Category: BMW 1250 GSA

Epilogue

We arrived at Whistler, a little bit north of Vancouver, three weeks before we were due to fly home.

We had a lovely Airbnb overlooking this park and we rested and contemplated our next move. Susan wanted a photo in front of the Olympic rings because she thought she deserved a gold medal for putting up with me. Oh, she’s got such a sense of humour!

So what’s the best thing to do in these circumstances – when the big journey is done, when the goals have been achieved, when we’ve smashed our way through the Yukon and Alaska, when you’re now ready for some rest and relaxation?

Well, you go on a motorcycle holiday of course!

So we left Canada and headed back down to the USA and the Oregon coast.

Our first stop on the Oregon Pacific Byway was Astoria and that’s where Susan and I had serious problems with our relationship. I’m being very open and honest here.

Now, I know what you’re thinking – such an arduous journey over the last four months was bound to raise underlying tensions, bring frustrations to the fore and cause life defining relationship ruptions.

And who was the root cause of this trouble, you ask?

Well, it was Big Bad Dog Susan of course!

I know, I know, I see you rasing your eyebrows – you’re not bloody surprised!

So what happened? What happened? Tell us what the Big Bad Dog did to rupture your relationship?

Well this is not an easy story to tell and I choke up trying to write this! Please be patient with me whilst I explain (quiet sobbing).

It all started when we stayed at a most wonderful Airbnb hosted by Trish and Thaddeus. Delightful.

At the end of our stay, Thaddeus, a flight instructor, offered to take us up in his light aircraft over the Columbia River. Susan was excited to go up in the plane and her enthusiasm was palpable.

Note: if it’s not got two wheels I tend to be a bit more calm about transport options.

Just look at the Big Bad Dog grinning with Thaddeus before the flight.

So let me tell you, let me tell you this – when Thaddeus asked who was sitting in the front, Susan’s enthusiasm boiled over so much she shouted ‘ME!’

She even raised her hand! Hear that! Like at school – me, me, me! Bloody teacher’s pet!

I was lost for words. I was stung into inaction. I was overwhelmed with despair as I quietly, meekly, climbed into a half seat at the back that was only big enough for a small child!

Do you realise the implications? Has the story got meaning for you?

Yup, you’ve got it – I had become the bloody pillion passenger!!!!

After 12,000 miles of being in command, lion of the road, looking forward to the horizon and beyond, scanning for adventure and danger, with only the road ahead and Susan behind, here I was looking a this …

I’m sitting in the back with my knees around my ears like a big seething toad.

Then it got so much worse!

Yes, that’s Susan flying the bloody plane!

Sorry for swearing again but it was quite an emotional time for me in the pillion seat and Susan flying faster than a motorcycle.

Honestly, it was terrifying. If I had I known she was going to fly I would have worn my boom boom jacket and my lovely helmet!

Thaddeus even asked her if she would like to land! Well I nearly bailed out there and then! Thankfully, Susan passed back the controls and we had a safe landing.

After the flight, we had a couple of hundred miles on the bike down the Oregon coast. It was a very quiet journey with huffy hot pants back in front.

Susan is, of course, very empathetic. Well, that’s another way of saying she knows how to get me out of a huff – she bribes me with beer!

So for the next two weeks we toured Oregon and it’s countless local independent breweries. Yes I did say two weeks! This wasn’t a huff I was going to give up easy once I had worked out a way to milk it!

In Eugene, we hit the colourful hotspots.

I bought a ‘reasonably’ expensive 3 year old experimental American whiskey after the salesman gave me 15 free tasting shots of whiskey. Some were so strong that by the end I genuinely was having trouble speaking because my lips were numb.

Then we hit a backwater bar with a ‘cowboy’ teuchter band.

Now I appreciate it’s not the correct thing to say but there’s really no way to describe better – not one person in this photo is the ‘full shilling’!

Other patrons, outwith the photo, were too risky to photograph.

I highlight the lady on the left with the cat ears who winked at everyone, the guy in tie dye shirt in the centre who didn’t stop dancing even when the band had a break and the guy that confused me for a while – the black haired guy with the two tone jacket in the photo.

In Scotland we call would call him a ‘jakey’. Oh I know it is a ‘bad’ word to use but it’s an effective and efficient adjective in this instance.

He had his worldly possessions in bags at the side which meant he could do multiple clothing changes during each song.

Now I like to keep track of the zoomers when I’m in a zoomers situation. You can imagine my concern when my attention was distracted and the black haired guy dancing with a stick vanished and a baldy with a tie dye t shirt appeared. Suddenly I’m minus one zoomer and plus another zoomer.

To explain I was distracted by the red haired mother (dancing in the photo) giving her three year old daughter a lager ice cream float.

It was only later I noticed his switching clothes and wig trick. Yup his thick black hair is a wig. Tricky old zoomer.

The music was great. The people were colourful and a bit edgy but, as long as you didn’t stare too much, it was a great place. Kind of like a Weatherspoons in Glasgow where the standards have dropped even further. Yes I know, hard to believe, but there is such a place and that place was here!

Another day, in a town called Bend, Susan and I peaked. This town has the most (30) breweries per head of population in the USA.

We were only there a couple of day but managed 7 different breweries, including the simply magnificent Crux Fermentation Project. Please don’t make me drink beer in Scotland again!

Susan was a trooper. Brewery after brewery. We rebuilt our trust and talked beer and motorcycles. Nobody mentioned flying. Nobody!

Bend, in particular, was great as the weather was perfect. Honestly, being with Susan that couple of days was nearly as good as being out with the guys! Well done Susan!

We did go to the seaside. Susan likes the seaside. I knew if I kept milking it too much my fun would be curtailed and so we endured the seaside. And the best thing I can show you about the seaside is a photo of me.

Seriously, the Oregon coast was lovely and the the roads were motorcycle heaven. What a great motorcycle holiday.

We ended our holiday in Leavenworth. What an interesting town.

Established as a logging town with a freight railway but seriously declined when the railway rerouted in the 1930’s. There was almost nothing left, no lumber mills, no employment, no stores and next to no people.

Then someone had a bright idea – let’s have a Bavarian-Alpine theme town!

The idea came from a guy, who had a cafe in town, and who had served in Bavaria during World War 2. Since then tourism and employment have boomed.

It’s an extraordinary place.

There’s a city order that states all buildings have to have a Bavarian theme. The pubs have imported German beer and German food and even the McDonald’s looks like a chalet!

Tacky yes! Authentic definitely no! But it works in a cheesy sort or way and the tourists flock to it.

After Leavenworth, we crossed back into Canada and are now in Vancouver.

Today was a sad day. The bike has been handed over to the cargo courier.

So let’s finish with some stats for the stats people.

You people who can’t deal with numbers, please just scroll back to the photo of me for a few seconds.

Miles done this trip: 12,606

Hotels, motels, Airbnb : 66

If we add South America:

Grand total North and South America miles: 22,925

Grand total hotels, motels, Airbnb: 125

Grand total border crossings: 26

(okay people who hate stats and have been staring at the photo of me instead can now return).

So, in North and South America we have nearly circumnavigated the world (earth’s circumference at the equator is 24,901 miles).

The co-pilot and I have obviously got some unfinished miles.

See you on the other side.

Arrivederci amigos.

The Icefields Parkway

We headed north from Calgary towards Jasper along the Icefields Parkway, rated one of the top journeys in the world.

It probably isn’t but it’s certainly better than most. How do I know that? Well me and the old girl cycled it in 2014 in the opposite direction.

Truth be told, the ‘engine house’ (stoker) of the tandem was Susan.

Here’s the ‘engine house’ in 2014 contemplating why she brought a passenger on a tandem.

And here’s us passing the same spot, 11 years later.

This time around I’ve got an ‘engine’ that needs less maintenance!

Ooooooh that’s nasty ‘big helmet heid’. Remember the problems and heartache the motorbike has given you!

Ooooooooh I hear you and you’re absolutely right! And yes, yes I agree – it’s actually the other way around!

So ‘high maintenance’ Clif and ‘low maintenance engine room’ Susan tackled the Icefields Parkway once again and we couldn’t bloody believe it! What couldn’t we believe? We couldn’t believe we had actually cycled these rollercoaster roads through the mountains. Madness!

This time, we had great weather for our journey and the scenery was outstanding.

We even stayed at the same motel and I had a beer with a view.

So you think we’ve got it difficult, at times, on the motorbike? Well have a look at days gone by -there’s no comparison when it comes to hardship.

Here’s the ‘engine house’ in 2014.

That’s the Athabasca Glacier in the background and, thankfully, the snow plough has just been through to clear the road.

Here’s me in front of the same glacier today. Yes, I’m smiling, nae pedaling today!

Let’s have another photo of today’s ‘engine room’ that made the Icefields Parkway journey so pleasant this time.

We loved both trips and wouldn’t change either one. Times of our lives.

So we travelled the 232km Icefields Parkway from Banff to Jasper and thoroughly enjoyed the memories.

In Jasper we had another ‘deid heids’ hotel. Yes, it’s a shame and Susan says she doesn’t like it but they’re deid and there’s nothing I can do but enjoy them. Well you know what I mean!

From Jasper our carefully laid out plan was to head north to Fort Nelson and then west towards Alaska. Sometimes plans have to deal with issues and, unsurprisingly, a big issue arose – forest wildfires! Massive wildfires.

The blue dot is us. The plan is to travel north.

Now there’s a problem when a man has a plan and a plan that he very much likes. He’s proud of his plan. His plan is the best way to accomplish the task. He’s committed to his plan.

Unfortunately, this plan was through two major areas of wildfire. The roads were open though one did have a 100km contra flow and perhaps several hours of waiting on a motorcycle in smoke and embers. No fun.

Even knowing this it took a lot of discussion and hand wringing to finally abandon the plan.

The alternative route north (the only alternative) was the Stewart-Cassiar Highway. It’s more remote with less services, slower and prone to closure.

So the man with no plan had to draft a new plan mapping routes, distances, accomodations, gas stations and food. Then factor in prevailing weather conditions, potential contingencies and so on. Thereby a new 5 stage plan was born.

Leaving Jasper and heading into the Canadian wilderness with a dodgy fuel gauge was, however, a slight concern. But we had a contingency. I love a contingency.

You see we have a petrol bag – a flexible canvas bag with liner, that we’ve carried throughout the Americas. It’s a few years old but it’s been our constant companion, ready to help us, ready to be the saviour. One day I thought I would be telling you the story of the petrol bag that saved our bacon.

So, when we topped the bike up with petrol, before leaving Jasper, I brought the petrol bag into action for the first time, unstrapping it from the pannier where it’s never moved since 2023.

As I’m getting the petrol nozzle ready, Susan turns over the bag to the underside and sees some instructions. Damn I think, I know what’s coming next!

‘Have you read the instructions?’

She knew the answer. She didn’t have to ask that question!

Of course I hadn’t!

But it was too late. I was at the petrol pump, the pump was whirring and I had the nozzle in my hand. Not only that, the pressure was on me as there was a queue of cars waiting, drivers watching.

I should mention, a couple of the petrol stations went up in flames last year during the Jasper forest fires. So there’s always a long queue at this station.

Back to the story.

There I was, petrol pump nozzle in hand, ready to engage and people staring. I mean have you ever seen a person fill a bag with petrol? Neither had they! I was a disaster waiting to happen and they could somehow sense it.

This was no time to read instructions. This was a time for action.

I engaged.

Susan held the bag in a horizontal manner and I pumped. The bag slowly filled with petrol and, when full, I put the cap on. It was actually a bit trickier and messier than that but let’s not get into details.

I got the job done. Who needs instructions?

I’m now wallowing in a self congratulatory manner after a task well done. Susan still thinks I’m an idiot for not reading the instructions but I don’t care. I’m successful.

Then Susan has to go and rain on my parade! Honestly, sometimes I feel she hates to see me happy!

‘It’s leaking, it’s leaking’!

‘Look’ she says pointing to the steady dribble falling onto the garage forecourt.

My self congratulatory world came crashing down. I stared at the dribbling dribble willing it to stop. It didn’t.

I knew I had to take action and get the dribbling bag of fuel away from the petrol pumps. Conveniently, Susan was the one actually holding the dribbling bag.

‘Take it over there’ I said, pointing to the back of the forecourt where there were some bushes.

Susan calmly walked over to the back of the forecourt leaving a trail of petrol behind her.

Meanwhile, I moved the motorcycle away from the petrol pump and gave myself some thinking time. Yes, I’m aware my teammate, my partner, my pillion, is standing with a dribbling bag of petrol but she’s calm. Well as calm as any person can be with a dribbling bag of petrol. The kind of rock you need in a dribbling crisis.

As soon as everyone has stopped staring at us and moved on with what they were doing, I moved in and took control. Susan, of course, gave advice but I sorted it. Well done me.

Oh don’t ask what happened to the bag of petrol! Move on please! Stop being so curious!

Look there were a number of options and I chose one. It wasn’t perfect and if you’re a sensible person it’s, most likely, not the course of action you would have taken.

Now let’s get on, please.

Susan confirmed there were no security cameras and we made our escape. Sorry, I mean, we made a quick departure towards Prince George.

The old plan was dead, long live the new plan.

Cowboys

The Black Hills of Dakota are motorcycle heaven and Sturgis holds the world’s largest motorcycle rally each year.

Thousands of bikers attend (official figure cite around 450,000) but nobody really knows because they don’t count them properly. In reality it’s nowhere near that number but it’s still pretty giganormous.

On the day we visited it was quiet, ghost town quiet.

Well, apart from these guys staying at our roadside motel (there’s a few more bikes in the car park you can’t see).

We unpacked and Susan relaxed in our room, located right in that dark corner beside the bike guys.

We had been allocated a room on the upper level but asked for a change to the ground floor to save me carrying the panniers upstairs. After I saw our new room allocation I wanted back on the upper level but didn’t want to ask for a change again just because I was a namby pamby.

They were all dressed in club leathers looking cool, hard and menacing, with most of the emphasis on menacing. A couple of the guys had t shirts with text that doesn’t need Susan to censor it in this blog. I’ve bloody censored it myself!

I thought I’d better introduce myself, front up and pretend I’m not namby pamby.

First, I gave myself the once over check to make sure the flashing light on my boom boom safety jacket wasn’t visible.

Then I made sure my zip was up and they couldn’t see my padded motorcycle pants.

I then breathed a sigh of relief I had stopped Susan, that morning, from sponging down my bike gear because they needed a ‘good clean’.

I looked like I had travelled. I looked dusty and in need of a good ‘sponging’. There’s no way they’re getting to know I’m a namby pamby.

We talked bikes, the weather, our route and beer. A good biker conversation and I think I pulled off the deception.

When I got back to the room, Susan said her usual ‘ooooooh you’ve been making biker friends again, that’s nice’. We laughed. I didn’t tell her who they actually were until after we left the motel.

You see these guys belong to what is commonly called an ‘outlaw biker gang’ by the department of justice. They’re one of the top ‘outlaw gangs’ in the world and their club history is as bad as you could possibly imagine.

Oh, I could tell you a story or two about our conversation but I won’t. Oh, I could tell you who they were but I won’t. Some things are better left unsaid.

One guy told me he had ridden 1900 miles in 24 hours straight. To be honest, I believed him. If he told you the story you would say you believed him whether you did or not. Trust me you would!

So to be safe, I’m saying nothing until I’m at least 48 hours riding away from these guys and I work that out as 3,800 mIles!

The next day we visited the Sturgis Harley Davidson shop and ‘Big Dog’ sat on her motorcycle throne. Nice.

Then we set off for Deadwood where Susan reciprocated with a photo of me.

Yes, I know – she set me up to look like a dwarf from the Lord of the Rings sitting on a normal sized chair!

Oh the guy looking over my shoulder is Wild Bill Hickok. He was shot and killed in Deadwood in 1876 whilst playing cards. It’s rumoured the cards he was holding included two black eights and two aces – now known as the ‘dead man’s hand’.

Here’s his grave.

I won’t tell you his story, interesting as it is. Instead, I will tell you about this colourful character.

Martha Canary was born in 1856 in a ‘rag tag’ family. She was left an orphan at aged 11 and had to survive by any means, following railroad, military or gold camps.

It’s most likely she earned her nickname ‘Calamity Jane’ because everywhere she went calamity ensued. Along the way she became an alcoholic, swore like it was her first language and joined in on most any dangerous opportunity.

She joined a military expedition and because women were not allowed on such expeditions, she dressed as a soldier. She gained notoriety for this act and was subsequently popularised through regional and national newspaper articles, dime store novels and books. In these days, everyone in America wanted to read stories of the ‘wild west’. Through these exaggerated publications she became larger than life.

It’s been rumoured that she had a romantic relationship with ‘Wild Bill Hickok’ and they were even buried side by side. Whilst they were acquainted, anything more is just a fanciful tale.

Whilst the many tales of her exploits were colourful, it was undoubtedly a hard life. Aged beyond her years, she died of pneumonia at age 47 in 1903.

She would be astonished to know we still talk about her and, as one of the great wild west characters, her memory will always live on.

Deadwood is another great place to visit. It’s full of cowboy stories and tall tales. Nothing is real for the old Deadwood was burnt to the ground several times and washed away by floods in other times.

The saloon where ‘Wild Bill Hickok’ was shot isn’t the place where he was shot but they will still charge you $10 to show you a backroom where it happened.

It’s all a bit of a ‘disneyesque’ creation – fun for a day or two but it’s soon time to move on.

Up in the morning and what did we see.

It’s 0c and the snow is falling. Thankfully the roads are clear – a local explained it’s because, at this time of year, the ground has retained heat.

We thought about staying another day to let it pass but there was a heavy snowfall predicted later that afternoon. Tomorrow didn’t look too good either.

Our planned 170 miles journey that day to Buffalo would lead us to a lower altitude and, hopefully, a few degrees warmer and no snow.

We would like to have waited until mid morning when the temperature rose slightly but the forecast said we had gale force winds in Buffalo at noon.

So we got on the bike.

I made a mistake trying to look after Susan and gave her my fleece top. We look after Susan when it’s hot and we look after Susan when it’s cold.

Yes, I see you shaking your head – thank you for sympathising. My life on the bike is indeed a bloody thermometer nightmare!

Awwww nice guy. Awwww daft guy!

The ‘feels like temperature’ in Deadwood was -7c standing still and I don’t know what it became when riding on the interstate.

I had three tops, boom boom vest, down jacket and my motorbike jacket on. It wasn’t enough. Susan on the other hand tucks in behind ‘big boy’ and is sheltered from the storm. If needed, she puts a hand down near the exhaust to warm.

I couldn’t see for the sleet snow sticking to my visor and our old Wyoming friend, high cross winds, battered us again.

I wanted to make good time and get to Buffalo without stopping before the wind peaked at noon but I had to stop after 90 minutes. I was frozen.

We came off the interstate when we saw a Maccies and nearly fell off at a junction – my arms and legs wouldn’t work fast enough because they were frozen stiff. I held the bike upright, only just, and saved us another £100 to recharge Susan’s boom boom jacket. Nice one frozen stiff man.

Once inside Maccies we warmed for 15 minutes and got back on the bike. No time to linger, only another 100 miles to go before noon.

It was a dual carriageway interstate with a mean elevation of around 5000 feet. The road had sheets of water coming off the mountains and, as it was quiet, and I rode in whatever lane had the least surface water. I had to.

The cars and trucks were all understanding. Not once did I get flashed or tooted for sitting in the outside lane for miles when the inside was ‘clear’ of traffic. Thank you Wyoming drivers! I’m not used to such understanding in the UK.

As the road went over the mountains, it’s bleak and miles from nowhere. We climbed through arctic snowy landscapes but, thankfully, the roads stayed clear of ice and snow.

We missed our noon deadline and suffered the consequences. Gale force freezing winds hit us. They really hit us!

It was terrifying at times. I really don’t exaggerate. But we keep on going because there is no other option.

Each time a hard journey like this happens I say to Susan that will be the worse day we have, it can’t get any harder than that. Then along comes a day like today.

When we arrived at our cheap motel, I sat in the motel room whilst Susan made me a coffee. I couldn’t stop shaking from the cold. I trembled all over.

Here’s Susan with my coffee looking cosy in my fleece.

Susan was mildly amused when she noticed I looked purple. No I wouldn’t let her take a picture – there’s was no way I was getting the name ‘big purple heid’!

That evening we went to the historical saloon in town. I got chatting to a guy at the bar and he said we had just missed hail the ‘size of softballs’ on our road that day.

Sometimes, when you think you’ve been unlucky with the weather you don’t know how lucky you are!

Is This The Way?

Every night I’ve been hugging my pillow.

No these are not the words of a man who has finally broken under the relentless struggle against the highway.

When the day is dawning, on a Texas Sunday morning.

Another clue?

Sha la la la la la la, Sh la la la la la

Got it?

Final clue for this edition of pop master.

Show me the way to ….

Well I’ve handed it to you – we’re heading to Amarillo!

We left Fort Worth in the morning heat and sunshine and finished our journey in the cold and rain. This is Texas and when Texas does cold and rain it does it bigger and better than anywhere else. Even the raindrops are bigger.

By the time we got to Amarillo we were absolutely frozen. We hadn’t properly dressed for this weather and we were two chattering numskulls when we reached our hotel.

After a long hot shower we went for dinner to the place where the old people go – Cracker Barrel.

Cracker Barrel is a restaurant chain and we’ve been before during our cycling trip. I know you would definitely like it.

I like it but Susan hasn’t made her mind up yet. That’s Susan though – I swear she’s still making her mind up about me!

It’s not hip fine dining, it’s just good old home cooking for good old people. You know what I’m talking about – wholesome carbs straight from the freezer to the plate. Food that can be eaten with dentures and doesn’t need a lot of chewing. That’s what us old people like – don’t we?

You can see from Susan’s ‘distant’ expression she’s still not recovered from her freezing bike ride. What a trouper she is! On the other side of the camera I’m looking great.

And that was Amarillo. We didn’t see the town. We didn’t see Tony Christie. We were too damn tired. That’s what happens when you’re old people.

The following day was Amarillo to Santa Fe but we had to delay our start until 11am because of the weather on our road.

We were on the edge of some weather system with tornadoes, large hail and torrential rain. A local told us we were going to be ‘trapped’ in Amarillo for two days.

Show me the way outta Amarillo.

So we waited and watched the weather radar to see what’s passing over the road ahead. When it’s red rain we can’t motorbike. When it’s yellow rain we don’t want to motorbike. When its green rain we just have to get on with it.

We left in green rain and I was soon congratulating my ‘geniusness’ at threading the weather needle.

There was sh*t happening all around us, moving toward us, hitting the road behind us but we kept in the clear. I’m a bloody weather threading god!

Or so I thought, until big God apparently decided I should be brought down a peg or two.

So there I was, wee weather god, speeding along a dual carriageway when big God shoved a batch of weather across our path.

We were at 8000 feet, cruising along in the misty clouds, when big God played his Jack of Spades – heavy clouds rolled in over the interstate faster than you can say ‘oh dear’.

(writer’s note – Susan’s trying to get me to swear less in the blog because ‘not everybody swears’. I’m afraid you lose a little authenticity with my story but ‘what the Big Dog wants …… ‘ well you know how the saying goes by now)

Back to the story. The heavy clouds were rolling in then big God drops the temperature to 2c and throws down some hail. I mean BIG hail.

‘Oh dear’ I say to myself.

At first it was amusing to hear it bounce of our helmets but the amusement quickly faded as it started covering the road. Within seconds the highway was covered in slush.

It’s incredible how quick things change when big God plays his Jack of Spades.

I looked at the ascending interstate ahead. We had another 500 feet to a summit that I couldn’t see. The bike started slipping ever so slightly. It wasn’t good. I didn’t feel good.

Susan wasn’t talking. She knows not to talk when it’s not good. I can’t do talk and ‘not good’ at the same time. I’m a man after all and men can’t multitask.

Big God must have been smiling at my predicament. Not only was the weather crashing, so was my bottle!

But there’s always fight in this old dog, especially this old dog that’s been fed at Cracker Barrell. My carbs were high and energy was flowing. I played my Ace of Hearts.

A large ‘refuge’ layby suddenly appeared through the mist.

It was a split second decision. I braked heavily, almost an emergency stop. Susan crashed into me – that’s Newton’s laws of motion in action.

We’re in. We parked the bike and sought sanctuary in the lee of a large trailer. Yes, I had the foresight to take a photo for you.

Now, the photo doesn’t convey just how terrible it was and but here’s Susan sheltering.

I’ve named this composition:

‘She’s Not Moaning About The Bloody Heat Now’

On the other side of the camera I looked great.

Within minutes this refuge layby was chockablock with heavy vehicles, motorhomes and cars waiting it out.

We stood there for 30 minutes until we decided to leave. Most of the cars were waiting longer but then again they were nice an cosy.

The weather lessened just enough for me to consider going for it. We couldn’t keep standing there as I could see another batch of weather coming towards us over the mountains. I wasn’t going to let big God play his trump card – the Ace of Spades!

We were leaving the interstate at the next junction and, at a cautionary 30mph, we made it. What a relief!

Well it was and it wasn’t.

At this point I must apologise for heaping more of our hardship on you especially when it’s self generated. But if you will read a blog written by a dunderheid then you take the lows with the very occasional high.

So it was a relief when we went up the slip road. It was a relief when we saw a gas station with a coffee shop. It was a relief when we decided to stop and rest. Relief! Breathe!

I hadn’t felt so much relief since ‘idiot with a spanner’ got the main fuse replaced.

Pure relief quickly turned into a nightmare when dunderheid took the wrong road to the garage. We were now on the slip road back onto the interstate!

How did dunderheid manage that? Well we stopped, we peered through the mist, we discussed the road layout, we chose our road. Oh dear we took the wrong road!

I’m sorry, I’m sorry to you people that do swear. I wasn’t really thinking ‘oh dear’ at the time. My thoughts had more f’s than riffraff.

(writer’s note: riffraff is one of the few English words with four f’s. Nothing has five. Read and learn. Read and learn)

I stopped half way down the on ramp. Decisive move dunderheid.

I checked the sat nav and it said continue 5 miles up the interstate, u turn, then 5 miles back. Yeah, that will be shining bright – remember you’re talking to a dunderheid!

Obviously, the sat nav couldn’t see that big God had played his Ace of Spades and black skies were fast approaching. Listen, I’m not talking dark skies, these skies were from Hell itself. You would be scared. I was scared.

Susan was also scared but, to be honest, she was more scared about what dunderheid was going to do next!

Susan volunteers to get off. She’s so quick to bail out. She leaves dunderheid to do what only a dunderheid would do – he makes a three point turn and heads back up the slip road the wrong way.

I hear you mutter to yourself – ‘lucky dunderheid that no vehicles were coming the other way’.

‘Lucky they all stopped’ I reply!

Yes, there was a bit of chaos on the interstate ramp – dunderheid motorcycling and Susan walking, up the off ramp, but that’s the kind of thing that happens when you give a dunderheid the keys to a motorcycle.

When I got to the end of the on ramp Susan jumped on and we rode off – she’s great at bailing back in when the trouble has gone.

Haha, but I suckered her in this time!

I will give her some credit though – it didn’t take her long to realise we were going down a dual carriageway the wrong way!

It was okay though dunderheid was in control. It was the right dual carriageway and we were heading in the right direction. It’s just a minor point that we were on the wrong side of the road.

Yes there were other vehicles. Not many though and in a few hundred metres or more I saw a gap in the central reservation. Smoothly I adjusted our position and we were back. Nice move dunderheid.

In my rear view mirror, I saw big God chasing us with his black sky from Hell. We decided to forego the shelter and coffee in the garage and head onwards. It was also probably prudent we made off from the scene of multiple road violations.

We zoomed off into the distance, left Texas and entered New Mexico where the skies were clear.

Big God learned a lesson that day – he can throw hail, thunder and black skies from Hell but he’s not as fast as two old folk on a motorbike that have been to Cracker Barrell!

We reached our destination at Santa Fe, New Mehico and stayed in an authentic adobe hotel room.

Now I may have mentioned adobe buildings before. I may not have. I’m old and Cracker Barrel has only limited memory rejuvenating powers.

Basically, they’re made of mud bricks. It’s ‘traditional’ and authentic. I wouldn’t wish an adobe motel room on any of my friends who are pansies.

Santa Fe is a lovely town. It was a spur of the moment decision to stay an extra night and visit.

We got the bus into town and it was a bit of an eye opener. It’s America and people don’t get buses. In Santa Fe they do. In Santa Fe the homeless get the bus and run around all day.

I tell no lies. Susan and I were the only people on that bus with a house that night. Yes it’s a mud house but we had a house. On the bus, a few of the homeless were sleeping despite one guy playing the harmonica and singing about taking ketamine. There were a few other unsavoury characters you just made sure you didn’t catch their eye.

My only concern about this whole journey was that the driver let us on for free. I can only assume that Susan looked like one of the homeless. That’s life on the road for you!

The town itself is lovely and if you’re ever in the area then I would encourage you to visit. Please take a taxi though.

Yes mair mud buildings.

We left the town centre after a wonderful day. How did we get home?

Well we took the bus of course!

You have to – life is too short to miss the bus to Santa Fe!

Lone Star State

Texas is bigger and better than anywhere else. Well that’s what Texans say – big ranches, big egos and big hats for their big heads. Actually, damn fine big hats – if only I could carry one on the bike!

It’s the second time we’ve been to Texas, having passed through on our tandem in 2018. I liked Texas then and I love Texas now. It’s not for everyone but then neither am I – just like Texas 🙂

Leaving the lovely San Antonio we made the short 80 mile journey to Austin and it’s magnificent state capitol building.

With a magnificent African American History Memorial in the grounds.

Sitting alongside other statues.

This is a monument to ‘Terry’s Texas Rangers’ who were a group of cavalrymen that fought on behalf of the Confederacy in the American Civil War.

It stands among many other Confederate memorials that lionise and honour Texas’s participation in the Civil War on behalf of the Confederacy, serving as a reminder of how strong Confederate memory maintains a hold on Texas.

Okay, that’s enough of Mr Morality, here’s some Austin Joy.

We sat on plastic reclining chairs and listened to Joy for 45 minutes. Yeah, I know it’s a long video for a blog but please just play, chill, listen and watch Austin life and the world walk on by.

Talking about Austin life walking by, how about new Austin life driving by?

That’s the self driving taxi behind Joy. After successful trials in other cities, they recently arrived in Austin. It’s a strange sight to see a car rolling along city roads with no driver. These taxis are being steadily introduced across American cities and will be in Europe soon.

When they’re at the front of a lane and the lights change to green they accelerate and beat every car away. Of course they’re soon overtaken when cars with drivers break the law and exceed the legal speed limit. Says something about drivers!

Here’s another Austin photo.

Oops sorry wrong one.

Two Susan’s you ask, what’s all that about?

Well, the first one was from when were here in 2018.

I could have given you a photo of myself ‘before and after’ but you would just say ‘oh he’s had a hard paper round the last few years’.

So we left fabulous Austin and moved to Fort Worth. Another great place – well it has to be it’s in Texas. We’re bigger and better than the rest of you! Oops, sorry getting carried away there. Sometimes I’ve got to remind myself I’m a 21st century meterosexual and not a 19th century Confederate sympathiser. Oh jeez there I slip into Mr Morality again. Sorry!

So what do you want to see when you go to Fort Worth? Well of course we want to see cattle and if we’re in Texas we want to see longhorns.

I’ve no idea why they call them longhorns – suppose it’s just Texas saying we’re longer then the rest of you. Well damn right we are!

These are real Texas Cowboys just like Mickey Mouse is real at Disneyworld.

Fort Worth is ‘cowtown’ and cowboys once herded cattle along the Chisholm Trail to factories in Fort Worth where they were ‘processed’ and loaded onto trains to feed America.

I’m going to move on from giving your further details of the millions of cattle ‘processed’ at the Stockyards in Fort Worth in case I turn you vegetarian. I wouldn’t want to have that on my conscience!

So let’s quickly change the subject from cows to sheep. Here’s a photo of sheep.

‘Oh nice old photo but what’s this to do with me not becoming a vegetarian’ you may well ask. Well nothing quite frankly.

I just introduced another animal ‘processing” story with a bit of subterfuge. And now you’ve seen a photo of sheep you’re hooked on my next story. I’m a cunning old meat eating evangelist.

Ah, but there’s one or two of you out there who will notice that all these sheep are not quite the same! Oh yes, the penny is dropping – one of the sheep is a bloody goat!

Yes, yes, unbelievably I’ve got a story about sheep and a bloody goat!

Fort Worth also ‘processed’ sheep and as sheep are herding animals the cowboys came up with a unique way to get them to move from the stockyards to the place where they were ‘processed’.

You would think they would use sheep dogs. No, they didn’t – they’re Texas cowboys, the biggest, the best and the cleverest. Instead they used a goat because sheep like to follow goats!

I know, I know, everytime you read this blog you learn something!

It appears only cowboys know this and our farmers in the UK have been training dugs to do the job for generations. If only they were as intelligent as us cowboys.

Now, there’s more cowboy ingenuity to this story and I will share it with you. We all know goats like to eat anything and so cowboys at the ‘processing’ place gave the goat chewing tobacco. The goat became addicted.

Every time the goat leads sheep to the ‘processing’ place he gets tobacco. So what does he do thereafter? He goes back to pick up more sheep. And so on.

The clever cowboys called the clever goat ‘Judas’.

Us cowboys don’t need highly trained collie dugs to herd sheep. We just need a few goats and some tobacco. Cowboy genius.

Now to show I’m a real Texan cowboy here’s one of my meals

Now let’s set the record straight – Susan’s mountain of coleslaw has come out disproportionately large in the photo.

There’s over a kilo of the most tender smoked brisket, ribs and chilli sausage you will never have had unless you’ve been to Texas. It’s BBQ food heaven.

Before I leave Fort Worth I’m going to put you off food altogether. My apologies.

We regularly stay at motels frequented by workmen – we like to stay with real people who have a job in the morning and are up at dawn. Just like us.

In such motels, breakfast can be pretty basic. In North America it’s always eggs and sausage stuff moulded into a shape. It’s quite efficient when the eggs and sausage patty are both round. Yeah yeah, square bread does grate against my OCD but sometimes you just need to relax. So relax and DON’T mention my square bread! Please! I’m struggling with it!

Susan has unfortunately gone over to the dark side.

She’s making her own waffles in the waffle machine and she’s so expert she gives tuition at the breakfast bar. It’s embarrassing.

And yes that’s a waffle in the shape of Texas with peanut butter, blueberries and eggs. Yes she does eat them together – enough to turn you into a carnivore. Disgusting!

Finally, a photo of me and a disgusting eater at a donut shop.

If I go to heaven then let it be like Texas.

Mehico City

We set off for the 82 miles to our Airbnb in Mehico City (CDMX). The bike was running nice and the auxiliary lights were now working.

The journey took nearly 4 hours to complete and was completely exhausting.

The first 40 miles took an hour and the rest of the time we edged along in traffic jams the like of which you won’t see in the UK.

For over an hour we were at walking pace as 10 lanes merged into 3. As the road went up an incline, the sight of what lay miles ahead of us unfolded and the experience really can’t be described. I can’t do it justice. It’s absolute chaos and mayhem.

We’re wet inside our bike gear from the heat and the exertion. Arms and fingers ache keeping the bike upright over an uneven road surface as we inch forward. The clutch is working hundreds, thousands of times. It’s torture.

Nearly four hours on a motorcycle in heavy traffic, without a break, is no easy task. But we keep on going because, as I’ve said before, this is what we choose. This is what we do.

We checked into our home from home in a lovely residential area in Mehico City.

Then, for the next three days, we toured and experienced this busy, chaotic, wonderful city.

Founded in 1325, it is the oldest city in the Americas. First known as Tenochtitlan, it was built on an island and extended over a lake by the Mexica empire. During the final stages of the Spanish conquest of the Aztec empire, Spanish forces razed the city to the ground and founded the colonial Mexico City on its ruins.

There is an extreme water shortage in Mexico City. Nearly 70% of the water consumed comes from the aquifer beneath the city and this draining of water tables is causing the city centre to sink.

It’s estimated it has dropped more than 9 metres in the last 100 years. Currently, it’s sinking up to 50 cm in some places whereas other places, built on volcanic rock don’t sink at all. This differential subsidence is destabilising buildings.

This beautiful cathedral is estimated to fall within the next 60 years unless something is done. Everyone thinks the government will step in and so something before it’s too late but this is Mehico and I wouldn’t put a bet on it. The country is littered with half finished projects.

Interestingly, this cathedral was built by the Spanish over a temple complex and, as the cathedral is sinking, the ruined foundations of the temple complex are rising up.

The whole central city is leaning, roads have dips and humps, nothing is straight and flat. The Leaning Tower of Pisa doesn’t have a look in.

Today CDMX is the fifth largest city in the world with over 21 million people. On the day we arrived into the city I’m absolutely certain they were all returning home on the same road as us.

The city has the second largest number of museums in the world (second only to London). Of course, Susan and I had to visit the Anthropology museum – we like to show we’re high brow, cultured bikers.

Here’s a photo of two cultured people at the museum of anthropology.

We followed our museum visp with a walk through the local parks in Condesa-Roma where we were staying. Lovely park and more statutes for us culture bikers to enjoy. Here’s a woman with big jugs.

I share culture like I share my knowledge of languages. It’s my gift to you.

We followed our walk with a cultural experience – we went for tacos.

Later that day I wanted to sample the bar culture – we went for nachos.

You see we’re not like ‘normal’ tourists – we like to immerse ourselves in culture.

Goodbye Mehico City. Until we meet again.

Spanner In The Works

After wa-Ha-ka and Puebla we headed towards Mehico City.

What’s that I hear you say? I’ve rushed passed Puebla without saying very much? Well there isn’t much I actually want to tell you.

Okay then, here’s a photo of a cathedral. It’s pretty impressive because when they first started building it they thought Puebla was going to be the capital of Mexico and so the cathedral had to be a suitable size and quality.

That’s enough about Puebla, let’s move on.

What do you mean you think I’m holding out on you? I’m a pretty straightforward guy and I would never hold out on you?

The only other Puebla story I have is technical and you would be bored.

Here’s another Puebla church at night.

Oh come on, let me move on from Puebla. Let’s talk about fun times in Mehico City.

Surely, you don’t really want another technical story about a motorcycle? Surely, you’ve had enough after the clutch saga?

Sigh! Okay, okay I hear you!

Let me tell you about a day that started pleasantly and went so far downhill it quickly became one of my most stressful days of the trip. I really didn’t want to talk about this!!

We were in a nice hotel in Puebla with a parking garage under the room.

What a nice arrangement and so I thought I would take advantage of this facility and try to get my auxillary lights working – they’ve been kaput since Josias half fixed the clutch.

Now this is another story where I pass on a little bit of education to you. Today’s learning point is ‘never give an idiot a spanner’.

On this occasion, an Idiot opened the battery compartment and noticed the battery had been installed the wrong way round.

I won’t get too technical as the Idiot would just confuse himself. However, to be brief, the red ‘button’ was wired to the negative terminal of the battery and it should be positive.

That’s when the Idiot got a little bit of knowledge from Mr Google and read that it could be damaging the battery, the bike electrics and a critical failure could be imminent.

What do you do? Nothing? Something?

The Idiot consulted with his ‘Sage Advisor’ who kind of agreed that something should be done.

At this point, the ‘Sage Advisor’, the only sensible control the Idiot had, was actually agreeing with him.

At that point, the situation was fu**ed!

And so the Idiot picked up a spanner.

A few minutes later the battery was installed the right way round. Everything looked good. Now switch on the power.

Nothing. Dead as a donkey.

The Idiot’s heart sank. His legs felt like jelly. Breathe Idiot. Breathe.

Tomorrow we’re booked out of this hotel and into an Airbnb in Mehico City. We need an early start for the traffic chaos. We can’t have a problem at 1230hrs, the day before we leave. We can’t.

We have!

Breathe.

Let’s change it back to what it was like before. It was working before. The Idiot shouldn’t have touched it.

Breathe.

The Idiot and the spanner set to work again.

It’s ready. Breathe. Now switch on the power.

Nothing. Dead as a donkey.

Legs wobbling, breathing stopped.

Press the power button again. Again! Again! AGAIN!!! AGAIN!!

Jeeeeeeeezo!

Take a walk. Breathe. Just breathe and think. Breathe.

A few minutes later the Idiot briefs the ‘Sage Advisor’. There’s no recriminations, there’s no rolling of the eyes like you’re doing just now. The ‘Sage Advisor’ was calm.

Only the Idiot was panicking.

Breathe Idiot. Breathe.

Now to give the Idiot his due he accepted he was already well past the limits of his ability. Oh yes, he could consult Mr Google and look for a solution, cry and wring his hands, contemplate solutions and fall into self recriminations or…….

…… the Idiot could get a grip and put a plan into action.

The Idiot needed an expert.

The Idiot became an example of perpetual motion. Unstoppable today.

Within 10 minutes he was in a taxi to a BMW motorcycle dealer.

Within 70 minutes, he was in Carlos’s truck with the motorcycle on the back.

Within 90 minutes the bike was in the BMW garage.

The service manager said they would look at it tomorrow.

Carlos, a billingual Mexican, helped with the interpretation and there was only going to be one outcome – the bike was wheeled into the workshop.

Perpetual motion. Unstoppable.

The mechanics looked over the bike and the cause of the problem was quickly found. Yes it’s what we thought all along – it was the Idiot’s fault!

Whilst the battery was in the wrong way round and the red ‘button’ was indeed negative when it should be positive, Josias had also changed around the wiring looms. Everything looked wrong but it worked right.

Idiot with a spanner changed all that and blew the main bike fuse.

Did the garage have a replacement 50 amp fuse? After all we’re in a garage full of motorcycles exactly the same model. Of course, they didn’t! It’s Mehico after all.

Idiot gives the mechanics a great laugh when he told them to take one from another bike.

Oh they laughed out loud. Idiot laughed. Then they realised Idiot was serious. They shuffled hesitantly to stand protectively in front of their spanners.

With one mechanic guarding the spanners , the other chap found a 60 amp fuse. Not the same but it would do. We had a solution.

The fuse was installed, the bike sprang to life and everything was going to be alright.

There was no charge for their work. Nice. BMW looking after travellers yet again.

For me, Carlos, was the real star of the day. An independent breakdown guy who was on hand within the hour to help. He now keeps in touch via WhatsApp. Muchas gracias Carlos.

Tomorrow we can ride for CDMX.

Unstoppable today.

Welcome To Mehico

That’s how we pronounce it.

Just giving you a little bit of language tuition at no cost. No need to thank me, I know you’re grateful when I share.

Our first stop in Mehico was Tapachula. We soon recognised there were security issues in the area because we were processed through more than 25 paramilitary checkpoints.

In this area, the UK Govt. advises against all but essential travel and the US Govt advises against travel due to risks of crime and kidnapping.

Our travel in this area could be considered ‘essential’ as we were obliged to ride up and down the ‘danger’ area to reach the alternative border for our bike import permit. Thanks Mehico!

At each checkpoint we’re slowed by ‘topes’ which are suspension killing speed bumps. The topes in Central America are monstrous and regularly scrape the protective guard on the bottom of the bike engine. They’re deadly and you go slow, very slow, for a tope.

They even have topes on dual carriageways with no highlighted markings. They’ look just like a normal road surface from a distance – try seeing them when travelling at 80kmph!

The security checkpoints are staffed by military guys with machine guns. Often there’s also a chap pointing a hefty mounted machine gun at us. It all feels very intimidating and not safe.

I appreciate it’s better to have security than not and they rarely stop us. If they do I think it’s usually out of curiosity and after producing our documents and a cursory search we’re on our way.

From Tepachula we did some long days on the bike. The roads are better in Mehico and we rolled along nicely.

The road from Tehuantepec towards Oaxca was a stunning motorcycle road. 170km of motorcycle heaven over mountains, climbing over 10,000 feet with 54 bridges and 12 tunnels. Hardly a straight in sight and an average speed of about 55mph if you’re not faint hearted.

The road was only fully opened earlier this year and it’s wonderful. Perhaps the best motorcycle road I’ve ever ridden and all credit to Susan for taking it all in her stride. She’s as awesome as the road.

We reached Oaxaca. Now that’s pronounced wa-HA-ka. Again I’m happy to pass on my knowledge of Spanish. When a friend gains from my knowledge it’s no loss.

wa-HA-ka is recognised as the food capital of Mehico. That nicely brings us to the point where I’ve said too much and it’s time for a photo.

Yes, I know you expected a photo of food but you shouldn’t expect the expected. It’s a photo of a wa-HA-ka street.

Okay, here’s something better. It’s me with a 950ml bottle of beer. Doesn’t get much better than that! The beer I’m talking about, the beer!

You want more? Here’s Susan with a tiny glass of beer.

Now that’s not so good! The beer I’m talking about, the tiny glass of beer!

What else can I show you?

How about a mural or two?

Yes, yes all very nice but I know what you’re really thinking? ‘Come on Clif it was Easter weekend when you were in wa-HA-ka and we want to see a guy with a cross’.

Okay here’s a guy in the ‘Silent Procession’. Susan loved it but I found the whole ‘silent’ thing a bit of a challenge.

Here’s some more silent people. Shhhh shhh!

And while we’re being religious on what was Easter weekend, how about if I throw in a 16th century Spanish Cathedral.

Oh I did mention food, didnt I?

Here’s lovely shin of beef in the famous mole poblano. Mole is a big deal in this part of the world. Some are reasonable, some are a bit too sweet for my liking. The mole poblano is fine.

Now I’m going to ask you a history question – who’s this guy?

Well of course, this is Pancho Villa. I’m sure you will have heard of him but let me add a little background.

Pancho is considered to be one of the most widely known Mehicans of all time throughout the world. If I told you who the other top famous Mehicans were there’s a good chance you wouldn’t have heard of any of them.

Okay, okay I will give you Carlos Santana but I’m certainly NOT going to allow you Salma Hayek!

Pancho is seen as a Robin Hood, bandit, killer and, since 1812, is the only foreigner to have actually invaded and attacked USA. He was a key figure in the Mehico Revolution 1910 – 1920.

The President, Porfirio Diaz, ruled as dictator between 1876 and 1911. His time in power ended decades of economic stagnation and, even today, Mexicans recognise his achievements for Mehico in terms of the economy, transport and infrastructure. However, as is usual with dictators, corruption and power got to his head and despite promising democracy he reneged.

Pancho Villa, a General with his own small army, aligned himself to the uprising against Porfirio and after a stramash or two, a new president was installed. He didn’t last long and what followed thereafter was years of armed conflict and changing heads of state.

Now the first casualty of war is truth and Pancho reportedly signed an exclusive contract with a leading American newsreel company in 1914. Hollywood, not far from the border where most of the stramashes were occurring, came to Mehico.

Newsreels were a coming force and cinemas were growing rapidly in popularity. There were obvious advantages in controlling the way in which these newsreels portrayed the revolution and Pancho himself. In this way, Hollywood helped finance Pancho, his army and the revolution.

Pancho even starred in a 1914 silent movie titled ‘The Life of General Villa’ shot on location during the civil war, incorporating authentic footage from real battles. This movie has since been lost but the making of this movie was dramatised in the movie titled ‘And Starring Pancho Villa as Himself’ (2003) with Antonio Banderas.

Pancho was a brutal character and although he semi retired from politics to his ranch, his enemies eventually came calling and in 1923 he was ambushed in his car. Seven gunmen fired 40 dumdum bullets (usually used on elephants) into his car hitting Pancho seven times. He died at the age of 45.

Now that’s Pancho and the Mehican revolution. It took many years for him to be regarded as a ‘hero’ of the revolution but today, on balance, he’s better regarded than he once was. As they say ‘history is written by the victors’ or I suppose we could say, in this case, perhaps history was written by Hollywood.

So let’s now fast forward. Zoom zoom. We moved on from wa-HA-ka to Puebla and did you know the first shots of the revolution were fired in Puebla? Of course you didn’t and, as I always say, ‘a good friend teaches you something’.

Here’s the damage.

This was the home of the Seridan family and it’s now known as the Museum of the Revolution. Aquiles Seridan was a ‘revolutionary’ who opposed Porfirio Diaz and his house was stormed by the police and he was killed. The Mehican Revolution had begun.

Let’s finish with something more cheerful. It’s party time in Puebla and my friends are dancing.

Viva Mehico!