Portland, Oregon

Portland. 1:30am. The hotel room is littered with the debris of 2 apocalyptic hangovers – used towels, odd socks, empty coke cans, obliterated Chinese takeaway containers, Kelv mesmerized by flashing lights on Animal Planet on TV, half full mugs of stale water, receipts for a rounds of Jagermeisters at 3am, a stinking sweat soaked tshirt from a bewildered rickshaw rider.

The trip unofficially ended this morning at approximately 2am in a bar called the Tube. Kelv’s restroom queuing etiquette nearly got us ejected early, as did our animated discussion about riding Nant-y-Arian, as did our relentless consumption of Rum. Earlier that evening we’d wandered out of the hotel wide eyed and dazed like Tarzan in New York. After weeks in comparative wilderness and small towns being in a city fazed us. A group of people with $200 dollar haircuts and ill fitting fashionable clothes sauntered past us as we lurched down the street dazzled by their glitz. After walking a few blocks we got the fear and walked back to the first bar we’d seen. We sat at the bar next to 2 guys who looked like a warped tribute to Gareth Pugh and Meatloaf.

At some point in the evening we commandeered a rickshaw for what seemed like hours. I can’t remember a great deal, but the following flash backs have stuttered back into memory today: Sitting in the back with the rickshaw rider, whilst Kelv pedaled us into oncoming traffic; Jumping out whilst at fullspeed because I was so disgusted with myself being ridden; dragging the rickshaw rider into a bar and pouring jagermeister down his neck; Kelv swapping his Pedal House tshirt for the riders stinking, soaking, off grey/off fleshtone tshirt. We somehow managed to make it to the hotel room and somehow I managed to phone Michal at work. The conversation is hazy, except for lots of schoolgirl giggling, stunned silence and fuck yeah’s.

Today we’ve both been sick and deep in our own words of self loathing. What miserable worlds they are. Most of the day has been spent shuffling around the room, to the bathroom, back to bed, to the bathroom, to the floor. Kelv eventually made it out to get a Chinese takeaway about 6:30ish and we managed another sortie to the ice cream parlour a block away at 8pm. From what we’ve seen of Portland sober this evening it looks like a great city. Tomorrow we make up for today by going on a massive shopping spree. Trainers, tops, bottoms, a bike, cycling tops, er did I say bike… I’ve been thinking of getting a single speed and balls to it I’m going to buy one tomorrow.

You may be wondering how the hell we’re going to carry all the shit we’re buying, let alone another bike. Well… after arriving in The Dalles on Tuesday we had planned on riding to Portland Wednesday, but the week of hard miles had took its toll. We had a day off in which time the relentless winds we’d been warned about so much finally materialised as did the rain. So the plan was to hire a car in The Dalles and drive to Portland. Unfortunately the car hire company messed us around and after waiting all day for a car to return, nothing came in. So another night was spent in The Dalles. On Thursday we had the same situation with the car hire place, so decided to hire a motor to the east of Portland to get us into the city. It was a nice sunny day, but the wind was relentless as ever. To make it the 70 miles to Portland to get the car before it closed was going to be a challenge. We decided I’d go on ahead on my own at full speed, grab the car and drive back and get Kelv.

After only about 5 miles and a few calculations on average speed, it seemed pretty clear I wasn’t going to make it in time. The wind was insane, keeping maximum speed to below 15mph even on the flat. Not only that, strong gusts almost blew me off the bike a few times and I had some nice blasts on the horns of SUV’s as they passed. The route to Portland that day had 3 fairly big climbs and 20 miles of Interstate. In that wind the Interstate was going to be a nightmare. Luckily a lady at another branch of the car hire company in Hood River 20 miles away called me saying they’d got a car. We were saved!

A bit of car palava followed, getting the car in Hood River, driving to Portland, getting the other car we’d hired for the rest of the trip, driving both back to Hood River, dropping off the first and heading back to Portland. Before we left we stopped in Hood River for some lunch. Hood River was another great little town with obviously a very active population as the town had 3 bike shops and multiple kayaking and sailboarding shops. I saw my first S-Works Tricross (the carbon version of our bikes) and it looked amazing. Nice at $2,500….

So we’re now in Portland and only a few days remain. Rough plan is to shop tomorrow then head out to Seaside on the Pacific coast. We’ve got a great hotel right on the seafront. Sunday may spend another night in Seaside if the weather is good, or drive to Seattle and have a night there. Monday we drop the car in Bellingham near the Canadian border and pick up a Canadian hire car for the drive to Vancouver. Tuesday I fly home :-(

Although it’s not over yet, the trip has been absolutely epic and clichéd as it sounds, life changing. It’s totally changed my understanding of the USA and I could now seriously see myself living here at some point. Places like Boulder, Missoula, Hood River and here in Portland have had a profound effect on me. Not to mention the sheer immensity of this wild country. The weather has been biblical and with scenery to match. I’ve felt so small and insignificant on many miles of this trip. It’s also completely changed my perspective on long distance riding. 60 miles feels like a rest day in the right conditions.

There is so much I’ve wanted to blog about which I’ve either forgot, or been too tired to convey when I’ve sat in front of the computer at the end of a long ride. Little things along the ride make me smile or give me a warm feeling, or just make me feel immensely content. The last 600 miles from Missoula have been stunning and as we’ve dropped from the snow line into the lower altitudes spring has really started to come to the fore. The smell riding through the forest sections was amazing . I can’t imagine a better way to experience the country.

It’s going to be hard coming back and going to work. Hah that’s a fucking understatement. I’m planning the next trip now to keep things rolling. Last year I rode a 1000 mile tour around southern Ireland and I think it’s time to go back and see the North. 1000 mile trip from Galway up to Londonderry, down to Belfast and finish in Dublin. Should do the job :-)

Rolling Rest Day

We both woke up tired as hell today after 500 miles in 6 days, felt like we hadn't gone to bed, and we were faced with many miles of increasingly busy and dangerous traffic (including the interstate and big bridges) as we worked into portland centre, so we decided to hire a car to get us through portland.

So we're chilling a little while in the hotel waiting for the hire car, and we'll have a sweet day in portland tomorrow too, before the final push from the western suburbs of portland to the ocean

Umatilla to The Dalles, Oregon

Its been a long long day today. We slept in late at the motel in Umatilla and made it onto the road about mid-day. The weather is still failing to live up to the warnings of hellish headwinds we've been given (touch wood!) - today was another warm sunny day with little or no wind, perfect to crunch out some big miles. I felt totally unmotivated this morning, legs were ok but just had no va va voom. A coffee after 20 miles and some tunes on the ipod seemed to do the trick though.

Since leaving Missoula last Thursday we've ridden just under 500 miles and for the first time since leaving Boulder they have all been directly West. All the way we've seen the mile markers get lower and lower, counting down our advance to the Pacific. Its shocked us both to realise there are now only 2 days of riding left - tomorrow to Portland, and in a couple of days the final leg to Seaside. Can it be over?! I feel like I've only just started!

The closer we get to the Pacific, the further back in time the immense scenery seems to go. The dominating cliffs of the Columbia River valley are lava flows dating from up to 17 million years ago, exposed by erosion caused by the Missoula Floods 15,000 years ago. We have been in awe again of our surroundings following route 14 through Washington along the Columbia river.


We were presented with an unexpected 500m climb with 30 miles to go, but at the summit were treated to the jaw dropping view of Mt Hood in the distance. It looks like a comic book mountain, an 11,000 foot block of toblerone dropped onto the horizon. Great scenery helps the miles tick by and we clocked up 105 by the time we reached The Dalles in Oregon this evening.

A long day in the saddle is rewarded with a good motel, essentials being wifi, a pool, room service and a hot tub. Screw camping. Though I did feel pretty bad when the 2 guys we saw riding east mentioned they'd had their first night in a bed for 2 weeks. We decided though that their bizarre plastic barrel panniers actually contained lobsters on ice in one and bottles of champange in the other.

With the miles counting down our thoughts have been turning to what next, bouncing between fanciful plans for our next epics, or more sobering thoughts about work. In doing this trip I've slashed my holiday quota, leaving 2 weeks until April next year so my epic plans are of the mini variety. On the cards at the moment are the 100 mile Devil Ride in Mid Wales in August, a trip to the Tour De France in July and a couple of long distance weekenders down Brighton way. I'd like to attempt the 120 mile South Downs way in one day on my Tricross, but I think its going to be a bit too much.

Portland awaits tomorrow, 100 miles away along highway 30. Lets hope that wind gives us another days grace...

Rest day, kinda: Walla Walla (Washington) to Umatilla (Oregon)

Ok ok ok what did we do today, hmm lemmethink back, oh yeah.

We only had 60 miles or so to do today, bizarrely this now counts as a bit of a holiday. We had a late start, getting up just before 11am, a quick breakfast in the gas station across the road, then cruising out through town. The day is sunny and warm, it’s gently downhill most of the way, there’s a bit of a tailwind, we only have a little way to go and there’s no rush.

We cruise, that’s what we do, tick follows tick follows tock, each one a gentle push on the pedals, so gentle that you can barely feel it. Bert’s slow-ride training is coming along well and he manages to ‘pootle’ along for several miles without sprinting.

We enter the Washington Scablands, the result of a 2000 feet deep glacial dam bursting back in the ice age 20,000 years ago, resulting in a flood 1000 feet high moving with the force of a fire hose, scouring the landscape from Missoula (several hundred mile east of here) all the way to the ocean. We ride over sand ripples a hundred feet high, the landscape is deeply eroded, bedrock showing. It is truly awesome.


Eventually we reach the Columbia River Gorge, 250 feet high and deeply eroded by the flood which filled it to the brim, overtopping in some places. The gorge is awesome and I get a crick in my neck looking up at the towering cliffs and caves made from scoured-out basalt columns.

I’ve wanted to see this place ever since I heard about it but hadn’t planned it in, so was chuffed yesterday when I realized we’d be riding through it. 20,000 years is kinda recent geologically, and there’s a good chance some genuine humans were around to see it.

A few miles along the river and we cross into Oregon. Unusually, photo-slut Bert ("Here I am! Where do you want me? Love me! Love me!") doesn't want his picture taken so you'll have to make do with just me and use your imagination.


We reached Umatilla and discovered it’s a run down tiny little place with abandoned buildings on the main street. Scoff and red wine is being followed up by some quality american TV which bert couldn’t wait to get back to. Welcome to the mainstream bertie.

It’s less than 300 miles to the pacific now, which is about 3 or 4 days ride. The Columbia River Gorge is renowned for fierce headwinds so each day will probably be a bit of a battle, but it’s so close to the end I think we can grit our teeth and push on.

We have ridden past a couple of dead rattlesnakes lately and today bert has been practising the action of scooping them up and lobbing them back at me as we ride, this gives me the fear but good.

So the trip is nearly over, although it only feels like a couple days ago that bert got here, even though that was 1000 miles ago!

Hell Yeah Boy! Lewiston (Idaho) to Walla Walla (Washington)

The scene: Best Western in Walla Walla, Washington. Predator is on the TV, Bert is in bed, a demolished pizza delivery is in view. Bert is becoming more and more like Superhans from Peep Show, with almost everything being declared 'bullshit'. Genuine quote from today in a gas station: "These ice creams are BULLSHIT!" Our night in Lochsa Lodge has given us some new catchphrases but I can't put them here, we are trying to get rid of them before getting in serious trouble from using them in public.

I've said before that each day's journey is like a dream and looking at today's photos really brings that home, seeing the ones from the ride out of Lewiston this morning feels like an awful long time. I find that I can't judge how far back things are once I've ridden past them, they are in the dream world immediately.

We crossed the Snake River into Washington whilst leaving Lewiston, the river that Lewis and Clark followed to the Columbia then the Pacific. We've been following their tracks for hundreds of miles now and are getting a bit L&C'd out as their name is on almost every coffee shop, garage, side road and barber shop. Every tourist sign and historic marker is about them. This is great, but we are starting to lose the sense of wonder a little.




I have a bad cough at the moment, I sound like a dying sea lion, wheezing and barking and producing green lumps at inopportune moments. I was really struggling this morning, our plan was to do 100 miles to Walla Walla including 2 or 3 decent climbs and I really didn't feel up to it. We rode along the snake for a little while, past incredible rock cliffs similar to the Giants Causeway before hitting the climb.




As usual Bert tore off as soon as we hit the hill, I struggled up the 10 mile decent climb, harder than anything we hit in the rockies. At the top I'm expecting a little pass and a descent, but I'm totally shocked to be back on the plains! There is no sign whatsoever of where we came from, just plains as far as you can see in all directions. It's like a secret world that we've accidentally found the entrance to and is an extremely strange feeling. No wonder it all seems like a dream.




Ridewise Bert likes to dash and chill, I'm more of a constant trundler. The usual deal on long hills is that I'll work my way up slowly whilst bert will get stuck in with red eyes, and we'll meet at the top. My wheezing state amplifies this difference, giving bert a good 15 or 20 minutes free time at the top which he makes the most of by lazing on the grass in the sun admiring the lush green plains stretching all around.

It's a bit of a decision point. I'm feeling rough as hell, running at about 60 percent of normal, accommodation is either in 10 miles or 60 miles with nothing at all in-between. I'm used to pushing on so figure I'll go for it, we can always camp, that's what the tent is for.

Amazingly the next 30 miles are downhill with a tailwind, without pedaling we cruise along at 20mph, this is what it’s all about. Realising it’s Sunday, when almost everything is shut in these small towns (I keep expecting a sign saying ‘town closed, please go around’), we get a cheese toastie and our water bottles refilled at a diner. Most tasty.

The gentle downhill takes us through amazing valleys, past weird rock formations, along valley floors and meadows, strange junkyards in the middle of nowhere, abandoned barns and homes, fields of llamas, goats, donkeys, running deer, grassland waving in the breeze, a dust-devil forming, smooth empty road, wide shoulder. More dreamtime.

Riding through a cool little town (Dayton) a group of skateboarders is chilling on the main street. I like skateboarders, they feel kinda like wheeled cousins. In the pantheon of wheeled creatures bikes and skateboarders get on pretty well, we are much closer than motorbikes who seem to look down on us somewhat, although over here we do get the nod and wave from plenty of them, something I’ve never had in the UK.

One of the 10 year old skate kids is mounted on rollerblades and he breaks away from his buddies, racing me along the pavement. This is plenty cool, I love little episodes like this. As we race along the mainstreet, him dodging pedestrians, me dodging cars, we are grinning at each other, and both end up laughing out loud with sheer fun.

Time for another climb, I’m dreading this one as am still not feeling right. After a formal goodbye Bert heads off up the slope. I’ve been trying to teach him to ride slowly but he keeps failing the course by sprinting when he thinks I’m not looking.

Strangely my legs kick back in about half way up the hill, which is a few miles long, and I manage to stay only a few hundred metres behind bert. He doesn’t realise this, secure in the knowledge that the usually reliable kelv is not firing on all cylinders. As I reach the top I see him in the rest area taking off his helmet and dusting off the ground with his little hanky ready for a nice long snooze until I make the top.

But my legs are running well and as the gradient flattens I stand on the pedals, maximum acceleration, feeling the strong smooth power of the now fully functional main engines that I’ve had to nurse along all day. I take a wide curve through the rest area to stay out of his sight, using a passing truck to mask the sound of my tyres at about 25mph I pass an inch from his sleepy feet, shouting at the top of my voice “HELL YEAH BOY!” I’m rewarded with a startled squawk and look back to see his gangly arms and legs waving helplessly like a beetle on its back as he stares wildly around in panic.

This is enough to have me giggling spontaneously for the rest of the day and I enjoy the following descent to the next town. This is supposed to have a short gentle climb out of it, but the map makers have screwed up and it’s the 3rd decent climb of the day with loads of false summits. At the top we see a thunderstorm gathering with lightening playing about. We know we have about 12 miles to Walla Walla and it’s mostly downhill so we race the storm, staying just ahead of it and surfing the wind. We maintain a good 20mph into town, both enjoying the feeling of being able to pound along strongly after over 90 miles.




I still got the cough though.

Missoula MT to Lewiston ID

Tonight we are right on the Idaho / Washington border in the small town of Lewiston. 3 States in 4 days isn't a bad average! Since we left Missoula in the cold and rain on Thursday we've covered 217 miles of Highway 12 - also called the North West Passage. The first 40 or so miles out of Missoula climb up from about 3250 feet up to Lolo pass right on the Montana / Idaho border at 5235 feet . Crossing the pass we reached the snow line again, this time in freezing rain. Just enough time for a quick photo at the PST sign before fast, cold, precarious descent down to the Lochsa Lodge. We've been yoyoing from wearing summer gear to winter gear so many times now. We even contemplated donating all our winter gear to the 2 guys we met riding Eastwards last week...

After a day riding in the rain Lochsa was like an oasis of heat, beer and good food. Our cabin had a big gas burner and after a little shenanigins and risk of detonating the propane tank we managed to get it fired up to dry out our kit. After wolfing down food in the bar, the lodge owners (one staunch Republican and the other Democrat) invited us along to their pool competition later that evening. The competition aspect seemed to be more about political arguing than pool and after 5 hours of drinking we reached a happy stalemate at 'Well you guys created America, so its all your fault'. This place was one of the best bars we'd been to so far and we had a good laugh with everyone we met there - could have easily fallen into the Missoula rest day trap and took a boat the rest of the way. We were however advised to stay on the road and off the river, it was 3 or 4 feet higher than usual from all the rain and snow melt. We've experienced nature in its rawest form out here, and the angry chaotic white waters of the Lochsa scared the shit out of us. There was a chance the river could rise enough for them to close the road ahead but luckily the rain stopped.

We some how managed to get up early the next day, still pissed eating breakfast and entertaining the waitresses with my lack of knowledge of egg cooking. The ride through the narrow Lochsa river valley (Canyon, must remember to call it Canyon) was a blur, in a dream like state we somehow managed 90 miles with huge hangovers. I think we both mentally retreated into our booze addled minds for most of it. The 100 mile river valley was another wilderness experience and almost every few miles there would be traces of an avalanche or landslide on the side of the road. Remains of huge trees lay by the side of the road completely shattered like they'd been hit by artillery. Rock falls seemed common and we were repeatedly dodging small boulders on the road. I even had pangs of claustrophobia at one point, feeling trapped by the seemingly endless river valley. It was 65 miles before we reached the first dwellings and the valley finally opened out when we entered the Nez Perce Indian Reserve 80 miles away. Bizarrely our legs still felt good and I'm sure we could have managed another few miles, but our heads were in pieces. Kooskia was the first town of any size so we decided to crash out. It was the perfect day for hangover riding - slight tail wind, sunny and downhill for 90 miles!!!

Today was more of the same, following the Lochsa until it joined the Selway to form the Clearwater. The ride was almost like groundhog day - after every spur of the valley we rode around, the terrain would repeat again almost exactly. It was like this for a good 50 miles. The scenery in the Nez Perce reserve along highway 12 is very similar to Wales, for a while again I was lost mentally thinking I was riding along the Dyfi river valley to Aberdovey. Must stop drinking.

We got into Lewiston early today after a 75 mile coast along by the river - no wind again, sunny and totally flat whole way. We've made the most of the last 2 days knowing they are probably our last days without wind before heading into Oregon and Washington. From here on in a nice strong headwind from the Pacific will be keeping our average speed well and truely down. Kelv needed some bits from the local bike shop and the owner told us that the Columbia river valley was one of the windiest in the USA and a mecca for sail boarding.

Portland is now only approx 340 miles away and the Pacific another 100 from there so we should make it for the weekend. Tomorrows target is Walla Walla in Washington at 102 miles, though we have a bail out option at 80 miles in Waitsburg if the wind is against us.

Here's some more pics from the last 3 days since we left Missoula:

Missoula to Lochsa
Lochsa to Kooskia
Kooskia to Lewiston

Heading to Lewiston, Idaho

we're getting ready to roll along highway 12, about 70 miles to lewiston. Weather is fine and wind-free so far, supposed to be about 23 degrees today

should be another long river cruise, let's hope so

Half Way to Awesome

I thought bert had been busily blogging for the last few hours as he was frantically typing on the laptop but it turns out he'd been chatting to people about dubstep, or as he puts it, he was 'busy'.

So here's just a quick update as we both got drunk last night, up until 2am, with a 90 mile ride today at about 17mph average, following the lochsa river all the way to Kooskia (pronounced koos-kee) where we are now.




I was still dragging my cold yesterday but managed to struggle on for 60 miles or so over the Lolo pass and along to the Lochsa Lodge, where the bar staff made us feel very welcome, with pints of Fat Tyre appearing as if by magic and the democrat versus republican arguments going on long into the night.

Today was a long ride starting out wearing everything we owned and ending up in t-shirt and shorts, we're well glad we didn't ditch our cold weather gear.

We're in Idaho now so are on Pacific Time, I think that's the 4th time zone i've ridden into now (eastern, central, mountain, pacific) so we are 8 hours behind. It's 11pm, I still have my cold, plus a hangover, and some sleep to catch up on. After all his hard work tonight bert is already in bed.

That's were I'm going now.

(Hi to Jesse at the Holiday Inn Reception Desk in Missoula, you know you want to do it, buy a bike and go!)

My Own Private Idaho

We're leaving Missoula this morning, heading for the Lolo Pass about 40 miles away on hwy 12, then over the top and down into Idaho for the first time - and Pacific Standard Time! If all goes to plan we'll be staying at the Lochsa Log Cabins near the Powell Ranger Station, right on the Lewis and Clark trail.

Its going to be a soggy cold day - the 30+ centigrade heatwave is long gone, its now 6 deg C and will be raining all the way. We're ready though, wet weather kit is laid out, the bikes have been cleaned and lubed up, just leaves us to stuff our bellies at the cafe down the road and we're outa here.

Its a been a great week in Missoula, but I must admit I'm beginning to feel a little like Alan Partridge holed up in this Holiday Inn ('Have you got your big plate Alan?'). I've swam to the Pacific and back in the hotel pool, Kelv's scared the housekeeping staff numerous times, we've eaten our way through the rooom service menu, watched 20 episodes of Family Guy and even become members at the local video hire shop. Time to leave I think.

Today Idaho, tomorrow Washington! (hopefully...)

Pacific Plans

Its been a while, not sure why I've not been bluging lately, I think I've been content to lounge in the pool and use the hot tub whilst leaving Kelv to it :) Now its his turn to lounge for our 5th day in this great town of Missoula, trying to throw off the lurg he's been brought down with. We could have probably ridden a few token miles further towards Idaho today but there is no point - we'd more than likely have to have another day off tomorrow somewhere much less comfortable and accessible as Missoula.

The town is similar size to Laramie and Helena, about 30,000 people and a University. What strikes you the most is how active everyone is - bikes are everywhere and in all flavours, single speeds, cross bikes, tri, roadies, mtb's, cruisers, kids in little trailers the lot. It doesn't look like the town relies on tourism for its active feel, I think the population is just generally health conscious and biking seems to be the major pastime, along with rafting, canoing, backpacking etc. We hadn't realised but its also the headquarters for the Adventure Cycling Association. This non-profit organisation create bike routes and maps, organise bike tours and help out with the national cycle network (like our Sustrans).

I went to their offices a couple of days ago and bought a few maps - their Lewis and Clark route maps roughly follow the same course I'd planned for the last leg of the journey from Missoula to the Pacific via Portland. These maps are perfect, lots of information on places to eat, sleep, get repairs, much more than you'd find on your average road map. We'll be using sections 6 and 7 for the rest of the trip. It also looked like and amazing place to work - Cartography, American History and Cycling under one roof! (Cooch maybe your perfect job?) I envied the staff there.

Before I left I was asked to sign into their book of visiting cyclists - the guy a couple days before me was a German chap riding round the world. They also took a Polaroid and stuck it on their wall with all the other long distance cyclists that had passed through Missoula. Was then offered free internet access from their computers and free pop and ice cream! Awesome! I was politely asked to leave after my 6th cornetto.

Plans have had to change a little with the time we've spent in Missoula. I was hoping to attempt a big solo ride from Seattle to Vancouver but I doubt I'll be able to squeeze that in now. Health and fitness permitting we should reach the Pacific on Sunday 1st June - 2 days before I fly back to the UK from Vancouver. The route follows Lewis & Clarks trail westward and is something along these lines:

Missoula (MT) > Lolo Pass (MT) > Hwy 12 (ID > Lewiston (ID) > Walla Walla (WA) > Umatilla (WA) > Biggs (OR) > Cascade Locks (OR) > Portland (OR) > Seaside (OR)

Thats about 700 miles approx. We'll be taking a day off to explore Portland and hopefully a day by the Pacific if we have time. I can't wait to see the sea, its weird we feel so close and yet 700 miles is still a good way to go. I'll miss Montana when we head into Idaho. Its been my favourite state so far and was nothing like I expected. Saying that, none of the trip has been anything I expected (not least the snow!!!). Montana's landscape has been the most varied and in the week of riding from West Yellowstone to Missoula we've seen some spectacular scenery with great people and friendly little towns on the way. We also had the best climb of the whole trip so far - the first pass somewhere near what you'd find in the Alps - Flesher Pass. Was good to get stuck into some switchbacks finally!

I've still got 2 weeks left of the trip but I can't stop now thinking of coming back to gritty reality when I get back to the UK. In some ways I'm looking forward to it, in others dreading it. I'm sure I'll forget about it when we get back on the road.

Map Update

You can see our overall progress here. Red pins are ones we drove to with James.


View Larger Map

One more day in bed, frustrating or what!

Bleugh, well, woke up with a cold this morning, all weak and hot and cold, so have scrubbed todays ride unfortunately. It's tough to take another day off like this, we're both keen to do the remaining 660 miles or so to the coast, but it's just not worth riding when you're weak and fluey, will prob just make myself worse.

So another day in bed for me watching family guy. We got room service breakfast and I embarrassed the waitress by lying around in my pants with my eyes closed, moaning softly in self-pity whilst Alan signed the bill. Alan is feeling ok now he's had a proper day's rest so has gone out on an unloaded solo blast up Lolo pass, I've told him I want an average of at least 17mph.

Yesterday we kicked around town, alan had to trawl the bike shops for a new saddle, and also went to the Adventure Cycling Association headquarters, where he now wants to work. I finished the antarctic exploration book in the sun by the river, providing a contrast to what they went through. There was some cool wave surfing going on with kayaks too, it's a cool town.

Hopefully I'll be fine tomorrow, we'll probably be off the internet for a few days though as there's not much in the valley and it'll take us a couple of days to get through it.

Bed

Heh heh well we both felt pretty bushed when we woke up, having squandered our precious rest day yesterday on hangovers, which pretty much cancelled out any benefit of having a rest day, so we have taken the major luxury of pressing '0' on the little ole telephone and booking another day, shutting the door in the faces of the housekeepers and drawing the curtains.



This works out well 'cos alan needs to buy and test ride a new saddle to save his ass, and the bikes need a good clean 'n lube, and we are both enjoying the lie in. The only big decision of the day is whether to eat last night's leftovers for breakfast, or get room service, or stay in bed until so hungry it drives us out to get something. It is a tough life.

Helena to Lincoln then Missoula

I’m sorry the blogging has been a bit thin lately, the rides have been tough for one reason or another leaving us both pretty worn out at the end of the day. I thought it was just me being old when I was riding solo, but bert is the same, and the two 21 year-old (or so) lads we met touring the other way say they’re pretty bushed at the end of the day, and struggle to get up in the mornings.

The other reason is that I’ve got well stuck into the story of Scott’s journey to the south pole, ‘the worst journey in the world’ by Apsley Cherry-Garard, and it’s hard to put down.

It’s actually very difficult to remember where we rode and stayed, the days blur together, each one seemingly taking much more than a single day in memory. Whenever people ask me where I rode from that morning I have to struggle to remember, each day is like an endless dream, and the morning seems a lifetime ago. Often I just have to say that it was about 50 miles to the southeast and then they’ll name the place, and I think “of course! That was only a few hours ago!”

Helena was a cool little town, but after the chicken sandwich I saw nothing of it as I holed up in the room and got room service. I was still a little weak as we set out the next day, but I’m used to pushing on endlessly now, it’s all mental really.

The tiny road wound along the foothills with the mountains in the distance, it was one of the most beautiful roads of the tour, rivaling the closed island road on the gulf coast. One house had a guy outside setting off explosives, I’m not sure what for, didn’t hang around to find out. Bert had to adjust his saddle so I cruised off solo, marveling at the scenery and enjoying the silence and isolation.

We stopped at a post office in the hamlet of Canyon Creek, just a tiny general store and a few houses. The shopkeep lady shouted ‘I’ll be there in a minute’ from her garden, so we chilled on the steps until she came, stocking up on chocolate milk and stamps.

We knew a long climb was coming next over the continental divide, for the first 10 miles or so we wound gently up Canyon Creek itself through a mountain pine forest, the creek chuckling away beside us. Bert stopped again for another saddle adjustment so I had the road to myself again. It was even more isolated, and riding past a small cliff I heard stones skitter down from above, I was checking for mountain lions lying in ambush but my fears were unfounded, probably.

Bert caught up just before the climb steepened from gently ascent to proper switchbacks. He always goes ahead on hills, I’m a slow steady climber anyway, and my bike is loaded a lot more heavily than his, so he gets stuck in and I work my way up steadily.

Normally I love out of the saddle switchback climbs but I really struggled on this one, I think a combination of altitude, heat, the weakness left over from being ill the day before, and pushing myself up the gentle climb faster than normal as part of a road game with bert, trying to drag out the time before he caught me up. Either way I struggled up the switchbacks, getting a blinding headache that made me ride with one eye shut, that stayed with me for most of the next day.

At the top we were both too tired for the usual ceremonies, and we realized that what we thought was a stick was actually a chewed-off deer leg, quite fresh, so we got stuck into the descent. The forest opened out to show the road ahead descending through a long valley to distant snow-capped mountains, making us both grin.

After the descent it was a fast slog for 11 miles, my riding has definitely got stronger after having to push myself to keep up with bert, and we did a strong 16mph into a decent headwind. Lincoln was a pretty little tourist village (people here laugh if you say village, it sounds very quaint, they call them towns) and we bagged ourselves a cabin in the forest on the edge of town.

Do you have any rooms free?
Yes
How much?
60 dollars
Does it have wifi in the rooms?
Yes
Does the sauna work?
Yes
We’re yours

The forest smelled of fresh pine, I really love mountain forests, the trees were tall and strong, you could look up at them for hours. After a heap of food and a couple of beers in town we were heavily chilled and horizontal.

Bert has developed a monstrous appetite on this ride, whereas I’ve gone the other way. Usually he picks at his food and leaves half of it, now he wolfs it down then orders more. On leaving Helena we had a full cooked breakfast, 20 minutes later he downed a big burger in a garage, in the bar he has a huge beef and cheese roll with fries then a massive chocolate brownie covered in ice cream, surely a 2 person dessert but he sucks it down, whereas I was too full to move after my club sandwich and merely had a little taster spoonful, which he grudgingly let me have.

The next morning my headache is still with me and I’m seriously thinking about staying another day here. He’s feeling pretty wiped out too after the climb so we decide on a late start, getting a couple of hours kip, a decent brunch then heading out after changing his rear tyre which started shredding at the end of yesterday’s ride. We decide to always carry a spare from now on, that’s the 3rd tyre to die on this trip, one from being cut by debris and two from just being weak, touring tyres being hard to find in shops.

It is predicted to be about 89F today, but it turns out to be 100. Luckily the road is gently rolling along the Blackfoot river, the scenery changing yet again to become just like Switzerland with lush alpine meadows, rushing rivers and grazing cattle. To think that 5 days ago we were in semi-arid desert plains, 3 days ago we were snowed in at Old Faithful, having to break out in sub-zero temperatures, and now we’re in a baking hot Switzerland, it is almost beyond belief, no wonder the journey seems like a dream.

A roadside sign helpfully points out that it is wilderness all the way from here northwards into canada, a distance of a couple of hundred miles easy. Cool.
At a gas station we immediately spot a couple of guys in bike gear, and then see their touring bikes. Awesome. These are the first touring cyclists I’ve met so far, and I am jealous of their road beards, although they admit to having started them off early. They’ve been on the road a couple of weeks and last night was their first night in a bed, this makes bert and I a little ashamed. They are impressed at the idea of riding from miami to denver solo, saying that they struggle to get up in the morning as it is when they can help motivate each other. It’s great to chat, and we are really sad to say goodbye. A real pity they weren’t heading the same way, it woulda been a great laugh.

He accidentally torments me over the final 15 miles by wrecking my carefully constructed long-distance mental state by counting down the miles. My way is basically to forget about how far to go and just ride along without thinking about it, this is especially important when I’m tired, like the final 15 miles on a 100F day. Just as I’m forgetting about the distance and riding along he will say ‘only 12 miles to go now’, and I am brought back to the reality of 12 hot tired miles, nearly an hour’s worth, with who knows what hills to come.

He also plays the 'towing' road game, sometimes latching on to my bike so i have to drag him along, and as we get into the edge of town he grabs me by the scruff of my neck and drags me along like a child whilst berating me loudly. I can hardly stop laughing when he does this, and it's funny to watch people stare. We take a wrong turn onto the interstate slip road (no big deal) and do a u-turn, as we ride back up the wrong way on the shoulder a car comes past with 4 mouths wide open in shock and horror, clearly assuming we've been riding the wrong way down the interstate for some time.

We’re both glad to see the hotel, and Missoula turns out to have a cool downtown as it’s a small college town, we both like these. It has an undercurrent of violence though, Ben, who we met at Signal Moutain Lodge, has a brother who lives here. Him and his mate got put in hospital by 7 guys who jumped out of a car and kicked their heads in because they thought they were gay. There is also an ‘out’ policeman who regularly gets abuse scratched into his car, or stuff thrown over his house, or worse.

Still, this goes on pretty much everywhere, it’s a cool town just the same. The waitress likes our accents and brings her friend over to meet us, and gives us free large whiskeys. Downing the whiskey was a mistake I still feel. We leave about 1am and fumble our way back into the room. I somehow manage to order a pizza on the phone, one of the most difficult tasks of the trip after drinking so much.

After dealing with our hangovers we headed into town, checking out the bike shops and cool bars. Now it’s now, we’ve rented out some ‘family guy’ dvd’s, soon there will be some food. Tomorrow we have a hefty climb through Lolo and a couple of nights camping with the bears. The statistics all sound fine, but I suspect they will be little comfort lying in a tiny tent with bert’s feet in my face in pitch black listening to something heavy snuffling around outside.