The Wild West Meets Scotland

From Buffalo to Cody we detoured over the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway in Wyoming. Motorcycle heaven. Outstanding scenery. Outstanding roads. Outstanding weather.

We stopped for a couple of days in Cody (established and named by William F. ‘Buffalo Bill’ Cody) and checked into a nice motel to provide us with a ‘theme park’ experience.

Unfortunately, on the way to the pub, Susan and I got into a bit of an argument – she found alternative transportation for our trip and wouldn’t get out.

I had to resort to threats. Sorry guys! – sometimes even us metrosexual guys have to resort to unmetrosexual like conduct.

I proposed towing her in a traditional carraige – the local historic museum had a few spare that were available for reasonable cost.

Yes, I know the photo doesn’t really look like much of a historic town. Well it was and you know me – I always deliver!

Let’s start with with something impressive to demonstrate I know what I’m talking about.

This is Curley’s (Bull Half White) cabin where he lived with his wife ‘Takes A Shield’. What great names Native Americans had. So descriptive! I mean you certainly know not to leave your shield lying around when Curly’s wife is about!

Susan and I realise we now have adopted Indian names – ‘Clif Bigheid’ and ‘Susan Bigdug’. You see how us travellers easily metamorphosise ourselves into the local culture.

By the time Curly was 12 he had killed a buffalo and received his own horse. By the time most Scots lads are 12, they’ve completed the latest video game!

Ah, perhaps I should explain who Curley was?

Well, he was a Crow scout for Custer and the 7th Cavalry at the Battle of Greasy Grass. He was on the outside of the charging circle of Sioux and Cheyenne warriors and managed to escape. Well, that’s Curly’s story!

Okay, I’m listening, I hear you – you hadn’t heard of Curly and you’re quietly singing to yourself ‘that don’t impress me much’.

Well look at this!

‘Oh-oh you think you’re something special’? you ask.

Well, yes I do because look at this …..

Only the bloody table where the ‘Hole in the Wall’ gang played cards!

Yes, yes I know, I’m playing a blinder.

And whilst I’m on top – how about an original wanted poster for Kid Curry!

In terms of delivering on cowboy history I think I’ve knocked it out the park again!

If you don’t know about these infamous characters then you were probably not raised on a diet of cowboy movies and television series. I feel sorry for you.

I could show you more. I could tell you more, but I don’t have time and you don’t have the patience. I’ve got to move on and ramble on about another Wild West character.

Let’s talk about Bill.

We visited the Buffalo Bill Centre of the West, a museum affiliated to the Smithsonian Institution. Proper culture stuff. Yes, yes I’m not all about beer and beer and ……. well beer!

Here’s Bill. What a dandy!

Oh, I know it’s a photo of a photo. Best I can deliver cause he’s deid.

Here’s his coat.

Yeah, yeah it’s only a blinking coat and you’re still reeling in awe having seen the card table so let’s move on with the story.

Buffalo Bill, born in 1846, was a buffalo hunter, US Army scout and pony express rider. His marksmanship, courage, endurance and knowledge of the land made him a legend in his own time.

It should also be recognised, he was chief scout for the U.S. Cavalry throughout much of the government’s attempt to wipe out indigenous resistance to settlement of land east of the Mississippi. So he wasn’t a saint.

His exploits made it into newspapers and dime novels of the day and transformed him into a Western folk hero. He even formed a partnership with an author and they produced a stage show, dramatising the west.

For many years, Cody performed during the winter and scouted for the army in the summer. The lines began to blur between the two when Cody famously wore his theatrical clothes into battle.

In 1883, Cody organised his famous Wild West Show, a spectacular outdoor entertainment with a cast of hundreds, featuring cowboys, Native Americans, along with recreations of buffalo hunting, the robbery of the Deadwood stage and the battle of Greasy Grass.

Buffalo Bill’s relationship with Native Amercans changed and his Wild West show offered them an alternative way of life that allowed them to earn money. A cynic may say he exploited their destitution brought on by his summer job.

Lakota Sioux warriors became a centerpiece of the show and, for a time, even included Sitting Bull and other warriors who had fought at the battle of Greasy Grass.

The show played through the USA and toured Europe, including a performance in front of Queen Victoria.

In 1893 alone, three million people attended the show and, by the end of the 19th century, Buffalo Bill was one of the most recognised people in the world.

Surely he wasn’t recognised in Scotland? Oh, he surely was!

Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show first visited Glasgow in 1891-92. It ran for 3 months, staged in a 7000 seated theatre in the east end.

The most famous of the Native Americans in the show, at that time, was Kicking Bear who was the last Lakota Sioux warrior to surrender to the US Government.

Kicking Bear was a familiar figure in the streets of Dennistoun and one of his most well known photos was taken in a studio in Bellgrove Street.

So the Wild West Show in the Wild West of Scotland? What could possibly go wrong?

Well, George Crager, who toured with the show as a Lakota Sioux interpreter, sold a famous ‘Ghost Shirt’ to Kelvingrove Museum. Yup, if you’re going to reset stolen goods where else in the world would you go?

Ghost shirts are sacred to the Lakota people and thought to be imbued with spiritual powers. On a winter morning, on the banks of Wounded Knee Creek, a slain Lakota Warrior was stripped of the one item that was supposed to protect him from death: his Ghost Dance Shirt.

It became part of a collection assembled by George Crager and this looted artefact found its way into a Glasgow museum.

Fast forward to 1998 and, after a six year campaign, Kelvingrove Museum agreed to return this Ghost Shirt, stained with the warrior’s bloody, to his descendents.p

That’s not all that happened in Wild West Glasgow.

Crager also hit the headlines when he was assaulted by Lakota Sioux warrior ‘Charging Thunder’.

Jeez, even the wee neds fae Glasgow would think twice about upsetting a guy with that name!

Charging Thunder obviously lived up to his name and hit Crager over the head with a block of wood. And what did the Glasgow polis do? They did what they’re best at – they ‘gied him the jail’ and, subsequently, Charging Thunder was sent to Barlinnie (prison) for 30 days.

Nowadays, ‘Charging Thunder’ would claim diplomatic immunity and get out of jail or, alternatively, he would have a 5000 flag waving march in Sauchiehall Street proclaiming injustice and his innocence.

On the second visit to Scotland in 1904, the Wild West Show came back bigger and better than ever. It performed at numerous venues in Scotland to an estimated 500,000 people at a time when Scotland’s population was around 4 million.

They travelled in their own trains, extending to three quarters of a mile long and in Edinburgh they played for a week at an 18,000 amphitheatre in Gorgie.

Before the show, it was written that the participants collectively represented men who had served in almost every major conflict waged throughout the world since 1861.

So that’s Bill Cody and Scotland.

I could tell you more but, at your age, most of you will have dozed off by now. And you know what they say – always leave them wanting more.

Or as I always say – leave them with another famous coat!

Worn by Annie Oakley, greatest sharpshooter of the West. Now there’s a story!

The Greasy Grass

We had a good few days sitting about Buffalo doing nothing much apart from walking to the local ‘historical’ bar. They call any bar ‘historical’ in these parts if it’s over 100 years old.

At least this pub had bullet holes in the walls and I had a drinking partner looking over me.

There was a multitude of stuffed animals in this bar including a huge moose heid and a standing grizzly bear. I like stuffed animals on walls. Susan doesn’t.

We left Buffalo and my stuffed animal friends and headed north to visit the site of the ‘Battle of the Greasy Grass’.

Where’s that? you most certainly will be asking? Well let me enlighten you once again.

It’s the site of the Battle of the Little Bighorn. You know the one – Custer’s Last Stand. Where the 7th Cavalry were defeated by the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes in 1876.

The Battle of the Greasy Grass is what the plains Indians called it and, as they always say, the victors get to write history, then I think it’s only appropriate we give it its correct name.

We stopped for lunch at the trading post run by native Americans and we each had an ‘Indian Taco’.

That’s deep fried bread with chilli and stuff. Delicious. Bit more calorific than a Scottish deep fried pizza and I’m not sure how Susan mentally coped with it. That said she certainly stepped up – there’s a real man in there somewhere!

So what happened at Greasy Grass?

Well the Native Americans were being persecuted, their ‘agreed’ lands appropriated and treaties ignored. Bad duplicitous white man.

The US Government, under President Ulyssses S. Grant, then ordered the Sioux to leave the South Dakota Badlands (their home) by the end of January knowing they wouldn’t be able to make the trek during the harsh winter. The government planned to use this as an excuse to expand hostilities. Really bad white man.

When the subsequent US campaign against the Native Americans began in mid-May, a large group of Lakota Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes had already converged for a meeting called by Sitting Bull. An estimated 2,000 warriors and their families gathered on the banks of the Little Bighorn River. It was a huge encampment.

The Native Americans were no doubt wondering what to do next when along comes Custer and his 650 men of the 7th Cavalry.

George Armstrong Custer gained fame during the civil war (he was on the right side) and in post war conflicts with Native Americans. He was capable, experienced, vainglorious and eager for more battle glory.

Custer didn’t scout the camp properly, didn’t listen to advice, and was unaware of the true numbers of Native American warriors encamped there.

He split his forces into three battalions in an attempt to prevent any American Indians from escaping from either side. He wanted this to be a complete victory.

This was a huge tactical error when faced with an overwhelmingly superior strength enemy as his battalions were unable to support each other.

Of course, his batallion took the centre position, the position where he could get most glory.

The 7th cavalry engaged the Native American encampment thinking it would be an easy victory. They were eager for battle and thought it would be a rout.

The first action was the battalion, under the Command of Major Reno, flanking the village and opening fire on warriors, women and children. The soldiers were charged, defeated and retreated.

The other battalion, commanded by Capt. Benteen, was still approaching Little Bighorn and too far away to assist. Everything had started too early in a effort to stop any Native Americans from potentially escaping.

Once Reno retreated to a defensive position, the Native Americans turned their attention to Custer and his 210 men.

Custer’s Last Stand lasted under an hour as they tried to defend the high ground above the village. They were all killed and the only accounts of this ‘stand’ were from Native Americans. They said the soldiers fought courageously to the end.

The stones mark where some of them fell. It’s not widely known that Custer’s brother fought and died by his side.

Only a single, badly wounded horse survived from Custer’s batallion. Oh, I know some of you will be more concerned about the horse so I can tell you it subsequently lived a long life and was a bit of a celebrity horse.

Personally, I would like to have seen the horse’s head stuffed and on the wall in a ”historical’ bar I could visit. Wouldn’t that be great? Susan would disapprove.

The outcome of the battle, though it proved to be the height of Indian power, so stunned and enraged white Americans that government troops flooded the area, forcing the Indians to surrender.

Here’s a photo of the memorial stone at the 7th Army mass grave. Over 200 soldiers and scouts from at the ‘Last Stand’ lie here. Custer was reinterred at West Point Cemetery.

Let’s not forget Native Americans who died that day protecting their families, their freedom and their way of life.

Indian battle memorial outlook looking up to the mass grave of the 7th Cavalry.

Historians debate the pre-European population of North America and whilst disease and famine played a significant role, the American Indian Wars fought by European colonial empires against various Indian tribes has been characterised as genocide.

By the close of the Indian Wars in the late 19th century, fewer than 238,000 indigenous people remained. A sharp decline from the estimated 5 million to 10 million living in North America when Columbus arrived in 1492.

This was done in the name of civilization?

‘When we show our respect for other living things, they respond with respect for us’.

Arapaho Proverb.

Where’s Wally?

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.

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!

Wyoming Wind

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.

Two Mile High Club

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!

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.