Thursday 26th June

We had planned to go for another run this morning, however after having cycled 2300 smug miles we felt more justified in having yet another lie in. Tim was not budging for anything, not even tea, and instead we spent hours lovingly packing our bikes. This of course involved grappling with meters of insulation (contenders ready, gladiators ready) and a box not quite big enough for the bike but small enough not to warrant a tripling in the price of shipping.

In line with the size of the boxes, we needed to remove the s, with an Allen key bigger than any we had in our reduced weight (i.e. too light to actually be of practical use). Having raided the hotels toolbox to no avail, we jumped on the bus and indulged in a little D.I.Y. shopping therapy. As ever this was packed with intrigue - camouflage duck tape and some funny monkey powder (apparently for sweaty bottoms) which I could only imagine was Johnson's baby talc for big butch men.

Slightly distracted from the task in hand, Tim went on a shopping spree including the most involved hair and beard trim in a gay barbers. The guy asked if he could ad lib so i am thankful we didn't leave with a handle bar moustache or the like.

Stopping for money from an ATM it struck me how life in America seems to come with it's own soundtrack of the annoying Brian Adams type genus. Instead of trying the door of a car to check you have locked it, the horn sounds. I have already castigated Amtrak enough and when you take money out the shrill beeps with every option just gets louder - what is wrong with one beep to remind you your emptied card is still in the machine. Confusingly some crossings talk to you, some tweet like a bird and two blocks down some are silent. I guess there must be dedicated blind routes as well as bike routes to get you safely through America. If we were the Beastie Boys I am convinced we could have the basis for a hit record in our hands - could even see Tim in a green Adidas tracksuit.

Back at the hotel we had that familiar feeling when leaving Ikea with ten items more than you had gone in search for. If only Hillcrest had had swedish meatballs on offer. Nonetheless we eventually got back to the tearful experience of boxing the beasts.