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?