Scrabble Travel

Links

2011-12-11T06:40:00.000-08:00

Just to let you know I am cycling from Melbourne to Cairns in Austraila March/April 2012. You can keep up to date here :

http://ozcapade.blogspot.com/

and this is about my Devil Cat cartoons and (hopefully) soon to be published graphic novel :

http://suzyandsooty.blogspot.com/

Happy birthday to me

2009-02-25T04:19:00.000-08:00

Yes, it’s my birthday today. 43 years young. And I don’t look a day over 42… well, maybe just one day… Here is an article from Glasgow’s Evening Times : http://www.eveningtimes.co.uk/features/display.var.2491065.0.i_scrabbled_across_the_usa.php, which came out a couple of days ago. Very well written it is too. Don’t forget that you can see 195 of the photos from my bike ride at
http://www.flickr.com/photos/zoz261, where you can see them as a slideshow.

As for my news, I’ve been trying to get the blog published, but no publishers or literary agents, have actually said, “Yes please” as yet. I’ve had lots of people staying in my flat for one, two or three nights at a time. This has been through www.couchsurfing.com, which I used in America and had adjusted my profile to say that I was no longer travelling and willing to accept visitors. I didn’t imagine I’d receive any messages from people wanting to stay in the East End of Glasgow in the middle of winter. There have been requests almost every day! So far I’ve hosted individuals, couples, and a father & daughter, from France, Germany, Latvia, Australia, Hungary, San Francisco and Connecticut. Remember that anyone who played Scrabble with me or who accommodated me in the States is very welcome here as well.

I’ve been very lazy on the cycling front unfortunately, partly because it’s been so cold in Scotland since I returned, although that’s a pitiful excuse from someone who braved 25 mph headwinds in the wilds of wintry Wyoming. I have been playing tennis once a week since the start of the year at least, so gradually building up my fitness. I meant to go on a 60 miler on Sunday; that is 30 miles in any direction from my home and back again, but I only made it to 20 and back, partly because it was a tad windy. It felt good though, to be out there, gliding through the countryside on two wheels.

No more plans to do another big trip like this one, although I’ll keep you posted about future activities. I might be riding round Ireland in the summer, which will only take a fortnight, and I’m not sure if there will be a Scrabble component to it. I will be back in the States in August however, but will be on foot, for my brother’s wedding in Boston.

Keep Scrabblin’!

Happy New Year

2009-01-05T02:57:00.001-08:00

(I STILL haven’t put the photos on a photo-sharing site yet, but will let you know when and where you can see them.)

Here’s the follow-up article from Scotland’s Sunday Post, in which that very nice man, Euan Duguid once again did a fantastic job. Apologies for the lack of clarity in the scanning.

Season’s Greetings

2008-12-24T03:36:00.000-08:00

(I haven’t put the photos on a photo-sharing site yet, but will let you know when and where you can see them.)

I rode my bike for the first time in four weeks yesterday. It felt weird. It also felt weird to be on the left hand side of the road, and on narrow roads without traffic I found myself veering across to the right a couple of times. Anyway, I’m much happier now that I’m mobile again.

I’m still mulling over my achievement and it has certainly been a life-changing experience. Not just for me either - life changed for other people too. Just within my extended family there was a bereavement, a serious illness (which that person has made a full recovery from) and Neil, my younger brother, started a new job.

Today I’m going to a friend’s house and will be staying there until all this nonsense is over.

Thank you once again to everyone in America who provided accommodation, sustenance and Scrabble. It was a pleasure to meet you all and I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Once again I’d like to reiterate that each and every one of you are most welcome to visit me in Scotland.

I’m also looking for suggestions as to what to do for my next expedition. I’d like to cycle across America again, possibly from San Diego to New England (playing Scrabble of course) but maybe there’s something different that I could do?

I leave you with a recipe, for what better way could there be to sign off than talking about food, glorious food?

Hudson Bay Bread
1 1/2 lbs. (3 cups) butter or margarine - soft
4 cups sugar
2/3 cup corn syrup (light Karo)
2/3 cup honey
2 tsp. maple flavouring (Mapleine)
Cream together the above ingredients. Gradually add:
1 1/2 cups sliced almonds
19 cups finely ground rolled oats (see above)
Press into cake pan or large sheet pan about 1/4 to 1/2 inch thick. Bake at 325 degrees for about 20 minutes. Do not overcook, as it will get crispy and brittle. Take out of oven and use spatula to press down (keeps it from crumbling). Cut into exactly 3 1/2 inch squares. Package in plastic bags with as many as there are crew members (one each for lunch). If you measured correctly, they should just fit into 1/2 gallon paper milk cartons. They will be protected, easy to pack, and easy to find when you want to grab a quick lunch. Slather with massive quantities of peanut butter and jelly, and wash it down with some Red-Eye, and you will know you ate lunch!

Appendix

2008-12-20T03:06:00.000-08:00

(All my photos will soon be available on a photo-sharing site.)

God I’m fed up. The weather has been diabolical since I returned; first it was freezing and now it’s wet. How I miss those big, blue skies. I’ve lost my momentum and haven’t found my pedestrian legs. Talking of not cycling – I finally took my dismantled Trek of the box on Thursday, which had begun to remind me of the black obelisk in 2001, only to discover the front wheel was missing. There was this note from those lovely Homeland Security people saying they had inspected the box’s contents (for bombs and drugs presumably – which is why they had also sawn through a tubular strut of the pannier rack). How did they manage to leave a bicycle wheel behind though? So, two days later, my poor old bike tries to maintain a sense of dignity, resting on the forks like an amputee, on my bedroom floorboards. Not exactly the way to treat a returning hero, who carried his master ungrudgingly, for 4,760.7 miles across a continent. To think I’d calculated the trip to be almost exactly 1,000 miles less. In the process I lost a whole 5 lbs, which I’ve probably put back on during these three stagnant weeks. I gaze around my flat forlornly at all the rubbish I’ve accumulated over the years, longing to jettison the vast majority, sell up, pack a few useful possessions into plastic bags and straddle my faithful companion once more, to take on another continent…

Three weeks must be about the longest period in the last decade I haven’t ridden a bike. I’ve had to suffer icy pavements and pedestrians (not as dangerous as drivers, but often as disrespectful). Roads; gorgeous, smooth tracts of warm tar; how I miss them. I loved everything about my trip (people, landscapes, towns, food…) but it’s really the great American roads that I am most thankful for. I like to think about the men who toiled to produce them, under-paid immigrants a lot of them I should imagine. I like to think about the fact that you can arrive at any point in the US and as soon as you step onto tarmac you are linked to a virtually infinite network of destinations from sub-Arctic Canada to Tierra del Fuego. I like to think about the millions of people who travel on these roads and have a symbiotic relationship with them. In places like Wyoming the road is an artery pumping life into towns that only exist because of them. It’s heart-warming to feel a part of that throbbing, vital wellspring.

I’m not so keen on the number of vehicles that travel on the roads however. Or the number of journeys (especially short ones) that are made. Or the size of a lot of people’s cars. I’m not so keen on the level of consumerism either, which compared to the UK seems rampant. But this is a time of celebration and contemplation, so I won’t rant on about that.

I’ll post again on Christmas Eve. No, really, I will.

Surrey

2008-12-13T03:00:00.000-08:00

I'm at my Mum's house in Caterham, Surrey, 20 miles south of London, for a few days. She plays Scrabble too. Last night I scored 543 - my highest ever total in a two player game – to my Mum's 269. I made three bingos (INDOORS/SCOP, AERIALS, WAISTED) and also scored 53 for QUIT/GI/AT with the Q on a double letter and the word doubled. I picked up all 4 Ss, as well as one blank, Z, Q & J.

Talking of the golden game, a couple of days ago I was in a London pub, where I happened upon a young couple hard at it. They were down to their last few tiles and only a few points separated them. I asked who had played the bingo (the rather nice DIVISIVE). The young woman declared it was hers, but asked me what I meant by a bingo. They didn't seem to know the rules very well, as she hadn't added a 50 point bonus to her score. This meant that her male counterpart couldn't catch up. I shouldn't have got involved...

(Will write a lengthy post next week.)

Luggage

2008-12-06T12:03:00.000-08:00

It's back. Woo hoo!

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean - Glasgow (November 30)

2008-12-02T10:28:00.001-08:00

Day 77

The Atlanta flight arrived in Gatwick at 8.15 and the scheduled plane to Glasgow left on time at 8.25. In other words I didn't make it. Not only that, but when I passed back through customs to collect my luggage with some other people in the same boat (the next available BA flight to Glasgow left from Heathrow, so we had to collect it) their luggage came out on the carousel and mine did not. A man at the lost property desk ran my details through the computer and said he was “95% certain” my luggage was still in Atlanta. There was nothing to do but catch the bus to Heathrow and wait for my stuff to arrive in Glasgow (tomorrow I had been told). Thankfully I had cash, means of obtaining more, as well as my house keys. My poor old Trek, neglected, in pieces in a box, would think he was for the knackers yard.

My fortunes improved at Heathrow, when complaining to a BA woman about plane delays and missing luggage got me a free pass into the Executive Lounge. Sometimes moaning pays dividends. She also looked into my luggage and said it hadn't even left Charleston. Unwashed for two days, wearing three day old tatty clothes, I felt like a tramp at the Ritz, but it soon passed. Here I could have had a shower if I'd been bothered, and practically done my weekly shop for free.

A rainy Sunday morning in London, flowed into a dreich afternoon in Glasgow – and today Anthony's put-down of Britain as a “tiny fog-bound island” was accurate. The sun had come out over the Lake District and Southern Uplands; tinged gold on the southern slopes and frosty on the northern sides, with creamy mist frothing up the valleys. The shapes of hills, fields, rivers and roads – so different to America - and all of them comforted me. The Rockies may well be striking, but there's nothing like the domes of home; sleek and soft, like sleeping dogs. Down in the Clyde Valley there was freezing fog.

On the bus two men peppered their shouting conversation with with sandpaper voiced swear words, belying their young years. On the phone one of them rasped, “Who do you think you're talking to you f***ing p**ck?... Right, I'll be round there in 20 minutes.” I don't know why Scottish accented four letter words sound so menacing compared to those delivered across the Ocean, where they almost sound cool. Everyone on the bus could hear them and no one said anything, including the driver. Walking home from the Christmas-lighted city centre I overheard a man smoking outside a pub say to his companion, “I'd chop his fingers off if he said that to me.” Aah, Glasgow.

Entering my flat was like walking into a freezer, as my lodger had been away. Lovely to be back amongst all my bits and bobs, have a bath and sleep in my bed. How fitting that I should return on St Andrew's Day and also the fifth anniversary of the end of my last relationship. New beginnings.

(As I write this - two days later - my luggage still hasn't been delivered. I have spoken to people at Glasgow, Heathrow, Gatwick, Atlanta and Charleston, but no one seems to know where it is. I'll let you know the outcome and write an appendix in the next few days.)

Charleston – somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean (November 29)

2008-11-30T03:29:00.000-08:00

Day 76

It had rained all night and continued all day. However, there was to be no more bike-riding and my hosts generously ferried me back and forth. We took in the heady delights of an IHOP (International House of Pancakes) except I only had bacon, eggs & toast. Kathy told me about the pranksters (or maybe anti-consumerists) who had gummed up all the North Charleston shops' locks with glue guns during the night preceding Black Friday. Then Peter hit upon the excellent idea of Kathy and himself posing for a photo in front of their house with a pitchfork, American Gothic style, and I wished I'd done it with everyone I'd stayed with. Bit of a hairy moment when Peter drove to a bike shop and his pick up started spluttering and making kangaroo hops, because it was almost out of gas – on the Interstate of all places. Luckily he was able to make it to a petrol station in time. They didn't have any boxes big enough and the next bike shop was too far to make it in time for my flight... Yes, I should have planned ahead. Fortunately we found a UPS store, where they sold me a sheet of cardboard for the princely sum of $21. Unable to remove the peddles with my meager adjustable spanner this time around, so we took it back to the shop, where the one guy there took the whole thing apart and packaged it all up securely for me in a few minutes. He said, “Usually I charge $35 to box a bike...” and he paused as if he there was going to be a sugary “...but...” No such luck. It was a good thing there hadn't been time to buy any souvenirs or presents. At Charleston Airport, which we reached with plenty of time to spare, we put the bike box and panniers (wrapped in black bags) in a trolley. Warmly shook Peter's hand, and metaphorically the whole of America.

A porter wheeled the trolley to the check-in desk literally 100 yards away, then asked for a tip! Evelyn, the slowest, densest check-in desk assistant in the history of the known universe, posed further problems. She tried to charge me $175 for the transportation of the bicycle in addition to a further $150 oversize allowance. Fortunately I was able to get through to her that one cancelled the other out. She wanted to phone British Airways to see what they charged for bikes (for my remaining two flights) but she couldn't find the number, and again I eventually rammed it home that a good old British company wouldn't charge anything for environmentalists such as myself. In the restroom, a toilet bore the sticker : 7'4”/520 lb max.

It was a good thing someone was sitting in my seat on the plane, because that might have been the only way I would have found out it was bound for Cincinnati. In my defence, the two planes were side by side and boarded simultaneously. Once on the right plane, I would have liked to be in a different seat because the man next to me was so fat he overlapped the armrests. It was only a short internal flight and I busied myself with the in-flight shopping catalogue. Wouldn't it be maddening if you had to choose between the 10 minute marinating machine for $149.99, or the Fling-arama-String Cat Toy, which flicked a piece of string through the air? Or how about the Nutcracker Suite March Porcelain Musical Egg? Or maybe the Time-Telling Drinkware is more to your taste? Or the Electronic Feng Shui Compass, a snip at $399.99? Well, surely I could interest you in The Night Sweat Alarm? No? Now even you must be tempted by the Square Root Clock, depicting the square of each number? What's the time? Why, it's the-square-root-of-121-O'clock. No, me neither. The Delta service was poor and there wasn't a smiling face on leaving the plane – or any face at all.

In Atlanta, or rather 'Atlan'a', the display screens showed details of a million flights, including a couple to Gatwick; neither were mine. My plane took off from Terminal N the print-out informed, but according to an attendant, they only lettered A-E. He said it would probably be E and that I should catch the train there. Luckily I had a couple of hours to spare in case he was wrong. No, he was right. It was here that I realised the pepper spray I had carried in my bum bag since Wyoming, might not be such a good idea if I was searched going on to an international flight, and discarded it.

No poor service with British Airways, although the flight to London was delayed by over an hour due to poor visibility; meaning no views until the city lights of the NE Seaboard. Maybe I'd be amongst them on my next bisection of the States... Had three seats to myself, which meant I could stretch out, but still only amassed a couple of hours sleep.

Charleston (November 28)

2008-11-29T14:02:00.000-08:00

Day 75

Dick showed me pictures of their Florida island home, replete with outdoor kitchen, on the market for $1,000,000+. Then he, Candace, Sarah, Matt & Christian repaired to the gym to burn off the turkey dinner calories. I stayed at their place, typing up my blog and watching the tourists wander by their apartment in the heart of the historic district.

Later Candace and I walked over to Cat's 'Charleston Single' (one room width house peculiar to the city) for a few games of Scrabble. How odd that we should come across a bagpipe player (a teenage American boy) and on Wednesday I had passed a 'Scotsman Garage'. Cat (and her dog, a gentle old Golden Retriever) was a management trainer who had also recently narrowly failed to run for Congress, lived with her partner, Beth, who was out shopping, this being Black Friday (the busiest shopping day of the year and so named because it is the official start of Christmas shopping, when shops hold sales in the hope their balance sheets will go into the black). Another incredible abode, this time furnished with items befitting it's early 19th century origins. It was like a museum and I couldn't stop taking pictures inside, and outside where there was a pool, a hammock and rocking chairs (including a side to side one). Cat said I must be very fit and asked “Can I feel something?” It was very inconsiderate of them to lay on tortilla chips, peanuts, cookies and Peanut M&Ms though, all of which are unputdownable for me. Here we also hooked up with their friend Richard, and who, together formed the Charleston Scrabble Club. We played three four-player games and I felt a bit bad that I won all of them, especially as we placed $5 wagers on games two and three. Never have I made money out of Scrabble before and I think I'd like to continue. In game number one Candace played the pretty PETTY, adding the Y to MEAL, where the Y sat smugly on a triple letter and PETTY was doubled (54). However, my SCOOTER, although less creative, had the desired effect (75). Number two and I bingoed again with -EFACING off an R Richard had kindly just laid, and with the C on a double letter and the whole word trebled; that was 101 points and $15 thank you very much. In the last game Candace was the only person to bingo with BETTLES, but I challenged it as the nuts are spelt BETELS (and so was she for spelling them that way). During the games I learned the word 'snowbird', which refers to Americans who travel due south to Arizona or Florida for the winter.

Then it was back to Candace's apartment, where I packed up and took my leave of yet more delightful Americans and rode off to my last stop. It was fortuitous that I had locked up my bike in the ground floor garage space, as the door was wide open. It had only been the third time since arriving in Seattle that I had locked it, partly because America generally feels safe to me and partly because I'm shockingly casual about such things. My last day's ride was a mere ten miler in the delicious, balmy, night air, to North Charleston and the home of another Pixie Pitter, Kathy. The journey took me through poor, black neighbourhoods, like so much of South Carolina I had seen – and contrasting starkly with the downtown area and the luxury homes I had visited there. As Candace's sister, Linda, had observed during the Thanksgiving Dinner, all of us sitting round the table were very fortunate to have what we had.

And so to another stylish home; resided in by Kathy & Peter, a lawyer and a man of many occupations, including musician, respectively; and also four cats and a dog. The dog was very sweet and had an electronic collar, which let off a warning beep if he tried to leave the invisibly fenced perimeter. If he ignored this and went over the underground wire, a tiny electrical shock would be administered. When his owners took off this collar (leaving the regular one) he understood a walk was on the cards and there would be no beeps or shocks. He also only fetched sticks once; in other words if a stick was thrown twice, he thought the thrower wanted rid of it. There seems to be a correlation between Scrabble players, pet ownership and liberal attitudes in this country. In the aftermath of the election I haven't mentioned political affiliations, but since that time in St Louis I think just about everyone has been an Obama fan. As Paul, a poet, who joined us for dinner, pointed out, “How could a lover of language support Bush?”

Dinner was a Low Country speciality, called Beaufort or Frogmore Stew, a soup of prawns, sausages, potatoes and sweetcorn. This was as good as the Key Lime Pie that followed. Poor Paul picked terrible letters in our four-player game after the table was cleared. At one point he exchanged three of his six vowels for three more and later had seven vowels, when it was too late to trade them (there were less than seven in the bag). He hadn't played for years and probably wouldn't play again any time soon. Peter was a newbie too, and Kathy (who only played online) and I ran away with the fiercely contested lead. We were down to our last few letters and there was one point separating us, when Kathy was able to play her last letters (CUMIN with the M affixed to EAT) and the game was hers. Next Kathy and I played a two-hander and after I laid the only bingo (-EATINGS added to an S and leading to a triple word tile for 80) she was unable to bridge the gap.

Happy Thanksgiving y'all! Charleston (November 27)

2008-11-28T07:07:00.000-08:00

Day 74

I had planned to end my trip in Charleston, this being a beautiful, old city; and to finish at Thanksgiving, which is the most celebrated day in the American calendar. First up was the Turkey Day 5K to attend to. Not that I took part in it (I'm not doing anything more arduous than getting out of bed for the foreseeable future) but Candace's children did, and Candace and I waved them off at 8.30 am, then strolled around the city. What a place! The downtown area is so pretty, classy and old. There was no rubbish anywhere, everything was close together like in European cities AND there was very little traffic. It was sunny and well into the 60s as I saw a pelican skimming low over the estuary; and there are alligators too, skulking somewhere in the swamps. It had a Mediterranean feel with its palm trees, shuttered windows and narrow streets. We watched the runners go by, including some pushing prams, walking dogs – and one with a cat (with its own race number) in a buggy! Lunch was served early, to make room for the feast to follow, and featured hot dogs, potato chips and cookies (yes a light lunch and not the kind of food I can eat little of). Later we all reconvened for my first ever Thanksgiving dinner, this year held at the apartment of Candace's sister, Linda, and her partner, Vickie. It was possibly the fanciest home I have been a guest in – 250 years old, exposed brick walls (with patched up earthquake cracks) and ultra modern furnishing, hinting at Linda's architectural line of work. Here we also hooked up with Candace's parents, Grace & Glen (remarkable for being in their 90s); Matt's girlfriend, Jenna; and family friend Max (handily a chef). Here's what we ate :

Starter – salad of kohlrabi, mâche, capers & red onion
Main course – 21 lb turkey, mashed potato, plain sweet potatoes, 'white trash' sweet potatoes (not my name for it – with marshmallows, brown sugar, butter), canned cranberry jelly, homemade cranberry jelly (with cloves), carrots, green beans, scalloped oysters, stuffing, gravy & biscuits.
Dessert – choice of pecan, apple & pumpkin pie with double cream (I had the first two).

I had huge servings of everything, cleared my plate each time and every single ingredient was delicious. Thanksgiving dinner 1, British xmas dinner 0. The white trash dish and the 'mulled wine' cranberry jelly deserve a special mention. Just about all of the offerings were homemade and most of the dozen present had contributed (I peeled the sweet potatoes and apples). It was a heart-warming occasion too, with Glen's speech of thankfulness at the start and the way everyone stayed seated and talked for about three hours. They were a very loving family, touching and kissing each other frequently, knowing everything about everyone's every move and paying each other compliments. No one dominated or spoke for too long and we were all made to feel included. Unlike my experience of xmas dinners in the UK, this was stress-free, the mood was light and not one cross word was uttered. Grace passed round a sheet of paper with puzzles on it, only one of which I worked out (I'm a Scrabble player not a puzzle solver) :

24 H in a D
1000 W that a P is W
4 + 20 BB in a P
30 S over T
66 B of the B (in the KJV)

They were all interested in my adventure, but it was good not to be the centre of attention, take a back seat, enjoy the family occasion and soak up this quintessentially American experience. I also learned that the foul smell in Georgetown emanated from the paper mills, not the swamp. Later the younger members present (they let me come along too) went out to a pub called The Griffin, which had a British feel to it and I had a couple of pints of local IPA here, which were highly suppable, their cold temperature withstanding. I tried Jenna's Firefly Sweet Tea Vodka, which tasted exactly like iced tea and was therefore disgusting. American tea 0, British tea 1.

The next day another full plate was set before me, this time with grits (that had Parmesan cheese and were actually tolerable) along with eggs, bacon and toast.

Hallelujah! Georgetown - Charleston (November 26)

2008-11-27T09:52:00.000-08:00

Day 73

Bumped into Anthony & Rachel in downtown Georgetown, which was quite swanky, where they bought me an Italian ciabatta and brownie (both were to die for) for my packed lunch. Shucked down my trousers and donned shorts for the first time in a fortnight, as it was in the upper 50s, or even 60. Sadly my 'farmer's tan' has been fading fast. Feeling a bit weird and trying to mentally prepare myself for a return to a non-cycling civilian life; living out of drawers, rather than plastic bags; enjoying my home luxuries, rather than other peoples, or the bare minimum of my own necessities; being able to eat, sleep and go to the toilet when I want; etc. I had a Zen moment; maybe this isn't the end, but only the beginning. Maybe cycling isn't a holiday for me; maybe it's the rest of my life, and the bits in between are the holidays. One long trip. Trip being the operative word. Journeying in my head, never arriving, just moving. Silver threads lighting up grey matter. Don't see my bike as a means of going, but a means of being; not metal and rubber, but a dream maker, a portal, an experience enabler, to take in the world's physical beauties and lap up the comforts of strangers. Meeting, sharing fleeting moments and then always moving on. Newness and differentness in favour of boredom and stultification. Packing things in bags, needing little and travelling with my home, snail-like. Life as a series of tableaux; impressionist paintings to be enjoyed but once.

Easy riding today on the last leg to Charleston, almost the entirety on straight and flat Highway 17. It started out relatively traffic-free (with two lanes for cars to cross to the inside lane as they passed) then it grew busier and busier. Approaching Charleston it was hellish; the worst section of road I have experienced in 4,700 miles. A nasty, shoulderless two-lane, with snarling traffic, in a mad rush to be home for Thanksgiving. Well, I wouldn't give them any thanks. Someone beeped at me, as I rode along a white line between the outside lane and a diverging exit lane, with rivers of fast-flowing metal either side of me. I can't make myself any thinner goddamnit! Where am I supposed to go? Ignorant, selfish b***ards in their gleaming tanks, behind armour-plated black glass. Where do they think they are anyway? In a war zone? Well, they're right. I'm going to write to Barack Obama as soon as I get home and offer my services as Secretary of State for Bicycles. I'd paint cycle lanes on every road in every state. Take away the right to bear arms except for cyclists, who can shoot to kill any drivers in their lanes. I'm actually surprised that some SUV's aren't fitted with gun turrets that could swivel and shoot down any pedestrians or cyclists who even give them a dirty look.

Thought I was safe when turning off into lesser Rifle Range Road, but the cars still shot past like bullets. I was pushed off onto the sidewalk for the FIRST TIME since starting out from Seattle two and a half months ago. There was no choice as the automobile must be obeyed. Gas is God. I had to put up with cracks, wait at intersections for bloody cars and make way for damn pedestrians. Why do cyclists come last in the pecking order? We're the good guys for crying out loud! There was a rarity in the form of a roundabout, at a simple crossroads, where there was a sign telling motorists that the road they were on continued straight ahead and not at a right angle to the left or right. How stupid could they be? Very, very stupid indeed. Only in The Land of the Free would you get a sign telling you the road you are on continues straight ahead. Except it's not the land of the free for the people who only feel safe in their private, gated residential areas or in their tanks.

Deep breath. Calm down. This is it; this the final destination, and I wanted to enjoy it.

Crossed a beautiful mile-long arching suspension bridge and I was in the city of Charleston, about which I had heard so many good recommendations and had looked forward to so much. I was also relishing the opportunity to be spending not one, but two rest days in a place – and they weren't really rest days, more like holiday, as it was all rest from now on. More difficulties finding my Pixie Pit host's address, as her street was split in three sections. I turned left and then right into the first section. I couldn't see any numbers anywhere, turned back onto the original road, carried on and turned left up to the section section. Here I found the apartment block where she lived, but no apartment numbers or way of how to gain access. I stopped and asked an inebriated man, who tried to help, but was unable to, before he climbed into his car and drove off. Then I found an intercom and punched in the room number. Candace asked me where I was, which seemed like an odd question, but actually the intercom rang her phone, so I could have been anywhere.

Candace was not only lovely and welcoming, but she had a very fancy apartment, which was modern in its construction, combined with old-fashioned furnishings – notably the gorgeous carpets. Candace was retired, and so was her husband, Dick. They had lived all over the country and also had a house in Florida. Soon we were joined by Candace's three children, Sarah, Christian and Matt, who all lived elsewhere in the Carolinas. Candace's lasagna was so tasty, that I had a second helping as large as the first, followed by black walnut ice cream and cookies. Dick retired early and left Candace, Christian and I to play two three-handers on the old Scrabble board. I had the great letters which had deserted me during the Anthony series and won comfortably after bingoing with UPSTANDS and landing my X on a two-way triple letter. In the second game Christian came to the fore with TATOOINGS, which neither Candace or I challenged, but should have done as it is spelt with two Ts and doesn't take an S. Sarah and Matt arrived during these games and helped themselves to a late dinner. All three children worked in or studied in the sphere of business. They were extremely friendly and polite, and permanently upbeat. I don't know how they did it. They were just so nice to each other, unlike the sarcasm and bickering that exists between my siblings and I. For example Sarah said to her mother, “I'm so excited you put raisins in it (oatmeal).” To which Candace replied, “Sometimes I even put toasted almonds in it.” This was over breakfast, following a night on an air bed in Dick's study.

Sumter - Georgetown (November 25)

2008-11-26T05:21:00.000-08:00

Day 72

Anthony's last day of cycling and my penultimate one. Meanwhile Rachel drove to Charleston and chatted up lots of men. Approaching the coast it was very flat and a bit laborious, especially when we hit a dead straight section for 20 miles or so. We had lunch at 'Country Cravings', where I had 'The Craver Ripper Basket' (a hot dog) and Anthony gnawed at chicken wings. Other culinary highlights included pork scratchings, and iced tea in a can which didn't taste of tea at all. It seemed almost like a third world country in some parts of The Low Country (the eastern part of South Carolina) and I felt a bit uncomfortable at times. Along with the usual honking of horns, a few people shouted things at us, like the black girl who crooned “Ooh my!” (like a sarcastic wolf whistle I think) and the white man in a truck who hollered “Woo! Woo! What y'all doin'? Y'all havin' a good time? I'll beat ya'!” And sped off in his rusty jalopy.

For the first time on the whole trip I was run off the road. Or at least a truck coming from behind honked at me (as another vehicle approached from the opposite direction on a single lane road) and I did get off the road. I suppose I could have called his bluff, in the belief that he would slowed down, but then I might not be writing this if I had. Anthony had a rear view mirror in his helmet, so could see danger approaching; I do not have this luxury. I was also attacked by a dog for the first time today! Again this is a bit of an exaggeration, as it only bit my pannier, but it was a vicious looking brute and I had this sensation of being slowed down, which wasn't too pleasant. Another unpleasant experience involved a section of dirt track – I thought there would be no sandy roads after Kansas – but I was wrong. The feeling of your back wheel moving in a different direction to your front wheel is not something I care for.

Arrived in Georgetown in the dark, so couldn't appreciate that it was on the coast (or near it) although there was a nasty cabbagey smell, which may have been the swamp (which houses alligators). Tonight we dined at a touristy restaurant appropriately called Land's End - this being near the end of my land trip. I had the fabulously flaky crab cakes, and sweet potato with butter and brown sugar, and the three of us shared a Key Lime Pie. Rachel whet my appetite with tales of Charleston, which so many people have raved about along my route. Then it was 'eyes down for a bingo' in a continuation of our mini tournament. It would have been exciting if I had won the second game (after losing last night's opening bout) but when your opponent draws both blanks and all four Ss, the odds are stacked against you. Anthony played SPANIEL & ENGRAILS (I challenged the latter to my detriment) and I didn't get anything much at all. I should have gone to bed at this point, but can never say no to Scrabble (or anything else for that matter) and we played a third game, finishing at 12.45. Maybe we could make it the best of five I thought. I once played the best of nine games with him and it went down to the wire, with me triumphing in the last game by a few points – and we both scored 450+. This time it was not to be, as I had one of those horrendous games where I was 100 points to the good (after playing LOCATES) and then challenged a word (KEDGERS) lost my turn and before I knew it I was behind. I tried to crawl back into the lead on a congested board, but had no high scoring tiles and Anthony did, and he won by 30 points. I really don't like losing at the best of times, but losing all three games... and to my older brother... well it left a bitter taste. Oh well, you can't win them all... and it's only a game... I tried to tell myself as a lay awake in my pit... tossing and turning...

The next morning's free buffet featured donuts & bagels, and nothing else. Rachel and Anthony bid their adieus at this point, as they were driving back to Boston, via friends in New Jersey, where they would be spending Thanksgiving.

Leg 10: Columbia, SC - Charleston, SC

2008-11-26T04:15:00.000-08:00

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Columbia - Sumter (November 24)

2008-11-25T16:56:00.000-08:00

Day 71

Anthony and I rode 60 odd miles while Rachel drove again. I thought Anthony would really suffer today after the travails of yesterday, but again I was only slowed down a little, and he wouldn't let me carry his rucksack due to male pride or something. Soon after leaving Blythewood we saw the appositely named Hard Scrabble Road just slightly off our route. However, we took a wrong turning and ended up in a maze of streets which weren't on our map, thought we could get through and ended up going round in circles, through golf courses, and riding an extra 6 miles. At length we found the original road and went back on ourselves, then forward to the correct road. It had indeed been a hard scrabble to find it. We snapped each other in front of this road sign and then a few minutes later did the same thing on Bud Keef Road. Today we had lunch inside a fast food joint, where we had a sub even tastier than the ones at Subway. Once again my tale produced incredulous reactions from the staff here. It really doesn't feel such a big deal to me, It was good to have someone else work out the route and I could relax a bit, although the riding can feel a bit weird as I'm so used to being alone.

The scenery was much the same as yesterday; we stuck to minor roads and passed an interesting mixture of what Anthony termed 'McMansions' (huge and showy) as well as tatty trailers. It was overcast with a few drops of rain, but luckily it didn't come down heavily until we had reached the motel at Sumter. It was an 'America's Best Value Inn', the name of which is a little off-putting. Rachel particularly felt it to be shoddy and had some issues with the man at reception. Compared to some of the dives I've stayed in it was pretty classy. I especially liked the width of the bed and the three pillows side by side (for three people?) We dined at chain restaurant Ruby Tuesday next door (ie 400 yards in this country) and I had a burger and 'all you can eat' portion from the salad bar. Salad over here includes ham, bacon bits, cheese, and many other fatty foods and dressings. Over dinner Rachel discussed the film script she has completed. The working title is 'Like a Virgin', it's a romantic comedy and it sounded fantastic – and the kind of thing that would go down well with movie execs.

Anthony was gagging to get back to the motel for a game of Scrabble. Seeing as we were both from Britain and more comfortable with the SOWPODS lexicon, this is what we used for challenges, of which there were plenty. We played with the American challenge system (losing your turn for invalid words) but the trouble is Anthony is a better bluffer than me and I challenged a couple of his correct words, while he caught me out on a couple of incorrect plays. He was soon 150 points in the lead, with SINGLET and other high-scoring words. I made a dent in the deficit with LORRIES on a triple word, but it wasn't enough and he was still 100+ points ahead at the end.

The next morning we had another free breakfast, although this time only cereal and donut type things were on offer. Rachel tried to explain to the man at reception about how it was not a good idea to say a women's room number out loud when there was a male stranger present, but he didn't seem to get her point.

Greenville - Columbia (November 23)

2008-11-24T15:22:00.000-08:00

Day 70

Anthony and I rode together to Columbia, while Rachel drove. We left at 10 am, arrived at 8 pm and clocked up 110 miles in the process. Anthony barely slowed me down, which is incredible considering he hadn't trained at all and only rode seven miles for his daily commute, with the occasional twenty mile jaunt at weekends. Apart from the distance, all the other ingredients were in place for a perfect bike ride : blue sky, no wind, gentle undulations, twisting roads and pretty scenery. It was cold, but this only served to chivvy us along in order to keep warm. Anthony had mapped a route, which was fairly direct, yet also took us along quiet roads, through a densely wooded landscape. The earth is sandy in these parts and it's fairly dry, but there's a rich mix of trees, including coniferous varieties. We had our lunch by a pond slightly off the road and then saw a 'No trespassing' sign. There were a couple of women standing outside their house across the road, so we thought it best to ask if we could sit there. They were friendly and chatty, and they said it was OK. It's funny to me how people own several acres of land around their houses, but don't seem to do anything with it and there are usually no fences. It grew much colder when the light failed and we had a few tricky turnings to make on minor roads. Luckily there had been an AT&T cell phone shop right next to the motel and I had bought some urgently needed credit for my phone, so that we could keep in contact with Rachel and ask tonight's host for directions.

We were both exhausted when we arrived in the suburb of Blythewood a little after eight, where Scrabble club director Peggy, a nurse, lived with her two dogs, and two cats - one of whom was deaf. Here we were reunited with Rachel, and also met up with Peggy's sister, Sue, another nurse (who Peggy referred to as her 'Sue Chef') and her Scrabbler friends; Cathy, who would soon graduate to become a Doctor of Nursing, and Mike, who worked for a telephone company. They all had lilting Southern accents and I could have listened to them all night. Anthony and I were embarrassed to have arrived so late, as they had waited to dine with us. Tonight's sumptuous Southern celebration included : pork loin, fried rice, creamed sweetcorn, asparagus, fruit salad served in little sweet baskets, beer and 'Red Bicyclette' wine! Scottish-American relations were improved further with shortbread and Scottish flags.

Cathy and Sue had to leave after dinner, which left four of us to play two games of one-on-one Scrabble, while Rachel played with the lively little dogs. I managed to win both my encounters, against Peggy and Mike, largely due to being the only one to bingo in each (UNVOICE & SIGNAGE) and the free 50 points makes it hard for the other person to catch up. The game against Peggy was very close though, because she picked up three of the four 'power tiles' (J,Q,X,Z) and used them to good effect. The last few moves were very tactical and tense on both our parts, as neither of us wanted to open the board up. I told myself I was going to win and I really believe that can make a difference. Anthony had never played with a clock before and neither had he played with the American word list, even though he had resided in the country since the early nineties. Like me, he uses SOWPODS, and played a few erroneous two letter words. He acquitted himself well however, being naturally competitive, just like me, and with the unchallenged phony SHOALERS, he won one of his games.

Anthony & Rachel headed off to the motel at this point, while I slept at Peggy's house. The next day she had half a day's holiday and took the three of us to a local restaurant called 'Lizard's Thicket', where in addition to my usual bacon & egg, Peggy was adamant that I try 'grits', which is a bland porridge-like substance and I didn't see what the fuss was about. Peggy had travelled extensively, to Europe and Australia, and also belonged to a skiing club that skied in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina and Virginia. Anthony was surprisingly keen to get back in the saddle, although he found getting in and out of the car quite an ordeal! Peggy said goodbye with a bag of South Carolina goodies, which was very nice of her, and it contained : guide book, cookbook, penknife, bookmark, teabags, tea strainer, 'peanut crunch' and... grits mixture...

Pendleton - Greenville (November 22)

2008-11-23T06:41:00.000-08:00

Day 69

I only had 40 odd miles to cover today, so visited some friends of Eliza & Colin round the corner. They proved that Americans can actually put one foot in front of the other repeatedly to perform a motion known as 'walking'! Yes, we actually walked a couple of blocks! Not only that, but Aidan, the three year old, had taken a shine to me and he offered me his hand. Both he and Molly were adorable. Neil & Sue had moved from England 10 or so years ago and also taught at the local university in Clemson. They introduced me to a game called Bananagrams, which is actually a similar version of the 'Pick up two' game I played in Salt Lake City. All the lettered tiles are turned over, each player takes 21 and tries to form a crossword grid of words. It's all about speed and once again Eliza illustrated her incredible gift for obscure words. Later she made me an 'omelette baguette' and I hit the road. Again in the 30s, although Neil had said it was unseasonably cold and could well reach the 70s any time soon.

Journeyed east to Greenville, the downtown area of which seemed pretty nice, although the outlying districts were the usual chain outlets and urban decay stuff that America does so well and ubiquitously. Tonight was special because I was meeting my brother, Anthony, and his fiancée, Rachel, and we would be staying in a motel together. Anthony & Rachel lived in Boston, where they worked as a chemist and sign language interpreter respectively. Anthony would be riding with me to Charleston and Rachel would be driving to each motel they had booked along our route. This part of America was as weird to them as America was to me generally, as The South is so far removed from the North East. They were disappointed that they had driven a thousand miles south in 24 hours (with a night's rest in Pennsylvania) and it was just as cold here as it had been in Boston. It was great to see them, talk about my experiences (candidly) and their forthcoming wedding. We dined at a nearby restaurant called The Flat Rock Grille, where I had a tasty tuna salad. Anthony and I didn't play Scrabble, as by the time we got back to the motel it was nearly 11 pm and we had a long day in the saddle ahead of us.

In the morning there was the most fantastic free breakfast in the lobby (pancakes, French toast, eggs, muffins, fruit, cereal, yogurt, coffee, orange juice, bagels, etc, etc) and I went to town.

Leg 9: Knoxville, TN - Columbia, SC

2008-11-22T11:12:00.000-08:00

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Asheville - Pendleton (November 21)

2008-11-22T04:03:00.000-08:00

Day 68

Some snow flurries; a word which makes me think of McDonald's; such is the power of advertising and Americanization. The sky soon blued, but it remained perishing, especially during lengthy downhill sections. I tried out a couple of hand warmers Trisha had given me, which were like big tea bags, and rubbing them created a little heat inside my gloves, although not for long. They turned my hands black as well. It's difficult to go to the toilet when you're on as busy road. You have to find a secluded turning, somewhere to prop your bike, walk off the road a bit so as not to be seen with a bright yellow coat and then try to find the requisite body part under all the tucked in, overlapped layers of clothing. I know I look pretty stupid with my leggings and too small helmet perched atop a woolly hat, which explains why men stare, and women smile, inwardly laughing at my nerdishness; it also explains why one girl pointed and laughed out loud. I'm ready to go home that's for sure – back to a life of being ignored and unquestioned in Britain. I saw a mock Scottish castle and the Charles Rennie McIntosh typeface on a sign, reminding me of lovely, damp and dingy old Scotland.

Today I headed in the wrong direction (not in error) because tonight's Scrabble player lived nearly a hundred miles south and a little bit west, rather than towards Charleston to the east. Crossed into South Carolina, the final state of my journey, when the wind almost whipped the bike from under me, a feeling akin to going down in a lift. Cars continued to honk at the audacity of a cyclist on their roads, which is a problem I didn't encounter in the West. Out of my way weird man on a bicycle, I can't bear to be delayed by one second. No, get out of MY way, I'm saving the planet.

Arrived in Pendleton and went straight past a sign reading 'WELCOME ADRIAN' in the dark and my hosts phoned me as I careered down the road. Eliza & Colin were in the middle of remodeling their house and living in a small part of it with their two small children, Molly & Aidan. There were also two pretty 'chocolate point Siamese' type moggies (one had chocolate points and the other ginger) called Rainbow & H-Vac (short for heating, ventilation and air conditioning – places he liked to hide). Both my hosts worked as math teachers at a local university, Eliza was from these parts and Colin hailed from California (where he used to cycle to the beach with a surf board under one arm). They cooked up a fine dinner of pork with apple & onion sauce, butternut squash, beans and carrots, along with oatmeal porter. Eliza did this neat thing where she asked the children what was the favourite parts of their days and encouraged them to ask others at the table.

Bill had already warned me that Eliza would “kick my ass” on the Scrabble board and that is exactly what she did. So often when playing someone better I get myself into this pathetic state of mind where I can't do anything right, my opponent gets all the luck and none of my bingos will fit. In reality I'm being outplayed and should accept it. Every word she challenged of mine was a phony (BAIN, GRONK + others) and of course when I queried her OUTDRIVE it was there. At times like this I hate Scrabble and I hate myself. In one game she picked up both blanks and all four Ss goddamnit! In the cool light of day, I know that it wasn't so much a question of luck, more that she made her own luck. In the third game she played GIANTESS & INTREAT (I knew better than to challenge) but I produced two back to back beauties (BINGERS & SCOOTING) to win by a few points and salvage4 a modicum of pride.

I slept in a bare room in what they called 'the other house' and the pretty kitties lay next to my legs. In the morning we sat down to blueberry scones, then went out to hear a church choir in the town square.

Dandridge - Asheville (November 20)

2008-11-21T06:24:00.000-08:00

Day 67

Beautiful day – too beautiful in fact, as I kept stopping to snap scenery. I would see a gorgeous view, take pictures, carry on and five minutes later see something even more tantalizing. Part of the route, along Highway 70, took me through the valley of the French Broad River, and my, what a broad she was. She had everything : curves, foliage, rocks, rapids and gossamer sunlight caressing her soft surfaces. Meanwhile hairy masculine mountains muscled in on the background, the temperature rose to 50 degrees and I passed into North Carolina. This state greeted me with two huge uphill sections and it was like being back in Oregon's Cascade Mountains or the Immigrants' Pass in Utah. I got hot going up these hills, but then coming down the other side the sweat would cool, and I had to put on coat and gloves again. Did the glaciers and rivers ever stop to consider how their handiwork would impinge on us poor cyclists?

In Asheville a lady asked ME for directions and because she was looking for a road on my route, I was able to help her! Here I made my way into a suburb and the road I was on forked and the left fork was called Bear Left Road! Made my way to Bill's house and he came out to meet me because it was pitch black. A jovial chap with a soft voice that put me in mind of Jack Nicholson. He worked as a doctor and his wife, Nina, was an artist (her paintings adorned the walls) and she had pretty ornaments, and a collection of stones with the date and place they were found written on them. They had springer spaniels, and I also met two of their grown up sons, Wes & Martin, and they all seemed the embodiment of a good looking all American family. Nina had a social engagement to attend, so Bill served up the soup with pork and beans in it, and spaghetti bolognese.

I was already apprehensive about playing Scrabble with him, because he had showed me his 'study programme' on the computer. This programme displayed the top hundred most common six letter bingo stems (like study cards) and for each he had memorized a mnemonic with each of the seventh letters that could be added to make bingos. He had added cartoons and images to aid the memory process for some of the bingos. For example, with ADEINRS he had a photo of two men frolicking on a beach and an animated graphic of a tin of fish opening and closing (RANDIES, SANDIER & SARDINES). He wanted to send me email links for this stuff, but it reeked of homework to me and would put me off what is essentially a fun experience for me. I was right to be worried; he beat me 3-0. Admittedly he drew both blanks in two of these games and was able to use each for a bingo, but I couldn't play for toffee. I made one bingo in three games (TRANCED) which is hopeless for me, as I average over one per game. He played seven (ONANIST, LANNERS, STUNTED, SAUSAGE, GRATINE, TRAWLING & GRAINIER). To make matters worse I played heaps of phonies, each of which he challenged (QUAIR, AHO, VIZ, AES, NATTIES & SNATTIER) some of which I know to be SOWPODS words; however it must have been tiredness that caused me to play WARFE.

It snowed overnight and I was greeted by the first carpet of the stuff since western Kansas. Wes made me prepared a breakfast that could have graced any hostess tray, with slices of orange and kiwi fruit, beside eggs and bacon. He had to go for an interview with UPS and Bill had to get to the hospital. Martin was a college student and had taught English in Columbia for a year, where his girlfriend lived. Nina had left early to queue up for a new Blackberry that came out today (or Crackberry, as Wes called it). She was 14th in line and there were only 20 of them. When she got back her sons took it off her and she didn't get a look in.

Knoxville – Dandridge (November 19)

2008-11-20T05:23:00.000-08:00

Day 66

At 8 am it was 18 degrees – not Celsius unfortunately. Again Trisha's work had given her the day off; she said that since the recession people were taking animals to the vets less. Made amends on the Scrabble battleground this morning, winning two out of three against Trisha. Scrabble is just about winning for me, especially in hard fought games like these, where poker faces are maintained, challenges are taken seriously and clocks are used (there's a 10 point penalty for every minute over time and I usually need every second). Challenged TEARIER to no avail, then came up with FIELDING on the triple in the nick of time to take the first game. In the second one three of my risky plays were removed (WOODER, WOOZE & BARNIES) and Trisha's SLANTING & DIAMITE (I should have challenged that) levelled the score. In the third I played the brilliant ARDENTLY astride two double words (98) and Trisha never caught up.

The temperature had reached a balmy 40 by the time I left at noon. Knoxville - which has had its soul ripped out by great, fat roads crisscrossing every which way - has a population of 300,000, yet I had clocked up 20 miles before leaving the city limits. By now I was on Magnolia Road, along which Routes 9, 11, 25 & 70 (take your pick) also ran. Americans sure go overboard on numbers. Tennessee's roadsides, like Kentucky's before it, are strewn with rubbish, and this together with unrestrained dogs and the hilliness puts me off this part of the States.

Arrived in purty little Dandridge early, so whiled away some time in the library (“Have a good fall y'all” a poster exclaimed on the door) and when that closed, at Smoky's Steak & BBQ – this being the edge of the Smoky Mountains. I didn't have an address for tonight's Couchsurfing host, so had to leave a message on his cell phone. After trying to make two cups of coffee keep the zealous waitresses at bay for as long as possible, gave in to the calorific delights of an Angus beefburger. I don't usually have desserts in restaurants, but listening in to other diners complimenting the waitress on the pumpkin cheesecake, I had to see what all the hullabaloo was about. The hullabaloo was well deserved. I also overheard a lady of advancing years say to a man of a similar age, “Hey big boy, how's it hanging?” I take it she knew him, or maybe such behaviour was part of this 'Southern hospitality' I'd heard so much about. Borrowed a phone book and looked up my host's surname in the hope he would be in there. There were several, but as one was round the corner, I thought there was no harm in knocking on their door, and if it was the wrong place I would go to a motel. It was his parents' house! His mother let me in, in the company of a one-eyed dog, a dog with funny teeth and a cat with no tail. Barbara was very friendly and tried to phone her son, Jobe, but she too had to leave a message and said I could stay put. It turned out he lived 10 miles from there, so I was secretly glad things hadn't worked out. She showed me round her big, hundred year old house, with many original features and wild wallpaper. Another collector of nicknacks, she also had some nice paintings and old furniture. She and her dogs had been eating popcorn when I arrived, she gave me a beer, told me all about her life and then led me to what she referred to as the 'smoking room', which was actually a veranda, and we shared a cigarette. A nurse from Illinois, with nine siblings, three grown up children and a husband who worked in haulage – he would be home very late. She was good company and said that America was the 'land of the free and the fat'. I was given one of the many guest rooms, decorated in blues, golds and greens, with similarly coloured floral wallpaper.

Barbara left before I got up, but her husband, David, who had returned late last night, was at home, and fixed me some pancakes and coffee with coconut creamer. He had a number of customers who needed things delivered at short notice, and he drove anywhere and everywhere at the drop of a hat. The tailless cat wasn't going anywhere however, and would be lapping up the sun's rays in a box marked 'kitty day bed' for the duration.

Knoxville (November 18)

2008-11-19T13:23:00.000-08:00

Day 65

Stayed another day at the Knoxville menagerie with Trisha (the veterinary surgery had cancelled her shift). Picked up my bike, which set me back $116 (new chain, peddles, brake blocks, service) but it rode like a dream, and shot some tiles. It's weird how you can win every game one day and lose all of them the next. Couldn't do anything right in the three I played against Trisha, who played a tight game to begin and then closed down the board further. It was like some kind of slow, Japanese torture. In one game I willingly entered a vortex of pain, when I played a couple of vowel dumps (words with few or no consonants) only to collect more of the bloody things. This is called 'fishing' and I keep telling myself to go for points; but do I listen to myself? At least it was a pleasant atmosphere, in Trisha's large, well-lit living room, offering fine woodland views, in the company of her cat, Rasputin. Not so nice environment in Panera Bread, where I got beat by Trisha's friend, Ruchi. Mental note : never play Scrabble in an American cafes again; they are the noisiest places, what with the roaring espresso machines, thundering ice dispatchers (I saw people walking the frozen streets today sipping iced tea) and the PA system calling out orders. I have to admit that I am especially sensitive to aural abuse, which for me includes crisp-crunching, sniffing and, of course, mobile phones.

When Miles returned from a day of snapping fires and other diaspora, we dropped by a Mexican restaurant (I had an enchilada, burrito and taco combo, which all tasted the same) and took in The Secret Life of Bees at a cinema. Miles said to the man giving out the tickets, “Three senior citizens please.” The man didn't question my age and just smiled as me benignly as I walked past. Bloomin' cheek! Someone thinks I'm 31 one day and the next, 65+. We were the only people in there, possibly due to the film's lack of gratuitous violence, computer graphics and inclusion of 'acting'. It was a moving portrayal of a South Carolina girl's traumatic upbringing set against the racial tensions of the 1960s. Too schmaltzy for my tastes, although well done, and Trisha & Miles held hands. Back to theirs for a slice of Southern Red Velvet Cake, which is actually a chocolate cake with red food colouring. Miles said he was going to bake a blue version in honour of Obama's victory. There was a copy of the magazine, 'Garden & Gun' on the coffee table – and talking of guns – Miles had recently covered the court case of a man who had shot two people dead during a children's theatrical performance in a Unitarian church. Why did he do this? Because he was incensed by this church's liberal stance and acceptance of homosexuals, etc. But of course it's every American's right to bear arms.

Norris - Knoxville (November 17)

2008-11-18T07:38:00.000-08:00

(Three posts at once)

Day 64

First stop : Jeff's school, where I played two games of Scrabble simultaneously with two trios of children aged between 11 and 13. In front of the children, who were very well behaved, Jeff called me Mr Adrian. They weren't too hot at Scrabble however, and they were easy triumphs. Or so I thought... In one game I was way in the lead, but there wasn't anywhere to put my Q & V at the end. When one of the children used up his last letters the Z, J and other high-scoring letters sat in the other racks, adding up to 38 points. This being America, the player who goes out has this total doubled and added to his score; ie 76 points; ie I didn't win at all.

There were no flat bits today, only ups and downs, and it was cold and windy. Only 24 miles to Knoxville, tonight's stop. As usual I made heavy work of it and 24 turned into 34. Why? Because the Google map directions took me an extremely fiddly route, so I had to keep stopping, remove my gloves, take out folded sheets of paper, unfold them, try to hold them still in the wind, put on my gloves and continue. Over and over again. Then of course Google doesn't take account of missing signs, one way streets, roadworks or new roads. Once you're off the route, you're lost and have to ask the dreaded locals for directions. One old lady in a gas station (“Look at that little jacket on his butt”) told me it was the next right. There was no sign, turned right, half a mile later it turned out to be wrong, came back, continued on the original road, it was the second turning on the right. And why do pick up trucks have such loud engines? And why are there so many churches and different denominations? Why do people have to form splinter groups and cliques? And wind chimes should be banned. And I hate dogs. Yes, I was in a bad mood today. I longed to be back in tranquil Scotland, where I knew most of the roads and even if I didn't, I could read the maps and understand people's directions.

Talking of dogs, tonight's Scrabble club host, Trisha, had three huge ones : a Great Dane, a Rottweiler and a German Shepherd. She also had a Maine Coon cat, several horses, about twenty emus and another twenty peacocks. She liked big animals, and she had a big house with a lot of land around it. Trisha not only loved animals, she worked as a veterinarian and she rode her horses in long distance races across country (when I arrived she was making up equine electrolytes for one such race). She lived with Miles, a photographer for the Knoxville Sentinel, who later showed me his pictures of fires, courtroom scenes and various other subject matter depicting human emotions.

Trisha made me a late lunch of pizza and salad, and took me to one of the Scrabble clubs she goes to, in Sevierville, an hour south east. En route we dropped off my bike for its last service on this trans-American journey. The club was held in a bookstore cafe, which was open till 11 pm. Although quiet, I didn't like to play amidst shoppers, who I imagined viewed us as nerds. There was only eight of us, I played five games and won every one of them! In the opening bout even though my VOM was wiped off the board I cleaned up with DENTURES & TIRADES. I don't know how I won the second game because I couldn't play BRAZIER, which looked so pretty in my rack and could have played SEVENTH – if only I'd seen it. Towards the end of this game, after my opponent put down JILTS on a triple word, I was about 30 points behind. To make matters worse I had all one-pointers, there was no bingo amongst them and no tiles left in the bag. Somehow I made those little ones add up and because I went out when my partner had a few tiles left, I clinched it. In the next game I had ZATI, EXHAILED & INSUREE removed, but got away with the misspelt ERODABLE, the correctly spelt REINSURE and the always pleasurable to play X on a triple letter making two words (OX/XI in this case for 52). In the bingo-rich fourth game, we played two apiece (MELODIES, GARDENER, LENDERS, and I should have challenged OUTBETS). Finally there was one each (INTONER & ORATION). I was well in the lead, but my opponent could have and should have won with two blanks in his rack + EEIRS. There was a D on the board with room to play a bingo beneath it. He had three attempts to play a word beginning DIS and he failed each time. I had dreadful letters, but played them out in ones and twos. He then found out he had missed a lot of simple words, like DISAGREE and countless others.

Keavy – Norris (November 16)

2008-11-18T07:37:00.000-08:00

Day 63

Possibly the hardest ride so far; due to coldness, headwind, steep hills - and no energy to go up them. It could be because I was almost within striking distance of the Atlantic coast and so psychologically my body was preparing itself for the winter hibernation I would be treating it to when I got home. Densely wooded hills in Kentucky, and across the southern border into Tennessee, my twelfth state. It seemed even poorer here and outside every trailer a dog either chased me down the road or would have done so had it not been tied up. It's kind of nice to cause excitement, as it is when I go into stores and restaurants. All the women stared at my legging and day-glo cagoule-clad form in Subway today. In their dreams. One of these women ordered a 12 inch sandwich with all the works. How could she eat so much? I had already biked 30 miles, but a six inch one was enough for me. Then again Tom had packed some pecan and hazelnut chocolate cluster things (another of Becky's delicacies). He had also given me an emergency army rations meal, which would apparently magically transform into a hot meal with the addition of cold water.

Even with Tom's meticulous route drawn out on a piece of paper, I still had to stop and ask several people for directions, and still made a couple of wrong turns. In Norris a woman definitely gave me a bum steer, but once again a Warm Showers host came out looking for me. Jeff lived here with his wife, Jenny, and their two young sons, Nicholas and Eddie. Nicholas, the elder of the two, at five, had given up his room for me. His room was a visual feast, with fluorescent solar system mobile, wildlife posters – and real wildlife in the form of African something or other frogs in an aquarium. They were so warm and attentive (not the frogs) plying me with extra portions of tonight's scrumptious spaghetti bolognese, along with Banana Pudding (a Southern staple) and Earl Grey tea. Both from the very county they lived in, Jeff was the Principal of a school and was a keen cyclist. With his friend (who joined us for dinner with his wife) he had ridden across the country five years earlier and completed other long distance journeys. What was particularly impressive (and gave me hope for the future) was that Jeff's friend was in his late 60s. Both tall men, the two of them slept in a tiny two-man tent, and as Jeff's friend worked for a legal firm he had had a joke pre-nuptial agreement drawn up stating that Jenny couldn't stop Jeff from going on any long distance rides. They had also cycled in Holland, and Jenny & Jeff had done missionary work in Latvia. They told me stuff about Tennessee, including how an atom bombs dropped on Japan (either Fat Boy or Little Man) had been built at a secret location up the road. Jeff agreed with me that it was a poor state and that some families had lived on welfare for generations. Apparently some of the children at his school only had cooked meals at school.

Not serious Scrabble players, with only a tenuous grasp of the rules, it was nevertheless sweet of them to take on an a pro like me. Jenny played a blinder for a novice in MARK (39) with the M on a double letter and the word tripled, but I managed to produce CUM to seal victory.

Richmond - Keavy (November 15)

2008-11-18T07:35:00.000-08:00

Day 62

Two families lost a beloved pet today, as I saw two dead dogs by the roadside. Added up I must have seen thousands of cadavers along this trip. I wonder how many millions are slain every year by the motor car? And where is the animal resistance? Even if a couple of vehicles could be taken out it would be something. Rain for most of the day and pretty cold too, but as I've said before, my gloves aren't waterproof, so my hands were soon numb. I tried to pull the cagoule sleeves over my hands a bit, but could only manage one at a time. I know my diet has flaws and I do try to get more fruit and veg, honest I do; yet on the road there aren't any shops that sell perishable items, unless you come across a fair-sized town with a grocery store. Chocolate is much easier to come by and although it doesn't do me much good, it sure hits the spot. A lot poorer in this southern stretch of Kentucky, where I noticed many tatty trailers the size of motor homes. A lot meaner too, if the shouting and honking were anything to go by. One woman slowed down to my speed and reached across to wind down the passenger seat window, just so she could take issue with me. She squeaked something I couldn't make out, but I made sure she clearly heard what was on my mind. I really believe that some drivers feel that cyclists have no place on any road. Expletives aside, I reached 4,000 miles on this, the two month mark since leaving Glasgow. There's another Glasgow here in Kentucky, as well as a London and Manchester. It felt like I was home and dry - even soaked to the skin – as I was sure there wasn't another thousand to be covered.

Another difficult address to locate tonight, in the rain and pitch black country roads. Had to ring a doorbell to ask for help, where the occupants were not only able to direct me – they knew my Warm Showers' hosts. Tom came out looking for me too and ushered me down to the end of the cul de sac where he lived, which he had renamed in honour of himself! He and his wife, Becky, had built their pretty house twenty years ago on several acres of secluded woodland. Tom had lived in Suffolk for two years in the 70s, whilst in the air force, but now excavated gas locally. His wife, who was out for the night, worked for a phone company and part of her job was to climb up telegraph poles! Becky had prepared a mouthwatering lasagna in advance (made with cottage cheese mixed in with the beef) and also baked Boston Cream Cake, which consisted of sponge, custard filling and chocolate icing.

After this fine feast we repaired to the gentlemen's basement for pool (Tom kicked my ass) and Scrabble (I kicked his arse). With both blanks it wasn't difficult to play GROUPING and as Tom didn't know the two letter word list, he was at a disadvantage. What an amazing room, with a roaring fire that heated the whole house, stuffed animal heads, pelts, fish in acrobatic poses, fishing paraphernalia, old metal signs, etc. The toilet paper in the restroom sat in a fishing net and each of the restrooms had telephones by the toilets!

A few flakes of snow were falling en route to another Cracker Barrel breakfast in the morning, followed by a tour of the locality, including Colonel Saunders original restaurant in the town of Corbin, and then I was introduced to Tom's boisterous boxer dogs, Jeep and Bowser.

Leg 8: Bloomington, IN - Knoxville, TN

2008-11-15T10:13:00.000-08:00

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Lexington – Richmond (November 14)

2008-11-15T08:11:00.000-08:00

Day 61

In the 60s again for a trifling 25 miles to the south, through pretty, Scottishy country, featuring steep roads, a proliferation of trees and rivers, and even a few drystone walls. So quiet compared to the madness of yesterday and only counted about 20 cars in as many miles. (All the petrol heads were driving as fast as hell on alternative freeways and highways.) Arrived in the small town of Richmond at lunchtime and spent the afternoon in the library. It was when asking for a (typically befuddling) street map that I discovered my Scrabble host was actually eight miles to the north – the way I'd come. More back-pedaling, and now it was dark and wet. Cars honked at me on the slick streets, as if it was a crime for me to be there. “Out of my way you idiot! I've got a lot of driving back and forth to do!” And later “I saw a bicycle on the road tonight dear! Did you ever hear of such a thing?” He acted as if he owned the gutter and he slowed me down by at least five seconds!” “It's a bit late in the year to be riding a bicycle across the country ain't it?” “No, but it's a bit late in the life of the planet to be guzzling gas every day and everywhere you go ain't it?”

Couldn't find Steve's house, in the rainy, unlit streets, but fortunately some of Steve's fellow club members were driving by at that very moment and hollered out the window. “Bit late in the year...” No, they called to me by name and we made our way to Steve's house as a convoy. There was three of them – travelling together! In America? Sharing a car? It's true I tell you! Steve's wife and children were elsewhere this weekend and we Scrabble junkies had the place to ourselves, to make merry and make words. Steve worked for Lexmark (named after Lexington, where the firm is based) printers as an engineer, John had retired early from being an attorney, Will was a copy editor and Tiler (great name for a Scrabbler) studied computer sciences at UK (University of Kentucky). Together they made a youthful bunch and looked like a rock band, but then a lot of American men look like members of rock bands to me. They could all shoot some tiles too, hell yeah! I couldn't shoot diddly squat in the first game against Will and lost by a heavy margin. He played UPSTAND with two blanks and later fitted maybe the best word that fits around _ P _ _ (the first letter being a triple word and the fourth a double letter) that it is possible to play. Give up? APEX for 63. A couple of my words were lifted : LICED, & RIZ (acceptable in SOWPODS). Will should also have questioned SUDDIER and REN, but said he felt bad for me! In the second bout, against John, I put TEENAGED on a triple word, yet it still wasn't enough. In between games we had that perfect Scrabble food (pizza) and chocolate fudge gateau. Tiler and Steve were considered to be the best players there and I thought “Great, another two losses comin' up.” However, everything went my way against Tiler and I made a trio of maximums (READIES, DIARIST & RECLINERS) to his one (HEADSETS). Steve had a terrible time with his tiles and changed them three times. There were no bingos and hardly any scores of 40 or more, but I was able to grind out a victory. I copped out when asked if I wanted to play another, as it was after 11 and I was quite happy with my win rate. I slept in a little girl's room tonight (not for the first time) and dreamed of sugar and spice and all things nice.

It had rained all night and was still doing so in the morning, when Steve took me and his yellow lab, Izzy, out to breakfast at a place called Cracker Barrel, which was done up like an olde worlde barn. He drove back via his 'farm', 18 acres of land he has acquired, but unfortunately the bridge over the creek to get to it was flooded, so I could only see it from a distance. Steve had travelled extensively with work, including Scotland, where there is a Lexmark plant. Whilst there he got tickets to see a Rangers football match and was amazed at the number of police and also how the fans were kept so far apart.

Floyd's Knobs - Lexington (November 13)

2008-11-14T12:29:00.000-08:00

Day 60

Crossed the Ohio River into Kentucky, a state built on the four vices of tobacco, alcohol (bourbon) gambling (horses) and fried chicken. Straight into Louisville, which like all US cities over a quarter of a million, had a cluster of skyscrapers announcing its presence from many miles away. A cosmopolitan and artsy district followed the downtown area, where I hardly saw a chain restaurant or store. The people, boutiques, cafes and new age establishments looked pretty interesting; but unfortunately there was no chance of tarrying a while with my busy schedule. If I'd had the luxury of time, I would have spent extra days in the likes of Boise, Columbia and Bloomington, to name but a few. In the 60s once more and the sun did its magic turn on the undulating, grassy hills and scattered trees. Met Rex for lunch (on his way to a four day stint in an Ohio hospital) at the Claudia Saunders' (wife of the Colonel) Restaurant, where Rex had the chicken liver in batter and I went for the less daring 'country style' ham sandwich. I had thought Mr Saunders to be as fictitious as Ronald McDonald, but he did once exist and had resembled like the iconic image – there was a photo of him wearing a white suit and boot-lace tie. Rex was an excellent lunch companion, with his knowledge of Kentucky, politics and overseas matters – he'd travelled extensively and spoke several languages.

I had imagined Kentucky to be poor, but the bits I saw were quite affluent, set against multi-hued, varied scenery. Later, when it grew dark the swirly pattern of clouds swathing the moon recreated the Obama logo. Maybe God was pleased with his victory. And so to Lexington, self proclaimed 'Horse Capital of the World' and if there are less than 300,000 residents, how come I saw a million cars on the road (all doing about 70 mph) as I approached it? Don't these people have anything better to do? Do they get paid to thunder back and forth endlessly in their big, fat cars, belching smoke and depleting the earth's resources? I sometimes wonder. It's pretty scary in the hard shoulder when night falls and I can't see a damn thing. One of these days I'll be sent sprawling by a branch or a brick and I will come to an ignominious end beneath the wheels of a monster truck.

I had arranged to meet Ken, tonight's adversary and the director of the Lexington Scrabble Club, at a Panera Bread restaurant. It had been his idea to meet there; he'd provided his cell phone number, given me directions and generally sounded organized. I phoned him and he'd forgotten all about it. There are worse places to wait an hour for someone than a restaurant, and I made light work of a Caesar Salad, pastries and hazelnut flavoured coffee. When Ken, who looked similar to Jeff Bridges, arrived, I asked him if he'd put our meeting in his diary. He said he didn't possess such a thing. Somehow he had been organized enough to land a math teacher post and as I played mostly upside down, he read the scores I kept upside down and worked out the additions instantaneously. From Nebraska, he and his wife had lived in Cambridge for a year, but were now settled in Kentucky. He knew a lot of weird words, such as PANDITS, KLONG, ATONIES, JNANA & BUNDT. I just had luck on my side; in the first game I opened with LOONIER and he never quite recovered. In game two both blanks helped me to form UNDERATE (which Ken lost his go after disputing the single R, as it can be spelt with one or two) and REFLOAT; yet he won by nearly a hundred points, with his weird words and closed play. We were the last diners, as the place had closed long ago at 9 pm and the staff, who kindly let us stay, must have thought we were a right pair of weirdos. Now virtually alone, the young staff were relaxed and 'free' with their language. One of them repeatedly said of individuals he didn't like “Well he can kiss my a**!” And “Well, she can suck my d***!” We played the final game on the patio and it should have been mine. I opened with ANTACID and by the three-quarters stage it was my turn to be up by a hundred. I stupidly played TAC (which may be a SOWPODS word?) to close up the one remaining bingo spot and with it removed, he did indeed play a bingo (REIVERS). I was still ahead after my next play, but then he added -IEST to my earlier ZEST on a triple, to triple it again for 55, and wrest the game from my grasp. If only I'd played a safe, closed game like him I would have won. I don't mind losing a game that's beyond my control, but when it's my own stupid fault, I get mad with myself.

It was foggy by now, and after I took my leave of Ken, I followed his directions to a motel, but felt like I'd gone much too far and there was no sign of life. I retrod my pedalings a couple of miles until I came to a petrol station, where I was told, yes, there was a motel the way I'd been going and it was just a little bit further than Ken had told me. Curse him! By the time I arrived at midnight, I was dripping with sweat and in ill frame of mind. Who did he think he was with his ZESTIEST and his JNANA? And then he had the audacity to beat me with a Scottish word like REIVERS! I ask you! I couldn't get to sleep for fretting over it. It may very well only be a game, but I want to win GODDAMNIT!

There was a complimentary Continental breakfast, although it beats me why it's called that here, as the US isn't attached to the continent in question. At least gorging myself on cereal, muffins and toast took the sting out of the $56 tab, and went a little way to sweetening the bitter pill I'd been choking on last night. REIVERS for crying out loud!

Bloomington – Floyd's Knobs (November 12)

2008-11-13T06:28:00.001-08:00

Day 59

Rained all freakin' day. As a perennial cyclist and non-car owner, I don't mind the rain. It's not so nice going from a warm, cosy home into a wet, damp environment, but once you're wet, you're wet. It was autumnal rain, with autumnal light and autumnal scents released into the air. The countryside was pretty and wood fires were burning. It was particularly attractive in the Hoosier National Forest, where I crossed a lake on a causeway. Indiana is 'The Hoosier State' and the origin of this word is unknown, although it could be a garbled way of saying “Who's there?” When someone comes a knocking. It was hard work today, not because of the rain; because of the hills, the headwind and because there was 99 miles of them. A lot of dogs have chased me on this trip, but none more than today. A boxer sped past me a couple of times and then ran at me sideways. Also a black lab ran alongside me for a few hundred yards before giving up the sport. Cars are more dangerous adversaries of course, especially in the rush hour on a dark, wet and busy highway, as was the case today approaching Louisville.

Tonight's Pixie Pit combatant came out to meet me at a gas station and escorted me back to his place in the delightfully named Floyds Knobs, on the Indiana side of the Ohio River, the other side of which lies the fair-sized city of Louisville in Kentucky – hence the traffic. Rex, a doctor specializing in difficult births, lived with his wife, Marsha, a pensions administrator, in a plush house stuffed to the gills with sumptuous furniture and furnishings, including a huge Persian carpet and fake trees in the living room. For my money the finest achievement was the basement bar, with its glass and marble curved counter, and vast array of alcoholic tipples. Of course I would walk all over their cream carpet in my muddy overshoes wouldn't I? Food first, in the form of a Creole shrimp dish with rice and a cake made from locally grown persimmon fruit (this was squashy and delicious). Later I road-tested Indiana red wine and a couple of bourbons (which can only be made in Kentucky to be given this name).

Scrabble next and a thrilling best of three. I won the first one comfortably, when accruing both blanks gave rise to the only bingos (GUSTIER & CARTINGS – which turned out to be invalid but remained unchallenged). Rex won game two with MISLAID, yet I did have my chances with NEEDIEST. I had the rather nice AURORAE on my rack but couldn't play it. I did, however, play the misspelled DETERING and Rex spotted it. The third game was neck and neck after Rex's SASSIER and my ALIENATE. Right at the end I pulled SURLIER out of the bag and somehow managed to squeeze it in to assure victory.

The next day, once again my hosts surpassed themselves in the breakfast and routing stakes. Rex printed out a whole host of maps and even suggested we meet for lunch, as he had business in Cincinnati.

Bloomington (November 11)

2008-11-12T06:54:00.000-08:00

Day 58

Mike had to go out for a few hours with one of his disabled clients, and while his wife worked also, I was left alone in their house to do typing and laundry. In the afternoon Mike drove us
to one of the Scrabble clubs he attended in Indianapolis, 50 miles to the north of Bloomington. En route we toured his town, as he was so proud of it. This was where he went to college and also met his wife, although he was originally from Evansville in the south west corner of the state. The club was held in a room in a leisure centre, attended by about a dozen devotees of the game, all of whom brought sweetmeats, much to my delight and I gorged on them. The usual questions were asked, about where had I started on my trip, where would I finish, where was I from, how many miles did I ride in a day, etc, etc. Anyway, it was a real friendly club, they always played three games simultaneously (which the director paired them up for) and this is about the perfect number for my attention span. I felt a bit sorry for the director, as there was an odd number of attenders and he didn't get a game. My luck with Mike spilled over into this evening and I kept drawing these great, balanced racks. In the first game against Cathy I laid two bingos (LEMONADE & SPARSER) she didn't eke out one and she told me to go home to Scotland. In the next game, with Travis, I had even more good fortune and played two bingos again, the first of which was that old stalwart TRAINERS (an anagram of RETRAINS & STRAINER) but it was my other clearance that got the blood racing. There was an E on the board with a seven letter alley beneath it leading to a triple word. I had DEGNPX? Not the best letters for a bingo I thought – and then I saw it – EXPUNGED (107). Sweet as a nut. Travis nearly came back with two maximums of his own (WREATHES, & IDOLATES which proved to be a phony although I didn't challenge). He had already played other weird ones (TIVY, ORBY & CLAVE) which gave me the idea he knew what he was doing. I played an invalid word also in MUT. Victory was min in this fast, fantastic game, in which we both scored well over 400. In the last game I played someone else who had won their first two games. It had to be Mike of course, the top player there. We had another ding dong of a match, this time with a closed board – until he opened it out with BRAINIER. He was way out in the lead, but on my very last rack I had a chance to bingo out – and win – and I had A blank. I was confident that DILUTEE would be OK. Sadly I was wrong.

On the way back we stopped at the most famous bar in town, Nick's, an 'English pub', where we shared a stromboli pizza sandwich and a few jars – quite literally as it was served in a jar with a screw-top. It was a really convivial place and Mike was great company, particularly as he came across as quite straight-laced, and yet he was a child of the sixties, with a wild side. A non-smoker, he used to be on 60 a day and still drank a fair amount. Once again he refused to let me pay and once again a host had been unbelievably gracious (making me feel like part of the family, letting me stay in his house alone, and plying me with food and drink). In Scrabble the spoils had been evenly divided between us, but in terms of generosity : America 1, Britain 0.

After a day of rest and another good sleep I felt ready to hit the road. Mike had popped out for a McDonald's Special Breakfast and he gave me a route for the day.

Terre Haute - Bloomington (November 10)

2008-11-11T11:00:00.000-08:00

(Photo from Charleston newspaper)

(Two posts at once)

Day 57

Couldn't find a suitable un-chain restaurant for breakfast, so made a start, then stopped at Stuckey's diner down the road. What a nasty place, with cafeteria style furniture, paper plates, and co-diners and staff as unappealing as the fare. Here you could get a 'footlong hot dog, fries + med. drink' for $2.99; but I opted for the congealed mass of eggy stuff, white toast, and bacon which is always fried to a crisp, even though I ask for it to be soft. Just like Misery and Illinois before it, Indiana made me think of Britain, or maybe I'm homesick (I doubt it). In between farmland, impoverished small towns, tatty trailers and tied up dogs ran round trees barking at me. One tiny aberration with poppy-out eyes, beloved of female celebs, had chewed the swing-chair to oblivion and it looked as though it had snowed foam all over the garden.

Arrived in Bloomington, a nice looking town that houses the Indiana State University, and asked where the library was. I was directed to a huge college library on several floors and although I found out how to get to tonight's host's address here, I couldn't find my way out of the building. I'd gone up an escalator, so went down one, but someone said that was the basement and there was no way out. Yes, I've cycled 3,800 miles (I don't think I'll reach the 5,000 mark) across a foreign land, often without a map or a compass, but couldn't navigate my way out of a paper bag. I ended up having to ask someone to walk with me. The destination street proved problematic also, as someone in their infinite stupidity, had started numbering the houses from the dead end of the cul de sac rather than the opening. Anyhow, I made it to the house of Mike, another retired social worker, although he still worked part-time with disabled people as a personal assistant, his wife, Mary and their strokable black cat. Mike, youthful and animated, was another cordial host and took me out to a cosy Irish pub for dinner (I had the lamb burger and a couple of pints of Irish ale) but we were both itching to get down to some serious Scrabble. His board, as with many competitive Scrabblers, was custom-made and circular. It had a photo of his daughter when young, between the premium tiles and the surrounding circle was gold-speckled black, a colour theme continued on the tile bag. Mike belonged to three different clubs in Indianapolis, which he attended on a weekly basis, and also played at tournaments within this and adjoining states. He was a good player and had been ranked just below Marty, at 33rd, but was now hovering around 80. I thought I was about to drubbed, but experienced a purple patch for the duration. I could do no wrong, and not only did I keep picking great letter combinations, but also found ideal places to slot them in. Both blanks came my way in one pick-up in the first game, LENDING a helping hand to a bingo. Later I played EXO, which is good in my lexicon, but not in the American list; although I still won the game comfortably. I couldn't have been HAPPIER right at the start of game two, as this formed my opening play. JESSIE proved to be a phony, although once again I bet it's a SOWPODS word. I then went on to take the game out of Mike's reach with DOGGIEST for 76. In the last game Mike kicked himself when he missed a nine-timer opportunity, when he could have played POULTICE off an available O for 140 points. He still produced a triple word bingo with UNPOLITE for 80. I managed OUTLIVE, but both WEM (definitely good in the UK) and SELIENT were challenged off the board (LENITES, LISENTE & SETLINE were all acceptable and would have fitted in). I could have won this game also Mike reckoned, had I not lost these turns.

The next day it was raining and I was laughing because I'd already asked if I could stay another night. By the time I surfaced at 9.30 Mike had already brought back a breakfast bagel from McDonald's and I washed this down with copious cups of coffee.

Charleston – Terre Haute (November 9)

2008-11-11T08:02:00.000-08:00

Day 56

Marty escorted me from his house for 20 miles and from there on it was straightforward. He had invited me to stay for another night, but I had my tight schedule to keep to. In the past I haven't been made to feel nearly so welcome in the homes of 'so called friends' back home. I'm almost embarrassed at how accommodating people have been to me and as a naturally cynically, cautious individual I often worry that there is some kind of weird subtext to their friendliness. This speaks volumes about my neuroses, my upbringing and my experiences in Britain, and although I'm looking forward to going back to my flat, sleeping in my bed, and returning to all my little routines, niceties and comfort zones – I view reentering British society (even with my half-life on the margins) with a weary heart. I do miss some things about my fellow islanders, like the subtleties and nuances of interaction, and of course British humour; but I do not miss their duplicity, bitchiness, moaniness, meanness and tendency to blow hot and cold. I could go on. Americans are so straight, honest, decent and kind. What you see is what you get; whereas I often find it so difficult to read my own people and haven't a clue what they're really thinking, or how they feel about me.

Today the weather reminded me of how it might be in Scotland at this time of year : cool, drizzly, overcast; and also the scenery was like East Lothian, with flattish, empty farmland and pockets of trees. The rural settlements amuse me here, as even a place of 500 inhabitants (and you're usually told the population) has a pillared, pompous bank, a post office with a great big American flag, as well as murals and signs emphasizing the town's individuality and proud, self-absorption. These towns often flag up their sporting achievements too and if any even slightly famous people were born there – one promoted itself as the home of 'Miss Teen USA winner' in some year. The cycling was easy, like a walk in the park after a Sunday roast. I'm so often applauded for my fitness and braveness, but what I'm doing doesn't seem like a big deal to me. This undertaking has honed my mental sharpness, as well as my fitness, and made me feel kind of invincible. Maybe I'll turn around when reaching Charleston and come back the other way, like Forrest Gump when he walked across the country; or maybe I'll become super-human, like Neo in the Matrix. Only I would just look stupid in a long, black, leather coat.

Left Obama's home turf of Illinois and entered the Eastern Time Zone and a dusky Indiana, where Terre Haute lay just across the border. Pronounced 'Tear Hout' and that's what should be done with it. The main streets in so many of these medium-size towns have no individuality or life; wide, busy thoroughfares, straight as a die, teeming with endless chain hotels and restaurants, and strip malls. Banality reigns supreme and grandeur is supplanted by blandeur. The woman at the first motel said they had wi fi, so I tried to get it to work in front of her before I paid. Only then did she admit it didn't work so well. The woman at the second place, which was clearly a bit too pricey, said hello, then took a reservation over the phone, lasting a few minutes, and in my mind's interpretation of her mind, took precedence over someone standing in front of her in cycling gear, so I walked out. The guy at the third place said it was $49, when a sign outside advertised $31. I said I had Triple A membership (thank you Anthony) and beat him down to $39. I couldn't place his accent and asked him where he was from. By way of answering he said “You're British right? You occupied us 60 years ago.” An interesting and not altogether friendly way for someone in the service sector to describe they are from Jordan. Dined at Bob Evans (that's what it was called) and ordered exactly the same Cranberry, Pecan & Chicken Salad and French Silk Pie I'd had in Columbia.

Effingham – Charleston (November 8)

2008-11-09T10:43:00.000-08:00

(Me playing Scrabble)

Day 55

A three hour ride to Charleston (not the one in South Carolina obviously) escorted by Scott & Laura. We were all going to Marty's house, for a monthly Scrabble meet; and today he held an extracurricular one in my honour. I was happy to go along main roads, but because Scott was adamant that the farm roads in between, that crisscross these parts, were quicker, he drove in front of me in his pick up truck, with his hazard lights on. He would wait for me at each intersection, and then turn north or east, as we made our way in a 'stepping' pattern. Colder again, with a debilitating wind, I kept my head down, feeling like the Rocky of the Scrabble world, on my way to beat someone to a pulp with my superior knowledge of Q words. Yo Adrian! I'm a fighter Adrian; that's the way I'm made. Etc. Only I don't have a superior knowledge of any type of words, as was shown today. Twice dogs chased me up the road, including one pit bull that was gaining on me, until his master called him off.

Arrived at Marty & Daiva's beautiful house, with it's fine collection of antique carpets and paintings, at noon, and met up with the Charleston gang of about 15 in the basement. Like Scott in Collinsville, Marty was from Chicago, in his late fifties and had retired early. He had been a social worker and his wife, of Lithuanian descent, was a writer and English professor. The local press were already in attendance and asked questions when I was gagging to get down to business. I won the first three games against Cheryl (played DATELESS & ADZ/AA/DAD on a triple word for 54) Letitia and Chuck. Daiva beat me, as did Scott (he played KALEWIFE, INTERNAL & RESIZES to my STEAMIER). Then I got my own back on him in a thriller from vanilla; a rumble in the mumble. He put down OUTSEND (which I should have challenged) & ATELIER, as well as two great non-bingos, JIVY (tripled with the J on a double letter for 75) & XU/XU (with the X on a triple letter for 50). I played HAUNTING & ROUNDER, but my PLEBITIS was thrown off the board (I must have been thinking of PHLEBITIS). I was still behind, then right near the end I had a major coup with ENLISTEE (77) on an existing E and leading to a triple word. I still only won by a few points and we had a combined score of nearly 900. Go Adrian!

Marty held a competition in my honour, where the people who scored the most points with my initials, AK, sequentially in a word, as well as GS (for Glasgow, Scotland) received a small prize. There was another one with IC, for Irvine, California, where Laura lived. Next up I played another English guy, Nick, a heavyweight to my middleweight, and the blood spilled. Marty, another top player (about 30th in the country) tussled with me as well, although we played 'an open board' and gave me a masterclass in the noble art of Scrabble. I would suggest a move to him and every time he came up with something better. I didn't mind when it was an unknown word, but sometimes it was something I knew and hadn't seen it, and that was pretty frustrating. This was my eighth game of the day though and I've never played so much in one day – from noon to midnight – with breaks for chatting and food. Marty paid for everyone's lunch from Subway and pizza for the few who remained at 10 pm. They actually convened at 10 am and this was too much Scrabble for me. I think more than three games is too much for me and after that my head starts to hurt. Marty plays in a totally different way to me and it's like a science for him, based on probability and letter value. Every time he plays a word and tiles are left on his rack he considers the synergy of these letters and how many points they are adding or subtracting in terms of a balanced hand. For example, it is good to be left with letters like ET, as these are common and therefore bingoable. It is not so clever to leave yourself with UU or suchlike. I know all this, but don't think about it as intensely as he does, and for me Scrabble is a creative, even serendipitous experience. Marty's methods made it seem like hard work, although to him the harder he works at it the more fun it is. It's his obsession though; he has played at tournaments all over the world and has put in a lot of study time. He played with both the American and the international dictionaries – and crucially he was able to divide – as well as retain the two lists in his brain. There are approximately 90,000 words in the US list compared to 120,000 in the international one. That's a big difference.

The next day Marty made pancakes and I showed them him the thinner British version, rolled up with lemon juice and sugar. Marty & Daiva said they liked them this way, but I think they were being polite. Amazingly enough, although I stayed until early afternoon (another light mileage) we didn't play the beautiful game. We did however, watch a documentary about it called Scrabylon. It followed the top players going into the 2001 World Championship in Las Vegas and featured an interview with Marty & Daiva, who at the time were engaged, and described Scrabble as an aphrodisiac and their foreplay. (Scott & Laura had also met through the game.) Marty told me how he'd beaten the top American player, Brian Cappelletto, in their first three encounters and these victories were sweetened by his play of REDEFEATS, a 'natural' (without blanks) a 158 nine-timer, in their third game. During the documentary I learned the term 'coffee-housing' relating to distracting tactics, like slurping on coffee or blowing cigarette smoke towards an opponent. Another term is 'brailling', where a player feels the tiles in the bag to locate a blank. This explains why letters on the newer tiles do not have a raised surface. It was a well made film and proved the board game could be further popularized if only there was more TV and press interest...

Collinsville - Effingham (November 7)

2008-11-08T07:07:00.001-08:00

Day 54

A 30 degree drop in temperature in two days and a cold tailwind, ushering me on through a hundred miles of Illinois scenery, which saw the plains of Kansas combined with the trees of Misery. Route 40 took me along quiet roads, usually parallel to an Interstate, and sometimes dumped me on it, without a care in the world. The four way stops are puzzling to me. You're supposed to wait if other vehicles arrive before you from one of the other directions, and also wait if someone draws up simultaneously to your right. However, as I'm on a bike, vehicular traffic often sits there when it's their turn to go. It's a bit like playing Russian roulette. I also don't get this business of having to halt at stop signs when there's no traffic around. At intersections where you have a good view of the road being crossed and can see there's nothing there on approach, why stop? So, I don't. Maybe it's to give drivers time to take a slurp of an icy beverage, which many seem to have, and sometimes in litre size cups. Or perhaps it's to give women on the phone a moment to gesticulate to their girlfriends with the other hand. The countryside and towns were nothing much to look at, especially with an oppressively grey sky overhead. Coming into Greenville a sign read 'Visit Vandalia” and listed the attractions of this, a town 20 miles ahead. Didn't the Greenville city elders mind this attempt at poaching their custom?

Later, there was a hairy moment when it grew dark. I looked up at one point to see headlights bearing down on me, then swerve to avoid collision in the knick of time, as a car overtook another coming the other way. In Effingham I met another Scott, and his girlfriend, Laura, a math tutor from California. Scott, a sports textbook writer, was young and still lived with his mother, who had made us a stew in her absence. I wolfed this down and don't think I should have compared it to British food, as even here in this isolationist land everyone knows of the plight of my tiny country's cuisine. There was also salad, and as is often the case in American kitchens, about a dozen dressings to choose from. There was blackberry cobbler too, beer, and later Jack Daniel's.

It was a laid back atmosphere for Scrabble, helped along with rocking music and liquor. In the first game, a three hander, I scored 128 for one word and still came last! WALTZER with the Z on a triple letter and the word doubled. The reason I lost was because I changed my letters twice, and they both made clearances - Scott bingoing out with the 100+ AVERAGE. I really should have retired then, but played a two player game against a combined Scott & Laura. They were real good players and very competitive, especially Laura, who acted all demure, but threw down a torrent of bingos. I challenged two of these (ADOBIES & ALIGNER) and was right to do so. I should have challenged MANDATER as well. I didn't bother with NARGILE as it was too weird to be invalid. I picked up both the blanks, although the rest of my tiles were dire and I couldn't eek out one miserly bingo. A quick look at the World War II 'museum' in the basement, assembled by Scott's late father – including a jeep in the garage. There was a Scrabble board carpet down there as well. I want one. It was midnight by the time I turned in and my night was further truncated because my room was next door to a young couple who had just been reunited...

The following morning Scott told me he'd scored an all time high with 577 in a game with Laura. We had Hudson Bay Bread for breakfast, a boy scout flapjack recipe with maple and corn syrup.

Belleville – Collinsville (November 6)

2008-11-07T13:18:00.000-08:00

Day 53

When it stopped raining, a short hop took me to Collinsville, another St Louis suburb on the Illinois side of the Mississippi. This is where Pixie Pit player Scott lived with his chinchillas. He had a crazy 70s, subterranean 'earth house', meaning it had been built completely underground with a grassy roof. It was impossible to even see such houses from the road sometimes, although they would have windows at the back. An above-ground level has since been added. The open-sided, spiral staircase took me past his stained glass, paintings, insect models and all kinds of weird stuff. The main living area had hobbitesque round windows and beige carpeted split levels, while the other rooms were a rabbit - or perhaps chinchilla - warren, and in my bathroom the taps had button controls. Scott had already retired from a career in engineering at 56 and used to live in Chicago. He had been a keen biker until recently when he developed a problem with his feet. In his late forties he had ridden 500 miles in five days.

We dined at a restaurant that used to be a bank with a friend of his, Alice. I had a burger, which by US standards was small and only came with a few slices of potato. Yes, more meat and potatoes. Alice had lived all over the States and had visited more European countries than I had. Later we went back to Alice's 'through the looking glass house', which was crammed full of mostly glass objects and every room was largely one colour. My favourite was the red room. It was pretty amazing and I wished I'd seen it in strong daylight.

Scott and I played Scrabble back at his place, where he foisted beer, coffee and pecan pie upon me. He played real fast and I won both games, largely because I lucked out on all the blanks. I forget what my bingo was in the first game, but I know I got one and usually do get one. Then again I ditch the less common and duplicated letters for this purpose. I like playing bingos. A lot. In the second game I opened with FOREVER and apparently there is a one in eight chance of drawing a bingo with the first seven letters. The trick is seeing it of course, especially when a blank is amongst them. There was some controversy about certain words, as the two letter list Scott uses was different to the one I had been playing with. ZA was not acceptable for instance. Why can't everyone sing from the same song sheet?

Before retiring, Scott showed me his chinchillas, in cages, in their own special room. I'd never seen one before and he had 23. There were black ones, white ones, brown ones and ones with a combination of these colours. They were excited by my presence (which is entirely understandable) and did somersaults. Scott used to have a whole lot more and some 'ranchers', as they are called, keep thousands for breeding and also for their fur. A black one can fetch $300. I didn't realise they were so large. Scott talked to them all and gave them food while I was there. He used to name his chinchillas in the past, but now he calls them all 'Princess'.

I still can't believe how generous people have been to me. Scott took me to breakfast at the St Louis Bread Company, and like dinner last night, insisted on paying. Later he made me tortilla wraps stuffed with chicken and veg for lunch and gave me coffee in a flask, as well as leftover Hallowe'en treats. When I get back to the UK and go out to a restaurant, cafe or bar, I'll forget to pay my share, as I'm so used to getting everything gratis.

Wentzville - Belleville (November 5)

2008-11-06T14:08:00.000-08:00

Day 52

I weighed myself again today and think the scales I used in Emporia weren't accurate, as 11 st 6 lbs/160 lbs sounds more probable. I've lost weight and gained a gear, as the top gear, which I thought was unusable, is now meshing OK. I could have done with a Ren Faire suit of armour today, to do battle with the twin tenets of evil – wind and traffic. Somehow got onto an interstate, although according to my map it shouldn't have been. Soon came off and stopped at a Starbucks, where the three young baristas were typically amazed about my adventure and repeatedly said “that's todally awesome”. I think if I'd said I was the Queen and actually WAS the Queen, they couldn't have been more impressed. This Starbucks was about to close down and the staff had been offered a choice of relocation, or three weeks' severance pay, which seemed pretty decent. I couldn't believe these three young people had chosen the former option.

America felt different today, especially approaching St Louis, where, weirdly the traffic reduced, the closer I got to the downtown area. I only saw black people and they seemed in a jubilant mood, what with the election result. One man drove a car daubed with 'my president is black' in big, white letters. These neighbourhoods looked poor and the locals must have believed that good things were coming their way. Across the Mississippi, again there was no sign welcoming the traveller to Illinois and East St Louis looked like a bomb site. People had warned me about this area and that some daren't even drive through it. Just like when New Yorkers said they didn't ride on the Subway, I scoff at such paranoia. Passed a school at chucking-out time, where I didn't see a single white child; then on to Belleville and tonight's Scrabble meet.

Andy was the director of the now defunct Scrabble club in this area, and that is how I came by him. He lived in a brightly coloured, rambling old house with his partner, Adam. Both around 30, Andy managed a mobile phone shop, while Adam looked after laboratory mice. The atmosphere was the complete opposite of last night's, this rarefied one, being quiet, with soft classical music tinkling in the background. Adam was allergic to pets, so he had lots of soft toys instead. They had another guest for dinner, a Ren Faire lady, which was also one of Adam's interests and he stitched his own Elizabethan costumes. Andy & Adam had spent two hours on tonight's Greek-themed feast – and it showed in the perfectly-shaped dolmades, spinach pie, great hunks of pork and tzatziki, followed by baklava; every component of which was sensational.

The Scrabble sizzled too, and myself and Andy won a game each. In the first game, drawing both blanks helped me to play two bingos (DERAILS & STIFLED) but my piece de la resistance came when I put down DETOX with the D on a double word tile and the X on a triple letter – two ways. Together with KIT/NO/OX, this produced my highest all time non-bingo score of 92! I could dine out in the Scrabble world on that play. Andy easily won the second bout by over a hundred points. In the decider, Andy bingoed straight away with RANTING and I did the same soon after with ONIONIER (which we discovered later to be erroneous). I then produced another in SHACKED on a triple word, with the C on a double letter (113) and he still nearly caught me, as his knowledge of obscure words was so good. Satisfied orally and mentally, I hit the sack a happy man.

The next morning it was raining and as both my hosts had a day off, we all stayed put and two of us continued with our favourite board game. Again we played the best of three and again the spoils were divided evenly after two. The first game mirrored the first one last night, with me scooping both blanks to achieve a quadrupled INTIMATE (astride two double words) and MINSTER/TOWNS. Andy put down SAFARIED, giving an example of his superior vocabulary. He won the second game like yesterday too, but this time he also won the third. He played SNOOZE early on with the Z atop a triple letter and the whole word doubled (68) and then achieved the same feat with the X of OXTAIL. Neither of these were as high-scoring as DETOX of course.

They cooked up breakfast, and lunch with cooked vegetables (that's a first) and also proffered room temperature St Louis beer. Quite the Anglophiles, though they have never visited – but plan to in the next couple of years. Going overseas is a really big undertaking to a lot of Americans. Just about everyone I've met has said they'd like to go there one day, but have kept putting it off. They would like to live in Britain one day they said, partly because of the civil partnership situation. Same sex unions are not recognised in all but a couple of eastern states. I tried to put them off – Britain – not the civil partnership, but they weren't having it.

Fulton - Wentzville (November 4)

2008-11-05T16:09:00.000-08:00

Day 51

Election day! In Fulton library a sign read 'Push to operate' on the restroom door. Will there be 'Breathe' signs soon too? Whoever wins today has got their work cut out. Onward, half on the KATY trail and half on quiet, hilly roads. This is the first state encountered that letters its minor roads, rather than numbering them, which as a Scrabbler I much prefer. The whole way across Misery it has been round, green hills, golden trees, ponds, rivers and pretty houses. Today I lost my top gear; that is to say I left replacing the chain a couple of hundred miles too late and the top cog (the most used) has worn down, so that the chain is jumping. Many of the towns round here have Germanic names and I made a mistake approaching one of them, Wentzville, tonight's destination. Such is the small scale of my map, I had thought the dot depicting it was to the left of the name, when in fact it was to the right, necessitating a further 10 or 15 miles riding. In the dark. With the rush hour traffic. Without a hard shoulder. This took today's tally up to 98 and I was so glad I had ridden those 25 miles to Fulton yesterday. More headaches trying to fathom people's directions in Wentzville, but somehow, ended up in the right street.

Rock and Nahele (not the names they were christened with) were by far the most colourful characters encountered thus far, via the Couchsurfing website. Another couple were also staying with them, The Captain and Tempest, resplendent in a pirate and gypsy hat respectively. All four of them were heavily into re-enactments of historical events and having fun in a variety of costumes, especially of the 'renaissance faire' variety. They didn't let the small trifle of there being no ocean for over a thousand miles bother them when it came to pirate festivals, when they used a land-locked boat, with splashing effects for baddies thrown overboard. The teenage girls present were just as much fun. One of them had a phone permanently glued to her ear, even while she took photos, played a computer game and did stuff on the pc. It was as if she and this other person had to share every moment - even if they weren't communicating. Her mother, Nahele, had confiscated her mobile phone because last month she racked up 10,000 text messages. 10,000... That's over 300 a day, or over 20 an hour (of a 16 hour waking day). She was even known to send SMS's while in the shower. There were also two cats, Omen and Aloysius. Or maybe that was the girls' names. It was a very noisy and busy household, with overlaid loud voices, TV, music, phones ringing AND a screeching parrot. Oh yes, and Nahele ate ice. That is, instead of drinking water, she had a cup full of ice which she crunched all night long. They were all adept at tuning in and out of conversations, and doing and listening to several things at once. This is not a criticism; it's just not what I'm used to.

The food once again tantalised, featuring a chicken casserole with cornbread - and keeping with the renaissance theme - homemade mead. With all the distractions, I was surprised that they requested a game of Scrabble and we played a four-hander. I picked up both blanks early on, producing SAINTED/PAWN and victory was a formality. They were a great bunch to play with, so patient and good-humoured, particularly as they barely knew the rules. Then we switched to cards and a game of 'phase 10', a complicated version of rummy, which I was terrible at. After a few rounds I asked to be relieved, somewhat embarrassingly, as they were in my 'couch'-room. We all went to bed at midnight, including the girls, aged roughly 13 and 15.

Oh, yes, the election result came in tonight... In a house of Democrats, they were pretty pleased about it of course. It seemed to be a landslide, although I don't really know what I'm talking about. All I can say, is that I hope America unites behind their new President, including the press and foreign nations. It would be great to see a narrowing in the gap between rich and poor, better health care for all and a drop in consumption – notably of the gas-guzzling variety. I also hope that America stops using its military power overseas and solves 'problems' using diplomacy alone. Well, one can dream.

I was woken at 5 when Nahele, a school bus driver, had to be up. Then again at 7, when one of the girls came in to wake her Dad, because her bus hadn't stopped for her. Rock whipped up bacon and eggs, and off I went.

Leg 7: Wichita, KS - Bloomington, IN

2008-11-05T03:16:00.001-08:00

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Leg 6: Colorado Springs, CO - Wichita, KS

2008-11-05T03:14:00.000-08:00

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Columbia – Fulton (November 3)

2008-11-04T07:42:00.001-08:00

Day 50

Breakfasted at Ernie's in downtown Columbia, where the waitresses thought the diner was a their own theatre, with their Misery expressions, loud voices across the room and clattering dishes. Overheard an old woman say to her friend how she had read on the internet that Obama had been born in Kenya. The way she spat it out, she might as well have said he was the Devil's own. Took my steed to be shod and a young man here asked me if I needed a lift and whisked me to the laundromat a couple of miles away. He had just driven in from Boise in 43 hours, including a three hour sleep halfway through. It had taken me almost as many days than it had taken him in hours. While waiting for my laundry I couldn't help but listen to a conversation between a wide brimmed-hatted old couple and a younger black man. The old couple were doing all the talking, preaching to him about how Jesus had sat down next to them and said this and that. They mixed Biblical quotes with something about a grasshopper turning into a man, then becoming the lion of Judah and finally transcending into an eagle. The black man, who they called a Negro, listened attentively. While the old man went on in earnest, his wife sprayed each item of laundry and it made a farting sound. I know I'm bad. Maybe one day I'll be saved, but hopefully not before I've had sex with a lot of women.

I did some other chores and walked several miles around Columbia, a well to do, typically spread out US city. My heels were soon sore, as I'm so unused to walking and this must be about the only part of my anatomy that has had an easy ride. At 4 pm it suddenly dawned on me that I was supposed to get to Fulton tonight. I had thought this was a rest day, and in a way it was, but there were still 25 miles to take care of. Back to the bearded young men at Walt's Bike Shop, where a service, including new chain, mended mudguard and toe clip only came to $22! The sky was darkening as I whizzed along a shoulderless two lane road. In the rush hour the cars careered around me without reducing their speed one scintilla and it was exhilarating stuff. I have never been hit by a vehicle on the open road and must be wrapped in a cloud of charming, British invincibility. I enjoyed riding on such moonlit night; with the stars, the succulent-scented, warm air (one benefit of humidity) and the mood of whispering melancholia. Halfway through this journey, Rachel (Robert's wife) phoned to offer me a bed for the night in Columbia and apologised for not being welcoming last night. Not welcoming? I dined in a nice restaurant and slept in a posh hotel, both at her family's expense, and they had all been lovely to me. I nearly went back, but this would have meant another 100+ stint tomorrow.

When checking into a basic motel in Fulton, the elderly couple who ran the place saw my British passport and told me Winston Churchill had made his 'Iron Curtain' speech here and to honour this fact an English church had been demolished and rebuilt here, brick by brick, as a memorial to him. Dined at the Sir Winston Restaurant & Pub down the road, where the menu was a testament to his and other prime ministerial visits (a Churchill Pizza and a Margaret Thatcher Wrap). I had the raspberry chicken salad with a cold pint of dark beer - in a warm glass at least - and very nice they were too.

When I asked a different woman at reception if she could show me on my Fulton map where the library was, she said “Ooh, I don't know anything about these maps.” Took in the Churchill Memorial en route to a cafe.

Warrensburg - Columbia (November 2)

2008-11-03T11:50:00.001-08:00

Day 49

The clocks went back last night and that extra hour helped towards regaining my strength for another biggie. 331 miles in three days. Windless, sticky and well into the 70s today. To begin with stopped at a fast food joint called Sonic, where diners don't even need to drive by a window to order their food – they simply park and a waitress comes to them. I asked a pierced-tongued waitress where I could find a grocery store and she said she'd go ask someone. Had she just been born? The cycling today was first rate : 30 miles on a straight, undulating highway, 70 miles on trails and several through town. The Katy Trail is a disused railway line and most of this section ran through an avenue of trees, past their best, but I'd OD'd on autumnal technicolour over the last couple of days. There were other cyclists and walkers, to whom I smiled and said hello. In return I got small change. It must be a cultural difference, because in a similar UK environment people always say hello back. Then again this is Misery, or 'Missoura', as David pronounced it. Stopping in a leafy enclave, I had the fright of my life when a six inch stick insect tried to hitch a ride on my leg; and later I saw glowworms. A late lunch in dinky Pilot Grove, where even a pre-packaged gas station sandwich proved to be haute cuisine (croissant with chicken, celery and mayo). A bit scary to be alone in the woods when it grew dark, especially as my paltry front light doesn't pick out didly squat and I nearly suffered another fall, then a bolt sprang out of a mudguard and it vibrated for the last 20 miles. Me and my bike both needed a service pronto.

And we were to get one in Columbia, a university town of 100,000. Made my way to Robert's house, son of Judy, tonight's Pixie Pit player. Judy lived way off my route, but as her son lived here, she came up to see him and play me too. Together with her husband, daughter in law and three grandchildren, we drove to a restaurant called Uncle Bill's or Old Bob's, or something, where I was treated to a chicken salad with cranberries and pecans (like Diane in Wichita's salad) followed by an insanely pleasure-giving 'cream silk pie' (chocolate mousse, cream, crumbly yellow pastry). It's a good thing I don't live in America that's all I can say, or my waistline would be forever expanding. In between mouthfuls Judy and I squeezed in a quick game (she had French Toast, bacon and milk). I always feel guilty garnering both blanks, and it makes winning almost a foregone conclusion. I bingoed with WORRIES early on and later played ZITS on a triple word. Judy and her husband worked for a company producing equipment for straightening hail-dented car metal. I didn't even know hail could be that destructive. Robert, a professor of agriculture, had the look of Emilio Estevez, and his children were a tonic. The smallest boy liked to dribble his saliva down his chin and reel it back in... over and over again. All three of them asked me every question they could think of, like what was my name, when was my birthday and how old was I... over and over again. I liked the way their parents let them be, particularly the little one, who walked about talking to all and sundry – boy could he mingle. He had a permanent 'rabbit caught in headlights' expression, while his older siblings had jaded expressions far beyond their years. There wasn't room to stay at her son's house and then Judy told me she'd booked AND paid for a hotel! (I've been calling the state Misery, yet the people I've hooked up with so far obviously are the exceptions to this rule.) It was a thrusting young executive type hotel to boot – and here was me with my bicycle, plastic bags and sweaty clothes. Judy and her husband said goodbye and then had to drive for three hours back to their home in Bolivar, in the south west corner of the state.

The next day was a very welcome day off and for convenience I had thought about staying another night; however I knew it would be out of my price range and checked out.

Kansas City - Warrensburg (November 1)

2008-11-02T07:45:00.000-08:00

Day 48

A new month and the third thousand. Still don't know how I managed it yesterday and today my body wasn't very happy about riding yet another 85 miles. I hadn't seen a 'welcome to Missouri' sign yesterday and what with all the glum expressions I saw in Kansas City this morning, I'm thinking of renaming this state Misery, at least until it makes a bit more effort to impress me. It was foggy until lunchtime and a lot of cars on the busy highways had no lights. In fact I very nearly witnessed a crash when a car moved across a lane and there was already a car there. Such activity provides a cautionary tale for us vulnerable cyclists, even with our own private lane much of the time. Skirted round the edge of the city and then spun off towards the south east. The sun burned through the fog to produce another warm day, which also had a new, humid feel to it. As I popped into Subway, served by a woman with Doonesbury eyes, I wondered what percentage of the population is employed in the fast food industry. When a toe clip came away and I couldn't fix it, this seemed an opportune time to try out one of the 'cleat' pedals, which Tom in Denver had given me, along with the special shoes. It felt fine and on I went. A few miles later, I came to a red light, put my foot down, only to discover it wouldn't move and down I went. I was embarrassed more than anything else, especially as a woman wound down her window to ask if I was OK. Then it happened a second time, when no one was around, but this time I cut my calf and grazed my arm. The third time I was at another stop light, there were cars waiting behind me in full view of my fall – no one said a word. This upset me a bit and I decided to give up on cleats for good. O)old dogs, new tricks... I put the old pedal back on, which, without the toe clip, my foot slid about on, but at least I wasn't endangering my life.

The countryside in Missouri is very pretty indeed, Mountains are all very well, but I prefer trees and rolling, green hills, the likes of which I saw today. It was like pastoral England with knobs on, with the treacle and toffee apple-coloured foliage in the hazy sunshine. There was a sign promoting a phone number for people interested in car pools. Methinks that particular phone does not ring very often. A good road led to Warrensburg, as dusk descended, a silver sickle appeared up above, and fog ebbed, oozed and unfolded across the meadows and a creek called Devil's Branch. Felt a bit silly asking for directions to Gay Street at a motel. The young girl on reception knew where it was, but couldn't explain how to get there and looked it up on Mapquest. Meanwhile I saw it on a map on the wall. Gay Street intersected with the road I was on. It was really simple and Warrensburg is a very small place. I was about to leave when she came out to look at the map. She couldn't work out where the motel was on the map and said she couldn't understand it because it was the wrong way up and had to take it off the wall. She couldn't tell me how far away the street was either. In short, she was entirely clueless.

Barbara and David, from Warm Showers, lived in another stylish home, which was quite English in its style to me. Both retired (he worked for the parks department and she as a woman of the cloth) they lived with her sister, Linda, she called him by his surname and he called her Barb. She was a livewire, while he was laid back and looked a bit like Elliot Gould. They were now avid hikers and cyclists, had travelled the length and breadth of the country several times – during which they camped. They have made a lot of friends through these endeavours and both have 'trail names' – he's Big Drum and she's I Want My Sherpa. They were amazed that I was still on schedule, as when they went on their long trips (one lasted over six months) they took their time and stopped wherever they liked. This travel philosophy sounded very appealing, as I never have time to smell the roses, or even see the roses. Barbara rustled up a steaming hot bowl of homemade broth, followed by two deserts (apple crisp + spice cake) and all were top notch. I beat them both at Scrabble, then I beat Barbara on her own, while David watched college football. Linda went to bed at 9.30. On a Saturday night. I had a choice of rooms : traditional with double bed or living room with art deco chairs + a bunk bed up a ladder. Obviously I had to go with the latter, although with my three falls today, I was slightly worried about adding to this number – and from a greater height.

We put the world to rights over breakfast. Staunch Democrats, Barbara & David told me there are four tiers of government in the US (County, City, State & Federal) compared to only two in the UK. Candidates at every level have to raise their own campaign funds and what bothers me most about the campaigning here is that almost 100% of it is negative, fueling fear and paranoia. In this county usually only about 20% of the electorate votes, but this election has caught even the attention of even the most apathetic individuals and it is predicted that there will be about a 95% turnout. Barbara said a lot of these people will be voting to either get behind a black man or trying to stop a black man.

Burlington – Kansas City (October 31)

2008-11-01T10:09:00.000-07:00

Day 47

(Here's a photo sent to me by Lesli in Emporia + a better version of the game I played in Fort Collins, Colorado. Please email me more photos.)

Another biggie. Warm, negligible wind and a few small hills to break up the monotony. Had my first taste of beef jerky, which both Becky and Janice in Emporia had provided. It's salted beef, extremely chewy and cleans your teeth at the same time. The Indians made a version with buffalo and as it lasts for a long time, this was their staple diet through the winter. Another Indian tale, told to me by Joel, concerned a white buffalo that some believe will be born one day, occupied by the spirit of the White Buffalo Woman, and when this happens it will spell the end for the white man's tenure in America. There has been a plague of ladybirds for the last few days and today I saw my first turtle, which like most of the wildlife I've witnessed, was smashed up, in a pool of blood.

Until late afternoon the day was going well, that is until I entered the sprawling, heaving hubbub of Kansas City. It went on forever, maybe 50 miles, and of course I had to get right to the other side of it, in the rush hour. I was mad with myself for not going to Lawrence, halfway between Emporia and tonight's destination, although then I would have missed out on the lovely time I had in Burlington. The road was up and down, there was often no shoulder, cars honked at me and I had a terrible time with the huge, unwieldy map I'd picked up at a gas station. It was a good thing I had the zip code because once again there was more than one Skyview Drive. Downtown, now in Missouri, all the party goers were hard at it, this being Hallowe'en, and as is usually the case, the boys and men were dressed in ghoulish costumes, while the girls were all princesses and fairies, and the young women bared a lot of flesh. It seemed a pretty vibrant and exciting place to be, at least tonight, and the skyscrapers didn't disappoint either. Across the vast Missouri River I raced and on up a scary section of highway, where one car whizzed by an inch away, presumably 'to teach me a lesson', as I don't think I should have been there and nearly knocking me down in cold blood is the best way to pass on this information. There were also these thin metal barred sections on the numerous bridges, like cattle grids – except these bars lay parallel to the edge of the road. These sections were only a few inches deep, but the grooves between the bars were the width of my tyres and I had to try and cross them at an angle, in the dark, with no streetlights and my hopeless front light. Anyway I made it - and not only did I make it - I smashed my previous 117 mile record by 20 miles and my average speed was just shy of 16 mph.

I arrived at Sheri's house at 9.30 pm, which was a bit embarrassing, as it was a few hours later than I said I would be there. I had come across Sheri via the National Scrabble Association website, on which she was the named contact for the Kansas City club, except it has since disbanded. Her husband, Dan, made me a sandwich and their two bear-sized dogs barked a lot. Dan taught engineering in a community college and Sheri looked after a baby niece and home-schooled her son Colin. A house of Democrats, in this swing state, and Sheri's daughter worked at the local campaign office for the Obama camp. The candidate for the Governorship is called Nixon, which is an unfortunate name to be lumbered with. Then we played two games, both of which Sheri won, as she was a competent player, although I was only a few points adrift each time. We both played a few bingos, including my WHORTLE (a gamble) and Sheri's CURARIS (a new one to me). In both games In both games I had bingos that didn't fit on the board and I was left with a blanks at the end. Frustrating for me, but good, tense games.

Colin was up at 6 to take the dogs for a walk, then later he would tutoring Colin and other teenage boys in the art of robotics (making and programming Lego devices to perform various tasks) for competitions. Scrambled egg, sausage, orange muffins, and I was on the road once more.

Emporia – Burlington (October 30)

2008-10-31T08:06:00.000-07:00

Day 46

A nasty, straight, uphill stretch into a headwind to start the day. If only Burlington could have been situated halfway towards Kansas City, but no, I was making another crazy detour in a south easterly direction. No signs in Olpe, where the woman in the post office told me to go to the end of a street and then turn south. When I got there, the reliable sources of sun and wind informed me the only options were east and west. An old man stared at me long and hard here, walked a few steps, stared some more, a few steps more and stared again. Got to Hartford; again no signs. I reckon it's a ploy by the store-holders to get you to stop. Made more wrong turnings, before somehow stumbling upon Burlington, another small well-to-do town in the Hillsboro mould, where I made for the high school, to meet a teacher there. Kelly had also seen the ad in the Emporia Gazette and had arranged a four-hander with three of her 'gifted' students; identical twins Nate & Nick, and Michaelyn. Kelly travels between Coffey County high schools assisting the brightest handful in each. The twins had impressive vocabularies for all of their 16 years and one of them bingoed with VITALLY right at the end of the first game. I think he and his brother had been communicating telepathically. In the second game I managed a slender victory, partly due to QATS/ZITS (46) with the Q on a triple. It was a lot of fun being in these children's company, especially when the bell rang and all the other kids who had been watching us, went home. To start with a pupil filmed us and a teacher taking notes for the school paper. While we were playing (in the school library) a group of children came in dressed up like cadavers with white faces. This was in connection with SADD (Students Against Destructive Decisions – particularly drink-driving) and there's a grim reaper character who plucks children out of classes to dress up for this purpose. I couldn't help thinking that they would be more effective by going into bars in these get-ups. Children drive here too of course. You can be the sole occupant of a car from the age of 15, for school trips alone. If you have a farmer's permit you can drive anywhere, supposedly on farm business, at 14. All those present had their own cars and drove to school. They could hardly think of one child or teacher who walks to school. Something else I learned today was that the reason counties are so small is because when they were set up it was felt important for any outlying part of a county to be less than a day's horse-ride to the county town. Coffey County has less than 5,000 people with a whole raft of administration and bureaucracy. Maybe time to update that rule? Kelly's husband worked at the nearby nuclear power plant, which explained why the facilities in this small town, including the school, were so good.

After this most enjoyable afternoon, I spent the evening and night at the house of Joel & Becky (along with six cats including a Manx called Li'l Bit) a few minutes ride away. What a beautiful house it was too. Before this trip I had it in my head that Americans didn't have much taste; but so many times I've stayed in pretty homes, with daring colour schemes like this one. The sitting room was a mid green, one of the restrooms mid grey and the dining room had a loud, leafy wallpaper in red and yellow, Every nook and cranny was stuffed to the gills with cabinets of dolls and toys, Gone With The Wind ephemera, antique furniture and framed adverts from yesteryear. Becky loved seasonal decorations too, and hundreds of Hallowe'en novelties littered any remaining square inch. Next week these will all be changed for Thanksgiving knick knacks and soon after, xmas stuff – including separate sets of lights for each celebration. Upstairs, I was permitted to enter Joel's ' man cave', with its aeroplane models, replica firearms and other boys' toys. For tonight's feast of sensational salmon, pork, ice cream and room temperature Newcastle Brown Ale, we were joined by a family friend, and a daughter, with her two small children. I found the gender cliches amusing, as the tough-looking boy played with a gun and the girl flounced about in her dress and gazed at her bejeweled self in the mirror. For Hallowe'en the boy would be dressing up as Spiderman and the girl, whose prettiness was oft repeated, would be a princess.

The next day I was woken by a cat nuzzling my face and felt a little fuzzy. Breakfast consisted of sausages and French Toast (dried bread dipped in egg) apple juice and coffee. I didn't realise that you can actually walk the streets here with a loaded gun here – as long as it isn't concealed. However, there are some places, like schools and libraries where guns are prohibited. As with quite a few other people I have met so far, Joel & Becky have said they will pay me a visit and I wonder if they will?

Hillsboro - Emporia (October 29)

2008-10-30T16:01:00.001-07:00

Day 45

Set to reach 70 today, while Britain languishes under snow. I identified a Blue Jay this morning and also found out the birds of prey I have seen are Red-Tailed Hawks. Back to Little Pleasures for green tea and internet. The lady who ran the place came from Hawaii and now she was about as far from the ocean as you can get. She said 79 degrees is a low temperature there. She was so lovely and smiley that I wanted to hug her; I think I'm coming over all American. My only criticism of her cafe related to the play list : Norah Jones, Norah Jones and Norah Jones. Come away with me... You go on ahead, I'll join you later.

Took the 'D Road' out of Hillsboro and beyond Marion it became a dirt track, which was ridable until the limestone turned from powder into lumps that were even worse to ride on than sand. Fortunately 99% of the roads in Kansas run straight north/south or east/west, so if the sun's in the sky it's impossible to get lost. I have lost my compass though, which along with a bottle of headache pills I left in Twin Falls, is my only loss. A big hill today. In Kansas! Then another, in the Flint Hills no less. Cottonwood Falls was a rare find and the purtiest little town I've come across. It had everything my heart desired : a cobbled main street, cutesy shops, tennis courts, a wide river with a waterfall, a masonic hall, docile Mennonite womenfolk... There was a clapboard house for sale here on three floors, with three bedrooms, 1.5 baths (?), hardwood flooring, porch, back deck, 1,853 square feet. Drum roll. $83,000! In a way Kansas is what other states aspire to, even though they wouldn't admit it and poke fun at it. It's the traditional, moralistic, rural, agricultural idyll; with close-knit small communities. OK so it's boring, but boring is what most grown ups secretly hanker after.

And so to Emporia, home of William Allen White, a famous newspaper editor, as well as a preacher who murdered his wife and his lover's husband, but didn't get the chair because there is no death penalty in Kansas - and also of Janice – a famous Scrabble player (she had won this year's tournament in the shopping mall) who had come across me through an advert in the Emporia Gazette. She had given me her location and of course I couldn't find it, so she came out in her car to look for me. Her address was 'x number Industrial Street', but it was actually NOT in Industrial Street at all, but down a side road. How was I supposed to find that? I feel sorry for the postmen. Here I met Janice, her parents, her brother and husband. Her father had been through the ringer in hospital and was now the walking wounded, quite literally, as he had some kind of open wound, which had a drip attached to it. He seemed to be doing very well though, and he, along with his wife and daughter, played Scrabble with me. Janice won, but then luck increases and skill diminishes the greater the number of players. That's how I comforted myself anyway. Janice works for her brother at a doctor's surgery and they all live in town. Janice's parents told me that they were registered Democrats and yet they were reluctantly voting for McCain because they didn't agree with Obama's platform. A lot of people vote in advance here, giving them time to study the complicated ballot paper. Unfortunately I had to rush off because I had double-booked myself tonight and had another game the other side of town.

And so to Lesli's house (also via the Gazette) where she lived with her son, two dogs, cat, tank full of fish and numerous birds. One of the dogs was a white husky with scary, frowning, pale blue eyes. The other dog was a black lab who would sidle over to me backwards because he wanted his bottom scratched and would lift a back leg to illustrate his pleasure when I consented. The house was full of toys, dolls, fairies, pictures of fish and wooden objects carved by Lesli's grandfather – including a 3' x 3' Scrabble board/table with giant inlaid wooden squares and correspondingly giant letters to go with it. It made Scrabble a bit of physical work out as well as a mental one, as you had to stand up to reach the distant side of the board. Tonight's dinner was highly tasty spaghetti bolognese, not so tasty iced tea, followed by coffee cake. We were joined by Lesli's sister and her parents later, who all lived within a few blocks, as do another sibling and a grandchild. I lost a game of Scrabble to Leeanne, Lesli's sister. I'm sure DUFFING is a SOWPODS word. Then beat Lesli in the next two games, with good letters and copious bingos (MANAGERS, TRAINEE, and STAINER – the best letters for bingo-making purposes). We also saw the Philadelphia Phillies beat the Tampa Bay something or other in baseball The World Series. Then it was time to flop on to the couch, accompanied by trickling sound effects from the fish tank.

The next day I weighed myself and found I'd put on three pounds since leaving the UK! Whilst shaving the back of my head I also found out there were tanned splodges because of the holes in the helmet. Foodwise there was scrambled egg and more coffee cake. Lesli introduced me to her parrot, Willy, who sat on her arm and had a black leathery tongue, which she was quite willing to let roam all over her face.

Wichita - Hillsboro (October 28)

2008-10-29T08:16:00.000-07:00

Day 44

The temperature rose from the 20s overnight to the 50s by mid afternoon. The wind was southerly and today my long suffering machine and I were going north. Ha ha! Wind and food; these are pretty much all I think about. It was a good route, along a minor road, past small fields and houses, trees, streams and pleasantly undulating terrain. If only every day were like this. I liked that the views were brief; I know that America is freakin' ginormous, but I don't need to have this fact shoved in my face ALL THE TIME. The countryside reminded me of The Weald, on the Kent/Sussex border, while most of Kansas is reminiscent of The Levels in Cambridgeshire. One week to go until the election and there are no Obama signs at all round these rural parts. No al fresco lunch today and chose a steak hoagy from the 'Sandwiches & Such' section of the menu at Mom's Cafe in Whitewater. Most cafe grub is less than half the price of the equivalent fare back home – and twice as tasty. So many old folks working in restaurants here, as well as grocery stores and libraries. Continued on the same minor road and it deteriorated into a dirt track – which is one drawback of Google Maps, as it doesn't differentiate between black top and unpaved roads. Asked a man fiddling about with an agricultural machine for directions to Hillsboro and he asked me where I was from. I told him and explained I was lost. “I would say you are,” he laughed. He rerouted me and related his job of pumping animal waste from farms in this area. I'm thinking about how I'll adjust with humdrum life back home after an experience like this. I wonder whether I'll be sick of cycling, or whether I'll be sick of being in one place and not cycling? Will it be strange to put things in cupboards and drawers, rather than pack everything into a few plastic bags? Will my weight balloon because I won't be exercising much, but still want to eat this much? Will I find the grey days and rain of Scotland depressing? I think I know the answer to all these questions and need to mentally prepare myself for the dismount.

Passed a Mennonite museum, and then upon arriving in the pretty little town of Hillsboro, I saw a couple of what I took to be Mennonite women in the library (they wore black skull caps and old-fashioned dresses). Couldn't get wi fi here, so went to Little Pleasures Cafe, where I had a cup of green tea – I'm converted. The lady in here was uber friendly, as was everyone I spoke to, and one man even asked if I was married - after I'd told him how long my trip lasted, so it was relevant, but kind of personal, especially when our conversation lasted one minute.

As soon as I stepped over the threshold at Charles' house (tonight's Warm Showers host) he said he'd invited as many people as he could muster, so that I could be exposed to their radical Republican politics and I thought, “Uh oh.” He was joking. I was introduced to Charles' wife Elly, her father, Art, her brother and other neighbours and friends. They were all of German descent, could speak the language and Art spoke with a slight German accent. I asked if there were a lot of Mennonites in the town and it turned out they were all of this order, although they didn't belong to the serious bunch, who are puritan (no cars, electricity, fun, smiling) and do everything they want to, except most of them don't drink or smoke, or do anything considered harmful. Most of the assembled were either teachers or had some job connected to the local schools, or were retired from such work. For religious Republicans they were a lot of fun, and disappointing in this respect. I would have much preferred them to be dour 'fire and brimstone' types. I am joking. Charles looked like Bill Clinton, but I didn't dare mention it.

However, let us talk about the far more serious subject of what we were put on this earth to do above all else : put tasty stuff in our mouths. Tonight's ham-stuffed pork chops in cheese & onion sauce and sweet potatoes roasted with marshmallows, brown sugar and corn syrup were to dine for and very nearly my favourite meal so far. The fact that they were so filling and I made a pig of myself was their (and my) only downfall. We would have had Charles' piece de la resistance, a chocolate cheesecake, but because one of those present, Tim, didn't like chocolate, we had the pie instead. Yes, unbelievably he didn't like chocolate. The apple pie, my first one yet, was still par excellence, with particularly fine, cinnamon-dusted pastry.

I hadn't played the game I had intended to play every day over here since Denver, but that was redressed later, when Charles and I Scrabbled into the night, me winning both bouts with a bingo. Charles had dreadful letters and on two separate occasions his rack contained only vowels. He told me some interesting things he'd heard about Obama, which he was at pains to point out he couldn't prove. One was that when invested he had sworn allegiance to The Koran and the other was that he would not salute the American flag.

I slept in the basement. A lot of houses in Kansas go down one story instead of up, I think because of tornadoes. Again my hosts were up and away before I woke, as they had early starts. Even Art, who is 96 years old, said he usually wakes at 4 and forces himself to stay in bed until 6. Charles had baked a kind of omelette pie with bits of bacon on top in a casserole dish, and I had this with toast. Art helped me and told me about his formative years in North Dakota or Montana, I forget which, when his family lived in a place without running water (they had to dig wells by hand) and he only went to town a couple of times a year.

Sylvia – Wichita (October 27)

2008-10-28T15:21:00.000-07:00

Day 43

How could it be back in the 30s again? What is wrong with this country? This was because the wind was from the north and the wind in this state is like nothing I've experienced before; it never gives up, not even for a second. I thought the wind was bad in Scotland, and sometimes it is, but it doesn't go on and on and on and on... like this. As Dustin from Great Bend had told me, although it's flat in Kansas, “The wind is our mountain”. The craziness of American street numbers goes on too, and heading south from Chuck & Bev's place, the streets intersected went : 30th, 17th, 4th. Apart from a predilection for the number 13, what on earth could be the reason behind such numbering? Then I headed east along a quiet road parallel to the highway, through miniature towns with no stores. I had cycled 50 miles, it was after 2 pm, there was only trail mix in my panniers and I needed food. I came across a petrol station in Haven after I turned on to Highway 96 and picked up a barbecue chicken sub. It had a strange, but not entirely unpleasant flavour. Today, to alleviate boredom, I counted caterpillars. The only rules were that they had to be within the hard shoulder, they had to be wriggling and I had to avoid squishing them.

I also enjoyed looking at the white lines. So straight and smooth. I like white lines, especially when they're painted by the Wichita Linesman. I need you more than want you and I want you for all time, etc, etc. Following H-96 as per Google Maps directions I came across a sign that read : “Pedestrians – bicycles – motor scooters – motorized bicycles – animals led – ridden or driven – u turns – PROHIBITED”. It wasn't even a freeway and bikes weren't allowed on it. So I came off at that exit and made my way across Wichita, the biggest city in Kansas, at something approaching half a million. I found 13th Street, which was on the Google route and sallied forth until I turned off on to North Point Drive. 10 miles later... I was still on the same street and I was still in Wichita, although I was close to the opposite side of it. I was so worried that I was going in the wrong direction and would have to turn round again... No, for once I got it right and saw the turn off.

Finally I made it to the des res home of John & Diane, in insurance and nursing respectively. It was in a picturesquely located cul de sac of four or five houses, overlooking a golf course. Why were the numbers of these houses all in four digits though? Why not number them 1, 2, 3, 4? A bit novel, but it might just work. Diane was evidently the house-proud type and not only were the lighting, rich colours and soft furnishings all ultra stylish, but the only book on the coffee table was about interior design. John rides his bike to work. In America! It's true. Not only that – he leaves at 5 am (the same time as his wife) and rides 15 miles each way! Diane presented me with the most delicious meal of my trip so far. I told her this and she didn't believe me. I even had double helpings of both courses – and she still didn't believe me. Fanfare... It was chicken lasagna and salad, which might not sound very special, but it was so flavoursome and the salad had dried cherries and pecans in it. For afters there was apple crisp, which is cooked apple slices with cinnamon, brown sugar, etc. They also forced me to drink lots of beer – forced I tell you. Then we watched sports, with Diane flicking between baseball and football. Quite the sports fan, she tried to explain the rules of football to me, but I'm still clueless. There is no local, geographical element to an American's favourite team, they support the one they like, regardless of distance or relevance to their lives. They often support several teams as well.

As with many city folk, John & Diane were a bit condescending about parts of rural Kansas, especially the western part and agreed with my analysis of Dodge City, as 'smells of poo'. Chuck & Bev had told me there's a scenic overlook there where you can look at hundreds of cows being fattened up in the feed houses before they're slaughtered. John & Diane grew up in Lincoln, Nebraska, the state atop Kansas and were in the same class together. They started dating at the age of 15. Now they have three children and one grandchild. John sung from the same song sheet as myself about many things, as he was pro cycling/anti car and pro healthy lifestyle/anti laziness. He agreed with me that it should be illegal to use a cell phone whilst driving, but also informed me that it is against the law for cyclists to use earphones. Where's the logic in that?

By the time I rose at 8.30, my hosts were halfway through their workdays. They had left me in their house, while their son slept downstairs. How trusting is that? Made myself a couple of cream cheese bagels and a cup of green tea (no they weren't Mormons – it was all they had).

Sylvia (October 26)

2008-10-27T08:09:00.001-07:00

Day 42

The next morning Chuck & Bev made me sausage gravy with biscuits (like scones) and peppery eggs. I asked if I could stay another night and they were happy to have me. We went out for a bike ride, but as it was along trails, they lent me one of their mountain bikes, while they rode a mountain tandem. They had a road tandem too and a whole bunch of other bikes. They were bicycle crazy, wore matching gear and had a bicycle forks-shaped toilet roll dispenser. They had started riding across the States from San Francisco last summer and had reached Nevada when Bev lost her wallet, and by this time Chuck was homesick too, so they decided to call it a day. We went on a ten mile tour round the Quivira Nature Reserve, right on their doorstep, during which the wind raged from the north, chilling us to the bone. I saw a couple of garter snakes, decoy ducks and other water fowl too far away to make out.

The rest of the day was spent eating and relaxing, with a grey cat by name of Puddin' glued to my lap; but then I had cycled a week's worth in four days, so I guess it was time for a rest. We watched trashy TV, drank beer, and both lunch and dinner featured venison (burgers and chili). So far I've only watched TV in motel rooms, when channel-hopping has been my modus operandi; however, today I realised how many and how often ads are repeated here. There was one interesting Obama one in which there is footage of McCain saying he has supported Bush in 90% of his policies. What a dumbass. Obviously it's old, but didn't he think saying such a thing might come back to haunt him? Both Chuck & Bev are voting for Ralph Nader this year, and mainly because he is not one of the main candidates it seems, as they believe the big two are only in it to line their pockets.

When I went to bed there were four cats on there to squeeze in between. Missed Bev in the morning, as she had to be out by 7 to get to Hutchison for her classes in time. Chuck cooked up some bacon and eggs, then I was ready for the road.

Dodge City – Sylvia (October 25)

2008-10-26T10:46:00.000-07:00

Day 41

In retrospect I was a bit harsh in my assessment of Dodge City; off the main drag there are some decent brick buildings. The wind came from the west today as I marched on eastwards - and it was in the 70s! It seems odd to me that houses in small towns are often beside huge, humming lumps of machinery, which may well continue to hum through the night. That being said, industry gradually diminished the deeper I dove into Kansas, and it became mostly prairie, except for the occasional nodding donkey. Flat, yet there is the odd small hill and plenty of trees. Missing interaction and excitement today – even took to reading through the information at the front of my diary about public holidays and conversion tables out of sheer boredom.

Missed Raymond Road, intersecting with the Highway, where tonight's Warm Showers couple lived. I actually remember seeing it and not registering the relevance. Then I missed the sign to the town of Sylvia. I had ridden 100 miles at this point, so I guess I wasn't registering much of anything, A lady at a dog kennels, whose door I knocked on, five miles down the road pointed out my error and back I went. So, I saw a sign for South Raymond Road on the south side of the Highway and assumed the dirt track opposite must be North Raymond Road. It was sandy, so much so that the ruts were problematic for riding a fully laden bicycle and when I had skidded about a few times and fallen off once, I decided to walk, thinking it wouldn't be very far (I had promised myself never to dismount whatever the weather or how steep the hill – I hadn't counted on sand). Six miles later... It was dark, it was scary, there were no houses and it was all dirt track. I couldn't call my hosts either because I had no reception. What a crap phone network I'd chosen. The further I went the more stubborn I became and didn't want to backtrack. There were rustlings in the bushes, which I believed to be deer, although it was too dark to see. The paltry light from my front lamp picked out a skunk, which either didn't see me or was quite happy for me to be in such close proximity. I also saw the stars, which were pin-sharp and the Milky Way was much in evidence too. Eventually I came across a farm building and saw a man tinkering about in the lit, open doorway of his garage (by which time I had ridden/walked 117 miles). He was about as surprised to see me there as I was relieved to see him and he gave me a lift (yes, another cheat) in his pick-up truck to my destination – which at least I was heading in the right direction for – about another five miles up the road. His name was Bill and after his home burnt down recently. he was living in a trailer. He had several other properties he said, so I'm not sure why he hadn't moved into one of them. The house had been insured, but he'd lost the paperwork in the fire and when he phoned the company, who were based on the East coast, they said they didn't have any policies in Kansas and he said there was nothing he could do about it.

Chuck & Bev were also quite surprised to see me, as by now it was nearly 9 pm. They lived in a rustic, old house that Chuck's grandfather had built in the 1890s and it had a stove that was nearly as old as the house. They had a dog, six cats that lived inside and six that lived outside. The cats were all different colours and two had lost their tails. Chuck & Bev warmed up some 'Company Casserole' containing venison from a deer Chuck had shot in his back yard. You have to pay a permit per deer you shoot (about $30) and a further butchering fee (about $80) – unless you chop it yourself and then it's free. Chuck had also shot a goose flying low in fog over his property. Chuck worked as a custodian at a local school, Bev was a student and both were born in Kansas. Chuck had been married four times (twice to Bev + two sisters) and Bev had been married five times! We talked and drank beer, until it was time for a bed choc-a-bloc with cats; they were on the bed, in the bed, running, fighting – and even in my dreams.

Ulysses – Dodge City (October 24)

2008-10-25T08:06:00.001-07:00

Day 40

Received an email from Joel in Burlington, KS, who I'm staying with in a few days. Here's some of it :

The weather is a bit unpredictable this time of year due to the change in seasons. The temperature has been known to drop 15 to 20 degrees in less than an hour when a "Blue Norther" blows in from Canada. You can usually see it coming if you are out on the plains--BIG, DARK cloud bank that looks like midnight coming from the North--if you see it--find a hole and crawl in it. If you ever feel that you are in danger from weather, beasty, or man, don't hesitate to dial 911 on your cell and ask for assistance. For that matter, don't hesitate to call me any time if you need a lift or help. You are now close enough that I could be there with my FBRU (foreign bicyclist rescue unit) in a few hours.

We will communicate later, as you get nearer, to find out what we can do to make your stop here as restorative as possible. Your diet of meat and bread concerns me for several reasons. Give some thought as to what you might be craving or wanting to try. I am considered a "better that average" cook and would be willing to try something from your slate of personal favorites, but I draw the line at haggis; however, I do have one in a can that one of my exchange students brought for me. Knowing what is in it, along with the sound it makes when I shake the can, makes my gorge rise.

Be well and be safe-

If I'd only turned left at Lamar I could have stopped in Holcomb yesterday (where the events of Truman Capote's In Cold Blood took place) and might have reached Great Bend tonight. I'm very impressed with the service in grocery stores here; they are always friendly, polite and there is often someone to carry heavy shopping to one's car, especially the elderly or women with young children. Sunny and in the 50s again today, except the Wicked Wind of the North continued to blow. Kansas land seems to be completely taken up with grain and the occasional 'nodding donkey', and every half mile there are straight roads leading off to distant farms, metallic cylinders and industrial plants. Overhead, geese wheeled and warbled, waiting for slowcoaches to catch up. The library door in Montezuma has a sign like a no smoking one, but with a gun in place of a cigarette. Oh man! I couldn't take my AK47 in there and shoot up some kids. Another huge wind farm by the road and this one had its own 'overlook', just in case you hadn't noticed the hundred foot turbines for the last ten miles. I'd understand it if they were painted different colours or were lit up at night. I had no idea how many counties there are in some states. Kansas about a hundred counties, each about 30 miles square, with a county town a few thousand strong and a several smaller towns. Tiny though they are, they have their own sheriff, commissioners and countless other tin pot officials. Some even have their own sales tax, which is a different percentage than the surrounding counties.

Worn out by the time I turned into Wyatt Earp Boulevard in Dodge City, although the fact that I'd ridden 273 miles in the last three days might have had something to do with it. A statue of a cow takes pride of place, and as it didn't seem very attractive and smelt of cow poo, I could see why it was so named. Hard time finding a reasonably priced motel. One elderly receptionist with about two teeth in her head suggested I go elsewhere for wi fi because “Ours ain't worth a crap.” By the fourth motel I was too cold and hungry to refuse, even though there was no wi fi. The smiley lady at the desk had fled Laos when it turned communist in 1981 and she told me about another cyclist who had stayed there a month ago... “About your age – 30 or 31.” I liked her. It wasn't Chris though; he's not omnipresent. Alongside the bible in my room, I was surprised to see a booklet entitled The way to Happiness, a guide to modern living with no religious content. They had beer at the restaurant down the road – and not only that – they managed to find one at room temperature! I overheard a waitress reply to a customer who enquired how she was, “I'm doing fine; wouldn't do me any good to complain if I wasn't.”

Springfield - Ulysses (October 23)

2008-10-24T08:46:00.001-07:00

Day 39 (halfway!)

Paul in Philomath just sent me this round robin :

To the citizens of the United States of America from Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. In light of your failure in recent years to nominate competent candidates for President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation of your independence, effective immediately. (You should look up 'revocation' in the Oxford English Dictionary.) Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas, which she does not fancy). Your new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a Governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed.

It does not of course reflect the views of Scrabble Travel Blogspot.

Whilst leaving my trusty steed outside the post office in Springfield, it shifted forward with its wet front wheel nudging the glass door, as if a dog waiting for its master. In the library it made me chuckle to see that the only reference to the election in the half dozen headlines on the British Yahoo homepage was about Sarah Palin spending campaign funds on clothes. The tumultuous sky unleashed a barrage of snizzle, followed by snow, sleet, rain and drizzle; all from left to right, now that I was travelling east. After 20 miles of the former precipitation, I took refuge in the Walsh grocery store, where feet were dried with tissues in the restroom, wet socks were changed, hands were revived in hot water and hunger pangs were treated. They often have microwaves in grocery stores and I assembled a sandwich (all the constituent parts came individually wrapped) and heated it up until the pepper jack cheese dribbled down the side. Back to the fray to contend with the second weather type on the list. My right foot was soon soaked again because the strong side-wind propelled water off the wheels in that direction. This is when I found out the $5 Walmart gloves weren't waterproof and I cursed my meanness.

The third moisture variant had given way to the fourth as I stole across the border into Kansas. The puny state sign looked funny contrasting with the ten foot tall “Welcome to colorful Colorado' one facing it. Hello Mid West, hello Central Time. The landscape changed straight away; it was still flat and open, but now there was corn, sunflowers, green, green grass and NO sagebrush. There was also a proliferation of grain-related machinery – industrial islands towering above lakes of gold. These silos and other structures played havoc with my spatial awareness, as they seemed to be in the foreground, when actually they were 10 miles distant. Great swarms of birds feasted on crops and a mile overhead hundreds of geese headed south. How do they fly such great distances without the promise of a hot meal, hot shower or motel bed each night? I saw a couple of anti-abortion billboards too, using bible quotes to strengthen their case. Johnson City up next, and I had to ask for help to unwrap a chocolate bar because my fingers were frozen. Sat in the library, where popcorn was being given away, to thaw out for a while. Then it was onward to Ulysses and the Peddlers Inn (not pedalers). Draped my clothes over the radiator, as well as every pair of socks I have brought, which by now were all wet. There was a bath. A bath I tell you! One of those things you fill up with hot water and sit in. Yes! Aaaah. They had their own restaurant too, so I needn't brave the elements again tonight, and rubbed shoulders with burly workmen. Don't bother changing out of your dirty overalls or even take your baseball cap off guys. They had French fries, German fries and - in case you hated both nationalities – frozen fries. No beer. Tap water please, no ice. Studied the Kansas map tonight. Not only is it a broad state, but I'm lengthening my stay by zigzagging about all over the place to take in Scrabblers and Couchsurfers. The Kickapoo Indian tribe have a reservation in Kansas. I didn't know there were Glaswegian Indians.

I breakfasted alone until an old man by the name of Madison joined me. It was as if he knew I was coming, understood what made me tick and plied me with information about SW Kansas. Those cylinders I had seen yesterday were actually salt water tanks and connected to the oil and gas industries. The town is named after Ulysses Grant, a Union General during the Civil War; it has a population of 5,000, is 35% Hispanic and there had been a double homicide in August. I wonder what views the big man upstairs has on gun control.

Kit Carson – Springfield (October 22)

2008-10-23T08:52:00.000-07:00

Day 38

Amazing wind-assisted progress to Eads, 21 miles south, in less than an hour. At the gas station in this town people asked “Are you heading south?” With a knowing smile and “Kinda late in the year to be riding a bicycle ain't it?” I didn't fancy any of the lunch options from the chilled cabinet, so bought a pastry instead (not one of the iced cheese variety though). Drank coffee here too, and perusing a local magazine, came across an advert for a company who film funerals. The road continued past The Queen's State Wildlife Park and I wondered what queen and what wildlife were being referred to as I couldn't fathom any self-respecting royal personage or wild animal visiting this featureless plain. It was only lunchtime when I arrived at my intended destination of Lamar (on my original route) so decided to press on towards Kansas. First of all I lunched in Subway, where a poster read 'Come join our sandwich artistes', and checked emails at the Welcome Centre, staffed by sweet old do-gooders. One took me under her wing and asked me to put a pin in a map to show where I was from and again I put it in a different part of Scotland because Glasgow was already spoken for. I wondered whether other pin-pushers had stretched the truth further than I, or perhaps this small town really had been frequented by Mongolians and Kazakhs. Another map depicted all the US states in different colours. I hadn't looked at the whole country like this since leaving home and it suddenly dawned on me that tomorrow I would be halfway through my holiday and I was only two-fifths of the way across. Don't say I haven't accounted for a few hundred miles somewhere... My befriender said they were giving out T shirts to visitors and all I had to do was sign my name in a book. I chose a grey one with the slogan 'Dude where's my ranch?' It was quite fortuitous because I'd just run out of rags to clean my chain. No, I didn't use this gift, but a T shirt on its last arms. The old lady imparted all kinds of information, although the only thing I can remember is that she had eight children. Yes, another supersize family. Lamar is an unusual small town, in that there is a train station there, and one can travel all the way to Chicago and Los Angeles.

Heading east, the wind had switched to be behind me again, which was very decent of it. Next up roadworks for ten miles. Men stood at each end with stop/go signs and a vehicle bore the sign 'Pilot car. Follow me'. This section was a bit surreal, with long periods of silence during which my only fellow travellers were tumbleweeds. At one point a white stallion galloped alongside me, lit from behind, outlined in gold; although it's possible this was a dream. There followed a wind farm of epic proportions along a ridge and there were a few houses right on top of them. I'm sure Americans don't see wind turbines as an eyesore or selfishly consider the effect on their house prices. 28 miles out of Lamar it occurred to me that I hadn't noticed a couple of towns that I should have gone through and that there was no sign of Holly, tonight's destination. Then the penny dropped. The wind hadn't changed direction - and that would also explain why the sun hovered to my right. I had gone 28 miles south instead of east. You stupid, stupid idiot. Nothing else for it, but to carry on to the next town of Springfield. Every mile of the following 20 was a mile in the wrong direction, yet there was nothing else for it. It was cold and I had to find the nearest motel before the sun set and the temperature plummeted. The only prizes for my stupidity were a new PB distance & speed of 109 & 18.8 respectively. Another Polish couple at J's Motel, where the proprietor was desperate to get rid of me so he could continue with his online chess game. You could have 'Pie alamode' at the Longhorn Steakhouse, but I of course had my usual boeuf au pain.

I thought I'd imagined the Longhorn diners eying me suspiciously last night, but again this morning? It felt like I was in Texas what with the country & western tunes and the drawly accents. “Guy, you need a little more splash?” asked the bouffant blonde, perma-tanned waitress.

Limon – Kit Carson (October 21)

2008-10-22T13:10:00.001-07:00

Day 37

Two weeks till the election and McCain has been gaining ground in the polls. Exciting or what? Today in this crazy country it was sunnier, less windy and about 20 degrees warmer than yesterday. In Limon Library, where I rescued a sleepy butterfly, a highly excitable woman was running an activity with pre-school age children and I wished I was one of them. There was also a large calendar with a picture of a cow on it, along with the obligatory Stars & Stripes and Native American artwork. The woman in the library could well have been in charge of the insects along the highway as well, such was their industriousness. In Scotland most of the six legged workforce are dormant by late October, whereas today I saw plenty of beetles, crickets, butterflies and caterpillars. The sagebrush is gradually being replaced by beige grass in this High Plains Country. Britain of course is much more densely populated, but even so, it seems to me that most of my homeland is either used in some way or pretty. In The Wild West there are great tracts of no man's land, which only exist in a 'between' sense. I wonder how it would effect one's equilibrium and creative juices to move to such an open, nothingy sort of place? If you lived on a blank page would it fire your imagination or deaden it? It reminds me of a Hopper painting in which there is a gas station set against an eternity of corn. I have always wanted to step into such a world, which is simultaneously eerie and suspenseful. I wonder also if there's an inverse link between the barrenness of land and the human fertility. It would make sense that if you lived in a dull and/or desert environment, you might, at least subconsciously, desire to populate it. This is what I will probably remember about The West; as well as gas, guns and God.

Today I was missing English bitter and longed for a pint of flat, hoppy, brown liquid, served at room temperature in a good old British boozer. Some days I don't know how I reach my destination. I look back on the 60/70/80 miles that have been covered, and what with the wind and monotonous terrain, it seems like a miracle that I was able to keep going. Arrived in Kit Carson, a 200-strong town, with no library, and only one motel/restaurant. The elderly lady here remarked that I shared my surname with the local hospital. In the shop window of the one, small grocery store, I saw an advert for a three-bedroom house on the market at $72,500.

The weather turned nasty this evening; first there was snow, then rain, sheet lightning and gale force winds. As the lady in the cafe (where I was the only diner) said, “Good thing you got off the road”. Everything on the menu had a biblical name (well it was the Good Sheppard Inn) and I had the Samson Burger. The pantry and kitchen were in the same room as the 27-seater cafe, so I could watch my food being prepared silently and efficiently by Margaret and Stuart. 'No out of town checks' a sign on the wall said and there was an article about Margaret (aged 70) and her mother (87) who had recently retired. After the burger and a slice of pecan pie, Margaret told me all about the Indians, of which she was one, or at least fractionally. If you can trace your ancestry back to Indian blood, you get 'an Indian number' and if you live in Oklahoma you get a lot of benefits from casino profits. Oklahoma was where all the Indians were dispatched from the south-eastern states, along The Trail of Tears, in the nineteenth century. I had already wished I was heading further south and the more Margaret filled me in on Oklahoma's rich history, as well as her rolling, green hills, the more I wanted to go there. Instead I was lumbered with Kansas. Sorry Kansas, but that's the way I feel about you.

I had to be up early for a breakfast date with Margaret, as she was taking her mother to see a doctor in Lamar, where I was headed. Fay had seen many health professionals and tried all kinds of medical treatments for some kind of debilitating condition. In November she would be going on a 'prayer healing' vacation. “Did you want to stay in your room today? It's kinda windy.” Fortunately the wind was coming from the north and Lamar is due south of Kit Carson. I didn't have Margaret all to myself this morning, as a good-looking, young oil worker by the name of Dustin came in. He was a keen cyclist and offered to put me up if I passed through Great Bend in Kansas, which was only slightly off my intended route. There's a lot of oil in eastern Colorado and western Kansas apparently, and Dustin travels to various sites maintaining electrical equipment.

Castle Rock – Limon (October 20)

2008-10-21T09:07:00.000-07:00

Day 36

(NB if you have photos relevant to my trip - please email them to zoz261@yahoo.com. I am unable to load pictures from my camera)

Cereal at Mac's house and then bid farewell to one of the most generous and easy going people I've ever met.

My route has been adjusted slightly by cutting inland earlier – and also diagonally – so I will meet my projected self in a couple of days. It was a good thing too, as there was a fearsome wind out of the south, although it still hampered my progress. First stop, the library, full of nubile women and their broods. So many times I've seen the rear view of a beautiful hunk of woman, only for a big old bump to be revealed when she turns round. Is it something in the water? Today I'm missing British sarcasm and moaning. People are just too damn nice here. You can buy a 'treed lot' for $200,000 in the Castle Rock vicinity and Mac had pointed out million dollar homes yesterday. Real estate is pricey here because of the proximity to Denver and also thanks to the influx of Californians (Mac and family were from there too). Headed east on a shoulderless, quiet highway, through trees and hills, then just hills. Stopped in Kiowa to refill water bottles and to dine al fresco in the park. Often when buying a sandwich in a cafe it comes with crisps, which isn't really helping the obesity situation, especially when I didn't ask for them. Mac told me about a restaurant in Nebraska which serves a 5 lb hamburger. They take your picture with it and this is put on the hall of fame if you finish it and the hall of shame if you don't. 'Country Clutter Collectables' could be bought here, and they get top marks for their honesty. Women buy up this mock-old fashioned, Far East tat by the truckload, line their nests with it, only to discard it all in a few years and start all over again.

The next 50 miles were through British-themed open moorland, with grey skies to match. Houses are plonked arbitrarily on hillsides, with no gardens or trees. Unless their occupants are working the land, you wonder why they would choose such a windswept place. Left my bum bag behind whilst donning leggings and had to go back for it. Thank God I realised pretty quickly. A man leaned out of his car window, while driving past, to enquire where I was going and as I was returning for the aforementioned article at the time, I replied “The wrong way”. How friendly is that though? From there on it was a cold, grey, windy blur and I was utterly drained upon arrival at Limon, where the sign on the Interstate (I had to ride it for a few miles) whined “Please visit our town”. It was dark by now and I didn't see much of it as I headed straight for the Safari Motel. This is how the conversation went with the unsmiling Polish lady at reception :

Me - How long have you lived here?
She - In Limon 12 years.
Me - You don't seem very happy about it.
She - Why would I not be happy if I have lived here 12 years? Are you on a bicycle?
Me - Yes.
She - That is why you are very red in the face.

I could have chatted to her all day... but my stomach had a date at Southside Food & Drink, right across the road. They did a 'chicken fried chicken' and a 'chicken fried steak'; but I settled for a burger and a glass of Killian's Irish Red.

A breakfast (pastries, muffins, coffee, orange juice) in the office was included in the tariff. I asked the Polish husband if there were any motels in Kit Carson, 60 miles away, but he'd never been there and was unable to find out.

Castle Rock (October 19)

2008-10-20T09:25:00.000-07:00

Here's the photo of the game I played with Phyllis in Fort Collins that appeared in the Loveland newspaper.

Day 35

It was another hot one during this, a rest day, when we drove to Mac's wife's house nearby, where both his daughters, Eliza and Hanna joined us. His wife. Carrie, was the complete opposite of Mac on the tidiness stakes and her home bustled with mock-antique ornaments and autumn-themed decorations. The teenager banter was entertaining, especially Hanna's, who calls everyone 'dood'. The food was fantastic, especially the orange-flavoured pastries out of a packet (so heavy and intense) but sadly for me, they were another Mormon household and their cupboards were coffeeless. For all the religion in the West it seemed a little odd that a local paper was crammed to the gills with adverts for sexual services, strip-clubs, etc. Mac was so good to me; he made me feel like one of the family and I decided to stay another night, especially as I had plenty of time now that I wasn't heading further south to Colorado Springs and Pueblo. I was pretty worried about the next state on my itinerary though, Kansas, as a lot of people I have mentioned it to has said I should avoid it. It can't be as bad as southern Wyoming surely? Mac dropped me off at a bike shop in the afternoon, while he took off for an emergency NA meeting for something or other. Had the bike equivalent of an oil change (a new chain) as I have now ridden more than 2,000 miles. A guy in the shop told me how a group of his friends had cycled non-stop from San Diego to Maryland in nine days. However, they only cycled one at a time, while the others relaxed in one or more RV's, where they had their own masseuse and acupuncturist. On the way back to Mac's a girl shouted out of a car window “Ooh nice crack!” As far as I'm aware I had no cracks on view.

Mac hadn't returned from his meeting when I returned. However, Lyvonne, or Lavonne or something, Mac's landlady, invited me upstairs for a beer and showed a lot of interest in my route and gave me suggestions, as she had 11 siblings who lived all over the Mid West. Felt a bit guilty about the beer when Mac returned, yet he seemed OK with it. In the evening we went back to his wife's place for a barbecue. I don't think Mac does a lot of cooking - or washing-up if his kitchen is anything to go by. The barbecue could have fed a dozen, not just the five of us, and featured huge slabs of beef, garlic rolls, roast potatoes, fried onions and salad. No alcohol or coffee of course, although there was decaffeinated tea on offer. I helped Mac clear the garage after dinner (tips and icebergs came to mind) where he pointed out the 'Mormon stockpile' of porridge oats and tinned food. This family weren't 'kosher' Mormons though – they voted Democrat for one thing. There is another child, a boy called Haydn, who was away on a hunting trip. His girlfriend had recently given birth, but it wasn't his child. Not only was he surprised, but so was everyone else – including her – as supposedly she didn't know about it and she had delivered the baby herself. Carrie managed a retail store and used to work in another one called London Fog, selling winter clothes. The girls put out Hallowe'en lights and a character called Marcus the Carcass, who was made up of lit-up head, hands and feet, and sits on a lawn as if rising from the dead. Hallowe'en is a big deal here, at least in a commercial sense. Next we played boys vs girls Trivial Pursuit, although as is often the case with this game in my experience, we didn't finish it. Saw the weather at Mac's and it looked like I was in for milder temperatures and rain.

Littleton – Castle Rock (October 18)

2008-10-19T14:29:00.000-07:00

Day 34

A crazy day. Although only riding 33 miles to Castle Rock, I fitted in two bouts of Scrabble. To begin with, Tom escorted me on his bike to the Platte Bar & Grille, 12 miles away still within not so Littleton. He took me along scenic paths, well-used by other cyclists, all wearing fancy gear, right down to specialized sunglasses. None of them even looked up as they passed, as in urban areas cyclists ignore each other, whereas in the country we smile and wave. Just like the roads here, cycle paths are awash with signs and regulations. It was just like a highway in fact, with a centre line and 15 mph speed limit signs. I could well imagine a division of bike cops enforcing this with speed guns. There was also a separate pedestrian path, along which people were jogging, or at least 'seriously' walking. Cars are the only method of transport to get from A to B, so no one uses paths to actually get anywhere – it is purely for exercise. Tom told me Denver is the healthiest city in the country and he certainly fit into that demographic. At the age of 68, he still rode fast, frequently and often went touring - he had circled much of Scotland. The views were nice along the Platte River, bursting with autumnal foliage and endless estates of beige, wooden houses. The sprawling Denver metropolis is 3 million strong and is the largest city in the top left quarter of the US.

Met Deborah at the aforementioned bar, frequented by bikers and enthusiasts – all dressed up like they had bit parts in Easy Rider (they don't do things half-heartedly here) and of course all the motorbikes are ferocious, growling things. We sat outside accompanied by the dulcet tones of revved up engines and heavy rock. Too much overt testosterone for my liking. Deborah took my mind of things however, with her pale blue eyes, big hair and personality to match. She had been the first Denver resident to contact me, but as I hadn't heard back from her in a while, I had arranged a game with Judy instead. Then she got back in touch a couple of days ago and I never say no to Scrabble. Working in marketing, a Catholic and unusually in my experience – born and raised in her current location – and not married with several children. I had a BLT with a couple of pints of de rigeur untasteably cold beer and we were joined by Deborah's friends, Jennifer, Jason, and their daughter, Jordan. I had all the luck in our Scrabble game, picking up both blanks and effortlessly fitting them into two bingos (TEASING & STEALER – bingotastic letters). I also commandeered three of the Ss, although my opponent did manage to play FOX with the X going two ways on a double word for nearly 50 points. After her friends left, Deborah told me about her ex-marriage and recent dating activity. She'd met this great guy recently, and on their third date he confessed he'd done a 15 year stretch for domestic violence (the length of the sentence would suggest extreme violence). She then turned detective and found out he'd carried out another violent act towards a woman since he'd been out of prison. Deborah came across as a tough cookie, able to look after herself, but also not stupid enough to think she could change a man like that.

We parted mid-afternoon and then it was goodbye to the Rockie Mountains as I pedalled a further 20 miles along Highway 85, in a southerly direction to the town of Castle Rock, named after a butte that does indeed look like a castle. Is it is my imagination, or does every young woman driving alone have a mobile phone permanently glued to their ears? Why don't they visit their female friends once in a while? Here I hooked up with Kris, who lived in Colorado Springs, another 40 miles south, but as she was unsure about offering me a bed while she had young relatives staying, she had kindly agreed to come up to Castle Rock. We met at Qdoba, a Mexican chain restaurant – but it seemed pretty good. I had nachos with black beans, beef, guacamole, etc, and compared to Mexican food I've had in Britain, which I've found bland and samey, this had a unique, piquant flavour. Kris was another example of the 'married young with numerous children' brigade and when I complimented her on the size of the rock on her ring-finger, she said it had been an upgrade. Her eldest, a 20 year old, has just got engaged too. Very well-travelled, she had lived in Amsterdam for a year and both her, and her husband worked in the accountancy field. On the Scrabble front, my luck didn't hold out from earlier and although securing a win, it was a frustrating encounter, with letters that didn't gel. Kris played ITTY (we didn't have a Scrabble dictionary so I didn't challenge) and I added a T to it, much to the amusement of a staff member.

Mac, the truck driver encountered in Laramie, met me here and drove me back to his place. Upon stepping into the passenger seat I thought “Uh oh”, as I tried to avoid stepping on empty tin cans and plastic bottles strewn about the floor of the vehicle, and as expected, his house continued the theme, with pathways dividing cardboard boxes and piles of stuff. This doesn't diminish the fact that he was a very nice guy, a big teddy bear of a man, renting a basement since splitting from his wife. He then took me to a place called Village Inn, another chain restaurant, where we met up with the local chapter of Narcotics Anonymous. Mac used to have a serious drug problem (as well as with alcohol) and meth amphetamines was his tipple. Meth is again on the rise and a serious problem with young people, including one of Mac's daughter's, who also turned up. I think Hanna had just been experimenting and Mac said all the other people there were clean. They were a nice bunch anyway and we talked about regular stuff as I tucked into a brownie pie. There were about a dozen choices of pie and they all sounded divine, so it was a difficult choice. They only cost $3.99 for a huge slice and a mere $7.99 for a whole pie to take away! Mac hasn't touched a drop of alcohol, smoked, injected or anything since February 19th 1988, yet he still goes to NA, I think more for the camaraderie than anything else, and is vice-chairman of the 'Mile High' group (somewhat ironic name) and they meet once a week (this was the social part after the meeting). All the waitresses knew about NA and joked about it – there's also an AA group that hangs out there!

Back at Mac's place, I met his ginger cat, Chance, who his children had stolen from a neighbour's house. Mac justified their actions by explaining the neighbours hadn't put up lost posters or anything. Chance pees down the drain and kicks a towel about that is laying there to mop up any drips. Slept on his couch, which was just fine, although it was pitched within a sea of chaos.

Fort Collins - Littleton (October 17)

2008-10-18T09:38:00.000-07:00

Day 33

Clouds clung to the pinnacles of distant mountains like silk, as I continued to travel southwards through Colorado. It was a good road, lined with glistening-leaved brilliant yellow, red and green trees, landscaped shrubberies, water features and rock gardens. Down to a T shirt for the first time in a week and today must have been over 70 degrees, with a gentle breeze. Stopped in Loveland for to pick up a copy of the newspaper, where Phyllis and I were shaking hands on page 2. It was a good picture and the photographer had cleverly hidden the word PORN on the board with our hands. Stopped at Panera Bread, a chain cafe, in Longmont, where they give you a plastic device that bleeps and flashes when your sandwich has been made up. This afternoon a four inch grasshopper gave me a fright when it landed on my leg and I saw lots of gophers – mini fat otters – squeaking from their burrows, like housewives gossiping. It had been going well until I neared Denver, as although still on the edge of the city, the highway became busier and the shoulder disappeared. For the first time since my arrival I experienced cycle rage and disabused cars driving disrespectfully close and fast. They had two other lanes, so why did they have to go in mine? Often they would beep their horns and shout at me - but only when they were whizzing past and I couldn't make out a word of it – and not when we were stationary at lights. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be there, yet there were no signs to this effect and in America if there isn't a hundred signs telling you not to do something then in must be OK. Talking of signs, it amuses me to see real estate ads (plastered all over streets and press) usually with photos of smiling, attractive women. I wonder if some men choose agents on their looks and if this ever causes arguments with spouses.

I was also mad with myself for rushing, as today's Pixie Pit host had asked me to try and make it to the school she taught at by closing time at 3 pm, because the children would love to see me. I arrived in Littleton, a suburb to the south of Denver, at 3.15. It was a big place and it took me ages to find a library, with various people's bad advice and/or my inability to follow it. The little, old library lady gave me a map of Littleton which didn't have the street in question, even though it was in Littleton. She then gave me a huge map of Denver and much to my consternation tried to find the street herself – without using the index. She couldn't find it and then looked on an internet map site. We found a street with the same name, but she said it wasn't the right street because the street number was too high for that neighbourhood. I took down the directions anyway and made me way to this street, six miles to the west (still within the same massive suburb. So, I found the street – South Miller Court – however the numbers didn't go up high enough. I spoke to people living there and they said that was the end of the street and there was no other section. They also looked up the exact address I had on internet and drew a blank. I phoned my hosts and they said I must be in the wrong place. I followed their directions (another few miles along nasty beeping roads) and they came out to meet me in their car and shepherded me to ANOTHER South Miller Court in Littleton. There are two South Miller Streets as well. Who in their right mind...

I was hot, flustered, thirsty and exhausted when I finally sat down in Judy and Tom's cavernous house (they said it was a pretty small house) and fixed me a tasty meal of meat-stuffed peppers and Californian white wine. Tom had owned a bike shop and had a whole host of bicycles, including a titanium one. He was aghast at my footwear and insisted I try a pair of special shoes with 'cleats' that lock into special pedals, the merits of which he was so convinced in, he fitted a pair to my Trek. Judy told me about the half-sister she has recently discovered in Yorkshire, from a union between her father (before he met Judy's mother) when he was stationed in England during the War. Now deceased, her father hadn't told anyone about his other daughter or her mother. Once again this couple had lived in various locations throughout the US and their politics were split along typical gender lines (ie she was Democrat and he was Republican). Tom was very clued up about the Middle East and American foreign policy, and I was shot down in flames when I tried to criticize what I saw to be its 'bully boy' tactics. Tom believed (and made his points with articulacy) that Uncle Sam 'sorted countries out' for no gain or political leverage and rebuilt their economies just out of niceness (I'm paraphrasing). On a gloomier note he was convinced that if/when troops pulled out of Iraq and Afghanistan that Iran would start to throw their weight around and possibly even deploy nuclear weapons. Make words, not war - that's what I say – and that is exactly what Sheila and I did. My armies of letters soon had control of the board, with two early bingos (GREEDIER & REPUTED) and Judy's arsenal suffered from poor capability, as I had all the incendiary devices (both blanks and most of the premium tiles). Then it was time to head upstairs and I saw what Tom had meant about their fondness for soft beds, as it was one of those mattresses that sinks underneath you like jelly; not that I cared, as I'm always so tired that I could sleep in a broom cupboard.

The next day it was predicted to reach 80+ and I changed my plans to only go as far as Castle Rock, which was where the truck driver who had offered me accommodation in Rawlins lived. Tom and Judy plied me with breakfast and maps before a late start.

Laramie – Fort Collins (October 16)

2008-10-17T23:01:00.001-07:00

Day 32

Evan escorted me to the dentist on his way to work. It was actually a dental nurse who saw me and she said it should be OK to wait for my tooth to be fixed (capped) when I got home, providing it didn't start to hurt. The main thing was that it didn't affect my masticatory enjoyment, otherwise it would have to be attended to immediately. Dropped by the university library before heading out of town. Why is it that young males with baseball caps look cool in the US, whereas British cap-wearing men just look stupid? So, Chris stayed with Evan a few days ago. I found out some more stuff about him. He lives in Santa Barbara, California, he wrote to heart disease organizations (who he is raising money for) all over the country before he embarked on his trip and many of them arranged free accommodation in fancy hotels, meals in top restaurants, bar tabs... He works for a man who makes magicians props. I wish I could say abracadabra and make him disappear, that's for sure. It looks like my wish will be granted soon enough, as he's travelling in a more southerly direction through Oklahoma and I'm going through Kansas. I did begin to head south today however, and the Westerly wind was extra strong across my bows. Finally it was warm enough to strip down to shorts and I found a nice spot in the lee of a building, to have lunch.

Crossed into state number six, Colorado, this afternoon and straight away I got phone reception (nothing in the whole of Wyoming) the road improved, it was greener, there were trees and interesting rock formations. Then it was all yellow again for a bit, but then it did gradually become more verdant as I dropped down to Fort Collins at 4,894' (I don't think I was ever below 6,500' in the eight days it took to cross Wyoming). Another university town, it seemed like a nice place, but with too much traffic for my tastes and it seemed ridiculous that I couldn't stay on the main road through the downtown district (there were 'no cycling' signs) when there were three lanes for vehicles and no sidewalk.

Continued to the south of the town to meet Sheila, who had recently moved from California with her husband, to be near their daughter and grandchildren. Sheila was happy with the relocation, but Larry missed the golf course he lived on in Californian and his golfing buddies. They had a big, beautiful house and they had guests – from Sheila's Scrabble club. Tucked into the buffet first, which Sheila had prepared and the others had contributed towards – the best part of which was the pumpkin cake.. The organizer, David (who had once cycled from New York to Denver) asked me to make a speech and so I talked about who I was, why I was doing this crazy venture and my experiences so far. Then they all said who they were and where they came from (many were from 'back east'). It was so nice to be at a Scrabble club in someone's house, with food, drink and a relaxed cosiness – rather than the austere atmosphere of some clubs. I played two games, both of which were hard fought and hard won – by me. In the first one, against Phyllis (who had a board made out of a picture of Tiger Woods), I put down QUILL with the Q on a double letter (also making QI) and it reached a double word tile (71 points). In the second game, with Eleanor, my HEADCASE was disallowed, but I'm sure it would be an acceptable SOWPODS play. Everyone came over to talk to me and were admiring of what I was doing, including one lady who had a Scrabble board brooch with the word FUN spelt out. A photographer from a newspaper in nearby Loveland turned up and took about a hundred photos while I was playing with Phyllis. He said it would be in tomorrow's paper. Then I headed for bed, in the basement, which was like a whole separate house. Every room had intercoms and about six light switches - but property is reasonable here, Sheila told me, at least compared to the San Fransisco area, where they were from.

Over a breakfast of homemade blueberry pancakes and bacon, Sheila and Larry told me about the foreign exchange student from Glasgow who had stayed with them some years ago. He was 11 years old, hated everything about America and his strong accent made communication arduous. It had been a full family migration from California, as both their children lived down the road. Their daughter, Christie came over this morning and her young son was entranced by the bell on my bike. Then I packed up my plastic bags once more and Larry escorted me on his bike out of the neighbourhood, and back on to Highway 287.

Elk Mountain - Laramie (October 15)

2008-10-16T09:19:00.000-07:00

Day 31

A month into this trip and it was another cold one, as I made my way up a dirt track for the first 25 miles, then on to a highway from Medicine Bow to Laramie, thus avoiding I-80. It'll be in the 60s again on Monday, Tammy had said at the weekend. Yeah right. That's what they tell all the tourists. The unmade road was fine, except when a vehicle passed, sending up a cloud of dust. Elk Mountain remained in view behind me for much of the day's 83 mile ride, wearing a fluffy hat. I saw a herd of about 50 antelopes. Lambs to the slaughter. They should at least be given a fighting chance. I wanted to teach them to disperse when they are frightened – not stick together, give them flak jackets, helmets, hoof-operated weapons. Stopped in the tiny community of Medicine Bow to get a BLT sandwich made up at the cafe/bar and while waiting I took a few Tootsie Roll chewy candies from a jar on the counter. Working my way through them while riding, I discovered one had bits of bone in it. Wait a minute, that was no bone, that was about a quarter of one of my tooth. It didn't hurt, but it was at the front, halfway between the middle and the back, so it would show when I smiled. Along with my accent, my smile was the way I worked my ticket over here. I wondered if it needed to be attended to and whether it would be covered by the travel insurance. Sat in a park in Rock River with the sandwich. Another town of about 200 souls, yet the park had undercover seating, play equipment and barbecues. Feeling weary today, I don't know why. The land opened out this afternoon and it was all yellow. And so to Laramie, a good looking, prosperous university town with plenty of cyclists. In the grocery store I was once again struck by the tallness of the people; some of the men are around 6'6” and many of the women are 5'10” or more – and often with child.

Tonight I had accommodation arranged with a couple, and approaching their address a man on a bike shouted out to me that he was my host and he had one more lap to do, then he would meet me outside his house. Evan lived opposite a park where some kind of cycling race with obstacles was taking place. I had come across him through a rather dodgy sounding website called Warm Showers, which was in fact similar to Couchsurfing – aimed at the biking community. A young engineer from Iowa, he lived with his wife, Kennedy, a politics teacher, who had a migraine and I saw little of her. They had two feisty Basset Hound puppies and a very affectionate white and grey cat. Evan cooked me up a pasta dish with a spicy sauce, choc chip cookie dough ice cream and beer (one was called Fat Tire from Fort Collins and had a bike on the label). We got along tremendously and talked a lot of politics, as well as watching a bit of the final presidential debate on TV. Obama seems to be doing well in the polls and in recent years only Regan managed to overhaul such a deficit in the polls. Who knows though and it is pretty exciting. I'm really not getting to see a cross-section of America, as even though most of the Western states are safe as houses for the McCain side, just about all the people I've stayed with are wimpy, pinko, fagots like me. Actually Evan is still undecided. He showed me a sample ballot paper and compared to the ones in Britain it is so complicated. An A4 sheet with about 20 sections in both sides for all kinds of dignatories. You can even put your own suggestion in for some of them. Apparently Pistol Pete, the mascot of the Denver Cowboys football team gets a lot of votes. It doesn't beat the goat who was elected some years back as the sheriff of some county in the boondocks, and was armed with a badge and gun. It's a true story folks.

I was unbelievably tired tonight and while typing this, sitting up in bed, when a wave of exhaustion halted me mid-sentence – much to the playful cat's annoyance. The next day Evan made me cereal and enough pancakes to sink a battleship.

Rawlins – Elk Mountain (October 14)

2008-10-15T08:30:00.000-07:00

Day 30

More sun, wind from behind and the temperature nudging into the 40s. Woo hoo! Still mad with myself for 'cheating'. It didn't snow and it wasn't windy on Sunday afternoon. It would have been so easy to ride 15 miles west and then back again. If only I'd thought of it. I bet Chris cheats and doesn't even admit it. Easy riding, along I-80 (where else?) with a couple of big hills, but as the gradient can't be too severe for the trucks, they weren't that onerous. Nestled down out of the wind, by a river, for my lunch break, where I noticed every single riveted section of the bridge had a bee or wasp nest adhered to it. All rivers are flowing east now I'm over the continental divide. And so to Elk Mountain, named after, er, Elk Mountain, which I'd seen way off before Rawlins and rises to 11,156 feet. It is a charming town of less than 200 people, a few peaceful miles from the Interstate, with unmade roads divvying up ramshackle homesteads. Couldn't believe there was a library in such a tiny place; a one room wooden shack with strips of purple tinsel hanging in the inner doorway. There was only one large table for me to type at, around which several children and one mother were engrossed in Hallowe'en craftiness, and one girl had snot that threatened to drip from her nose every time she breathed out, only to withdraw once more. The elderly lady behind the desk came over to me as quickly as her zimmer-frame would allow, to tell me she had been having trouble with her laptop connection too. She suggested I drive by the Senior Centre, where I should get on the internet. This didn't work either and I slowly peddled around the town, with its golden-leaved cottonwood trees, its cats, dogs, goats and children, and took pictures. Later I discovered that The Garden Spot Pavilion used to be here and such artistes as Glenn Miller and Louis Armstrong performed there. Also, that Wyoming is called the 'Equality State' because in 1870 local woman Eliza Swain was the first US woman granted the right to vote in an election. Furthermore, George 'Big Nose' Parrot, an outlaw from these parts, had the unique distinction of having his skin made into a pair of shoes after he was hanged.

Then I checked into the Elk Mountain Hotel, or rather knocked at the house next door, because there was no one at reception. It was a good thing I didn't come here yesterday as it was closed on Mondays and there was nothing else for 15 miles. Chris had been here. I could smell him. It was a gorgeous place (ie expensive) in a Gone With the Windish kind of way – and my room would have been fit for Scarlett O'Hara – all plump pillows, brass bedsteads and frilly flounces. In this slice of yesteryear apple pie, it didn't seem right for it to be run by a couple from Sidcup, and their accents grated. I had been homesick, but only in a fantasy sense, Susan was a sweetheart though, especially as she only charged me $85 instead of $120. Yes, she said, Chris had been here. What was he like? Oh, your build, quiet. Annoying more like. Sat downstairs in what Susan quaintly termed 'the parlour', sipping Earl Grey, listening to Mr Sinatra and other crooners and a grandfather clock's chimes at three minutes past every quarter hour. Dare I even look at the restaurant menu? There was local venison; a snip at $36.95. I had the chicken salad with ranch dressing and a bottle of Samuel Adams beer. It was so nice to relax in my boudoir, where I powdered my nose and rouged my cheeks, particularly after the last few nights. Did He sleep on this very bed? No, he always camped and didn't even have a sleeping bag, only a blanket. Tough as nails he was.

The grandfather clock chimed all night long and most times I heard it. I had a Continental breakfast of granola, sunflower toast and blueberry & redcurrant pastries. Anything cooked was extra.

Leg 5: Rawlins, WY - Colorado Springs, CO

2008-10-14T12:04:00.000-07:00

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Point of Rocks – Rawlins (October 13)

2008-10-14T09:42:00.000-07:00

Day 29

I left the 'motel' with some trepidation, for although it was sunny, there was plenty of snow, and where was the wind coming from? It seemed to be coming from the west. Thank you wind. The cafe part of the bar, bizarrely closed at weekends, rustled up a splendid feast comprising :

4 plate-length rashers bacon
3 eggs over hard
2 slices toast
Hash browns
1 coffee + 2 refills
1 orange juice

The waitress, who was unbelievably attentive and polite, had written “whimpy” beside bacon on the bill, as I had requested it not to be crispy. It was a good thing I'd slept well again and was wide awake, as she gave me change out of 20 when I had given her a 50. So, today then, another biggie, psychologically more than physically, as I had lost confidence as a result of being picked up by Tammy and I hadn't peddled one inch in nearly 48 hours. I had also cheated. Point of Rocks was about 15 miles east of the pick up, so really I should have cycled west for 15 miles first. Of course I didn't. It wasn't like anyone cared. I was only cheating myself. I will have to tell people, yes, I cycled across America, except for 15 miles in Wyoming. Today's ride commenced with a classic Adrian blunder. When Tammy had taken me to her power station, we had driven along a frontage road (short access roads parallel to freeways) and she had pointed out where I could turn on to the Freeway further up. I did this and it turned into a dirt track. The Freeway was getting further and further away. Finally I carried my bike (a few feet at a time due to the weight) across snowy sagebrush – I didn't want to push it in case of thorns. Then I had to take off all three panniers to get it over a barbed wire fence.

I had also been stressing about the state of the shoulder, yet I needn't have worried, as it was as snow-free as the rest of the freeway. I think the reason snow disappears must be something to do with the dryness of the air. Pedaling uphill was noticeably tough because of the cold, thin air; however, it was mostly downhill today and the wind licked me along. By the time I'd reached Rawlins my average was 18.4 mph! I crossed not one, but TWO continental divides today, which makes no sense to me. What REALLY confused me though was that the first divide sign gave a height of 6,930 and the second one, 7,000. These two signs were about 50 miles apart and it seemed like I was going down (the landscape opening up in front and not behind) for 90% of the time. Anyway. I had crossed the backbone of America and it was to be largely downhill from here, in both senses of the word. There doesn't seem to be a Wyoming logo on the road signs, which is probably due to there being no graphic designers here. “We'll pay you double the salary you get in Denver if you move to Wyoming.” “No thanks.” “Triple?” “Thanks, but I have my mental wellbeing to consider.” There was a truck whose every side was plastered with the words “Jesus Christ is Lord not a swear word”. What were they transporting? Bibles? If the truck was being used as a billboard alone, how could spending money on gas instead of helping the needy be a sensible use of resources? In Wamsutter, where I had planned to spend a night, there was a man in the Subway cafe with gold caps on every single tooth. He might have to be careful not to smile in big cities late at night. There was no more snow on the ground at, what I had thought to be a lower altitude, although there were football sized lumps of brown ice in the shoulder, dislodged from trucks, but thankfully none fell on me.

And so to Rawlins, which I'm sure was a really nice town (it had a gentrified Wild West feel with many of the old clapboard houses turned into shops with all the original features intact) except it was mighty cold, especially with that icy wind and I headed straight for the cosy confines of the library. There was an email from Nate in Twin Falls telling me Chris had been in the news AGAIN, in Cheyenne, where the police had given him an escort through the town. I bet everyone loves him. I bet God loves him too. Then to the Best Motel. Yeah right. How long does it take to run vacuum the floor once in a while? It was run by a silver-haired Asian man, and his wife who couldn't speak a word of English watched me the whole time. When her husband showed me the room, she stood at the back door of the office. Later, when I couldn't get wi fi, he made phone calls, called people in, and then we went up to his bedroom, where his wife was in bed, to look at the router. We got it to work eventually. Tonight I broke with tradition and had Spaghetti al Salmone at the Rawlins Buffet, where, unlike all the truck drivers, I was too mean to fork out $13 for the 'eat all you want' buffet. One such trucker asked where I was from (I just have to open my mouth and people start conversations) and he invited me to stay at his place in Colorado! Mac picks up old tyres from garages and his company shreds them for reuse in playgrounds.Today was Columbo Day, yet how come none of his programmes were on TV? During the night I was woken a few times by the freight trains as usual, which criss-cross the land. They sound their horns three times when approaching railroad crossings, as unlike in Britain, there are often no automatic barriers.

The next morning I dined at Square Shooters Eating House, where I watched a man describing a woman's curves with his hands to a friend. He was doing no such thing – he was describing the size of some animal he'd shot. In the local paper there was a photo of a rodeo rider called Keefe Rice; didn't he know Keefe was a surname, not a Christian name? The idea of life in The West appeals to me on many levels, but if I was to emigrate here without a woman I'd die a lonely man, as all the womenfolk are married off at 20 and progeny fly out of them like rabbits.

Point of Rocks (October 12)

2008-10-13T15:51:00.000-07:00

(Three posts today as no wi fi until Rawlins)

Day 28

It had stopped snowing by 11 am, but Sunday ennui had already set in and I decided to stay put. I had planned to get to Wamsutter on Saturday, to Rawlins on Sunday and then have a rest day in Rawlins on Monday. Instead I was making today the rest day, I would try to reach Rawlins on Monday and the next place on Tuesday. Bumped into Tammy shoveling snow from the gas station forecourt and I helped her out with a broom, after which she took me back to her trailer for toasted fried egg sandwiches with coffee. Later she took me to the 'living' ghost town of Superior (past a pick-up truck that had skidded off the road last night and turned over)and I had a beer in the Canyon Bar dating from cowboy times. Tammy reckoned Butch Cassidy (who was a butcher in Rock Springs) and the Sundance Kid drank in this bar, which was run by an octogenarian lady, with dust covering every surface, from the intricately carved cherry wood bar to the animal mounts. Tammy told me how Mark's grandfather (who runs Point of Rocks) shot the tyres of a truck when he caught the driver stealing diesel and peppered this and other tales with the catchphrase “Hoooooly smokes!” She drove me up to the Jim Bridger Power Station as well, the biggest this side of the Mississippi, then to the laundromat, where we chatted to another trucker from Nevada who had some controversial theories about politics and women which I won't go into. Thumbed through the Sweetwater County Guide this afternoon, while Tammy took a nap. Some things I came across :

1.Main news on the front page – “Genealogy Class Set. Librarian Micki Gilmore will teach a class on genealogy...”
2.Front page of the pull-out hunting section – a beaming 12 year old girl holding the antlers of the bloody-nosed antelope she'd just shot.
3.Lost & found ads – Money has been found outside the Family Dollar store.

In the evening I rejoined Tammy at the bar, where we again shared a pizza (and she insisted on paying for everything) although she didn't drink beer with me as she had to be up at 5.30. Another trucker, who looked like John Voight with a moustache, said the reason the oilfields round here - and the offshore ones in the Gulf - were capped was because the military wanted to keep them in reserve in case of World War III. Tammy had introduced me to him and told him about my journey, but as is the case with a minority of people either side of the Pond, he wasn't remotely interested in what I was doing, who I was or where I came from. People like this are such losers. When I was able to turn my back on him. Tammy told me about her time in construction and how she walked across girders hundreds of feet up without a safety harness. One time a crane driver gave her a lift to the top of the building in his basket. When she had finished a small job, she hopped back into the basket, but this time he played a prank on her and dropped the basket so it was in free fall, until it was five feet above the ground. There was a sign in the bar that read “Your wife called and you can stay as long as you want” and I hadn't noticed before that the wooden structure in the middle of the bar with all the optics was an old wagon, or the wagon wheel candelabra suspended from the ceiling. Tammy gave me pepper spray in case I was attacked by wild animals and she drove me back to my domicile, where we said our goodbyes. John Voight was on TV tonight, in Deliverance, which I really shouldn't have watched, being a lone city boy in such a place, but I did. Weirdly there was an episode of Southpark on another channel with a piss take of the 'pig squealing' incident from this very film.

Rock Springs – Point of Rocks (October 11)

2008-10-13T15:47:00.000-07:00

Day 27

First of all I stocked up on provisions and paid a visit to Rock Springs library – or tried to – as the snooty woman there wouldn't let me in before the opening time of 12. As this was half an hour away and there was nowhere else to go, I decided to leave posting my blog and straddle my machine. Yes indeed, I was up against a 25 mph headwind from the start, and although I soon warmed up, my speed was pitiful and there were 76 miles to cover. My head was down the whole time, I had my cagoule hood pulled over my helmet and I rode standing up to try and gain momentum. After 12 miles a pick-up truck pulled up in front of me, a woman climbed out and told me I would not make it to my destination as a storm was coming and she knew about Wyoming weather, having lived here 30 years. I stubbornly tried to resist her offer of a ride, but she said I would die if I continued and that was that.

I could barely talk to her as we drove to her home town of Point of Rocks, some 20 miles up the road from Rock Springs, because I felt so disappointed with myself for giving up so easily. Perhaps she didn't know what she was talking about... It didn't seem that bad... Maybe she was like Kathy Bates in that film Misery and I would end up having my ankles smashed with a hammer and she would make me rewrite my entire blog so as to conform to her radical religious views... Actually Tammy was very nice and totally normal. She took me to the petrol station in this place, which was little more than a trailer park, where the grandson of the man who owned the whole town let me stay in a motel room (a portakabin) free of charge! It was rough and ready, like student accommodation, although I was very grateful. I don't mind dirt on the floor, foil covering a crack in a window and having to take a panel off to turn the heating on because the knob has broken. It had a very effective fan-operated heater, hot water and a comfy bed. Then I went to the one public indoor place in Point of Rocks (ie a bar) where I stayed in the company of Denese and an assortment of truck drivers, from 2 to 8 pm. The storm did arrive soon enough, with horizontal snow drifting in from the north and a wind chill factor well below freezing. The weatherman said it was unseasonably cold and snowy in these parts. Great. It was forecast to be as bad tomorrow, but back up in the 60s on Monday, when I would have to try to get back on schedule. As usual people were aghast at what I was doing, especially with what I was wearing. “Are they your warmest clothes?” they would ask. Tammy had been camping once on a beautiful summers day when it was in the 70s. Suddenly a storm arrived out of nowhere, the temperature plummeted to the 30s and it started to snow.

Tammy, whose grey hair curled out from under the woolly hat she never removed, worked as a janitor at a nearby coal-fired power station and she was one of the most interesting people I'd met up to this point. From an Illinois family of nine children (the other eight were all racist she said) she used to be a street performer and was accomplished in martial arts, and once hospitalized a 6'4” man making unwelcome sexual advances. She was of the opinion that some political leaders, such as Gandhi and Kennedy shared a 'world view' and others, such as Bush, had a narrow view. She also believed the Bush Administration was behind the 9/11 plane crashes and Lyndon Johnson had Kennedy assassinated. Everyone she speaks to says they hate Bush and that they will vote Democrat, and yet something doesn't add up because this state is staunchly Republican. It may have the lowest population, yet it is economically vibrant due to the oil, gas, coal – and trona mines (producing baking powder amongst other things). People come from all over the US to work here because of the job situation and because wages are high.

We had a few beers and a pizza, played pool (she didn't care for Scrabble though) and we listened to bar room banter. There were no tables, only the curving bar, around which people would start conversations with anyone else who cared to listen. Tammy would say “Where are you from?” and “What are you carrying?” as soon as they walked in. One man said that his former profession (musician) and present one (truck driving) were much the same, as the majority of both were spent on the road, and the only difference was that he was paid more for the latter. He was away for a fortnight at a time, returned home to be with his four young children for a weekend and then he was off again. A conversation with another man went like this.

He : My longest marriage lasted 17 years.
Me : How long was your shortest marriage?
He : Four days.

Tammy took me back to her trailer, which although tiny, was cosy and had a handmade spacecraft feel with its silvery insulated walls, and its minimalism appealed to me. She earned $350 a week, parking and plumbing in her trailer here cost $200 a month + electricity. She was also paying for her daughter's rent - a student in nearby Green River. She showed me her pencil drawings and then drove me back to the 'motel', where I settled down in front of the box with milk, Whoppers and Trail Mix for the night.

In the morning it was snowing some more.

Lyman – Rock Springs (October 10)

2008-10-13T15:31:00.000-07:00

Day 26

Delayed my departure until after 11, wishing I could have sat in the cosy Lyman library all day. Today I wore my warmest clothes :

Underwear
2 pair socks
Lycra shorts
Leggings
Cycling shirt
Black jumper
Thin waterproof coat
Fleece gloves
Plimsolls
Overshoes
Woolly hat
Cycle helmet
Sunglasses

I'm so glad I picked up the gloves at Walmart in Evanston and the sunglasses were a godsend for keeping snowflakes at bay. It really wasn't that bad, except it took 20 minutes to warm up and the same after each stop. All that mattered was keeping warm and dry. The cycling took care of itself. Parts of me were toasty warm most of the day, but the usual suspects of feet and hands were pretty numb throughout. Every mile or so for 60 miles there was a billboard advertising Hotel America (60 miles away). Perfect families taunted me in luxurious hot swimming pools, jacuzzis and snuggled up in Egyptian cotton. At least they were something to lose myself in and gave rise to an emotional response. There was a herd of cows and cowboys with lassos before I left Lyman, then I saw an antelope. Often when I go on a long ride I get a yearning for a certain kind of food and although I'm hungry, only that one item will hit the spot. A couple of days ago it was coffee ice cream. Not today obviously; in fact today's craving was brought on by the brown buttes speckled with white, reminding me of chocolate cake mix when the flour and cocoa are added. I would have loved to be somewhere cosy with a slice of my Mother's chocolate cake and a coffee, listening to the Archers, or anything on Radio 4 delivered by a Home Counties plummy vocal. Yes, I was homesick today. I missed silly things like Countdown, pansies and Branston Pickle. I was also reminded of home by a large haulage firm called England, printed on the side of their trucks in a red Gothic script. I had my lunch in the dry, at an exit doubling back under the Interstate, also providing a good place to urinate. From Green River onwards impressive buttes stood erect against the grey sky, straight out of a Western. Their lower slopes were snowy, yet because the rocky tops have straight sides, the snow doesn't stick and they remain darkly threatening. I go into a bit of a daze on such roads as this and a couple of times drifted down exits when my bike blindly followed the curve of the shoulder. I also have to remember to look behind when crossing these exits, in case a vehicle is turning off at high speed.

Came off at Rock Springs, as the snow had switched to needles of pain. This is where I hooked up with Denese, another Pixie Pit player, in her house beautifully decorated in warm earth tones. From Jamaica, she worked in mental health and is also a member of the LDS church, the fastest growing denomination in the world. Denese and Steve had invited a couple of their work colleagues along for a chicken buffet and a game of you know what. A photographer showed up too, from the Mining Rocket, a local paper, the name of which bears witness to Wyoming's coal-mining, in addition to the oil and gas reserves. He doubled as a reporter and took some pictures of us starting to play. We played two four-player games and I've never known Scrabble to be such a springboard for humour, with plenty of word-based jokes, although they wouldn't seem so funny written down. Denese was the star of the show however, easily triumphing in both bouts and her tour de force was going out with ALCOVED on a triple word. I challenged, but this adjectival form was there in black in white. We watched some TV, which made a nice change for me, as either I can't get motel sets to work or I endlessly trawl the cables aghast at the endless stream of garbage that some people out there must actually enjoy. We watched two episodes of a comedy cop show called Monk, where the eponymous cop shares his Christian name with me, but that's where the similarity ends as he is plagued by OCD. Denese offered me her bed to sleep on, while she took the couch. It would have been rude to refuse.

Awoke as if from deep sedation and for once I was the first person in an American household to rise, as Denese and Steve were not up until after 9. Denese made a delicious omelette packed with sausage, onion and peppers; but once again no caffeine to be had in an LDS home. It had snowed some more overnight to produce a thick blanket, although it didn't look too inhospitable in the sunshine and I pooh-poohed Steve's offer of a lift. I was determined to continue with my mission statement of using only peddle power up every hill and through any kind of weather. There was no answer when they phoned the one motel at my next stop of Wamsutter and the internet forecast 25 mph headwinds plus more snow, and still I was hellbent on cycling.

Evanston – Lyman (October 9)

2008-10-10T09:13:00.000-07:00

Day 25

In the 50s today and with a boisterous westerly wind that had me bobbing along across a dull, desolate swathe of southern Wyoming, with its precious oil and gas reserves. First stop Bear River State Park on Mike's recommendation, and although picturesque, I didn't see any animals apart from buffalo. This is where I had my lunch, having been working in the library, and it was after 2 pm by the time I got going on the freeway, although it was only 45 miles to Lyman. Plenty of dead hare in the shoulder, exposing pretty white bellies speckled with blood. The views really were tragic, until I reached the top of a hill and it opened out into a creamily-lit spectacle of buttes and the silver peaks of the Uinta Range 50 miles to the south, rising to 13,000 feet. Today I recorded a new highest daily average speed of 16 mph and a new top speed of 49.5 mph, shattering my previous record by nearly 5 miles! I'm still gutted that I didn't make myself more aerodynamic to break the 50 barrier.

The one horse town of Lyman lies a couple of miles south of the Interstate thankfully and it was there that I spent an uneventful Scrabble-free night in another miserable motel. I couldn't believe it cost $55 in such a remote place and I was even more non-plussed when once again working the remote control was beyond me. I also have a problem with trying to lock doors here, can't fathom why switches on lamps require two turns before they go on or off and isn't it about time the Yanks got with the programme in the bedding stakes, and replaced their sheets and blankets with duvets – or do they sound too French? There was one saving grace to the room however, in the form of a dazzling picture, which was one of those paintings that's so bad it takes your breath away. It was an over-egged, lurid green landscape and half the surface was flecked highlights, and the paint seemed to have been applied in haste with the the end of a decorator's roller. The lady at reception said “Just you?” And at the Branding Iron Inn the young waitress used exactly the same words, emphasizing my loneliness so far from home, so that the words “Just you?” ricocheted around my head and echoed out across the wilderness. The teenagers in here stood out like a sore thumb, with their 'ghetto wear' of low-slung jeans and askew baseball caps, compared to the older generation's 'ranch look'. I asked if there were any local beers. The gormless girl understood the words, but not the question and said “We've got Budweiser, Bud Light...” which taste like carbonated water to me, so I stuck with tap water, although I don't know why they always fill the glass with ice when it's practically freezing outside. Snow is forecast this weekend... So, another buffalo burger and then back to my prison cell, replete with its 'wood effect' walls and chartreuse carpet.

Felt refreshed this morning, with no headache or stiffness in my back. Then I looked out the window... It was snowing. And to think it must have reached 70 degrees in NW Utah two short days ago. It's stupid to think this way, but I wish I'd headed south earlier, through New Mexico, the top of Texas, Oklahoma, etc. I bet that's what Chris did, the smart arse. The trail on him has grown colder than moose breath. I'd always wanted to go to Wyoming because it was cowboy country and so remote; now that I was here I got a bad vibe from it and the people, who haven't been as friendly as in other parts (apart from Mike's family of course). Felt strange to be having breakfast in the company of smokers, as in many states it seems to be legal. More iced water... A guy came in holding a fire extinguisher type thing, which he was attached to by a tube. Darn good coffee, especially after 48 hours without. I wonder if anyone has seriously contemplated joining the LDS and not been able to do it because of the no caffeine rule. Sorry God, but why did you have to make coffee so good? It would be a deal breaker for me anyway.

Salt Lake City – Evanston (October 8)

2008-10-09T11:24:00.002-07:00

Day 24

Both my Scrabble Travels in the UK lasted 23 days and clocked up under 1,400 miles, and they were both exceeded today in terms of duration and distance. I wasn't even quite a third of the way of the way to Charleston... sigh... My back still hurt this morning (and so did my head) although when riding it's not a problem. Couldn't find a diner anywhere downtown and I'm hoping to avoid places like McDonald's the whole time I'm here. There's a Scottish import shop and a British shop here, as we Brits are way cool. Eventually found a groovy place called Einstein Bagels in the posh Avenues part of town. One of those places with big, industrial pipes on the ceiling and snooty looking people. I don't know why it is, but pretentious people here are more irritating than their British counterparts. It was a delicious, yet very small bagel, so it was just as well I'd packed three bananas and an enormous bag of dried fruit and nuts, called 'trail mix', as today was to be another biggie.

It's funny when you ask people for directions; they tell you where to go and then as you're about to go they say “Or you could go...” As I left Salt Lake up the twisting Emigrants' Canyon, I realised that what I had been having a problem with was being in a city surrounded by mountains, as once I was in the mountains proper I was fine with them. This was a really enjoyable climb, if such a thing can be imagined. It was twisty, with plenty of trees, nice views, interesting things to look at (such as domesticated dogs ripping a deer carcass apart) and today was in the 60s and sunny. With crystal clear light the scenery close to me looked as though buffed up with Brasso, whereas distant peaks seemed to be wrapped in yellow cellophane. This was the route Brigham Young brought the first LDS people into Salt Lake and I bet some of them lost their way, geographically or religiously, en route. I came across a man on 'roller skis' (abbreviated skis on four wheels) who skated on roads to keep in shape in the off season. The road grew steeper and I was going up these hairpin bends at 4 mph on the most challenging hill yet undertaken, although it was quite manageable with legs and lungs up to the job. At the top Big Mountain is 7,420 feet, with spectacular views to snowy peaks, and then of course the following downhill section was fantastic and I recorded a new high of 44.9 mph.

A special mention must be given to the 'new best sandwich' thus far, from Einstein Bagels, featuring chicken, bacon, Swiss cheese and pickles, in a croissanty type roll, consumed beside a scintillating bright blue lake. Freeway for the last 40 miles and I hoped it was OK to be there, particularly as there are no other roads through this remote country. The scenery is pretty bleak around here : no trees, red hills, sagebrush. Managed to avoid the town of Croydon, but quite fancied visiting Breastworks, although later found out it alludes to a defensive military structure. With a wind caressing me along double quick, I was soon in my fifth state of Wyoming, the least populated of all the states, and it was only a few miles to Evanston, tonight's stop. I had been told that state maps were free at gas stations, but no, a lady said it was $4.50 for a crappy bit of paper. I complained about the price, then started to open it. She said, “What, you're gonna look at it anyway?” So I thought better of it. Not that I really needed a map for Wyoming, as there is only one road (Interstate 80) to go on. Picked up an Evanston street map in the library for free at least. It was a pretty annoying map though, with numbers against every street, so I needed to keep referring to the key at every intersection.

Mike lived at the end of a cul de sac with his wife and six children. Yes, six children – all under 12 – and they might not be done yet. It was pretty crazy in that house, with children bouncing up and down and all talking at once. Dinner was especially entertaining, with pizza and creamy ice lollies. I was starving, even though I'd eaten a truckload today, and kept on taking another piece of pizza when offered. Still I had cycled 93 miles today and a fair percentage up steep hills. When asked if I wanted anything else, I said, “Coffee please,” and it was then that I discovered they were LDS and had no coffee, tea or fizzy drinks in the house. Mike was from New Jersey and had met his wife there when she worked as a nanny. Then they had moved back to her home town of Evanston and Mike still worked for the same company back east, but as his job was IT related (he had about six computers on the go all the time), he could do it from home out here, providing he worked Eastern Time (7 am – 3.30 pm) which fitted round the kids very very well.

After the children had gone to bed and silence descended, Mike and I played Scrabble. Once again I drew good letters and managed three bingos in two games (MOUTHING, GENTILES & DELVING). I had come across Mike through the Pixie Pit and he hadn't played a live game in years. He had been following my blog and had seen the Seattle Club's website with the stats from the evening I played there. I came 23rd out of 23! But then I had lost all four games, so it was hardly a surprise. Mike had made up an air bed for me, which was surprisingly comfortable and I slept like a log.

I still had a headache and a bad back upon waking though. Even though I drunk vast quantities of water and isotonic fluid yesterday (and no alcohol obviously) it seems impossible to keep rehydrated. Yesterday had taken the greatest toll on my body so far experienced. Breakfast was another manically enjoyable occasion, and we all had French toast, eggs and bacon. I had only just learned to say 'over hard' about how I like my eggs, yet Mike's wife didn't know the expression. Mike told me the hunting season would recommence next week and showed me photos of kills he'd made as well as the ones that got away. You can shoot animals at the age of 12 here, and there are deer, antelope, buffalo, elk and moose in these parts.

Worked on this in the library before leaving town after lunch, as today's mileage wasn't too onerous.

Wood Cross – Salt Lake City 2 (October 7)

2008-10-09T11:24:00.001-07:00

Day 23

Carl showed me the lit-up sights of Salt Lake City, including the Capitol, and the Beehive which is one of the oldest buildings and where Brigham Young (another LDS prophet) lived with his 50 wives. This is why the highway signs have a beehive on them. Carl's family of four children and one niece waited until we arrived at 9 pm before they sat down for a barbecue dinner of salmon, pork and other delights. Carl hailed from Montana and worked with the Water Board, or whatever they call it out here. The children were a lot of fun, wise-cracking, taking the mickey out of my accent and teaching me stuff about Utah. They were not LDS, Carl votes Republican, but the rest of the family are Democrats. I find people's knowledge of their towns, states and US pretty impressive, even if they don't know much about Britain. Apparently Salt Lake used to part of Lake Bonneville, which covered about three states in dinosaur times and explains why fish fossils can be found up mountains. I didn't know that it (and the Dead Sea) are salty because no rivers flow out of it, and it's seven times saltier than ocean water.

I was a bit embarrassed by my luck in the Scrabble department, as I had good letters in the two games we played as a foursome, especially in the second game when I opened with a bingo (FORGING) and soon played another (SELLERS). The kids described each achievement as “dropping a bomb”. Carl volunteered as a football coach for his son's school team and he said he would often shout at them “You're a bunch of w**kers!” As this isn't a rude word here. Then he showed me his metal pin badge collection relating to local events, teams and so forth. It's popular to trade such badges and I was presented with an honorary badge of the 2002 Winter Olympics. There was another badge bearing a picture of green jello, which is a humorous Utah symbol, relating to Mormon spartan tastes. I drank several cans of Heineken and seemed to lose my power of speech every time Carl refilled the glass. It was midnight by the time he drove me back to the motel in downtown Salt Lake and they were all getting up at 6 or 6.30, but they didn't seem to mind.

Wood Cross – Salt Lake City (October 7)

2008-10-08T17:14:00.000-07:00

Day 23

The motel was right by the freeway and I woke early, with a sore back and feeling cranky. Only a few more miles into Salt Lake City, stopping for a fry-up and past a poster promoting cycling with the phone number 801-FAT-BIKE. The streets that intersect Highway 89 go 400 North, 300 North, etc, like all US cities, until you hit a street named Temple, and that is of course where Mormon HQ is situated. I don't really know how it happened – I had just wanted a peek in Temple Square, honestly I did – but before you could say Jehovah, two immaculate, young Brazilian missionaries were taking me on a tour and selling their brand of Christianity. The buildings (and flowerbeds) are pretty impressive though, especially when you consider that there was nothing here but desert when most of them were constructed in the 1850s. There's the Tabernacle, the Temple, the Chapel, etc, and all of them utilise local materials to look like something grander, ie pine pews are painted to resemble oak and pine columns mimic marble. They plied me with a heavenly host of leaflets and told me their belief in both the Bible and the Book of Mormon, but no, there was no conflict.

Then of course I went to the library, which as with the rest of the city, is snazzy and modern. There is interesting architecture here, buses, as well as trains and even trams. I liked Salt Lake City quite a bit, except for the mighty mountains on all sides, which are really beginning to disturb my equilibrium. Even the volume of books in the library distressed me today; all that knowledge. Who reads them? Why? To use an Americanism, I'm feeling a bit weirded out and fed up. It's like I've forgotten why I'm doing and don't want to do it any more. Hopefully this is just a three week itch and things will improve when I return to the countryside, which I'm yearning for again, even though I was missing city life just a few days ago. It's partly to do with having a couple of days with little mileage and I think my brain copes better with a structure and a tired body – like that is simple and pure, and makes sense. I was also worried about tomorrow, as I couldn't work out how to leave the state without riding the freeway. I didn't want any more policemen on my tail. I pored over maps and found another route, yet if the zigzagging was anything to go by, it's gonna be steep. Then I saw someone familiar and realised it was a guy with autism who's been on TV quite a bit, because his memory for figures and ability to do mathematical calculations is second to none. I asked an assistant if he was the guy off TV and he said it was. There he was looking through a directory, and then he would suddenly take off and walk about in circles muttering to himself. Maybe he could have helped me in some kind of numerical way.

I had semi-arranged a bed via Couchsurfing, but it fell through because I didn't get back to the woman quickly enough and by the time I did, she had made plans. She didn't wait by the phone for my call with baited breath? So, another crummy motel by a main road for $50. To make a bad day worse, when I asked the girl at reception if there was any chance of a discount she replied, “How old are you?” I asked her what that had to do with it and she said they gave discounts to seniors. I guess to her anyone over 35 is an old fogey - or that's what I told myself, as I looked in the mirror.

Tonight I played Scrabble with Carl, who picked me up and took me back to his place, where his wife cooked dinner.

More to follow tomorrow.

Ogden – Wood Cross (October 6)

2008-10-07T13:42:00.000-07:00

Day 22

Into my fourth week with a complimentary breakfast that would have graced any children's sleepover : waffle maker, fruit loops and iced pastries. A rest day, but checked out anyway as I couldn't get the TV or wi fi to work. Downtown is a shambles; there are no decent shops and I had to go two miles out of town for an electrical store in a mall. Something needs to be done to prize fat Americans out of their fat cars. I found an adaptor, yet I could have bought a new razor for the $10.99 it set me back. The weather had improved and I was back in shorts and T shirt, and - except for the incongruously snow-capped mountains right on its doorstep – Ogden is Anytown USA. There are plenty of people on sidewalks here, although mostly they are Latinos or old men with beards. Next stop – a laundromat (with its own toilet like everywhere else) and a man gave me a loan of his detergent. In the library (where I heard a man ask for a book on how to get a divorce) there were squawking caged birds. Sat in a park with a sandwich, mooched about the town, trying to find a diversion. Disconcerted by the scale of the mountains, making me feel insignificant and puny, although I guess locals barely notice them. In a quandary in supermarkets, as there are so many sweets and biscuits to rifle through, they're mostly in large packets and whatever I buy will be consumed that night. Today's choice was a 13 oz box of Whoppers, a poor man's Malteser.

And so to South Ogden, five miles uphill, to Denny's, a chain cafe, where I met and played Scrabble with Lori, and were later joined by her husband, Barry. They are Mormons and this explains why Lori could not play a game with me yesterday. On Sundays she doesn't spend any money, play any games or do anything physical and attends her temple for three hours. Lori grew up in Chicago as a Jew and was deeply moved by the Mormon faith when she visited Salt Lake City several years ago. Barry was brought up in the Church and married another follower when he was 18 and she was 16. They had a family, then divorced, then remarried, then divorced again. I learned a lot about the origins of their beliefs, from the hieroglyphic tablets their founder, Joseph Smith (not Lorenzo Snow) found in the woods back east in the 1820s (now mysteriously vanished), to the present day prophet, Thomas S Monson. They don't drink products with tannin, such as tea and coffee (coke is OK), take any drugs including alcohol or tobacco. They give 10% of their income to the church and the only polygamists left have been banished from the flock and reside in southern Utah.

Then we worshiped the holy game of Scrabble, in which we had two close games and Lori won the decider. In this last game I had two words successfully challenged, one of which was TWIZ. For food Lori had a very British looking meatloaf, mashed potatoes and lashings of gravy. I was back on the burgers, this time with curly fries. The South Ogden Denny's is open 24 7 and serves breakfast, lunch and dinner any time you want it. We stayed in there for five hours and they didn't seem to mind one bit. It was nearly 10 pm and 10 degrees by the time we said our goodbyes.

I had expected to find a motel in this area, but according to the staff, the nearest one was the Days Inn I'd just come from. Admittedly it was five miles downhill, but it was going back on myself and I'd have to go uphill again tomorrow. So, I ploughed on towards Salt Lake City, about 30 miles south, thinking there would be big neon signs advertising accommodation along Highway 89 soon enough. Think again. Motels come in bunches and then nothing for many miles. It was a wasteland around here and badly lit, so there was me in the shoulder, blinded by the lights of oncoming vehicles, worrying that I'd collide with a brick or a branch. It was pretty amazing when the city lights opened out, a bit like LA in films like ET.

After 15 miles I was aware of flashing lights behind me. It was a cop. “Could you explain to me what you are doing riding a bicycle on the freeway? he asked slowly and deliberately. Highway 89 had bled into Interstate 15 without me realising it. He took my passport and returned to his car for a few minutes. When he came back he knew when and from what airport I was leaving the country and said that although my crime was a jailable offence, that he would let me go. He gave me directions to the nearby suburb of Bountiful, which was supposed to live up to its name in the motel stakes. Of course I got lost and although I eventually happened upon a hotel, it was a little out of my price range at $85 + tax. I was directed to another suburb, Wood Cross, three miles away, where a Motel 6 charged $50 + tax. It wasn't very nice, but as it was midnight by now, I'd ridden 48 miles and this was supposed to be a rest day. The lady at the desk waived the fee for the wi fi password (thank you accent) and I checked my emails. There was a sign on the door that read “For your protection when in room exchange deadbolt and security latch.” This may have exacerbated the restless night that followed.

Leg 4: Ogden, UT - Rawlins, WY

2008-10-06T13:55:00.000-07:00

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Snowville - Ogden (October 5)

2008-10-06T11:14:00.000-07:00

Day 21

Interstate 81 was all that was on offer, at least until Tremonton, 34 miles to the south. This being Sunday, it wasn't too busy and there was a good shoulder all the way. A thick white line divides road and shoulder, usually followed by : a rumble strip, about eight foot of tarmac, gravel, desert. One truck honked as he was passing and the deep, loud boom caused me to almost jump out of my skin. There were a few other beeps and honks, and whether it be a “hello” or “get off this road you idiot”, I'm not quite sure, although I'm pretty certain it's not a violation to cycle on freeways out of metropolitan areas. While resting I was befriended by my first mosquitoes, who must have mistaken me for a cow, as they only sucked on my black jumper. It was cool again with large, luminous clouds lolloping overhead.

In Tremonton I went into a supermarket and there was fruit in plentiful supply. Nearly bought a 3 lb tub of grapes for $2.99, yet as this would have practically filled one pannier, decided against it. Had my first less-than-delicious sandwich today and I was pretty cut up about it I can tell you. It was cold, watery and flavourless, like a British pre-made sandwich. Should have chosen the beef 'Poorboy' instead. Good to be back in a proper urban environment though, even if most of the shops were shut. On to Deweyville and then a right towards Honeyville along the Bear Valley. It was nice here, away from desert plants, with a rich variety of deciduous trees and houses that looked as though made from brightly painted cardboard – yet often in a sea of dirt. A lot of people don't seem to care much for gardening; some have tarmac from here to kingdom come, others have a hundred old cars and other clutter, and others are lost in a weedy wilderness. My only job was to try and weave between the grasshoppers, sunning themselves in the road, in greens, creams, greys, browns and oranges. These were no people to be seen - maybe they were in church - and I don't recall seeing a single pedestrian for 30 miles, until reaching Ogden. This fair-sized town is burgeoning with estates of identical brown houses and austere, red-brick, slender white-spired churches. As an outsider, I couldn't help imagining non-believers would either feel compelled attend religious services or they would be press-ganged into doing so. I spoke to the first person I saw, a lady of indeterminate age :

“Excuse me, I'm looking for the centre of town.”
“I've lived here 25 years and I never heard of that place.”
“This is Ogden isn't it? Well, where is the middle of it?”
“Oh, you mean downtown.”

Found a Days Inn, which seemed reasonable. The young woman at reception sniffed constantly as I was filling in the registration card. It was allergies, she said. What kind? I asked. Oh, just about everything, she replied. The accommodation was roomy and well-decorated, although I couldn't get the TV to work. It had a bussinessy feel, with a desk, green fake leather chair and brass lampstands. I dined at Dee's Restaurant, next door, waited on by a very sweet girl who looked to be about 15 (even with the addition of a tongue piercing) yet she told me she was 20 and was a single mother to a three year old. Studying forensic science and working most evenings and weekends to pay for childcare, she came from Virginia to be with her Air Force boyfriend, then they split up and she had stayed. Utah was half Mormon and half non-religious people she told me, and also it had the highest teenage pregnancy rate, which she believed resulted from rebellion against strict upbringings. I had a Californian Salad. It's true! Although of course it was as big as my head, with heaps of meat (chicken and bacon), garlic bread and one million calorie dressing. Another waitress said “I like you, you're cute.” I was a little scared of her. When relating my cycling challenge they thought I was Chris! Was I to play second fiddle to him for the rest of the journey?

Albion - Snowville (October 4)

2008-10-05T17:18:00.000-07:00

Day 20

After delaying my departure for as long as possible (check-out wasn't until 11) it stopped raining. When returning my key, the blowsy blonde at reception told me she originated from Vegas and that she went back there occasionally... to play bingo. Had a quick flick through the local paper, in which the cartoons were in the religious section. Uphill for the first few miles and the weather was comparable to Scotland in early October (in the 50s, overcast and damp). Like Albion, the next miniature town I happened upon also had a British connection, as it was called Malta – and then I saw a Mini Cooper drive by. Popping into one of the two small grocery stores, the man serving asked me to stick a pin in a world map to show where I lived. Someone had already stuck a pin into Glasgow, so I pretended I came from another part of Scotland. He said his wife was always on at him to take her to Scotland and then he conversed with some Latinos (the pc term for Mexicans) in fluent Spanish. I had a sandwich made up here (my God it was good) but no fresh fruit for sale. I tried at the other store and they didn't have any fruit either; they only had it in the summer the young woman apologized. So many of the women here have very pretty eyes, and their smiles are warm and natural.

Didn't need to escape the shade for my lunch-break today and I would have liked to have stepped into a pool of sunlight instead, as it was so gloomy. Sat on my folded-up waterproof jacket on bare, stony ground (which has been its only use so far) and listened to the silence beside the quiet road. The only sound was soft hammering from somewhere across the valley. I spoke too soon, for half an hour later I needed to put my coat on, as well as my leggings - which was awkward as there was nothing to prop my bike against except for me. The following 30 miles were the most desolate so far encountered, a headwind and hardly any cars or even a sign to read. The map showed two towns between here and Snowville, yet I didn't even see a house. The road was straight, it was flattish, with sagebrush in the foreground and misty mountains beyond in all directions. The road was so monotonous that I slalomed for a bit, to jazz it up.

Then a bullet-ridden sign announced Utah and also promoted the 2002 Winter Olympics. Things changed for the better here, as it stopped raining, the road kinked away from the wind and there were signs! I liked the Utah logo on its Highway signs, which seemed to be a beehive. Idaho's had been the shape of the state in white against a black background, and as Montana has a wiggly edge encroaching on northern Idaho, it was like a man's face in profile looking into a doorway.

“Attention sage-grouse hunters”

one sign shouted and it went on to ask the hunters of this bird to deposit a wing in this here barrel, as a local university was conducting research on the species. I read every word voraciously and all the other signs too. At length a few farms popped up and then, in the distance, tiny rectangles seemingly moving across a field. It was the Interstate! Hurrah! Three cheers for trucks and wide, asphalt superhighways. Crossed it and soon arrived in desultory Snowville. The lady at the garage/grocery store said they used to stock fruit, but it just went bad because no one bought it. She said I should try Tremonton, a half hour drive away. The motel was unmanned and a lovely, wordy sign requested me to fill in a card with my credit card details and I could take a key. All the remaining rooms were 'smoking' unfortunately, although once in there I didn't really notice it. I wondered if people tried to get away without paying, but obviously not, as half an hour later a lady came to my door to explain my credit card had not been authorized. However, I was able to pay with a Traveller's Cheque. Walked across the road to dine at the Ranch House Diner, served by the comely Shanna. The beefburgers are so juicy and meaty in this country, it's no wonder I keep ordering them. They had blue 'Play Dough' ice cream, although I opted for the safer almond fudge, that actually tasted more chocolatey than anything else. Leaving, I saw the sign, “Tractor books are free”, relating to glossy magazines filled with photos of second hand tractors and nothing else. Back at the motel I heard the couple in the next room talking about going for dinner as they left in their car. I watched them through the window, saw their car drive across the road (less than 200 metres away) and park.

Woken in the morning by car doors slamming a million times. Peeked through the blinds to watch one mature lady with goats in the back of her covered pick-up truck say to ano0ther :

“Why don't you help me?”
“I'd like to help you, but I can't because of my heart condition; you know that.”
“I know that.”
“You know f***!”

Beautiful light and soft clouds during my short walk to Mollie Cafe (I think an S had been missed out of the neon sign). I was served by an 80+ lady with thick make-up and a 'Utah beehive' hairdo. You could get an 8 oz sirloin steak for breakfast, but I had eggs over hard, bacon, toast and the best strawberry jam I've ever tasted. No more pancakes. Everyone knows each other in these places and they trade banter across the room. I asked Polly, who also worked there, why people are so happy in rural areas. She said they didn't have the stresses of folks in Salt Lake and they could see the mountains. Polly's age of 27 came up in conversation and she referred to Mollie as her mom, so maybe she looked older than she was. Polly had lived in Snowville all her life and explained how it was named after Lorenzo Snow, the founder of the Mormons, who dispatched settlers here in the 19th century. Polly gave me a bumper sticker with the slogan 'Hit the spott'. That other cross-America cyclist had stayed here a week ago and he'd got a free breakfast! Chris, was also 27, has ridden across the country twice already and has been on TV. Show off.

Twin Falls - Albion (October 3)

2008-10-04T08:52:00.000-07:00

Day 19

Nate made up oatmeal with maple syrup, along with coffee and we pored over their newspaper, The Times & Star, which had articles written by both of them (Melissa has retained her maiden name for journalistic reasons). We talked about crime; how a drug addict with debts had been rolled onto someone's lawn, dead in a barrel and how the NRA (National Rifle Association) has so much clout that even Obama won't speak out against gun ownership. Furthermore, how a sheriff who is in charge of the police department in a nearby county also runs state prisons in a business capacity. Conflict of interests? Surely not. They've had quite a few travellers stay with them, including a guy who was cycling from north of Seattle to the southern tip of Florida (the furthest distance across the US) who only camped or stayed with Couchsurfers the whole way AND raised a lot of money for charity. What did he want? A sainthood?

Wore a shorter-sleeved T shirt than of late, revealing pale pink bands as if I had a slip underneath. Rode back into the town centre, where Oktoberfest (which seems to be more of a Hallowe'en themed market than a beer festival) was in full swing and couldn't find a grocery store. Silly me, I should have known they would all be located at least a mile out of town. At last! I was saved from the twin perils of spice drops and jelly beans, for they had Bassett's Licorice Allsorts! When it comes to choosing sandwiches, I'm now looking for the one with the least filling. Cloudy again - I think maybe rain is on the way – and a nice smell in the farmland, like freshly baked bread. Mostly potato country round here I think, and this is the crop Idaho is famous for. Farms are like factories in scale and with all the machinery. I saw one vehicle with mechanical arms that flipped over the cabin, picked up bales of hay and tossed them on to its back. The sky darkened, spat for about two minutes, then the sun came out. While I was in the library in Burley, who should walk in, but Melissa, and we had a chat about American-Japanese relations, as you do.

Then it was goodbye once again to Melissa and also to Highway 30, as I turned right on to Highway 81 and towards mountains looming large out of the flat lands, prettily lit by the teatime sun. At Delco it was necessary to make a turn and I realised the road was heading straight for those mountains, looming larger by the minute. This pass was the nastiest climb I have encountered so far, even though it was only a couple of miles, as there were no trees to hide the view, not many twists either and the wind was blowing hard in my face the whole way up. On the top (which didn't have an altitude sign, but it was over 6,000 feet) there were tilled fields! Over the other side I came to the quiet, unspoilt town of Albion, where I stayed at the Marsh Creek Inn, a superior motel, reflected in the $63 tariff. I arrived at the same time as a female patron who asked me where I was from. In Britain women have initiated conversation with me several times in my entire life; here they do it all the time. We spoke briefly about what we were doing here, when she mentioned teaching women to ride mountain bikes this weekend, then disappeared into our separate rooms. I washed and changed, then came out to ride to a restaurant. She had left a note in my helmet! It read :

“My family and I went to to the park – then will walk up to Sage Mountain Grill for dinner if you want to join us. Tracy (the mountain bike lady).”

Again it was surprising to me that a woman should invite me to dinner with her - and a husband who I hadn't met and who might have liked to be consulted. I was going to the other restaurant in town, but changed my plans instantly. There was Tracy, a physiotherapist, with her husband Michael, who had something to do with public health, and their young daughter, Alyssa. I had burger and fries of course, along with a couple of pints of Sierra Nevada. Michael had a salad and when he tried to take fries off Alyssa's plate, she said, “You have to ask for permission.” They lived in Twin Falls, knew Melissa & Nate indirectly and had read a piece by Melissa on Couchsurfing recently. Michael said, “Oh, you're the Scrabble guy.” They were both boring old Democrats again. Apparently you vote for the president here directly, as well as governor and senator for your own state. I need to see the rule book about this and so many other things. Michael had built his own two-seater aeroplane, flown it everywhere in the country, where it's free to land in such planes at most airports. They wouldn't let me contribute towards the bill, especially after I'd told them about my Couchsurfing experiences. Mental note : try to drop this subject into conversations. I really wanted a milkshake like Alyssa's, but thought I'd better not. I asked Alyssa if I could taste hers and she bellowed “No!” She hadn't said a word to me until that point and every time I had tried to engage her, she would dissolve into her mother's body.

After I was safely back in my nice, cosy room, the rain came down good and proper all night long - and continued the next next day as well. On my way to breakfast Michael called to me from the outdoor hot-tub, in which he was sitting with Alyssa. Carrot, banana and zucchini (to name but a few) muffins and coffee were being served in the foyer and what with the weather I lingered here, chatting to Michael and also to another lady, Rebecca, a food stylist from Boise, who told me about her involvement in “farm to table” events, where people stay in a nice place and cook produce made on their doorstep.

Glenns Ferry – Twin Falls (October 2)

2008-10-03T14:21:00.000-07:00

Day 18

In the South West Idaho newspaper over breakfast in Hanson's Cafe I saw an article promoting local business discounts to customers arriving at their premises by bicycle. Neat idea, but where were these cyclists? The only other diners were two old men showing off about their fishing exploits and two old women showing off about their operations. When one of the men realised I was waiting for my bill, he said of the waitress, “She's slower than the second coming of Christ.” He and his friend gave me directions for the day, yet I couldn't follow them (I'm not very good with directions at the best of times) and I was soon back on my nemesis, the Interstate. Sustained a puncture - fortunately just before a service station, so I would at least have shade to fix it in and it was then that I discovered my tyres were riddled with thorns. Mental note to self : don't take bike off a road to lean against a pole in sagebrush country. Came off the Freeway at Bliss, the naming of which put me in mind of Greenland, to be reunited with old friend Highway 30. Out of desert now and into farmland, where it amazes me how much money and time is spent on irrigation; at least farmers in the UK don't have this to grumble about amongst all their other complaints. The 'Thousand Springs' stretch of road lived up to its reputation, with something approaching this number of waterfalls cascading out of a cliff face into Snake River, and then through the agreeable small town of Buhl, 'Trout Capital of America', with its tree-lined streets of comfortable houses. It was cooler today, with clouds and a wind from the side sapping my energy, and then following Buhl the wind was from behind and so strong that I was sailing along at 20-25 mph without even pedaling. I should have brought a book.

Twin Falls was tonight's destination, fly capital of America (the trout should swim upriver) where I stayed with Mellisa & Nate and their three cats, two budgies and gecko, via Couchsurfing. A nice enough, decent sized town, in which my young, recently wed hosts both worked as journalists. They cooked me a delectable trout from down the road in Buhl, 'twice baked' potatoes and corn on the cob. We saw a little of the Vice Presidential Debate and Sarah Palin acquitted herself well. The cramming had paid off. Joe Biden was good too; the epitome of articulacy and confidence. Then we sat down to play Scrabble as a threesome and with both blanks I was easily able to win with the one bingo (TANGENTS). We went out for a couple of beers at a local tavern, to meet two other journos, who had recently relocated to rural Idaho from Houston and Illinois, to work on this paper. What with their profession they asked as many questions about my life as I did about theirs. They wanted to know what British people thought of Bush, alcohol laws, etc. Leaving there Nate drove past a foreboding, white lit-up edifice, an LDS (Latter Day Saints) church - the pc term for Mormons, to a ludicrously cheap Taco Bell drive-in restaurant, before coffee and bed. Sleep was interrupted by freight trains rushing back and forth here too, although these ones had little bells, two were grey and one tabby.

Boise – Glenns Ferry (October 1)

2008-10-02T16:27:00.000-07:00

Day 17

A new month - and with it 1,000 miles on the clock. It looks like I might even hit the 5,000 mark by the time I reach Charleston, what with all the wiggling and wrong turns. My bike is purring along after its Boise oil-change and although I could do with one too, this old bod of mine is faring well under the rigors of mileage, heat and hamburgers. Of course I'm tired by the end of each day, my bum is sore and my feet are throbbing; but I have no serious maladies or even niggles. The only changes are the colour of my skin, particularly on my right side and my nose; a slight numbness in my right hand after serious mileage; thickened skin on my right palm (the left hand is fine in both respects) and the unmentionable developments at the base of my scrotum, Mmm, nice! More to the point I'm happy on the road, fascinated by the landscape and people, taking plenty of pictures and really enjoying writing this blog.

Nancy had put a scrap of paper with this 'Old Irish Blessing' in with my lunch :

May the road rise up to meet you
May the wind always be at your back
May the sun shine warm upon your face
And rain fall soft upon your fields
And until we meet again
May God hold you in the palm of his hand

It warmed my heart and it will be pinned to my noticeboard when I get home. However, what does that first line even mean? The wind was actually in my face for once and yet that was a blessing as I think today was hotter still than yesterday. Clyde had given me directions, which took me past the ugly sand dune mountains (it was hard for me to imagine them covered in snow in three months time and Nancy & Clyde skiing down them) past the Idaho State Correctional Facility and the Boise Gun Club. Phoned the Police Department, as it was necessary to ride on the shoulder of Interstate 84 (this is completely legal, at least out of urban areas, yet Clyde had said it would be a good idea as drivers would be likely to phone the police, worried by my presence). Like everyone else the policewoman I spoke to was very friendly, she answered the phone by saying her name and was interested in my challenge. The Interstate wasn't that scary as the shoulder was wide, but it was a miserable experience none the less, particularly in this heat and terrain. There was no shade at all anywhere, and I had to pull off at a service station just so that I could take a breather in a cool environment. There was noting after that for 15 miles and then a bridge performed well as a parasol. The only pleasure to be had on such a road is in gazing up at the trucks, for they are magnificent beasts, with their old fashioned curves and their jelly bean liveries. It is the pick-up trucks I like best though and when I get home I'm going to have a shiny new one delivered to my front door, even though I have no need to drive anywhere or to pick-up anything. Mainly I want it for shoving a ratty old dog in the back and driving around with it barking at cyclists for their sheer audacity of being on the road.

Came off the juggernaut express at Mountain Home, where I asked an old lady with a bandaged neck for directions to the library. She was very entertaining and told me all about the places she'd been to in Scotland. She also told me about her lace-making and I asked her to explain what lace was. “It's holes with patterns around them,” she said. She kept on going off at tangents when describing where the library was and I couldn't follow her. I found it by and by and sat at a table in the midst of well-behaved, beautifully turned out children. I couldn't get the wi fi to work though and neither did the Ethernet cable that the assistant lent me. So, I bought a glass of milk at Moxie's Java, so as to upload this blog. I asked three people for directions to the town of Hammet, for Interstate-avoiding purposes. None of them had even heard of the place. My maps aren't up to the job either, as the person who designed the Idaho map decided in his or her infinite wisdom to delineate the major roads AND the county boundaries in the same thickness of line and almost the same colour. The map-book of the whole country I brought with me is often inadequate with its scale of 25 miles to one inch. Then a lady did help me and told me it was beautiful country that way. Beautiful country? It was just the same flat, sagebrush land as anywhere else. Occasionally I would happen upon an irrigated field, like an emerald set into a base metal. Then I would stop, as the air was cooled by the spurting water, and also humid, reminiscent of my homeland.

Then at about 5.30, from having a dull and irritating day, it turned into an inspiring dusk. It cooled down for one thing and with the lowering sun transformed these insignificant weeds and bushes, and I took many photos, entranced by their subtle, pastel shades and feverish forms. For the last few days I have been struggling with why these great open spaces have no soul. Then - as I entered the wide valley of the slow-moving Snake River, along whose side I was now travelling on Old Highway 30, parallel to the Interstate and a railroad - a freight train a mile long lumbering by, its proud horn bringing the valley to life. I was moved by this power, this potent strength and how such trains have shouldered the building blocks of America. (I don't get such a sense of drama, of scale, of grandeur, on British soil.) This then is the Romance I'd been searching for. Whereas Scotland's mystique and mythology (as well as England's to a degree) is embedded in the nuances of its brooding landscape; here I found myself in awe of Man's achievements.

Tonight's destination was Glenns Ferry, for no other reason than it being halfway between Boise and Twin Falls. There really is nothing else to say about this typical small town. Checked into the first motel I saw (big mistake) and as the old lady at reception gave me the rundown, all I could think about was how she must get through a lot of eyebrow pencils. With a name like The Redford you would expect it to be a handsome place, when in fact the room was the nastiest I've ever stayed in. Tiny and smelly; it had a dripping shower, bare brick walls painted white like a prison cell, a hideous brown carpet, faded floral bedspread and no pictures or decoration of any kind. Straight out to the 'Oregon Trail' restaurant, where, yes, I sampled another burger, but they only had bland, bottled beers. Back in the prison cell I learned that Obama has nudged ahead in the polls and that there are a great many freight trains passing through Glenns Ferry into the night and all of them sound their horns over and over again. The Romance was beginning to wear off...

Leg 3: Boise, ID - Ogden, UT

2008-10-02T11:44:00.000-07:00

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Boise (September 30)

2008-10-01T15:01:00.000-07:00

Day 16

A day of rest, kind of. Still rode 20 odd miles, going into and around Boise. First of all Nancy and Clyde attended to my laundry needs, helped with directions and Clyde fixed me some oatmeal, which he said was good for bicyclists, particularly with the flax seeds he'd added, as they contain Omega 3 and that reduces your cholesterol apparently. Someone in a car shouted “Asshole!” at me today (I wasn't doing anything wrong.) Needed a bike shop first off, for a new tyre, new chain (it was “70% done” the man said) and had some oil squirted inside the derralieur wheels - and that put a stop to the squeaking that had been bothering me. $87 dollars lighter, I went by the Anne Frank memorial and sat down on the banks of the Boise River to have today's disappointing wrap; yes it was full of meat, but where was the other stuff? Popped into an AT&T cell phone shop to seek assistance with setting up the voicemail, photographed the Capitol Building (modeled on the one in DC) and went to another great library. Today I received an email from Kevin in Portland relating the sad loss of their old grey cat, Digby. He was taken ill and had to be put down. I had heard him purr just a few days ago and this saddened me, as had the two dead cats I had seen on the Highway yesterday. Mooched about the shady, snazzy shopping plazas, taking in all the fancy goods (what recession?) and fancier women who looked like they'd stepped off the set of Sex and the City. Thought I'd have an ice cream and wished I'd taken a class in dessertology, such were the heady choices in this upmarket store. The guy in front had chosen a combination of flavours and sprinkles, chocolates and candies, which the lady behind the counter was pummeling and mixing together. Meanwhile I was working up a cold sweat. Flummoxed by the endless possibilities, I opted for “a regular caramel please”. “Is that all you want?” The lady looked at me like I was crazy. It was very good, although of course a regular cone was more like a regular sized tub. The only store I couldn't find was Radio Shack, which Clyde had suggested for an adaptor plug. I saw Bad Boy Burgers and The Egyptian Smoke Shop and Hookah Bar, but no Radio Shack.

Back at the ranch, Nancy's daughter, Christina came over, just recently back from her honeymoon in Costa Rica. Instead of taking her husband's surname, she and he had formed a melange of a name, which they have both taken. It had reached 92 degrees today and this Englishman had been sweating like a pig, yet Christina thought it “a little cold.” Clyde and Nancy laid on a magnificent barbecue and the juicy cut of beef was to die for. I was also treated to more North Western beers (Mirror Pool and Skinny something). Nancy took me on at Scrabble and it was another close contest, but I just about squeaked out a victory. I had the word BUDGING sitting pretty in my rack, having kept on to that ING for several moves. The only place to put it was with the second G off NE. I didn't think NEG would be valid, yet for 92 points it was worth the risk I felt. Nancy challenged and it was found to be invalid, so I lost my go. Then Nancy put down AH elsewhere on the board leaving room for my BUDGING and BAH. Nancy was pretty mad at herself. Clyde and Christina played backgammon while we were finishing and they had so much fun (more fun than Scrabble?) that I played Clyde afterwards and this time I had my hide tanned. He would say “double sixes, double sixes” before each roll of the dice. Next time that's what I'm going to do.

The next day I felt fully refreshed and my bike was all squeaky clean, without the squeaky bit. First off we had a 'cook-in', or maybe a 'cook-off', I'm not sure. Nancy had laid out bowls of meat and vegetables, for you to add to a couple of eggs and mix up, then you put it in a small freezer bag with your name on in indelible ink, zipped it shut, then put it in a pan of boiling water for 15 minutes. Hey presto : an omelet! It was all very American and a lot of fun. These personalized omelets were complemented with English muffins and a hazelnutty latte. Nancy made me a packed lunch too, just like her sister, Reva. Clyde helped me with the intricacies of government (senators, governors, Congress, the House of Representatives, etc). By the time the election is here in six weeks I might even understand what's going on...

Vale to Boise (September 29)

2008-09-30T13:39:00.001-07:00

Day 15

The senorita at the diner asked if I had any Scottish bills to add to her collection. I said I didn't have any. Well, I wasn't giving her a tenner. On the road at 9, through miles and miles of onion country; flat fields, straight roads and very little else. Today I pined for busy streets, terraced houses and enclosed spaces. A sign told me 20,000 truckloads of this most smelly of vegetables were shipped nationwide every season. As soon as it warmed up, off came the jumper and trousers, and on went the suntan lotion. Stopped in Nyssa for groceries, and today's sandwich turned out to be the most flavoursome of the trip so far : an Italian themed sub, thick with salami, pickles, olives, hot peppers and soft, soft cheese. Then across the Snake River dividing Oregon and Idaho, but more of the same old smelly, flat fields stretching to the horizon.

Finally able to update my blog for the first time in three days, at a library in Caldwell, where a man questioned me about my trip (I was wearing lycra). He suggested I go to places off my route, told me about his five cars, his five kids, work in real estate (which like everything else is faring poorly) and his occasional military tours of Iraq as an interrogator. I still cannot believe how welcoming and open people are here. Continued from rural fringes, towards downtown Boise, traffic and urbanization increasing all the way. Funny to be held at lights in multi-lane highways and see beautiful women again, after several days in the boondocks. There are so many cell phone-using drivers and also motorcyclists without helmets. I don't know how the law stands on these issues and it's different in each state, but something should be done.

Tonight's game of Scrabble (yes I played Scrabble!) was with Janice, who had come down from New Meadows in the mountains to the north, to her second home here in the city to play a game with me, via the Pixie Pit. It was good to have home cooking (meatballs and pasta)as well as Idaho wine, after all those burgers. The game was neck and neck much of the way, even when I played the one bingo (REGIONS). I hadn't seen it initially and put down GROINES instead, which Janice rightly challenged off the board. The E of REGIONS was positioned off PUB to make PUBE. Later it turned out to be erroneous (Janice didn't query it at the time) although PUBES was bona fide. Janice had been reading my blog and was proud to report that unlike pretty much everyone I've talked politics with so far, she was a Republican. She especially liked Sarah Palin, as she could relate to her children and her down to earth nature. Janice had four children, 10 grandchildren and one great grandchild on the way. She also told me about the recent indiscretion of the Idaho Governor, a man with a wife and children, who had tried to pick up a man in a restroom and the man in question turned out to be an undercover police officer. His wife stood by him, but he lost his job. Unlike Washington and Oregon, Idaho is predominantly right-leaning.

Tonight I stayed with Nancy and Clyde, sister and brother-in-law of Reva in Belfair and whom I had met there. They had offered to put me up and as the next day was a rest day, I would be staying with them for two nights. They had been playing golf today and had played 36 holes with Nancy's 80 year old mother. Nancy and Clyde wanted to stop after two rounds, which had taken eight hours, but the old lady wanted to carry on! We stayed up until 2.30, drinking wine and talking about the election and religion. They seemed pretty liberal and well-informed. Clyde put me to shame with his knowledge of the Middle East and also knew quite a bit about Britain. Apparently today had seen the worst plummet ever in a single day's trading at Wall Street. Unfortunately I can't remember a lot else about the discussion and I blame the wine.

A little fragile in the morning, but that was soon put right with three cups of coffee and a bathtub jacuzzi session. I weighed myself and have lost a whole pound in the two weeks since I've been here. I had expected it to be a lot more and I blame American food. No wonder there's so much obesity here, that's all I can say. I don't think British people, with the food on offer there, have the same excuse.

Prairieville to Vale (September 28)

2008-09-29T13:31:00.000-07:00

(Three posts at once - couldn't blog until now)

Day 14

I've run out of even vaguely clean clothes. I don't think they minded too much at the cafe down the street, which opens at 6 am, including today, Sunday. Every table was taken at 7.45, by young men either working or hunting, or by old timers. Had to sit at the counter between big men wearing denims and stetsons, which they never seem to take off, embarrassed about hair loss perhaps. I had the works, knowing it would soon be burnt off as today held four mountain passes in store and 103 miles of riding – there was a sign mocking me right outside the hotel. The first, the Dixie Pass, was the highest yet, at 5,279 feet, although this was only a 2-3,000 foot climb out of Prairie City. Coming down the other side I got so cold that I moved to the left-hand shoulder so as to minimize the tree shade from the southern sun. I was back in pine forest, as unlike Scotland, the higher you go, the more trees there are. I'd forgotten to apply cream to my nether regions and had to act fast, as I couldn't be bothered to leave the road. The hills really aren't so bad on legs and lungs (as I mounted another to 5,109) providing I stay at about 6 mph. They are gradual on highways to make them easy for big trucks and I didn't need to go lower than 2-2 in gears (28 gears - 1-1 being the lowest and 3-8 the highest).

Plenty of black shards littering the roadside (tyres) and black shards overhead too (crows) both of which turn my thoughts to death in this unforgiving landscape. In Unity, where I stopped to fill up my water bottle in a bar, the young woman working there told me it had been 27 degrees when she got up and it was already in the 80s by noon. I asked if she had any fruit for sale and she gave me two apples with leaves on, from a tree across the road. In the window there were notices about unpatented gold mine claims. It became more like real desert out of Unity, with very little vegetation and even pockets of sand. My milometer got sunstroke or something, as it showed an extra 10 miles on the clock and a high speed of 97.1 mph. Had to find shade for lunch and managed to find just enough by a stream, where I hunkered down on a dead tree beside a stream, where out of the heat, a vast array of colourful flora and insects had the same idea. Today's offering was a long roll that had no opening and contained meatballs and cheese. It was surprisingly tasty, or maybe I was just unsurprisingly ravenous. Crossed into Malheur County, losing an hour in the process, as this also entailed crossing into the Mountain time zone. The wind was against me for once, but this was a welcome development as it was like air con, particularly as it had been forecast to reach 90 today. In a trance in this sterile country, with nothing to stimulate the senses. All you see is barren hills, all you hear is grasshoppers, all you smell is dust and all you feel is heat. Oh for rolling farmland, a bit of thatch, a Norman spire, the sound of leather on willow, in England's green and pleasant land.

El Dorado Pass and Brogan Hill Summit, at 4,623 and 3,981 respectively and then back to earth gradually, into a valley with cows, horses, sheep and silage. Stopped in Brogan at a store cum petrol station cum area for chicken, where I asked for more water and was directed to an old-fashioned pump by a stout lady in an apron. Leaving the town an uncovered onion truck overtook me, shedding its cargo's skins as it went. Life is simple and pure here. Simple, pure and probably rather dull. Thankfully today's destination was the town of Vale and not the town of Mountain top, and the last 20 miles were on the level. Willowcreek, a tiny place, but serving a larger area, as it had a school and a pristine Astroturf tennis court. I was positively drooling as I approached Vale at 8 pm, what with the smell of onions and cooking aromas.

Going past 'Handy Clean Mosheen' car wash, I was directed to an RV (recreational vehicle) park, where a little old lady charged me a mere $30 to stay in the Golden Wheel Motel. Too hungry to go there first, to change and wash, so went straight to the Starlite Cafe at the other end of town, where they had 'Pie ala Mode'. I asked the lady if they served beer here. She didn't understand my accent even after I said it twice, so I asked if they had alcohol. They didn't, so I made do with Coke. I had a burger again. I know I should be a little adventurous, but when you're really hungry, you don't want to mess about. Burger quality has got steadily worse the further east I've traveled and I hope this trend doesn't continue into Idaho. In the bathroom both soap and paper towel dispensers were motion activated - in a place like this!

The motel room was spacious and its décor pleasantly disagreeable. I noticed for the first time that on American TV the volume of the adverts is louder than the programmes! I also noticed when I looked in the mirror, that, yes, the southern sun had given me a wonky tan. When I reached the east coast I would have to come back again to even it up. The windows were jammed shut so I had the fan on overnight, and I kept waking up thinking, “Oh no, it's very windy out there.”

Dayville to Prairieville (September 27)

2008-09-29T13:30:00.000-07:00

Day 13

I'm having bike troubles. The chain is making a noise like it needs lubrication, even when it has just been lubricated. While using a screwdriver to force parts of the dérailleur away from the chain, in case it was from here the noise occurred, a young man pulled up in a pick-up truck to offer assistance. Sure, other cyclists have asked if I've needed help before, but in the UK I'm pretty sure that no one has ever stopped in their car. He couldn't help, however, and along with the front tyre, which now has orange patches showing through, hopefully Boise won't be too far away.

Arriving in Mount Vernon to buy a sandwich from the Silver Spur Home Cook'n Restaurant, I was reminded of where I lived, as this town shares its name with a suburb of Glasgow. I'm also reminded of home by the milometer, the clock on which is set to UK time (I'm unable to change it). Here it was in the 80s without a cloud in the immense sky at lunchtime on what could have been any day. There it would be 9 on a probably dreich Saturday night and the town would be “hoachin'” with well-dressed young Glaswegians already “steamin'” on pints of Tennents and voddie and Irn Bru. The tanned blonde in the restaurant took my order and mimicked the way I said banana. No, there was nowhere to buy fruit here. The Juniper Press was a free photocopied ad rag that had not been compiled on a pc or typeset; the ads were mostly in handwritten.

I don't see any McCain or Obama posters in this here Grant County, only “Ron Paul for President 2008” ones, whoever he may be. Continued to John Day, named after, well, John Day, a geologist, and the county's largest town, ringing in at 1,840 head of humans. There was wi fi at Subway, the local teenagers' retreat, blaring out bland indy pop. And so to tonight's stopover, Prairie City, only 48 miles from Dayville and still 103 miles to the next stop in Vale, but nothing could be done about that unless I'd brought a tent. I reluctantly ventured across the threshold of the Historic Hotel Prairie and asked the rotund lady at the desk about tarrifs.

Me : How much is the cheapest room?
She : $75
Me : I can't afford that
She : How much do you usually pay?
Me : $50
She : Where are you from?
Me : Scotland
She : Just a minute
She : (on the phone top her boss) I have a young man here and he only has $50.... Is that OK?... He's from Scotland... OK.
Me : Is it OK?
She : It's OK

The room was the blandest, brownest one I'd ever seen – everything in it was brown, including the curtains and lampshades. There was one brown picture and that was 8”x6” in a frame 24”x18”. The interior designer was either a chocoholic or had an inferiority complex. Across the lobby the sign on the door read “Joy of massage”. Out to the Oxbow Restaurant for a Prairie Burger & fries and Mill Pond Beer. The décor was straight out of the Wild West, with deer heads, bearskins and mirrors set in intricately carved, dark wood surrounds. The only up to date elements were the waitresses' hotpants (and they really shouldn't have) and American Football on TV. Always Football or baseball everywhere you go. A group of hunters came in, wearing virtually identical camouflage gear and baseball caps. They all had salads.

Prineville to Dayville (September 26)

2008-09-27T15:48:00.000-07:00

Day 12

As the motel didn't serve breakfast, and they usually don't, I ventured into the cold Oregon air and took a left at the Apple Peddler. It was here that I forgot to ride on the right for the first time and nearly ploughed into an oncoming vehicle. I had me another plate of bacon, eggs and pancakes, which were today served by a blond waitress with a ready smile and a Coke bottle figure. All that could be surmised from the three young men at the next table was from their bobbing baseball caps, their hunting talk and their frequent use of the word “freakin'”. To my right a middle-aged couple ate their breakfast while she talked on the phone to a female friend the whole time.

At Ray's Food Place (it says what it is) and my new favourite store, I purchased the following items :

1 turkey sandwich with lettuce and French mustard (10 layers of turkey)
2 lbs red grapes
1 lb Spice Drops
1 quart Gatorade

and all for $8.74!

When resting at the roadside I have to stop myself from looking under rocks, as I'm partial to beetles and lizards, but as Paul in Philomath warned me, there could be a rattlesnake lying there. My Mum has told me not to stay with any weirdos and now my older brother tells me not to use minor roads in the mountains in case of heavy snow. This is my support team. I did see and hear plenty of crickets though, and my chain chirruped along with them - oiling and cleaning it doesn't reduce the noise annoyingly – and worryingly, as the next bike shop is 200+ miles away. Also saw numerous stripy caterpillars playing chicken in the road, an owl and a chipmunk standing on its hind legs.

Lake Ochoco (would be a good Scrabble word for dumping bad letters) looked pretty, although it would have been prettier still had it been the other side of the road, so I could take pictures away from the sun. It's as if the light is coming from every angle here, such is the strength of colour and the clarity of every form. I know that when returning to a Scottish winter, it will seem extra dark, dank and dingy, especially today as it reached the 80s and of course it's a dry heat. Saw three lone bicycles (the first distance cyclists I've seen so far) today, all of them going the other way – into the wind – and one on a recumbent bike with three times the gear I'm carrying.

Climbed to 4,722 feet at Ochoco Pass and then sped downhill to Mitchell, where a Suzi Quatro lookalike in a junk-shop filled my water bottles and showed me old postcards of the former thriving timber and ranching town. The hardest climb yet, up to Keyes Creek Summit at 4,372' was slightly eased by witty comments painted on the hard shoulder by another cyclist :

At the start - “Piece of cake”
Halfway - “Keep peddlin'”
Three quarters - “Almost there”
At the top - “U R awesome” (with a smiley face)

It then opened out on to suede hills, followed by suede rocky outcrops, which created feelings of insignificance and it's at times like this when you see yourself and the world as if from the outside. In this remote country, where people live far apart from one another (as well as driving about in huge, high up cars and motorhomes as big as buses) it starts to make sense how intolerance, resistance to change, anti-communism and anti-anything different to 'white bread' Americana would germinate. The US has often been accused of isolationist foreign policy and this can be better understood when travelling through states like Oregon. The road, however, is a great leveler, at least for me. I love roads, especially ones like this, smoothly curving through rugged and desolate terrain. There were sections atop precipices without barriers, like something out of a James Bond film, and I could hear my Mum saying, “Ooh be careful Adrian,” as she used to when I learned to drive with her. There were also sections scouring through gorges – and it was in one of these that I swerved to avoid four cows. I couldn't work out where they'd come from, as there was no grass for many miles in either direction.

Exiting the gorge, the land flattened out with distant pink mountains, which must have been in the area of the map where Gatorade had been spilled. I'm still enjoying the signs, many of which don't relate to bikes, but I read them all the same. It's as if they've all been written by the same firm but fair hand : Daddy America. And so, after 88 miles and the hardest ride of the journey thus far, I rolled into Dayville at 7 pm. A cute 'Way Out West' settlement of 170 souls; it catered for me perfectly with its one lodging house and its one cafe/bar. Denise showed me to one of the rooms in her Fish House Inn and immeasurably better than any motel, with its homely feel, its neighbourhood cat coming in for a stroke and its olde worlde décor, such as fishing nets with wooden fish draped across the wall. After nothing more than grapes and Spice Drops since lunchtime, a big, juicy, fat burger with gherkins and fried onions was just the ticket at South Fork Saloon & Steakhouse, along with a bottle of Black Butte Porter, brewed in Bend. The townsfolk were all in there and many of them were playing Texas Hold 'em around a blue baize table. I had no desire to join them however, and came back to the cosy Fish House for milk 'n' cookies.

Didn't rise until nearly nine (and I would have slept longer had it not been for fighting cats) after a fantastic sleep in a big, plush high-up bed. Nowhere serving breakfast, so plumped for a $1.29 blueberry muffin from the store next door and filter coffee from the inn. Watched local news, where they were discussing yesterday's presidential candidate head-to-head debate. The pundit compared the two performances and criticized Obama as “a little cerebral”. Half an hour later the same news item was repeated and there was nothing else on except cartoons.

Bend to Prineville (September 25)

2008-09-26T09:11:00.000-07:00

Day 11.

First stop : a bike shop, to get new peddles. Second stop : a bank. Third stop : the library (another amazingly good one and very well used by Benders). Fourth stop : Townsend's Tea Shop, where I asked for a latte and I got a 'tea latte'! A groovy cafe in the style of an old-fashioned English tea house that never actually existed in England. Bend is a gorgeous little town, which had a population of 10,000 when Yoleen moved here in 1990 and is now up to 75,000, such is its popularity, especially amongst old folks. There are 80 golf courses in the vicinity, all of which are irrigated, the gardens boast wonderful imported turf and also the flowers are pretty impressive, including succulents and sunflowers. Something else I just remembered about Yoleen is that she indulges in an activity called Geo Cashing, where people hide and seek pieces of Tupperware using GPS, secreted all over the world, trade trinkets and write comments in log books hidden with their finds. Each to their own. I could have stayed in this tea shop all day, and really didn't want to hit the road to stay in a succession of lonely motels through some pretty desolate country between here and Boise.
Before finally leaving, I stopped off at Safeway, where I noticed people receive cash for returning cans and bottles. So that's why I've seen a certain class of individuals walking round town with shopping trolleys full of what I thought to be trash.

20 miles north to Redmond and the same again east to Prineville. I had originally intended to travel on Highway 20 via Burns, but Scott in Sweet Home had said there was no accommodation in Brothers, so I had to take this slightly longer, but more populated route to the north. The roads today were straight and fairly flat, and all the places I passed through were Dullsville USA. The mountains were too far away and although today was sunny and warm, the views were spoiled by dust. This high plateau is what the locals call dessert, yet there's still plenty of stunted vegetation. There's irrigated farmland too, as this is ranch country, and next to large houses there are often artificial ponds surrounded by weeping willows. There are even bulrushes in the irrigated ditches at the side of the road. There were strong winds on this open land, although thankfully none of them have been from the direction I am travelling as yet. Fascinated by the weird and wonderful plants around here, especially the heathery ones in lemon, and pale pinks and oranges. These subtle tints reminded me of the colours in those children's pictures composed of dots that you paint over with water.

After this morning's large breakfast, I didn't stop for lunch - in the shade of a tree, surrounded by animal bones – until 4 pm. But what did you have Adrian? I had a turkey, provolone (processed cheese) & pesto wrap, followed by a banana and a handful of jelly beans.

And so to Prineville, or rather Plainville. Tonight I spent my first night alone, in a motel and dinner was a simple hamburger from a fast-food joint. It was actually very refreshing to be on my own for a change, which is not to say I haven't enjoyed each of the 10 nights with warm, gracious and interesting hosts so far – but it is nice to have some time to myself – watch crap TV and not have to talk. I properly cleaned out all the Gatorade-streaked items from my panniers and laid out the maps, which now include large pink regions. I did something else which is far too disgusting to relate, but it was connected to spending long hours in the saddle and involved a sharp pin.

Sweet Home to Bend (September 24)

2008-09-25T12:56:00.000-07:00

Day 10.

(Two posts published today - scroll down for day 9)

Today was the biggie. The biggest of the trip maybe, psychologically at least. I was to be getting my first taste of serious climbing and serious altitude. Not only that, Bend was 98 miles up the road. Stopped at the drive-in Coffee Hut for a latte. One for the road. Here I overheard a female customer moan about her ex-boyfriend, “He was either working or hunting.” To begin with it was level, then it was downhill – I didn't want downhill as it could only mean more uphill. Stopped every 10 miles and it was tortuous to wait that long on the steep parts, but psychologically it was empowering and I was totally disciplined and hard on myself. After climbing for 15 miles I finally reached the summit of Tombstone Pass and finally saw that the altitude here was 4,236 feet – and this from 500 feet in Sweet Home. I don't think I've ever been to such a height, at least not through my own exertion. However, it wasn't as arduous as I'd imagined and it's twisting through forest, so it's not as if you can see a road going straight up a mountain in front of you. I was bothered more by my noisy, crunchy peddle and also that it might drop off. I stopped for a snack and drink at a car park, and a man chatted to me, while his boy stared. They were identical in every way, except for the size difference and one of them wearing a beard. Dad praised my efforts and said the hardest part was behind me. I lied that I'd started at 9, knowing that he would praise me further. The boy just stared. There were trails here and you're supposed to enter your details in a log book in case you don't return.

Saw my first live deer, startled by a non-vehicular human, it bounced into the trees. It's all trees around here; great swathes of burnt, white skeletons, alongside the living. There were trucks fully laden with timber heading coastwards and empty ones with their back wheels turned up onto their front ones, going the other way, like salmon returning to the source. I also saw a motorbike in a trailer being towed by an SUV, being towed by a motorhome. It's impossible to describe the scale of this environment without using a string of superlatives, so I won't even try. Had my first mishap halfway between where civilization ends (Cascadia) and where it begins again (Sisters) in the form of spilling a quart of Gatorade inside one of my panniers. I was out of water too and it's a distance of 60 miles between the two settlements I just mentioned. However, I immediately stumbled across some kind of logging base with buildings, where one of the men directed me to a tap. He looked just like Hannibal out of the A Team and he was smoking a car. I love it when a plan comes together. Maybe it was a dream, but the water tasted real enough. Here's what I consumed today :

2 slices toast & Marmite
1 chicken salad sandwich
3 bananas
2 energy bars
1 big bag of jelly beans
1 buffalo burger & fries
Approx 3 litres water
3 pints of Oregon beer
2 coffees
No chocolate!

The energy bars are made by a company called Clif and it says on the back “Named after my father, Clifford, my childhood hero and companion throughout the Sierra Nevada Mountains.” On the front there's a drawing of a man hanging from a cliff.

Then there was a lot of downhill and then the Santiam Pass (4,817 feet) which was much easier, with the sun in my face and wind at my back, and I was out of the woods – at least metaphorically. Why were all these people snapping knobbly old Mount Washington (what was it doing in Oregon anyway?) when there was a Toblerone one next to it. There was this one fat, middle-aged man wearing shorts and a T shirt, with a camera sporting a huge lens, who looked like a Duane Hanson sculpture. He makes life-size sculptures of ugly Americans. Don't blame me, blame him. Flat for the last 30 miles, through touristy Sisters and on to a scrubby plateau with a few short trees and yellow grass. The Yanks love their country and their pride shines through their signs. Recently I've seen a kennels called Forever Fields, a dirt-track called Paradise Alley and a complex of barns bearing the name Straw Palace in big, silver letters. Had to take a dump and at least there were a few trees to hide behind, off Highway 20. At least it was dry and warm and thankfully I'd remembered to pack toilet paper this time. The bike lane is often as wide as the car lane and yet I was the only one using it until I got into Bend, like my own red carpet. There are plenty of bikes attached to SUVs, but no one uses them to get from A to B.

In Bend I saw the Shag Hair Salon and Susan's Permanent Make-up, before turning into Elgin, where tonight's host resided with her big black diabetic dog and her two elderly cats, one of them blind. I had come by Yoleen through the Pixie Pit and she had six games of Scrabble permanently on the go on her laptop. She had three jobs to make ends meet, the main one in a theatre, another organizing a farmers' market and the other one making candles, manufactured in her kitchen. We went out to dinner at The Bend Brewing Company – or BBC as she termed it. Here I had a... you guessed it... huge, delicious buffalo burger, accompanied by beer brewed on the premises, one of which had Tartan in the title. We also played Scrabble, which was no great shakes as neither of us had much luck with the tiles, but I managed to squeak home in first place. She had warned me there was a letter missing and it turned out to be a blank, the most prized tiles in the game. Yoleen had the following day off in my honour and wanted to take me on a pub crawl; however, after eight hours in the saddle and 101 miles of asphalt behind me I needed to sleep. Amidst my protests, Yoleen gave up her bed for me and slept on the couch. Yes, another lovely person.

After yet another great sleep (although today I was dehydrated) we went out for breakfast, where the waitress hadn't heard of HP Sauce. Imagine such a thing! Neither did she know Daddy's Sauce, which must be another of these fake American products we get in the UK; but she did have A1 Steak Sauce and that was tastier than both the aforementioned condiments. Yes, I like food and I like talking about it. In an Ideal world I would live in Scotland, surrounded by English people, eat American food and have a wife from Somalia.

Philomath to Sweet Home (September 23)

2008-09-25T12:53:00.000-07:00

Day 9

It was still in the 40s as I hit the road back into Corvalis, although the sun soon warmed it up. Stopped in this cool college town for my latte and blog fix at a hippie cafe, where a woman was pretending to be interested in the poetry her friend was reading out and hideous psychedelic paintings hung on the wall. Popped into Safeway for my usual wrap, banana and Gatorade – this time the copper sulphate blue variety. In Wells Fargo Bank I had already signed the $100 traveler's cheque, when the cashier said there was a $10 fee. Having signed it in her presence I would have to cash it there and then. However, after I looked at her aghast, she phoned her boss and the fee was waived. Today was supposed to be easy (a mere 48 miles) sandwiched as it was between two monsters. However, it was harder work somehow and maybe this was because I was finally heading east and I could see the mountains looming. In Lebanon I stopped at a bike shop as one of my pedals was making unhealthy noises. Sure enough, the young man, who must have had a 60 inch chest and worked most of the time as a hairdresser (I'm not sure how he got close enough to cut people's hair) fitted a new pair of pedals. They only had this one type that fit and they were off another bike, so although they cost $100 new, he only charged me $20. A few hundred yards up the road I turned round and came back again, as they had metal ridges that stuck into my plimsolls. I decided to make to with the crunchy sound until I reached Sisters, or even Bend.

America is already in Hallowe'en's thrall by this time of year. I don't think there's really any gap between summer, Hallowe'en, Thanksgiving and xmas – they blend together. Many houses are externally decorated with all manner of suitable figures and one cafe was promoting a pumpkin pie flavour latte. Arrived in Sweet Home late in the afternoon and popped into another library to kill time before tonight's rendez vous. Scott & Diane, a cabinet maker and nurse, were waiting for me on their porch and took me inside their spacious, tidy home, where I was also introduced to their very well-behaved children Elric and Natasha, as well as their dog, cat, fish, water snails, dead butterflies and hamsters playing dodgems inside their spheres. I have never been in the company of such a charming family. We spent the entire time in each other's company – or the humans at least. First up were burritos, followed by a tour of the house and photos, followed by a four-player game of Scrabble, which I am a bit ashamed to say I easily won as I had both blanks leading to two bonuses (STEADIER & DREAMING – great bingo letters). Then we sat down on the sofas and talked. Yes! Imagine it, simply chewing the fat, all five of us. They were such a lovely and loving family, knew everything about each other and were full of banter. Elric told me about his turn on the school debate team today. They had representatives for the Democrats and Republicans (oh not that again) but also a third non-affiliated party, which he was spokesperson for. He argued that the main parties wasted a lot of money and spent all their time badmouthing each other. Not bad for a boy of 13. Meanwhile, Natasha, nine, could have talked the hind legs off a coyote, but she was immeasurably entertaining, as her speech was so theatrical and polished.

Scott helped me with the route to such an extent that he gave me a whole NEW route across the 'bad lands' of eastern Oregon. He looked into motels for me, as for most of the next few days I haven't been able to find Scrabble players or couchsurfers, due to the sparse population. I had thought there was a motel in Brothers, but his up to date computer programme found nothing, saving me a 150 mile trip in one day! Instead he plotted me a route further north. Tomorrow would be the 'big day' though, getting to Bend, as this involved a big climb to heights I'd never been before on foot, let alone on pedal. So, an early night was in order and this clean-living family were all in bed by 10, meaning that I could retire early also.

Elric had to catch the 6.50 am bus! People get up early round here. The dog, who had been friendly yesterday, now didn't recognise me and barked. Scott told me how many of his family worked with wood : one of his brothers transported it, another milled it and of course he turned it into cabinets. Had my beloved Marmite on toast (well I had brought it all this way, so I might as well use it) and I was on the road soon after 8.

Some photos for y'all

2008-09-23T22:02:00.000-07:00

Kindly sent to me by Dan in Belfair and featuring his lovely wife Reva and her sister Nancy.

Portland to Philomath (September 22)

2008-09-23T12:02:00.000-07:00

Day 8

A couple of dedications. Congratulations to my older brother, Anthony, who lives in Boston, on his engagement to his long-suffering... I mean long-standing girlfriend Rachel. Also a big thank you to my younger brother Neil, who lives in Hampshire in the UK, on his sterling efforts on the production of maps with my route on them. Thanks also to the people leaving comments, positive or negative I don't mind, and I'd love to receive more. I'll keep writing the same way, but any criticism is welcome.

I had been warned about a Pepsi truck making a delivery at 3.30 am, and Kevin's snoring which I could hear it quite clearly from the floor below. Unfortunately I'd forgotten to take the ear plugs I'd been offered, but once I'd done my blogging duty I was out like a light. In the morning Kevin cooked up a storm, featuring the de rigeur crispy bacon, his 'Gold Bullion' yeast extract (I think it needs a little work), fried potatoes and an egg produced by another in-house, or rather in-back yard chicken. Then, with crumpled laundry they had kindly done for me, stuffed it into a pannier and was kicked out, as they had to go to work at 8.30. A couple of the many hundreds of cyclists I saw in Portland let me tag along behind them, to help me get out of the city and this included going on what had surely been a multi-million dollar tarmac bike path, with a wealth of very informative signs, sculptures and views of the industrial landscape. Bikes seem to be prioritized over bums. Beautiful day and yet still haven't seen any mountains down on ground, as now there is so much foliage. Maybe it was just as well. Headed back the way I'd come, via a library in Lake Oswego, ie south west. Yes, I should have stayed in Sherwood after Portland.

20 miles had elapsed and I was still in suburban Portland, which Kevin had described as a merely a large town. I stopped at a library in Lake Oswego (I'm so impressed with the libraries round here) then retraced my peddles on Highway 99, all the way back through Sherwood, where they have Robin Hood re-enactments and a local sports team is called The Bowmen. Reminded of Scotland by the South Westerly wind in my face and also by the references to Scots in place and street names, making me wonder what it was like in the nineteenth century when these people came out to this wild country. A few more observations from Highway Americana : a lot of drivers use cell phones, companies and even individuals and families adopt sections of roads, and roadwork signs are not only bright orange and diamond shape, but they sport orange flags on top because they need to vie for attention with all the other signs. Stopped at (my new favourite store) Fred Meyer's for a club wrap, a banana and a quart of Gatorade, coming in at $4. Not only is the food cheap AND delicious – but I can eat as much as I want as I know the calories will be cycled off. Talking of which, another sign informed me that Corvalis was still 58 miles along the highway and I had already ridden 35, it was after 1 pm and Philomath was beyond Corvalis... When I stopped in a field to devour the second half of the wrap, a truck with specially adapted wheels went by on the railroad. Only in America...

Traveling south there were less trees, more crops and it was more open. I don't know why it seems so vast here, or maybe it's psychological, but Britain is rendered claustrophobic in comparison. Repeatedly vistas are unfolding which are more expansive than the curvature of the earth should allow and it's mind-blowing, especially with today's crystalline visibility. It's as if I've been a troglodyte all my life and have finally stepped out into the sunlight. When stopping for a breather discovered the wind was slightly behind me now. I have been so lucky with the weather... so far.

As dark descended, pine trees released their sweet, toilety scent. In Corvalis there was a 'Darkside Cinema', which tonight's host told me had received a lot of grief from the Christians, such as the Church of the Nazarene maybe, whose electronic display read “God makes the wind, Man sets his own sail”, as I sailed by. Philomath (Fi-LOW-muth) is home to the 'Philomath Frolic and Rodeo”, which I entered as it was growing cold and dark, as well as having reached 100 miles on the clock for the first time ever in one day. Paul's house was another five miles up the road and I'd reached 106 as I turned into his drive, whilst maintaining an average of 14 mph. Paul, a carpenter, an ex or even current hippie, hailed from San Francisco, where he'd grown up with such great bands as The Grateful Dead and Frank Zappa. Next door to Paul lived a wood sculptor and his beautiful work was all around the place. Paul whipped up a very welcome salmon patties on sourdough sandwich and we drank beer and German brandy while playing a couple of games of you know what. I managed two wins, but they were close games and I was the only player to eke out a couple of bingos (FEASTINGS again). I had come across Paul on the Pixie Pit, the online Scrabble site I play on with my brothers. Paul hadn't played a live game in years he said. He played some great music, including Joan Armatrading, Robert Plant, early Fleetwood Mac and introduced me to John Mayall.

After another deep sleep, Paul talked politics over a fine breakfast of waffles and eggs. Yet another Democrat, he used the phrase 'Joe Lunch Bucket' to describe the average Republican who is resistant to change and intolerant to anything that is 'other'. He agreed with me that many local political offices were dependent on who has the most money and can afford more promotional signs along the highway.

Sherwood to Portland 2 (September 21)

2008-09-22T10:32:00.001-07:00

Day 7

Found a shopping mall just as the rains came down (first time since I came out here) and looked inside for a few items. I needed :

1.A compass
2.An adaptor for my razor
3.Tippex
4.Some postcards
5.Sweets (yes I'd eaten all those other ones I didn't like)

Could I find any of these useful items amongst all the swanky clothes, shoe and perfume shops? Could I find any of these items in two department stores (Nordstrom's & Macy's)? Could I hell. Sat on a bench overlooking a covered car park as the rain became torrential. This is the kind of weather I'm afraid of when I'm exposed on some cold, lonely mountain top. Fortunately today was a kind of rest day and I was in a city. Watched the scuzzy locals, like the enormous black woman wedged into her car seat as other black women came and went (I don't think she could have got out), the smoking skateboarders and a couple of grungy dudes sitting next to me discussing the merits of Russell Brand. After feeling loved and welcomed in the country, I was totally ignored as just some other crazy guy – a weird bicycle guy with a fanny pack.

As the rain abated, I continued towards the Sullivan's Gulch area of town, along 28th Street, although first I went to 24th Street by mistake. Too many numbers in these addresses. Outside Kevin & Wendy's house it looked kind of tatty, and when Kevin, who looked a bit similar to a younger Elvis Costello, showed me into the ground floor 'warehouse' where I parked my bike, it didn't seem too great. But then he took me upstairs. What a place... It was an Aladdin's Cave of Cool. Everything (and there was a whole lot of everything) was old-fashioned and beautifully crafted - and loved by this sweet couple. It looked as if Wendy had been arranging herself decorously, wrapped in a blanket, just for my entry. She looked a little like Audrey Hepburn, but not as waiflike and a whole lot prettier. Kevin showed me around what was clearly a labour of love, as here was a granite bathroom suite, there was a custom-made kitchen with marble worktops and in Wendy's studio it was an emporium of gorgeous treasures, such as chocolate ladybirds, jewelery and a package of rubber beetles sent by her sister. Wendy took me to a local store, where I found everything I needed from the list above apart from the adaptor plug. She told me that they had been introduced by friends on her one and only blind date experience, which had clearly paid off and they had been married for some time.

The two of them did a bit of this and a bit of that for a living, but had clearly made a lot of dough in their time. Kevin was the resourceful type, as he showed me his 'Marmite' type product, while downstairs he was making cider. They were extremely engaging as well, for all their Americanness (they called each other buddy) and we got on like old friends. Such is the social cement quality of our favourite game, or Kevin and I at least, as we sat down to play a couple of games either side of yet another delightful meal. It seems as though I've never tasted food properly before, as here so many things have been tantalizing on the taste buds. Tonight I had a kind of bolognese, with homemade pasta, and homegrown tomatoes and peppers, with more local beer and followed up by Wendy's stupendous ginger cake. I'm running out of superlatives,at least when it comes to the gastronomics of on this trip. Once again they were Democrats and have even entertained the idea of leaving the country if McCain and (more worryingly from their perspective) Palin is elected. Anyway, there were more important things afoot. We each won a game of Scrabble and were happy to leave it that way. Kevin played beauties in both games, with SQUINT/DUOS (52 – because the Q was on a double letter and the word was doubled also) and YEARLING (92) in the second game. I got two bingos in the first game, which was why I won it. Maybe one day they will come and visit me in Glasgow and then we can play the decider. Then I went down to the 'warehouse' part, which was still kind of groovy. I've never slept in a room with hundreds of tools, fermenting cider and so many weird and wonderful objects before. There was a painting of Charlie Chaplin in the toilet and some other guy who gave you the evil eye as you sat on the pan. The bed had a quilt made of jumpers and there was a dead tree covered in dried lichen and sprouting pink, plastic flowers.

Leg 2 : Portland, OR - Boise, ID

2008-09-22T01:13:00.000-07:00

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Sherwood to Portland (September 21)

2008-09-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

Day 7

Like everyone else I've encountered, Polly couldn't believe how little I carried on my bike, as we said our goodbyes and I got my own back on that hill, on which I clocked my highest ever speed of 44.3 mph! Averaged almost 15 mph for the 20 miles into Portland; rider and bike in good shape, smooth roads and the wind onside. I prefer to watch the milometer rather than the speedometer though, as it goes up in hundredths, so I can feel like I'm moving along. I especially enjoy watching the years of my life ticking by from 19.66 onwards, in speedy 17.6 yard increments. I just get enough time to see a single snapshot from each year, like losing my virginity, moving house, getting a job, ending a relationship... Then I can speculate on the year of my demise around 20.56. Going down a massive hill into the city I passed a hobo coming the other way, with twice the load on his bike – in addition to a big rucksack. Seemed strange to be in a cosmopolitan environment again, with its sleek skyscrapers, well-dressed young urbanites and skanky bums. A lots of bums. Had lunch at a yoga centre & cafe, peopled by the 'knit their own bread brigade', androgynous women and bearded men. Here I pleasured myself with a huge (do I use that word too often?) hummus, olive and salad wrap.

Longview to Sherwood (September 20)

2008-09-21T14:13:00.001-07:00

Day 6

Greg took me to Safeway, where I bought a huge pastry for 99 c and fantastic coffee, to which I added 'half and half' thinking this must be a low fat alternative, when in fact it means half cream. Unusually you had to pay for refills, but because the guy at the till made a mistake with the cash register and I was from Scotchland an' all, he gave us the second cup for free. I don't understand a lot of the behaviour here, but I like it. Greg filled me in on the political system here, which is nearly as complicated as football, with all the layers (governors, senators, mayors, councillors) and they even vote in their judges. I haven't met any Republicans yet and like in the UK, everyone believes Obama will be the next Pres. They also seem to be of the opinion McCain is just like Bush and Palin is not up to the job and would go to war with anyone at the drop of a hat.

Took my leave of this gentle guy and crossed the Columbia River into Oregon, which is somewhat akin to crossing the Firth of Forth, as it's 1.5 miles across a magnificent iron bridge. Views of belching industry and millions of logs waiting patiently to be shipped someplace, but no 'long view' of Mounts St Helens or Rainier due to poor visibility. Saw more dead wildlife along Highway 30 – a deer and a grey cat-sized creature with black eye patches (a raccoon?) Picked up a beat-up nail brush, as this is one item that has been lacking from bathrooms and I like to have clean fingernails. Must have been an old crocks' rally going on because I saw a lot of gleaming 'Anthill Mob' type cars, although my favourite was a mat royal blue one. A VW van with The Grateful Dead painted on it went by also. I wonder how many of them there are in America? Generally there are many Hell's Angel type bikers on the roads too. It's 2008, but not in these people's minds.

Stopped to pick up a sandwich in a supermarket in St Helens, where the smallest one was still pretty big and the biggest was the size of a loaf. Perused the endless varieties of candy, in search of something I knew and asked a girl if she knew of American Hard Gums. She looked at me like I was a kiddy fiddler and hadn't heard of them – maybe you only get them in Britain... Chose 'Spice Drops', which looked similar, but they tasted medicinal and that's not really what I go for in a sweet, although they had a mouthwash quality. Ate the tasty, thick sandwich on a hillock the other side of Skappoose, overlooking Highway 30 which had now busied up with Saturday traffic.

Turned up Cornelius Pass, which was uphill, so took my jumper off and wrapped it round my waist so I could sit on it, much to my bottom's relief. It was three miles up and then two miles down, so I prayed I hadn't made a wrong turning again. So many huge vehicles. I've often thought of having a T shirt printed with the words 'Get a bigger car' on the back. I don't think a lot of Americans would get the thinly veiled sarcasm though and would say “Where are these big cars this guy's selling, I don't see a phone number.” Came off the route Greg had worked out for me, and also off the crappy map in Hillsboro, a mere suburb of Portland and yet home to 80,000 souls. They're good at telling you populations and altitudes, but not anything useful like how to get anywhere.

Somehow fluked it to my destination, Bell Road, which is South West of Portland and all uphill. Some bits of it were steep and other bits were crazy steep. Saw a dead skunk (no bad smell though?) and some kind of blue bird with a ruff, which might have been a jay, according to my host, Rich, who had a passing facial resemblance to Clint Eastwood, and along with his wife Polly, lived in a pretty big house with magnificent views (that hill had to be good for something). They belonged to the Portland Scrabble Club, which is how I came across them. Polly was a nurse and Rich used to have a marketing job, but was now retired. Polly toiled in the 'cookery programme' style kitchen, gave me a cream soda and Rich beat me at my chosen game, even though I played UTILIZED (only 70). Dinner was a highly flavoursome Mexican themed, vegetarian affair, with Oregonian beer and wrapped up with blackberries from their yard and ice cream. They had four acres, and four chickens which laid an egg each a day. Next up it was Polly's turn to beat me at Scrabble and then Rich decided to make it three losses for yours truly. They were all quite good games, but I had a few words disallowed, like LATTISED, which was a bit silly, yet also EEN and LAH, which are both acceptable plays in my language. I had played EEN with CHEESY, which would have scored 60+ had it been allowed. I could had CHESTY/SEN and I chestiness wins over cheesiness any day in my book. They were good players though, I'll grudgingly give them that. Rich wanted to add insult to injury with a fourth loss for poor old me, but no, it was time for bed. I'd cycled 76 miles today and about ten of those had been unnecessary ones.

In the morning discovered that as well as my bedroom, there were no curtains on the bathroom windows. Interesting... Polly cooked up the most delicious fried eggs I have had in my entire life, from the chickens in their back yard. We put the world to rights this morning at the kitchen table, overlooking a hazy, lush rural idyll. Polly is liberal, but Rich is a little more conservative, which I think means he is Republican. Polly is aghast at Sarah Palin vetoing a woman's right to have an abortion and also her acceptance of school's teaching creationism and not teaching sex education, especially as she has so many children and one of them has been in trouble for taking drugs. They met through their beloved board game and both play at tournaments still, although Polly chooses the locations o0f the competitions based on whether there is sightseeing. They take a lot of vacations, especially cruises, where they play Scrabble continuously on board the boat. Rich told me about a woman who dressed in leather at tournaments and another who showed a lot of cleavage. This was possibly part of their tactics, although the cleavagey lady was getting on now, so it was more off putting than distracting for her male opponents. i was given a quick tour of the three acre property, overlooking vineyards and Mount Hood, when it isn't so misty. They have fruit trees, a goldfish pond and I was also introduced to the hens, where it seemed there was rivalry as we came across a broken egg.

Centralia to Longview (September 19)

2008-09-20T09:15:00.000-07:00

Day 5

Took my leave of a drowsy Summer & Tom, and headed back into town for bacon, eggs over easy, pancakes, maple syrup and coffee at Bill & Bea's Drive-in, served by a tanned waitress with fiercely beautiful blue eyes. So much for American service – it took half an hour to produce such a simple breakfast. The pancake just about did me in. Stoked up and feeling fine, I left Centralia City Limits and was out on Jackson Highway with a tail wind, swinging through wooded hills, yet somehow remaining on the flat. I feel a kinship with the other road users, whether they be in battered old jalopies, great rumbling wagons or Stupid Ugly Vehicles. Drivers wait patiently behind as I swerve round a parked car, I've yet to see someone not indicate when turning and pedestrians in the shoulder step on to rough ground to give me a wide berth with a smile. Here it seems industrious, with a plethora of businesses and shops, and so many souls toiling outdoors. I live America goddamnit. In a world of my own failed to see a traffic island even though it was edged yellow and bumpily careered over the top of it.

Stopping every ten miles for a breather, a drink and to take notes. Sat down at a picnic table adrift in a sea of golden maple leaves in Lewis & Clark State Park, in Cowlitz country, the 'Capturing Medicine Spirit' Indians. The sun came out in Toledo and it warmed the air up after a couple of cool days. Here I popped into Betty's Place for a hot bacon, turkey and swiss cheese on sourdough, which was consumed beside a fast-flowing turquoise river. The local high school promotes a forthcoming sports diary, including wrestling. Is that right? Adults watching young boys grappling one another? Noticed that away from the city people are bigger and plainer.

Crossing Interstate 5 there followed a heavenly stretch of golden tree-lined road, where only half a dozen cars passed in as many miles. Here there were ramshackle homesteads, old folks out in their yards, goats, llamas and dogs chasing me (usually) from behind fences. Recrossed I5 again and a third time before Castle Rock, a town with a population of 2,300 and boasting nine churches. Here I got lost and a man told me to turn down Pleasant Valley Hill (except he wasn't) where I passed another perplexing sign in the form of the “Shed with Shears Hair Salon”. One criticism I have so far with this country is that there are often no direction signs on minor roads, let alone distances. The scale of my map is too small, so how was I supposed to know Pleasant Valley Hill would lead to Longview? Talking of which, turned right when I should have turned left and went 2-3 miles up and down, up and down, the back again, up and down, up and down. Happened upon the library in Longview, where I picked up a street map, which didn't show where this building was, so asked two people to point it out and neither of them were able to! Eventually I found 24th Avenue, where today's Couchsurfing host lived. Turned into it and the number was 1600 or so and Greg lived at 500 and something. Got down to 1200 and the road came to an end. Studying the map further I discovered that 24th Avenue continued the other side of a river, via a circuitous route across a river. How dumb is that?

Waited on Greg's porch for him to come back from his work. He was a photographer for the local paper and tonight he was covering a high school football match back up the road at Toutle. Lugubrious, bearded and bespectacled, he was a true bachelor, with a cluttered house and he didn't have any food or even coffee at home – but went to restaurants and Starbucks, where they give out free refills through out the day! I was only too happy to tag along to the football, as I wanted to understand the rules. After watching it and various people explaining the rules, I'm still none the wiser. They all told me about it as if I had some prior knowledge and without any grasp of the basics I was totally in the dark. It was still good to listen to the National Anthem sung by a young girl, hear the shouting from the crowd, watch the cheerleaders' hopeless routines, as well as these young boys who were mostly very slender, but dressed up with all that padding they actually looked more like women with fat thighs, shoulder pads and puffy sleeves. Back to Greg's newspaper office to watch him photoshop the pictures he chose to use for the next day's edition and also meet another photographer who had ridden across the US in 1975, when it was a real novelty. He was great because unlike a lot of people, he was full of positivity and recounted fun stories and talking parrots and vicars inviting him and his companions to sleep in their churches. There was no Couchsurfing dot com back then. Greg took me to a very traditional restaurant, where we both had burgers. A kindly, softly spoken soul, he told me about his photo-journalism in many Third World countries and how, even at the age of 59, he stayed in hostels for $8 a night. I was dead beat by the time he drove me home and showed me a few of his pictures of shanty towns, emaciated black children, along with Obama and other celebs. He offered to play Scrabble, but I declined, not because of tiredness, but because of this bloody blog. So once again I have failed my mission.

Belfair to Centralia 2 (September 18)

2008-09-20T09:12:00.000-07:00

Day 4

So then, the day was going really well; I had nearly 30 miles under my belt by noon and that was with lengthy stops. It felt luxurious to spread the distance over a day, compared to the training runs of 4-5 hours. Trying to focus on today and not think about the 70 or so days as a whole. Labouring uphill with my heavy load, but this is balanced out by the speeds achieved downhill. Saw small wooden houses for sale for $45,000, which would presumably be delivered by truck. One of those plonked in a forest would do me. Then I could really get some stuff done.

There's a lot of road literature – Americans love their signs; some merely inform, others say nice things in an attempt to sell you things and others order you about. Missed Mud Bay Road and the Highway turned nasty as we approached the centre of Olympia and I knew bikes weren't allowed here, but no one beeped at me. Came off as soon as I could and stopped at a picnic table to tuck into Reva's lunch. It consisted of :

1 crunchy peanut butter sandwich
1 packet Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips
1 tub bike-shape pasta salad
Approx 4 oz carrots
Approx 6 oz almonds
Approx 3 oz cashews
1 brownie
Assorted candies
1 bottle Gatorade
1 big belly

On to Centralia. Stopped in the library for a couple of hours to work on this and then phoned Summer, who I had found through www.couchsurfing.com. She gave me directions to her place and I stopped off to pick up a six pack, where a cross-eyed woman behind me in the queue engaged me in conversation.

She : Did you come by bicycle?
Me : How did you guess?
She : Because of your ass (a reference to my lycra shorts)
I bought the beer.
She : You drink beer AND you have an ass like that?

I arrived at Summer's in time for a tasty, spicy ratatouille of chicken, veg and rice. Here I met her boyfriend Tom and their four well-behaved pit bull terriers. Tom worked as a chef at a big hotel complex and Summer was about to go for a job interview at a radio station. They liked to listen to the left-leaning National Public Radio and their views were well-informed. The house was Bohemian Chic, with playing cards stuck all over the fireplace and artifacts picked up from Summer's many travels. We had a couple of beers and then Tom drove us to 'Dick's Sausage & Deli' for a pitcher of homebrew, sat outside in the cool evening air. They were very friendly and we were joined for interludes by members of staff, including Dick himself, who invited us to sit on his back porch after the deli was closed up. I think the ale was strong or something, because I soon felt squiffy and asked to be taken home. Watched an episode of Seinfeld, Summer's favourite programme, prior to very little sleep on the sofa. Yes I'd forgotten about Scrabble and had already failed my game a day challenge, although I had played ten games in the last three days.