Beth's Weblication

04/10/08 - The Calm Before the Storm

2008-10-04T10:47:00.004+01:00

Tomorrow is the Autumn Epic which I am now feeling slightly panicked by having entered. As ever trying to apportion blame, I am electing Lindsay for this particular imminent catastrophe..

The Met Office is reporting a 60% risk of disruption with the following forecast:

'There is a high risk of a severe weather event affecting much of Wales, the Midlands and East Anglia on Sunday. Exceptionally heavy rain is expected, with 50 to 80 mm in places, and perhaps in excess of 100 mm locally. The heavy rain could lead to flooding in some areas and cause disruption to outdoor events and transport networks.'

At least my cycling with Ben the other day should have me acclimatised to driving rain, but if I can't make up time down hill I am going to have the broom wagon nipping at my heels the whole way round.

Am I going to be a short cut candidate..? Perhaps.

01/10/08 - A Little Sibling Rivalry

2008-10-03T09:01:00.005+01:00

Ben had been talking about cycling together for a long time, and when he pulled out an old mountain bike for me to ride I realised he has summed up my abilities and handed me a handicap (he saw) to suit. Even with the finer workings of a suspension mountain bike, I was going to find it hard to keep up with a sparkling new road bike.

Handicap - Scratch Cyclist..?

28 Handicapper..?

We were never going to manage a ride without rain (especially as it had been forecast for the entire week ahead) and as I changed the pedals, pumped up the tyres and checked the gears and brakes, down came the rain. It was a sign of things to come.

There is something spirit lifting about exercising in the rain - like running through sprinklers as a kid (although in this case more like jumping in a swimming pool fully clothed), but barely five minutes later it was raining so hard I felt like I was poking my head through a waterfall. I was laughing out loud, which was a curious reaction as inside I was cursing Ben for making me travel by road on a mountain bike. In reality I was just upset that it was going to take so much extra effort just to power myself 25miles.

We made it onto the A6, where the rain eventually broke for a while giving me the well earned chance to dust my brother on a few hills. Even on a mountain bike I hadn't lost my mean streak, but I have to admit my handicap didn't quite balance out my recent 2300 miles of touring and the fact Ben had never cycled over 10 continuous miles before.

The route along the A6 took us through Carnforth, Beetham, Milnthorpe and Leasgill. At Beetham we came alongside rolling hills, strewn with grazing sheep and split by the River Beta. Through the rain the open sided stone barns looked a little too inviting. Just past Leven Hall we joined the A590, then A591 to take us via dual carriageway into Kendal.

As we pulled up by Booths (Artisan) cafe, my feet felt like frozen prunes and all I could do was rip my shoes off and ring out my socks. Sat cowering in a corner in front of the shop, trying to regain the feeling of my sodden limbs, I looked one step away from being a tramp. If it wasn't for Ben's road bike sat next to me I could have imagined security coming to discretely move me along.

As we were eventually seated for food I warmed up, soothed by Ned's constant ramblings and a mug of hot chocolate - I didn't even feel remotely guilty that we had agreed to pop the bikes in the back of the car to get us back to Lancaster...

23/09/08 The New Kid at the Velodrome

2008-09-29T18:09:00.008+01:00

Waking up this morning I cringed at a memory from two days earlier where, post way too much Sunday lunch wine, I had agreed to pit myself against the Velodrome at Herne Hill. It struck me that in reality I wasn't too sure I had ever even considered cycling round and round in circles to be all that much fun. Watching the Olympics had made me think it was cool, but to actually go out on a wintry London evening to see the same sights over and over again had never actually ventured onto my mental list of things to do before I die.....

At 3pm it started to rain. It tentatively crossed my mind that this may save my bacon but Tony reliably informed me that a 5 minute shower didn't actually constitute a get out clause. Sadly there was still an opening in the embarrassment stakes for me to slide down the bank, bike on head, in full view of members of the public!

When we eventually turned off the road between two houses, the sky was stormy to say the least. Every other cyclist in London had obviously read this to mean there would be rain, and as we rounded the corner there were only two serious cyclists and a handful of kids on mountain bikes.

I paid my £3 and (half) listened as the guy explained the rules of the track to us. In the time it took to get the 10m to the track this explanation had muddled into a mass of coloured lines and the words 'do' and 'don't'. I was hoping this wasn't going to be rocket science.

The first lap saw me do as Tony did, just 10mph slower and not so high up the bank. Once round was enough to quell my fear and on my second lap I put my foot down. Head wind on one leg and tail on the other, I was soon amusing myself by overtaking kids. I know there really isn't too much glory to gleam here, especially considering they were no older than 6 and on mountain bikes, but I was happy with the notion that you have to start somewhere.

Embarrassingly after maybe 30 laps my legs were like fizzing lactic jelly, and yet I couldn't help myself when Tony suggested seeing how fast we could clock. I only managed 45.2 km/hr before the wind whipping round onto my side as I banked the corner made me chicken out in fear. Next time I will endeavour to break the 50km/hr mark.

I had gone, wandering how I could ever enjoy cycling - goldfish style, but acting like a child with reckless abandon is always fun and attempting to pedal as fast as possible fits the bill. It's almost like running down a steep hill, stomach in your mouth, as your legs try to keep up. I had images of Ben running down Combe Hill as a kid, Dad in tow and a mad mother at the foot of it as he went tumbling head first to the bottom.

Having ventured so far into South London, and after having stopped for tea with one of Tony's friends, it was dark and I had no real idea which direction was even North. Luckily Tony delivered us back at Vauxhall Bridge - during which a car swerved in front of me then stopped dead (middle of the road) to play with his wing mirror - where my on board GPS kicked in, directing us through Hyde Park and home.

The Cruel Reality of Tail Wind Conversion,

2008-08-07T13:14:00.022+01:00

Yesterday the sun was shining. Today the deluge returned. Am I jinxed when it comes to cycling on the Isle of Wight? Nothing to worry about though - I had cycled in the pouring the rain the other day and at least this time the route was much shorter (35 miles). I had also already cycled the first 10 miles or so and as such was mentally prepared for what was ahead. So there it was, me on the trek again as the cats and dogs rapped on my lid.

The route had a few climbs, and heading West I was cycling into a head wind. To be honest it was relaxing to be out on my bike in my own world, enjoying the views - I didn't seem to really care about the weather today. At Totland I broke away from the A3055 onto the B3322. As I neared the Needles the wind really picked up and the climbs steepened. As I came alongside the visitor centre (arcades and merry-go-rounds) I continued up the hill, ignoring a sign stating no vehicles (surely bikes didn't count) and pedalled up onto the exposed head land. The views and winds were monumental. A couple of steep switch backs (which really wouldn't have been out of place in the Alps) delivered me to the rocket and missile development centre where I dropped (by virtue of the wind) my bike against a rail. Walking to the edge of the spit of land I could barely stay upright as a class of Farr 65s put the winds to good use in an attempt to race around the island.

Satisfied that I had taken in enough of the views I back tracked to coffee and chocolate. I wasn't particularly hungry but figured if I was having a break it would be rude not to have a kitkat as I watched the wet world of grumpy teenagers on a week away, stomp past. Cycling West was into a head wind so as I switched directions I expected a pleasant tail wind. The riding was going well today and I painfully found at speed that I was converting the tail wind to a head wind. I guess slowing down would have helped but solving the equation for equilibrium in my head was a step too far.

At the viewpoint over Yarmouth I again stopped to look out over the sailing but instead I marvelled at the state of one of the parked cars. For a split second a tut passed my lips followed by a stream of internal dialogue along the lines of 'teenagers today' but I soon corrected myself. I couldn't display such characteristics of aging otherwise that would mean I was, well, maturing. No no no. Instead I got back on the bike and bombed it up and down hills as fast as I could attempting the odd bunny hop whenever a curb presented itself.

Back at the house the sun was out but I just couldn't resist an afternoon nap. Getting old? Never.

Around the Island in 58 Miles

2008-08-03T07:54:00.040+01:00

Around the Island
Find more Bike Rides in Cowes, United Kingdom

Having checked the weather forecast for the week ahead, for at least the 5th time this morning, it dawned on me this wasn’t a luxury I normally afforded. In fact I can’t remember the last time I looked at the weather and decided against a ride. It was time to get onto my bike and battle those gusts of 30 mph. If it's good enough for the hardy sailors, then it's good enough for me. I could dream about the Big Sur the whole way - my psyche need never even venture to the IOW.

My plan was simply to circumnavigate the Isle of Wight in an arbitrarily chosen clockwise direction. Every blog I had read on the Internet suggested this direction and happy to follow someone else’s lead I assumed this would reward me with kinder gradients. In fact starting from Cowes, meant I endured endless undulations all long and steep enough to constitute climbing, coincidentally timed with torrential rain. By the South of the island my ability to imagine myself in warmer climes was being severely tested. Was it ever going to stop raining?

I have to admit that our cycling through Oregon and California had somewhat confused my senses. I wasn’t really dressed adequately and by my fourth climb before Ryde, my feet were already turning into prunes. I had slipped into the lazy state of waking in the morning to put on a vest and shorts. I had forgotten that UK cycling isn't really as luxurious as this. Frustratingly it was raining so hard I couldn't wear my sunnies unless I wanted to pedal head first into a hedge.

Leaving on the A3055, a climb took me to the B3330, past the Flamingo Park and into Nettlestone. Through moments of loathing induced by high winds and continual rain, I still found myself drifting back to the sunny West Coast, only to awaken from my trance on St Helens Common by a sign to Bembridge with a number I was not expecting. I had confidently told Tim this morning that I would direct myself by a map and not my usual written cues keen to prove women do have spacial awareness.... I was teetering dangerously close to the edge of in fact disproving this, as I plumped to ignore the map and follow the signs.

Trying not to be too smug, it was the perfect decision as I shortly came alongside Bembridge Harbour, only to lose my bearings not even a mile later. I couldn't help but curse cartographers who seem to think it is logical to label maps with the road classification and yet roads with their names. How does that help anyone? Yes - that's right my inability to read a map is the fault of the map writers and nothing to do with never having progressed past Never Eating Shredded Wheat (North, East, South, West). I considered asking a dear who got off her bike to walk across the junction (!) where I was faltering but I was fighting for independence here and I was determined to win it on my own.

Finally back on the B3395 I passed Bembridge Airport and the granny on the mountain bike who had left me in directional confusion some minutes back. Her legs were going somewhat it has to be said, but for a few split seconds I wondered whether I should point out if she changed up a gear or two she may actually move somewhere...

By now the continual short sharp climbs, the unceasing rain and the monumental head winds had amalgamated into one big slap in the face. I had thankfully relearned how to balance an unloaded bike out of the saddle but going down hill in such conditions made me feel like I was tottering in stilettos on a wet marble floor. A milk float could have overtaken me I was being so cautious.

At Sandown I stopped for photos of the bleak landscape and a mars bar, although of course all were diversionary tactics in an attempt to hide from the rain. The miles were adding up but not quite at the speed I had hoped for - I may as well have been cycling the route on knobbly tyres and suspension as at least then I would have had an excuse for pedalling slower than a slow thing.

Pulling onto the A3055 I motored on through Luccombe Down and Nansen Hill. At Ventnor I momentarily debated whether missing the road down to the Undercliff could be construed as cheating or not - happy that it was technically a side trip I continued on my way. Additional climbing in such conditions could only have been for those insane types who think that climbing Alp D'Huez with a sweep wagon nipping at their heels is fun. I bet none of you realised we had our own equivalent of the alps on the Isle of Wight.

Shortly after St. Lawrence and half way up a hill I heard a clatter. Happy with my 'at motion' inspection of the bike, I pedalled on, only to realise at the top of the hill that I was missing my full bottle of water. Down the hill? Back up the hill? I don't think so, and so I resigned myself to adding to the road detritus that I always complain about. At Niton I stopped for water in the Post Office and an impromptu tuna sandwich which allowed me time to dry off a little. As luck had it the weather also decided to get it's act together and as I left armed with enough sugar to send a small child into a sugar fuelled rampage, I channelled my sugar rush straight through the pedals.

As I continued along the South Coast I passed a sign for a dinosaur farm - curious I thought, although not enough to tempt me off course. Near Chine I rounded a corner to meet the back tyre of a fellow cyclist. Feeling a little guilty I passed him only to see two more friends up ahead, and my pursuit began. I felt a little fraudulent as I boosted my ego by catching and then overtaking them. I was after all on a road bike and them on full suspension but nonetheless I said hello on the way past, making sure not to pant as I said it, before pedalling off at speed. Such brevado for someone who was also struggling with the route.

The route then became flat and I pedalled like the wind in glorious sunshine. Somewhere near Hanover Point however the route started to rise again and I couldn't understand why I was still going into a head wind. Two climbs brought me up along Compton Down where I moved inland towards Freshwater and Totland. Cheating again crossed my mind but I would only have saved 500m at most and bearing in mind that cheaters never prosper I feared I would encounter a steeper climb as pay back. At Totland I had considered going out to the Needles but quite frankly I was too tired.

A great descent took me into Yarmouth where I stopped at a viewing point to look out at the sailing. At Shalfleet I took a left towards Newtown past the old town hall, and through woodland. The contrast to the corn fields of the South was at it's most evident as I passed brook and copse. From Newtown I passed through Porchfield and finally into Northwood before returning back to the house, wet and worn out. I of course later deluded myself that it had been a great route and maybe in better conditions I would try it again. For now a beer with the guys seemed like a worthy reward.

A Stretch of the Legs from London to Suffolk, 112 miles

2008-08-01T12:59:00.037+01:00

London - Suffolk
Find more Bike Rides in Paddington, United Kingdom
Pulling onto Sutherland Avenue I retraced my old work commute until joining Camden Road towards Finsbury Park, as I set off for Brundish in Suffolk. It was a joy to realise, post tour, that Camden Road no longer felt like that irritating hill that shouldn't be. pannier free, and astride my road bike after our long Atlantic separation, the incline barely registered as the traffic lights, in my favour, swept me onto Seven Sisters Road.

New territory was afoot. Not only was it my first long solo ride, but I was navigating eastwards contrary to our habitual routes through Richmond Park. After Tottenham Hale a gentle climb through suburbia culminated in some last minute manoeuvres to avoid the North Circular - neither the on-ramp nor the speeding lorries made this an appealing error to have made.

The A104 carried me into the welcome shade of Epping Forest, before becoming the B1393. Epping came and went in a blink, with its small market town character and grannies reversing blindly into the traffic. South of Harlow i joined the B181. The route was undulating at most and although my speedo was a little wayward, I was averaging somewhere between 32 and 40k.p.h. The traffic was light, the road surface conducive to high speeds and I had only just noticed I was battling a head wind. Far from debilitating, it was a confidence boost to realise the benefits of our tour were far reaching. Short climbs and head winds were still tough. I still had to work hard, but I could sustain higher levels of work for longer and a few peaks were even reached without realising I had been climbing.

Pedalling on, I crossed the M11 into the glorious rolling countryside of North Weald Bassett, through endless villages and painfully inviting public houses. As I navigated to Moreton I was thankful for my OS map as it became apparent the road names I had taken from Google maps weren't going to be presented to me. At Fyfield I turned North on the B184 to enjoy fields of wheat and barley and barely any traffic.

A brief stint on the A1060 took me to Leaden Roding where I stopped for a snack and a consult of the map. I marvelled at the pink card machine in the corner shop, which was met on the whole by silence, reminding me it may take a while to readjust to the UK stiff upper lip. The B184 took me to Great Dunmow where my navigation skills experienced a brief interlude 10m past my required right hand turn. I was sufficiently unsure enough to stand on the edge of the road looking lost as I poured over my map. No-one approached, not even when I started to looking around wildly for the neon arrow pointing 'Beth in the right direction'. Sugar levels were needing attention and having failed to attract any help with what I thought was magnetic, 'I'm lost' bike charm, I sidled back to the previous junction to notice a map of the town centre. perfect - all was not lost and least of all me.

The B1057 took me past endless farms. At one point I metaphorically patted myself on the back for dusting a tractor and it's tail of traffic, but by pretty Finchingfield I beginning to think I should slow down and eat more to prevent the dreaded bonk. It was hot and calories weren't appealing so I was painfully aware I needed to take the matter in hand. In the shade of the village sign I donned sun-tan lotion and ate another cereal bar. The sugar of the jelly beans I was eating as I pedalled were beginning to leave that sacarine sweet taste in my mouth and as a result nothing else tasted particularly great.

The B153 looked to start with a steep climb but round the corner it soon petered out, as I realised Suffolk was not a hilly county. After Weathersfield, and with Hadleigh in my sights, I tearily phoned Tim asking for a helicopter to lift me to food - a bonk was evidently nigh but adrenaline kept me going. I continued to munch on bars, and was still managing to top 20mph but the legs were beginning to wobble, hindering my stubbornness to keep going until Hadleigh.

The B1058 joined the A131 to circumnavigate Sudbury. Down to my last snack, I pushed on but as I covered the first couple of miles along the A134 I realised I had noted the distance from Sudbury to Hadleigh in km when they were in fact miles. The A1071 came soon enough, with heavier traffic and those kind of undulations that look awful as you pedal towards them only to find the up portion only lasts for a few hundred metres. Like vanishing peaks and dips, I was enjoying vanishing climbs, but I was crawling along in need of food and Hadleigh could not come soon enough.

Impressed there was a road sign for Coram Street, I turned off and into Hadleigh where I was meeting Lindsay. Unused to the stretched geometry of my trek, every sip of coke made me feel sick. Nonetheless a hearty jacket potato, one mars bar and 40 minutes of shut eye later Linds arrived having endured a 15 mile detour as a result of one wrong turn. Energised I jumped onto my bike, but by Needham Market, Lindsay was now in need of calories as he inhaled two chocolate bars. Riding on the wave of a sugar rush Linds navigated us faultlessly along the B1078, B1077, A1120 and finally the B1116 into Dennington and my Bed and Breakfast for the night.

My first trip back on the Trek had been brilliant. The more aggressive geometry wreaked havoc with my back, and the heat with my feet but the journey was the smooth and fast one I had missed whilst on my Marinoni. On the flat terrain I also found no need for my granny ring. The next test will be a long trip with far more hills - Devon perhaps for Erikas 30th.

Wednesday 16th July - Oh the Irony as we Carry the Bikes Through Customs

2008-07-29T17:05:00.023+01:00

With reckless abandonment we headed to the greasiest diner we could find where we devoured pancakes and bacon drowned in maple syrup and whipped butter. We had been so controlled up to this point that we figured we should go out in style. Like Michelin men we rolled out into the street and headed to MoMA where we were excited to see there was an exhibition on the modern dwelling. Our excitement, however, was soon thwarted when we realised it was previewing to members only and the staff barely even flickered as we tried the 'This is our last day in New York' line.

Undeterred, but a little disappointed we entered the gallery to see what else was on offer. I'm not normally that enthralled by modern art but their diverse collections soon sucked us in. The Dali retrospective was amazing and Typologies by Bernd and Hilla Becher had us engrossed in the industrial structures of mines and steel mills. We even had a laugh as we glared into a cabinet containing a Giro bike helmet.

Pleasantly surprised by the depth of our enjoyment at MoMA we headed off to Central Park with lunch from the Whole Foods Market. Sat on a mound amidst coworkers on their lunch break a pigeon flew head first into the tree in front of us. The thud was deafening and the resultant stars were obviously giving the bird a headache as people came over to have a look. Shortly after a girl flew past on a pair of roller blades with a friend running at speed behind. Obscured by the pigeon thumping tree we saw her bag fly out behind her as she eventually lost her balance and grazed along the path. With great decorum she got up and dusted herself off but the wheels came off and I wandered if she had made a resolve never to put them on again. At most I hoped she would be a bit more ginger on slopes. I felt like laughing with such mayhem around us but this would only have resulted in some sort of pain inflicting retribution which I quite frankly did not fancy.

Hoping we were on a roll of cultural delights we headed across the park to the Frick. 15 minutes after entering we left - call us heathens and sorry for not finding the eloquence to state this in a more educated manner but it bored us senseless.

We figured it was best not to try any more galleries and instead walked along Madison Avenue to see how the other half shopped. To Tim's great delight I bought a necklace and earrings from a street vendor for $30 - cheap date was flashing up in his eyes like neon dollar signs.

Eventually we headed back to the hotel where the bellboys tried their hardest to get us a taxi happy to take us and our boxed bikes to JFK smack bang in the middle of rush hour. After a few knock backs a guy eventually agreed on the proviso that we paid more than the standard $45 flat rate - blatant bribery - nonetheless we were happy to oblige.

The driver turned out to be a speed demon and before we knew it we were in Terminal 7 of JFK, where we were upgraded (thank you Tana) and got to enjoy the delights of the lounge and a meal before getting on the plane. I had every intention of sleeping but the flight was only five hours and before I knew it I had sat through numerous sitcoms and the lights were back on to serve us breakfast. Over the next week I would realise how bad a move this was as I endured jet lag which left me incapable of even forming sentences. I guess I had adjusted to the time difference of the West Coast and my body wasn't happy to readjust without a fight.

As we landed in Heathrow we met up again with Becci who had also been on the flight and headed through customs to meet my parents who promptly rounded on poor Becci demanding to know if Tim and I had any interesting news.... Tim and I were both agreed that after sleeping together in a glorified one man tent for the best part of three months whilst churning through the miles that we were ecstatic simply to still be talking to each other ;-) I would say that is good news.

Tuesday 15th July - The Murky Clarity of a West Country Accent

2008-07-29T17:04:00.011+01:00

With only two days remaining and still lots of places to visit we headed off early to submerge ourselves into the hustle and bustle of the Grand Central Terminal in all it's enormity. Since 9 - 11 the city has made a mission to show more police presence on the streets and as we rounded the corner to the station the numbers of officers was clearly evident. Interestingly some were chatting away to teenagers with skateboards and I wondered if this was an approach the British force could learn from.

Adamant I could score again with a restaurant from my eat.shop nyc book, we headed to Roomali on Lexington with 27th for an Indian roti sandwich. As we walked up to it I have to admit to wavering on my resolve to trust the book. The sign said closed, although we had just seen someone leaving with a sandwich, and to be honest it looked far from savoury. Thankfully we persevered, the result of which was devourment of the tastiest mango chicken sandwich surrounded by playing children in Madison Square Park.

Fed and watered we headed off to the Arup office where Tim met Fiona and Ray and set off for an afternoon of sailing. I meanwhile headed off to the Staten Island Commuter Ferry to take in the Statue of Liberty. A few minutes after leaving the others by the world financial centre a father and son asked me if they were heading the right way for the ferry and from here I spent the rest of the afternoon with Daniel and Thomas.

I had intended on taking in a little shopping later that day but as we wandered and chatted, it was evident to me I was unlikely to have such chance meetings back at home and that I should enjoy it whilst it lasted. Instead I found myself yet again exploring the city by foot, marvelling at the built environment as we all chatted away about baseball and the Yankies game that evening.

Tim was pretty perplexed by the slenderness of this structure - look how narrow it is in comparison to block next to it:

A few hours on and I met the sailors back where I left them for a meal drenched in linguistic confusion. First of all I asked the busboy for a drink which is frequently met by silence as generally their English is not that great. After three months in the States I should have known not to ask these guys but it isn't always obvious who the waitors are and are not until they have displayed that they have no idea what you are talking about. My west country accent even seemed to throw the waiter as it became evident that Indians in America find the broad Irish accent of Ray easier to understand than mine. I kept laughing, mainly out of embarrassment at not being able to make myself understood and yet I fear they were offended thinking I was laughing at them as opposed to with them. An hour later Becci, who was over for work, met us and I was thankful to realise she went through practically the same chirades in an attempt to get a glass of wine.

Finally fed up of waiting to order another drink or even to be understood, we hopped into taxis for gelato and coffee local to Ray and Fionas, before heading back to the hotel for our final sleep in America.

Monday 14th July - Aerial NYC

2008-07-29T17:02:00.010+01:00

At 9am, we attempted the subway, arriving at a relatively short queue for the Empire State Building. An hour shy of our planned arrival we were hungry as a result, but thankful not to be in a massive crowd. Standing in the line (the word ‘queue’ does not seem to compute in the US) we were given a presentation by a very good public speaker telling us all the ways we could spend money in the place (entry, guidebooks, different floor entries, computer simulations) and yet we were still confused by the time we got to parting with our cash.

Of course these places are adept at taking money from tourists and with our will to go as high as possible we paid the extra $15 and headed for the 102nd floor. Nearing the top of the first elevator it started to shudder - an occupant chirped up with: ‘ha ha – Earthquake’. Yeah that is very funny.

Our first stop was the 86th floor from which the views were amazing but a group of kids in football kits were being filmed and it was already pretty busy on top of this. Space was at a premium and the usual pushing and intimidation for the views followed. I could have believed people picking others up and moving them to get some space. We carried on up to the 102nd floor which was brilliant. The floor is much smaller and enclosed but far fewer people seemed to go this high. I managed to panic another woman by saying to Tim I wasn’t enjoying the sway of the building - I guess if you don’t understand structural stability this could be disturbing - and she shot me a cutting glare.

When we had satisfied our need for Aerial New York views, we ear popped our way down to be greeted by queues 10 times longer than when we had gone up. Smugly we left, only to find the coffee shop across the road had sold out of croissants and we were still hungry. Displaying how life can be tough when you are on holiday we settled for muffins before heading on to Bloomingdales. A slight shopping frenzy followed as we snaked along Broome, Prince and Spring Streets. Some shops were affordable and some (like all those with a buzzer to get in) were not, but it was still fun to walk around absorbing the atmosphere.

All shopped out we walked back to the hotel, to find ourselves swept along in rush hour. Prior to our visit I had bought a book called Eat: Shop New York, based on the premise that I liked the way it was presented. We had been studying it for days but a high percentage of the restaurants seemed to be either in Brooklyn or away from where we were whenever we entertained the idea of eating something. As such we were yet to assess the merits of the book, and in an attempt to warrant my purchase we decided to dine at the restaurant closest to our hotel. This happened to be a Greek restaurant maybe 20 blocks away, which had we walked past would not have even tempted us. It wasn’t that it didn’t look appealing more that we would never have noticed it tucked away in a basement. On entering we were met by a packed restaurant and a wait to be seated so we settled down with a Mythos and a little people watching. When we eventually ate, the meal was tasty, the atmosphere great and the couple next to us great conversation.

I think this was 1 – nil for the book.

Walking back we happened upon the black carpet of the Batman premier. Apart from gridlock and the crashing of a taxi into the back of a rubber necking lorry, not much seemed to be happening and we had no interest in hanging around any way in the absence of Heath. Back at the hotel the bar sucked us in yet again although this time only for a night cap.

Sunday 13th July - The Universal, Egg Free, Hangover Cure

2008-07-29T17:01:00.031+01:00

One eye opened, the next one opened, the room wasn’t spinning and my head didn’t feel all that bad. Tim on the other hand did not look like he was fairing so well. In need of food we headed across the road for brunch which turned me a shade of green as it reacted with the previous evening’s intake of gin. In no fit state, we wandered, leaflet in had, in the direction of an open top bus tour. Maybe it was the greenness around our gills or the leaflet wielding but stumbling along the bottom of Central Park a tour guide approached and sold us tickets just as a bus appeared. We were in luck, or so we thought until one stop later we were chucked off and told to join another bus.

If this had been a bad sign we needn’t have worried. The bus in front filled just as we got to the front of the queue, leaving us to stand a while on the edge of Time Square. Two minutes later we were on another bus and two hours later we finally left having had the most animated tour guide who seemed to know everything about everywhere.

One of four temporary art installations in New York:

A traffic light swinging metres from our heads:

A wonky Brooklyn Bridge:

And again more traffic lights:

The Gridiron Building:

The U.N. Building:

The enormity of the New York skyline:

Time Square:

In need of more sleep we ducked into the restaurant next to our hotel – a glorified burger joint whose burgers really weren’t all that great - before shunning the hotel bar for the draw of our bed.

Saturday 12th July - Lets Get Sight Seeing

2008-07-29T17:01:00.030+01:00

Waking in the last foreign bed of our journey this morning was a little sad. We now only had 4 days until we would be back in the UK and it was beginning to feel daunting. Part of me was semi-happy to go back to my own surroundings but 90% of me was sad to no longer be cycling. Although the past couple of weeks had helped us come to terms with this it was still evident a little damage limitation would help and so we got to thinking about our next tour. My favourite is to cycle the great divide by mountain bike - Tim doesn't seem too excited by mountain biking in the Rockies but then he wasn't instantly enthralled by the West Coast trip...

With cycle dreams in our heads we wondered out into Central Park. Although it was still hot, 30F less was far more bearable as we mingled in the crowds. A Bon Jovi concert that evening was stopping us from crossing the park and it wasn’t until the reservoir that we could head towards the Guggenheim on the other side. Like heathens and with no interest in the art, we entered the Guggenheim, enjoyed the architecture and the shop then left. A few, dollar saving strategies had to be implemented to prevent the spending of hundreds of dollars on New York culture.

From the Guggenheim we walked a couple of blocks to the Design Museum. At the front desk we were confronted with the need to ‘donate’ an entrance fee as only two rooms were open. The older of two ladies pointed out our attractive exchange rate – a handsome donation was obviously expected. Taking possession of the chivalrous card I left Tim to decide what was best – who says inequality doesn’t have its advantages.

Our cultural appetites satiated, we took a taxi to 18th and 5th to meet Fiona, a friend of Tim’s from his graduate days. We ate a hearty lunch, and then set off in the New York heat for the Hudson River and a cooling breeze. Strolling and chatting we viewed: Ground zero from the world financial centre;

The Irish Hunger Memorial;

Various cool buildings;

and eventually the Staten Island Ferry Terminal where in pursuit of food we headed back up to Five Points, a restaurant on Great Jones Street.

From here the events seemed to take a turn in pace. After a great dinner and many glasses of wine, Fiona took us on to (of all places) an Irish pub. After a whiskey Fiona headed home, leaving Tim and I to make it back to our hotel upon which the lure of the hotel bar was too great. A few gins and a raid of the mini-bar's chocolate later the pair of us fell into a deep sleep

Friday 11th July - New York New York

2008-07-29T16:59:00.004+01:00

Checking out at 11, we headed to the airport. The flight was thankfully not too long but turbulent for a large part. Sat in front of us were a couple of ladies chatting away, in an accent that I was previously convinced only existed in the Sopranos. They were, however, neither Italian, nor gangsters and apparently this was an east coast accent.

In an attempt to alleviate any boredom we watched 21. Hoping to find a solution to our poor performance in Vegas, the film was far from enlightening and based on a dangerously flimsy storyline with no explanation for how people could put to good use card counting. Nonetheless it saved us from the tirade of the family behind us, who had been sat at the other end of the plane from their father - sadly we still had to endure the phone call to him once the plane had landed.

Having landed at JFK we followed signs for the sky train and hotel transfers. It wasn’t until we had travelled 10 minutes out of our terminal that the sign read 'Airport Hotels Transfer'. Forgetting our resolve to use public transport we turned on our heels and jumped in a taxi for Manhattan. The Friday evening journey was long enough and by the time we reached the Empire Hotel we were both ravenous. Pausing just long enough to check in we were happy to find our bikes had arrived in one piece, and our postage stamp sized room was beautifully formed.

With a need for food overruling any desire to hunt out culinary delights we entered the nearest restaurant – an Italian 50ft from the hotel - where I had a pizza big enough to feed Biafra. I had assumed the portion sizes in New York would be more modest – apparently not.

Thursday 10th July - Some Don't Like it Hot

2008-07-29T16:57:00.016+01:00

Two days of Vegas and we were ready to leave the confines to head out into the desert. We picked up our small car – a Pontiac – with the usual confusion from Hertz as we turned down a luxury SUV for a small additional cost. As we drove out of Vegas towards the Hoover Dam, the car thermometer was reading 96F. At 9am in the morning this was somewhat stifling.

The baron expanse as you leave Vegas was far more beautiful than I had anticipated. From the flight in I had looked down wondering why anyone would ever spend too long in the countryside but from within our air conditioned box, the rocky geology of the hills was fascinating. As we drove into Lake Mead National park you could see a line of salty deposit metres above the present level of water - it was hard to believe that anything could be sustained in such a harsh environment and yet conurbations were not confined merely to Vegas.

Stepping out of the car at the Hoover Dam the heat stood on it's hind legs and thumped you in the face. Even though the temperature had dropped as we left behind the expanse of macadam albedo, it was still beyond reasonable. luckily we spent the next few hours enthralled by the science behind the dam and it's tour. As we emerged from the tunnels we made the few meters walk from Arizona into Nevada and back simply to chalk up 5 states on our trip.

Back in the car after an unsurprisingly disappointing lunch we headed to the other side of Vegas in search of Red Rock Canyon. As the chief navigator, falling asleep didn't yield great results. After 10 minutes of shut eye I realised we had gone too far and were leaving Vegas in the wrong direction. All was not lost, as we realised Vegas really wasn't that big a place.

Driving into the park, the temperature began to drop as we climbed. It is simple to surmise from my previous temperature related rants that when we turned a corner to see a cyclist we almost crashed the car in shock. Admittedly she looked like she could barely will her legs to turn but, nonetheless. The Canyon was beautiful and with storms approaching the grey skies were a welcome change. Although we wouldn’t make it to the Grand Canyon this felt like a good compromise.

Wednesday 9th July - I have a Degree so Why Can I Not Understand This?

2008-07-29T16:56:00.035+01:00

Having slept on our gambling fear, we found breakfast and approached the red card table for a little help. We asked about lessons to realise people who are rich enough to stay at the Wynn are also proficient at gambling. With our playing cards sorted and confidence to cope with a slot machine we headed into the foray. Of course we had failed to predict the immense boredom of pressing a button and pulling an arm, pressing a button, pulling an arm, pressing a button… There was even a button to negate the arm which just seemed bizarre to me. Agreed that poker was more likely to interest, and hopeful a certain amount of skill would put us back in some level of control, we swapped machines. Sure enough we started to win and in we were sucked.

Tim, with an elevated credit score, decided we should try a different machine. There were funny cartoon characters and a grid. I was asked to pick the number in a line and press a few buttons until having lost a few credits, and in utter confusion I gave up. As I retrieved my card, metaphorical steam was rising from Tim’s ears:

‘I have a degree so why can I not understand this machine?’

Defeated, we retreated to the pool area where the marble tables and cutlery could have been torture implements. Thankfully this wasn't a problem as eating or even moving enough to get food from the plate and into our mouths was not at all appealing. Instead and in an attempt to cool down we went for a dip. Bizarrely the shaded end was empty and we enjoyed a 30m span to ourselves. I had assumed there were limits to sun seekers but apparently not - did they not realise how hot it was? People were even sun bathing..

We had opted for an early showing of Cirque du Soleil - Ka at the MGM Grand and so headed off, walking (!) down the strip. Ignorantly it took us almost 45 minutes to walk – we had started off happy that it was only a few hotels away but in Vegas that is quite some distance. Half way along the strip we started ducking into casinos for a blast of air conditioning. By the time we reached MGM I felt like an oil slick and the cooling relief of the theatre was heaven. Neither of us had any real expectations for the show - we were visiting because it was something you should do in Vegas. Two minutes in and Tim and I were drop jawed. For the next hour and a half we sat in amazed silence at the spectacle before us. Yet again I don't feel my illiterate ramblings could do the show justice. The movement of the performers' bodies was at the very least enviable - like urges to start a martial art after a few hours of karate kid I left with the illusion that I too could do Capoeira. The stage was immense with fighting on a 50 metre rotating platform which quite frankly put Chitty Chitty Bang Bang's attempts at flying to shame.

Stumbling out later we walked back along the strip at a pace slow enough to keep my innards from scrambling. At the Bellagio we stopped to enjoy the water display before having a late dinner and a spot more gambling. It hadn't taken me long to reach a stage of boredom, however, which left me trying to lose all my credits. Having accrued $20 of free credits I felt I either had to triple it or lose it all to feel I had in some way reached a definitive end. Of course tripling it was never going to happen with my 25 cent bets and soon enough losing it all became the task in hand.

I hadn't factored in the maddening comparison with attempting to score a double to end a game of darts – just as I was down to 1 credit I would suddenly win a few. Why I didn’t just cash in my $5.50 is beyond me. I had concluded I wasn’t going to win and the only way to finish was when the machine decided I was going to - luckily this wasn't really all that slow in coming and I could eventually crawl into bed.

Tuesday 8th July - I Guess our Inability to Gamble Should Stay in Vegas

2008-07-29T16:56:00.032+01:00

Our flight to Las Vegas, whilst delightfully short, was worse than Alton Towers’ Oblivion, I am sure, because I would have to have been on it to know, but hopefully it paints a picture. I am plagued by the daft notion that I have to concentrate on a plane, otherwise it won’t stay up. As the plane jostled around, a kid kicked me in the back whilst giggling with glee at the turbulence, and Tim chatted away – the power of my concentration was dangerously questionable.

Our first impression of Las Vegas: It’s hard at 110F to have any other than this place is like being dropped into an oiled skillet fully clothed. We sidled as slowly as possible the 10m from baggage reclaim into the air conditioned oasis of a hotel transfer mini-bus where I have never been so happy to listen to the disjointed sentences of a Russian driver telling us every restaurant in our hotel was ridiculously expensive. As ever no attention was paid to our glorious exchange rate.

Various encounters prior to landing in Vegas had led us to the notion that somehow we had booked ourselves into a 5 star hotel. Nothing, however, had quite prepared us for a room the size of our London flat, button operated curtains, a television in the bathroom and a phone in the toilet. Not to mention the mini-bar on steroids that made Harrods look like a 7 Eleven. Slightly in awe of our surroundings we took a moment to enjoy our view of the Wynn golf course and waterfall, and booked ourselves some theatre tickets.

Completely shell shocked by the grotesque grandeur of Vegas, we walked around the Wynn casino like we were seeing one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Ashamedly I’m not sure we were even this silenced by Yosemite National Park. Slot machines filled the floor and in my naive innocence I laughed at how close to reality the music in Hotel Babylon was. There was even a Ferrari show room, neatly placed next to the poker room, like chocolate bars at the checkout.

Sadly we were too embarrassed to ask a member of the staff how to go about betting and instead headed out onto the strip – the debaucherous antics of a Las Vegas casino could wait until we had enough courage to admit to our ignorance.

Leaving the Wynn, I clung onto the escalator hoping for a small rest, only to recoil as the bubbling rubber scorched my hand. At Treasure Island – once touted as child friendly – we stayed for the raunchy Sirens of TI who caused a storm strong enough to sink a ship. As if Vegas wasn’t hot enough, flames shot out what felt close enough to singe my eyebrows. At Caesar’s Palace we wondered around the Casino before winding our way up to the shops and their sky painted ceiling.

It didn't take us long to form casino preferences. They were all pretty much the same thing but the Wynn was yet to fully give in to the stench of cigars and alcohol. The natural light was even a welcome change, but the irony of people entering the casino floor (which was open plan to all the other facilities any way) to smoke was soon causing me a headache.

Monday 7th July - Delusions of Grandeur

2008-07-29T16:55:00.009+01:00

Today we stumbled from food to Internet to book shop - how the mighty cycle tourers fall so readily from exercising grace. A few weeks back we were pounding the streets and now a 40 minute run was all we could muster to justify a dinner of pizza and beer. I had, however, forgotten how much easier it is to run in the evening, and with far less tourists clogging the streets (ahem) we enjoyed it at speed.

Settled in front of the television with some last minute packing for Vegas, we tried to think of positives about being home again in little over a weeks time:

We would be able to watch a program without the incessant advert breaks, although I would strangely miss the speeded up disclaimer at the end - like this bag of nuts contains nuts
A queue would no longer have to be a line
Forget 'a la mode' - I would like ice cream with my dessert
No more inch wide cracks around the toilet door
I no longer have to claim I need a rest and instead can go to the toilet with pride.
No more crazy whipped butter or squirty cream
No more horns sounding when cars are locked

I realise this list seems negative, but really it was just a way to make ourselves feel there were positives about going home again. We were happy with our erroneous beliefs.

Sunday 6th July - The Humour of a Five Year Old

2008-07-29T16:38:00.011+01:00

Flicking through the television channels I found myself laughing with the humour of a 6 year old at the names of America’s top sprinters: (Tyson) Gay and (Walter) Dix. Even better, when I googled the pair to find their first names to make this entry complete, I stumbled across the following sentence in the L.A. Times:

‘...Afterward, the usually stoic Gay wrapped Dix in a big hug and praised him for being loyal…’

Nonetheless, inspired by the Olympic trials, we went for a morning run with its usual American sights of pickled tramps and more traffic lights than the Blackpool illuminations.

More lounging and reading started a morning in which we moved on to the Museum of Contemporary Art. This was a typically varied experience – a kayak sculpture, neon nudes,the architecture and a garden of exhibits. The present exhibition was by Bruce Nauman, whose work focuses on experimentation with light. At times the attraction was lost on me but a few were brilliant. One led you sideways between two white stud partitions, lit with fluorescent tubing. As you drew towards the end, the natural light flooding in through the large windows appeared lilac forcing your eyes to readjust to their surroundings. Another took you through rooms with verging walls and stark white light, which led you to question the surface, texture and size of the space.

As ever in search of food, we headed to the Cottage where across the road and outside the Chauvinist shop (!) a guy was blaring out Frank Sinatra shrouded in the stars and stripes - Hmm. We were impressed to see a small MG pull out through a set of traffic lights although less so by the drivers inability to use a stick shift.

We had been hoping to use the hotels computer but it's location in the reception area meant it was often being used by the staff. Instead we headed to the library where as ever my escalating levels of irritation with fellow computer users hit an all time high. La Jolla is an affluent area and as such has a library computer user demographic devoid of vagrants, but densely populated with eccentrics of aging proportions.

Those incapable of turning the phone onto silent having answered it a few times already were top offenders who likely needed it at that volume to even remotely perceive it was ringing. Their inability to talk without shouting whilst informing the person on the end of the line that they shouldn't talk as they were in the library just cemented the assault on my senses, as if the Vivaldi ring tone hadn’t been enough.

I was constantly in awe at the force with which a keyboard can be taken to within inches of its life, and the various huffs and puffs expelled as the computer (apparently not a mind reader) refuses to execute their demands. At one point a guy sat down next to me (although for a moment he hovered dangerously close to toppling onto my lap) and started clicking away still looking at a blank screen. For a while I was alert in case he needed a little help, but a letter at a time (to 10 words of mine) he got himself sorted. A few minutes later he was swearing at the screen. The student next to me seemed nice but he soon started mumbling under his breath about God – it is very off putting when you are trying to catch up with the most recent celebrity gossip to have to hear about the seven deadly sins and their modern interpretation. It all reminded me of the guy who, wanting to take a file home, had whipped out a floppy disc - I wasn't even aware these were still around.

Of course every cloud has its silver lining and as I looked over at Tim (tongue in that stuck out concentration state), I was very glad for his sanity. All things, after all, are relative.

Saturday 5th July: Still lots of Fog

2008-07-07T21:39:00.000+01:00

This morning there was so much fog that it felt like it had rolled up the stairs in order to station itself outside our windows. This was quite some going as our hotel 'two blocks from the ocean' was just that. I crawled back into bed, deciding that if the weather was not going to play fair then neither was I. Instead I read as Tim snoozed.

Hours later I decided reading next to the pool, albeit in a haze, would be more interesting and although my book is hilarious (French Revolutions - Cycling the Tour de France by Tim Moore), I soon became engrossed in the pool competitions an aunt and her seven nieces and nephews were having. The general gist seemed to be to empty as much pool water as possible with as much style (or I guess as little style) - of course this culminated in leg flailing dive which the damn busters would have been proud of. The belly flops delivered with such finesse where the funniest.

Tim, unprepared to sell his soul to the pool lounging devil, hunted out local book and bike shops for one of his favourite pastimes - window shopping.

Friday 4th July: Independence day

2008-07-07T21:17:00.002+01:00

Today I was adamant that all I wanted to do was sit on the beach. Come rain or shine or fog (of course) or crowds the size of a football match, I was going to sit on the beach. When we got up at 8am for a run, the local news was reporting that all the parking spaces were full in La Jolla. I'm not sure what shocked me more - the content of the news, or the fact that all the spaces were gone - at 8am. When it comes to beaches and camping America and Germany follow mantra culminating in the same eventual outcome. Instead of leaving the towel on the lounger in order to return a few hours later, the Americans are there bright and breezy and partying away at 8am - chicken barbecuing alongside the marshmallows, chocolate and cinnamon grahams.

When we reached the grass above La Jolla Cove, there wasn't an inch to spare for gazebos, trestles and stars and stripes. Our run was more a jog, mired by the continual fight to combat the crowds. At 11 we finally dragged ourselves to Windansea Beach where thankfully a high tide and no visibility left us lots of space to commandeer.

A few hours later I had lost all desire to sit on the beach any longer. There was still a fog and quite frankly after so much cycling sitting still was now painfully boring. Even the army of ants Tim had moved to avoid were no longer interesting me after I realised the macro function on the camera couldn't pick them up. To be fair, sitting on the beach had been reminiscent of our days in Oregon - grey and moody. There had even been a couple of cool fathers and their kids body surfing what looked to me like sizable waves. There was even a fool who thought he could surf only to retreat to his camp ten minutes later having snapped the end of his board as he was thrown against the beach. You could tell his smile and whimpered laugh were hiding great pain to both his body and ego.

We returned to the hotel pool (a cliche we needed to do at least once) via Windansea Cafe which served us great bagels. To my great surprise the sun was out here and there I sat reading until I realised that actually sitting in the sun was too much for me. I felt like I had ants in my pants and found myself wishing we were cycling somewhere. How Tim survived sitting there is quite a mysterious achievement.

Independence Day in San Diego seems to be celebrated with barbeque's at your friend's houses. Friendless in the area, we instead headed to Bird Rock hopeful there would be at least one establishment open to feed us. We lucked out on a nice Italian restaurant before walking the oceanfront streets back to the hotel.

The joy of walking in America (when the sidewalk doesn't abruptly stop that is), as the sun goes down is suddenly appear to have heightened senses. There is no-one around and the houses I had walked past earlier in the day suddenly had details that deserved praise. Just reaching the crest of one hill, the sky filled with July 4th fireworks, and the streets again with jubilant children.

Thursday 3rd July: Man Flu

2008-07-07T21:04:00.000+01:00

It became prevalent this morning that Tim had clearing been thinking about the board room, when sleepily I woke to the declaration of imminent through man flu. Sadly he would have to die in silence, or at least out of my earshot, as I disappeared to try put right the negative effects 2300 miles of cycling can have on a woman's beauty regime.

OK, so as far as regimes go, I'm not really sure slathering Nivea morning and evening, constitutes one, and when I apologised to the manicurist for the state of my feet I felt like a farce for agreeing with the woman who chirped up to say this is why we were visiting the spa after all. I didn't have the heart to say this was the first and more than likely the last time I would ever pay anyone to go anywhere near my flippers.

When they looked at my skin under one of those funny lights (have the aliens just landed?) I felt mildly smug that even though my feet looked like they had just cycled 2300 miles, I in fact had brilliant skin. When I went on to explain I didn't wash my face or even understand what cleansing and toning was, she told me I shouldn't worry - beauty would be a hard thing to fit in when cycling such distances. I'm not sure she understood I didn't have that excuse for every other day of my life.

In a moment of horror I was then told she was going to perform some extractions. I had funny goggles on to shield me from the funny alien landings light and as such I had no idea what she meant by this nor did I have a medium in which to understand it until she pressed a funny object onto my skin to remove my blocked pores. I guess that 'squeezing spots' would not have been such an eloquent way to advertise the treatment.

4 hours later, Tim had somewhat recovered and I had some ridiculously neat nails and well massaged muscles.

Wednesday 2nd July: Where has the Sun Gone?

2008-07-07T21:00:00.000+01:00

The morning fog didn't live up to its reputation, and decided to remain fast in it's position over La Jolla all day. Frustratingly you could see a tiny patch of sunshine drenching the hill above our hotel and the other side of the freeway. We had notionally planned to attempt colouring in between the prominent tan lines of two intrepid tourers, but instead we read and drank coffee continually praying for a few rays to further toast ourselves in - they didn't appear.

Tuesday 1st July: All Aboard, Reprobates and Tourists

2008-07-07T20:18:00.001+01:00

In attempt to warrant the life size plates of pasta we had consumed the night before we headed out for a morning run. I found my mind stumbling through the wasteland of my running skills and desperately trying to figure out why I could cycle all day with an average heart rate of below 120 and yet as soon as I even set eye upon a pair of running trainers my heart rate would escalate through the roof, never to drop below 170.

Fed and feeling mildly smug for not having passed out at the mere prospect of a run, we set off with a bus route map for the whole of San Diego (!) Intrepidly and with great excitement we crossed the road to wait for the number 30 bus. Our first dilemma soon became apparent - should we hail the bus or nonchalantly wait for it to stop for us. In a moment of panic we opted for random arm movements and eye contact, not unlike when a man goes to give the universal 'bill please' sign just as the waitress turns away. As with beleaguered bill paying men around the world our frantic arm movements did the job and the bus drew to a halt.

Thankful that our plan had worked, our next hurdle was to purchase a day pass - 5 minutes later Tim had successfully fed and re-fed five dollar bills. In exasperation the driver started to pull into the traffic as I moved in with 20 quarters. As I lunged from hand rail to hand rail I plonked myself down next to Jack, I mean Tim, amongst the local vagrants. In America, at least on the South of the Pacific Coast, it appears that using buses is broadly translated as you have no home, income or meths left. I guess we could start using EPO to fit the criteria.

A mile or two down the road, we had to change buses to take us up to Clairmont Mesa Blvd. This seemed to take an inordinately great length of time for something that did not look that far on a map. The saving grace were the blue spongy seats that were far more comfortable than anything I have come across in the UK - wipe clean and due to the lack of numbers patronising the buses, like new. They felt like the deluxe seats in the back 3 rows of the cinemas which you always try to sneak into, then claim ignorance when you are pulled up on the matter that you only paid 10 pounds (damn American keyboards) to sit with the rest of the commoners.

Finally we made it to superstore land - Brent Cross I'm thinking - and with Tim sensing a Betty bonk around the corner rushed me into a cafe. REI could not be attempted with flailing glycogen levels. The resulting sandwich - don't forget the location of this 'deli' - was surprisingly tasty.

We asked a few people if REI was near but the typical geographical knowledge gained by driving from A to B, where B is not equal to REI meant no one had heard of it. I tried to forget the occasion on which a friend had pointed to some white cliffs (in Devon) and told me they were the fabled ones of Dover, as I chastised them for not knowing the location of a shop (and road) quite literally around the corner from them.

I guess you are all asking why we would go to such lengths to get to a shop. REI to the outdoors world is like Mecca to a Muslim - a pilgrimage that should be made if you are ever in the States and that way inclined. Whatever you want they have it. Yet again a worm hole could easily have existed with Ikea - yet again we entered in hunt of a couple of items and left with ten.

A few hours later we left in the manner previously suggested and two buses later we entered a big shopping centre. Quite why I had thought I wanted to go here, promptly escaped me minutes after setting foot in the monstrosity. To justify the journey coffee was bought and magazines cheekily red in the newsagents before returning the a bus stop for the final leg of our Bus Odyssey.

It was at this stage that my desire to conquer against all the odds left me, along with the intrepid bus taker that had been with me first thing this morning. Tim, a stickler for fully completing a task to it's original criteria demanded our loop of bus discovery could not and would not be closed by taxi. After waiting for 15 minutes, I thought I would check the bus timetable in an attempt to alleviate my boredom which has frequently led me to intently reading A-Z maps when stuck on a long car journey with a colleague you would rather not discuss full penetration butt welds with. Reading the map at 19:10 I realised that all buses after 19:00 took a different route. If there were any threads of humour left in me they were rapidly fraying as we got yet another bus which could drop us back on the route we needed. After yet more waiting with a couple of drunks who made even less sense than most, our final bus eventually came.

As the light was dropping we decided it was best to stay on the bus after the hotel to find a restaurant and avoid me sitting on the bed only to refuse to budge an hour later. Walking back after a great dinner, I suddenly realised the two miles back felt more like 20. We could of course have used our day passes to get us back on the bus if only there were still any buses running.

Sunday 30th June: Alive Again

2008-07-07T20:04:00.000+01:00

My hangover was gone and we had hotels to swap. Having packed up we checked out the bus route to La Jolla which it transpired would take us two hours. We booked a taxi. I'm not sure it even took us this long to cycle that distance on the way down.

Pulling into La Jolla we started to recognise roads we had cycled along a week ago. The hotel was on La Jolla Blvd and as such a distance from the centre of the village which would require a car to bridge the gap. 15 minutes of walking later we disproved this theory.

Even if there was such a gadget as the human rack for panniers, moving our belongings in such a manner had reached the point of impractical. It was time for a trip to REI to purchase a bag big enough to keep up with Tim's uncharacteristic spending urges.

Adamant we were going to use public transport to facilitate this task we went in search of the visitor centre for some bus knowledge. We were met by a doddering pair of silver haired American ladies - I'm thinking Dallas meets the discovery channel, both of whom were keen to help, although with one focusing on the impracticality of using public transport in America for such a trip or indeed any trip. Undeterred and armed with a route map we decided we needed more daylight hours to implement our plan.

Exhausted, we lay on the grass above la jolla cove as a guy considerably older than the pair of us did 50 tricep press ups - for the majority who probably have no idea what one of these is, we couldn't muster even one between the pair of us. Wandering back to the hotel we passed two restaurants in a line of houses. Well trained in spotting a well loved local spots we ducked into a packed pizzeria shunning the empty Mexican to shovel in huge plates of pasta. Maybe tomorrow we would address the impending doom of still consuming at cycle touring rates.

Sunday 29th June: Death

2008-07-07T00:09:00.002+01:00

I got out of bed for carrot cake in Hillcrest, after which I sloped straight back into bed and hoped the man with the annoying chisel would vacate my head shortly.

Saturday 28th June: Blog you Lazy Dog

2008-07-06T23:54:00.000+01:00

Tim went off to visit the USS Midway today and I spent hours updating the blog. maybe I should get Tim to write a paragraph or two about his exploits.

In the evening we arranged to meet Jean and his son for dinner. Both agreed that jean was unlikely to take us anywhere too smart we turned up looking like tourists (which in fairness we are) for dinner in a bar (think Yates' perhaps). It turned out that Rodney and his two friends (TJ and Galen) were Top Guns. As Tim talked about fighter jets I glazed over slightly trying to hide the horrendous parallels I was drawing of the film in my head. I guess my response is a pretty standard female one so i didn't feel too guilty.

Dinner ended with credit card roulette in an attempt to get us up to speed for Las Vegas. We all dropped a card in and the waitress pulled one out at a time - the last one out would foot the bill. I, of course paid with reckless abandon - it wasn't like my card had all that much to offer. With two cards left (TJ and Galens I think), Galen pointed out that insanity was repeating the same activity, expecting a different result. TJ was apparently used to losing this game and this occasion was no different.

The evening continued around the corner in the Star Bar where we were assured the drinks were cheap. If they weren't cheap they were definitely strong, as I sipped on what tasted like a three shot gin and tonic. The place was right up our alley, having class equivalent to tourists out on a Saturday night in the same clothes they had been wearing for the past three months.

Finally we moved onto a piano bar, where the beer obviously caught up with me as with great incredulity I wondered why the pianist had not heard of Teenage Kicks. I desperately tried to think of a song they would know and I would like to listen to but by this point Tim wasn't 'hearing' me and those around where enjoying American classics. I was shocked to realise these weren't about walking 500 miles (which I have been informed was a Scottish band any way) or driving Chevy's to levies. I kept listening in vain hope I might recognise something , but as the alcohol levels rose it all sounded more and more like Elton John having an open mic session with U2.

The evening ended with a journey home in a rickshaw bike cab thing where I demanded the poor Eastern European boy let me take over as he was cycling too slowly. Tim and medal? Perhaps.

Friday 27th June: Saturation Point

2008-07-06T23:35:00.003+01:00

'Ooh look, Herons' Tim said as we peered into a pool of flamingos. It was going to be a long and educationally intriguing day. With military precision we got a gondola to the far end of San Diego zoo and worked our way back to the entrance.

I'm never too sure how I feel about zoos. The zoo has a breeding program for many endangered animals but when we turned a corner to see a brown beer pacing up and down a branch I felt sad - after all we had seen happy contented brown bears on the slopes of Whistler.

On the money trail we were met by copulating apes, bum sniffing monkeys and resting orangutans. A few families moved away from the glass, eventually leaving a space for Tim and I to have a closer look. As I settled down, and a few seconds faster than my brain could engage, I asked Tim what the pair were up to. As Tim laughed I suddenly realised why the previous families had fled.

Benjamin the zebra:

The zoo map highlighted the lengths to which the average American (who also happens to be obese) will go to in order to reduce any levels of exercise to negligible levels. On cycling maps, climbs are clearly presented as a profile - allowing for you to plan the number of climbs you want to do in a day and for mental preparation. The zoo, however, stated ups and downs in line with showing a route devoid of any climb. In order to to allow someone to only ever walk down a hill they had even built a couple of escalators.

As we left the zoo 7 hours later, we saw a white man and crossed the road. I was beginning to wonder if this was not somewhat derogatory or at the very least discriminating to half of the population. Perhaps 'politically incorrect white man' would be more appropriate when shouting at the top of my voice. Why had the Americans not seen the sense in having a green man? Bar umpa lumpas, which as I write I am thinking actually have only green hair, there aren't such a race to offend.

At lunch we had given in to the extortion that is a zoological park eatery. It was actually pretty nice, albeit at the same cost as caviar (I should imagine), but as I tried to finish a soda that looked big enough to fit my head into, Tim told me to think of the children in Biafra . Realising a commonality to our childhoods we agreed we should think of the children in Ethiopia instead, as at least we could geographically place this country (well Tim could any way, and interestingly as I spell check this my computer hasn't even heard of Biafra).

Tim's trendy new converse trainers.

Which he is very proud of.

Thursday 26th June

2008-07-06T23:13:00.000+01:00

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.

Wednesday 25th June: I Guess we Should go for a Run then

2008-07-06T22:52:00.000+01:00

After two days of sedentary loafing, we donned our sneakers, wolfed down some bananas and went for a run around Balboa Park. As ever the main highlights were: Tims love of playing chicken with oncoming joggers; numerous homeless ramblings shouted in our direction (although with their eyes rotated some way into their heads); the freeway which bisected the park in a manner which left us too confused to find the other 80% of the park (which included 15 museums); and of course planes moments from our heads.

My main observations of Southern California (and I am sorry to repeat myself) are how you are never too far from a freeway, the sound of the Amtrak or the smell of pee.

Over breakfast we booked ourselves a gold studded room in a Holiday Express Inn. Even this hotel was four times what we were used to paying for accommodation but knowing the standard of La Jolla we were hoping the hotel would have followed suit. The hands of the July 4th Gods gave us no other choices apart fromthe Hilton which God Tim was not interested in with it's spas and gold courses.

Room sorted, our final task was to sort out boxes to ship our beloved bikes in. Tim mastered this within minutes, only to then start a hunt for pipe insulation that felt more like Red October. I, exhausted from such activities, set to finishing the Lance Armstrong biography which was by this point irritating me so immensely that I didn't feel I was being lazy - in fact I felt equal in tasks.

Thankfully Tim foresaw such tension, returning with carrot cake (from Bread and Cie) fit for an irrate Lance Armstrong hating queen, oh and of course some insulation. Not wanting to push ourselves we decided to leave the packing for a fresh day and instead headed back to Little Italy for food.

Tuesday 24th June: Early Rise, Late Start

2008-07-06T22:44:00.000+01:00

Last night we had arranged to meet up with Jean some time around 7:30 for breakfast. By 9, Tim was ready to start on my thighs and by 9:30 he would even have had the ribs. Jean's son had been held up at work and so re-organising to meet later for caffeine instead we devoured toast and oatmeal - only mentioning once that we would have to taper our cycle touring appetites slightly.

We needed to sort a hotel for the week over July 4th - we realised that bar independence from the UK we had no real idea what independence day meant - so had a look online hoping that we would find a deal comparable to camping for the last 2 months. Indeed comparable the quotes were, if you were to add up every night we had camped and replace that with one night in La Jolla. I guess this was inevitable having picked what seemed like the Hampstead of San Diego.

Deflated, we met with Jean and his son Rodney to do what we do best - eat and drink, and discuss bikes.

By late afternoon I rather flamboyantly declared I couldn't eat another restaurant meal. Instead we pleased our healthy palettes with microwave meals.

Monday 23rd June: Why Cycle When you can Sleep

2008-07-06T22:37:00.000+01:00

At 10am we finally dragged ourselves out of bed and hunted out some breakfast. Tim empited all our clothes into the launderette whilst I tried to sort out the explosion that was our room.

With no real direction for the day we wondered into the Gaslamp Quarter where we ate Mexican and continued with our best/worst of list, surfed the internet and generally avoided anything that remotedly resembled a 10% gradient.

By the evening we crossed over into Little Italy which was on India Street - Brilliant. Looking up we realised the states we must have been in when we passed out the following evening - planes flew literally metres from our heads as they landed in San Diego airport. How we had slept through this was beyond me - our hiker/biker camping had obviously trained us to sleep through any form of transporter noise.

An additional habit from camping was falling asleep, dead to the world as soon as it went dark. We tried to hold on, but half an hour after darkness we hit the pit.

Day 44: San Elijo State Beach - the Mexican Border - Downtown San Diego, 119km

2008-07-03T01:23:00.002+01:00

WE MADE IT. 2300 miles of cycling, 4 flat tyres, too many fat tires, 4 sachets of Quakers maple and brown sugar oats a day, 4 bike chains and two tired Londoners later we were stood in Border Field State Park - the Bullring in Tijuana on one side of us, a U.S. Naval Air Station to the other and a fat tyre and Hershey’s chocolate in our hands.

Maybe it was the excitement, maybe the anticipation, but at 5:30 this morning we were both wide awake. Beating the heat wasn't such a bad idea, and as surfers were heading down to catch some waves we packed up camp and set off. Within seconds of getting on my bike I remembered I needed more air in my tyres and caffeine in my veins so we entered the nearest high street chain we could sell our souls to.

As we came to Del Mar a while later we realised that the traffic lights were in our favour, due to an all women's 10km run on the other side of the road - Tim was in multiple heaven. Through Torrey Pines State Reserve we mounted a 1 mile peak. At most it was a nuisance we could have done without in the heat.

Finally we came off SR21 and through pretty La Jolla with it's boutiques and beaches. As we finished a pit stop a couple of ladies asked what we were up to. It later transpired that her son worked for Arup at which point we promptly left in fear that our reputations may have preceded us to the coast.

Towards the end of La Jolla, we dusted a couple of guys going up hill on their sparkling road bikes. I wanted to whoop and holler but in respect of their sorry once a week cycling selves I resisted. My inner delight was probably deafening enough.

Off Mission Blvd in Pacific Beach we missed a turning to the beach, and instead carried along the road. Obviously having forgotten the sick inducing bends of the previous day, nor accounted for cycling along Mission Beach on a Sunday, we decided cut down onto the ocean front bike path, only to cut back to the road moments later, before I was issued with a citation whilst attempting to teach slow people not to amble in the middle of the bike lanes. Honestly, the sooner California implements pedestrian lanes the happier a place it will be.

We cut up around Mission Bay, across San Diego River and onto Nimitz Blvd which cut Point Loma and Ocean beach in two. At this point the roads became busier as we cycled past the U.S. Naval Reservation towards San Diego Airport. After a brief loss in direction, we came to downtown San Diego where we had missed the ferry over to Coronado by 5 minutes.

We were unsure about staying in Imperial Beach for the night, and so with almost an hour until the next ferry we popped into the visitors centre where in a moment of shear decisiveness Tim booked us a hotel near Balboa Park.

As we placed our bikes in the racks on the ferry we met a fellow cyclist called Maurice who we spoke to as we crossed the Bay. The more we cycle, the more guys we seem to come across that are pedaling well into the later years of life - it feels far more inspiring than what we are doing.

Coronado is an affluent spit of land across from downtown San Diego, where we found ourselves yet again on a bike path through manicured golf lawns leading us onto bike path along Silver Strand Blvd. With our goal less than 15 miles away we were disheartened to realise the view to either side of us was shrouded in fog, and we had a head wind.

The path turned inland along the Otay River, bringing us into Imperial Beach where it became eerily quiet. Stopping at a liquor store to buy beer and Hershey’s chocolate, we realised that our language was in the minority. As we ate more chocolate, a couple of guys strutted past – socks up to their knees, pants below their fannies (in the American sense) and caps over their eyes. Needless to say we got pedaling.

In South San Diego we skirted the U.S. Naval Air Station along Hollister Street, which was lined with ranch upon ranch. Crossing the Tijuana River we turned onto Monument Road where to our left we could see Mexico and a road disappearing into nowhere.

As we entered the Border Field State Park, border patrol lined the road. Signs told us not to stop, to which we duly adhered. As we took a left hand turn views of Mexico and the Bullring-by-the-Sea drew up in the distance, with endless fencing dividing us.

At the end of the road, a short sharp climb took us into a car park. On one side was blaring music, and lines of people stood along the wire fence – almost like the images of prisoners on television. As we looked out over the ocean, the Mexican side of the beach was heaving full of people in contrast to the two or three that littered the U.S. side. Through the fence a woman and her son fed an older guy - it was quite a cultural change.

Tim, by this stage, was getting bored of me choreographing his photos and we began to muse over our reaction to having completed our voyage. The reality that there was no more coastline to cycle was upsetting, so much so that the finish line was almost (dare I say it) an anti-climax.

Having drunk our fat tire in silent jubilation, we got back on our bikes and returned to downtown S.D. As we were leaving the park, we came across 3 guys out for a jog in jeans and shirts. They seemed to be having a lot of fun, laughing and shouting as they went. Alongside were a couple of ATVs – funny I thought, I hadn’t realised they were allowed in State Parks. My delirium at having reached the border and poked a finger through the fence to Mexico, was obviously robbing me of any logic. Above us was a circling helicopter, trucks were all around and the ATV riders were in full body armour. ‘What was that all about?’ I asked Tim as he sunk his head into his hands laughing uncontrollably. With that comment I drew on a par with Tim leaving a roundabout to turn around having missed his exit.

Eventually back on the Silver Strand bike path, Tim was pedaling like a mad man. Drawing near to Coronado again I realised he was attempting to get us to the ferry, but again we missed it by a few minutes. As we slumped down on a bench over looking the Bay, we listened to a brass band which instantly soothed Tim to sleep. Stuck as the uncomfortable pillow I marveled at America’s love of extremes – for every big car there seems to be an equally small dog.

Back in downtown SD we took a painfully slow journey to our hotel, stopping at just about every traffic light along the way. Shattered, and again having missed lunch we showered and went to Hob Nob Hill Restaurant which the guy on the front desk ensured us was nearby and good. With some perverse logic (signifying that all the places we had been along the way truly had been amazing and finishing the trip really was going to be a sad reality) I found myself thinking how fitting it was that the diner was neither close nor good. In fact it was disgusting, and god help the locals who had apparently been served by it since 1944. Tired, we crawled into bed at 7:30 to watch Law and Order with a bottle of cheap Asti – we seemed to have mastered the American extreme – after all we had just completed the 3 flags tour so who were we to comment.

No Photos for a While

2008-07-03T00:07:00.000+01:00

One good thing about America is that many things truly are free here - the views, the drip coffee top ups and the internet in all public libraries. La Jolla,North of San Diego is obviously a well to do area with few homeless people and students. As a result we didn't have to queue for the internet in the library, nor sign up for a slot 10 hours in advance. I know I shouldn't complain about free things, but as ever they are never quite what you want. The last three days I have updated are therefore riddled with spelling errors (yes, yes more so than normal) and photo free - mainly because I don't seem to be able to get the tool bar up on screen. For the lack of grammar, spelling ability and due care and attention, I apologise in advance.

Day 43: Doheny State Beach - San Elijo State Beach, 70km

2008-07-03T00:06:00.000+01:00

By 7:30, Amtrak, Hwy 1 and fellow campers eventually teased us out of our tent. Tim had slept pretty well but I had only managed a few hours. We had no breakfast and by 8am we were baking hot and in a site with no shade.

Tim, who seems to be able to function food free for miles, promised me breakfast would be round the corner. 10 miles later after following a convoluted route through San Juan Capistrano, we stopped for oatmeal and toast.

Beyond San Clemente we joined a bike path and started chatting with a group of cyclists traveling from Irvine to Carlsbad. They were all impressed that fully loaded we were matching their speed. We even overtook the odd group of cyclists. We passed San Onofre Nuclear Power Plant which they told us was known as the ‘Dolly Parton Monument’ – perhaps check it out online or Google Earth.

We cycled on as they regrouped and started chatting with a guy training some Swiz Ironmen athletes. I decided to see if I could keep up. One the flat it was easy but as we came to the end of the road I noticed a climb to our left and stopped to wait for Tim pretending I didn’t know where we needed to go ;-)

At Camp Pendleton we had to show I.D. ‘Northern Irish’ the guy said. But of course political fear is a sliding scale of relativity and as I was thinking here we go, the guys continues: ‘I stopped in Shannon on my way back from Iraq (I-rack) – it rained a lot there.’

A few miles into the reservation a convoy of army trucks passed us. It was a little off putting trying to mount a peak as large guns were pointed at your head – it put a new slant on hill climbing at least doing it at gun point.

Just out of the confines of the camp a lady asked where we were off to. Ahead was a detour which she safely led us through to get back onto our route and out to Oceanside where we joined SR21 through Carlsbad, Leucadia, Encinitas and finally Cardiff where we stopped at San Elijo State Beach.

Relieved we had not been knocked off our bikes by the throngs of surf board wielding bike menaces we found the hiker/biker section and a great couple called Matt and Ingrid who were hiding in the shade. We were ravenous but sat chatting for an hour or so. Finally, tent pitched we crossed the hwy for lunch at 4:30.

When we came back we went for a dip – the water was actually warm. There were no gasps as we walked in, but the thought of the shark attack on a San Diegon triathlete a few weeks back and the 100s of surfers put me off going in any further. Wimp.

After a shower we went for dinner with Matt and Ingrid. We decided on dessert in a shop next to the restaurant. As we tried to sit down outside we realised the chairs were all chained together around each table. ‘Only in California’ I declared, as we started the usual chat about political America.

Back in our tent, the RV across the way was parting to Abba. Thankfully they changed to a more palatable Bob Marley, as we quickly drifted off, not even Amtrak was going to wake me this time.

Day 42: McGrath State Beach - Doheny State Park, 213km

2008-07-03T00:04:00.001+01:00

It was lucky we got up at 7:30 this morning, because after many attempts, and to rapturous applause, our neighbours started up their generator. Half an hour later they started to sing – apparently they only had one listener, and that was God, which was no real surprise as all we could hear was the generator.

As we set off, we had no real plan for our destination. All we knew was that L.A. was looming and we had no real desire to experience it for longer than required.

The initial stages of our day were on hwy 1, with a small inland detour through Oxnard and Port Hueneme, where we cycled through miles of turf. I had an experience not unlike the first time I saw reinforcement set out on site ready for a concrete pour – I had never thought about how steel ended up inside the concrete, nor it appeared the turf in our garden centers.

Shortly after, we passed Missile Park. Tim almost crawled to a halt as he had a boy gawp at the various different U.S. missiles, whilst 'Grotesque' came to my mind. The lonely planets guide pointed out how the interpretive panels (which we did not stop to read) boasted about the increasingly efficient ways they had to blow things (?) up.

With Santa Monica Mountains looming on our left we pedaled along relatively flat terrain, as surfers became more prevalent. At Leo Carillo State Beach we got a taste of the day ahead as cars lined our bike lane, doors flew open and guys turned with 6ft boards in their arms – apparently an ability to ride waves leaves you devoid of any spacial awareness.

About 35 miles later, we had been flying along and decided to stop for fuel. I saw a sign for the ‘Hideaway Café’ and we took the turning, only to be faced with a driveway not too dissimilar to our lost coast days – thankfully it could only have been 50m long and the fruit, toast and coffee was worth it.

Still with no plan for L.A. I suggested we cycle clean through it. Tim agreed, fully aware this would entail over 130 miles of cycling.

Up a short hill we came into Malibu, home of the rich and famous and it suddenly struck me they would enjoy hiker/biker camping, due to its similar proximity to the ocean. It was a pretty faceless town albeit with some extravagant architecture. The properties that lined the road (and of course the beach) had little road side glazing leaving you wondering what they looked like from the other side. The rest of Malibu was gated complexes and mansions and the few times we caught a glimpse of the beach, the ocean could be seen pounding against the foundations of many of the homes. It was pretty obvious that any amount of storm could have covered those homes in seconds.

On entering Santa Monica, we joined our first beach front bike path. It wasn't too busy, although I was soon thinking how the Americans could have learnt a thing or two from the Romans as the chicanes began to make me feel nauseous. 6 miles later we detoured around Marina Del Ray where we refueled on cakes and coffee. With our long cycle ahead we chose the junk food route – there has to, after all, be some enjoyment.

Again we followed a bike path past L.A. Airport and Manhattan Beach. At Hermosa Beach we over shot our turn off and had to cycle the few miles back to Torrance Blvd. Someone had told me not to hang around in Torrance but at a service station we decided on a pit stop where Tim looked on in horror as I bought 6 candy bars and a tube of lifesavers.

Through suburbia we passed Carson to join a path along the Los Angeles River which wasn’t smelling all that great in the stinking heat. After Long Beach we were again at the coast, where we cycled through Bluff Park until we again cut in land to Circuit Alamitos Bay. At Seal Beach we rejoined hwy 1, to take us through Sunset and Huntington Beaches. Tired and hungry we finally paused a few miles North of Newport Beach where I suggested a motel. We had breached the imperial ton after all, but Tim was eager to continue. Having cycled 120 flat miles, the last 10 almost hammered nails into our coffins. Suddenly we were faced with undulations – I wanted to sleep, not climb.

With a few miles to go, we were barely speaking (having used up all our energy). As I looked behind us there was the most amazing sunset and yet we were still cycling.

At Dana Point we were lost. We had no idea where the campsite was and the bike lights were at the bottom of one of the panniers. Tim turned off the highway, and just as I was about to ask why on earth we had come off route, we found a back entrance into the campsite and the smallest hiker/biker section ever.

You would have thought the adventure would end there, but we had absolutely no food, and Tim was barely speaking. We met a great guy called Josh who was cycling North but didn't pause too long to share stories, in order to go and hunt out some food.

We could see the lights of restaurants in the distance, and turned down the road we thought led to them. Of course at the end, we realised we were looking at veritable eateries from the wrong side of a waterway. We retraced our steps. If I had had any energy in my reserves I would have swum across but as we walked back waves of dizziness and nausea kept stopping us in our tracks – it was almost like a comedy skit.

When we finally got food I was so tired I couldn’t be bothered to finish, and dessert didn’t even appeal after all the candy we had consumed. Finally in bed at midnight I was shattered but wide awake. At 1am we realised Amtrak passed no more than 5m from our heads. The trains were so loud that we laid there laughing uncontrollably for what felt like hours - it seemed so unfair, it was funny.

Thursday 19th June: Hiking Santa Cruz Island

2008-07-03T00:01:00.000+01:00

We woke to another hot morning, and realised we were entering our second heat wave of the trip. At about 5am I had woken to a Santa Cruz Island fox peering into our tent – luckily they are the size of a cat and far from ferocious having been hand reared in order to reintroduce them to the island.

We packed up camp, then paused trying to stop the sweat long enough to put some suntan lotion on. I was tempted to run and shout past the spear fishermen camp, who had woken me in the early hours running around with their spears, but I figured I probably should save my energy. Besides, I felt guilty for having considered one of them tripping and impaling themselves – I didn’t fancy the sort of retribution that could have resulted from such thoughts.

Tony had recommended a 10-12 mile hike which took us from Scorpion Landing to Montana Ridge, along it and down into Smugglers Cove before returning to Scorpion Landing. It was 9am and after the first gentle climb we were like boiled lobsters. The heat was stifling but the views and the remoteness simply stunning. Arid plains of California don’t normally appeal to me, but the rugged terrain and the knowledge that we were the only humans on the hike added a certain charm to the island.

As we walked along Montana Ridge we went off the trail and clambered along rocky precipices. Tony had told us always to go left if there was a choice between left and right. It was hard to tell if we were going the right way, but below us we could see a beaten track through the dried grass.

Climbing down was tougher than up. Every time I slipped Tim partook in a little sympathy slide. Twice we landed on our bottoms.

Almost back at the path we found our first lone tree and cowered in the shade – I would have fought a rattle snake for the space had there been a contest.

Coming down to Smugglers Cove Tim wondered why/what one of the boats seemed to be pulling. As we stumbled down to the beach, we were out of water and on our last cereal bar – ‘4 miles an hour, it will only take us 3 hours’ Tim had said at the start. Standing on the beach was the island ranger and a few metres away, also on the beach was a motor cruiser – money obviously buys you neither taste nor intelligence. For two high tides, harbour rescue (apparently this happens so often that the Coast Guard refuse to help) had been trying to refloat the stink ship.

Bedlam at the beach did not stop here. A guy was trying to get his dinghy back out through the surf with his two children. They had already tipped out on the way onto the beach and their boat remained an unachievable destination in the distance. One of the harbour rescue guys tried to help but in the end, they put the boat in the rangers pick up , the children in the cab and off they went to Scorpion Landing where they could get back out without having to surf any waves.

Of course I could tell these stories with great indignation, but we had run out of water and with great embarrassment had to ask the ranger for a top up. The rest of our hike was up a dirt track road. With a mile to go we were out of water again and we were practically running to get back to the campsite with the only taps on the island – apart from those in the ranger unprimitive home of course.

Running into the campsite people looked at us as Tim broadcast water at my head. Tim seemed to enjoy my screams so much he completely drenched me – if there had been an ice bucket I would have stuck my head in it, I was that hot. Tim didn’t reciprocate in allowing me the delight in drowning him and instead delicately washed his face.

Being organised as ever, we had not brought enough food onto the island with us. Having shared a bagel and one carrot for lunch, back in Ventura we sat down for Italian in the Marina, then cycled back to McGrath State Beach where we had camped a few days earlier.

I thought we had been lucky in not having experienced too much obnoxious camp behaviour – apart from spear fishermen on a rampage of course, but stationed in our hiker/biker section was a roaring generator. 20 m or so away was a camp of people, microphones and all. It amused me that in not wanting to hear the generator, obviously aware of how irritating it was, they had put it right next to other campers. Luckily at 10pm they turned it off. I have to admit I was surprised that the ranger didn’t come and give them a citation for turning it off 2 hours after the designated ‘no generator’ time – I was beginning to contemplate the existence of citizens arrest/citations in the States.

Wednesday 18th June: Kayaking and Camping on Santa Cruz Island

2008-06-28T21:24:00.000+01:00

Sat in our campsite on Santa Cruz Island, Tim informs me it is time for some pharmaceuticals - Guy had fed him large rum and cokes last night which had finally pushed him over the edge.

By 8am, we were sat in Ventura Port waiting for a small ferry to take us over to the Channel Islands. I had thought I might read, but minutes into the journey there were far too many dolphins to watch instead. For half an hour we had the most amazing swim past, which would only have been improved had we seen some whales.

I left Tim with the camera:

When we got to the island we met up again with our kayak guide - a wonderfully relaxed ex-marine. He gave us a brief orientation and then off we went. Shunned by Tim - apparently I don't do my fair share of paddling - we went off in single kayaks.

We paddled around the coast in the heat of midday sunshine. We went into caves (the names of which I cannot remember) and over waves. Towards the end we saw bright orange Garibaldi fish and (poor Steve Irwin) endless stingrays. Once one of the guys had pointed them out we just kept seeing more. At one point a seal surfaced but we apparently did not interest him and he soon sunk into the depths. Numerous times pelicans flew past, barely inches from the water, whilst a Cormorant watched us from its perch. The wildlife was endless, Oyster Catchers even though there are no Oysters for them and of course seagulls - they seem to be indigenous everywhere.

Just before landing back on the beach, Tony gave us instructions on how to get out of the kayaks. If we came parallel to the beach we were to step into the water - In the off side of kayaking apparently you should never come between the beach and your kayak. I neatly came onto the beach. Happy that i was home and dry I stepped out to the left just as a wave spun my kayak. Tony yelled not to get out that side, but trying to get back in just toppled me over, Kayak on my head, in front of a beach full of 15yr old lifeguards on a day trip.

Back on dry land, albeit sopping wet we (there were 8 of us in our group) ate lunch. We realised that when leaving the ferry we had forgotten to pick up our camping gas which had been placed in an aluminium box for the crossing. Content that no-one would have taken it we went down to the pontoon but they weren't there. Luckily the island is primitive, therefore interesting few people at this time of year so there were only a few campers to ask. Tony kindly gave us a stove to use in case we couldn't find them but our more immediate worry was who we would have to ask for them. On the boat over there had been bunch of spear fishermen (meat heads drinking beer on the morning ferry) who seemed to be the likely culprits. They were adamant they were off to swim around the cape with their harpoons, stacked full of beer. They were so obnoxious that one of the guides suggested/hoped they may harpoon each other. Either way, I didn't fancy our chances of getting the gas back.

The campsite is beautiful - like a prairie, although the deep pit latrines (or rather their smell) are far from appealing in this sort of heat. As we sat down on our pitch, we finally could enjoy the solace of some shade and regale the characters of our co-kayakers. We met a lovely couple called Chris and Christine with a son who had just graduated in Mechanical Engineering. There was a great guy from San Francisco who was a little camp and paddling with a friend from Texas, neither of whom had any notion on how to stop their kayak. On one occasion they knocked another guy clean out of his kayak. He was very sweet natured about it although form that point on always made sure they were in front of him.

As luck had it, the fishermen turned up in time for us to retrieve our gas and cook some dinner. Tim feeling decadent with the camping gas decided on risotto - see, campers can have just as many luxuries as RV drivers.

Day 41: Santa Barbara - McGrath State Beach, 62km

2008-06-28T21:06:00.000+01:00

It feels like an eternity since we were last on our bikes - in reality it's only been 3 days. As we left Santa Barbara, the sun was high in the sky and our speedo was reading 2000 miles. There were no strong winds to mention and it felt really great to be in rapid transit again. As we gradually move further South, Conurbations merge and we were no longer allowed on long stretches of the highway. Instead our route tends to side highways, only crossing it if there are rich bike path pickings on the other side.

Having travelled through Summerland and Carpenteria we joined hwy 101 for a few miles on a fairly miserable stretch of road. The shoulder was strewn with blown tyres and broken carburettor's (I'm sure - if only I knew what one looked like), and for the majority, also dedicated to parking for surfers. One of the biggest shames about America, which I do admit is a bonus for us as cyclists, is how you never seem to be more than a mile or so from the highway. Could you imagine surfing just off the M4?

Hwy 1, mysteriously appeared for a few miles, albeit for the soul purpose of RV camping and cyclists - or so it seemed. Towards the end my indestructible Schwable Marathons failed me. With a big bang I had a flat. 10 cyclists must have passed as I obstinately told Tim I was going to change the tube myself. Apparently Lance Armstrong's team can do one in 10 seconds - it took me 10 minutes alone just to get the tyre off. Nonetheless, I got it sorted.

At the end of the road, we followed the on-ramp for the freeway - emblazoned with 'No Cyclists' signs we fearlessly followed the directions of our map which true to its words delivered us a bike path along the highway. Ventura didn't seem that great - another city of 100,000+ but out the other side we found the Marina and lunch. More to the point we started cycling past massive houses, behind which were masts - I wondered what weird garden structures they all had. Perhaps they were gaining inspiration from the ocean like unoriginal porthole windows in ocean side mansions.

We had to cycle back into Ventura as we had missed our last food stop and then out again to McGrath State Beach. Another short day was justified by our ferry journey from Ventura to Santa Cruz island the following morning. Tim got chatting to a lovely couple (Megan and Guy) and their niece (Clare) who were touring in a camper van. In reality I think Tim was eager to poke his head in and have a look, and they had so many space saving/technological/structural/mechanical modifications that they were happy to oblige.

Monday 16th June: I Guess we Should do a Little Sightseeing

2008-06-28T20:39:00.000+01:00

Walking along the street I had the usual experience of spotting a bus. For once I had my camera in hand to snap what is otherwise known as an RV in this country.

We were obviously tired after doing very little yesterday and slept until 9am. Thankfully no early morning exercise had been suggested and instead we headed off for more breakfast muffins. Weekend over, there were no queues as we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast surrounded by dropped jaws induced by the US Championships on the screen above our heads. Paranoia set in.

After stopping in the Post Office, with it's quintessentially stunning architecture we went to the top of the Court House for views above Santa Barbara. Stumbling out into the heat (no sign of any sea fog today) we ambled around the beautiful, wide tree lined streets until settling down for copious cocktails on a party boat - a.k.a. reading with a coffee.

The car park designers here have good taste:

Views inside the court house:

On the way back from breakfast we had stopped in a mountaineering shop for some camping gas. In the Big Sur we had spent $12 on one in the only shop for 100 miles that sold such a provision. In this shop we could have bought three for that price.

I am embarrassed to admit that yet again we spent our afternoon enjoying a good book. In America book shops stay open until pub closing times. They also have coffee shops in which you could sit all day and read the book shop's books. For cycle tourers unable to afford the weight of travel compendiums this had become a useful tool for us, even if I did feel akin to the street people.

I know we sound completely uninterested in the places we land our sorry cycling selves in for a few days at a time, but when you are pounding the roads for hours at a time, it is nice to be able to relax and read. I guess we could drink ourselves silly but quite frankly after so much exercise it would only take one beer before I fell asleep over the next one.

We spent the rest of the evening eating burritos and debating our bests and worsts of the trip. The list is becoming so extensive that at some point later on I will have to compile an individual post for it.

Sunday 15th June: Intoxicated Running

2008-06-28T20:25:00.000+01:00

This morning we checked in for another night in our motel, so we could book some time on Catalina Island. Tim was obviously still drunk when we woke and demanded we go for a run as planned last night. Thankfully my initial martini had taken so long to imbibe that my head was comparatively clear - there was only one of us popping pre-exercise ibuprofen.

We headed to Sambo's for breakfast again but this time the queue was colossal - at least 50 people. There was a sea fog which meant there was a slight nip in the air but instead of waiting an hour for a table we plumped for the free one outside. Again breakfast was great apart from a girl stood next to us complaining bitterly about the wait. I considered pointing out that there was a free table outside which considering she had already been stood outside waiting for so long she may as well take. Of course the devil in me didn't.

Back at the motel, the owner kindly suggested we may want to go to the Channel Islands rather that Catalina and it's 18 hole golf courses. He had a good point, so we visited the outdoor visitors centre where a lovely lady gave us the info we needed. After multiple phone calls Tim sorted us a kayak tour starting from Ventura on Wednesday - we would be staying in Santa Barbara for yet another day.

All sorted, we partook in our ever so guilty, high octane indulgence of coffee and reading. I can't see why anyone would ever say we didn't know how to have fun ;-) Of course any day that started with a hangover, required an Indian ending.

Saturday 14th June: Spontaneity = Beers + Pool

2008-06-28T20:09:00.000+01:00

Brian had recommended Sambos on the seafront for breakfast when we had asked about traditional american diners. Getting there at 9am we queued for a while before being seated to endless coffee and a basket of muffins. A basket of muffins! They would have been enough to feed us alone, forgetting anything else we might order.

Our day started with a walk around the Marina, for which I repaid Tim with a visit to a vintage shop. To be honest we then spent a few hours in book shops. We had both finished our books (Ben - the book you bought me was hilarious) so we needed to restock.

There was plenty of chat about going for a run but as I sit here now my mind is more interested in dinner..

On Brian's Recommendation (again) we headed to the Hungry Cat for dinner. As ever there was a long wait for dinner so we went across the road to Honey and Milk for the most disgusting cocktail of my lief - Cucumber Martini. Of course, I do not have a discerning palette for such things, beer is definitely my tipple, and so for all I know it may have been a tasty cocktail.

An hour later (it took me that long to finish the martini, whilst Tim worked his way through 3 beers) we headed over for dinner. Our waiter was wonderfully camp and the dinner amazing although slow in coming due to a fire in the kitchen. Our response was of course to drink more and as we left 5 courses later, the draw of a pool hall as we walked down a back street uncharacteristically appealed.

Best of 3 became best of 5, 6 beers, a milky way and a sort of stagger home.

Day 40: Refugio State Beach - Santa Barbara, 40km (lazy)

2008-06-28T19:53:00.000+01:00

The sound of waves, plagues the market of relaxation music and yet for me , the ocean is like being made to listen to U2 or Van Morrison on continual loop. Needless to say I got next to no sleep last night as my brain tuned into the waves crashing at regular intervals. As we set off at 10am I was secretly glad we had very little ground to cover today.

After maybe 10 miles on hwy 101, we turned off onto Hollister Avenue through Goleta. Tim later pointed out their interesting designation of road types. For a a freeway (or is it a highway) to be so it must have junctions at right angles to it. In this case the junctions were in fact slip roads so just before such exit the freeway would end and just after it would start again.

Modoc Road took us into Santa Barbara itself, where shrouded in sea fog it was hard to find any charm. Nonetheless we cycled on to the visitor centre to find some accommodation for a few nights.

The problem with touring is the inherent transience means you lose track of what is going on around you - memorial day, fathers day, even what day it is and as we realised on entering the visitors centre, graduation. Most hotels were fully booked and/or double their usual price. Luckily basic motels are obviously not what people want to stay in on such an occasion, so we were happy to find a downtown motel under $100. Of course it came complete with most of Santa Barbara's homeless lining the street across the way, but this seems to be a running theme as we go South and didn't think too much of it.

Showered and dressed, we headed off to find Telegraph Brewing Company, recommended to us by Andrew and Filaree. The owner (Brian and two others) was an ex - Wall street financier who had studied at both Berkley and Oxford. The story instantly appealed.

The beer was great and the origin of the company great - A couple who had dreamed about running a microbrewery, doing it. A few hours later we left slightly tipsy wondering why there are no such breweries in the UK.

Day 39: Solvang - Nojoqui Farm - Refugio State Beach, 46km

2008-06-28T19:29:00.000+01:00

Our second night camping in a State Beach campsite has taught me the pecking order of campers and their perceived expendability. Bicycle tourers at $5 a pop are the least worth preserving - in the event of a Tsunami apparently America would not like us left to repopulate the country - maybe it is the fear of boiled swimmers. The next are group campers - I guess they can be obnoxious at times. However, it appears the most desirable to save are RV drivers. Curious.

The guys in the bike shop yesterday told us to start early and avoid the rush hour on our pilgrimage back to the coast. We have learnt to heed the advice of locals, although with our own interpretation - we set off at 11am.

We followed Alisal Road out to hwy 101, past a guest ranch, along one of those nagging climbs that looks flat and as a result leaves you demoralised as you puff and pant your way to the top, the peak of which goes almost unnoticed seeing as the gradient was almost negligible. Of course I had a sore knee and there must have been something wrong with Tim's bike. Ignoring my 'Never cycle north' mantra we turned right onto the highway and pulled into Nojoqui Farm where the guy we had met yesterday lived.

I have great concern for Tim's credibility as a farmers son. Filaree and Andrew sent us off with a bag of organic cabbage, green beans and mange tout. Tim, however, thought we had runner beans and a red carrot. I can't even imagine what he thought the black pepper was. Maybe the vegetables in Ireland have funny names too - lord only knows what he thinks eggplant is ;-)

Andrew took us on a tour around the farm which his wife's parents owned. For the first time since hitting the states we saw someone use their 4by4 in the vain it was intended. As we drove down a steep track, and across a fjord, I felt like we were on a full sus bike, down down the forks. I was thankful we weren't on our bikes.

As we came back to the entrance Filaree (Andrews wife) and their son Holden appeared and we went off to pick raspberries - I was in heaven. Holden was very cute (the photo shows it all), scampering around the farm without a worry in the world about thorns or mud or machinery. He was happily munching on fruit - obviously oblivious to the fact that most kids refuse fruit after being fed too much candy and pop.

Although we were within easy reach of Santa Barbara we figured we would camp outside to make good use of all our fruit and veg in our most sophisticated camp meal to date. As we pedalled away we both knew what the other was thinking - how is London ever going to compare to this sort of lifestyle.

We had had so much fun on the farm, that time had escaped us. Our route through Gaviota Canyon was far more spectacular than i had been expecting as peaks rose above us on either side. As we pulled into Refugio State Beach we realised it was 7 hours since breakfast. Failing to find the hiker/biker section (OK we didn't exactly hunt for it) we devoured sandwiches and raspberries. Replete in every sense of the word, we set up camp then lazed on the beach, dreaming and reading, reading and dreaming.

Day 38: Solvang Circuit, 71km

2008-06-28T19:01:00.000+01:00

Being sticklers for habit, we visited the Pancake House across the road and ordered oatmeal and toast. With our nights accommodation we were also entitled to a 'free' pastry in the danish bakery next door - Olsens. It was truly authentic danish service - abrupt and forthright.

A 45 mile loop took us around the surrounding wineries, as we baked in the escalating temperatures. Shortly after our second climb on Drum Canyon Road I grumpily declared I was doing no more cycling away from the coast. It felt like we were spinning again, but at least so one shouting at me to pedal faster in tune to 80s pop would have taken my mind off the heat and lack of sea breeze. The climbs were nothing too strenuous and the far reaching views spectacular although becoming all too familiar.

At about the 20 mile mark we came into Los Alamos, where we were treated to cool old saloons and hotels. Stopping outside the local market a dog had decided the coolest place to sit was on top of the cab of a pick up.

The next stretch of the route took us along hwy 101 until we turned onto Alisos Canyon Road and it's varying steepness of climb. The Lonely Planets had deemed to call one "VERY steep". If this was the case then I could only imagine the Lost Coast was off the scale or undefinable at the least or maybe even the edge of the world.

Turning onto Foxen Canyon Road I began to realise how best to ascertain the turnover of a particular vineyard. If the road in front was pothole riddled, the likely hood was that they were mass produces and more likely intense haters of cyclists. Of course if there was newly laid tarmacadam the owners must have either been keen cyclists or successful entrepreneurs. Sadly to say the majority of the route was on roads that looked like they had undergone serious warfare and not only from falling cyclists who had become entangled in the strewn car parts and pot holes.

Turning onto hwy 154, we soon came into Los Olivos - a cute provincial village that obviously made it's money from wine and boutiques. With only 6 miles back to Solvang and a strong need for sustenance that could not be provided by fermented grapes, we followed the flat Alamo Pintado Road and hwy 246 straight into our motel.

In Guadalupe, the lady we had bought fruit smoothies from had suggested the bike shop in Solvang if we had any mechanical needs. We were looking for a route out of Solvang, and wanted to check out Refugio Pass which was described, in part, as 3 miles of steep climb on dirt track. After so much cycling we obviously thought we were invincible but as soon as we mentioned the road in the bike shop everyone (customers et al) said no way. Why deal with 3000ft of climbing, speeding ATVs and 9 stream crossings when we could take a pretty gradual climb along Alisal Road and stop in at an Organic Farm along the way. We were sold on this alternative route.

Day 37: San Luis Obispo - Solvang, 132km

2008-06-25T20:49:00.000+01:00

As we left SLO, we were met with a strange phenomenon - a summer head wind. In the distance was a sea fog. This started a day which on the whole was lacking any 'wow.

12 miles in we came to Pismo Beach. This was one of the most depressing 3 miles of trip so far (on a par with Shelton, WA) - we were met by RV upon RV and the corresponding RV parks. I am willing to believe the fog was putting a negative spin on our views, but...

After Oceano we took a funny detour off hwy 1, which added 5 miles and provided us with little interest. I would have preferred a more direct route with any level of climbing.

At Guadalupe we happened upon little Mexico. We cycled down the strip and back up in search of a sandwich. We failed, instead opting for trail mix and fruit smoothies in JTZ Coffee, where our day began to improve. The owner was lovely and pointed us in the direction of a few places along our route where we could grab a sandwich - they were closed (probably for some random reason like it was Tuesday) but nonetheless she raised our spirits.

Out of Guadalupe we journeyed largely flat terrain on hwy 135. After San Antonio Road we turned onto Harris Grade Road where we climbed gently (although the lonely planets called it a steep climb) up one side, and needless to say down the other side. On hwy 1, we rolled into Lompoc where it was Tim's turn to accost some fellow tourers - Michael and Sarah..

Stuck on the edge of the hwy, our conversation turned to the Lost Coast - we needed coffee for this one. Settled outside a coffee shop we again laughed at all our similar experiences. With every new tourer we meet, comes the same loves and hates, just a week, a month, a year, a decade apart.

If any of you have any interest in watching part of the Lost Coast route that we cycled earlier in our tour, have a look at Sarah's blog: http://tourdesarah.blogspot.com Click on June on the right hand side and look for a video under Tuesday June 3 2008 (it should be right at the bottom of the page). Michael got off and pushed his bike up the part where our wheels were almost lifting away from the road. If you can get the volume up you can hear them laughing hysterically. What you can't really see is quite how steep the camber in the switch back is - this is where Tim (head to the floor) chose to pick his way.

Lompoc, with its population of 41,000 also had sandwiches. Micheal and Sarah headed off whilst we tucked into some food, then we too set off again for the last 20 miles to Solvang. Off hwy 1 we turned onto Santa Rosa Road. Finally was appealing to our senses - on we went through fruit, vegetables, vineyards and orchards. Apart form a few short sharp shocks, the road was flat. Before we knew it we were alongside yet more RVs in Buellton. 3 miles later we arrived in Solvang.

Through some bizarre logic, this was maybe the most interesting part of our day (and meeting Micheal and Sarah of course). I'm not sure if interesting is the word I mean but the Lonely Planets guide aptly described it as a Disneyfied Denmark. Anaheim had some competition on it's hands here.

Day 36: SLO Rollercoaster, 56km - short but sweet

2008-06-25T20:34:00.000+01:00

After an uninspiring breakfast in the Splash Cafe a few buildings down form our motel, we headed out of SLO on Higuera Street. 7 miles or so later we joined the Bob Jones bike trail which wound its way through housing and high class spa and golf resorts. At Avila Beach we slovenly lay on the beach and read until our stomachs rumbled. Responding to the cue we cycled to Port San Luis where we ate tacos in the Fat Cat Cafe.

When we got back on the road I suddenly ended up with suntan lotion in my eyes - I knew Coppertone was a dubious name. I could barely see and had to stop in a cafe to

wash my eye out and sit in darkness for a few minutes. We eventually got going again and turned onto See Canyon Road. From here we wound our way through apple orchards and ranches. Every time we turn on these roads you realise how few people drive in roads other than interstates in this country - they may as well just designate the back roads to cyclists ;-) A mile or so later we endured three steep climbs and various dirt sections. Without the load on my bike after so long I could barely balance my bike and had to stay seated the whole way. This does not make Beth a happy tourer. That said, as I was stinking hot and beginning to wonder why we were doing this route we came to the summit and amazing views out over the nine extinct Sisters Volcanoes.

A long winding descent brought us back down to SLO and past numerous cyclists doing our route in reverse. For all the moaning I have aimed at the lonely planets, I have to give it to them that they always give their suggested bike routes in the direction easiest to complete. I was hot and tired but the ride was great and Tim was storming along.

Our evening reverted the day back to reality - laundry.

Sunday 8th June: Being Slow in SLO

2008-06-25T20:29:00.000+01:00

Having topped 1800 miles of cycling we left our bikes in Cambria Bikes to get the chains replaced. Of course this was also a great excuse for us to have a day off the bikes.

As ever, we had a lie in, read our books then found oatmeal and the Internet. We had every intention of wandering around the town but we ended up window shopping. I had ripped a pair of my jogging bottoms and so thrown them away. This of course meant there was spare room in my panniers so I bought a new top to fill that void..

Having picked up the bikes, we had a long lazy dinner then rested for a day of cycling tomorrow. We had a great long chat with the guys in the bike shop who had agreed the route we were planning tomorrow for a side trip would be cool.

Day 35: San Simeon State Park - San Luis Obispo, 76km

2008-06-25T20:20:00.000+01:00

The first stint of our day lasted for a whole 3 miles. At Cambria we pulled off hwy 1 and stopped for coffee..., and carrot cake. Decadent at only 9am but it was tasty and all because jean remembered a few nights earlier I had said I liked it.

The day continued in the same vain as so many have - hwy 1, beautiful views and stunning sunshine. Jean taught me the hand signal used by Harley Davidson riders. I then spent the rest of the day trying to get them to reciprocate my greeting - it was a shame I hadn't mastered what was and wasn't a Harley.

At Morro Bay we headed towards the state park, stopping for clam chowder and fish and chips on the way. Having passed through the park we turned off South Bay Blvd onto Turri Road. With the sun beating down onto us we pedalled through arid hills without a car in sight - it felt again like we were in the middle of nowhere. From Turri Road, we turned onto Los Osos Valley Road, until meeting Foothill Road which took us into San Luis Obispo (SLO).

Pedalling into downtown SLO we found the visitor centre and a bike shop. An hour later Jean carried on to Pismo Beach and we checked into a motel. The icing on the cake - Tim too me to see Sex and the City - he even laughed throughout it.

Day 34: Kirk Creek Campground - San Simeon State Park, 68km

2008-06-25T19:59:00.000+01:00

With such beautiful scenery at our fingertips, we decided on another short day to enjoy the views. After breakfast we were left with very little water so we motored on to Gorda, where we refilled our bottles. One big difference to our day was the monumental tail wind. We had a couple of steep climbs, but the downs were long and gently winding, with only the odd switch back, affording us high speed descents.

Nearing Ragged Point the road came down to sea level where the wind picked us up and transported us practically effort free. I could have placed a foot on my handlebars and relaxed with a paper and coffee the winds were that extreme. At one stage we turned into a car park to look at an elephant seal colony. To my dismay Tim turned North. Tim must have managed about 3m - this was impressive - my bike stopped dead. I physically could not cycle into the wind. It was a battle I didn't fancy partaking in. There was only one direction to be cycling today and that was South.

At San Simeon Village we came across Motel city. The last 100 miles of the Big Sur coastline had been conurbation free. At the other end was affluent Carmel. This end was obviously where the likes of us stayed. There was some extreme planning at play here.

Our night was spent in San Simeon State Park, where we paid the princely sum of $2 to camp. Mike, who we had met at New Brighton State Beach turned up, then a guy called Warren and finally a dejected looking French guy - dejected because he was cycling North in record breaking southerly winds, to a booked flight from Seattle. He had started at 7am and at 7pm had only just managed 60 miles. The worst point was when he asked us all if we had known about the prevailing southerlies...

As the light dropped we swapped remarkably similar cycling stories: I can't believe it's not butter (I can - Mike), RV hatred, Nature Valley granola bars, REI, MEC.

In the middle of the night Tim and I got up and stood yet again in awe, this time at the spectacle shining down on us from the night sky. It was so clear that we could see the milky way, Saturn and the North Star - it added yet another layer to our visual extravaganza.

Day 33: 5th June, Pfeiffer Big Sur - Kirk Creek Campground, 56km

2008-06-24T23:34:00.000+01:00

For three very good reasons, we enjoyed a short ride today: Jean, the scenery and a long day yesterday. Almost out of gas, we cycled a mile or so North and had a lazy breakfast with Jean, treating ourselves to a change from oatmeal.

Reminiscent of our cycling days up North, we started with a 2 mile climb. The day was already heating up, and as we emerged out of woodlands, we peeled off our layers. 5 miles or so past Big Sur we pulled into a Coastal Gallery, where we were treated to artwork and some of Jean's homemade trail mix.

Our day was spent entirely on the cliff-hanging hwy 1. With every mile we cycled, came another view point and another reason to get off our bikes and take photos. Shortly before leaving the gallery, 3 other cyclists went flying past. Somewhere before Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park we met up with them, as they paused to watch a group of Condors sawing above us. Round the corner we again all stopped and they introduced themselves as Karen, Rich and Sarah. Simultaneously we saw a Condor swoop within metres of a lady taking in the ocean view.

At Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park we walked to a viewpoint of the McWay Falls - California's only waterfall running directly into the ocean. I'm embarrassed about continually writing this but the views were spectacular, and they made our lunch that little bit more exciting.

Again on the road, we cycled until Lucia where we found our first shop for 30 miles. It was expensive, but we were ecstatic to realise there was camping gas. Restocked we cycled to Limekiln State Park. It was only 30 or 40m long, but the road down into the campsite was practically a cliff. At the bottom we realised there was no hiker/biker section. Back up the road we went! Jean and I were pootling along behind Tim, when Jean stopped to talk to a lady who earlier on in the day had mentioned that the next campsite had non-potable water. She verified this but with Tim so far ahead we couldn't stop him. Armed with my bottles and Jean's, I cycled back to the State Park, down the cliff, and back up it, again. Who says chivalry is dead ;-)

When I got back to the campground, the boys were setting up. We were positioned on a bluff with far reaching views of the ocean, Lopez Point and the peaks behind us. Before dinner and sunset we ambled down to the rocky beach where we sat in awe of the ocean.

4th June. Day 32: New Brighton State beach - Pfeiffer Big Sur, 139km

2008-06-24T22:52:00.002+01:00

Wow - I have a lot of blog to catch up on..

Our target for today was almost 90 miles to the Big Sur. With Tim's muscle issues, we decided to get an early start, aiming to see how he felt at Monterey. The route began with maybe 10 miles of decreasing levels of housing. After Aptos, we drew away from hwy 1 to cycle on largely flat terrain, through strawberry fields - Beetles' lyrics began to play as a soundtrack to my day. With the amazing sweetness of strawberries in our nostrils we turned a corner to see a uni-cyclist out for some morning exercise - up hill and into the wind - I had to pinch myself to check I was really seeing it.

For 5 miles we rejoined a newly surfaced hwy 1 through Moss Landing, until just past the State Beach with an oil refinery for its backdrop. Crossing hwy 1 we turned onto Monte Road through artichoke fields where Tim yelped as he was sprayed with water from sprinklers. I raised my eyebrows until the next three got me, and I discouragingly ended up covered in mud. At Del Monte Ave just before Marina we joined the Monterey Bay Coastal Trail - what a cyclists' heaven. OK, so we went up and down as the hwy soared alongside with it's forgiving gradient, but we had no traffic for 15 miles.

In Monterey we continued along the path which took us parallel with Cannery Row until we found a deli to stop for food. It was just midday and we had cycled 40 miles so figured we would carry on until Pfeiffer Big Sur.

Past Fishermens Wharf we came to John Steinbeck's muse - the Monterey Coastline. The waves were brilliant white, and the water crystal clear against volcanic rock. Shortly after the edge of town we cycled onto the 17 mile scenic drive, which wound along the coast through Pebble Beach golf course. I thought I had seen it all, having lived near to both Henley and Mayfair but this was something else. The coastline was stunning and for once we weren't 100s of feet above it. The golf course was the most manicured I have seen, and the houses that lined the road were enormous. As ever I was reminded that money did not buy you taste, but anything compared to this coastline would have looked ordinary - maybe even Johnny Depp.

Towards the end of the road, we cycled past the club house, where we were reminded of the types of people who lived in the area. At Carmel we pulled onto the beach and like a pair of kids stood in total and utter awe. I'm not sure even the photos can do justice to what was before us. Carmel was full of boutiques and it was at this point that we decided to look for camping gas. Round and round in circles we went, before we realised Carmel residents were clearly not the camping type. If we wanted dinner tonight, a camp fire it would have to be.

Given in to the reality of not finding any gas, our route continued onto hwy 1 for only the second time of the day, carrying us above the ocean through Carmel Highlands. With 10 miles to go Tim was beginning to tire, but the delights our eyes were experiencing kept us going. After Point Sur we moved in land along the Big Sur River until we finally reached Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park and the most amazing state park showers with two shower heads in each.

As we set up our tent we realised we had caught up with Jean from a few days earlier, and so spent the rest of the evening chatting over coffee.

Tuesday 3rd June: New Brighton State Beach

2008-06-08T20:11:00.000+01:00

New Brighton State Beach Rangers were obviously not aware of Tim's entry onto Interpol. When I begged them to let us stay another night (you can't extend a hiker/biker site - too many homeless people trying to live there apparently), they promptly gave in. Initially when I explained Tim was injured he told me I would have to pack up the tent and come back at 4pm to sign in again. I must have looked so confused and dumbfounded by this rule that he gave in. Either that or he surmised that I was not in fact homeless which is an achievement on my part as I stood there in the same outfit i have been wearing for the past two months!

Back with Tim, we headed down to the beach and looked through the rest of California and its cycling. Bizarrely we realised we have two weeks spare at the end which we have not thought of a great plan for yet. We considered flying over to the East coast and doing a bit of cycling but this route was described as hilly. Cycling to Las Vegas seemed a little bleak! Maybe we will go and sit on a beach in Mexico for two weeks ;-)

In the afternoon we cycled out of the campsite for lunch. Tim made a Stirling effort to pedal as slowly as is humanly possible to convince the park warden he was indeed injured. Only to be capped by his performance as we re-entered the park - he not only verified it was a serious injury (amputation imminent) but then he limped to the pedestrian path claiming he couldn't possibly cycle up the hill. The cherry on the icing was when I told them i would take him to a doctor. What a double act - eat your heart out the two Ronnie's and we didn't even have to mention fork handles..

Tim decided that after I had cycled up the biggest hill to buy us dinner, that I then needed to go in the ocean to soothe my muscles... We waded in a bit, and screamed and yelped and skipped, then a wave covered me after which I turned on my heels and ran out to lie in the sun. Tim, however, still had to prove his manliness - it took a while.

When we got back to the tent, more cyclists appeared - Mike who was infested with earwigs (I had the same problem the night before - DON'T stay under any trees at Half Bay Moon State Beach), and a couple who were doing as test circuit before they flew up to Vancouver to start in earnest. I didn't get their names and I have given up asking Tim such details - I'm just thankful he remembers mine.

Ooh and I mustn't forget the guy who served us in the camera shop. We needed a new memory card, and with great dryness he showed us 2 options: 'Why buy this one for $36 when you can buy this one for $30. Mind you if you were to shop around you would get it for $25'. For once we were happy to be a victim of our circumstances and bought the cheap card he suggested.

Day 31: Half Moon Bay - New Brighton State Beach, 92km

2008-06-08T19:31:00.003+01:00

It's 8am and I had been disturbed by a selection of Tim's choice words, from other side of our tent walls. The night before we had endured great 'discussions' into the placement of our tent. One of us won and the tent was pitched under the tree. Tim had forgotten the low slung branch crowning our site at least 10 times the night before and I was out of sympathy. Desperately trying to ignore him, I began to realise he was still making a lot of noise. Tentatively I poked my head out to check if he was OK - I didn't need to ask- there was blood pouring down his face!

As lightening quick as one can leap out of an MEC Seedhouse 2, not even 3ft in height, I grabbed a towel to cover the wound whilst trying to dig myself out of the neglectful hole I had dug myself. Having finally stopped the bleeding and cleaned it up there was at least an inch long gash. Of course, being a trained first aider means I can remember vague things like you shouldn't wash an eye with chemical in it, in the direction of the other (one to remember if the old soak drinks too much wine), and to call for help and check for danger before approaching a patient. Basically I had no idea if it needed stitches or not, and Tim was in a position to comment.

In my infinite wisdom, I went to get a park warden. He suggested 911 to which I said 'no way - I just want a first aider to check it'. He ummed and urred then rang the ranger who suggested I take him 6 miles to the hospital. The ranger told me he would be there in 15 minutes so I agreed to go back to Tim and check he was OK.

Now, anyone who knows California will realise it's more like litigation state than the sunshine state! As I drew near to Tim after a 5 minute walk, he started to point in blind panic behind me. As I nonchalantly walked along the path I hadn't realised I was flanked by a cavalcade of emergency services. In shear horror I turned to see an ambulance, the sheriff and a fire engine. Hilarious - especially as Tim was wondering around making breakfast.

I hope they didn't have their windows down, for as I turned back to Tim, I said: '@#$% I told them not to call 911'. With great embarrassment I met the paramedics explaining we hadn't wanted an ambulance and that we were really sorry. All I could think of was Caroline or Andy getting dragged out of bed by an insane fool who had burst a blister or grazed an elbow. What on earth the firemen must have thought.

Thankfully the Sheriff left pretty much straight away, and so we were left with 7 firemen and 2 paramedics (some might say a dream come true). Maybe it was crossing their minds to sue the state parks.

Apparently the cut was long but in no way needed stitches - 'in no way'! The paramedics were really lovely to us and even joked about us suing them, as Tim signed away any rights with a disclaimer. The fire engine drove off and gave us a little toot of their horn (just to make sure every last camper knew we were the idiots who had woken them with sirens). 5 minutes later the park ranger appeared - doddery as can be and obviously a lover of rules and protocol - apparently they have to call 911 in case they get sued. I was wondering about suing them because they did call 911. I figured if it was that simple then surely we would have a clear cut case. They probably even ring 911 if you mention you have a paper cut from their price list - a different slant on invitation to purchase I guess. The ranger then proceeded to take Tim's name, height, weight and eye colour - his details were probably going out on Californian State Park Interpol as we spoke.

Finally on the road at midday, we decided to see if Tim developed any (additional) abnormal behaviour on route and plan an end destination to suit. As ever on hwy 1, we passed many state beaches along the Pescadero coastline and after 20 miles we stopped at Pigeon Point Lighthouse to inquire about beds in the hostel. There was only one female space although Tim was offered a mattress on the floor (they aren't allowed to refuse cyclists) but either way the options didn't really appeal. As we were leaving up pulled 40 kids - if Tim didn't have any head injury symptoms then he would have done after a night on the floor in a dorm with 10 kids. We took a big sigh of relief and pedalled on.

Our journey dodged between the shoreline and inland roads, flanked with beautiful heath. The tail wind was strong and any spikes in the elevation went unnoticed. At Davenport, and after a very quick 40 miles we stopped for refreshments. A guy called Kirkland turned up shortly afterwards, and along with another lady sat nearby he gave us some good campsites for the stretch ahead.

Having navigated through Santa Cruz we eventually found our way to New Brighton State Beach (no road signs again), where we pitched our tent next to a guy called Jean from Everett, also on his way down the coast. He had left his bike helmet in the last place he had eaten and so at the same time as retrieving it brought us back a muffin - commonly known as a happy pill to Tim.

Sadly, to top Tim's problems, he appeared to have pulled a muscle in his groin - apparently due to me shouting at him to pedal (faster) up a hill. As he stepped off the bike and limped to the showers, I felt mildly guilty that I had just made him cycle 60 miles on top of the whole head grazing incident. In an attempt to improve matters, I scampered around dutifully pitching the tent and cooking, until his spirits were began to rise again. Luckily Jean joined us for coffee before bed and with the delight of someone new to share our stories with, the old boy was soon happy again.

Day 30: San Francisco - Half Moon Bay State Beach

2008-06-08T19:11:00.000+01:00

We only had 30 miles to cycle today so it was nice to lie in almost until 9am. I must have eaten my own body weight in granola and fruit so that I was feeling guilty about our short day ahead.

Tim had to change his saddle and check the bikes over so I got to be a lady of leisure and enjoy my book. As we were leaving, Georgia gave us the best pack of fruit, cereal bars and dried fruit. It was exactly what we were going to stop and buy on route.

Back on the road after almost a week was so much fun. My muscles were well rested and my bottom ready for the attack. We headed up Euclid into a strong head wind, onto Clement where 8th took us into the park. The sun was shining, and the old bay fog was nowhere to be seen ;-) On Sundays the park is closed to traffic so we enjoyed our only calm of the day. It was also good to see lots of people - yesterday it had been empty which defied belief. Even if it were cold Hyde Park would not be empty...

Out of the park we joined the Great Highway along Ocean Beach and Thornton beach State Park. It felt like the first day of our trip that we were seeing truly golden sand, and were close enough to it that we could have enjoyed it - if the wind hadn't been so strong.

Before Daly City we had to climb along SR 35. There wasn't a great shoulder and it was all a bit built up. At Daly City we again had a few climbs but they seemed easy after our rest as the route wound through side streets. Daly City turned into Pacifica where we rejoined hwy 1.

We had one sharp climb of the day out of Pacifica. It was pleasant enough, but there was no hard shoulder and it's route needless to say was winding. Luckily we were sheltered from the wind, but as we came up along the shoreline the wind was blowing a gale and the roads were thick with Sunday tourist traffic ;-) I have to admit that these winds make me cycle a lot slower. They are generally tail winds which are brilliant but when they whip round into the side of you teetering at the top of a cliff edge it all gets a little scary.

As we drew into Montara and Moss Beach the road stepped inland as we enjoyed flat roads and the jet propulsion of the tail winds. Through El Granada, Miramar and into Half Moon Bay where we pulled into the campsite for our first night on a State Beach. I am hoping that not all nights no a State Beach are as windy as the one we experienced!

With the tent pitched we cycled back to hwy 1 and drank coffee for a couple of hours whilst we looked at our next few days of cycling. Tim reasoned that the wind should have died down so we returned to the tent for dinner. If the wind had died down we couldn't tell. Our incredibly light cooker struggled!

Thursday 29th and Friday 30th May 2008: San Francisco

2008-05-31T19:52:00.001+01:00

Steep hills everywhere:

The frustrating thing about rest days, is that although your last clump of cycling days have been spent wistfully wishing for a lie in, when it comes to it you can't. Tim, however, seemed to manage it just fine as I enjoyed an hour of my book.

Thursday was spent wandering around downtown San Francisco. In an attempt to be lazy we enjoyed an open top tour bus after sitting relaxing in the sun in Union Square. This was an interesting affair due to the number of homeless guys that you get approached by but equally there was an opera singer and a human beat box.

On our way home we walked (accidentally) through the tenderloin to be met by details of a ladies bottom that I had no desire to see. We took the next right hand turn and up into Japantown.

We had tasty Tapas in Solstice on California and enjoyed the delights of a world edition of the Guardian!

On Friday we went for a stroll up to Coit Tower and then the winding Lombard Street, before crossing over to Alcatraz! We had intended on visiting the cinema this evening but as we saw the queues of ladies dressed to the nines for the 'Sex and City' premiere I felt a little put off as I was dressed in the same outfit I have been wearing for the past two months - maybe we will do this tomorrow evening!

The Coit Tower:

Lombard Street:

Alcatraz:

Wednesday 28th May 2008: Yosemite - San Francisco

2008-05-31T19:37:00.000+01:00

Impressed with ourselves for being up and everything packed into the car by 7am, we went for breakfast. The chaos awaiting us, and frustratingly long queues just to get in had never even crossed our minds (even after we had seen how many people had been leaving the day before). Yosemite National Park is obviously an amzing place for kids to visit but do all 500 of them really have to have breakfast at 7am on the dot!

Leaving the park was as spectacular as our entrance. Entering San Francisco was stressful but nonetheless cheieved mishap free. Fuel tank full and bikes reloaded we tried to formulate a hill free ride to our hotel. Inone direction was Taylor Street and it's 4 steap peaks. In front of me was bay Street with a small climb and no inidication of what was over it. Eventually we decided to follow a bike route which took us along the Marina and up through the Presidio. Luckily this was gentle enough.

The sun was shining; San Francisco was free of it's infamous city fog and we had a room in a cute hotel called the Monte Cristo on Presidio Avenue. Our clothes stepped off us and marched of their own accord to the launderette, to return a few hours later. In the interim we had to wear our most stylish of outfits which consisted of those items least warranting fumigation. Clad so, we headed finally for a lunchtime cake. At 7, having missed lunch we devoured bread, pasta, tiramisu and wine 300ft from our hotel in Osteria on Sacramento, where our waitor told us he was about to have brain surgery - I sincerely hope this was not a ploy to get a bigger tip.

Tuesday 27th May 2008: U.N. Deployment

2008-05-31T19:21:00.000+01:00

I woke at 6:30 to find practically the whole campsite up and at it. Craziness. I got back into bed, rising at 8 to see lines of people walking away from breakfast - perfect!

Our plan for the day was to to complete an 8mile bike loop, stopping off at trails we could complete with bike shoes on. 30 seconds after we started we came to the Mist Trail where we hiked up to the top of Vernal Fall. I hadn't realised it was rated as strenuous, and was wandering why people all around looked ready to collapse. As we approached the fall, we started to get drenched - slippery granite and bike cleats are not a great mix.

Tim started to get impatient with people slowly scaling the climb, clinging on for dear life. To top it off I kept stopping to take a million photos. The way down was like a comedy sketch - I must have waited for 50 or 60 people to pass me on the 10m drop from the top. All were so knackered that they barely noticed I was hanging over a rail onto a shear drop to let them pass. I finally saw a two second gap which I took. As I ran past a couple they told me to be careful! On meeting Tim he asked if I was going to let the squirrels go past too! People were like charging bulls, not willing to stop as I leaped out of their way to teeter on the rocky edges.

An hour and a half later we reached the bottom - the lady at the start had told us it would be at least a 3 hour round trip so we were surprised and chuffed that we had been so athletic. As it began to cool down, however our smugness was repaid with sore muscles.

Back on the route we went up to Mirror lake where we were warned there was a steep climb, which did not come to fruition. We went for a tramp around the lake, taking a wrong turn just as I realised it was 6 hours since we last ate! We of course found the road again and had to walk back up the 'steep' climb to retrieve our bikes.

Our next stop was Yosemite village for lunch, the Ansel Adams gallery and Yosemite museum. As we pulled up to to Yosemite Fall we bumped into Peter, the German guy who we had met in Gualala. He scoffed at people for people paying crazy amounts to essentially camp in Curry Village - as it started to rain we kept quiet that we were glad to have such shelter with then weather closing in.

We completed the loop, through meadowland and across the Merced River just as the skies started to really open. As we climbed into our tent and then our warm beds, we were couldn't help but me relieved that we weren't in our two man nook of a tent.

Day 29: Samuel P Taylor State Park - San Francisco - Yosemites, 50km

2008-05-31T18:22:00.001+01:00

We were woken this morning at about 5am by what Tim tell me were woodpeckers. They were so loud that I could have sworn they were jack hammers. At 6:30, the kids in the site next to us were running around with way too much energy for the early hours. As I got up at 7am, they were making a pilgrimage to the adjoining site with burning tree branches - it was time to hit the road!

Back on Sir Francis Drake Blvd we cycled through Lagunitas, Forest Knolls and Woodacre. To both sides were arid hills and stables. As we approached San Francisco hoards of cyclists passed in the opposite direction, sending Tim into a directional worry. Again it felt like Richmond park, and as we enjoyed the descent into suburban Fairfax very few of the lycra clad climbers would afford us a wave!

Our route took us off Sir Francis Drake Blvd and along quiet roads through San Anselmo, Ross, Kentfield and Larkspur. In Corte Madera, we went onto Corte Madera Ave which took us up a winding climb where much to our delight fully loaded we dusted a couple of other cyclists. Camino Alto brought us back down to Mill Valley where we joined a bike path along Richardson Bay . through Marin City. Turning onto Bridgeway Blvd a guy came alongside to say hello. He had also done the trip and taken 18 days!

In Sausalito Tim decided we should stop for coffee. My outfit (containing no matching lycra) was gaining funny looks as we plonked ourselves outside a trendy cafe. The first guy we then spoke to was from, of all places, Liverpool. He laughed at us for ordering tea, toast and jam.

Our ride along the Bay took us up more hills, culminating in our first views of the Golden Gate Bridge. Tim cycled straight past the sign saying 'NO CYCLIST' and almost onto the bridge! Illegally (although not as illegal as crossing the bridge on a bike I should imagine) we cycled back along the hard shoulder and onto the bike path to dodge all the rental bikes!

Our target was Bay Street in Fishermans Wharf. With no real idea where this was we headed in the general direction and much to luck we made it. Picking up the car included all the usual hassles. We weren't allowed a small environmentally less damaging car and instead had to have an SUV for our bikes! The insurance Tim had paid for hadn't been paid for and general cultural confusion ensued - 'Two countries divided by a common language.'

As I stood with the bikes an ex-bike courier called Tommy came up for a chat. I have to admit that I was talking for so long I was pretty ignorant to the hassles Tim was having.

Car sorted, and a stressed Tim I fed him coffee and cake before we set off with the least appropriately scaled map possible. Most surprisingly I managed to get us out of the city with only a couple of last minute swerves. The immediate terrain was dry and flat. As we left the sprawling metropolis, the distant hills were crowned with row upon row of wind turbines, majestically decorating the baron landscape.

A few hours later, past Oakdale, the queues in the opposite direction became longer and longer. RVs were replaced by trucks pulling speed boats, all stationary as we promptly became the only vehicle travelling in the opposite direction.

As we came into Stanislaus National Forest the road started t twist and climb. I couldn't switch off my cycling mind - pound down the hill to propel yourself up the other side - so much so that I began to feel queasy. The views of forested drops were amazing but I was struggling to enjoy them as I began to feel a little nauseous.

Once we hit Yosemite National Park the landscape was overwhelming. Nothing I can write would ever do justice to the what we were seeing. Out of the gloomy fog came Granite cliffs and pounding waterfalls, framing lush meadowland and rivers. As we continued to rise into the park, the awe inspiring views were unceasing.

The end of our trip took us into Curry Village - 100s of tents causing a blip in the landscape (although largely un-noticeable), like a UN camp. This would be home for the next two nights. Camping here is more like my previous experiences which don't stretch much further than Glastonbury festivals -toilets (albeit it with roofs) and a pizza place where we happily tucked into dinner whilst a couple of raccoons tried to terrorise us.

Day 28: Santa Rosa - Samuel P Taylor State Park, 90km

2008-05-31T17:51:00.000+01:00

In an attempt to follow Derek's directions to get us from Santa Rosa to Point Reyes we picked up a route from the campsite which we thought would link in. 4 miles later we were a little lost, but managed to follow our noses and stumble upon the Joe Rodota bike trail that would take us into Sebastopol. The route was largely unbusy, and away from the flowing traffic of hwy 12. At Sebastopol we linked into Bodega Hwy. After a few climbs it felt like we were going the wrong away 0 I guess we weren't in the mood for hills! As we reached the peak of a tiny climb, obviously looking shattered a car full of guys started cheering us.

As we cycled past Freestone Tim saw a nice building which he concluded had to want to sell us coffee. Dubious of his logic (the signs all said wine tasting) we turned back to discover the Wild Flour Organic Bakery. Replete, having eaten both my words and a portion of two scones we lazed in the sun to the obnoxious tones of Harley's. Numerous people chatted to us - I think people drove miles to get to the bakery, and I was beginning to notice the San Francisco influence. Inside was bedlam - there was a customer space of a few square metres and four times that for the baking. Every affluent being from the area was there and it felt like the first time I realised no one in London queues for buses...

Just as we were leaving a couple cycling from Healdsburg to San Francisco told us to stop in Tomales Bakery for lunch. Not sure after the scones that we had earned our lunch but nonetheless we stopped. Our route took us along Valley Ford Freestone Road and onto hwy 1. The land was largely agricultural and rolling. As we staggered to the top of one hill, a couple in a convertible pulled up alongside us and said: 'the hills are fun eh'

After our stop in Tomales, and god chat with a guy who told Tim he was lucky to have a girlfriend that liked cycling, we followed hwy 1 along the undulating shoreline of Tomales Bay. At Marshall the smell of fish and oysters was overpowering. The odd hill took the wind momentarily out of our pedals, but largely our momentum kept us rolling.

Coming into Pt. Reyes Station we could see the Pt. Reyes national Park across the water. It was so green and lush that it felt like we were on the Amalfi Coast. At Pt. Reyes Station we cycled past our turn off to get supplies for camping. All day we had seen endless streams of cyclists - shortly before we had passed a couple of tourers - and as we came to the Bovine bakery the grass in front felt like Richmond park on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Every inch of grass was occupied by cyclists and their correspondingly expensive appenditures.

As we consulted the map, the lonely planets guide had a different route. I was annoyed that Tim wouldn't follow my mantra of 'Never retracing your pedals' and stick with hwy 1 through Olema and across to Samuel P Taylor State Park. Instead he reasoned we should take the previously missed turn off and cut out a climb across Bolinas Ridge. On closer inspection I realised the harder route would only save us 0.5mi of cycling but would add 600ft of climbing. For the second time that day I swallowed my words and followed Tim.

Just onto Point Reyes Petaluma Road we again passed the couple we had seen earlier. At high speed we agreed we must be headed to the same place. We took the first right off the road, and I began to wonder if we really could have been so fluky as to have missed any more climbing for the day. Turning onto the bottom of Sir Francis Drake Blvd we took and immediate left onto the Cross Marin bike trail as we glimpsed the downhill we would have enjoyed from the other direction - of course what comes down must have gone up.

The trail took us straight into the campground. At one point Tim swerved shouting snake as I almost sliced it in half. Normally they are so quick you don't see them but this one was obviously enjoying the sunshine breaking through the Redwoods.

In the hiker/biker section we set up our tent and then Erin and Matt (the couple we had passed) came in. They had concluded that as we had dusted them we must have started from Vancouver. They were a lovely couple from San Francisco who had started the tour at the beginning of Hwy 1 in Leggett. For the first time in our trip cyclists just kept pulling up./

As the light was dropping some Mexicans were playing loud music as a compere on the microphone spoilt our idyll. Next to us a large Indian family were camping, and in the ladies toilets they had plugged in a rice cooker. The smell made me so jealous, and as I walked past their tents to see blown up beds, standing room and more kitchen utensils than Nigella Lawson I yet again had tent envy!

Day 27: Healdsburg - Santa Rosa

2008-05-31T17:27:00.000+01:00

This morning we had the breakfast from hell with too many screaming children. Tim scorched the toast to be met with a lot of glares. We were beginning to wander how fun memorial weekend would be!

Tim led me astray and took me for a tour and wine tasting in the Simi winery. A great couple from New York (the girl was called Kendra) and their friend were intrigued to find out what we were up to and they appeared to be on the same level of wine tasting experience as ourselves.

Cool cork tree:

The tour was fascinating, as much as the origins of the business were interesting and the wine tasting at the end of the session was of course well received. Feeling a little sozzled we wobbled back into Healdsburg and grabbed sandwiches in the downtown bakery.

We then managed the 30km of cycling to take us into Santa Rosa and out the other side to a campsite. California state parks are nothing like the Oregon equivalents - the North-South divide exists here too - there were no signs or indications on the map as to which side we could enter. Left or right - we chose left - 20 mins later we were a few hundred metres from the right hand turn we could have taken. Of course when we got there is was memorial weekend so all the pitches were full and apparently there was no hiker/biker section. Luckily a park warden took pity on us and they let us in to a site that was closed - I can only imagine why this was so.

Derek rang and we cycled back into Santa Rosa to meet him and his girlfriend, Jen for dinner and some art. They took us to a great Indian where Tim got to exercise his preferred form of bird watching due to the Saturday night belly dancer. One guy was so mesmerised he was almost on top of the poor girl. I'm sure his Dad had a great evening out with him - ogling and conversation not being a combination of tasks possible to most guys.

As we left, Jen and Derek navigated us through the dark back streets of Santa Rosa in search of beer. We met up with some of their friends in a cool bar playing live music. Back on the road I wandered if Jen and Derek were in fact axe murderers, preying on naive tourists as we passed under the freeway and what looked for a while like out of town. They laughed but did not dispel the suggestion. We popped out in the downtown area and up to a bar with numerous bikes outside. It was difficult not to get jealous of all the single speeds, although I am not sure I would have been able to make it over into the lost coast on one!

Derek's friend Chris had an art installation in the bar but it was so small they wouldn't let us in. We hung around outside, forming the new kitchen party on the pavement for a while then decided we should head back to camp.

Safely back at the campsite we realised quite how terrible our back ups were when there were no street lights to help them out!

Day 26: Flying Goats and Idle Cyclists.

2008-05-30T15:15:00.000+01:00

Yesterday we realised this coming weekend was Memorial weekend. In our heads we had likened this to remembrance Sunday, but it transpires here it is a 3 day holiday celebrated with weekends away and shopping. As a result, cycling into Healdsburg in the wine country and expecting to find 2 nights accommodation was a little far fetched.

The route from Guerneville to Healdsburg was a welcomed change from the coastline. The roads were lined with vineyards and mountain backdrops, whilst the roads allowed for very easy cycling. In fear of not finding somewhere to stay we cycled along Westside Drive and into the visitor centre, with every intention of cycling around the area pannier free. The Best Western was our only choice after endless phone calls so we agreed to camp in Santa Rosa the following evening.

Decamped in our room, we were overwhelmed with laziness. Having ditched the bikes, we headed back into town which had a centre a little too trendy for the likes of us two. We ate lunch Costeaux French Bakery cafe then lazed around int he book and bike shops. On Derek's recommendation we went to the Flying Goat Cafe where we read for an hour or so until Tim disappeared, only to reappear having had his hair trimmed.

With wine tasting on the cards tomorrow we figured we should try the local ale in the Bear Republic Brewing Co. which we washed down with tasty tapas in Willi's seafood.

Cool horse that we saw along the freeway:

Day 25: Gualala - Guerneville, 80km

2008-05-30T14:54:00.000+01:00

The raccoons in Gualala were obviously party animals and early in the morning we woke to hear a stampede running around our tents. Of course I was happiest with this notion, as opposed to any other that I could concoct. The site was next to a river in an area well sheltered by slender trees. When the wind picked up, it sounded like we were back on the highway with traffic droning past us, and every so often there was a crack, silence, then a thud as branches chose their targets. Regardless, I slept well and we woke to an unharmed tent.

Back on hwy 1 we passed Sea Ranch which I think is a holiday resort. It is one of the biggest conurbations we have passed and yet, uninvitingly every road was labelled 'private' and 'no trespassing'. As we cycled through Stewarts Point and Fort Ross it was clear the high winds of yesterday had quelled , and yet they still took me off guard a few times.

Between Fort Ross and Jenner the road hugged the coastline, a few 100ft up. Reaching the top of a tiny climb, Tim decided to relieve his saddle pressure, hence grinding almost to a stop. At the same time we passed a car with its handcuffed occupant being dragged out by a gun wielding police officer. We carried on pedalling.

Before Jenner we had a long drop but the gusts of wind were still bothering me. I am obviously far less hardy than I thought or would like to admit. In Jenner we stopped at a restaurant claiming to have fine dining 0 Tim looked at me and I smelt Tim - I'm not sure they would have let us in. A lovely lady gave us great directions to a cafe further along our route so off we went towards Duncans Mills, heading for the wine country.

Derek had given us great directions (and suggestions) and as we pulled onto Moscow off hwy 116 we saw our first cafe of the day. The pastries were so good and lunch so late incoming that we had more than one.

Basking in the sunshine we lounged for a while. Derek had mentioned a bar called the pink elephant in Monte Rio, but as we passed it a few minutes later we decided we didn't deserve yet more rests.

At Guerneville we stopped at the visitor centre. I had suggested 4 walls and a roof for the evening and Tim agreed, booking us into Fern Grove Cottages. We were met by a funny lady who was friendly as ever but full of the usual woeful tales that locals seem to feel the need to tell us - run over cyclists and runners! It is funny that people don't seem to think we understand the brevity of cycling on American highways... She did however recommend a great place for dinner - the Garden Grill, although she had to warn us it wasn't gourmet!

As we walked up to the restaurant, Tim stood across the road not too impressed: 'It looks like a fast food joint' he said. As we entered we were met by a trendy organic type. The burgers were handmade and the only thing fast about them was the speed at which they disappeared from our plates.

A couple on the next table started asking us what we were up to. As we ordered a second helping of the most amazing cheesecake everybody laughed. The couple (two ladies) were keen to tell us they had their pyjamas on and were impressed to find out that English students had carved out such a fashion to address their morning laziness in getting to lectures.

Day 24: Mendocino - Gualala Point Regional Park, 85km

2008-05-30T14:39:00.000+01:00

For the last few days of cycling, I have felt something was stuck under my brake pads. On conclusion that I was simply less fit then hoped for, I ignored the nuisance and cycled on. Before leaving Mendocino, however, we popped into Catch a canoe and Bicycles too, to pick up some sexy fluorescent vests. On putting a pump to my rear wheel I found I only had 50psi in it - I may as well have been towing an RV behind me.

From Mendocino we cycled along Hwy 1 through Little River, Albion and Elk. The route was undulating and the coastline littered with inlets which dropped us down to sea level and raised us up again. Although there was a very strong wind behind us, there must be a weather phenomenon (funnelling maybe) when the wind hits an inlet. The result of which whips the wind around onto your side, ending in a strong head wind as you try to mount the small climb out of it. By Manchester, I had lost count of the number of times I had taken full possession of the road to account for any random swerving or at worst tumbles.

The views of course remained spectacular, as the route alternated between farmland and clifftop, but at Anchor bay I have to admit my nerves were shot. The topography was great for cycling but the wind was almost terrifying.

At Gualala we collapsed into a cafe, Trinks, and considered camping v motel. Tim dutifully scoped out the campsite - there were hot showers - and then the motels - none of which were less than 100 bucks. Decision made.

On the way to the campsite we stopped into Surf Supermarket for supplies. As Tim stocked up on essentials - wine and chocolate - another cyclist pulled up. Our fellow traveller turned out To be a student called Derek who was cycling home from Humboldt university to Santa Rosa. We spent the rest of the evening gleaning every drop of local knowledge we could. As we sat there munching away on our tinned tuna and strawberries from Mexico, I felt mildly guilty as we delved into Derek's sustainable outlook on life.

With the evening drawing in another guy called Peter Joined us. I am not too sure about his story - he was German and spoke a lot - but he had no tent or camping gear. He had a bike and a car in which he was sleeping, and it turned out he was living on bagels and MacDonald's!

As we sat around a camp fire we started to talk about all the bikes we owned. We were happy to find out both guys had more bikes than us although I am unsure if theirs had to fit into a 1 bed flat!

Tuesday 20th May: Trendy Mendo

2008-05-30T14:22:00.000+01:00

Today I got up at 6am. With maximum strength coffee in me I spent an hour or so on the Internet, and then crawled back into bed. In an attempt to stay active we walked along the coastline of Mendocino. The fog of yesterday had cleared, although strong gusts of wind followed us around attempting to push us into the ocean at every available moment.

Halfway round, like a couple of lazy old dears, we decided to cower in a rocky cove, and watch the ferocity of the ocean, free from the buffeting of the wind. Obviously taken by the moment, free from the daily grind we started to bird watch. Like stealth fighters, four large birds flew towards us with a straggler at the rear. Now neither of us are twitchers - not in the conventional sense any way - but as they hovered stationary above us aloft on their thermal, their long beaks and scrunched up necks appeared familiar. Sadly my photography skills exist a rung or two below my bird knowledge. Although I had the strength to run up from the cove, as they glided effortlessly not even a metre from us, I flapped trying to look up and aim a camera simultaneously - the problem only compounded by Tim's infamous grasp on left and right.

Are these maybe pelicans?

Apart from this excitement, our day was spent wandering from one purveyor of coffee to the next, with breaks in between for lunch at the Moosse Cafe and dinner at Cafe Mendocino.

Day 23: Standish Hickey - Mendocino, 90km

2008-05-20T16:20:00.000+01:00

In an attempt to miss the heat of the day we got up at 5:30 and left not long after 6:30. Finally the temperature was a good 20 degrees lower and in true British style I now found myself wishing it was little hotter.

Past Leggett we climbed for 5 miles as we turned onto hwy 1 for the first time. We had been told so many horror stories about the road, which generally ended terminally but before 7am we enjoyed traffic free bliss. The climb was almost fun and the descent the best yet. The road surface was perfect and the bend more like chicanes than hairpins allowing for little dissipation of speed.

Towards the bottom we came into our first sea fog, and the temperature plummeted. We were in thick woodland and it was so remote it felt more like a rainforest than the sunshine state. In comparison to peoples negative comments of the road, I felt mildly spooked by the lack of fellow human life. Cycling through Rockport with its population of zero just compounded my feeling of unease.

After about 25 miles and a solid 2 mile climb, we came along the shoreline. I am sure there was a view to be had, but we would have to have been 2ft from each sea stack to enjoy it. Into Westport the road started to undulate and a lack of sleep (10m from us last night was a lady who sounds like Janice from Friends - it was difficult to zone out once I had tuned into this thought) and 30 miles of cycling before 9am caught up with me. I needed chocolate, or a motor, or both, so we stopped in a motel advertising espresso.

The next 30 minutes were brilliant. We were taken in by a guy in his 80s who fed us coffee and homemade biscotti, whilst amusing us with a dancing George W Bush doll in his living room. At 82 the guys was 10 times more lucid than Tim or I after a mere 30 miles of cycling.

I wish we had stayed there all day. Instead I realised I needed more air on my tyres and rest in my legs. Yesterdays legs of jelly had turned to Blancmange and tumbling terrain with it's white backdrop was tougher than it should have been. Through Cleone we came to Fort Bragg where we stopped again for coffee. Fort Bragg seemed pretty cool in parts and in the cafe I was fed 'Rapid Transit' coffee which promised to get me everywhere fast! I thought it was fitting although a little hopeful.

Back on the road, hwy 1 became a bone shaker where they had ripped the macadam off. It was pretty effective at keeping me awake, especially as I tried to dodge cliff sized ruts trimming the road edge. Our route took us past Caspar and into Mendocino where we were told we could get great views from the hotel out over the ocean. Sadly the only views we could see reminded me of white outs in Whistler.

Waking this morning I got up early to come and edit the blog. To my delight the fog had lifted allowing for photos of the bay and a day off the bike with views ;-)

Day 22: Myers Flat - Standish Hickey State Park, 70km

2008-05-20T16:03:00.000+01:00

Breakfast in the hotel was served at about 9 so we elected for a late start and a well deserved lie in. When there is a heat wave, however, such a notion is a little daft. Nonetheless we enjoyed our first fry ups whilst chatting to a couple from San Francisco.

Nearing 11am, and the hottest part of the day, we set off. The heat seemed to be relenting but it was still in the 90s. Cycling along the Avenue of the Giants (hwy 254) we passed Miranda and Phillipsville, when we passed back onto 101 and into the direct glare of the sun. I felt like a basted turkey it was so hot, and the sun-tan lotion in the eyes was a constant hindrance.

Just before Garberville we endured a 2 mile climb - it was nothing to write home about after our recent exploits, although I would a liken it to a spinning class in a Swedish sauna minus the nudity and 80s pop. At Garberville we did a shop, having found a store with fresh fruit for the first time in over 100 miles.

Past Benbow we again left 101, snaking over and under it along a minor road. On paper we were cycling up the smallest of gradients and yet if felt like someone had snapped my legs of and spliced them with leg shaped jelly. The shade was nowhere to be found as the heat brought us to our knees. If ever there was a meal to be made we were making it as each blip brought us to our knees.

The route rejoined 101, to leave again onto hwy 271 through Cooks Valley and Piercy. It was frustrating to keep leaving what felt like a direct route but as joined 101 for the final stint up to Standish Hickey we realised why. The road was winding, with no hard shoulder and rammed full of weekend traffic, hell bent on knocking us off. Within a minute I could hear an RV thundering up behind me. I felt comfortable that with a bend coming he (it had to be) would slow down. The very notion was ridiculous. Having moved out a mm, I could feel him brush my panniers as the passenger stuck out their arm and pulled in the wing mirror to avoid Tim.

At such moments the fight or flight hormone either stuns you into silence as you watch the unfolding events in slow motion, or it incenses you. I wouldn't say either of the two options dominates, but was happy to realise that as my eyes squeezed shut, my mouth opened wide...

On Confusion Hill we saw a cola sign and careered off the road to get an icy cold drink. As we crawled to a stop the owner haughtily told us to move our bikes to the other side of his benches. Hmm.

We concluded we had 3 miles until the campground. 6 miles later we were still pedalling. Our reward, however was a really cool shop across the road from our place of rest which served beers and stocked eclectic books about mushrooms and cannabis..

Day 21: Petrolia - Myers Flat (Lost Coast), 75km

2008-05-20T15:49:00.001+01:00

After the heat of yesterday, we aimed to leave at 7am in an attempt to beat some of the heat. However, rising from the cool haven of our bed the thermometer already read 70F - I'm not sure how much heat we were actually beating...

To complete the Lost Coast loop, we headed to Honeydew, following a relatively flat road along the Mattole River. Sure, there was climb at the start but it was a mere pimple in comparison to the day before - and the undulations went unnoticed. Out of Honeydew the fun began. It wasn't even 9am and yet it was baking hot - perfect weather for 9 miles of climb. With every bend, I tricked myself into believing the climb was over, but like an oasis in the desert there was no such luck.

The first 5 miles were a test but moderate at most. The final 3.5 miles though were almost enjoyable. At one point I had to ask if we were still climbing as my speedo was easily reading over 20km/hr. As we reached the top of Catheys Peak the views of the surrounding peaks, shrouded in trees went on for miles. It was easy to forget any pain or heat in exchange for these views.

From Panther Gap, the road brought us down to the Humboldt Redwoods state park, where just as we began to drop I caught a glimpse of a dark cat with a long tail. Later we both wondered if this could have been a cougar.

Once down into the woodlands, the road surface was horrendous. The fun bit was dealing with potholes you couldn't see in the dappled sunlight, but at noon we turned onto the Avenue of the Giants and pulled into the state park visitor centre to top up our water and check the facilities in the next campsite (you have to have a shower at the end of these days..). Sadly we couldn't stop there as the route had been so remote that we had no food for camping.

At Myers Flat we stopped outside the grocery store. Across the road was Myers Inn. The temperature had to be reaching 100F and in a moment of weakness and as a feeble reward for the 8500ft of climbing we had just undergone, we checked into a air conditioned room where we hid, watching hours of the discovery channel ;-)

Day 20: Ferndale - Petrolia, 47km.

2008-05-20T15:22:00.000+01:00

A man's work is never done...

Tim, in an attempt to prove men can multi-task, took his dish washing up a hill with him. At 1pm we pulled into Petrolia, to find a thermometer reading 98F. There was no way I was going to cycle any further.

From Ferndale we followed a 7 mile climb along Mattole Road which brought us out into open prairies. The sun was so ferocious that we both donned long sleeves whilst praying we would enjoy the solace of shade at some point soon.

Suddenly the road gave us a steep descent towards Capetown. It was barely enjoyable due to the extent of potholing and steep narrow bends. At Capetown, sprayed on the floor was 'Don't puke now'. 5 minutes later we struggled up the steepest climb i think I have ever seen in my life. Although it was only 1.5 miles long, at some points you had to cycle along the yellow line in the middle to avoid the debilitating camber at the edge of the road, willing you to fall off. The camber was so severe, that when trying to get out of it and around the corner, you could feel the front of the bike pulling away from the road in an attempt to up end you. For the first time I was using my granny ring and wishing i had some gears left! The route, it transpires, is called the Lost Coast as it is so mountainous they couldn't get a highway over it!

The road brought us down again, past Cape Mendocino and onto our first flat of the day along the lost coast. Here we found a big rock which had two inches of shade and there I cowered!

For the next 7 miles maybe we enjoyed flat undulations, until we peeled away from the coast and inland up towards Petrolia. The gradient at this point was a lot friendlier but after the climbs to date and heat of midday I may as well have been climbing Mt. Everest on 700 x 20s.

From the peak of our climb (500ft), we let go of the brakes, as our tyres married with the freshly laid road, and cycled into Petrolia not so much tired form the effort but from the heat.

On seeing our first shop of the day (yes - even in America food can be a trip away) we downed icy cold water and Pepsi. Apparently looking the least disheveled of the pair - Tim with a dishcloth on his head and me looking like a french onion seller - I was sent to find lodgings. 10 minutes later I had secured us the only room in the place, at the Lost Inn. I guess they don't have people staying that frequently, as Gail told me to come back in an hour so she could sort out the room!
Decamped outside the local store, we spent the next hour speaking to probably every individual that lived in the village. We even bumped into a guy who recognised us from the day before. Finally in our room we spent the afternoon lying in star shapes.

Day 19: Patricks Point State Park - Ferndale, 90km

2008-05-20T15:05:00.000+01:00

Strangely, half way through the night I had to peal off both my pairs of socks, two jumpers and unzip my sleeping bag. When we got up I walked around in shorts and a vest. By 10am it was touching 95F. 60 miles later we had cycled through the first day of a heat wave.

The day started with another off road experience. Past Trinidad we continued onto Trinidad Scenic Road even though it clearly stated the road was closed. For 3 or 4 miles I tried desperately to take in the views whilst skidding on rubble. At one point the road looked like the edge of the world. As we cycled to the edge like intrepid explorers, we met a big concrete barrier and a gap just big enough to force the bike and load through! I haven't been so glad to rejoin 101.

Our route took us through the back streets of McKinleyville where we stopped for iced coffee. With great intelligence I left my bike in the sun - 20 minutes later you could have fried an egg on my saddle. As I doused saddle in water you could see steam raise off it...., OK maybe not but i could have imagined it.

Between McKinleyville and Arcata we followed a bike path through farmland. There is nothing like the smell of cow shit in 100 degree heat. Arcata (or what we saw of it) seemed quite cool, if only because we must have seen 50 cyclists and numerous bike lanes.

Snaking through yet more suburbia we skirted around Eureka, ending with a short climb around the golf course which woke us up in comparison to the relatively flat route so far. Back on hwy 101 the heat was stifling - so much so that it was more desirable to keep pedalling and enjoy the air flow over us.

Our journey took us from one side of 101 to the other - why cycle 2 miles when you can cycle 10 - until a steep climb up to Loleta and a nice descent to Fernbridge. Finally we turned onto 211 and dragged our sorry selves into Ferndale.

All at once we spotted beer, pizza and accommodation (Francis Creek Inn). Plonking ourselves down in the shade outside Ferndale Pizza Co, the table next to us (Cathy and Tim) started a conversation about mad cyclists. It turned out they lived in a ranch 5 miles from Ferndale, which they invited us to visit. 10 extra miles in this heat was not a plan however than we fancied completing. I had a funny moment when farming chat ensued - Tim mentioned cycling past a farmer who was piling this years silage on top of last years. They all laughed hysterically, as did I if only because I didn't have a clue of the relevance.

Day 18: Jedediah Smith redwood State Park - Patricks Point State Park, 108km

2008-05-20T14:48:00.001+01:00

The word to describe today has to be 'climbing'. Out of the campsite this morning we dutifully followed the route given to us by the visitor centre guy. 10 miles later we arrived at hwy 101, just in time for a 4 mile climb. I can't tell you much about the scenery but I can tell you Tim was mightily bored of the sound of my voice. David Bowie - ground control to major TIM; Tina Turner - you're simply the best; Queen - we are the champions; Queen - I want to ride my bicycle. Apparently one of the first signs of dehydration is delirium.

Promptly after the first climb, came a quick succession of shorter ones, of equally punishing proportions. Although the climbs weren't really too tough, tiredness began to set in after a few hours of it! Coming into Del Norte Redwoods State Park we eventually got a steep descent, bringing us back to the coast and a sea fog, which luckily disappeared before we reached it. At Klamath we stopped for snacks as we had nothing with us.

Having successfully directed us to hwy 101 this morning we decided to follow the directions of our visitor centre guy again. 10 miles of climbing later, along hard packed gravel - which we soon meant a hard surface covered in loose gravel - we rejoined our original route. For the first time we had to get off and push our bikes. I swear the road was vertical - so much so that when I tried to push my bike (and the skinny tyres i had opted for), I had to side step whilst dragging it from the saddle. I couldn't stop laughing it was such a ridiculous detour.

On Newton B Drury Parkway the road just continued to climb. As I was yet again cussing the lonely planets for not mentioning this climb, it leveled out through a prairie until we reached Orick, where Tim dived into Palm Cafe - the first eatery we had passed all day - and scoffed a dirty burger!

Hours after we had started the day we cycled past Store Lagoon and Big Lagoon until Patricks Point State Park. Disheveled from the baking heat we hunted down the hiker/biker section where we set up camp, only to find we were next to a school of kids! Suddenly we had to queue for the showers behind 17 year olds doing their make-up. Of course I wasn't at all jealous their days could afford such a luxury.

As the sun was going down, I enjoyed the silence of no kids hanging around and Tim went off to hunt down the sunset:

Day 17: Gold Beach - Jedediah Smith Redwood State Park, 87km

2008-05-20T14:25:00.000+01:00

I realised today, that for the past 16 days of cycling, I have been hoping that Tim would use his love of pointing to indicate the imminent potholes as opposed to the conspicuous ;-) Just as he was pointing out a 30ft stack in the middle of an empty field I went thud over a big crater - my poor baby (the bike that is;-))

Today we passed from the inner sanctum of the promised land (Curry county in Oregon where I had dreamt there would be lots of curry) into California after a couple of hours of relentless climbing. The views were continual, and as we worked our way up the terrain we kept stopping to grab our last looks out along the Oregon coastline.

Brookings led to Harbor where we turned off hwy 101 onto ocean View Drive, stopping for coffee and lunch in Salty Dog Cafe. As per the norm now, everyone was interested in the mad Irishman buying snacks in a bike helmet, and offered many suggestions for our route.

Rejoining 101 briefly we crossed the state line, shortly before turning off the highway again onto Ocean View Drive. For the first time since starting our tour, we felt stagnant heat. Watching the weather this morning we saw f0recasts of 90-95F in the next couple of days and already we could feel the difference.

As the sun beat down on us, we cycled through Smith River, taking a detour on hwy 197. The next city along 101 is Crescent City which has little more to offer than a prison and the families of it's inmates. Appealing as this seemed, we headed for Jedediah Smith State park to take in some redwoods.

The park was the setting for the Return of the Jedi, which Tim has just told me he hasn't seen! I think it is in the scenes with the Ewok village and where they have a chase through woods on some sort of flying machines.... The funniest thing about this is before we knew about the filming, Tim had kept getting tongue tied, calling it Jedi state park! Brilliant - we couldn't stop laughing.

Tim went to the visitor centre to find out how to get back onto hwy 101 and the guy ended up planning an amazing route (we hope) to get us all the way to Healdsburg and copious amounts of wine. I guess we will find out tomorrow how good his route is.

Day 16: Bandon - Gold Beach, 92km

2008-05-13T00:50:00.000+01:00

With the intention of doing some serious Internet catch up in Gold Beach we climbed onto our trusty steeds at 8:30. I figured that after our fantastic day of cycling into Bandon, we would be well deserving of a few hills today! We are obviously, however, due some major climbs soon as yet again our day was climb free and yet crammed full of downhill stints.

Leaving Bandon took us past the golf course it is famed for! We had naively assumed Bandon was little more than hwy 101 and the quaint downtown area, and yet as we cycled out there was a well established (even nice) suburbia which also had very little gradient to it.

The legs took a little waking up but before I knew it we were flying along again. At Langlois we stopped to send some post, then passed into Denmark, Sixes and Port Orford - all the way past sea stack after sea stack. We met a girl called Audrey in Oswald West State Park, and I remember her saying when she was growing up she didn't realise they didn't exist everywhere - it wasn't until she was older that she realised the true unique beauty of the Oregon coastline.

Past Humbug Mountain we wound our way around an inlet through a heavily forested area which was a pleasant contrast to the seascapes. Towards Ophir we drew alongside the ocean again and remained so until Gold Beach. At Nesika Beach we took the old coast road which seemed to lead into the middle of the nowhere and yet delivered us at the foot of a bridge into Gold Beach.

At 1pm we pulled into Chinook Inn Motel happy with ourselves for making such light work of the day's cycling. I only hope we have the same success with days to come.

Saturday 10th and Sunday 11th - Sleepy Bandon and Organisational Caffeine

2008-05-13T00:40:00.000+01:00

We spent Saturday and Sunday in Bandon, taking in lots of caffeine and trying to formulate a plan that will take us to San Francisco and onto Yosemite State Park. Job done, we went for a stroll around old town Bandon which didn't take us too long even though we visited pretty much every shop they had to offer ;-) In time honoured tradition I will have to mention all food consumed - fish and chips in the fish market, and more delights at the Wild Rose Bistro. Ooh and two great cafes - 2 Loons and Bandon Coffee House.

Sunday morning we were clearly missing the cycling induced pheromones and so went for a run. It was surprisingly not too much of a shock to the system! Our hotel was opposite the marina so Tim also had fun looking at that..

Day 15: Umpqua Lighthouse State Park - Bandon, 82km

2008-05-10T21:43:00.001+01:00

Waking at 7:30, I stumbled across to the showers. For the first time since starting our tour, we woke to glorious sunshine. For the first time in a week we had coffee and for the first time ever the morning climb felt almost easy.

The initial 20 miles flew past with my speedo rarely dipping below 30km/hr, and the sun in the sky. The road was wide and the bike lane even wider. For every short steep climb, we had the preceding drop to propel us up, and for the first time since hitting the States I barely changed out of my highest gears.

Lakeside then Hauser passed in a blink, until we were rudely stopped in our tracks by a long steel bridge into North Bend demanding that cyclists get off and walk along the sidewalk. The bridge wasn't busy, but the walkway was still unsavoury - a narrow ledge next to a hard shoulderless road. Half an hour later we made it across, cussing under our breaths that this little escapade would have greatly reduce our average speed for the day.

North Bend was as metropolitan as the west coast gets and took us four miles of traffic lights and stop signs to traverse. Stopping for a quick lunch, the delirium of the cycle so far led us to buy 3 cakes to take with us. Even in an American cafe I felt slightly piggy - 'they are just for emergencies' I kept telling Tim.

On exiting North Bend, we passed into Charleston and took a hard left onto Seven Devils Road. Our first view was that of what looked like a vertical climb and out the window went my delusions of grandeur for the day. This was a good lesson in not judging a book by it's cover.

The road soon gave us the most monumental ups and down. I found myself flying down one hill and charging up the next. I kept holding my tongue, scared to utter the words that we were on an amazing road, case I should jinx us. Stopping at one point it felt like we were on top of the world. All around was heavily deforested land, providing us uninterrupted views for miles on end. Some way along the road, Tim pointed out writing on the road - Devil #4, and sure enough each climb was labelled so. Fantastic - we still had three more to go.

Seven Devils road turned into Beaver Hill Road - all the way providing us with the terrain to act like kids in a sweet shop. Turning onto Whiskey Run Lane, the icing on the cake came in the form of an amazing long descent. I would say it was great pay back for the hard graft of the climbs, but the climbs had been so much fun that they hadn't felt like hard graft.

Finally, we returned to Seven Devils Road and thundered into Bandon - sun on our backs, smiles on our faces and high on adrenalin.

After 7 days camping, we decided Bandon would be our site of rest for the next couple of days. At 3pm we checked into Sea Star Lodgings and enjoyed a well deserved hot shower. In fear that our clothes would get up and walk themselves to a launderette, we dressed ourselves in our only remaining clean clothes - for Tim this was one pair of shorts and a jacket - and set off for a monster laundry session. In reality if we had had the bodies of Levi's models we would just have stood by the machines in our undies, but there is of course only so much 800 miles of cycling can do for your body and miracle is not one of them.

In pursuit of food to put the cherry on the cake we wondered into Wild Rose Bistro on Chicago Street, where we enjoyed the most amazing steak and scallops.

Day 14: Carl G Wasburne State Park - Umpqua Lighthouse State Park

2008-05-10T21:28:00.001+01:00

I can't say it in any other way, other than we started with a climb. Continually I have melody in my head along the lines of 'it started with a climb' - I think I would prefer the kiss most mornings. Up to Heceta head we went and through Cape Creek Tunnel. A gentle descent brought us down into Florence we were had our first Fred Meyer experience. This place is huge! It gave me a headache just looking for carrots and an onion. That said it provided us with much needed camping fuel so we were happy.

Through Florence we cycled along the Oregon Dunes National Park, enjoying fairly level ground and a brief lunch stop. A few more climbs brought us into Gardiner - a sparse town of two or three buildings, and later Reedsport with yet more commercial sprawl.

At Reedsport our light lunch caught up with us and our climb to Umpqua Lighthouse State Park seemed insurmountable. On arriving I inquired as to the availability of yurts (having already been asked if we wanted the hiker/biker section). At most campgrounds they look at you as if you have three heads for asking for a luxury that can be booked six months in advance. This time we were in luck. A funny three way conversation ensued between myself, the host and Tim a few metres away with the bikes. There was one deluxe yurt supplying all you could every want and enough beds to sleep a football team (just in case that wasn't part of all you could ever want). At $65 Tim said no he wanted a basic yurt. No worries, the lady told us they had a cabin. No, a yurt Tim said. Yes there is a deluxe one. No, I want a basic one. Of course we didn't realise the basic yurts and cabins were considered the same. At any rate - there was one deluxe yurt and one cabin with my name on it!

This has to be one of the best places we have stayed yet. The cabin overlooked a tranquil Lake Marie, set in woodland. After a brief pause for sustenance (read tea), we walked down to the lighthouse and attempted five minutes of whale watching - needless to say the fruits of our endeavours were not repaid, and promptly walked around the lake and back to our cabin.

View from the lighthouse

Interesting how the '&' looks like an afterthought

Smugly, we settled down to dinner on our veranda, swigging wine from the bottle. An hour or so later an RV pulled into the pitch next to us containing a lovely German couple (Sabine and Axle), on their last legs of a round the world trip. We spent a good hour marvelling with them at the size of RVs and American breakfasts. They had hired the smallest RV they could at 22ft, and yet Axle was still too tall to sleep in the bed without his feet hanging over the end. They did however have every gadget you could ever care for.

Day 13: Beverly Beach State Park - Carl G Washburne State Park, 71km

2008-05-10T21:02:00.000+01:00

12 glorious hours of sleep - perfect. As we pedalled up out of camp ground I was consumed in thought over the hierarchy of RVs. These things are the size of London buses. On numerous occasions I have thought to myself ' Oh look there's a bus we could catch' only to realise it is in fact an RV. 21ft is considered small here and yet they still have to fill them with gas every day. madness! Of course I am never jealous of their owners as they sit in their warm homes complete with television, kitchen, bathroom and bed. No.... accommodation envy never strikes me. How could it when we are so self-righteously using our own strength as a mode of transport.

So our day progressed. First we reached Newport where the route took us off hwy 101 and into suburbia. As we had left Beverly Beach we had been passed by a couple of tourers The rest of our day was spent with overtaking them and them overtaking us.

At the end of Newport we crossed the Yaquina Bay Bridge, having stopped for Tim to take photos. Our travels then took us along fantastic undulating terrain past South Beach and Waldport. We were making excellent time, frequently with our speeds over 20 m.p.h all the way to Yachats. The area south of Yachats (Cape Perpetua) was stunning. The growl of the ocean combined with the black basalt drops and trees ravaged by the wind looked immense in the overcast weather.

Past Searose and Roosevelt Beach we arrived at Carl G Washburne State Park. As ever, we were asked if we would like the hiker/biker area. This basically means you are in a dark whole somewhere away from everything and having to walk half a mile through raccoon wasteland to go to the toilet in the middle of the night - NO THANK YOU. We are obviously luxury tourers, missing out on the zen of such an experience. Either that or the Americans are so dumbfounded we are cycling the coast, that they assume we do it because we can't afford an RV, or at least the gas to refill it. Generally we have paid 15 bucks for a pitch near civilisation (if you can call it that), but this time the hiker/biker section was next to the showers so we paid the 4 bucks and enjoyed it!

Running low on cooking fuel and the weather colder than ever, we made our first camp fire. When I say 'we' I of course mean 'Tim' - I poured silently over the route maps as Tim made various attempts at getting the fire started. On tenterhooks, and for once realising this was not the time for any of my sarcastic comments, I ran around getting scraps of paper and kindling. Tim's poor ego would be dented if we didn't see some flames soon - I would be cycling very slowly up hills for the rest of the week trying to repair it. Then there came that sweet noise - first a crackle and then a roar - a big man made fire in all its glory.

Day 12: Devils Lake State Park - Beverly Beach State Park, not very many miles

2008-05-10T20:51:00.000+01:00

In the middle of the night we woke to the noise of something scratching at the door of our yurt. Neanderthal Tim got up and stamped around as I cowered in my sleeping bag. Content that there was no more scratching, we laid our weary heads down. 10 minutes later we could hear a low quiet purring! Whatever it was, we weren't going out to face it.

Dragging ourselves out of bed, without an ounce of caffeine in site, and cursing the one who had thought decaf teabags were the way to go, we pedalled up our usual early morning hill feeling like carcasses of our former selves. Through Kernville, Salishan and Lincoln Beach we ventured, until at Depoe Bay it started to spit a little and we dived into as coffee shop.

15 miles cycled, and two cups of coffee down we decided we better try the blueberry cake. Blueberry cake down, we decided we better have some more coffee. Then came those words - 'screw this, lets have a day off'.

The wind, rain and fog just wasn't motivational. With a lot of faffing we bagged ourselves dinner and pedalled a few more miles to Beverly Beach State Park where all the yurts were taken by school kids! Finding the farthest spot away from the kids as possible we set up camp, drank tea and slept. I have finally mastered the art of sleeping in this cold weather - 2 pairs of socks, 2 pairs of trousers, 4 tops, 2 hoods and any left over clothing stuffed in the bottom of my sleeping bag to keep my toes warm!

I forgot to mention the fantastic Otter Crest loop we did just before Otter Rock - beautiful scenery away from the drone of hwy 101, albeit a continuous climb.

Day 11: Cape Lookout State Park - Devils Lake State Park, 70km

2008-05-10T20:29:00.000+01:00

At 4am we had our first encounter with a raccoon. We had left the milk on the table outside in a saucepan which has a cheeky handle that clips over the lid sealing it. We heard a massive clatter, causing Tim to leap (as best you can from a sleeping bag) out of the tent to find a raccoon nonchalantly trying to get into the milk. As the crazed Paddy ran and screamed at him he finally ran away leaving the saucepan unbreached - result.

The cycling day started, as ever with the mother of all climbs up to Sandlake. We were dying for coffee so snuck into a shop for polystyrene vats of coffee which we drank cowering around the corner form the locals.

11 miles later we pulled into Cape Kiwanda, thinking another cup of coffee may help our tiredness. The only problem - not only does Tim have no money, he also has no wallet! We had just coasted down a long steep hill and at the top was Tim's wallet. Ina slight panic we had a bit of a dither, where we considered and dismissed thumbing a lift back. Eventually we phoned the shop where we were dealt some good luck. Not only did the lady on the other end find the wallet she also then drove it down the road to us!

Calm again, we lunched on the beach and laughed at the fact we had just wasted an hour and a half with this little adventure.

Back on Hwy 871 we made good time through Pacific City, back onto 101 on to Oretown and Neskowin. A few miles south we followed scenic route along Slab Creek Road. This involved 4 miles of climbing on a fairly rough road through woodland alongside a creek (you would never have guessed). Reaching the top, the road surface was newly laid and a fantastic drop took us into Otis. As I followed Tim down he looked tiny in comparison to the enormity of our surroundings.

Eventually we arrived in Devils Lake State Park, Lincoln City, having: passed through Neotsu; been accosted by a crazed homeless guy trying to convert us to God (I'm not sure 'I am an atheist' helped our matters), and cycled along a fairly nasty built up stretch of hwy 101.

Circling the campsite a lot of the pitches were flooded. Looking at each other we simultaneously said 'lets get a yurt'. These are glorified tents with a wooden skeleton, heating, lighting, a bed and enough room to spin 100 more cats than you can in our lightweight tent! Luxury!

Bucking the American trend we then walked 30 blocks chasing our tails in pursuit of a restaurant mentioned in the 6 year old lonely planets guide! By fluke we happened across Rockfish Bakery - a great fish restaurant complete with Maitre D' who made us wait for our table even though there were at least 10 free - maybe she didn't like the smell of us.

Day 10: Oswald West State Park - Cape Lookout State Park, 84km

2008-05-10T20:09:00.000+01:00

After an horrendous nights sleep for me and a good one for Tim, we got up at 8am for great caverns of tea and oats. It didn't feel like it was taking us ages to pack up but as the clock turned 10 o'clock we were only just hauling our bikes out of the wood.

As ever we started our day with a 2.5 mile climb up to 800ft this time. It is nice to think this would wake us up, but as our bodies are trying to digest their breakfast it is the last thing they want. With every climb comes justified rewards - our was a coffee and cinnamon bun on the beach 10 miles down the road in Manzanita - a cute yet exclusive looking village with the Stepford Wives out for a stroll with their lattes.

Through Nehalem we were treated to yet more breathtaking vistas. As we circled Nehalem Bay we encountered the best tail wind, propelling us through Wheeler, Brighton, Nedonna Beach, Manhattan beach, Roackaway Beach, Twin Rocks, Watesco and Barview. At Garibaldi we decided it was time for lunch, as we pulled into a road side cafe. The mad thing about America, is so many places look almost unappealing from outside and yet inside they are a veritable eatery.

Back on the road we passed through bay City and into Tillamook where we stopped for the essential Tillamook Cheese factory photo. Tim then took 40 minutes buying chicken and pasta in Safeway! It turns out the poor boy was dumbfounded by the store and its isles dedicated to one food group - if there is one for crisps, cakes and sweets (a food group that is).

Meanwhile sat by the bikes I began to realise the pedigree of Tillamook. A crazy lady just kept standing next to me then every so often muttered a few incomprehensible words. After Tim had been in the store for half and hour and I was beginning to wonder when I should start worrying a group of cyclists joined me, at the end of their trip up North to Tillamook. One guy grumpily sat in the shade, complaining about the wind then moaned that he was cold in the shade. When we told them we were taking the 'Three Capes Scenic Route' to Cape lookout they told us not to bother - crap roads, winds and views.

We promptly ignore their ranting and got on with the route. Circling Tillamook bay we had a head wind, yet undeterred we turned onto Cape Meares and enjoyed a 2.5 mile climb on a fairly crappy road! At the top we walked into a wood to see a very big spruce (!) - the largest on Oregon I'm told, then freewheeled down the other side. more undulations brought us into Netarts - a beautiful village out of nowhere which looked out over a tiny peninsula.

Up and down the road took us, until finally we came into Cape Lookout State Park. We cycled round the ground at least three times in pursuit of the perfect site (the criteria of which we weren't too certain of). On our final circuit, Tim dropped his bike telling me he was off to phone Guy and Clare for some help and knowledge to make the decision ;-)

Spot chosen, we patted ourselves on the back for pitching the tent and producing edible fair yet again. The day was crowned by a final cup of tea watching the sun go down on the beach...

Day 9: Astoria - Oswald West State Park, 64km

2008-05-10T19:42:00.000+01:00

Today we had been promised good weather, but as we awoke from our slumber to enjoy good chat over breakfast with Pam and David our hosts, the grey skis outside just did not look appealing. Of course we can't be known as fair weather cyclists, so after a quick Internet visit we finally used our ten cups of coffee to fuel us along our way.

Almost with heavy hearts we left Astoria with our first stint along Highway 101 and over yet another exposed bridge. As we pedalled over, lost to the roar of the wind and traffic I found myself singing Bon Jovi - 'Wo, we're half way there, wo-oh, livin' on a prayer, take my hand and we'll make it I swear' - I think this was my subconscious screaming loud and clear.

With a few detours, our day was spent entirely on hwy 101, through Glenwood and Gearhart. At Seaside we turned off and caught our first glimpses of a glorious beach. The best thing was there was far better to come. I was just so excited to finally see the Pacific Ocean.

Leaving Seaside, heading for high ground and leaving behind the ominous Tsunami Evacuation route signs (which don't always seem to point to high ground), we circled Ecola State Park. Having got over it's similarity in spelling to a dangerous bacteria, I was in childish awe that it was the location for many a scene in the Goonies, including the cafe and sea stacks. The reality was a stunning landscape - in all it's wind swept glory.

We pulled off 101 into Cannon Beach where we refuelled on clam chowder and turkey sandwiches. To our great delight when we left our little organic cafe the grey skies had disappeared to leave us bathed in glorious sunshine.

Back on 101, I could not stop saying wow with every corner we turned. The spectacular views just kept coming - and they dulled the pain of the climbs into insignificance. Through Arch Cape we entered our first tunnel. With the lonely planets guide in mind:

'the deafening noise traffic makes inside is alarming'

we pressed the cyclist warning button activating flashing lights to warn vehicles of our presence, and cycled in. Out the other side, and still with the same level of hearing (i.e. Tim still only detecting the spoken word in pitches above and below mine) we ploughed up a 2 mile climb. Our reward was the amazing setting of Oswald West State Park in a pretty wooded area. Walking down from the road, we snaked through shafts of sunlight as they broke through the trees.

400 m or so along the drop, we came across a small labyrinth of 30 or so camp pitches. With two to chose from we went for the one by the toilets, shunning the post next to a group of hippies attempting to light a fire with two sticks and some string - interesting though they may have been there is only so much two Londoners can cope with and sleeping to cum-by-ya was not one of them.
Tent pitched we hiked down to a stunning cove, scattered with bonfires and surfers. With our first tent sleep looming we made a feast of pasta reminiscent of student times and swilled down big mugs of brew. The guys next to us returned and as we looked on in envy, lit a fire! As they engulfed us with smoke the catalyst was set and they invited us round their camp fire, and fuelled us with beer.

Friday 2nd May: Sightseeing

2008-05-10T19:32:00.000+01:00

Breakfast followed the same fashion today. More amazing dishes including an apple cinnamon slice. I found myself wishing we were being served the usual huge portions but that would of course have been gluttonous.

Our first activity for the day was a walk around the historic houses of Astoria - like Port Townsend there are beautiful houses and a ripe history which included the movement of many houses from location to the next - I am thinking this may be where America's love of RVs stemmed from.

Our walk then took us along the water front, past the east mooring basin (featured in the Goonies) where many noisy, smelly sea lions live, and onto Pier 39 where we had beer and burgers next to an old cannery and yet more coffee in the Coffee Girl Cafe to fuel our caffeine habits.

Caroline, I saw this in the cannery and thought of you:

We considered getting the trolley (tram) back along the front but the sun was shining and we couldn't leave without seeing the Goonies house ;-) Back in town we picked up our bikes, drank coffee in the Astoria Coffee house and had the most amazing (yet huge) meals in the Urban Cafe to the sound of live music.

The Gonnies house:
Tim pre-hair and beard cut!!

In pursuit of an early night to prepare us for the next leg of our cycling, we had nice long soaks in the bath and finally managed to stay awake long enough to watch the Goonies. Being of a different generation, Tim had never seen it - so it was like educating him on my childhood!

Brownies for Breakfast

2008-05-10T19:20:00.000+01:00

Breakfast was a bizarre yet fantastic affair today. Fruit was followed by omelette with roast potatoes then chocolate brownies. It was exquisite although we felt like we were having Sunday lunch for breakfast. Tim's pannier rack broke yesterday so we took the bikes into the local bike shop for a service. The guys recommended Oswald West State Park for camping later on in our trip, although I was a little dubious after he said cycling along the hwy 101 bridge into Astoria was exhilarating!

We checked out the local library for Internet but it was so busy that we left and found a tanning bar with good cheap Internet access! After an hour of furious typing we decided lunch was on the cards. Just as we were about to leave Tim accosted a guy who had cycled up to the shop. With his touring beacon on, Tim had found a guy called Jim who was about to start a transamerica trip in less time than we have to cycle the west coast ;-) Astounded and intrigued by his plans, we arranged to meet in the local later on that evening.

After lunch we had the chore of laundry and yet more blog writing. Whilst Tim has three months off work I am beginning to find the cathartic, yet time consuming task of the blog like a full time job - hours-wise any way. Chored finished we decided to climb up to the Astoria Tower from where we had yet more fantastic views of our surroundings.

Back down the slope, having worked up quite a thirst for beer, we dropped ourselves down in the Fort George and enjoyed a few hours of bike chat with Jim before eating in the Silver Salmon. The night before we had been upset that the Fort George could not provide us dessert. The barman had told us he had made some that day so once Jim headed off we ducked back into the pub and devoured two desserts!

Sleepy and full of beer we decided to watch the Goonies but after 10 minutes we were both fast asleep!

Day 8: Longview - Astoria, 90km

2008-05-01T23:52:00.001+01:00

Today we passed into the promised land of Oregon with the sun shining, although we experienced several seasons in one day.

The route took us along route 4 in Washington, where yet again it poured with rain (I'm sorry to always talk about the weather). The road was exposed and suddenly the logger trucks were ten a penny. I was cycling so close to Tim that by the time we hit Cathlamet I was covered in mud.

We stopped outside a cafe where the owner came out and gave me a towel to wash my face with. We pulled our wet shoes off to regain the feeling in our feet and settled down for soup and cakes.

To cross into Oregon we took a ferry from Puget Island over to Westport. As we came out of the cafe I noticed the ferry was one an hour. It was 12:47 and we had three miles to pedal. I hit almost 40km/hr on the flat. With the load of panniers I was pretty surprised with myself. With one minute to spare we made it onto the ferry and 12 minutes later we were in Oregon.

Turning a corner our first long climb came into view, perfectly timed with Tim getting another flat. We lazily fixed it and headed up the 2.5mile climb along route 30. The climb was actually quite enjoyable - I am now finding them a nice change to the monotony of straight roads. Four long climbs later we were pulling into Astoria. The views over the Columbia River were immense but our enjoyment was frequently stunted by the number of trucks flying past. All other vehicles are great to cyclists but the lumber trucks don't take any prisoners. It transpires that they are paid by the load which goes some way to explaining their questionable speeds and mentalities.

Finally in Astoria I sent Tim into the visitor's centre where 5 minutes later I found him getting a little frustrated (although of course not outwardly) by the worlds slowest guy who to boot wasn't really telling Tim anything of use. We looked at a brochure for a Bed and Breakfast on Franklin and 15th which looked beautiful and off we went. When we got there we had to phone a number and the kindest lady, Pam, came and showed us into the best room yet with a cast iron bed and bath. Minutes later we were sinking into a hot tub complete with bubbles - Chandler from Friends style, although I didn't have a battleship to keep Tim happy. That said he splashed around with delight.

The best thing - the place has 750 dvds and it transpires the Goonies was filmed here! How exciting. After beers from the local served in jam jars (!) we crawled into bed and watched Fargo - hilarious.

Today i had an epiphany with my saddle - it turns out I am now more comfortable on my saddle than I am sat on a normal seat. Stopping for a drink along the route today I had to lay down on the floor as I just couldn't find the seats comfortable. I hope this doesn't go on as i am not sure we would get many guests in London if we converted all our chairs to saddles...

Day 7: Centralia - Longview, 95km

2008-05-01T23:33:00.000+01:00

The hotel gave us a hearty breakfast of yet more Oatmeal, toast and fruit and sent us on with some packed sandwiches. If I lived in this area I would visit over and over again - the hotel was so quirky and the room was also only 50 bucks - you could pay that in the UK for two people in a hostel.

Today the rain well and truly got us! I guess it was time we got a complete drenching in the middle of the day. As we pulled into Toledo (along Jackson Highway) the skies opened and we dived into the nearest cafe - Betty's place - we thought possibly this was a sign. No guessing what we did - yes we drank coffee, and in a moment of madness we ordered a burger and chips to share. Now it wasn't a big burger but it was definitely on a par with MacDonald's. It is funny how much we enjoyed it considering neither of us would ever admit to indulging in MacDonald's!

When the rain stopped off we went, but as we came along the Cowlitz River it just rained and rained and rained. The landscape was ravaged by the rain. The river was wide and swelling with the deluge from the skiea, but as we were now wet through we cycled on, putting in the miles to get us to Longview.

We got chased by yet more dogs. This time one came either side of us but they weren't stupid (very surprisingly) and didn't want to come near our wheels. Funny how everyone has mentioned bears, cougars, snakes etc and our only problems have been from the good old domestic dog!

From Castle Rock we followed the 411 into Kelso. The road was busy and steep at times and we were tiring. We have been promised so much about the Oregon coastline that we are cycling in a style akin with dot to dot. We can't wait to see some windswept beaches and go swimming in the freezing pacific ocean - everything from now is just on route to this place.

We had decided to stay in Longview, as after two flats we were out of gas canisters and inner tubes so needed to replenish our supplies. In Kelso the tourist board gave us the address of Hudson Manor Inn in Longview. The owner was funny - very Cookie Guggelman Fleck from 'Best in Show'. They pointed us to JT steak house where the food was divine. I guess everybody has a different meaning for such a word - mine is a Colnago single speed and hers was obviously steak house food.

Day 6: Shelton - Centralia, 100km

2008-05-01T23:09:00.000+01:00

Breakfast today was in a great little cafe called (I think) Nita's cafe, run by Nita for the past 40 or 50yrs. Inside we were served by a lady, who at first seemed a little, well.., not on the ball but we soon realised she was just a little dry in humour - not something we have come across much here. We had massive bowls of oatmeal, fruit and toast and of course the ubiquitous cups of bottomless coffee (I justify that they are good for the cycling).

Today's cycle was fairly dull - no great vistas, or climbs or descents - just Steady Eddy all the way to Centralia. The weather was continually overcast but it never came down on us. The roads were straight and relatively boring. This cycle felt like an exercise in getting from A to B. After Shelton we were worried that Centralia may be equally unexciting. You should not of course judge a book by it's cover, but when there is nothing but you and your bike for hundreds of miles you have to think about something ;-) Talking of which Tim has taken to chanting times tables at moments of difficulty, where as I have resorted to recording my journey in km but writing my route cues in miles so that I can convert the numbers as I am cycling along! It is good to keep the mind active - if I was better at multi-tasking then maybe I would knit or read a book.

At the mid-point we got yet another flat. This time we were mighty quick at changing the flat. It looked like it was going to rain and we had seen a few snakes so I was keen to help this time ;-) Cycling parallel to route 12 the areas started to become more rural. Through Elma and Oakville I lost count of the number of dogs that ran to the end of their leashes or into the wired fences caging them in, attempting to get at our heels. It is amazing the turn of speed to you can make when they make it onto the road and chase you for a few hundred yards. In yet more 'I'm alright Jack' style, this time I pedalled off like speed lightening leaving the chivalrous Tim to deal with the danger of savage dogs...

As we cycled through Rochester the houses became nicer and the chase dogs relented. My heart rate stopped hitting the roof and things look optimistic. We made Centralia with no more incidents, apart from finding the visitor centre didn't actually exist in the Amtrak station (good old lonely planets). We cycled a block down and happened upon a great hotel called the Olympic Club Hotel and Bar. Each room commemorates a significant character from the Olympic Club's history, the most famous of whom is Roy Gardner, the notorious train robber captured in the hotel in 1921.

The rooms had brilliant prose about your rooms character. Our room only had a skylight for daylight but it's darkness exuded a certain charm. The down side was the almighty racket the Amtrak trains make passing through stations, but after curry and two desserts we slept like logs.

Day 5: Seattle - Bremerton - Shelton, 45miles

2008-05-01T22:38:00.000+01:00

After our initial antics in Bremerton a few days ago, we decided to have a lie in and get a ferry at 10:15, ensuring we were fully rested before tackling Bremerton again. The ferry journey was a nice hour of further relaxation, then came the hard work. Having got onto the correct road, within 5 minutes we were lost. Every time we got to a junction the book (or so we thought) told us to take an impossible direction, unless of course we fancied cycling into a naval yard (was this another of Tim's plans..?). After dithering for a few minutes we figured we may as well just go along route 304 and onto route 3, joining the map a few miles away. This was a brilliant plan - we cut 5 miles off the planned trip, two steep climbs and woke ourselves up dealing with speeding trucks. By some fluke we turned off the road at the first available point and we were back on route.

Fluke achieved, we cycled 10m and bang - Tim got a flat. I guess this may be retribution for the unplanned shortening of our trip. The offender of the heinous crime, with a healthy bounty on it's head was a big tack..

A man's work is never done:

Flat fixed off we set again until the hunger pangs started. Sharing a sandwich, out of nowhere it started to rain. Tim 'Jack' (of 'I'm alright') McCaul thrust his sandwich and helmet into my hands in a rush to get his waterproof on. I on the other hand stood there getting wet ;-) Honestly.

Like speeding bullets, we seemed to beat the clouds and ride out the other side to enjoy sunshine. Happy that we were far enough ahead of the rain we turned onto route 106 (off the old belfair highway) until we hit one of our biggest climbs so far, up Trails road. In reality it wasn't too bad - just the toughest so far. In celebration we stopped at Mason Lake County Park and laid out on a pontoon eating our way through yet more carbs. On the shore were three generations teaching and learning to fish. It was was cool seeing them cast off (or is that knitting) and ending up in the reeds.

Our lunch breaks seem to be shortening every day and after 15 minutes we carried on around Mason Lake. As we pass through these areas, two things strike you - the houses and surroundings are beautiful, but what do people do here? It is hard to know where they could commute to or what they could do in these idylls. Maybe they are all inspired writers and artists or bicycle tourers dodging the realities and hard work of life.

10 minutes later and all these wonderment's had deserted me. Instead, we were dealing with torrential rain as we cycled on to Shelton. Luckily the route was undulating and largely along wooded roads so although we were soaked, the rain was our only battle ;-)

In the heart of Shelton we pulled into a motel and I had a flash back to Cormac recommending (maybe in jest) that we eat in Blondies restaurant. It could have been because of the rain, but Shelton was not a great place and the motel was the only one so far that had said no to us taking our bikes in to the room. This is funny really as it was also the worst motel we have been in! There was, however, hot water, a comfortable bed and a restaurant in walking distance so we were happy.

The Shelton Visitor Centre - Andy I thought you may think this was cool...

Seattle in a Whirlwind

2008-05-01T19:57:00.000+01:00

Yet again I am behind on the blog so I will summarise the couple of days we spent in Seattle to one entry.

Day one we decided it was time to invest in a mobile phone so that if we get lost again we wouldn't have to keep asking strangers for help - although of course I think they like helping people here. Tim sent me off to get a phone and he (ahem) went off to the Arup office to catch up on some work.. I mean friends. We met later on in the afternoon and Cormac Deavy took us to the 75th floor of their building where we got the most amazing views over Seattle.

The next five hours were spent in true Arupian style - in the pub. I can't remember all that much although the photos should paint enough of a picture. Thank you Graham and Cormac for the raging hangover I had the next day!

Tim captivating yet more young female engineers - what a charmer ;-)

Double Irish trouble:
Later on in the night...

Waking up Sunday morning I had a bit of a lie in whilst Tim took care of the laundry ;-) By 11 I had managed to muster the energy to get out of bed and fight the day and hangover whilst sightseeing around Seattle. We visited the Library (very cool), had a trip on the monorail, sat in the sun outside the Experience Music Project (Jimi Hendrix' smashed guitar) and Seattle Needle, and wandered around the Pike place market.

The library:

Wonders never cease in this place:

The sun was shining and we were enjoying having a day of rest.

See ya later:

Day 4: Port Townsend - Bremerton - Seattle, 65 miles

2008-04-25T23:19:00.000+01:00

After our much needed day of rest yesterday, we left Port Townsend before 9am and were practically flying along for the first couple of hours. The hills were gentle for our rejuvenated legs and the wind seemed negligible... We cycled through Port Hadlock, Port Ludlow and onto Paradise Bay where a young guy on a Trek Madone pulled out in front of us. To our amusement/glee, unloaded he managed to slow us down from around 25-30 km/h to a mere 20 m.p.h. If only there had been wood to touch when we thought to ourselves how we had finally cracked this cycling malarkey!

With 6 miles to go until we hit a bridge and a state park a few miles further, we decided to head on and stop for lunch later. As we approached Hood Canal, we were anxious (although in hindsight I would say blarsey - sorry i can't work out how to spell this) about the bridge that would take us across. To quote our lonely planets guide:

'Between the parks, Floating Hood Canal Bridge has a narrow, debris-strewn shoulder, busy traffic and a slippery metal rail angled across cyclists' path near its center. Signs advise walking this section but there is nowhere safer to walk. It would be more sensible to continue riding, carefully cross the rail, and get off the bridge as soon as possible'

I am not sure how to put into words quite how true that paragraph was. Reading it the evening before I laughed to myself. Reading it again this evening I wanted to cry ;-) Onto the bridge we went and I almost got blown sideways onto the grating (which apparently is lethal in rain). We were offered a small respite as the bridge was raised to allow a boat through. I am not sure gale force winds in the middle of an open straight really do constitute respite, however. As you can imagine waiting 10 minutes again for the bridge to be lowered meant there was now a huge line of traffic (read: noisy huge vehicles - passenger and cargo) sitting behind us. Finally we moved on, cars flying past. I felt like Mary Poppins waiting to happen - one extra large gust of wind and I was going to be carried away. Following the lonely planets suggestion we cycled on until we entered a single lane strictly telling cyclists to get off and walk.... The shoulder was not much wider than my bike! If I had the energy to cry maybe I would have done but I was concentrating so hard on getting off the bridge that there was no time for such luxuries... Once through the walking section Tim wanted to wait til there was a gap - by gap I mean more than 2 seconds in which to get your leg over the bike and both feet securely clipped in. It took a while, and then I sprinted for the line.

A few miles along S.R. 3 we pulled off the road and into Kitsap Memorial State Park - shells of our former selves. With a big woolly jumper on I huddled in the wind and tucked into a sandwich. At least the worst was over and done with...

Of course that wasn't possible. Once back on route to Bremerton the wind reared it's ugly head again right into our faces for the next 20 miles! Passing another U.S. Naval Reservation I felt like all my pedalling was in vain - I say that even enjoying the prerogative of being a woman tucked in nicely behind Tim ;-) I may as well have been pedalling backwards. An hour later we reached the edge of Bremerton where we went off route in search of the Seattle ferry. If we can't follow a route with a map I am not sure how we thought we would follow a route without one ;-)

We made it onto highway 303 after asking a couple of local kids for directions. As we pedalled further into Bremerton the wind was howling and joy of joys there was yet another bridge. As we entered I saw the sidewalk and bailed onto it. Tim the fearless warrior however battled on. Needless to say when he got to the other side he had no idea where I was and panicked (bless) started walking back over the bridge. As we cycled on, the hard shoulder disappeared and we had no idea where the ferry was. With dwindling spirits suddenly a sign came into view and we knew we were on the right tracks. After a lot of faffing we made it onto the ferry and settled down for the hour journey.

The story of today doesn't end here. Last night we had booked a room for three nights in a bed and breakfast. It taken us about 30 minutes to work out how to use our phone card on the hotel phone - yet again any resemblance of intelligence seemed to have escaped us. Eventually I put Tim through to the equivalent of 118 118, and a rather bemused lady on the end told us which number to use.... Having booked the room the guys told Tim it was on 18th street - cool - apart from when we cycled to 18th street (having taken a wrong turn up what felt like a vertical hill) we realised that I had written an address on Belmont Avenue...

So here started yet another saga. We went to the number I had written down, but on 18th street - there was no guest house here. I sent Tim into an old peoples home to beg them for the use of their phone. We couldn't get through though so we cycled to Belmont Avenue - the house was derelict! We cycled to Broadway in the hunt for coffee, cakes and yet more phones. I sat outside Peet's coffee, watching the local methadone users looking for somewhere to shoot up, as Tim went in to ask for help. The girls took him under their wings, hunting the Internet for our guest house and then ringing numerous places. Eventually they found an address for somewhere that matched the name we had. They even rang the place for us (on a different number to what we had) and checked this was the right place.

Two hours after we had landed in Seattle we finally found our bed for the next three nights, and a lovely place it was too.

Mentally and physically shattered we wolfed down pasta and wine and crawled into bed.

Bagpipe Serenade

2008-04-25T23:06:00.000+01:00

After almost a week in the states I was beginning to get upset that I hadn't yet been asked for I.D. in a bar - I have always been told that they ask you even if you look 40 so I was nearing panic stations thinking I must actually look 50 (Although of course all you 50 yr olds out there are beautiful). It was with great delight that I was finally asked for I.D. in the maddest bar yet - old guys sat at the bar, stuffed animals on the walls and a little hut to go and get pizza from. The lady actually asked Tim if his girlfriend, er wife, we acquaintance had any I.D. which made it that much funnier.

Apres beer and having devoured yet more pasta and of course cake, we left the restaurant to hear the dulcet tones of what Tim was convinced was a bagpipe band complete with drummers. Round corners we ran and down great flights of stairs onto a viewing pontoon that looked out over Admiralty Inlet to be met by one lone bagpiper - his duff notes obviously mimicking that of a drum... In a crazy, late night, beer fuelled kind of way it was peaceful - Lazy Port Townsend behind us and the racket of a guy obviously chucked out of the house by a much aggrieved partner, to practice his bagpipe. There was even a lady Irish dancing with her dog...

Port Townsend

2008-04-23T22:20:00.000+01:00

Our morning started with breakfast delivered to our door in a picnic hamper. After Watching the news and drinking endless cups of coffee we happened upon a very lazy plan for the day - residing in Port Townsend to rediscover both our sanity, and our body parts. It was time to pause the transience of the trip.

Port Townsend is a Victorian seaport and arts community. It is the oldest town on the Olympic Peninsula and competed with Seattle for supremacy in Puget Sound trade until the 1890 cancellation of a rail link with Portland stopped this. Because of it's history there are large clapboard houses on every street - some very grand and frequently having housed famous dignitaries.

All day we have ambled around, from historic house to Presbyterian church and coffee shop. The following photos are a random but accurate stream of our day.

Multicoloured fire hydrant:

Cool house nestling at the top of a big hill:

A very big tree and a very hairy paddy:

Not sure what to say, the white markings on the side were bones, and the red on the front fake blood - I didn't want to get too close:
Theatre house:

This one is for Guy and Claire - a Volvo Amazon:

The deers are obviously very tame here, as this was the third one we came across:

A mailbox:

A Pooch Cafe - I guess it does what it says on the tin:

Having rested for today we will head off to Bremerton tomorrow, catching a ferry over to Seattle where we will have another couple days of rest.

Day 3: Anacortes - Port Townsend, 40 miles

2008-04-23T20:07:00.000+01:00

After catching up on the blog, our day started with a cruise along the coast, past the San Juan ferry and onto the first climb of many. Day four of cycling and although none of the hills were of immense proportions the muscles were putting up resistance. Winding through yet more woodland we came up to Deception Pass State Park. As we got onto SR 20 the hard shoulder was closed, but with only one workman for a few hundred metres, we decided to feign ignorance and pedalled straight along it. The road was far too narrow and the scenery too beautiful to spend the cycle worrying about trucks flying past us.

The crazy thing here is that any vehicle coming up behind you sounds like a huge Juggernaut. I have lost track of the number of times it has in fact been a pick up.

At the end of the road works we had to lift our bikes (panniers and all) over the concrete barriers and onto the Deception Pass Bridge where we were treated to a sidewalk only just wide enough to take our loaded bikes, and which protected us from the traffic by a thin wire. The views were, however, worth the trek.

Once off SR 20 we came back into countryside with undulating hills. As soon as we had lost the noise of the traffic we were met by the booming noise of jets as we circled a U.S. Naval Reservation on Whidbey Island. They were flying so low that it felt like they were going to land on our heads - I even had a perverse urge to wave.

The route swept down along the Strait of Juan De Fuca where we enjoyed a few minutes of flat terrain, rudely interrupted by a steep shock of a hill up to Coupeville via Penn Cove. Penn Cove was surrounded by clapboard houses with creeks in their front yards, and the hills were so short and gentle that we soon started to pick up our speed. Through Coupeville we barely stopped to think - the roads were easy and we knew there were only 5 miles to Fort Casey and the Port Townsend ferry. With absolutely no prior planning we made it to the ferry with 2 minutes to spare. On we got and 30 minutes later we were off again in hunt of a visitors centre.

In the background of the photo below you can just make out the snow capped Olympic Mountain

The downtown Bishop Victorian Hotel was recommended. After getting lost (by following a mistaken address this time) we stumbled into the hotel where we were met by a lovely lady who got us set up with a room and a place to store our bikes.

Once settled we went up the road to yet another nice restaurant called Fountains Cafe where we ate locally caught fish.

Port Townsend itself features a streetscape of restored 19th-century buildings along a waterfront with views of Cascade and Olympic Mountains. For the first time since reaching America we have seen more than just ourselves walking along the street, although the men on their mowers are still prevalent.

Day 2a: San Juan Island, 35 miles

2008-04-23T05:56:00.000+01:00

As you can see our mileage has greatly decreased since day one. In an attempt to not fly through every area we came to, we took a ferry over to San Juan Island. The sun was shining and the one hour ferry journey past various other islands including Lopez and Orcas was a welcomed moment of relaxation. The islands were beautiful, and we were treated to a couple of dolphin jumping along side us. As ever a couple of people got chatting to us about our trip and a fellow cyclist checked we knew where we were going... Of course we knew, we had the lonely planets guide for this side trip. Of course this meant yet again we got lost.

The trip took us out of Friday Harbor, along undulating hills to Roche Harbor (and old lime kiln area). We stopped for a cup of tea - an Irishman can go no longer than a couple of hours before replenishing - giving Tim time to look at boats and their surroundings..

Just as we were leaving a guy approached us asking what we were up to and how we were finding our bikes. It transpired he had taken two and a half years to cycle from Alaska to Argentina, broken by three months of kayaking in the middle! It is funny when you realise how many people are out there doing crazy challenges. He had largely done the trip alone but rightfully said 'the bike is an ambassador' - everyone waves at you as you go by and people cycle across intersections to see what we are up to.

Rest over we cycled back up on to the circuitous route we were following and made it up some tough enough hills. One was rewarded by sea views, had we of course not got lost and ventured into the middle of the island. Being lost on a bike in America is difficult one as you see so few people outside of a car. In a moment of indecision we took a right turn in the direction we thought we wanted to go and came across a lady on a bike who gave us concise directions down to the last hill incline and length. For the next few hours we went up and down, past houses with lakes in their front yards, alpacas and sea scapes.

Once back in Friday Harbor we settled down in a cafe where a guy was playing his guitar. A couple of coffees down we retraced our steps onto the ferry and back into Anacortes where we had dinner in a great restaurant called Adrift.

Day 2: Bellingham - Anacortes, 40+ miles

2008-04-23T05:08:00.000+01:00

At about 8am we woke from a deep slumber and tried to raise ourselves out of bed... I could barely move my back was so sore. I tried to pick my shoes up off the floor but the floor was so far away that I improvised by flicking them up onto the bed with a kick of my leg! Both of us felt like we had been on a saddle for too long the day before and the thought of getting on a bike again so soon after was a little daunting.

That said we got out of bed and limped 10 minutes down the road - carcasses of our former selves - to the Old Town Cafe. In a fit of self indulgence i ordered hotcakes. When they arrived they were the size of big plates - all good for cycling I guess.

On the way down we had been cornered by another local outside the bike shop, telling us about his amazing wireless speedo! He was very impressed by his bike from Hawaii and wanted to tell us all about it. We were beginning to think Bellingham locals were a little on the eccentric side. On the way out of Bellingham we stopped to pick up a bar bag and once again we got stopped by the guy who once again wanted to tell us about his speedo and the great expense of his bike. We kept trying to walk off but to no avail until a girl working in the shop came out and kindly interrupted him. I guess we should have been a little kinder to him...

Once again we got lost cycling out of Bellingham - you would think that with two degrees and a certain level of common sense between the two of us, that we could follow directions on the painfully simple gridiron road system of America. Not true. Luckily we only had to reclimb one steep descent. The next few hours took us up winding hills, through woodland, past Larabee State Park and alongside Samish bay until we reached Bow, after 15 minutes of cycling along the flat into yet more head wind. We stopped for lunch in Rhododendron cafe where we had chicken curry soup (curry, rice and all, with stock added!) and blueberry cobbler.

Again we started to pedal, through Edison, over Samish River and along Padilla Bay Shore Trail just after Bay View. This was pretty flat terrain but it has to be said that the hill climbing was generally more enjoyable! It gave a good excuse to part company with the saddle and was generally along secluded roads protected from the howling wind. With a few stints along State Road 20 we came to Fidalgo Bay and the outskirts of Anacortes. We took a gamble and followed a path which crossed the bay, taking us straight into town centre. Stopping along the bridge, one side was beautiful woodland:

The other side was a lovely industrial plant:

Bizarrely it was still peaceful.

Once into Anacortes we cycled out to a road which our lonely planets guide told us had a lovely Victorian B&B. Blatantly it is wise to check when reading from a book published in 2002 that it's contents are still current and up to date. Needless to say we had to pedal back into town and checked ourselves into Cap Sante motel, complete with a marina behind it. I think Tim had planned this wisely, although I am not sure what the appeal was of the leash free dog pen across the road...

Anacortes itself again felt like Ghost Town. We walked out along the main road and there was no-one to be seen. I was waiting for the spaghetti western music to play as tumble weed rolled down the street. It appears there is a strong quilting community here as every other shop was stacked high with them, or books about them, or material to make them. As we sat in a great Italian we looked out onto the street. All you could see were big 4x4s, people getting out of them and stepping into restaurants. During the day we have only seen a few people out on the streets and very randomly they all seem to have been mowing the lawn.

Where is everyone?