The Stats

Countries visited: 16
Continents: 2

North America

Central America

South America

Days taken: 298
Cost: I really don’t want to know


Mileage:
Tierra del Fuego to Prudhoe Bay: 30403km unlike the 17,848km it says on the sign at the end of Ruta 3
Total trip distance: 40161km

Bike stats:
Punctures: None (I have to include this because Mike had three)
Tyres worn out: 5 (A bit of a sore point with Mike, he went through 10)
How many times did I actually change my own tyre: None (Mike, 3 puncture repairs, 3 of his own and 2 of mine – well I’d hardly want to break a fingernail now, would I!)
Oil used: too much
Clutch changes: 1 – And this was after being explicitly advised to ‘Whatever you do, look after your clutch!’
Chain broken: 2 (Both before I bought the tool to fix it)
Chain and sprocket changes: 3 (It took me 2 to learn how to look after them better)
Break downs: Um, no comment (Damn that carburettor and chain)

Bad accidents: 1
Times I dropped my bike: Um, several
Times my bike blew over: 4 (The wind was quite strong in some places)
Times I had to pick up my bike by myself: none mostly thanks to Mike and a little to the machismo of Latin America

Road kill tally (Seen but not created by us - except for Larry the Lamb of course):

1. Dogs – hundreds



2. Cats – not so many



3. Lambs - 1



4. Llamas – 12



5. Horses – strangely, at least 9



6. People – 1



7. Unidentifiable – numerous

Best riding days:

1. Riding Ruta 39 crossing from Argentina to the Caraterra Austral, Chile.



2. Feeling like Che Guvera on the road from Uyuni to Potosi in Boliva. (Although no plans to start a revolution)



3. Riding the Dalton Highway back down from Prudhoe Bay (although this was technically at night time).

Strange how all of these were dirt roads, and I supposedly hated riding on dirt roads.

Best moments:

1. Uncrating our bikes in Buenos Aires.



2. Being served breakfast in bed or rather, in our sleeping bags in our tent, by the hostel owner in Hotel Argentino, Rio Grande. (It’s the little things)



3. Reaching the ‘road’ after two days of riding through a gravel pit that is the south west of Bolivia.



4. Reaching Deadhorse, Alaska in one piece. Job done.

Worst days:

1. Having to ride bruised and battered, on Ruta 40, in the wind, after my accident.



2. Waiting 4 weeks for a god damn boat from Colombia to Panama, only to spend the first two days very seasick.



3. Saying goodbye to Mike in Vancouver.



4. Leaving my bike at the warehouse in Vancouver.

Lessons learnt:

1. In the thinking of Karl Bushby, (The Goliath Expedition http://blog.goliath.mail2web.com/ ) ‘For every one person that will do their best to disrupt your day, there are thousands of complete strangers that will go out of their way to make it better.’



2. Nothing is ever as difficult as you’d imagined it to be.



3. Never take no for an answer – Unless of course that’s what you want the answer to be! i.e. Do you think it will rain today?

And on a final note:
NO, the inspiration for this trip was NOT ‘The Long Way Round’ or ‘The Motorcycle Diaries’ but rather my own lust for travel and ‘Jupiter’s Travels’ by Ted Simon.

Home

Arriving into Prince Rupert, we were back to the reality of the bikes. Shopping around for a new front tyre had become a priority for me - vibrating down the road on an oddly worn front tyre had lost its appeal. And having become accustomed to the ‘proper bed’ lifestyle onboard the ferry, when we got drowned in the evening summer rain, we lost our hardcore status and opted for a hotel. The joys of bad TV were also included in the price. So with all this going on, and the fact that it is really a bloody long way, it took us three days to ride to Vancouver Island.

Whistler over run with mountain bikers!

We had wanted to stop in at Whistler but being a long weekend, the place was packed and out of our price league. So onto Gill and Collin’s place in Victoria. You probably don’t remember, but Gill and Collin were the couple we met backpacking around South America. We’d met them in Valpariso, Chile, just before Christmas. And although they wouldn’t be home for a few days, they’d left their keys at the neighbour and left some beer in the fridge for us. A godsend!

Piglet takes over the sofa at Collin and Gill's!

The bikes got a good wash and yet more maintenance. Then it was time to organise the rest of our lives. Mike managed to sort out shipping his bike to Europe and booked his flight to follow, relatively quickly. I, on the other hand, was at a bit more of a loss as to what to do with my bike. I tried to sell her, only to find out that she couldn’t be imported into Canada. The other option was to scrap her, which I just couldn’t bear. So, as you read, I am still in the process of stupidly trying to import her into Australia. Fingers crossed.

With the BMW delivered to the airport and wrapped in plastic, Mike flying out on Thursday and me with still no idea of when or what I was doing, the reality of the end of the adventure was starting to hit home. To take our minds off our impending separation, finally, after 9 months of saying ‘We really must do some trekking’, we picked a doozie. The Grouse Grind! 2 hours of a seriously uphill slog. The view of Vancouver from the top was worth it though and finally we got to see some grizzly bears, albeit in The Grizzly Bear Park.

The view from the top of Grouse Grind.

Finally I received an agreeable price for shipping the bike to Australia, an email to say that they might just let me import my bike into Australia (Apparently I was an unusual case, what’s new!) and I was able to book my flight to Australia.

The rojo beast at the warehouse, ready to be crated.

After a very tearful farewell at the airport, it was ‘hasta luego’ Mike. I loitered around the Departure Gate for a while (Well what did you expect after being together 24/7 for nearly 10 months!) but then it was time to head back to Dan and Maya’s place and pack up my own bike, ready for my last ride to the shipping warehouse. And to get a nap in before my 35 hour transit via San Francisco (The twelve hour stop-over made much better by catching up with Cat, a friend from London) and Auckland, home.

Cinnamon Rolls on the Inside Passage

Desperate to get off the bikes for a bit, we hightailed it to Skagway, home of cruise liner tat. It was a beautiful ride down through the mountains, scenery like what you see in the brochures. Unfortunately Skagway itself was marred by an infinite number of jewellery shops, I mean, what is with cruise liners and jewellery shops anyway? I’ve never understood that one.

Mike getting in on some snow train action - the only thing that doesn't invlove a jewellery store in Skagway!

Finally it was time to put our feet up and rest, for a few hours at least. The earliest ferry we could catch was one that went from Skagway to Juneau, capital of Alaska and home of the Alaskan Brewing Company.

The hostel in Juneau was definitely unique in one respect; it was the cheapest IYH I’d seen. To keep the cost down there was a ‘shoes off at the door’ policy and all guests were issued with a chore. I thought she was joking about the chore to start with but when I got told I’d be wiping down the kitchen bench, I realized she wasn’t. No probs though, I would have wiped down the kitchen bench before using it anyways. Mike had to vacuum the spare 2m2 in his dorm room. It’s a hard life being on the road and having to do domestic chores.

Juneau wasn’t too bad a capital city, and of course we had to visit the brewery, where we were minor celebrities. Tara and her hubby (We'd been on the Prudhoe Bay Oil tour with them, and then again on the ferry to Juneau) had visited earlier and told the guys working there about us, so when we turned up on the bikes, there was the usual battering of questions. The only problem of turning up to a brewery on bikes though is the issue of free samples. At this brewery they were very generous with their samples. You get a glass before you head in (you can duck out for a top-up during the spiel if you’ve downed the first glass before you’ve finished learning about how beer is flavoured) and then they try to ply you with as much of the stuff as they can before you leave. We just had to be content with buying some for the road.

It's all about the flavour at the Alaskan Brewing company

From Juneau to Prince Rupert we took the slow ferry, stopping at numerous ports. Good fortune shone upon us again when, queuing up to board the ferry, we got talking to Larry and Willy, two old pro-racers taking life a little slower these days and just mooching around Alaska. On the overnight ferries you have the option of paying extra for a cabin or pitching your tent (Duck tape instead of pegs) on the top deck. Or you can just roll out your sleeping bag on the sun loungers. Mike and I were quite looking forward to this, waking up in the morning to the beautiful view, probably at 5am due to the early sunrise. However, having told Larry and Willie our intentions, they proceeded to sneak off and pay for us to have our own cabin for the two nights we were on board. Cool, a real bed and our own bathroom. I know I’ve said it before, but the generosity of people still astounds me. So not being able to get on the ferry that we’d originally wanted had its benefits.

Willie and Larry getting their bikes ready.

Although we didn’t see any bears, we did see a lot of other wild life as we sailed down through the fjords, including Orcas, porpoises and whales. We also saw some truly unique Alaskans, reiterating the adage for a woman in Alaska, ‘The odds are good, but the goods are odd!’ Sitka, the former Russian capital of Alaska, takes the cake for this as we spent an evening drinking with Bo and Christina, a young couple with their tent pitched on the ferry.

The Vikings have arrived in Petersburg.

You know when you eat something that is so delicious, you’d seriously consider travelling from the other side of the world, just to eat there again. Well, we discovered the best cinnamon rolls in the world. Petersburg, or Little Norway as it is locally known, was the town. I can’t remember the name of the bakery but if you fancy a taste, it’s just along the road a bit, on the left, as you’re heading into town from the ferry terminal. You can smell it long before you’ve reached it and I doubt you’d be able to resist the temptation. Sailing down the inside passage was definitely a highlight of our trip for me. Maybe that’s because I could just sit inside out of the cool breeze, watching the world float by. Or maybe it is because it is spectacularly beautiful.

You couldn't fault the scenery!

Tok, we just can't escape.

Just one night of listening to Ken, the owner of the Sourdough RV park in Tok, we had to escape. Hearing about how much he enjoyed 'camping' was driving me to distraction. C’mon, let’s be honest now, being set up in your ½ million dollar luxury RV is hardly camping guys. Camping is when you need to do yoga just to untangle yourself from your sleeping bag and the hard ground in the morning, not to mention having no shame when you get up in the middle of the night to make a dash to the toilet wearing fluffy socks, your saggiest thermal underwear and not forgetting the motorcycle boots with laces trailing in the dirt. But let’s face it, no one is up to see you at that time of night anyway.
The only thing to say for Ken was his way of dealing with children. The sign read ‘Any unattended children will be given an espresso and a new puppy’.

Angie, Bob and Mike in a hurry to leave Tok!

After riding through the vastness that is Alaska, the Yukon and BC, we had agreed that we deserved a break, to put our feet up and let someone else do the steering. Our plan was to take a ferry on the Alaskan Marine Highway through the Inside Passage instead of retracing the paved highway. But once again the RVs were organised and we weren’t. No room on the direct ferry for us. I’m sure these things happen for a reason though and we made the most of our delayed departure from Alaska by taking a side trip down to Valdez which included a scenic, off road, detour with a river crossing and a few tricky bits, complete with fresh bear scat just to keep us amused.

Mike looks for the old Valdez!

Is Mike taking the scenic detour, or is he running away from the bears!

Brian and Vanessa own another camping ground in Tok, (We just couldn’t stay away, that, and Tok is the junction of all road routes in and out of Alaska). This camping ground was more our style, no RVs, just motorbikes and a sauna. What else could you ask for!
Mike had been wanting to get some flying in, be it just a one off flight or lessons. Where better than in Alaska where people flying planes is as commonplace as if they were driving their cars! We liked Brian, Vanessa and the sauna so much that we opted for a day off while Mike tried to sort out something with the planes. Funny, although he could have been ready to sit his license in 3 weeks, the US, for some strange reason has a 3 month security check on any applications for learning to fly. A bit like closing the gate after the horse has bolted, me thinks.

Top of the world highway

With that it was time to ride the Top-of-the-world Highway to the peculiar gold rush town of Dawson City and home of Diamond Tooth Gerties. One night was enough to savour the delights and for Mike to find a new girlfriend. No need to worry though, Diamond Tooth Gertie was flirting with all the boys. Mike may tell you different but I wasn’t too worried, after all, it was me who he went home with.

That's Diamond Tooth Gertie on the left. At least Mike didn't have to get busy with his teeth on her.

Anchored down in Anchorage

Denali National Park is a 'Must Do' for any visitor to Alaska, but as we rode past the entry, the hoards of 'Blue Rinses' and kids turned us off. That, and you can only ride 15 miles into the park before having to pay a large sum of money to take the shuttle bus. Stopping further south we managed to get some photos of the cloud shrouded Mt McKinley (Denali) before continuing onto Anchorage.

Mt McKinley, Denali National Park

So you'd think things would be easing up, a little less stressful being this close to the end. In desperate need of a beer, and being a Friday night, Mike and I head out in Anchorage. We've got the low down on where the live music's at, we've changed out of mucky riding gear and we even went to the trouble of washing. We walk six blocks to find an ATM. My mood turns from bad to worse when I can't withdraw $100 (Don't worry, this was to last me a few days, I wasn't going to spend it all on beer). I try again, it will give me $60. Stupidly I look at the balance. -$1872. Ouch! My monthly 'allowance' should have gone in few days ago. Had I really spent it all in two days?

In a foul mood we walk another block to get that beer. What do you know, with no USA identity you need your passport. We can't convince the bouncer that we're older than the 21 years we obviously look (This adventure has taken years off, evidently) so have to traipse back to the Hostel.

As a result of our mood and the fact that we did end up getting that beer (after walking 21 blocks), Saturday turned into a duvet day. Lazing in bed with a hangover and afterwards, bike chores.

Still miserable on Sunday, the rain not helping our moods, Mike headed off to Tok while I decided to stay in Anchorage and sort out my financial woes. It was time to check the dreaded bank balance. Ah ha, it would appear that I had been feeding the population of Caracas, Venezuela for a few days. I was kind of glad that it wasn't my financial mismanagement that had lead to my money troubles but with only $32 in my wallet, a credit card that was nearly maxed out and having only one night's accommodation paid for, I was kind of in a pickle.

But as a guy once told me in a Hostel in San Diego, years ago, when I had less cash and no credit card, 'Something always turns up', it was chin up and get on with it. By 10am Monday morning I had a job spring cleaning a Motorhome for $100. Not bad for five hours work. I also get fed and watered and taken on a rather long scenic drive.

Seeing as how the bank wouldn't send me a replacement card (That would be sent to my friend's house in London who happened to be on 3 weeks holidays, great timing) or refund the stolen money for some time, my best chance of escaping Anchorage before the winter was to try and catch up with Mike, at least Mike had a credit card that wasn't almost full. With it still raining and after having thanked the staff at the hostel who had continually tried to put a smile on my face, I rode out of Anchorage on Tuesday morning.

I hadn't heard from Mike since he had left but I figured if I kept emailing him with what had happened and where I hoped to meet up with him, he might wait for me. Five hours down the road I see Mike's bike parked outside a campground in Tok. For the first time in days I've got something to smile about. Bless him, Mike had been emailing me since Sunday afternoon to tell me he was waiting in Tok for me, but for some strange reason, his emails were bouncing back. As a last ditch effort, he had parked his bike on a road that he knew I'd be passing on. And boy was I happy to see it.

Been there, got the t-shirt!

Caribou and oil pipes, that's Prudhoe Bay.

The tundra around the oil field is very barren yet the Caribou are everywhere. We even see some Arctic Swans, just like normal ones but bigger. Then it's time for some postcards and souvenir shopping. If I've ridden all this way, I want the t-shirt! We get our photo taken for the post office wall of fame (Which I guess the locals all look at and laugh, thinking we're mad) and decide we can't be bothered cooking. And as it's already 7pm we may as well celebrate in style. $20 each for a buffet dinner, but by damn it was worth it. New York steak that was delicious, and a really good salad bar. Plus we were allowed to take food for the road. The restaurants in the only two hotels in Deadhorse certainly look after their clientèle.

A photo for the Post Office wall of fame, Deadhorse.

It was 8pm before we turned around to head south. Passing Galbraith Lake we decide to skip the mosquitoes and get back over the pass into the mountains aiming for Coldfoot. The ride was one of the most memorable of the entire trip for me. The light from the midnight sun was beautiful as was riding up through the mountains. We rode until almost 2am, the sun never setting but weirdly the light changed from an 'evening' kind of light to a 'morning' kind of light. It was so beautiful. If my eyes weren't falling out of my head I think I would have liked to kept on riding all night.

The evening light on the North Slope.

The Dalton Highway was one of the best gravel roads we have ridden on and for me, one of the most scenic. The trick was I figured, to have the appropriate vehicle with the appropriate tyres and of course be able to ride the thing. And we met some interesting characters on the way up. But it was time to head back south and towards the end of the adventure. In Fairbanks it was time for a shower for both us and the bikes and Mike finally changed his tyres. Next stop Anchorage.

Dawn light, nearing 2am just before Coldfoot.

It's the journey not the destination!

For the entire ride up the Alaskan Highway, any other riders that we'd met have been going on about how rough the roads were, how rough the Dalton Highway up to Deadhorse was, telling me this as is if they I shouldn't attempt it. It's slippery, full of potholes and the trucks are just downright dangerous, not slowing down to pass. This made me a little nervous about the final stretch of our little adventure. Would the bike break down on the 900 miles of gravel up to Deadhorse and back? Would I have an accident so close to the finish line etc....? But as I finally got around to telling one particular biker, 'Hey, we'd survived riding through Bolivia in the wet season, nothing could be worse than that!'

The Dalton Highway, a good gravel road!

Either we got lucky or these other riders just weren't up to the task. We managed to miss the rain that makes the road so slippery, we arrived just after the grader had been through, so no deep ruts of gravel, and what do you know, the trucks slowed down for us.
Other people had said to us 'Why do you want to go to Deadhorse and Prudhoe Bay? There's nothing there but an oil refinery!' Well for us it was a must. It was the end of the line, from tip to top. It wasn't about the destination so much as it was about the journey, but we had to finish somewhere.
So we set off from Fairbanks at the reasonable hour of midday and meandered our way through the many roadworks and potholes, stopping briefly to chat to other riders, most of whom had made it to the Arctic Circle and decided that that was far enough.

Another imaginery line to cross, the Arctic Circle

Ourselves at the Arctic Circle got lucky. An extended family travelling up from Anchorage in their motorhome were so excited at meeting us at the end of our journey, they fed us sandwiches and gave us beer for us to celebrate. Ham sandwiches beat pot noodles any day of the week.

We ran into Jeffrey, who we'd shared a tent pitch with in Watson Lake and I was very glad to see that he had made it all the way to Deadhorse as he seemed a little wary about the road, like I was, after listening to all the stories. Jeffrey warned us the mosquitoes get bad on the North Slope, and he wasn't far off.
Our first night we pitched at Galbraith Lake, overlooking the Arctic tundra. I would liked to have stayed awake to watch the changing sky - passing rain storms, which were thankfully in the distance - and the midnight sun, but the mosquitoes kept us well and truly wrapped up in our tent and I couldn't help but fall asleep, despite it still being light.

Galbraith Lake, and mosquitoes!

It was exciting, our last day's ride before reaching Deadhorse! I'd booked a tour for 2pm that takes you to the Arctic Ocean and drives you around two of the sixteen oil fields on the North Slope. It's the only way to get to the Arctic Ocean. We'd heard that the last 50 miles into Deadhorse were hard (worse than the rest of the highway apparently) and I'll admit that they weren't the easiest 50 miles we'd ridden. But we were still making good time for our 2pm appointment to the end of the road. That was until Mike got a puncture in his 'beyond bald' rear tyre (He was carrying a brand new tyre but didn't want to wear it out on the sharp edged gravel roads, so had refused to change them until after the Dalton Highway). Fortunately we didn't have any banditos about to shoot us here and we manage to get it plugged with no dramas. Pulling into the carpark with five minutes to spare for our tour, the BMW's next stunt was to run out of petrol, maybe Herr Bertie was doing his best to prolong to the adventure.
Loaded onto the bus after passing our security checks and an introductory video, we're given the tour of the oil field. It's obvious that most of the passengers aboard are there for one thing only, to get to the Arctic Ocean. So the tour guide does his best to make the oil field sound as interesting as possible, which I guess, it is, and we arrive at the ocean. After being instructed that if we hear the horn of the bus we're to gather into a group and head for the bus in an orderly manner, no running, as there is a bear in the area, we're allowed out. Mike and I prove to be the not-so-hardcore ones of our group and only dip our toes in the water. The other few passengers get changed into their swimsuits and lay down (It's very shallow and to actually go swimming you need to walk out a couple of miles) in the below 1 degree temperature water. Hmmm....... I guess each to their own. Mike and I instead crack open the beer and celebrate, the end of the line!

Celebrating in the Arctic Ocean!

Whitehorse, Buckinghorse, Deadhorse, what's with all the horses up here?

Getting up to the north of Canada, the towns become fewer and farther between and their names become more intriguing. Like how did Buckinghorse River get it's name. Did the horses of the first settlers buck their riders off at the mere thought of crossing this particular river? Was Whitehorse named after a white horse that grazed there? Who knows but riding through them does make you wonder.

Just incase you didn't believe me, Dawson Creek, Mile 0

Dawson Creek marks Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway, a 1532 mile road to Fairbanks, Alaska. The Highway is considered the 16th Engineering wonder of the world, built in a mere 8 months in 1941 to provide land access for the US Army to Alaska. The Japanese had already invaded Attu Island, the farthermost Aleutian Island, providing them with a strategic military point for invading the northern US, so there was some quick work to be done. Without approval from the Canadian government, the US started ploughing through, I guess things haven't changed much since those days. Fortunately the Canadians are an ammicable bunch and gave permission after the first month of construction. So along this road you can see pine trees, more pine trees and as far as the eye can see, pine trees.

And if you didn't believe me about the pine trees either, well there are some lakes as well!

Northern Alberta, British Columbia and the Yukon are vast so this means a lot of pine trees, some lakes and snow capped mountains and days and days of riding.

The road just keeps going on, and on, and on....

But before you know it, we're in Alaska. Oh and Mike wasn't arrested at the border for his unpaid traffic offence from the Grand Canyon.

Friendly Harley riders save the day!

Er yuk, it's raining. And who hates the rain more than me, of course, the Lady herself, Miss KLR650. She doesn't start, doesn't even turn over. And all this on a day we were trying to get going relatively early. Turns out she had right to complain. When we checked her battery, it was bone dry. So that'd be a big OOPS on my part. But she's not one to complain and after giving her a drink and a quick recharge she fires up, no problem. I um and ah whether to replace the battery then or wait to see if it is OK. For once on the trip, I forgo the 'Let's wait till it dies' attitude and pay up for a new one. Changed it in the parking lot of the motorcycle shop and by this time its stopped raining. Finally it is time to get going but not before lunch.

So we leave Calgary at the respectable time of early afternoon and slowly make our way up to Banff. After getting caught up in the road works and jay walking tourists through the centre of town, we manage to escape the road diggers and without running anyone over, head for Lake Louise. Due to our late start we weren't going to make it to Jasper that evening so we decide to check out the campground here. Due to our late start this morning, the campsite is already fool. Damn all those tourists being on school holidays, getting up early and making reservations for their preferred campsites. Who are they to be so organised!
We ride up to Lake Louise before heading north to find somewhere else to stay. And where are all of the organised hoards who already have their campsites? Up at the lake also. It was so busy and the parking lot wasn't even full.
After buying some supplies, we get talking to a Harley couple in the parking lot of the supermarket. In the habit I've become accustomed to, I ask if they have a campsite. 'Yes they do', 'Would they mind sharing it with us?', 'Of course not, if it's OK with the park rangers'. Luckily it's Canada we're in and the Park Rangers are pretty cool. We're sorted. Sandy and Jim won't even accept us paying half of the cost, 'How can they be doing us a favour if they lets us pay?' Apparently they'll be calling in the favour with Mike when they visit in Scotland next year, Sandy is herself from Scotland.

Lake Moraine, oh and that'd be me in the foreground.

Surprise, surprise, we manage to get up and going early next morning. We decide to visit Lake Louise again, should be better light and with everyone rushing off to get to their next campsite, it shouldn't be so busy. Oh how wrong we were! And we thought it was busy the evening before. This time Lake Louise car park was overflowing. We didn't hang around.
The stunningly blue Lake Moraine is out of the way a bit and the road isn't suitable for large RVs. That cuts out half of the tourists. Although still busy, we were able to escape the masses and reflect in the gorgeous surrounds.
Heading up the Icefield Parkway, Boo Boo's mate walks out in front of us. Very cool. Unfortunately no photos though. Although they amble, bears don't hang around too long for a photo shoot. Ever northward we tramp across the Athabasca glacier before declining to pay $24 for two scummy looking ham sandwiches and two cans of coke. We settle instead for $6 for a bag of crisps and share a bottle of Gatorade. Pure extortion, but restaurants can charge what they like in the National Parks.

Managing not to fall down a crevice, we traverse the glacier

Jasper is a bit of a none event and after re-stocking the pantry it's off for a bath. Despite the mosquitoes the hotsprings are divine and Mike has a hard time dragging me away. But there is a road to be ridden and a tent to pitch somewhere.

Ye haw, it's show time!

...Stampede time that is! After missing every festival in every Latin American village/town/city we travelled through, low and behold if we don't make it to Calgary for the start of the Stampede. For once our timing is immpecible.

Now that's a cowgirl!

Luckily for us, Mike had met a Canadian in Baha California very briefly and fortunately we were able to crash at his place for a few days. Chris donned his cowboy boots and hat and we were off. First we made it to the last 20 minutes of the parade (It started early and after 8 months on the road, who were we to start getting going before 10am!) but that was enough of the cowboy hats and boots and learning how to yell Ye Haw! rather than Ya Hoo! Next a bit of sight seeing - Calgary is actually quite a big place. Of course Chris is also into bikes (he has 4 of them) so we inevitably visit a few bike shops to stock up on some parts and winter kit for our journey north, mainly getting some new winter gloves to replace the ones I lost in Bolivia.

Morning number two brings with it a cheap breakfast at the Legion's Club (A Canadian version of the RSL). So stack up the pancakes and get ya dancing shoes on, and it was only 1oam. Mundane chores such as much needed haircuts and beauty salon visits get me ready for Sunday's entertainment - the rodeo (I'm still learning to call it a rodeo rather than a rodeo as in Rodeo Drive, LA)

Mike isn't drawn into the whole Cowboy attire, but Chris, being a kind of local gets right into it.

Heck, it wouldn't be a stampede without the horses. We enter the show grounds looking way out of place for our lack of cowboy attire. There are the few side show alley games to be tried and fortunately, no one wins the large teddy bear - how would we zip tie one of those to the bike!


Then for over two hours we are entertained by horses and stedes trying their darndest to get whatever it is on their backs off. The most entertaining part of this was the look on the guys faces just before being let lose out of the pen, the camera zooms right into the grimmace of the cowboy that says 'What the hell am I doing here!' And of course the Aussie guy won his event.

This cowboy actually screaming, 'Somebody get me off of this thing, ooh, ouch, ouch!'

Next it was onto something a little less demanding, pigeon racing and line dancing. And then day wouldn't be complete without riding a torpedeo and finishing off with a few ales with some of Chris's mates. It was hard to leave the stampede but when I started to eye off a pair of pink cowboy boots, I knew it was time to get moving again.

Shoo fly don't bother us!

After a night in the safety and comfort of a noisy Bozeman Campground, we head up to Lindburgh Lake for our first 'free camp' in the USA.

Mike gets the fire going to scare away the bears at Lake Lindburgh.

July the 4th is upon us and we manage to miss the shortest July the 4th parade in the country. We miss it by a minute or two but as it was only ten minutes long, over two very short blocks, two minutes was quite late. Oh well, we manage to get some photos of some over dressed and too-much-make-up- wearing cowgirls, 'girls' not quite being an apt description, there are some things women of a certain age shouldn't wear, before heading on.

The end of the 4th July parade!

We'd heard rave reviews of Glacier National Park (I know, I know, there are so many national parks in the USA) and after another stop for a Huckleberry milkshake we head off on the 'Going to the sun' Road. First on the sight seeing list is in the glacier lake which is suprisingly warm and very clear. Despite the families frollicking on the shoreline, we can't help ourselves and strip down to our underwear to join them. After basking in the sun, we eventually drag ourselves away to continue along one of the most spectacularly scenic roads of the enitre trip, big call but it was simply stunning.

Stunning view, shame I'm in the way.

Our last night in the USA is spent shooing weird flies off us in a campsite just south of the border. Bring on Canada.

Where of where art thou Yogi Bear?

Wyoming, what can I say? But god the mosquitos at Riverside - population 69 for a very good reason. Then the long, straight and once again, hot, roads. Followed by a strange lunch in Landers. Trailer trash company while we eat burgers for lunch, followed by a too short test ride on the much talked about 2008 KLR. Oddly, neither Mike or I are convinced about it so I leave my credit card in my pocket and continue the ride to the stunning Grand Teton National Park on my own familiar and comfortable KLR.
The Grand Tetons are Bear country, so we had to be careful with all of our 'smelly' stuff. But where were we supposed to draw the line? Would our smelly socks attract the attention of the bears? Paranoid, we didn't take a chance. Even our panniers were put away in the bear lockers, we didn't want the bikes torn apart while Yogi searched for the source of the peanust butter scent and my Dove Eyecream.

Somewhere in the Grand Tetons is Yogi!

We spend the day looking for Bison, elk and other wildlife, but have no luck with the bears. The next evening we're a little more relaxed about the wildlife and we even venture to meet some of our camping neighbours. They're riding Honda Goldwings and I have to say its the fold-out tent trailer they've got that grabs my attention first. Finally I know what some of those bike trailers are carrying, and I thought these guys just took the kitchen sink with them on holidays. This bunch of riders are pretty cool though and even dish us out some massive blueberry muffins, another reason for needing a trailer I guess, these things wouldn't have fitted into our relatively minuscule panniers. And although its not a Harley, Mike accepts an offer of a ride on the Goldwing, was he converted? Not on your life. He could barely lift the thing off the sidestand weighing in at over 900lb (Not sure of the conversion but just think, serioulsy heavy). But with 1800cc (That's almost three times the cc of my little KLR) he admitted that once he had it going, it was very comfortable and easy to ride.

As we've timed our travels through the USAs National Parks impeccably to coincide with the summer school holidays, we get up at 6am, skipping breakfast (Shock, horror, how did we cope I hear you ask? Well I was a little grumpy later on) just to ride the 50 miles up the road to the famous Yellowstone National Park and secure a campsite. Just as well as the campsite was full by midday.
After a haphazard start we finally get breakfast and are able to get some sightseeing in. Yellowstone is huge and has two circuits through it to take in most of what the park has to offer, that being hot sulpher, often smelly, springs including 'Ol Faithful', waterfulls and of course, the wildlife. Afternoon One took in the less than spectacular but at least on time 'Old Faithful', Virginia Waterfalls, the only time we felt we were alone in the park, and a drive through the Yellowstone River valley. A gorgeous setting for all of the bisen and elk that roam freely.
Day two we back track through the Yellowstone Valley for more Bisen spotting, or avoiding in this case as they wandered along the roadway. We also spy a grey wolf on the prowl before heading north. Following the advice of a local on where to spot the bears, we begin our search whole heartedly, stopping at every pull out. All to no avail. Just when we had given up all hope of meeting Yogi we come across an 'animal jam'. A term coined by the rangers to describe the traffic jam caused by cars stopping on the road to view and photograph the wildlife. Yogi wasn't in attendence but Boo Boo, Yogi's side kick was, and with a friend. They were meandering along a creek below the road, searching out the berries.
We'll hopefully see some Grizzlys (Or brown bears as they're called in Alaska) when we get to Alaska, obvioulsy from a distance.

Not quite Yogi, but Boo Boo makes an appearance

The Girls rule!

With a new 'hardcore' TKC80 rear tyre we head off into Colorado. It's like arriving in heaven when we finally make it to the coolness of the mountains - refreshing to be back amongst snow capped peaks and alpine forests. I think I've turned into a mountain girl.
Leadville is our first destination in Colorado and we are exuberantly greeted at the hostel by another guest. He's firing questions about the bikes and our journey before we've even dismounted and removed our earplugs. We get introduced to the extremely generous 'Wild Bill' who manages to find a room for us despite being almost full up and who also serves up a delicious roast dinner. Over the course of the evening and the following morning we're entertained with stories from 'Wild Bill' both about the history of Leadville (A very successful mining town with a Titanic connection) and his interest in blues music from his home state of Mississippi. And we are in awe of the fellow guests, some of whose own adventures are taking them along the Continental Divide trail, a rather long walk from Mexico to Canada. Leadville is at the crossroads of three major trails through the states and therefore walkers quite often turn up at the hostel. As adventure bikers, we seemed to be few and far between in this neck of the woods and become the centre of attention for a few hours. It would have to be one of the most friendly hostels we've stayed in. So if you do end up in Leadville, or Colorado even, take the time to stay - http://www.leadvillehostel.com/.

A detour via Vail and Aspen ski resorts, through gorgeous alpine vallies brought us to Boulder. Erin and Chris Ratay, legen advriders - check out http://www.ultimatejourney.com/ for the story of their 4 and half year jaunt around the globe on bikes - kindly put us up in their well equipped and beautiful home. They have a basement kitted out for the purpose of guests which includes books on their own travels as well as others, a massive map of the world and a decent map of the USA, just so we could see how much further we still had to go, one day we'll be finished. In the garage the bikes got the same treatment, the car was kicked out and our two overweight dirty bikes were parked up next to Chris and Erin's own stock of BMWs, a KTM and a Kawasaki. We had tools galore at our disposal and even learnt how to pick up our overladen bikes by ourselves - better late than never. So the KLR finally got a new tool box, one that is useful and half the weight of the other two that Mike removed in in Moab.

Girls who ride!

And some guys who think they can :0)

What else to do in Boulder, we went out and got drunk a couple of nights, God, we're so out of practise, and we got to meet other advmotor riders. And, if you can believe it, for once the girls outnumbered the boys. Anyone listening to Erin, Spice, Kasey and I compare notes and tell stories of our own motorcycling adventures, would have thought they were in a parallel universe, where the girls rode and the boys weren't to be seen. The boys were actually at the bar topping up their own testosterone levels. After such wonderful company, it was hard to leave but after waking up each morning and seeing the map of the USA on the wall, we knew we had to get on.

Not more national parks!

Next stop, Bryce Canyon. Some would say even more beautiful than the Grand Canyon but the two are so different you really can't compare. We arrived with time for a swim before hitting the sights for sunset. Ah, what luxury after a rather hot day of riding in the heat.

The stunning Bryce Canyon amphitheatre!

So we've watched the sunset over the beautiful pinnicles of coloured sand and we're dawdling back to the bike when we hear a rattle. It first sounds like a cricket chirping but then you remember all of the Westerns you've watched and alarm bells start ringing. A wee little rattle snake was letting us know that he was curled around the exposed root of a bush, about a half metre from where we were walking. Unfortunately we were too suprised to grab for the cameras. But seeing the wildlife was cool, once our nerves had settled down of course.
Shall we stay another night and take it easy? Yup, the campground we were staying in at Bryce was very nice and it'd be rude to not continue to enjoy the use of the pool when we we're camped right next to it. So that morning we did a mini hike to a stone that did look remarkably like the statue of Queen Victoria outside St Pauls Cathederal in London. We toured around a bit more in the park, still waving to the Potato Posse before returning to enjoy the pool - ah, this is the life.
Riding up through Escalante, we continue through yet another national park, Capital Reef. A few more photos and its on to Moab. After the heat of the day and long ride, we give up on being 'hardcore' and opt for the Lazy Lizard Hostal.
Moab has a lot to keep you entertained, including white water rafting, moutain biking, trail biking (and if you are so inclined, you can hire a jeep or ATV), Arches National Park, Dead Horse Point and Canyonlands National Park in close proximity and, more importantly, a micro brewery. What we didn't realize was that a). it would be way too hot to do anything other than go to the micro brewery and b). that a Harley Riders convention was in town. Oh well, you can't have it all.

Deadhorse Point, yet another beautiful canyon.

As I was just about to clock up another year on the old age calander, we sensibly opt for the micro brewery, not being detered by the amount of Harley Riders there. After finally National Parking ourselves out at Arches and Dead Horse Point, which are both stunning, I spent my birthday suitably working on my bike at Arrowheads Motorsports with Fred often lending advice and a hand. The KLR, as a birthday gift I'm sure, behaved herself beautifully by not having anything go wrong i.e. bolts sheering etc..., and then needing a bit of maintenance myself, Mike treated me to a 75 minute massage, bliss. By 8pm, when it had cooled off enough to move, we headed to the Micro Brewery for a delicious dinner and some decent beer. Not a bad day at all.

The Potato Posse

After a quick and hot visit to Hoover Dam, we purchase our National Parks Pass and head up through Lake Mead. Just before Mesquite, my bike overheats again. Stopped by the side of the road, (was actually free wheeling it down to where Mike had managed to pull over and wait for me) by chance George and Sarah pull up. They're on their way to Colorado for a Blues Festival. They offer to put the KLR in the truck for me but I figure by the time we've go it in there, she would have cooled down enough to continue. They follow us to Mesquite, hazard lights flashing, so that trucks don't run up the back of me, and I limp into the service station. George and Sarah say their goodbyes and we stop for an hour to cool off ourselves and let the bikes cool down. We won't be making it to the Grand Canyon tonight.
Riding into Zion National Park as the sun is going down is stunning. Despite the impending dusk, we have to stop for some photos, so a late arrival turns out to be a blessing.

Scenic riding into Zion.

Setting the alarm for what we think is 6am and an early start, we catch the shuttle bus that runs people up and down the canyon, stopping at the trail heads and points of interest. What we didn't realise is that Utah is an hour ahead, so everyone is up before us. We take a couple of hours out to do some short walks and have a look around, before heading onto the cooler north rim of the Grand Canyon.

End of the bus line in Zion

So this is where being organised and having an itinerary comes in handy. We arrive at the campground and what do you know, there are no sites left. Apparently we should have booked over a week ago. We do manage to 'squeeze' (they do like to do things big here, there was room for about another 10 tents on this pitch) onto another couple's site and we save ourselves the $17 - our hosts wouldn't let us pay incase we were to get kicked off.
After dinner it is confirmed that the park rangers don't have a sense of humour. Despite the 'Stop' sign usually meaning more of a 'Give Way' thing, (in this case not a 'As in Rome...') Mike gets pulled over by a power wielding young ranger for running 3 stop signs and going above the 15mph speed limit. He gets away with just a $75 fine for one stop sign incident and a warning for the others. On closer inspection of other drivers, it seems Mike got unlucky. No one actually stops at 'Stop' signs and EVERYONE speeds, except for me of course and that's just cause the bike can't go any faster, not through want of trying.

Smile, we made it before sunset.

So we eventually get to see the sunset over the canyon and what a sight. The next morning is more canyon viewing, see associated photographs under the yet to be altered 'Central Amercian photos' in the menu to the right of this blog, and it is beautiful. We spend hours gazing at the landscape before us.

Taking time out for the view.

Eventually we have to drag our butts back to the bikes, there are more Harleys to wave at. (That would be the Potato Posse by the way. If you repeat potato over and over again, that's what a Harley sounds like and they always seem to be in large groups so you get RSI by the time one group has ridden by.)

Leaving Las Vegas

Banjo playing George lives in Norco, horse capital of the US. We met him on our last night of camping in Mexico when he kindly invited us to stay at his house. The generousity of the North Americans amazes us. Everywhere we go, we have met strangers and friends alike, who can't do enough for us. From accommodation, food, directions, to help in any way, shape or form, there is always someone around wanting to do something for us or at least give us a friendly wave.
George had emailed us his address explaining that the back door would be unlocked and probably the front also. He would be away picking up his daughter from college and he may not be back to see us, but we were to go in and make ourselves at home. Fortunately he and Sarah made it back the same evening as us and we were treated to some banjo before bed.
An oil change for Mike in the morning before we head to Vegas, baby!

Dualling banjos!

Getting back into true KLR form, what should have taken us 4 hours takes us 7. The temperature was maxing out my thermometre at 50 degrees. Route 15 is the main thoroughfare to the Canadian border, inland, and the traffic doesn't sit still at over 75m/h. My little baby couldn't cope and overheated. I was flatout sitting on 120km/h and with the thinner oil put in by the mechanic in San Diego, she struggled with the heat. Just across the border into Nevada, we chance upon a Tourist Information Centre that has a phone line set up for the sole purpose of organising accommodation in Las Vegas. With that sorted, we decide to take a look at an outlet centre across the way and hang out in the airconditioning until it cools off to a more acceptable 45 degrees. Shopping done, we get to Las Vegas, at sunset. It's absolutely roasting and we shower and hole up in our airconditioned room for a good few hours.

2am is the best time to stroll along the 'strip', it isn't so crowded and the temperature is almost bearable. We missed all the cheap all you can eat buffets though so it was dodgy food at some cheap dodgy casino offering $1.99 margaritas. How could we refuse.
We drag our weary butts out of bed the next morning, knowing that it will be unbearably hot outside. As we didn't see much of Vegas the night before, we pack up, don our jeans and boots ready for an afternoon departure but head out for a look see. After checking out a few casinos, you get the idea that they're pretty much all the same. Sensibly and for some reason, I'd remembered that you can get into Ceasar's Palace hotel pool easily enough and remember to keep our swimmers in my day bag. Looking totally out of place in jeans and boots, we stroll around the pool, pick up some unused towels and stake our sun loungers in the shade. About an hour of frolicking in the water and relaxing, we decide we really should be making a move. Back into jeans and boots we head up to New York, New York for the roller coaster ride. Standing in line, Mike and I look at each other, both thinking, 'What the hell are we doing?' It was literally a scream and we finally recovered about a half hour later. Next on the list of things to do in Vegas was the all you can eat buffet. The cheapest one was at the Sahara. Another hour later, bellies full, we catch the mono rail back to the Imperial Palace, where our bikes were parked. It's hot, we're full and very tired. Maybe we should stay one more night.

Vegas, where anything goes!

After discussing the various merrits of the buffets on offer at the diiferent hotels with the check-in lady, and explaining that the little convenience store within the hotel was charging $4 for what equated to a cup of milk, she kindly threw in two vouchers for the breakfast buffet the next morning.
We played $2 on the 1 cent slot machines on our way back to our room and that was Vegas pretty much done for us. Phew, I was exhausted.

LA rising

So far we're doing alright for accommodation in the USA. After Cameron and Jessica's hospitality, Ming is our next host. I used to work with Ming in London at WATG and Ming now works in the Irvine office. Despite having just returned on Saturday from a job site in India, Ming kindly puts us up and organises for Ric, another WATG veteran, to come out for a few Sunday beers. They went down well after we learn that the cheapest way to buy beer in Orange County at least, is to buy it by the pitcher. After boring poor Mike with all the gossip of who's doing what at WATG, it's time to head up to LA proper.

After getting Mike's rear shock serviced in Anaheim in the morning, with his bike repair bills adding up, its time to stop with the bikes and enjoy ourselves.

Venice Beach is our first stop in LA proper. After sharing a delicious hotdog, we stroll along the boardwalk, checking out the 'weirdos' that give Venice Beach it's character. During the week it's not so busy and there seem to be more tourists than characters, but it is still enough to keep us entertained. Then for a change of scene, we head to the canals, what Venice was named for. It is a beautiful and quaint little area and if it wasn't for the heat, I'd of thought I was in the Cotswolds of England. This is where I'd live in LA, because I could afford to of course.

Getting 'into' Venice.

I saw this little fella and now I know where all of my worn spare parts to the bike have gone.

Mike had arranged our accommodation for the next three nights and as we ride in the direction of Irl and Marnie's home, we happen along Santa Monica Boulevard. Sheryl Crow's song goes around in circles in my head. And just to keep the music theme going, as we head to San Fernando Valley, where Irl and Marnie live, it switches to 'She's a Valley Girl'.

With all of this musical influence, it makes sense that Irl and Marnie are both muscians, working in the 'industry'. Marnie works on movies - while we were there she was disecting the scores for 'Chicken Run', while Irl composes and produces music for TV, Funiest Home Video style of thing. Irl invites us to check out the studios where he works. Pretty cool stuff. And we also get the low down on some music venues to check out whilst in LA. Despite Roger Waters playing at the Hollywood Bowl, we opt for the low key (and more affordable) Baked Potato. Scott Henderson, a bit of a guitar hero of Mike's, is playing there and we spend the evening eating oversized and delicious baked potatos and watching Henderson wield his guitar.
And not to leave Mike and I out of the music scene, Irl and Marnie have Playstations 'Guitar hero'. I'm rubbish and stick to the Base guitar on the easyiest setting but still, one can dream of being in a rock band.

Other cool sights and scenes we checked out in LA were of course, the Hollywood walk of Fame, the Porno Walk of Fame (this was Mike's idea), Rodeo Drive, I wasn't quite feeling like 'Pretty Woman' but the movie title did lead to Roy Orbison's tune by the same name getting stuck in my head for wee while. Griffith Observatory - as seen in James Dean's 'Rebel without a cause', was also very interesting and a beautiful Art Deco style building. There was the Getty Centre, another beautiful, but modern, building set overlooking the vastness of LA. We also rode along Mulholland Drive (passing Jack Nicholsan's house), conjuring up yet another tune to go around in my head (REM this time) and took a trip out to Malibu. Long Beach was also on our list and by the time we had finished it was hard to decide where we wanted to live. Venice Canals, Malibu, Hollywood Estate or Manhattan Beach, the list goes on.

Whether it was the fact that we didn't have any bike maintanence to do, Irl and Marnie's hospitality and extremely comfortable spare bed andnot forgetting their adorable dogs, Lady and Roco, or just that recognising so much of LA from the movies and seeing it for real was exciting, we both fell in love with LA. But as with all journeys, you have to move on at some time.