Biking The Americas
Category: North America
We’re in Buffalo, Wyoming, at the blue dot.
5,389 miles done. More than that to go.
The green line marks our route from Panama City (star).
We’re in our eighth country with the remainder of USA, then Canada, USA, Canada, to go.
The star at the top left is Anchorage, our most northerly city.
The star near the middle is Vancouver, our final stop on the motorbike.
A long way done. A long way to go.
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!
From Manitou Springs we headed north to Boulder, Colorado.
Short journey and so I took the opportunity to visit people who can help people with worries about motorcycles.
The problem I didn’t mention was a starting problem. Twice over a week the bike wouldn’t start first time. That’s pretty unusual.
It meant everytime we stopped in the middle of nowhere I was wondering whether the bike would start. That’s a little bit stressful. Believe me.
Without getting technical I suspected it was to do with either the clutch or stand switch. Ten days we lived with this issue, wondering if and when it would reoccur.
Well I say ‘we’ but Susan was quite chilled about it. She delegated the worrying to me and wasn’t even fussed about the bike getting checked in Boulder. Good approach – ‘ forget all your worries and your strife’.
She wasn’t quite so happy that we were taking less and less breaks in our riding. Several hours without stopping was quite commonplace by now. We often stop in the back of beyond and whilst Susan looks at the scenery, I wonder how long it would take a tow truck to get there.
So when the guys at this garage, who are BMW specialists, told us they couldn’t find an issue, we were reassured. So it’s all fine again. Except maybe it isn’t. You see as far as I’m concerned, we haven’t explained what happened?
Oh, and whilst I’m getting bike issues off my chest I may as well tell you about the other.
We have a fuel filter, which is basically a perforated filter bag, inserted into the fuel tank and retained at the tank nozzle area. This was done before South America because the fuel can be dirty especially in places like Bolivia.
All fuel served in South and Central America is by attendant and some can be less than careful placing the fuel nozzle in our tank. Gradually, they knocked the fuel filter into the tank. I didn’t think that could happen but it did. I don’t know when it happened and only noticed the first time I had to fill the tank myself in the USA.
So now we have a 9 by 6 inch filter bag with plastic nozzle floating randomly inside our fuel tank. I’ve had a peer into the tank and can’t see it. All I can see are electronic switches inside the tank – that’s not reassuring!
Boulder, our destination that particular day, is another lovely place to visit. We had two great days doing tourist things. Susan looked at interesting geology ..
And I bought a bottle of single malt whisky ….
… made by a Scot, trained at the Arran Distillery and distilled in Boulder using Scottish imported malt in stills imported from Scotland. Nice.
I drank as much as I was allowed by Susan in two days, poured the rest into a plastic water bottle and then it was time to head north.
We decided to join two planned days of motorbiking and complete 350 miles to South Dakota, on mixed roads, in a day. Ambitious plan.
Unfortunately, the weather also had plans for the day – gale force cross winds, gusting over 65mph! Jeezo!
We waited until 10am to leave our motel as the weather advice was for the wind to reduce in late morning. It didn’t.
My insides were uneasy at the thought of what was to come. I had memories of our experience in South America. It’s one thing to deal with a bike and yourself, it’s completely different feeling when you’re fully loaded and responsible for the safety of another.
Also when two up and with a top box the surface area for the wind to hit high up is increased significantly. If only Susan was disproportionately skinny and 7 stone it would be so much easier.
Personally, I think part of our ‘baggage’ problem occurs because she’s got too many snacks and biscuits and cream bars and muffins and porridge and peanut butter satchets secreted in her bag and jacket. Oh please don’t think I’m being flippant and making this up! She even carries plastic bloody spoons to eat the porridge!
Yes of course I moan and say it’s ridiculous. Yes of course she does what she wants and replies – ‘what the big dog wants ……. Damn!
So we set off on our journey with trepidation and were absolutely hammered by the wind. The roar in our ears and the force on the side of the bike were relentless.
The first 90 miles were on the interstate and it was frighteningly turbulent. There was no consistency to forces on the bike and it was difficult to handle and impossible to keep in a straight line.
We stopped at Cheyenne for a break and I wasn’t sure it was safe to carry on. But it’s amazing how a coffee and time to relax helped. Susan watched me the whole time we were stopped. Yes, you’re absolutely right – she’s wondering if I’m going to go for that plastic bottle of whisky in the side bag!
We decided to give it another try. Well, I decided.
Susan was okay about it. She just sits on the bike and doesn’t worry about it. That’s pretty calm when we’re not going in a straight line and regularly heading towards a heavy vehicle or off the road.
I’m full time struggling keeping going. But we keep going. And we keep going. Hour after hour.
Then we crossed into Wyoming. F**k me!
The High Plains of Wyoming have a mean elevation of 6,700 feet. Its vast, totally open countryside as far as the eye can see, with absolutely nothing to stop the path of the roaring wind until it hits two old ‘cracker barrel’ people on a bike.
It’s ferocious.
We can’t stop because there’s nowhere to stop. It’s just road and countryside. Even if we did stop at the side of the road we can’t park the bike. It would be blown over and we would struggle to get it up.
It takes us over eight hours to reach our destination. Oh yes, I know you’re waiting to hear me say this – we’re totally exhausted!
We couldn’t get a photo of the high plains of Wyoming but take it from me they’re absolutely stunning. Breathtaking. America doesn’t get enough credit for it’s wonderful landscape and, in my opinion, it’s unparalleled.
Our destination that night was Custer. Named after the guy who fought the native Americans and lost. More about that another time.
So no photo of stunning Wyoming. Sorry. Here’s the next best thing – another photo of me in another bar. Sweet as a nut.
This is the kind of bar I would ride for 8 hours in tortuous, terrifying winds.
Wonderful atmosphere. Wonderful food. Wonderful beer. Wonderful Susan dealing with the day.
Yes, of course there was always the option for us not to travel that day and we did seriously discuss it and start making alternative plans.
But we’re not that kind of people. If we were that kind of people we wouldn’t be here in the first place. To be honest, in hindsight we should have stayed but with hindsight we would do the same again.
Next day we went to see the Presidents. You know the guys I’m talking about – these stoney faced guys.
Wonder if there are any quart people who can name these guys without looking it up? Well, you’ve got Washington at the front (left); Lincoln at the back (right); Thomas Jefferson (second from left); and Chuck Norris at the back.
Yes, yes, you’re gonna have to look it up now!
We added a couple of heads – ‘big heid’ and ‘big dog’.
The monument was completed between 1927 and 1941 by the sculptor Gutzon Borglum and his son.
Each head is 18m tall and the sculpture was originally intended to be depicted from head to waist but a lack of funding cut them short. It’s a pretty spectacular monument in the flesh – well, you know what I mean!
So what is the meaning of Mount Rushmore? Is it just three random presidents and Chuck Norris?
They symbolise different principles. George Washington signifies the struggle for independence and the birth of the Republic. Thomas Jefferson the expansion of the country. Abraham Lincoln the permanent Union of the states and equality for all citizens, and Chuck Norris, the 20th century role of the United States in world affairs, the rights of the common man and the ‘Code of Silence’.
Awesome.
It should be recognised, however, the Mount Rushmore sculpture is in land that was illegally taken from the Sioux nation.
The US Govt seized the Black Hills of South Dakota in 1876 because gold was discovered and settlers began to encroach onto Native American land that had been agreed by treaty. In effect, the ‘immigrant’ Americans reneged on legal promises made to the ‘native Americans’.
In 1979, the US Court of Claims decided that said seizure was wrong and awarded the Sioux $17.5 million. With interest, this amounted to $105 million.
The Sioux refused to accept this ‘hush’ money because acceptance would legally terminate Sioux demands for the return of the Black Hills. The money continues to accrue interest and stands over $1.5 billion today.
Activity continues on behalf of the Sioux but recent presidents, including the superficially supportive Obama, delivered nothing.
To show our support for the Native Americans we went to see Crazy Horse. Yes, of course he got bayoneted by the US Cavalry and we didn’t see the guy himself but we did see him larger than life.
They’re currently carving out Crazy Horse from a mountain. It’s a quite astonishing venture.
Below is a representation of what the sculpture will look like.
Started in 1948, the sculpture was the inspiration of Chief Standing Bear and started by sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski who had also worked on Mount Rushmore. It’s a significant undertaking and relies on private funding. Progress is slow but continuing.
Crazy Horse, leader of the Lakota, was chosen as the subject because he ‘never signed a treaty or touched the pen’.
The sculpture depicts his left hand gesturing forward in response to a derisive question he was asked ‘where are your lands now?’
Crazy Horse replied ‘my lands are where my dead lie buried’.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Long live the spirit of Crazy Horse.
We left Santa Fe and headed north west towards Pagosa Springs. Into the Rockies, into Navajo country and into Rio Grande National Park. It’s a slight detour but life doesn’t travel in a straight line and neither do we.
Just throwing in a handful of philosophy for pint sized brains. Quart people please read Freud. Pint people just you stay here and I will meet your requirements.
The sky is shining and the sun is not hot enough for any melodramatics from the pillion seat. Life is good. I’m relaxed.
Well I’m not too relaxed because there’s been a minor mechanical problem with the bike since Fort Worth that I haven’t mentioned. But if I don’t mention it and hope for the best then all will be fine. It’s called ‘head in the sand’ leadership. I’m sure you recognise it.
Here’s the first of some stills from the video camera.
Everything is great and we reach our motel in the early afternoon and relax. Well Susan does. I’m still thinking about the problems with the bike. Susan leaves the worrying to me. Oh, did I say problem in the plural? Yes I did. I was misleading you. I’m sure you recognise that management style as well!
In a one horse town there’s not many options for beer. There’s even less options for food but that’s not really my main concern. It’s beer, Susan, bike then food. That’s the order of my life priorities on this journey.
There’s one option for beer – the scruffy (from the outside) motel bar.
Well how wrong can outward appearances be? An ugly duckling with a heart of gold. I just know you can relate to that as well.
I swung open the old black scruffy front door with purple windows and was met with bar heaven.
A speakeasy bar with more cheesy than easy.
With outstanding beer, a great barman and me. What else could you want in this world? Not many patrons because it’s a one horse town and all the interesting people in town are already in the bar!
After I had a beer too many we went to a Texmex restaurant next door with great food. I had another beer after my one too many. The only downside to another beer was the obligatory frown from the frown maiden.
Next day we travelled to Montrose. Yup, that’s Montrose, Colorado, that was named after the Marquis of Montrose who a character in Sir Walter Scott’s novel ‘The Legend of Montrose’. The novel was an inspiration for an early citizen.
Small world.
We then went to Maccies for dinner. I had a nice Texmex lined up but Big Dog had her Maccies face on. I had no choice.
Now I know what you’re thinking – move on Clif, we already know Big Dog loves a Maccies when she’s on holiday. Let’s not dwell.
Well what if I tell you something interesting. What if I tell you this Maccies is one of a few in the world.
So have you ever seen this?
A single arch! Over 38,000 Maccies in the world and only seven in the world have a single arch! Nice!
After Montrose we headed for Manitou Springs. It was a big ride over the Colorado mountains and we reached 11,300 feet. That’s 2.14 miles!
Oh I know some of you with salacious minds will have read this article thinking ‘big helmet heid’ has joined the two mile high club.
Well, I will tell you quite honestly, just between you and me, when we got to two miles I was thinking about those problems with the bike and it entirely slipped my mind!
We stopped at Silverton for a break. I wasn’t relaxed – it’s the bike problems that I’m not talking about.
Susan relaxed with the old silver carts, forgetting about her worries and her strife. She’s thinking about her bare necessities, the simple bare necessities like her Ritz snack crackers and life.
I petted the bike to make sure it would get us home.
These roads don’t have any safety barriers and it’s a very long way down. Apparently safety barriers restrict the snowploughs’ ability to shove snow off the mountain.
On the incline there’s usually two lanes and I sit in the overtaking lane. If cars want to overtake they can undertake. I’ve got my position and I’m keeping it. We don’t want to be on the nearside where the road is often subsiding down the mountain.
I will give the American drivers the credit they deserve – they’re generally very understanding and considerate. Not without exception of course, but they’re so much better than British drivers.
Oh that’s controversial!
Well that’s a sweeping statement and this blog is all about sweeping statements.
American drivers kind of appreciate they share the road with other road users and are less selfish, arrogant and more considerate.
What’s more it’s quite apparent to Susan, both on the motorbike and as a pedestrian.
Nuffsaid.
Another mountain pass photo. Yes Susan is actually looking at my speed, looking at the corner ahead and giving me guidance. Teamwork.
It was the most wonderful journey to Manitou Springs and the town itself, whilst a little bit touristy, is still very nice and relaxed.
We checked into our hotel, went for a walk and found heaven.
Finally, more motorbike photos. This time from ‘Garden of the Gods’.
Colorado is wonderful.
If I ever go to heaven then let it be like Colorado!
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!
So here we are in San Antonio, Texas.
3,239 miles done. About 8,000 miles to go.
Feels like we’ve already motorcycled a lifetime.
It’s fiesta time in San Antonio and it felt like we hadn’t left Mehico! I’m not complaining, it seems like every time I’m in town the ladies start dancing!
Thanks ladies. It’s much appreciated.
Now please don’t be jealous – if you had a motorcycle they would dance for you too. Until then you can share a look at my dancing ladies.
Just look at the great motorbike parking space at our hotel.
Thanks hotel. It’s much appreciated.
So what’s the first thing we did on the first morning in San Antonio? Well we did the obvious thing, the big ticket thing. Surely you know what San Antonio is famous for?
We went to the Alamo! Yes this is where it is.
It started as an 18th Spanish Mission where a community of friars brought Jesus to the people. No not the guy that part fixed my motorcycle in Nicaragua, the other one.
This main building was the church but later, once the missionaries had left, the Spanish military added a few walls and defensive structures.
Much has been written about the battle of the Alamo but what do we know as fact?
‘In 1836, a small band of soldiers sacrifice their lives in hopeless combat against a massive army in order to prevent a tyrant from smashing the new Republic of Texas’.
Well that’s the truth isn’t it?
After all that’s how the movie website, IMDb, describes the 1960 ‘historical’ movie ‘The Alamo’, directed by John Wayne, starting John Wayne and Richard Wydmark that went on to be nominated for 7 Oscars (note: it only won ‘best sound).
Isn’t that how most people think of the Alamo? Isn’t that how it’s spoken about? Isn’t that what’s taught?
So what is the truth?
As you know this blog isn’t just a traveller’s diary – it’s a bloody education for people with short attention spans. Don’t thank me, it’s my calling. I’m an educational missionary bringing pint sized stories for pint sized brains. So let me tell you a story.
It all starts in 1821 when Mexico wins its independence from Spain. At the time, Texas was part of Mexico which had a federal government similar to the United States. So in 1829, when the Mexican government outlawed slavery, it allowed Texas to continue using slave labour.
In 1832, Mexican president and general, Santa Anna took control of the government. Everything was fine for a while but we all know what dictators do don’t we – they dictate!
The Texans didn’t like the centralist policies of Santa Anna and wanted a federal type government where they had control over their own laws. Basically they wanted to do as they pleased. In particular, issues of slavery, immigration and customs were very contentious between Texas and Mexico.
Growing tensions led to rebellion in 1835 and so begun the Texas Revolution.
As you can see, this isn’t a story of self sacrifice by freedom loving settlers fighting in the service of liberty for Texas. Oh no! – this was actually a fight for freedom to enslave people.
Ouch, that’s a uncomfortable truth!
Now, to the battle of the Alamo. I won’t go into the immediate lead up to the battle because this is a pint sizes travel history. I’m not giving you a quart. You quart sized brain people need to find supplementary information elsewhere. Sorry quart people.
Around 1800 Mexican soldiers, led by General Santa Anna, surrounded the Alamo. Inside were around 200 defenders, led by the frontiersman James Bowie, Lieutenant Colonel William Travis and the famous folk hero, Davy Crockett.
After a 13 day seige, the actual Battle of the Alamo began on March 6, 1836, and lasted 90 minutes.
Every fighting soldier was killed and, it is said, that even those who surrendered were executed by Santa Anna.
Although the Alamo was a defeat, it galvanized the rest of Texas against Mexico and General Santa Anna. A few months later, Sam Houston led Texas to victory and Texas gained it’s independence.
It’s often quoted that around 200 ‘Texans’ bravely fought and defended the Alamo. Let me tell you the facts.
Of the 200 or so men that fought and died at the Alamo, 29 are known to be from the United Kingdom.
It’s not been possible to trace all the nationalities of the men involved and it’s actually thought the UK defenders could have been as much as a third of the men. To that you can add a few other soldiers from other European countries.
Of these men, four were Scots – John McGregor, Richard Ballentine, Isaac Robinson and David Wilson.
John McGregor is often known as the piper of the Alamo. It is said that during the siege, MacGregor engaged in musical duels with David Crockett – McGregor playing the bagpipes and Crockett the fiddle.
So that’s a full pint of Alamo history for you.
Talking of pints, after the Alamo we went for a beer. Look it was hot and humid and I felt sure Susan was getting near a Code 1 and needed to rest in somewhere cool.
You don’t get anywhere in San Antonio much cooler than this place!
You know what’s coming to you now – more pint sized history! Actually, I promise it’s only a half pint this time.
In 1861, a 17yr old bartender opened his own saloon but quickly learned people didn’t have much money. So he came up with the idea to accept horns and antlers in exchange for beers and whisky. The Buckhorn collection became one of the world’s largest collections of horns and antlers.
Cheers horns and antlers. Thanks for helping Susan recover.
Goodbye San Antonio we loved your company.
Susan decided we would leave Mehico City at 6am to beat the traffic and as I always say, ‘what the big dog wants the big dog gets’.
The plan worked wonderfully well and we were soon making great progress towards San Luis Potosi (260 miles). The following day we did 325 miles to Monterrey.
Far too early for check-in at San Luis Potosi, we sat and smelled out reception until they gave us the first room available. Susan is of course fragrant whilst I, on the other hand, have a coating of grime and dust and smell like a box of fish. That’s biker life!
On the road to Monterrey we made good progress on reasonably well maintained roads. I’m mindful we’re in the region of Tamaulipas, an area of notoriety for the Gulf Cartel, one of the oldest cartels in the country.
The area has a US advisory notice ‘do not travel due to crime and kidnapping’ and mentions heavily armed criminal groups operating with impunity along the border region.
The banditos regularly set up armed road blocks and so I regularly check online chat groups for up to date information.
Personally, I didn’t feel safe though I was aware this was most likely because everyone was telling me it wasn’t safe. We were making good progress when Susan starts feeling hot. Well it was bloody hot I’ve got to agree but this is bandito country. We can’t stop at the side of the road fanning ourselves like a couple of fannies!
I think I’ve mentioned before we have a code system – Code 1 (I would like to stop when it’s convenient); Code 2 (I need to stop soon); Code 3 (stop now, as soon as you can).
Whilst that’s all pretty clear Susan now ‘kind of wants’ to stop and it’s ‘kind of not’ a Code 1.
Oh no, don’t start that!! I’m not letting you go on Susan’s side and say we should have a code 0.5! That’s ridiculous. You’re either a Code 1 or you’re damn well bloody fine!
We’re blasting along and I’m watching every vehicle around. We always have a problem when touring – trucks and cars come rapidly up behind us, see us as a novelty and cruise behind to have a look. After a few minutes they pass.
Now imagine what that feels like in this border area. As far as I’m concerned every car following is potential banditos. Every time it happens I slow and force them to overtake. Then I relax until the next potential bandito car follows behind.
At this time do you really think Susan should have access to Code 0.5!! Yes of course I don’t want another fainting melodrama but she really needs to stick to the agreed system.
It’s at this point I make a serious relationship error. I cringe as I sit here telling you. Honestly, it’s quite embarrassing for a new age metrosexual like me.
I don’t remember saying it but it was later mentioned in despatches. Apparently, I asked Susan if she was a Code 1 and when she said ‘no I don’t think so’, I responded by telling her to ‘man up’!
I still can’t believe I actually said what I felt but I’ve since been reminded many times that’s what I said. Honestly, sometimes I’m a bas*ard (I add this last sentence so Susan can nod along as she reads it).
I suppose I can only blame the state of tension although that’s no excuse. That said, at the first opportunity I stopped at a grocery store in the middle of bandito country.
It didn’t feel like the right place to stop but it’s not easy for me juggling the demands of banditos and Susan. Yes, thanks for your kind words – as you say ‘who would want to be me’!
There were a group of heavy lorries outside the store and I had to park 50 metres down the road. We walked back to the shop and bought drinks and food.
In grocery stores, we eat and drink standing in the shop. Sometimes they have a small table, often they don’t. We find the ice cream freezer is a good place to rest our gear and refresh. Everyone is always sympathetic and friendly.
On this occasion we bought a cheese and ham roll in a nitrogen sealed pack. They last forever but Susan is always looking for a sell by date. There isn’t one.
We’ve had these rolls a few times and I usually tear the roll in half and we share. This time, Susan decided to tear the roll as she thought my hands smelled of leather and sweat. She really can be a fussy eater.
I walked outside eating my roll as I was not happy leaving the bike out of sight in bandito country. As I walked to the bike, a truck driver started talking mehican to me.
Of course, I didn’t have a clue what he was saying. Then he pointed to the bike and said ‘bad boys’.
Oh yes, I got the message.
‘bad boys, bad boys’
‘what you gonna do?’
‘what you gonna do when they come for you?’
So I moved the bike to the shop door and, as I finished parking, Susan came out wondering where I was. It was at this point I realised my grave error – I had left Susan to eat her half roll unsupervised!!
Now please don’t be indignant and say Susan is quite capable of eating a half roll on her own! She isn’t! NOT this roll!
You see the usual script is, I tear the roll apart with my sweaty leathery hands, give half to Susan and we eat. I say it’s tasty and just what we needed. She agrees. We drink Gatorade to wash it all down. We get on the bike and off we go. Happiness.
We’ve done the same procedure time and time again. It works.
Leave Susan unsupervised and what does she do? She opens up the bloody roll and looks inside to examine what’s she’s eating!She sees the ham is Barbie pink, the cheese is like white sweating plastic and the butter is yellow like a dandelion.
Immediately, she feels nauseous at the thought of it and makes a decision she’s never eating that again. So we will never again share one of our favourite rolls that’s got us through Mehico. It’s a disaster.
Tasty, sweaty, leathery half roll I will miss you!
We both get back on the bike and I ask Susan if she’s feeling better. ‘Yes’ she says hesitantly – yup she’s thinking of that bloody ham again. Honestly, sometimes I just wish she would man up!
I know you will also be feeling a bit nauseous thinking about that ham so here’s photo of me. We all love a photo of me.
Interestingly, I thought this beer had a sweaty and leathery undertone to it’s taste.
The following day, from Monterrey we headed for the border with USA at Puente Colombia.
It was an anxious fast ride for three hours along a road known to have ‘troubles’ with banditos. We rode through vast desert wilderness and saw another vehicle now and again.
I had made a decision if someone tried to stop us, I wasn’t stopping. Sometimes I think too much about contingency plans as we journey and this wasn’t one of my best but I needed the reassurance that I knew what I was going to do. Thankfully, everything was going to be alright.
Oh yes, cars sped up behind us, time and time again, and then sat on our tail. I slowed, slowed, and they passed.
After a solid three and a half hours riding with no break we reached the border. Leaving Mehico was easy and entering the US was a breeze. After all the media scare reports of US border control we were a bit wary as to what we would face.
We have a current 10 year visa from our cycling days in our old passport. We presented our passports at a checkpoint and the guy was great. He even let Susan walk through the security ‘no go’ area whilst I was directed to the car park.
We were processed quickly by immigration and I can honestly say it was the friendliest, most polite and helpful border crossing in all of the Americas. By a mile.
We didn’t even require a temporary bike import permit. That said, they charged us $12 tariff to get in so I’ve written a stern letter the British Prime Minister to let him know what they’re up to with their tariffs on poor motorcycle travellers.
We were exhausted after the border. Yes, yes, what’s new?
So what did we do? We got on the bike and rode nearly three hours to San Antonio. It was a hard, fast ride with a vicious side wind.
We unpacked, showered and I was smelling of roses again. Then it was out for beer and pizza.
It’s festival time in San Antonio and at a road checkpoint we met BMW biker bros keeping everyone safe.
Looking good guys.
Welcome to America.
Biking The Americas Act IV 