So we arrived in Bogotá and stayed in a small hotel near the airport. Our first issue was getting the third member of our party out of customs – yes I’m talking about the bike. To assist we engaged ‘Cargorider’ – a local agency that sorts through the myriad of local customs forms and procedures.

That said, it really wasn’t our first issue. Our first issue was Susan having altitude sickness. You see Bogotá is 8,612 feet above sea level and the air is noticeably thinner. I manned up but Susan felt sick with headaches and grumped at me a lot. To be honest I didn’t notice much of a difference 🙂 Happily it passed after a couple of days and she was back to her usual self.

Back to more important things – the bike! Everyone at Cargorider was very nice and helpful but that didn’t stop me from having to sit in the customs administration building with this view for 10 hours over 2 days.

Then it was over to the freight terminal where Susan relaxed as if she was sitting poolside whilst I did all the hard work.

Eventually the bike was out and back to the hotel where they had a nice caged entrance to keep it safe.

For the next couple of days we aclimitised and went on walking tours of the city. It’s such a lovely city and everyone was friendly. I even managed to get the local police to take Susan off my hands for a few hours whilst I went for a few quiet beers.

I was rather nervous taking this photo and talking to the ‘agentes de policia’ for I had in my possession a plastic bag of white powder! I know what you’re thinking – 4 days in and already Susan has driven me to some ‘cocaina’. Let me explain.

Susan uses milk subsititutes – you know the junk they mix with water and call it milk – oats, almonds, soya etc. In Colombia it’s hard to find that stuff in hotels and coffee shops so she has coffee ‘creamer’ in a plastic bag. I carry it in my man bag. I’m the ‘milk mule’.

However, we all know about police jumping to obvious conclusions based on flimsy evidence suported by a suspicious mind and a sixth sense for bad guys. Well I’m a white dude with a man bag on holiday in Colombia with a plastic bag of white powder. If it takes two days to get my bike out of customs I reckon I’m going to spend a month in jail whilst the milk powder is analysed! Keep your fingers crossed I don’t get searched!

Later that day, whilst on a walking tour, we experienced a 6.1 earthquake. The epicentre was about 100km away and all buildings were evacuated.

I recognised the same side to side wobbly feeling we had experienced in New Zealand a few years ago. You know the feeling – when you’re over a certain age, you’re in the pub drinking, you’ve been sitting too long and you decide to use the facilities. Legs are a bit shaky, you use the table for balance and within a few steps it’s all over. That’s just like a small earthquake. Susan said it was the first time the earth has moved for her in years!

On our final day in Bogotá we went on a food tour and sampled many local delights. Usual South American food stuff like strange fruit, empenadas, tamales etc. However, we also had the opportunity to try some Capivara, a delicacy in northern Colombia. What’s a Capivara you may ask? Well let me help your enquiring mind with a photo of a taxidermy model provided by the restaurant.

Yup that fella is a Capivara, the largest member of the rodent family. Essentially, the restaurant was offering us a bit of barbequed rat meat.

Most of the tour group wimped out and gave it a miss but Susan reckoned it couldn’t be any worse than my cooking so we both jumped right in. What did it taste like? A bit like pork with a slight fishy aftertaste. It was more of an eating experience than a pleasant mouthful.

Susan takes the lead in most of interactions with the locals as the vast majority of Colombians don’t speak any English. It’s a great benefit that Susan has been learning Spanish for the past year and she makes a good effort. Myself, I’m kind of a language nomad – whatever country I’m in I throw in a random phrases like merci or danke schon. I’m just one big language melting pot. I get caught up in the enthusiasm of everyone speaking a foreign language and don’t want to miss out. Comprende?

My biggest issue here is replacing gracias (Spanish) with grazie (Italian). I think I get away with it and they think I’m Italian. Unfortunately, Susan is now inadvertently copying me. I’m sure when we leave this hotel the staff will say ‘they were a nice Italian couple’ 🙂

So that’s a short summary of our time in lovely shoogly Bogotá. It’s not like the narcos movies and a lot has changed in the last 20 years. It may never be a city you feel a need to visit but Susan and I thoroughly enjoyed our time. Bogotá is ‘molto bene’!

Our path to Bogota was a 6am red eye flight from London with a connection at Madrid. The motorcycle was making its own way via airfreight. All very easy you may think for a couple of seasoned travellers like Susan and me. You would think so?

We had no checked luggage and our first issue was passing through the security gate boarding pass scanner. Using electronic boarding passes on our phones, we were rejected several times. Eventually, we accept the advice from the machine and contacted a British Airways assistant. She got on her computer, sorted out some visa questions and said we were good to go. Back to the scanner.

I breezed through, scan, photo, in a competent confident manner and waited on Susan. Scan scan scan – she couldn’t get through. Even after some good advice and tut tutting from myself she still couldn’t get through. It was embarrassing for me and I rolled my eyes when the security guard beckoned her over to his computer.

He checked her boarding pass and I looked over his shoulder and I could see a page full of attempts to scan. I rolled my eyes again. ‘How many times have you scanned this?’ he asked. ‘Just a few’ she replied. Just a few? – the guy had obviously never seen so many attempts. Regardless, he sorted it and she was allowed through. Thank goodness. It was a bit too early for Susan to quit this adventure.

As we were about to board the plane at the gate and pass through the final security check I again brought up the boarding pass on my phone. Actually I had 2 passes – Susan’s and my own! You see I always download both passes to my phone and transfer Susan a copy.

As realisation was dawning on my face Susan was reading my thoughts telepathically. There was no denying it and I had to confess, ‘I think I’ve scanned myself through the first security barrier as you’. There were now two Susans about to board this plane! Susan was not amused!

I briefly considered trying the same again to make it all balance up. There’s some logic to it – 2 Susans through the Security Barrier and 2 Susans board the plane. Nice and neat.

Fortunately, I found some commonsense and, at the next barrier, I scanned my own boarding pass and it took my photo. Did it stop me and ask how I got through security to the boarding gate? Did it ask Susan why her photo had changed from a man to a woman? Of course it didn’t and we both walked smoothly onto the plane like the competent travellers we pretend to be 🙂

On the flight from Heathrow to Madrid we were flying business class on short haul. At 0645hrs Susan went right up in my estimation. She was the only passenger on the whole plane that ordered alcohol! ‘Coffee for me’ I asked followed by ‘Bloody Mary for me please’ from Susan! It may only have been one small miniature vodka but that deserves some holiday respect!

So when we landed at Madrid I’m going to lay the blame on Susan’s drinking for what happened next. We landed Terminal 1 and briefly looked at our boarding passes and read Bogota Terminal 4.

We didn’t pre-plan or discuss the transfer from T1 to T4 – we just took it all in our compacent stride. Or maybe I should say my complacent stride. Anyway I had to take charge because after all, Susan had been drinking. So I checked a digital board and it said Bogota T4. Honestly, I think it did. Who are you gonna believe ‘drinking Susan’ or ‘sober Clif’? I ask you?

We had a 2 hour window before the next flight and to get to T4 we had to pass through immigration and board a transit shuttle. Well the immigration queue was at least an hour and that was very optimistic. So I brought all my charm to play on a security guard and talked our way onto an express queue. I didn’t even have to deploy my trump card – my wife has recently had a hip operation and may need a wheelchair. Yes I know I am swinging it using the word ‘recently’ for February but who’s to know.

So we were through the express immigration in a jiffy, passports stamped and downstairs onto the rail shuttle. We were officially in Spain. As we were standing waiting on the shuttle departure ‘drinking Susan’ looked at the boarding passes I had. ‘I think we’re leaving from T1 and not T4’ she said without slurring even though she had been drinking.

Now by this time my confidence was shot because I, technically, may be still travelling as a Susan so when the real Susan called for us to jump off the train I did so without question, holding the doors open as they closed on us.

So there we were in Spain and needed to get back through immigration, to T1, and leave Spain. I approached a Border Guard, explained our predicament. He referred me to his handsome young sergeant and with professional ease we were escorted back out of Spain and our passport stamps cancelled. I’m currently writing to the Guinness Book of Records for consideration for an award for the shortest entry-exit to a country.

After the sergeant (handsome young man) got us through the border he asked to see our boarding passes. He said we needed to ask the Info Desk downstairs as to how to get to T4 for our Bogota flight. Even he was wrongly reading the boarding pass – it appears it’s an easy thing for a handsome guy to do!

After all that myself and drinking Susan settled into our 10 hour flight to Bogotá. By this time I needed a drink or two myself. Hola.

So we dropped off our bags at our San Diego Airbnb around lunchtime and made for the coast. It was a mere 7 miles away. As soon as we saw water at the harbour Susan wanted to stop, take a photo and finish.

Really! She has no principles. Cycle over 2,800 miles and miss the last 4 miles? It reminded me of the time she wanted to take a ferry across Lake Superior and save 7 days cycling or take the ferry to Argentia on Newfoundland and save 2 weeks of cycling. She didn’t win the argument on these days and she didn’t win today. I was her moral compass. Okay, I’m not really but for the one minute discussion I was. 🤠

So here we are on the beach at the Pacific Ocean after 2,833 miles.

So how does it feel to be finished after another long cycle? Well, much the same as we felt in St John’s and Sydney. There’s just a quiet tired satisfaction it’s finally over. No great fireworks or elation. No self congratulation. It’s job done, we move on and tomorrow just becomes a day when we don’t have to cycle.

That evening, however, was the night where I could go into a San Diego craft beer bar and ask the barman which of the draft taps is local. He replied they have nearly a hundred taps and most are local. After months of drinking Bud Light I can tell you I nearly cried!

That said, we didn’t have a party as Susan was asleep by 9pm. I wanted to awaken her and get back for all those early mornings Sgt Major Sunrise cracked the whip but I don’t think even a marching band could have woken her.

We thoroughly enjoyed our journey through the southern states of America. Few people think such a way to travel is enjoyable but, thankfully, we have met on our travels through Canada, Australia and now America, lots of wonderful cyclists who think like us, enjoy life like us for a few weeks and love the adventure of long distance touring.

Every day brings adventure, small or big, and I guarantee there are few of those cyclists who won’t look back and think of these days as amongst the best of their lives. The quality of life can be judged by the stories you can tell and cycle touring certainly gives you memories to value. To everyone we have met on our tours – keep cycling! ‘Do not go gentle into that good night’.

Okay back to the practical. So the wheels held up once the spokes were replaced and we had a nice round number of 20 punctures. Apart from a leaking gear lever that was sorted by tightening a screw we had no other mechanical issues. The bike is engineered and built to last. We really do put it through some punishment on the road.

After the beach we cycled the few miles back to the Airbnb. We were tired and very weary. At the corner of our street I saw a sign and took a photograph in the fading afternoon light.

So we did.

We left Ocotillo as soon as the light was up. Sgt Major Sunrise was on the case for although we had a short 18 miles to Jacumba there was nearly 3,000 feet of climbing. Never easy for two old folk on a fully laden tandem.

The first few miles were relatively easy but then we joined Interstate 8 and had to ride on the hard shoulder. The gradient over the next 10 miles gradually increased from 6% to 8% with the occasional 10% section thrown in to keep us working hard.

As we cycled across canyon bridges the hard shoulder disappeared. At the first bridge we were slow at 8% gradient and cars and trucks raced up side by side squeezing us to the side. On the next bridge (above) I felt it was safer to walk as I had a better view at what was happening behind. Watching in a small rear view mirror to see trucks pulling out barely in time to pass us is nerve wracking.

So we pushed the bike up this hill of a bridge. As vehicles arrived I got Susan to climb onto the bridge wall whilst I stayed at the side of the road with the bike. It’s okay, don’t worry Susan was safe – there was a chain link fence on the wall to stop her falling into the canyon. I didn’t have a plan B for myself other than believing I could get out of the way in time. Yes I know, just listen to me – at my age I move like treacle!

This way we crossed another couple of bridges. It was quite disconcerting but we got the job done and reached the summit. It was then a nice cruise downhill to Jacumba along the old Highway 80.

Jacumba was a well known spa town in its day but like so many towns in America when it was bypassed by the Interstate in the 1960’s it has gone into steady decline. We have cycled through countless towns on this trip that have suffered the same fate.

Jacumba Spa was a nice clean motel with draft beer and reasonable food. Oh and cross country cyclists get a 50% discount on the accommodation. Nice.

The following day was windy. The same easterly winds creating wildfires in Northern California were affecting us this morning. You would think easterly tailwinds would be welcome when we are travelling west. Unfortunately, the wind in the mountains doesn’t blow so consistently and conveniently. It hits the mountains and blows through canyons in all directions and a tailwind can change within seconds into a headwind or a side wind.

The forecast was for 80mph wind at our Pine Valley destination and there was an extreme fire risk warning. Why couldn’t we just have an easy few days cycling at the end of our journey?

It was not a consideration for us to stay a second night at Jacumba as we were getting too near the end and wanted to push on. So for 28 miles and nearly 3,000 feet of ascent we had to battle with the wind. Thankfully, it probably peaked at 60 mph for us as we topped out at an altitude of 4,000 feet.

At times we had to walk the bike as absolutely ferocious side winds hit us.

The picture looks so calm and Susan is still smiling but this is her trying to hold the bike upright in the wind. She’s going to have to get some acting lessons to convey the difficulties we were having.

Now that the weather is cooler we are able to carry chocolate bars without them melting. This allows us to have the ultimate cycling snack to maintain our energy levels. I call it the deconstructed banoffi pie.

Take a Milky Way (nougat and caramel like a Mars Bar in the UK) in one hand, a banana in the other and take alternate bites. So simple but so inspirational even if I do say so myself.

When we reached the motel in Pine Valley there was no electricity. We kind of expected this as the electric supply is cut when there’s high wind to stop cables coming down and starting forest fires.

So our motel room had no electricity but we had bike lights and after a visit to the only open shop in town we got dinner for the night.

A few choices here but I know you’re not thinking ‘mmm nice tuna‘ like Susan. Instead, you’re thinking like me – ‘mmm marvellous classic Spam‘! Sometimes I just fall on my feet.

The next morning breakfast was a can of Fanta, a cereal bar and a banana. Not great but it got us started on our cycle to San Diego. Did you hear that? San Diego!

A 10 mile cycle out of Pine Valley led us back onto Interstate 8 and yes it was still windy. We were still over 3,500 feet in altitude and we got hammered by the gusts as we descended a 6% gradient. Now that’s quite a slope that causes the tandem to quickly gather speed.

Thankfully, we had a reasonable hard shoulder, the traffic at 0630am was still light and I struggled to keep our speed below 20 mph. Anything faster and the bike was too unstable when we were hit by huge side gusts rushing down canyons as we passed.

Now the whole situation was reasonably concerning for myself but Susan, its fair to say, was reasonably frightened. At least I knew I had some control over the bike but its hard to imagine being in Susan’s position as the bike weaves all over the place.

A couple of times we were violently blown from the hard shoulder over onto the dual carriageway. When the wind hit I was aware that the road was clear and it was easier to let the bike go to the left and then bring it back. To react suddenly would have brought us down.

We couldn’t speak to each other over the roar of the wind and everything happened so violently and suddenly. Susan had no warning as we swerved out onto the carriageway and then back again. She didn’t even know if we were going into passing traffic. Each time we were lucky. If a gust had hit when trucks were behind us I would have had to bring the bike down without warning. Well I would get a warning as I would be doing it but poor Susan was going to get a fright.

We then turned into a large cut out in the mountainside and were hit by an absolutely ferocious blast of wind from behind. By this time we were down to 6 mph on a steep downhill as I was struggling to keep the bike upright.

We stopped immediately and both planked our feet on the ground and lent back against the wind. The noise was tremendous. I thought let’s wait out this gust except that it wasn’t a gust. It started to push us forward and I began to wish I was a bit more lardy to weigh us down. Honestly, it was the strongest wind I’ve ever experienced and I can’t begin to describe the feeling, the roar and the noise standing there. Frightening!

We had to move. Actually, we were moving, inching forward as we couldn’t resist the strength of the push from behind. I got Susan to lift her feet and with my feet on the ground released the brakes slightly and let the bike more forward ever so slowly a foot or two at a time. 200 yards later and we were out of this wind tunnel and it was back to being gale force. The whole experience was unbelievable and it’s been the most difficult cycling conditions we have ever experienced. And this was the last day of our cycle tour. You couldn’t make it up!

Over the next 10 miles we were off and on the bike as crosswinds hit us. Eventually, we reached a town called Alpine and the wind magically disappeared. Oh, it was still somewhere but it wasn’t where we were. But do you know what was there? McDonald’s! Like a beacon of comfort it called to us.

As we sat having our breakfast McMuffin Susan looked at me and said ‘do you know I can think of many things I would rather have for breakfast but right now this is the bees knees‘. Exactly right!

You see that’s what McDonald’s has been for us on this trip. Not the best food but right time right place, time and time again. Food is as much about the experience as it is about taste and in that regard McDonald’s has repeatedly hit the spot for us. Sorry, but if you don’t understand you haven’t lived. Thanks McD!

After our last McDonald’s breakfast we continued our cycle to San Diego with a bit of a tail wind but none of the experiences earlier in the morning. After negotiating another big city we arrived at our Airbnb around lunchtime. 47 miles done. Only 7 to go!

Leaving El Centro we cycled a detour route through the Yuha Desert. The road was quiet and we cycled reasonably relaxed. To be honest it was more like we cycled reasonably knackered!

Here’s a photo of the desert sign. I know, pretty boring but not quite so boring as a picture of the desert.

35 miles later we checked in to the Ocotillo Motel around lunchtime. Nice easy day for two old knackered people.

Now before I tell you about the motel let me tell you about our options. It was the only motel in town and the alternative was a ‘dry’ camp beside the community centre. We thought we had chosen the best option.

Susan settled herself down in the nice green room and we had some beer and crisps whilst watching telly. Next door in what could have been the only other motel room there was a bit of shouting and wailing. When the door opened it would be unfair to describe what I saw other than to say there was grey and blackness like a cave. I left well alone and said nothing to Susan.

So we had just finished dinner of soup and tuna sandwiches when I went into the bathroom to wash the spoons. Clickity click click. Clickity click click. You all know what that sound is? Yup, it was a large cockroach running across the bathroom floor into the shower.

Now I’m a big guy but clickity click click is quite a scary sound for a ‘Big Jessie’ – that’s how we call it back in Scotland when a large cockroach causes undue panic in a big man. The English Oxford dictionary puts it more eloquently ‘an effeminate, weak or oversensitive man’.

With a rather large ‘clickity click click’ running about we both knew that it was ‘Big Jessies’ job to sort it out. After a few attempts, ‘clickity click click’ was under a soup container and ‘Big Jessie’ and Susan retired to the green room.

Half an hour later, Susan went into the bathroom feeling confident that ‘Big Jessie’ had dealt with the problem only to see ‘clickity click click’ running about the shower tray. She shouted through to ‘Big Jessie’ who was now reasonably emboldened after recharging his carbohydrates with two cans of Bud Light.

‘Big Jessie’ saw ‘clickity click click’ and thought ‘it’s got out!’ It was a large soup carton but ‘clickity click click’ was pretty big too and it was a reasonable assumption it had charged out. Yes a charging out ‘clickity click click’ knocking over soup cartons – I bet you’re feeling like a ‘Big Jessie’ yourself at the thought!

So, guess what ‘Big Jessie’ does? He lifts up the upturned soup container to put it back over big ‘clickity click click’ who by this time is running ‘clickity click click’ like a pro football running back avoiding the defence (notice how I casually slip in an American football reference!)

That’s when all hell broke lose!

‘Clickity click click number one’ was still under the bloody soup container! ‘Big Jessie’ despaired at his mistake! We now had two ‘clickity click clicks’ on the run! Clickity click click, clickity click click. It was clickity click click mayhem!

Susan tried some noise warfare by emitting a high pitched scream. It didn’t do anything to help the situation so she locked ‘Big Jessie’ in the bathroom with the two ‘clickity click clicks’. Yes, hear you – how could she do such a thing!

Thankfully, ‘Big Jessie’ had two soup cartons and it was a real battle of intelligence between the ‘clickity click clicks’ and ‘Big Jessie’. Move and counter move and ‘Big Jessie’ had to act with speed and precision to effectively deploy the soup containers. In the end, the ‘clickity click clicks’ were no match for “Big Jessie’ who was motivated by the knowledge that he was imprisoned by Sgt Major Sunrise until he completed the task.

Now if there are two ‘clickity click clicks’ what’s the odds on there being more? Quite high I would think. So ‘Big Jessie’ and Sgt Major Sunrise spent the night sleeping in a bed in the green room with threadbare sheets listening for that alarming sound ‘clickity click click, clickity click click’. Nightmare in Ocotillo.

We left Blythe at a completely unreasonable hour. Admittedly, we had a long 89 mile cycle to Brawley over rolling hills and it had obviously been on Susan’s mind. The alarm was set for 5am but she was moving about at 0430 hrs. You know the score – when Sgt Major Sunrise is up the whole damn camp is up.

One issue is we moved time zones entering California and sunrise is at 0550 hrs and sunset at 1630 hrs. So we had motel breakfast before I even knew I was awake and we were off.

A nice reasonably flat start as we headed for highway 78. The bike still has the annoying creaking squeak behind Susan’s chair that’s driving me mad as I can’t identify the cause. I’ve tried hiding the cakes from Susan but that’s proving impossible. I’ve oiled everything and tightened everything but it’s still there annoying me. It’s personal. Other than that the bike’s fine and I continue to clean the chain every day – it makes a difference.

Here’s a picture of a lonely Saguaro Cactus – nothing to do with the story but it was either that or another picture of Susan. The cactus won.

After a couple of hours cycling, the hills arrived, the hard shoulder disappeared and we were on a narrow single carriageway. Now this is the official Southern Tier Cycle Route but, as we subsequently found out, I don’t think it should really be cycled between Friday and Sunday.

You see, 60 miles down the road are the Algodones Sand Dunes and the makeshift town of Glamis. I say makeshift as there are only a couple of permanent buildings and the rest is hundreds if not thousands of RVs (recreational vehicles aka motorhomes the size of small houses).

At the weekend, everyone flocks to race their ATV’s (all terrain vehicles) on the sand. Now if you’re wondering what an ATV is and you’re kind of old like me then let me explain – they’re dune buggies.

So as we cycled time and again over short 6-7% gradient hills, large RVs and heavy lorries repeatedly squeezed us into the side. Now California has a ‘close pass law’ where it’s illegal to pass a cyclist within 3 feet. This day we were victims of at least 500 violations by violators who thought it was acceptable to pass us at speeds of up to 60 mph with tons of metal.

Countless hills meant countless blind summits and even those who moved out into the oncoming lane to avoid us did so often oblivious as to what was coming the other way over the hill. They just wouldn’t slow down and wait for it to be safe. I couldn’t believe it.

Now you are right – this road was no place for a bicycle but the problem was not being caused by the bicycle but the absolutely unbelievable behaviour of many of the drivers. I think it’s partly explained by the fact they are going to race small cars with ridiculous engines up some sand. Is this the kind of person you want driving a 6 ton RV? Exactly!

Now you know I like a moan and, of course, I gestured frantically and shouted loudly each time we were run off the road. You would expect that. However, I’ve never seen Susan react and wave as she usually is reasonably embarrassed by my antics. Today was different – that’s how bad it was!

However, Susan soon got over it when we got to the plateau at the top and was back to her sunny disposition. She was reaching for the chocolate and that’s always a happy time.

The driving aside, the landscape was marvellous. It was like the surface of Mars. A photo just can’t do justice to the vast, all encompassing, desolation that you particularly feel when all the vehicles disappear and you are left alone standing beside an old Native American trail.

After a great descent where we hardly pedalled for miles and coasted at 30 mph we reached the Dunes. It was RV city. Unfortunately, we now had a reasonably viscous crosswind and we were sandblasted – it took years of wrinkles off me!

Here’s some pictures of me and some sand.

And here’s three ATVs racing along having fun looking for cyclists to buzz and knock off the road.

Eventually, we arrived at Brawley just before sunset – 89 miles and 2100 feet of climbing. We bought beer to try and rinse out the sand and ordered in some pizza.

The next morning we were having a rest day and only cycling 15 miles to El Centro. This meant a late start. Yes you heard me! We woke at 7am and left the motel at 1030am. It wasn’t without its problems though as Sgt Major Sunrise did make an attempt at a 6am rise but I managed to prevail this one time. A small victory for the little man.

The late start gave me a couple of hours to clean sand off the bike and completely strip off Susan’s chair. Success, something I did sorted the squeak. On our way to El Centro we passed our first San Diego road sign.

It’s slightly more than 120 miles for us as the cycle route doesn’t take the Interstate all the way. Also, we have a reasonable detour tomorrow because a bridge on the backroad cycle route is out. Then its a still lot of cycling over a lot of hills over nowhere to cross to San Diego.

So where are we now:

As we near the destination we feel a bit weary. It’s an odd thing that the nearer to the end it’s not elation that builds but deflation.

We find when cycling long distances that the motivation and effort comes from the mind. How you are thinking that day is the most important factor in your performance. You can cycle through all sorts of tiredness and minor pains as long as your mind has ‘energy’ for the day. As we get nearer to the journey end it almost seems as if the mind says that’s it, job done and relaxes.

My solution? Well hopefully its a quiet road to Ocotillo and I’ve got a playlist of 600 country songs. And, of course, the first song on the playlist will have to be:

‘I’m much too young to feel this damn old‘ (Jason Aldean)

2,698 miles from St Augustine. Not so bad.

Our two days rest in Scottsdale, north of Phoenix, was slightly better than marvellous. In our lovely Airbnb apartment we relaxed, binged on Netflix, drank Bourbon and Susan even consented to watching Saturday College football in a sports bar – she’s still trying to get on my good side after all those early mornings.

On our second day we considered continuing our relaxation therapy in downtown Phoenix but as we like to pretend we’re a cultural couple we went to Taliesin West instead. That gives me the opportunity to be write a pretentious paragraph or two in this blog. I love being pretentious.

In case you’re wondering exactly what the definition of pretentious is please let me save you looking it up – ‘attempting to impress by affecting greater importance, talent, culture, etc than is actually possessed’ . Spot on!

So, Taliesin West, if you didn’t already know like me 🤠 is the one time winter home of Frank Loyd Wright and location of his renowned School of Architecture. Taliesin West was built and maintained by his apprentices, making it the most personal of his creations.

Born in 1867 and living 92 years, Frank Lloyd Wright is recognised as the greatest American architect of all time and one of the top world architects of all time. Yes, I know Americans’ can be prone to exaggeration but Frank actually was the real deal.

His visionary creations were strongly influenced by the natural world and he believed in larger, fewer rooms which flowed more easily, his antithesis to the rigid Victorian era architecture of the time. His ideas and designs were light years ahead and, now, almost all of modern construction puts to use the ideals he thought were important.

He said ‘no house should ever be on a hill or on anything. It should be of the hill. Belonging to it. Hill and house should live together each the happier for the other‘.

Incidentally, Taliesin West is built of local stone and all the walls are at an angle of 30 degrees – just like the mountain it lives with.

Just a couple of photos of Frank’s place. The lounge has entertained almost every famous person you can think of including American presidents. Not impressed? Well Elvis and Marilyn Munro visited, too. Now I’ve got you!

We left Scottsdale the way we arrived – along cycle paths and routes. What a great city Phoenix is for the bicycle – miles and miles of cycle routes through linked parkland got us to our abode and miles of canal cycle paths and quiet streets with cycle lanes got us out. A great cycling city.

We saw more people cycling in Phoenix area than the rest of the country put together. Actually, its the most Americans I’ve seen in my life taking some exercise. 🤠 Sorry American people 🤠 I love you really!

On the way out of Phoenix we met two other ‘bikers’. Great guys!

Three bikers and three bikes. I’m really sorry about the yellow flag sticking out the ear of my fellow biker! – my personal photographer was probably annoyed at something I had probably done.

From Scottsdale, we cycled 62 miles to Wickenburg and then 53 miles to Salome where we stayed in a motel on the edge of town. Our motel was the only option in town and not one where you would take someone to impress.

However, every cloud has a silver lining and this one was solid silver – it was an Avengers themed room! Yup, right out in the middle of the desert – I was sleeping with the Avengers! Sweet.

Now you’re probably thinking that an out of the way cheap motel doesn’t get much better than this but really it does – it had a bar and it was karaoke night!

Susan and I visited the bar and a nice sunset set the scene.

Now you can pay thousands of dollars for expensive holidays but you can’t buy holiday ‘gold’ like this. I wouldn’t swap it for anywhere.

Cowboys and cowgirls from all over flocked in for karaoke night in a bar in the middle of nowhere. Well to be honest it was just a load of old local people who had nowhere else to go.

The compare was a ringer for Kenny Rodgers and he gave us a great start with a Johnny Cash number. For a couple of hours we were treated to all the sad country songs you’ve ever heard. A woman sang about still carrying someone’s high school medal. Another sang and lamented ‘you never really loved me’ whilst the the guys sang about being lonely on the ranch. The guys crooned and the women wailed and the audience lapped it up. It was obvious only country songs were on the agenda and quite right too! We were in Arizona.

In came a ‘cowboy’ with his neckerchief back to front, leather gloves hanging out his back pocket and jeans in his boots in that casual ‘I’m a trendy cowboy’ kind of way. After one beer it was obvious he was ‘trouble later on’.

Behind us sat the pizza magicians – a couple made a fully loaded 20 inch pizza disappear – I’m absolutely sure there was a trapdoor somewhere.

To the side was a couple of guys with stetson hats discussing building a wall. ‘Wall builder guy’ described in detail the construction techniques and the other guy was appreciative and responded repeatedly ‘cool wall’. I was absolutely aching to join the conversation as all guys would, of course. ‘Cool wall’ guy then got up and sang a Patsy Cline song. I was amazed as he seamlessly moved from walls to Patsy.

The barmaid was nice and incredibly sassy. Now, I don’t really know what ‘sassy’ means but I’ve heard it in Western movies and it kind of seems appropriate. As she danced around the room serving beer ‘trouble later on’ guy, who was the only one dancing, tried to ‘do the bump’ with her.

You know what I mean, the ‘bump’ like they did to that Ike and Tina song. It didn’t really work with songs about loneliness on the ranch but that didn’t stop him – I told you he was going to be ‘trouble later on’! She brushed him off in a professional ‘sassy’ way.

Then there was this couple sitting on some stools who looked completely out of place. ‘Bud light’ guy was drinking a succession of beers in ice cold glasses. After a few beers he wanted to sing ‘Jolene’. His dear wife said in an endearing and sympathetic tone ‘but you cant sing’.

‘I know’ he replied ‘but I can do it in the style of Kenny Rodgers and get away with it’.

And what about the line ‘I’m begging of you please don’t take my man’, are you going to sing that in a bar full of cowboys and ‘trouble later on’ guy?.

She was right of course, so I took the extra Bud Light she offered and realised I’d had a narrow escape.

The following morning Sgt Major Sunrise had us up before the crack of dawn. The breakfast place didn’t open until 7am but that was too late so we were on the road again – breakfastless!

Ten miles later it was banana and muffins standing at the side of the road. At least we caught a nice sunrise. Yes, yes you read right – 10 miles and then the sun comes up! Please feel sorry for me!

And right bedside the nice sunrise there was an election poster. You just know you’re in the Wild West when this is the guy on the ballot paper! You would just have to vote for him. Don’t think there would be any crime. Who would dare!

62 miles cycling from Salome we reached Blythe and in doing so crossed crossed the border of California.

Hey, y’all that’s us in the last State – California ‘The Golden State”.

Left beautiful Arizona and arrived in sunny California crossing a very windy highway bridge.

Still cycling to San Diego.