Day 876 - Cedar City, Utah

Cross the Sierra Nevada from California into Nevada and it is like entering another world. California is a bit bigger with a population of some 36 million compared with Nevada’s 2.5 million, 600,000 of which live in Las Vegas. With that information alone you can be pretty sure that the landscape is going to be somewhat different. This is the desert south west where they enjoy 350 days of sunshine each year, on the other 15 days the UK gets it!

I seemed to be in no rush to get away from Reno. Having said farewell to my couch surfing host Deborah and her wonderfully behaved Labrador, Rowdy, I spent a good few hours sorting out a few things in town before I departed, I even managed to replace the water bag I had lost. The only one suitable was bright red, not a colour I really wanted, but I guess that will mean there is less chance of leaving it behind again. Heading out of town was a doddle, I left the same way as I had entered, then turned off east towards Virginia City. I could see the road passing through the hills and guessed it wouldn't be that much of a climb, I was wrong. It was one of those climbs with lots of annoying false summits, plus I had no idea what height the pass was at, it always makes it feel longer, but having said that it was probably the nicest climb so far, the views across the valley to Reno were just wonderful. By the time I reached the pass it was getting a bit late and a tad cold. I arrived at the lovely little gold mining town of Virginia City with no time to do it justice. It was one of those towns you see in old westerns with wooden sidewalks, saloons with guys wearing cowboy hats and everything full of character. Now days its all very touristy though, I gave it enough time to buy some very expensive food before heading down Six Mile Creek to pick up the US50. I was at Dayton, I missed my turning for the back road, and beginning to think that I was in for another very late finish, but this aint California, Nevada is much more desert like, it was so easy to find a place to camp, all I had to do was pull off on a little sandy track and head far enough away from the road and choose a sandy spot to lay my head.

The sky was clear, the sun up and bright, but it was still cold. I was in for one last flat day before the hills really started again. With a very slight tailwind I seemed to race along with ease, I arrived in Fallon wondering what I would do with the rest of the day. I chilled out with a coffee, stocked up on food and made my way out for the long stretch with basically nothing before Austin some 112 miles further on. One difference noticeable in Nevada are the casinos everywhere, there are even banks of slot machines in the supermarkets, only to willing to relieve you of any spare cash that you saved on your weekly shop with your loyalty card. I had entered Fallon on US50, a busy dual carriageway, I left on the same US50 but now a very quiet single carriageway road. Fallon only has a population on 7,000, so where did all the traffic go, it can’t have all stopped in town surely? It was from here onwards that the scenery really showed its class, desert scrub with mountains either side, really picturesque, I passed salt flats, mountains and a large sand mountain all with a perfect blue sky as a backdrop. It was dead flat for the rest of the day and I chose to stop an hour before dark and just before the first climb. Camping here is heaven sent, such a welcome relief after being in California. With an open vista I could see the nearby designated campground with a few RVs in it, but tucked behind a couple of little hills I was totally relaxed, nobody is every likely to notice you in this vast landscape.

The night was cold, pretty well all the nights here are cold, the water is generally frozen in the morning, but once the sun comes up the temperature rises quickly. With a leisurely start at about 8:30 the temperature is already around 6-9 degrees and still warming rapidly. Just after I set off I spotted another cyclist heading out of the scrub towards the road, a guy from New York and heading west, the opposite way to me. We chatted a while, both dressed for a cold start, but by the time we started cycling our separate ways we had already stripped off a layer. The first climb was completed, but the gears were playing up. A quick investigation showed that I had the same problem as Christine had, the cable was frayed and jamming, though it is so much easier to fix if you know what you are doing. I was back on the road with a new cable in place within 30 minutes. I guess the fraying had been happening over time, gear change is oh so smooth now. I did find it a little disappointing that not a single person stopped to check that I was ok, though I am sure they would have stopped if I had flagged them down. I filled up with water at Middlegate, which from what I could make out was just a bar but a board on the outside claimed a population of 17. I approached a tree, a rare enough sight in these parts, but this one looked odd even from a distance, things were either hanging or growing from it. Closer inspection showed that it was full of shoes, hundreds of them. The road was very quiet now, but I turned off onto the 722, discovering what quiet really is. After 8km I hadn’t seen a single car, I passed through the little village of Eastgate without seeing a single person. I was now climbing, a big climb, it dragged on and on, though the scenery changed dramatically as it entered a canyon, twisting and turning its way through the steep sided valley. It topped out at about 7500ft, the start of a series of passes over 7500ft that had to be crossed in the next few days, though during that time the road rarely dropped below the base level of 6000ft. Suddenly the road popped out of the canyon revealing a dead straight road ahead. This was also a feature that would repeat itself in the days ahead. In Nevada the mountains generally run north/south and with the road running east/west it was a series of passes followed be descents then dead straight roads across the valleys to start heading up the next pass. You could see things in the distance, but it took an age before you reached them, cars passing stayed in view for such a long time that I wondered how on earth I would ever get there. I camped out in the valley, the sunset was lovely, but with such a huge vista I just couldn’t capture the scene or the atmosphere in a photograph, I will just have to etch the scene in my memory, but knowing my memory it won’t be there for very long….oops, there it goes!

Frozen water bottles and another small pass greeted me first thing in the morning. The pass was called Railroad Pass, I could understand why as I bumped over the regular breaks in the road that made it feel as though I cycling along a railway line. Once over I was greeted by a 25km straight. I ride along these practically everyday and come evening I can remember almost every bend I have been around. Sometimes I emerge from the mountains into a valley, cross the valley to disappear into the next mountain range 30 miles later and can still look back to see where I had been cycling for the last two hours. I arrived at the little town of Austin, population 350, and set about looking for the food store, but before I could say “yum, yum” I was out the other side without seeing one. I doubled back and called in at the garage which had the basics, at least I wasn’t going to starve. “Where do you do your food shopping?” I asked, “In Fallon, 112 miles that way” I was told, a bit of a nuisance when you get home and discovered you have forgotten the milk! I reached the top of Austin Pass, whizzed down and up Bob Scott Pass to fill up with water at the campsite there at the top, only to find all the water taps had been turned off. I was only after a top-up so I just scrounged a little off a couple in an RV. Heading along the next long straight I was once again stopped by the police and told to get off the road, though this time it was only briefly for my own safety as a very wide vehicle passed carrying one of those huge dumper trucks. One more pass was completed for the day before I headed down a track to camp in the open in the scrub. I just love camping in the open here, the vistas are amazing and you get to see the sun go down behind the mountains, I just sit outside the tent and watch in awe. Later in the evening I am treated to a fantastic display of the stars….isn’t life great?

I completed what was probably the longest straight at about 35km the following morning, the climbed up into the lovely little town of Eureka. I asked some people where the library was and got talking to them and was given apples and pears to take with me. It turned out I was at the museum and they said I could use the internet on their PC as the library would be closed. I carried on talking to the lady there, we talked about the simple life in a desert town like this compared with her home town in Virginia on the east coast, “You get to appreciate the little things in life” she said “not that I know anything compared with what you are experiencing. You don’t need much in life really do you, just shelter and a bit of food…..OH! And Jesus. Do you know Jesus? Isn’t he wonderful?”. From there I headed for Raines, the towns food market, which I can honestly say had more moose and deer heads hanging up than in any other supermarket I have ever been in, in fact the last Safeway I went in didn’t have a single one! Can you believe that? I was told by two separate people in Eureka where the best place was to get a shower was, perhaps I should have taken the hint, but I didn’t, another hill was beckoning. The climb was soon conquered, Pancake Summit, who on earth would think up the name Pancake Summit for goodness sake? I dropped down into another valley and thought I would have trouble finding a place to camp, the scrub was close packed, there was no room to put a tent anywhere, but I just followed my instincts, up a gravel track, off up a little rutted track, into the scrub about 100m and there was the only little open patch I had seen the whole time. I am sure I am being looked after. I sat outside the tent as the sun went down watching the odd car cross the valley and climb into the mountains on the other side. Seeing how long they took to get across made me wonder what on earth I was doing on a bicycle, but what the heck, there is no rush.

All night long there was a rustling around the tent that I failed to locate, but come morning I discovered a funny looking bug underneath the tent, a weird looking thing if ever there was one. Another couple of climbs brought me to a huge ex mining area with the biggest slag heaps I have ever seen, giant man made hill. Ely was the town next to it, deserted on a Sunday. I made my way to the biggest supermarket I had seen in days and parked outside was another bike belonging to Chris. Chris is an American and had cycled all the way from Maine in just 2 months, it made my pace seem rather leisurely. We sat and chatted a while and some people have the knack of making you feel good without even realising it. Another couple came up to us from the RV and chatted with us, “Do you know where we can get a shower around here?” they asked and Christ replied with “I have no idea, I haven’t had a shower for two weeks”, so clearly I had no need to worry. I also brushed up on my American with Chris and discovered that the reason I receive funny looks every time I ask for a tap to fill up my water bottles is because they call tap a faucet. A tap is what draught beer come out of apparently. I could have sat and chatted for an age but we were heading in opposite directions, time was getting on and we both needed to head out of town to find a somewhere to camp for the night.

Thanks for all you comments and email wishing me birthday greetings, I guess I had better tell you what I did on that day hadn’t I? Amongst other things Nevada is famous for two things and as it was my last full day in the state I thought I would give one of them a go. The first thing is gambling, but we all know that is a mugs game. The only winners from that are the casinos, otherwise there wouldn’t be so many of them. The other thing is legalised prostitution. Hey, it was my birthday, it’s legal, I am single, I wouldn’t be hurting anybody, so why not give it a go. To cut a long story short, I was useless. Nobody showed the slightest bit of interest in me, I think I must have set my prices too high. I was looking forward to a bit of extra cash too, though I guess I would have only spent it on drugs as I need some more aspirin. Actually, I did do something different on my birthday, I had two cups of coffee before I started, an easy thing to do after another cold night and frozen water bottles again. I also intended to drink coffee at every available place I passed. The mission was accomplished, not difficult on The Loneliest Road in the USA. Having just dropped down from Connors Pass and the highest pass on this leg of the journey at 7722ft, I arrived at Majors Junction, hardly a major junction, but the only building was a bar, so with coffee in mind I ventured in. “Any chance of a coffee?” I asked, “We don’t have any on the go but I can put a pot on if you like”. So I settled into a comfy sofa in the bar full of nick knacks, the ceiling covered in one dollar bills, and the walls with pictures of deer and elk. The Americans love their wildlife, but they are never happier than when half of it is hanging on the wall, and there was plenty hanging around here. I sat back and watched the news for the first time in weeks. I saw footage of a gunfight in a bar in Ohio, somewhat alarmed by the number of people in one bar that were carrying weapons. I felt slight reassured though when I heard that 17 shots had been fired and not a single person had been injured, I guess the effects of alcohol has to be thanked for that. I got ready to leave and went to pay for two coffees “$1.50! Is that all? How much if I have a third one?” I asked, “Still $1.50”, I was told so I settled back down again. I eventually tore myself away from the comfort and went out into the wind, the road carrying on downhill on another long straight. At the far end of it I looked back and was mighty glad that I wasn’t heading up the hill. I turned north and with a good push from the wind I raced along, though as the road slowly turned through 180 degrees I was soon paying the price. The Sacramento Pass at 7154ft was the last one over 7000ft and with news of a storm for tomorrow I was mighty glad to be heading down a bit, from here on the base would be 5000ft and the passes at around 6500ft, it was surprising how much warmer it would be at night, frozen water and feet would no longer be such a problem. I had trouble finding a campsite, I wanted to camp somewhere before Baker with a bit of shelter just in case the storm arrived early. I climbed a rough track towards some trees, but it took me 45 minutes to find a spot which wasn’t stony or covered in scrub and then I was facing the wrong way into the wind. So all in all a better birthday than the rough time I had in outback Australia last year, but nothing exciting, other than the scenery that it. I did get one pressie, a book arrived in the post at Reno from Christine, Clear Waters Rising. I have started reading it today, I think it is going to be good.

The wind got up during the night, with the tent pitched in the wrong direction all I could do was hope that I didn’t get too much of a battering, which thankfully I didn’t. I did get a bit of rain, though by morning there was no evidence that it had rained at all. They say things go in threes and as I walked the bike back through the scrub to the tack I caught the front mudguard, it snapped in two, the third bike problem since my arrival in USA. It is now held together with black tape, the same as the rear mudguard has been for the last 18 months. Come to think of it, if I took all the black tape off the bike it would fall apart! I was surprised to find the return to the road was over 2km and with a loss in height of 100m. Back on the road I had a tail wind most of the way to Baker, then as I neared the little town it switched around doing it’s best to send me back again. Baker was a small town to do my resupply at, but when I got there, there was a sign on the only food store saying “Closed Monday and Tuesday”…great! I found a café that also claimed it had groceries. It did, but they were basic, it looked as though the next 84 miles would be covered by eating bagels and marshmallows. I talked easily to the guy who owned the place and with another bucketful of coffee for $1.75 it was a while before I eventually left, actually, I only left because he was closing! I left with “This storm will only last for two days” ringing in my ears, soon to be replaced with just the sound of wind ringing in my ears. The wind was hitting hard, those long straights seemed a whole lot longer when taken with such effort and just 8kph, to add to the pain there were markers for every mile passed just to emphasise just how slow I was going and how long it was taking me to get anywhere. It was rather depressing, I kept working out how long it was going to take me to reach Milford and if it was really such a good idea to be heading out with little more than a days supply of water and a bagful of marshmallows. I did still have some bread, it was stale and destined for the bin, but I was now really glad to stop and eat it, though I can’t say I enjoyed it, but I did appreciate it. I made it to the top of two passes for the day, progress was a little faster down the other side, though I could see I was heading for a sandstorm blowing its way across the valley. It was another long long straight, I could see I would never maker up the next climb before nightfall, there was no shelter either, tonight was going to be interesting. A small clump of trees came into view, there was something white beside them, I hoped it was a house, may be it was just a van parked up. Slowly I made it there, it was a two roomed building with some stock yards behind it and no sign of any stock or that anybody lived in it. It was locked, but behind it was a little “L” shaped patch that was totally free from the wind, I reckoned I could just about pitch the tent there. I set to clearing all the rubbish, leaves and glass, the tent went in, just, the back peg having to be pushed through the fence. I could hardly believe my luck, here I was nice and sheltered, yet take just two paces and the wind hit me when I ventured out. I slept well, the sound of the wind never dying down, but the tent hardly moved at all, I was happy indeed.

Come morning the wind was still howling, I would have given anything to just curl up and go back to sleep, but I guessed by the end of the day I would be very hungry, I got up. To my surprise, despite being very sheltered the tent was covered in sand, as was anything else left outside. The clouds looked even more threatening, they looked as though they carried rain. The direction of the wind had changed slightly, the going wasn’t so bad, in fact by the time I turned at the end of the straight I swear I even had a tail wind. Heading down the other side I reached the dizzy speeds of 60kph+….for a while. As I turned into the next valley there ahead of me was another sand storm blowing across (photos), within a couple of minutes I was once again fighting a strong headwind. Still, I as going better than yesterday though still working very hard to maintain 11kph, but I thought that was good, until I realised my altimeter was telling that I was still heading down hill. Another long straight across a valley was taking forever and I was being sand blasted at the same time. I was now in Utah, it seemed noticeably different in the amount of vegetation, the last couple of valleys there was nothing, hence with a bit of a wind the valley floor came to meet me. Ahead of me was blue sky and clouds, behind it was grey, may be the end was in sight. The further I got across the valley the more the wind direction seemed to be changing until as I once again turned out of the straight I was being given another push up the hill. I was going faster uphill than I had been going downhill. At the top of the climb the sun was out, I was feeling warm so I decided to stop for a bite to eat. You had to hang on to everything, even a bagel was whisked away from me by the wind, but I can move fast when food is involved. The weather improved, the wind eased at long last I reached Milford, not a moment too soon. I stocked up on food and decided to push on a little further, but by the time I was nearing Minersville I was still going through agricultural land and wondering where I would find a place to camp, but a little track went off into the hills and I found a perfect little sheltered spot. For all my efforts of the last couple of days I was rewarded with a glorious sunset (photo), I guess it was all the sand and dust in the atmosphere that made it so good. I didn’t get a great nights sleep, mainly due to micey type things that were really bugging me. They kept crawling up the outside of the inner tent, I waited until they were right above my head and gave them a healthy slap that made them hit the outer tent then slide down between the two. I hoped it would put them off the exploration trips, it did eventually.

The whole night was dead still, it was the following morning too. I was heading south over the last pass before Cedar City, it was so easy going, the sun was shining, I was feeling good again. It felt so fast to be cycling at normal pace again, I arrived early and had lunch at a diner. I asked the couple on the next table as I was about to leave if they knew where the library was and the great thing about sounding like a foreigner is that it makes it really easy to strike up a conversation. We chatted a while before they had to return to work, they had my commiserations. I was staying with another cyclist, Iain Dalton and his family. The address was hard to find, I asked a guy pulling out of a turning. A couple of minutes later we pulled up alongside me again telling me he had told me wrong way and redirected me. I think I met him 4 times altogether as he searched out the place for me. The house was the very last house up a long hill, a fitting end to the hilly journey across from Reno.

Today I was reunited with my long lost water. It was a tearful reunion, at least I thought it was until I realised it was just the last few drops of water from the bag. As I had climbed up Carson Pass a couple of weeks ago I had been offered a lift by Dennis that I refused, but I met him a couple of days later at the top of the pass and he offered to go and search it out for me, so I had given him a little map of where I thought I had left it. He kindly went up there, found it and posted it on to me here at Cedar City. This is another advantage of being able to speak the language and being surrounded by friendly people.

The next stage should be interesting, it involves more sightseeing and doubling back on myself than getting anywhere, but with the wonderful sights of Bryce Canyon, Zion National Park and Grand Canyon I think it will be well worth while.

Day 866 - Reno, Nevada

It’s been a long time since I have posted, I have had two weeks in California. It’s a big state, but two weeks have been enough to give me a little flavour of the place. It’s an extremely diverse state, I cycled along rugged and impressive coast roads, through dead flat valleys and climbed high mountain passes. The population and climate are equally diverse. In the flat as a pancake San Joaquin Valley I rode 113k and only had to climb 94m all day, but on another day I rode uphill the whole time and climbed 1940m in just 70 kilometres. I have cycled though fog, I’ve sweated and suffered in heat over forty degrees, days that started at 30 degrees and the temperature just rose, and I have been chilled to the core cycling through the snow, a day starting a freezing point and dropping to -4 degrees. I had expected to experience all this in the US, but I didn’t expect it all in the first two weeks!

I stayed an extra day in San Francisco as a bike computer I had ordered had not been delivered to General Delivery, but a bit of research and a few phones calls located it in a UPS branch in the Mission District. This worked out rather well as it the only area in SF that I had wanted to visit but hadn’t got to. I had a little wander through the area, full of Mexicans and fantastic murals (photo), many of them works of arts to be admired.

So I said my farewell to Wendy and Dan who had been marvellous hosts to me for over a week, a great start to my time here. Whilst there I spotted a fantastic quote on the calendar on the fridge: “And in the end it’s not the years in your life that count, it’s the life in your years”, how true. I was surprised to see that it was a quote from Abraham Lincoln. At last I was on my way, cycling down Market St, San Francisco’s main drag. It was determined for me to get a slow start, I was stopped at every set of traffic lights, and there were plenty of them too. Soon I was climbing one of the hills away from town and through the Golden Gate Park, apparently the largest city park in the world, it took me all the way through to the beach. The run south along the beach was hardly spectacular but it was a very nice way to depart from a big city, there were even odd bits of rugged coast to give a taster of what was ahead. I was using a map designed for cyclists which I have to say was very good when it came to avoiding the odd stretches of freeway along the coast. It had been generally inhabited along the way, so when I passed a beachside campsite I thought I would check the price and at a reasonable $7 I decided to stay. It felt very strange to be camping on my own again, this was when I really noticed that I had nobody to talk to. I didn’t have to wait long, another cyclist was approaching, his bike laden with so much stuff that you couldn’t see it, he had bits and bobs strapped on all over the place, including a large Brazilian flag on a pole at the back. He made straight for the shower block, the door opened and slowly he and the bike disappeared inside, the top of the flag the last thing to slip out of sight as though being eaten by some strange monster. After an age he emerged and set up camp near me, though I was in no mood to be sociable, as he set up his massive tent, his bike disappearing once more, this time inside the tent. I didn’t need to be sociable, it wasn’t long before a rather loud American, there are plenty of them, went over to talk to him, “WOW! I knew, I just knew, as soon as I saw you with all that gear, I just knew you had to be on a long ride….wow!” Another around the world cyclist I guessed.

As I was just about to leave the following morning Brazilian emerged from his 60kg of crap and wandered over for a chat, he was cycling north from LA to Portland, about 1000 miles and been on the road about 8 days. He was obsessed with the question of how to avoid hypothermia, every solution I gave him was thrown back at me, so I just gave up and said “The best way to avoid it at this time of year is to head south”. It was a cool start, with a bit of sea mist thrown in, but the sun soon had that burnt away to reveal a lovely sunny day, there were more good scenery of ruggedness and I even had a nice tailwind to push me along through it, things were going well. I passed through the large town of Santa Cruz that runs along the shore and merged in with the next couple of towns making it a long town drag at the end of the day. By the time I emerged out the other side I was ready to stop so called in at a campsite. The office was closed, though the sign pinned up informed me that it was a whopping $35! I could hardly believe it, there were a few people there but I managed to tuck myself away in a corner and away from everybody else so that it didn’t even feel as though I was in a campsite, though the picnic table and obligatory fireplace were a bit of give away. I went for a shower, it needed a quarter dollar coin, typically I didn’t have one so I went in search of some change. I approached a family and asked “Can you help me out with a bit of change please?” and before I cold finish what I was trying to say one of them immediately gave me a small coin “What’s that?” I asked, “It’s a nickel” he replied, I think that’s 5 cents, he assumed I was a beggar. I guess the difference between my tramp like looks and a beggar are a pretty fine line.

I left early in the morning, but honestly, it had nothing to do with leaving before the office opened so that I didn’t have to pay. I had been told that the state had run out of money, they were going to close all the state parks and campsites but had kept a few open and just whacked the price up. It was again foggy and cold, I was getting the idea that this was standard stuff for the coast. I was a little inland, passing through strawberry fields, full of Mexican pickers, at least I guessed they were judging from the Spanish radio blaring out the entertainment. The fog remained most of the day. I assumed I was heading through spectacular coastal scenery as the road climbed dipped and twisted all over the place. At times I could hear the sea below me, though I could rarely see it. It was all very disappointing, I passed no end of view points and car parks, but nobody was stopping at them, there was no point. By about 3pm it suddenly cleared, I could see what I had been missing out on, it really was fantastic, amazingly every pull over I passed had vehicles in with people out taking photos. I came to another basic campsite, a bit odd this one, it had a campsite sign and right next to that was a sign for no camping. Not knowing which was correct I camped discreetly again and had another free night.

The weather was looking better as I set off the following morning, the sun was shining and I could see clear blue sky as I climbed to the popular place of Big Sur. I managed to pass through it without realising I had arrived, there were odd clumps of buildings but no real centre, I had passed rightbthrough without knowing. Just out the other side was the Thingy Thingy Memorial Library, so I stopped to have a look. A sign stated it was the “Library where nothing happens” and true to form it was shut. I rounded the corner to a glorious view down the coast, there was no fog at all, I was in for a great day….but hang on minute, what are those trees doing sticking out of the sea? It wasn’t the sea at all, it was a perfectly flat layer of fog along the whole coastline (photo), which I all too soon dropped down into once again losing any view for rest of the day. I as beginning to become an expert on fog, here you can photograph it from 5000 different view points. As with the day before it cleared at about 3pm to reveal more wonderful scenery and to remind me of exactly what I was missing. I arrived at the attractive little cliff top village of Gorda where thankfully the only thing that I need to restock on was bread. I bought some for the extortionate price of $4.50. It rather reminded me of the bread in Japan, the one that said “Soft and soft, so soft I eat delicious”, though this was “Hard and hard, so hard I throw away disgusting!” At Ragged Point I met Steve, another cyclist, cycling from SF to LA and much faster me, but if I am carrying 40g of crap, he was carry 2kg of essentials, most of which seemed to be a sleeping bag. I carried on and at last found a nice little spot to camp in, tucked away amongst some pine trees. The only thing that disturbed me at night was a mouse constantly rustling things in the vestibule of the tent. Each time I brought the item inside, until eventually everything was in the tent.

At some stage that day I passed the 50,000km mark, so to mark the occasion I have added a few statistics by popular request. Well, Aoiffe asked for some, but that out votes all those that said they didn’t want them, so here goes:

I am currently using the following:
8th chain
5th set of sprockets
2nd middle and large ring on the front mech
3rd brake blocks
4th pair of mits
2nd cycling shirt
7th pair of shorts
2nd bottom bracket
2nd front tyre
3rd rear tyre
Original wheels
Shortest time in a country: 2 days, Leitchenstein
Longest stay in a country: 5 months, Australia
Friendliest people: It would be easy to say the Aussies, but they are pipped by the Iranians for their everyday act of kindness
Hilliest country: Japan
Flattest country: Bangladesh
Most entered country: Thailand, 3 times
Still wearing original trousers that were looking tatty when I set of and aren’t looking much better now.
4th cycle computer
Highest elevation: Read on
Lowest elevation -0.3m: Paddled in various places
Time in company of other cyclists: about 11 months
Time alone: Work it out
Easiest place to find drinking water: Japan
Best desserts: Bangladesh
Been ill twice
Injuries: None, but odd bites and stings
Email received: 100s, but I still love getting them
Emails sent: A lot less than received, oops, sorry!
Bagels eaten in USA: 43.5
Favourite country: Tricky, but I really like Switzerland, Bulgaria, Nepal and Australia
Worst country: Hungary, the flat route I chose was a bore
Longest stay: Sydney, 3 weeks
Longest ride: 203km, pushed on by nutty police in Myanmar
Amount spent: Oh dear, dear, dear!
Worst maps: France
That’ll do ya for now.

As I left the following morning I was surprised to find another tent between me and the road. The road ahead was less dramatic, flatter and no fog to speak of. I could see seals down on the beach so stopped for a look. I think they were elephant seals, huge great piles of blubber that seem to either be asleep or picking a fight with the seal next to them that had just woken them up. From their size I guess they also find time to stuff themselves silly with fish. There was a cycling event on, which I later discovered was the Lighthouse Century, there were hundreds of cyclist coming the other way and I began to realise how the Queen must feel waving to everybody. I stopped in the pretty town of Cambria, so by the time I was on the move again the first ones were heading back the same way as me though strangely enough only one person spoke to me. This was also the point that I left the coast and turn east inland along route 46, things were about to change very dramatically. Obviously my surroundings changed, now I had land on both sides of me, but also the land started to rise and I was heading into my first proper climb. The weather also took a dramatic turn. As I climbed up the temperature rose accordingly, I don’t think I have ever know it rise so fast, it was hot thirsty work, so I found the first bit of shade I could and sat and had lunch. It didn’t get any easier after lunch, it just got hotter, it had been 36 in the shade so it must have risen to over 40 degrees. I could feel the heat rising off the road, I could feel the hot air in my lungs and when I breathed through my nose it felt as though my nostrils were burning. To make things worse all this had been totally unexpected so I was not carrying enough water, I was getting very thirsty and the warm water was doing little to quench that thirst. As I started the descent I knew I needed water pretty quickly. Thankfully I was entering the wine region and before long I saw a sign saying “Wine Tasting”, so I called in and asked if I could taste their water which they kindly obliged with. Now every kilometre of so was a different vineyard, each with their “Wine Tasting” signs out the front, but my favourite sign was the one that said “Report Drunk Drivers”. I had crossed the hills and was nearing Paso Robles where I spotted a McDonalds beside the freeway. I just couldn’t resist it, I went in and had a medium think shake, not even I would be able to get through one of the large ones! I was reluctant to get going again, the air-con was just too good, but it had to be done. Finding my way through town was once again impossible as the only signs seem to be on the freeway, but the street naming really helps once you do know where you are going. I was told to turn right on 24th St, dead easy, you even know how many blocks you need to travel. Heading out was time to start looking for a place to camp, but once again it was a busy, busy road and all vineyards, things were not looking good at all. After a few kilometres I went down a small side road, but it was never ending houses all with about an acre of land. I turned up a gravel road only for it to come to a dead end at an airstrip, things were not looking good at all. I noticed the house at the end had some rough ground that they might let me use, so I knocked on the door. After a long discussion during which time Mike stated that his main concern was the safety of his family, I gave him my blog address. This seemed to add substance to what I was saying and then he and Helen kindly let me camp, I was relieved.

As I packed up the following morning a just felt I needed an easy day. It was going to be another scorcher and with no sizable places to pass through I was hardly like to get it, besides, I still had more hills to pass through. As I approached the front door to thank them for their hospitality Michael walked out to greet me and invite me in for coffee. We talked inside and he told me that they were heading off for church and would I like to join them. I declined, it was an hour and a half drive each way, but he asked again, so I thought why not, go for it. We headed back down the coast, during which time Mike told me that his full name was Michael Jackson, to a Baptist like church and what a great experience it was too. At the front was a full band complete with a wonderful lively “happy clappy” choir, hymns were sung with full hearts and waving arms from the congregation. During the service they kept talking about Sisters and Brothers, but there was not single nun or monk about, then the preacher said “We have a new Brother amongst us this morning”, he was looking straight at me. I was asked to stand up and introduce myself, which I did. The Preacher said “What do we say to John?”, “WELCOME” came the reply “and?”, “WE LOVE YOU BROTHER JOHN”, “and?”, “JESUS LOVES YOU BROTHER JOHN”. The Preacher then talked for about an hour, I heard every word and was mesmerised, the congregation often voiced their agreement, with the Preacher often saying “Somebody say Hallelujah”, “HALLELUJAH” came the reply. I was made to feel very welcome, one kind lady even tried to give me some money, though I declined it telling her that it was my decision to put myself into this lifestyle with a tight budget, but it was a lovely gesture. By the time I set off cycling it was still baking hot and 15:30. Thankfully I still had that tail wind giving me a healthy push, I had my much needed rest and now I was flying. I still managed to cover 60km, but that left me just over a pass on the busy route 41 with fences both side and nowhere to camp. I checked one or two of the gates, they were all firmly locked with signs making it known that I wouldn’t be welcome there, one gate had about 10 padlocks on. So soon after my departure from the Jackson’s I was already in need again, so as the light was fading and I was passing a ranch I cycled up the driveway. I don’t like having to ask for a place to camp but I had little choice. I think I have gained a fairly good judgement of what the answer is going to be and this one had “No” written all over it, but I was still very surprised by the response. Whilst I was still a good 20m from the building a woman came out yelling at the top her voice “YOU STOP THERE, STOP RIGHT THERE AND DON’T TAKE ANOTHER STEP”. It was hardly worth asking the question, but I asked anyway if I could camp beside her track to which she replied “NO! You carry on down the highway”. Now I don’t expect to be welcomed with open arms but I considered that her reaction was a little over the top, though in fairness I don’t know what her experiences have been like in the past or just how many American films she watches. With the wind still behind me I flew down the hill in the dark, spotted a small turning which I took and that brought me to a small track to open ground and a wonderful spot to stop for the night, though it was late.

I set off the following morning, another clear sky and already 31 degrees. I arrived in the small town of Avenal where I asked a woman the directions to the library. It turned out she was the wife of the Pastor of one of the towns churches and took me to meet him. We talked a long time and amongst many other things I learnt that the town had 16,000 people, 7,000 of which were in the prison I had just passed, and about 80% of the people in the town were Mexican. I was already aware the level was high as in the supermarkets Spanish was the language spoken and the shelves were full of tortilla and not a bagel in sight. I bought some marshmallows which I later noticed were described as giant. They were big, each one two mouthfuls, but the pack I had left behind were even bigger, each one the size of an apple. The Pastor asked if there was anything I needed. When people ask me that these days I take it as a genuine offer, so I asked if I could wash the shirt I was wearing. He took me downstairs to where there was hot water and soap, so I could at least get all the white sweaty marks out of the now crispy shirt. As I was now alone it seemed too good an opportunity to miss, so I stripped off completely and washed my shorts as well. One more climb and I dropped into the huge San Joaquin Valley, the food bowl of California. I was greeted with a head wind, which unfortunately meant that it was to remain with me for the next 3 days. I was riding past endless massive fields, but also orchards of almond trees, it was hardly exciting stuff, by the end of the day I was thoroughly bored. I knew I would have trouble camping, these were all massive farms with the fields being worked by Mexicans, big lorries were passing the whole time. I stopped at Five Points, a little village, and filled up with water there. I got talking to Daryl, he was locking up the shop where he had finished working for the day. I asked if he knew of anywhere further on that I would be able to camp and he pointed to the grass area behind his shop. I wasn’t overly keen, but I guessed I would nowhere better, so I made an early stop for a change.

The following day was mundane to say the least, I passed no end of things growing, plenty of nuts, fruit, veg and even cotton, but that headwind was still nagging away making the knees ache. The highlight of the day was the street names through the valley, those heading north/south where 15th Street etc, those heading east/west were 15th Ave. Roads have been added over time, 5 ½ St was there, but it got even better with 17 ¾ St. Once again I struggled finding a place to camp, I just had to keep going until I found something suitable. At last I passed an old orchard that clearing was no longer used, so I made my way in. I picked up a click on the front wheel and stopped a little further in to discover that I had picked up dozens of thorny things, so I spent the next twenty minutes removing them with a pair of tweezers, one giving a tell tale hiss as I removed it. It was again late, it would have to wait for tomorrow.

I set off early, I really didn’t want to be seen in the orchard, it was cold, but the wind hadn’t got up yet, the going was easy. I went through the large town of Merced, once again without the benefit of any useful signposts, though a quick chat to a postie and it all fell into place. I fixed the puncture outside an office, the hole being so tiny I couldn’t find it, but the people inside kindly let me use the bathroom to put the tube under water. The dot on a map of Oakdale turned out to be a big city, I camped just the other side in a field that sort of looked like an old park, yet another place that I wasn’t happy with, but it would have to do.

I was awoken during the night by another creature at my rubbish bag, this time a cat had done a runner with it. When I set of in the morning I discovered I had been camped on church land, I probably would have slept much better if I had known that. The start of the day was also the start of another significant change in the landscape, gone were the fields, they were replaced with cattle pasture, there were hills in the road, even some bends, this was really exciting, I could hardly contain myself. To the right I could see the bigger hills looming, the start of the Sierra Nevada. Place names with dots on the map revealed just a single house on the road, there was little out here (photo). I arrived at the bigger place of Valley Springs, it was again hot, I had lunch in the shade before the really serious climbing started. For the last few days I had been below 100m, now I climbed from 250 to 550m in the heat, it was hard fought for climbing. I arrived at the junction with a bigger road, a left turn took me swooping down a fast hill, I lost every bit of the height I had gained, I was not amused. It brought me to Jackson, a small town of some 4,000 people, and one small but very well equipped bike shop. I called in for some more glue for puncture repairs, the other I had hadn’t been used for so long that it had dried up, but I asked the guy there to check out the gears for me, they seem to be getting worse over time. He spent about 30 minutes on it, including straightening the rear mech hanger that probably got a bit bent when I came off in Japan. When I came to pay he told me it was for free, “Tourists privilege”. It seems that Jackson and the Jacksons have been very good to me over the last few days. I carried on climbing, I was trying to get to Pine Grove before nightfall, there was a State Park I could camp in apparently. I just about made it having even turned down the offer of a lift, but by the time I had found the route out, up a long steep hill, and collected some water it was totally dark, once again I was looking for a camp site by torch light, I was eventually installed by 20:30, well after dark, I was tired, I really couldn’t be bothered to cook.

By morning I considered I had done very well in my site selection. What had seemed such a long hill in the dark the previous evening turned out to be just over 1km long. This was the day that I would really be heading up the mountain, I settled into a steady climb that would be there for the whole day. After three hours of climbing I stopped at a café for a bite and a coffee and took the luxury of reading the local paper. I went to fill up with water when I left only to realise that I had left my water bag back at the campsite, I was pissed off to say the least. I carry two of them but the only time through USA that I will really need two is across Nevada after Reno, bloody typical! Snow was being forecast for the next couple of days, I really couldn’t afford to go back a lose the best part of a day, I had to carry on to get over the passes before the snow arrived. The climb was between the trees the whole time, nearer the end of the day the scenery started to open up. The road dropped back down a little to a campsite I could see marked on the map, I had no intention of staying there, but when I found that it was closed it seemed to good an opportunity to miss, so I stayed there. Campsites here have their own large area complete with table, fireplace and bear safe to put your food in, the only thing I didn’t have was water and I was carrying enough. It was cold, but I still took a dip in the river, bracing stuff.

The remainder of the climb to Carson Pass followed in the morning. As I sat by a lake eating breakfast 4 cyclists passed. I was soon to catch them as they stopped and we chatted our way to the top, it made the climb seem much quicker. It was cold on top, but there I met the guy who had offered me a lift a couple of days ago, he was working on a building as a volunteer with the Ranger, the same one I had seen on the front page of the paper the previous day. It’s a small world up here. The view on the descent were just spectacular, it completely opened up, this was the kind of stuff I had come to the US to see. It wasn’t long before I was climbing to the next pass, Luther Pass and heck it was windy on top, a head wind that brought me to a standstill, though thankfully I was soon to change direction and it gave me a huge push along, very welcome. I dropped down to Lake Tahoe. I had been told that there was a drop off at the far end down towards Reno, the dash was on to get there before nightfall and hopefully miss the snow completely. I was slowed down by unexpected climbs, though the scenery was truly stunning, so worth the effort. Parts of the climb were nerve racking, a 45 degree drop on my side with no barriers. Odd isn’t it, if there are barriers there I can ride right beside them, but take the barriers away and sod that! I am going anywhere near the edge thank you very much. The lake was about 40 km long, it was lovely and picturesque, but the push was on to get to the top end and down the drop, I was still at 2000m, above the level that the snow was expected. Once again light was going, it felt cold, snow was surely on the way. With not much time left I passed a cheap looking campsite, I was now cycling through residential area, it would have made sense to stop, but I just had to push on. At last I reached the road heading away from the lake, but I was surprised to see that it was climbing, the light had all but gone and already it was starting to snow. As I passed a church I noticed a little flat land in the trees, so doubled back and camped there. It snowed a little more, it was cold, I was mighty glad to get into my little tent.

Come morning I could hardly believe where I had camped, there were houses around that I hadn’t even noticed the night before. There was snow on the ground, it was freezing, my water bottles had iced up, but the road looked good. As I set off I passed a sign saying “Snow tires or chains required 3 miles ahead”, how can that be I thought, it is supposed to be down hill. It climbed, it climbed and it climbed more, the temperature was dropping, ice was appearing at the side of the road, the further I climbed the more it stretched across the road until I considered it no longer safe to cycle on the shoulder, I moved to the main lane, though passing vehicles were very good, patient and giving me plenty of room. Before long there was snow across the whole road, the snow ploughs were out, one or two cars were heading back, I just had to carry on, the other way around was just too long. Would this bloody climb ever come to an end, every metre in altitude gained in the snow meant one extra to go down, I was not happy. A guy offered me a lift, I turned it down, though I knew if I came off I would regret the decision. He told me it was still another 20 minutes or so to the top. Not a moment too soon I reached Mt Rose Pass at 8900ft, (2700m) the highest I have been on this trip and it was biting cold at -4 degrees. The easy part as over, now I just had to get down again. Progress was slow there was large icy snowy patches all the way across the road, it was nerve racking with the brakes on but unthinkable to go across without them on at all. I quickly became cold without being able to generate heat from pedalling. I stopped a number of times to free myself from the concentration and to get the circulation going again, I was so desperate to be lower down where it would hopefully be a little warmer. I guess it did get warmer but by then I was chilled to the core, I had been riding downhill for 25km, my limbs were reluctant to start moving again. I followed the only sign for Reno, I checked that there were no signs restricting cycles, there weren’t, but I still ended up of what seemed to be a freeway, but with at times the largest shoulder I have ever seen, 3-4 lanes wide. Before long there was a siren from behind, I stopped and got off the bike, “Get back on the bike” came across the loud speaker. The police officer insisted I had passed signs, I know I hadn’t, but they were large and clear where I got off the freeway. I passed a McDonalds, this time I used it to just sit around and get warmed up before I made my way to my couch surfing host Deborah. We had a great evening at her brother Rick’s house by which time I was just about warming through again. I think I did just make it over the pass in time, looking back it seems there has been more snow, I have been very lucky. I joined Deborah and Rick at a Bikram Yoga session, yoga in a room with a temperature of about 100F and I don’t think I have ever sweated so much in my life.

So tomorrow I am on the move again, this time on route 50 across Nevada, described as “The loneliest road in USA”. It is going to be pretty cool at times, but at least I should have no trouble finding somewhere to camp.

Day 849 - San Francisco (USA)

Sunday morning arrived all too quickly but it turned out to be a very long day, literally.

As we sat at breakfast Christine asked “Do you think the taxi will turn up on time to take us to the airport?”, a timely question, the driver had just turned up at reception 15 minutes early. Sunday is a good day to travel as there is little traffic on the roads. The estimated 70-120 minute journey took just 45. That turned out to be a God send, we were pushed for time in the end. Having weighed baggage and rearranged things so that nothing was over the weight limit, we checked in one after the other, no problems. At least no problems, until we tried to go through security as they wouldn’t let Christine go through with her saddle in hand baggage as apparently it is a dangerous weapon. I couldn’t really argue with that, if the saddle isn’t positioned correctly you can soon get a very sore arse, though I was surprised that security realised the problem too. We had to dash back to check in to try and get it checked in as normal baggage. It did cost a few dollars, though only half as much as they originally wanted as we argued we had been under the weight limit. Back we went and over to the boarding gates on a little train. Thankfully our gates were just 2 apart and departure times just 15 minutes apart. We had little time to get emotional about going our separate ways after 7 ½ months together through Southern Australia, New Zealand, Japan and finally Korea. We hugged and shed a few tears, the just minutes later my finally memory of Christine was as she turned and waved vigorously, a big smile on her face. I am sure we will meet again some day, probably on a walk somewhere, at least then I will have to shed baggage weight so she will no longer be able to joke about my 40kgs of ’crap’.

My flight left at about 13:15 on 13th September. As we taxied I watched Christine’s Aeroflot aircraft take off with just one plane between us, she soon disappeared into the clouds. My flight was a short one to Beijing, then a longer one to San Francisco. After around 13hrs of flying and passing through the night we landed at SF at 13:05 on 13th September having crossed the International Dateline. I always seem to pick the slow line at immigration, which probably meant he was a bit more thorough than the others, he certainly was in my case as he sent me to secondary immigration for further questioning. I was grilled on all sorts, where I had been, where was I going, “Give me a detailed itinerary of your plans in USA”. That was a tricky one, I couldn’t really answer truthfully “I dunno, I haven’t decided yet” probably wouldn’t help my cause. More question followed, “what’s your job?”, “who do you work for?”. “I am not working at the moment, I have been travelling for 2 years” never goes down well. “So you are unemployed. Did you lose your job in the global recession?” “How much money are you carrying?” was another one, to which my answer of “Sod all really” didn’t go down too well either. “So you are cycling are you, which route” he asked. “Probably through the southern states to Florida, then up the east coast to New York” I replied. “So you will fly from Florida?”, “No, no, by bike”. “How long will it take?”, “Dunno, but hopefully no more than the 6 months that I am asking for” . I was in need of a little help, then it arrived unexpectedly with a voice from behind me “Mr Harwood, do you have a bike? It is waiting at carousel 5 for you”. It was probably pure coincidence but following that I was very quickly given the 6 months entry permit I was after. I was escorted to my bike, everybody else had long since gone. Flying with a bike seems to be getting more and more difficult.

Having arrived at 13:15 and finally put the bike back together I departed the airport at 16:30. Within just a few kilometres I was feeling that immigration had done a crap job, they shouldn’t have let me in, I had already broken the law 3 times. Firstly I couldn’t seem to get away from the airport without using a freeway where bikes are not welcome and no cyclist would wish to be anyway, then when I did get off I found myself in an industrial area, empty being Sunday. The traffic lights couldn’t sense the bike, I had to jump red a number of times. Then I whizzed down the hill breaking the 25mph speed limit. Heading into San Francisco wasn’t easy for me. Information at the airport was so different to Korea and Japan where they were so helpful, here the woman seemed very put out that I should ask her a question, it WAS Sunday after all. So I had one map of downtown which I never used, 4 street names I needed to look for in Berkeley and a mental picture of the place and the Bay Bridge to take me across to Berkeley. Apart from the industrial area where I did a couple of laps it all went remarkably well, though would have been a nightmare in a non English speaking country. For the first time in over 2 years I am behind UK time, by 8 hours. It felt very strange, as I looked at the time my little brain was telling me it was 6pm yesterday…hang on, that can’t be right! I found my way to the bridge but it doesn’t cater for bikes, they all go on BART, the underground, so once again I was taking 40kg of crap gingerly down flights of steps. Once underground I latched onto another couple of cyclists who knew what they were doing. They even had to show me how to buy a ticket. In Seoul it was so easy, but here there seemed to be no way of buying a ticket cheaper than $15 for the $4 journey, even the locals struggled to help me. So having been relieved to $15 we went the rest of the way down with a lift. Lots of bikes use BART, bikes were in every carriage, nobody batted an eyelid. We passed through the station of MacArthur, later that evening I was to see the same name again and it turned out to be the same MacArthur we had learned so much about in South Korea, the general that masterminded the Incheon landing during the Korean War. My two cycling friends even got off at the same stop as me, I thanked them, and as it was getting dark I cycled off in the rain. Despite everybody telling me how dry California is, I was greeted with a very wet evening. I was after Santa Fe Ave, nobody knew exactly where it was but they did mention the other roads on my list of 4 and before long I was knocking on the front door of Dan and Wendy, I was Couch Surfing again. I had landed on my feet, they made me very welcome straight away, I even have a bedroom and bathroom to myself, none of this couch stuff. I was glad to arrive, the end of a very long day. Jet lag never normally bothers me, but I couldn’t sleep at all, I spent most of the night reading or pottering about, then had another go at sleeping. I eventually went to sleep at about 4am then woke at about 9:30 feeling totally knackered. Such is life.

So what can I tell you about San Francisco? Firstly I can tell you that my fist impressions turned out to be totally correct….it is a city. It’s a city I have always wanted to visit, so many of the places are recognisable from pictures I have seen and programmes on the television, some were totally new. I checked out Fisherman’s Wharf, I was looking for pier No.39. All the others leading to it looked perfectly normal, boats were docked at some, others were lined with restaurants, but No.39 was different. The wharf is famous for its sea lions, hundreds of them, crammed on, sleeping together in such a mass that occasionally one would fall off. I made the trip across Golden Gate Bridge, a classic sight if ever there was one. It reminded me of the Severn Bridge, though tourists come flocking here, hundreds on hired bikes, even more on foot. I rode across the far side and viewed it from the cliffs above before it disappeared in fog. By the time I was back over the other side it was beautifully clear again, ain’t that typical! I have always wanted to see the bridge, but I was a bit disappointed with it, to me it always seemed so fantastic, it was supposed to be much better than the Severn Bridge. The hills of San Francisco were even more impressive than I expected. From the map you can’t tell where they are, the whole city is laid out on a grid system, the roads continue straight no matter how steep it gets, and it does get steep. The only flat bits around are the little squares of road that form the centre of the crossroads. If you live here you know how to do a proper hill start in the car. They were great streets to wander around each street being different and inviting. There are nice churches too, Grace Cathedral being a kaleidoscope of stained glass. And now for a little story, a very little one this one. Years ago, when I was a kid, I can remember doing a jigsaw of some old houses with the city beyond. I always loved the picture, though at that age I didn’t really care for where it was. I don’t know when, but I found out it was in San Francisco, whilst here I just had to visit it. It didn’t get a mention in the guide book I have just bought, so I made another trip to the book shop and I found a picture of the place and the name of the street. I paid a visit (photo), I still love the scene, in fact it is my favourite photo of all the pictures I have taken here, still exactly the same as I remember from the jigsaw years ago. I visited it twice, I was blessed with great weather on both occasions, and I left very happy both times. Across the bay linked by the 5 mile Bay Bridge is Berkeley, home of the University, just a short hop from San Francisco. Dan took me for a trip around in the car, the place is just as hilly, though once over the crest of the hill the place is a wilderness, you are a world away from the city wandering through the hills and Redwood forest, then back at the hill crest you can look across the bay to the city beyond, hard to believe that it so close. I have quickly grown very fond of San Francisco and the bay area, I think I will be hard pushed to find a city in the US that I like better.

And what about the city’s people? The place is very diverse, I still had the ability to ask for directions and get a shrug of the shoulders and the answer of “No English”. There are people here from all over the world and so many from Mexico that you even see signs in Spanish. Life of the streets is exactly how I had imagined it with street talk that is English that seems to make no sense to me, though I have seen an alarming amount of people that seem to be talking to themselves, perhaps nobody else understands them either.

Unlike Britain, the US doesn’t feel the same need to go metric. I am back in a land of miles, a place where people have no clue what you mean if you talk in metres and millimetres. There are even road signs for hazards ’500 ft ahead’. They weigh in pounds and ounces, but have no idea about stones, you body weight is talked about as, say, 150 pounds. Everything in the shops are measured in pounds, I am finding it all a bit confusing at the moment.

It seems quite a cycle and pedestrian friendly place to me. Bikes are allowed on BART and all buses have bike racks on the front. On most streets junctions there are crossing points for pedestrians and no given right of way for vehicles. So pedestrians go first, but vehicles slow down almost to a stop anyway to check for other cars. This is all well and good and very safe for pedestrians, that is until I get on my bike. I still haven’t quite adjusted to it, I forget and wonder why people step out right in front of me….don’t they understand, I will mow ‘em down!

Dan and Wendy have been great and reminded me just why I loved Couch Surfing so much in Australia. They have made their home my home, their friends my friends. The took me out to a sort of ‘house nightclub’ where a live group played to a small audience of about 40 or 50 sat around and lounging of sofas. Dan has shown me around in the car and even taken me to a gym for the first time in my life. It made me realise just how useless my arms are, I shan’t go again!

So what happens now? Well shortly I set off on the final leg of my journey, at least right now I assume it is the final leg, you can never tell what might happen. The final destination is New York. I have mixed feelings about the journey, it feels the same as when I was about to set out across Australia from Darwin, the USA is a big place, but at the same time it only feels a very short time before I return home. I am sure some wonderful experiences are ahead of me, I look forward to them with relish, though I am not looking forward to the winter.

Day 842 - Time in Seoul

With a few days to look around Seuol we did our best to see some of the main sights and some of the more diverse sight too.

The first stop was a short metro ride out to Gyeingbokgong Palace. Seoul has 5 palaces, we weren’t intending to visit them all, but this one was a good introduction. We timed our arrival well, we had a little time to see the changing of the guards (photo) before being taken on a guided tour. Our guide was excellent. She really showed an interest in everything about the palace and gave me the impression that she was more of an historian than just a guide. The place was massive. As we entered I told Christine that it reminded me of the Forbidden City in Beijing, but it seems I wasn’t the only one to think that, our guide told us that the Japanese also thought the same thing as they arrive to burn the place down. Style and colour wise it was all very similar to the temples we have visited, it just differed greatly in use. Afterwards a short walk took us past the Ministry of Unification, now someone has a tough job there, and onto a Christian church that would have looked more in place in Italy than in the centre of Seoul. We ate at a nice little restaurant before heading into a supermarket to buy dessert of ice cream. A voice from behind said “Hello, remember me?” Amazingly it was the Japanese cyclist we had met as we were going into Hiroshima. At the time he had told us he was heading home, but it seems he didn’t stay there too long, either that or he took a wrong turning.

We checked out the Martyrs Memorial, renovated and reopened just a few days ago. This is where the Koreans dried to snuff out Christianity by killing all the Christians. Across the road was the Missionaries Cemetery, one stone reading “I would rather be buried in Korea than in Westminster Abbey”. An art museum was next, the Leeum Samsung Museum, the most expensive art museum in town. It was better for the building and the way it displayed things rather than the objects themselves.

After a day of no palaces we checked out the Changdeokgang Palace, another guided tour but oh so different. Our guide was about as boring as you could wish to be, it rubbed off on the people she was showing around. I was just thinking “These palaces are all the same, I am not sure I can stomach another” when Christine chipped in with “This is soooo boring, I don’t think we should visit any more palaces”. They are massive places and very impressive, but here you can get “palaced out”. We called in at Seodamun Prison. Christine loves her history, so being idle I will copy odd bit from her blog:

I have done so much interesting sightseeing lately that I cannot spare you another lesson in Korean history - it is just too fascinating.

Chapter 1: It is all the Japanese's fault or Seodamun Prison in Seoul: Korea became a Japanese protectorate in 1905 and a colony in 1910 and the Japanese who had only very recently been "awakened" themselves by the Americans modernized Korea within years. Modern textile, steel and chemical industries emerged along with new railroads, highways and ports. By 1940 the Japanese owned 40% of the land and there were 700,000 Japanese living and working in Korea. This modernization left Korea much more developed in 1945 than for example Vietnam under the French, but Korea had to pay a high price for that: Japan tried to destroy the Korean sense of national identity. Koreans were forced to change their names and not speak Korean. Millions of Koreans were used as "mobile human fodder" for the Japanese doing forced labour in Japanese mines or forced into prostitution as "comfort women" for Japanese soldiers in WW II. Any resistance was brutally suppressed and this is where the Seodamun Prison comes in. The Japanese built this prison in the early 1900s and it was soon filled to the brim with male and female Korean resistance fighters who were brutally tortured and executed. The prison has been restored with a lot of effort and after visiting it I could understand very well why the Koreans still dislike the Japanese. Koreans love life-size models in their museums and therefore this prison is full of torture exhibits with a lot of fake blood and piercing screams - definitely not for the faint of heart....

Back to me: We headed for the Coex Mall, just a mall really but inside it was an unusual museum the likes of which are unlikely to be found outside Korea. This was a Kimchi Museum. It pickled stuff, mainly cabbage with fish juice….hmmm, delicious! The Koreans love it and it is very unusual not to have a small pile of it served with every meal, breakfast included. In case you hadn’t had enough during meals, you even got to sample more of the stuff on the way through.

I think the highlight for both of us was the day trip to the DMZ. This is the Demilitarized zone, and covers the length of the border between the north and the south, stretching 2kms each side making it 4km wide. Over to Christine:

Chapter 4: The daily war at the border or the DMZ (Demilitarized Zone): A definite highlight of our travels in Korea was a trip to the DMZ. The way these tours are conducted are very telling. First of all only foreigners are allowed into the DMZ itself. You have to take a tour and even have to obey a dress code: No jeans, sandals, provocative T-shirts and no 'Gangster look'. You even have to change buses to get into the JSA (Joint Security Area) itself, which is shared by Southerners, Northerners and the peacekeeping nations. In the DMZ the war goes on a little bit every day giving the whole area an eerie feeling. We were told not to communicate at all with the Northern soldiers, even if they show us a middle finger.... The Southerners all wear sunglasses (so they can avoid direct eye contact if they end up in a staring contest with their neighbours), stand around in a sort of aggressive Taekwando position (looks more frightening) and have ball bearings in their trouser seams (their tingling makes them sound more in number than they actually are). And the Northerners are not short of provocative actions: In 1978 they brutally killed two American soldiers who wanted to prune a tree in the JSA (it was blocking their sight)- with an axe, later known as the axe murder incident. They erected a flag post in their propaganda village close to the border and when the Southerners built an even higher flag post, they responded with an even bigger one. Right now we are at 100 m in the South and 165 m in the North (with a 35 m long flag!). In order to infiltrate or even attack the South they built various tunnels under the border, one of which tourists can visit. When the tunnel was discovered, they claimed it was an old coal mine - but unfortunately this area consists of granite and there is no coal whatsoever. The most 'hilarious' accident however took place pretty recently in the joint conference room in the JSA where you can actually cross 2 meters into North Korea - the room is literally built on the border (photo). On the Southern room side flags of the UN nations participating in the Korean War were displayed until the visit of President Bush. What had happened? During the visit two North Korean soldiers tore down the American and South Korean flag to clean their shoes and blow their nose with it..... Now the South has substituted the flags with plastic plaques...

And back to me: As we rode out on the bus we were given very specific instructions, my favourite of which was “DO NOT take any photographs unless you are told to do so!”….you will enjoy yourself! We swapped buses and were taken to Camp Boniface. There we passed the most dangerous golf course in the world, it had mine fields all around which I guess were put there to stop any disputes on whether your shot is out of bounds or not. The mines have since been removed and the course is still used, though there is only one hole. Once back it fitted in well that we should visit the War Memorial Museum, especially as it was just across the road. Christine:

Chapter 2: The Korean War or the Korean War Memorial Museum: We should have been warned: This museum would be big. But it was not big, it is huge! It took us 3 hours to work our way through learning everything we always wanted to know about the Korean War and did not dare to ask. In fact we learnt more than we ever wanted to know and were totally knackered afterwards. To sum it up this is what happened: After 1945 Korea was divided into a Communist North and Capitalist South with the goal to have joint elections soon . Only that this never happened. By 1949 both the Soviets and the Americans had withdrawn their troops. North Korea's Kim Il Sung launched a surprise attack on South Korea on 25 of June, 1950, when the border was almost unguarded: The South Korean troops had been dispatched to help the farmers during rice planting season... The North Korean army swept over the South and occupied almost the whole Korean peninsula. For the first time in history the UN authorized a military intervention and asked its members for military help which came mostly from the Americans. And this is when General Douglas Mac Arthur enters the world stage again at the tender age of 70. He is extremely successful and turns the war around with his famous Incheon landing. Unfortunately, the Chinese did not like that and entered the war on the North Korean side. For 3 years the war is waging back and forth and Seoul alone changes hands four times. Soon both sides realised that no one could win this war but truce talks took 2 years until an armistice was finally signed in 1953. The South Korean government never signed this armistice as they did not want the war to end without re-unification. After 3 years and 1 one month of war and 4 million people had died, North and South Korea were divided more or less at the same demarcation line as in 1945....

Time was running out for us. I packed Christine off to do a bit more sight seeing whilst I stopped around and just packed. Guess what? There is more from Christine (I am being very lay today!):

The end is near or I am going to have a break

Tomorrow I will fly back (home?) to Germany. I could say "the end is near", but I do not want to look at it like that. Sounds too final and this will not be a final return for me.

I have travelled much longer than I had ever anticipated mostly due to the fact that I have met John and we got sidetracked a lot just having too much fun. I had planned to be back by mid-May and now it will be mid-September. I had never planned to cycle in New Zealand. I wanted to cycle 1 or 2 months in Japan and it turned out to be 3 months. I never even thought of going to Korea. But I had a wonderful time. And I would do the exact same thing again...

In fact I enjoyed it so much that I can't stop it. Also the US$ exchange rate is just too good to be missed - I just have to go to the US again. Probably the Florida Trail and the Arizona Trail will be next and I will fly to Miami around Christmas. So flying back to Germany is not the end of the trip, but just a break. A holiday from a holiday so to speak.

The hardest part is parting from John. For the last 7 months we have been together 24/7 - sometimes arguing, but mostly having a great time. He will fly on to San Francisco to finish his cycle trip around the world. I do hope to meet him again some time - we have a lot of ideas for future trips.

So tomorrow a wonderful chapter of this trip will end, but I am already looking forward to the next one.

Day 839 - Seoul

It was another hot day when we left Jeondongjin, in fact it was hot the whole way to Seoul. The first part rolled nicely along the coast before we waved goodbye to the sea for the last time. We were heading for the large city of Gangneung, when we spotted an apple seller at the road side. There was a huge pile of apples which were then put into large bags, though we just picked out four and asked how much it would be. He just waved his hand nonchalantly, we could have them for nothing. In Gangneung we did little other than stop at the market for lunch and top up our food supplies as we weren’t sure when we would reach another reasonably sized place. Before long we had turned onto the nice quiet route 456 and just a few kilometres further we reached a large museum in the middle of nowhere, so we called in. It contained loads of Buddhist statues and piles of goodies from the Joseon period, around 12th to 18th century. It was never going to be a highlight of Korea, but as we had nothing to visit until we reached Seoul we were glad to have called in. Once we left we were climbing, it was getting latish so we turned off the road, went under a gate and climbed up a steep concrete road to find a nice spot to camp in the woods.

The following morning we were surprised to be disturbed by dogs, a guy was out to take them for a walk. We saw them again at the gate as we left, he had four of them and drove off with two of them in the boot and the boot wide open. We carried on climbing. Near the top was a car pull in and a nice view back down to the coast. There were a couple of guys in national costume, so we made the most of the situation and took some photos, then he made the most of it too by insisting on more photos with Christine’s arm around him. From the top we rode along a bit of a plateau, not particularly high at around 750m, but it must still get pretty cold here in winter as the place was a big ski area including 2 massive ski jumps. We were heading for Woljeongsa Temple in the Odaesan National Park. We stopped for lunch a little before the temple and a look at a map on the wall while we waited for our food. I was a little surprised to see that the road we were taking to the other side of the park wasn’t on it. I asked the guy working there who spoke a little English, if it existed. He assured us it didn’t and gave us the signal for ‘no’ by forming a cross with his forearms, something we would see a number of times during the afternoon as we asked anybody who might have reliable information. The temple itself was impressive. It was made up of a number of small temples, but here each one had monks chanting and banging percussion instruments inside, very atmospheric. We carried on doggedly up the road, it turned to gravel, not a good sign. We still had a long way to go on it and even if we could get through with the bikes it was going to get much steeper, so with Christine’s broken sprocket in mind we decided to play it safe and return, though the return was much faster, all down hill. Camping that night looked pretty desperate. We turned off up another concrete road, but this one turned out to be small farms and fields. We couldn’t decide if it was worth continuing up the climb so tossed a coin to make the decision. The coin told us to stop being a couple of whimps and carry on climbing, though the road soon came to a dead end. We carried on up a grass track, the coin doing us proud by finding us a nice little spot in the woods beside a stream….well done coin.

Every morning seems to start with a climb, so after our descent back to the road we were climbing again. Ahead on the map we could see the Lee Seung Bok Memorial Hall marked, we had absolutely no idea what it was all about but decided to call in. We seemed to be the only ones there, it was more than just a hall, it covered a large area, part of which had fighter jets and tanks. We saw a large memorial with a young lad standing there, a little further on was the house where he had lived as a child, though there was nothing in English, we still had no idea who he was. We guessed he was some military leader, he must have been very special as inside the hall were lots of artefacts from his early life, shoes, school books etc. But we still couldn’t make sense of it as the dates seemed to indicate that something had happened in 1969 that was long after the Korean War. A series of paintings of his life with English captions and a film in Korean revealed to us what it was all about. Lee was born in 1959 and was a good pupil at school where he worked hard and excelled. He had been taught to hate communism, so being a strong minded little lad that is exactly what he did. Then in September 1968 another bunch of North Korean guerrillas had infiltrated South Korea by sea, walked their way through the mountains, then for some reason had entered Lee’s house one evening when all the family were there. They interrogated 9 year old Lee, but he was very stubborn and stated how much he hated the communists. He paid a high price, they cut his mouth open, then slaughtered the rest of his family. His elder brother survived and had enough strength to raise the alarm. Despite the lack of English it was very interesting and gave an insight into the South Koreans way of thinking. We have seen a number of sights now related to conflict with the north, yet they seem to remain determined to strive for unification, in fact in each place we have visited there is always a map of the whole of Korea, the country is never shown as divided. The rest of the Memorial Park was a bit of a mish mash of things, stuffed animals, a classroom which we believe is the one that Lee used to attend, still on its original site, then another building full of folklore artefacts. We ate lunch at the only restaurant we could find near by, a pleasant meal, very spicy as usual, but most notable for being the only restaurant I have ever been in where they have asked me to wash my feet as I was leaving, they even gave us a towel. We had another afternoon of climbing, another 2 passes had to be crossed, the first at 1089m, the second at around 850m, making for a tough day with not many kilometres covered. We had no food for the evening or breakfast when we at last found a little store at the junction of two roads, a very welcome sight. Once we departed the little village I had expected another climb, but joy of joys, it descended into a steep sided valley. A little way down we spotted a lay-by so checked it out for camping and found a great little spot right beside the stream. We were in the tent as soon as it was dark, amazingly the overnight temperatures have plummeted in the last few days making it feel quite autumnal.

The camping spot seemed even better in the morning as we had the unusual start of heading downhill. Another couple of hours cycling and we were back on route from our chosen one using the non existent road through the national park. The riding was much easier than in previous days, it made such progress seem so much faster…what am I saying, it WAS so much faster! We turned onto the 444, we had the road to ourselves, that is until an army vehicle passed us. For some reason my first thought was that there would be 22 vehicles passing us, I was close, 20 came past, labouring up the climb, seeming to find it as hard as we were. We arrived at a small village stopping at the only restaurant. We order a couple of things, we had no idea what, but mine turned out to be blood sausage, nice, but still the same old powerful spices. I am really looking forward to the days when I can finish a meal and my mouth is not stinging. We studied the maps, we had less distance to go than expected, so we took it easy, but being flatter we still ended up going so much further than we had expected, the roads were a delight too. At the end of a stretch on a busy dual carriageway we needed to turn left. The road widened, we had to cross 3 lanes to get into the correct lane. We timed it well, the lights turned red giving us an easier time as the traffic slowed and stopped, or at least it should have done. A bus ploughed straight through the red lights without even thinking of braking, ages after the lights had changed. The police sitting in a car on the other side of the road took no interest at all, though they did wind the window down and wished us good luck. I am not sure if that was for the cycling in general, or if they were telling us that is what we needed if there are buses around. We camped on the top of a ridge with a great view down the valley.

It was Saturday morning, I reminded Christine of the important match that Norwich City had that afternoon, “I know” she said “They are playing Wallypool…oh, hang on, that’s not right, well, it’s Wally something”. I guess that is not too bad for a German woman who has no interest what-so-ever in football, especially teams as low as Norwich City. They would in fact be playing Walsall. Camping on the top of a ridge meant another downhill start, I could get used to this. The morning was much warmer of late, the road was again flatter, it felt great to be alive, still really enjoying the cycling after 2 years, still loving the fresh air, the new views in front of me, the good company and the friendliness of the local people. We had another good morning of cycling, again fast. We stopped in a village for lunch. As we pulled up there were a group of cyclist loading racing bikes into a van. They were a bunch of ’Iron Man’ athletes and delighted to see us, they even showed us the best route into Seoul. We took group photos. One guy was really impressed with Christine’s thighs, I think he wanted to marry her! They had told us that our next section of road was really tough, that turned out to be very accurate information. The road narrowed, it steepened too, horribly steep, the type of steep hill that drains so much energy from you in a very short space of time. The route looked simple on the map, but the single track road had lots of junctions. We found our way to a bigger road, we were heading for Yonghunsa Temple and it seemed that on this Saturday afternoon we weren’t going to be the only ones there. The restaurant lined road came as a bit of a shock when we had expected a little used dead end road leading to the temple. The place was packed. We walked the kilometre to the temple, a quaint little compact affair, very colourful and well maintained. We made our way back through the amusement park, not something that you see at every temple I can assure you.

The following morning saw another downhill start taking us to the main road 6 heading for Seoul, apparently the 2nd largest urban area in the world, 2nd behind Tokyo. We got off the 6 as soon as possible and followed the suggestion from the cyclist we had met the previous day. It turned out to be sound advice, a fair bit longer but such a nice route by the river, hardly any traffic being the longer route. We were told it was a ’famous’ cycling road. I suspect that should have meant popular, and very popular it was too, we saw literally dozens of bikes, mainly racing cyclist out for a Sunday blast. One rider from a group dropped back and handed us an energy bar, very welcome indeed. We stopped for water at a restaurant. It seemed to be the restaurant of the Delia Smith of Korea. There were lots of pictures of the woman being filmed for television and framed newspaper cuttings that looked as though they spanned a few years. I can tell you that they serve wonderful cold water. The quiet roads had to come to an end, they did. They were replaced by 6 and 8 laned roads. The route was also proving to be longer than expected, it was another hot day too. The roads got busier, it wasn’t doing Christine’s nerves any good. On advice we headed for the Olympic Park, it was well signposted and from there we picked up a cycle path that ran alongside the river for about 10km. I hadn’t expected to see cyclists in Seoul, but the cycle path was packed with old and young, fast and slow. It was very well used. Getting onto the bridge that we needed to cross the river was a different matter. First we had to carry on for another kilometre before getting on the road and doubling back, only to find we still couldn’t get onto the bridge. We found a long flight of steps with a narrow ramp for wheeling bikes up, but I can tell you with all the crap I carry it was bloody hard work. It wasn’t over then either, we had to head back down the steep ramps at the other end, then find our way through a couple of busy tunnels…what joy! But at last we had made it our chosen hotel, Christine had done really well. It was something that she had been dreading for weeks, she said she had been scared most of the time and would never have attempted it on a week day, but she had overcome her fear and ridden the whole way in without a single word of complaint.