear you cry? There is no the, Seaside is a town on Oregon's Pacific Coast. It's the venue for the photo you see before you. The family obscuring the statue of Lewis and Clark had been there perming photographs for two cigarettes, before I gave up trying to get a clear shot.

It is here that Meriweather Lewis and William Clark gathered Salt for the return journey, inspiring Gandhi to help bring down the British Empire, on which the sun never set. Without these two, Russia might very well have 18 time zones, instead of 10 or Japan might stretch from St Petersburghama to Denverokyo, an Empire on which the sun never rose. My money's on the little fellas, Island nations rock (Australia -the exception that proves the rule). Instead, thanks to L & C we have Hollywood rather than decent Ballet and the Superhighways rather than efficient trains.

On the way, the intrepid duo consorted with natives, ate fatted dogs and spent their spare time canoeing.

Their memory lives on today, most notably in the twin cities of Lewiston, Idaho and Clarkston, Oregon (I wonder who they're named after) which face off against each other across the rivers Snake and Clearwater. Lewiston leads Clarkston by 30,904 to 7,337. Indeed, as I gaze out the window at the Lewiston Seaport (Obviously?!?!), which holds the distinction of being Idaho's only seaport (Oh dear God!), I wonder whether Lewis visited the Lewiston Renal Center as Clark tucked into his Pasta at 'Bread and Pasta - Immediate Seating Available'.

All in all, Lewis and Clark were obviously a couple of good blokes, without whom a large part of the planet would be quite different. Something for which we should all be thankful. I think

Now that's what I call Coffee!

This newsflash comes to you from Pomeroy, WA. More specifically, the Soggy Bottom Coffee Shop on US12. If the name isn't good enough for you, try the coffee, it's delicious. Plus, the decor coordinates perfectly with Precious. If you've got any sense you'll be thinking, 'Coffee Shops are 10 a penny , why he's banging on about this one'. Well, the bottomless coffees are 54 cents. Yep, not $2.25, not $2.00, not $1.75 but $0.54. My advice is this, if ever you find yourself in the vicinity of Pomeroy, you owe it to yourself to take a break in the Soggy Bottom Coffee Shop. You won't regret it. One small word of warning, some of the staff are ex-military, so don't take any liberties with the Half and Half.

Precious and the puncture.

The accompanying photograph was taken on a stretch of the Columbia River Scenic Hghway reserved for Pedestrians and Cyclists - It is God's own Bicycle trail. However,
with an element of dismay, I must inform you of a puncture encountered by Precious. So far there have been zero mechanical issues with Precious having travelled well over a 1000 miles with a cantankerous rider and excessive luggage. The puncture was suffered by a mother on Mother's day - on her way to a lunch with her daughter. Luckily Precious could ride to her rescue and did with alacrity, leaving behind her a tremendously grateful maid and maiden. That third party puncture remains the only incident of note.

Extracurricular Math

May 16 8:44:13 Winchester ID to Lowell ID 75.75 miles
May 15 6:07:42 Lewiston ID to Winchester ID 43.41 miles
May 13 8:46:39 Dayton OR to Lewiston ID 70.69 miles
May 12 9:44:16 Ummatilla OR to Dayton WA 84.63 miles
May 11 5:57:52 Biggs OR to Ummatilla OR 82.05 miles (wind assisted)
May 10 8:42:01 Cascade Locks OR to Biggs OR 66.41 miles
May 09 8:49:41 Portland OR to Cascade Locks OR 56.52 miles
Day trip via train to Seattle.
May 07 5:14:30 Rainier OR to Portland OR 47.03 miles
May 06 6:24:42 Astoria OR to Rainier OR 47.29 miles
May 05 12:38:42 Pacific City OR to Astoria OR 96.5 miles

Catching a train?????

Obviously catching a train across the United States when you'd told everyone you'd be cycling would be outright cheating.

Just so you all know, my route takes me North up the California Coast and then turns East at Astoria and follows the Columbia River. This is slightly South of Seattle and takes you through Portland. If you've never been there, I recommend a day off at Portland and taking a day trip to Seattle (and back) via the excellent Amtrak trains. You can then continue yur journey from Portland the next day.

For the record the train pictured is precisely 1.24 miles long.

Rocky Mountain Horizon Show

Having cycled up the Californian and Oregonian coasts, the time has come to 'Go East, Old Man'. At my age you've already gone West and there's no real choice. You eyes may, by now, have become tired with the endless delights offered up by the Pacific and her raging against the rocks and you can look forward to some inland vistas. Heading up the Columbia River provides you with a number of ridiculous bridges, Portland and then a heavenly river gorge. Why one hasn't heard of the Columbia River has just become one of life's great mysteries. The lushness of the gorge gives way abruptly to a canyonesque desolation just before Biggs. The bridge at Biggs will be closed but you'll cross anyway with your bribe intact. On the other side, you'll find a replica Stonehenge, commemorating the dead of the Greatest Generation. There can be only one. You'll then have to cope with 82 miles of nothingness, with zip for company save the odd train, between Biggs and Ummatilla (two towns? with nothing going for them but boy was it nice to get there). The barren landscape continues until you hit Washington on US12 and then you'll turn East and you'll realise that the canyon has been shielding you from The Rockies (at least I think they're the Rockies). You'll then turn East and head straight for them, marvelling at the way they loom just that little bit closer with every turn of the pedal. As you head towards them, they're still days away, the sun comes out and the shadows reveal a closer intermediate range, I know not what. Nevertheless, this turns into a lovely part of the world, the undiscovered jewel that is Walla Walla, proving the Aussies don't have a monopoly on indigenous place names. Here the road noses North, sniffing out a suitable weakness in the rock. As it rolls over the hills, the fertile farmland allows you to imagine hedgerows and birdsong, reminding you of England. But always the rocky reminder over your right shoulder.

If you're really lucky a red squirrel will scamper across the empty road. You don't see one of those everyday. Your thoughts turn to England again when you come across Waitsburg, folded into the hills. The only thing missing is a Church steeple. And then the day ends at Dayton. The sun has beaten down all day but those mountains are still resolutely snow capped. Well, there's a target for you. Never mind your monthly budget or your hospital waiting list or your ideal weight. Find yourself a big f***ng mountain and climb the c**t.

p.s. The grapevine tells me that a bicyclist named Boris has become Mayor of London. It sounds like the Communists have infiltrated the Tories. Good riddance to those Bendy Buses, really, what was the point?

Speak for yourself....

....these images of the Columbia River do.

A quick word or two about Seattle.

Criminal really.

Rooting, tooting!

The West Coast of the United States is really quite friendly to cyclists. The citizens show it in different ways, the truck drivers move out into the middle of the road as they pass, other cyclists wave companionably from the other side. People of all descriptions ambush you in coffee shops and demand to know where you've been? where you're going? how long will it take? etc etc. There is, however, one unwelcome mode of support received from the traffic. These are those who send their regards via their car horns. As you're struggling up a hill, they'll be coming down in their cars on the other side and to show that they're rooting for you, they'll give you a quick toot of their horn. And as you career towards the undergrowth and just before your chin hits the rooting, tooting handlebars in a one-sided contest, you'll glance up and see a family cheerily waving at you.

Opposable thumbs - What are they good for ?

No. 1 - Shadow puppetry

Altogether civilised.

See if you can guess where I am before the end.

This is a shop in a city. In this shop, while you stitch and pearl and loop and miss, flunkeys attend to your every hot beverage need. This city has several other shops. Another notable shop is a book shop (a shop that is now a tourist attraction). This must be the best bookshop in the world. In it's restrooms, graffiti sprawls between the tiles. All include the word grout, for example, 'Grout is good', 'Let there be grout', 'Grout Expectations'. Behind those bookish exteriors lay wit, undiscovered.

'Grout Scott', sadly, was absent. For want of a pen, a crap joke went missing. Anyway, other shops include supermarkets which, disbelievably (I know!), meld into their surrounding neighbourhoods. This city's panhandlers eschew waving a rattling paper cup under your nose, in favour of snoozing on riverside benches. As they do so, the city's rowing community glide, serenely, yet furiously upriver. The Minor league baseball team, The Beavers, are, as we speak, scuffling with their upstate New York counterparts, the Rochester Red Wings.

Trees proliferate, as do the cyclists, who scamper joyfully amongst the City's yielding traffic. The City forms a W (sort of) between the Willamente and the Columbia river valleys (And when you check that out, you will wonder why you've never heard of the Columbia).

The train station is all polished wood and the lights are all working. They tell me that the trains run on time. Hmmmm. I'll find out when I take the morning departure to Seattle. Just outside is a restaurant, where a man named Wilf promises to sate your appetite. Up the road a bit, city workers are hoovering, yes hoovering, the pavement.

This is one of those places where you immediately feel that you know it. Within seconds, it's as familiar as your home. The book shop has led to book smarts which has led to a very smart city indeed. If you guessed it, you've cheated. If not, let me put you out of your misery. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Portland, Oregon - Go straight to the top of the class.

The Bridges..........

Here are two bridges. The one on the right spans the mouth of the river Yaquinas, at Newport, Oregon. The other crosses the river ....... at .............. These bridges, along with most bridges that you encounter in the US, are absolute monsters. It's tough to see the scale, but there's probably only 3, maybe 4, bigger than them in the UK. The Severn Bridge, The Humber Bridge, The Queen Elizabeth Bridge (across the Thames) and the Forth Bridge. They all cross rivers that you've heard of and link populations counted in hundreds of thousands. Newport's population, for example, is less than 10,000.

Another odd characteristic of US bridges is that they, mostly, look like two bridges. I'm not sure how this happened. Perhaps the City Fathers sacked one engineer halfway through. Maybe, the architect thought his original plan was a bit dull and switched bridges midstream, so to speak. Or even, two engineers started a bridge from either side and met in the middle.

However, it happened, all these bridge are both highly impressive and extremely frightening to cross. The barriers to stop you going over the side might be two foot tall, if you're lucky. Whatever you do, don't touch them, you'll only feel the vibration caused by the trucks rumbling over them. And if you happen to hear the buzzing of a Speedboat's engine, don't bother glancing over the side to get a look at it. Sound doesn't travel that fast. It'll be long gone. These things are huge - I mean that - huge. Vertigo sufferers need not take fly-drive holidays in the US (Can Vertigo sufferers fly ?). Within a day you'll encounter a bridge that you won't be able to traverse and you'll finish up spending your holiday of a lifetime in an airport parking lot. The good news is the parking fees are quite reasonable. Whichever way one looks at these bridges, architecturally, engineeringly? or aesthetically, you will end up with a neckache.

Raccoon Surprise!

I know what you're thinking, Ben and Jerry's have gone too far this time. Well, it's OK you can relax. This post has nothing to do with Ice Cream. A constant companion of the cyclist, as he edges up the shoulder of Highway 101, is the interesting selection of wildlife encountered. Occasionally, a startled deer, sometimes a cow or two, a veritable cornucopia of snakes and lizards. Mostly, though, the wildlife is dead. What had once been a carefree, living, breathing creation has had it's lifeblood unexpectedly scattered to the winds.
For someone whose life has been spent mainly in the UK, a Raccoon seems exotic. Not anymore, the number 1 victim of American motorists appears to be the Raccoon. The poor thing. One becomes a little sad, although fascinated, at the variety of poses adopted by the Raccoon in death.
That is, until one encounters a Raccoon that is all too alive. One day, you will walk around a corner, probably on your way from one bar to another (which, in Oregon, means you can smoke in them, praise be) and then snuffling his way through his lunch will be a Raccoon, rounder than you think. The Raccoon will glance up at you, if you're really lucky, it'll bare his teeth, and it will be thinking, "I could have you". You will be in no position to argue. Bejesus, the teeth. These things are clearly not herbivores. My guess is they're partial to all sorts of small mammals up to and including Extra Lean Male, matured for 41 years (available for thruppence happenny per kilo at your local Walmart). Anyway, the Raccoon, will have glanced up at you in angry reproach, sized you up, concluded that in a fair fight this would be no contest. But, since when has nature been fair? The Raccoon will have no idea whether you're packing or not. It will have lost family, I'm sure, to the unforgiving fender of an SUV and to the lacerating thrust of a .357. It is in no position to force the issue and stand it's ground on the sidewalk (before you lean back, wincing at the word 'sidewalk', muttering to yourself about American's ruining the Queen's English, perhaps even tutting - ask yourself if you've ever seen a Raccoon on a pavement). So, it'll waddle (this was a well fed raccoon) across the road, taunting you with it's surly derriere, and settle underneath a bench until you've gone. You will continue on your way to the next bar and settle down to a selection of adequate ales to recover from the shock. You will wonder at the ashtrays, remember that this is Oregon, and light up. And you will no longer be surprised at the number of Raccoons littering the shoulder. These critters will have been sat in the fast lane, perhaps devouring a vole or two for dinner, when it will hear the growling of a family hatchback and it will glance up. It will bare it's teeth insolently at the glow of the headlights and begin trotting to safety. It will not make it and the cold steel (or whatever superstrong, lightweight material they use nowadays) of the fender will thwump into the flank of the Raccoon. The Raccoon will be thrown up into the air thinking, 'you cheating bastard' and land with a thud, it's teeth still glinting ready for battle. Finally, in a desperate, last act of defiance, it will arrange it's teeth and claws in such as way as to almost guarantee a puncture for the next, less well armed cyclist that isn't paying attention. That'll learn 'em.