Grumpy Old Men On Bikes

Washington state and Northern Oregon are pretty wild and with a fairly gritty down to earth kind of attitude. This results in some fairly direct signs that we have observed. The first is taken from last night's motel room: What on earth are we supposed to eat if we can't cook crab in our room?  In an earlier motel there were signs requesting that guests didn't gut fish in the bath. A  few other signs that I found amusing: At the roadside - "state correction facility ahead - do not pick up hitchhikers" In a cafe - "if you need your food in a hurry please tell your server who will be happy to recommend  another restaurant"  H ung round the neck of a tramp at a road junction: "I'm not going to lie, I need a beer" However, the scenery is stunning and everyone can enjoy this now that the rain has buggered off for a couple of days.  You could have taken a photo at virtually any point this morning and it would be the equal of this:

Today we crossed the Astoria bridge from Washington into Oregon. Days with a state crossing are always exciting but the Astoria bridge adds an extra frisson. It is 4 miles long with narrow lanes and no shoulder to hide in, so the car drivers either get VERY p*%^#^d off waiting behind you or decide to squeeze past. Neither is much fun. Just for good measure, in the middle of the bridge, there is a bloody great hill.  Everyone  survived and we then had a fun half hour in the bike shop replacing all the lightweight racing tires with something more suited to 1600 miles of riding in the gutter.  You might wonder, as did I, why they didn't fit these from the outset as recommended in the bumpf we sent out months ago ;-). At the start of the trip I had told the riders about the wildlife we saw on the last trip and asked them to let me know if they saw anything interesting.  So far only one rider has shown much enthusiasm for this but I am starting to doubt the accuracy of his repor

We have now reached the Specific Ocean, having ridden inland to avoid the long and remote trek around the Olympic Peninsula. As indicated by the rainbow, it was another showery day with the odd monsoon downpour. As I was checking in to the hotel a pretty young girl arrived and waited patiently behind me. The receptionist looked up and asked her if we were together; before I could say anything the pretty girl gave me a quick look and said 'no, er, absolutely not'. Cheeky cow!

‎Last night we stayed in Manresa Castle, Port Townsend. Originally the home of a wealthy mayor it is now a hotel and, at 19th century‎, one of the oldest buildings I have ever stayed in. It is wonderfully 'quirky' (a word that means 'a bit pants but somehow likeable') and fortunately the guests all found it quite charming.......apart from the wedding. ‎The hotel was hosting a wedding which went on into the small hours, and some diehards were still partying in the car park as the hours got quite large again. I slept like the dead but everyone else complained of interrupted sleep. The weird thing about the wedding was the hats.  Now, in England, you would immediately assume that the bride and groom had set 'bloody silly hats' as the theme for the dress code. It was tempting to go up to people (of all ages and both genders) pat them on the back and congratulate them on the magnificent stupidity of their hats but in Merica there is that nagging worry that the hats w

‎I know that my clean living and healthy lifestyle, coupled with good genes, mean I have worn better than some and, yes, I do look young for my age. But did the women in the supermarket REALLY need to ask me for ID when I bought a pack of beer today? In this country everyone is so terrified of lawsuits that it is easier to instruct staff to ID everyone than to allow for any autonomous thought or discretion. The joke is that a valid ID is ALL that is required....you could buy beer at the age of 3 with a decent fake drivers licence! So my promise of no daily blog is proving, like all my promises, to be worthless. The trouble is that there has been a lot of siting around (either driving or waiting) while I round up the group and get them to Port Townsend and in my idle time I compose blog entries.   I am now waiting again, for the last two riders to fly into Seattle, before we finally get under way tomorrow morning. One of these two will be my room mate for the next month so I hope I like

‎British Airways may employ excellent aeronautical engineers but apparently not a decent plumber. Fixing the loos was beyond their capabilities (it must have been one he'll of a log)‎ and so we all sat around while they found a substitute  plane, put some petrol in it and moved all the baggage across. This meant we boarded over 4 hours late and it was a VERY grumpy old man who finally landed in Seattle at 4:30 in the morning. The only bright spot is that as best I can tell, BA owe me 500 quid compensation! But enough of that..... I have a Love Machine. In fact it is an identical black Town and Country to the one we had last year and I have decided that is the SAME love machine.  ‎I will find some old dead skin under the carpets and have it checked for my DNA just to prove it.......either that or just look under the front offside wheel arch for traces of ditch. I have filled it full of crap, strapped a bike rack to the back and generally started the process of making it into a pig s

It is September and the weather is pants so it must be time for the annual Pacific Coast Highway trip. We start riding on Sunday and I am at Heathrow, ready to fly out to Seattle to get everything ready.  Naturally this will include picking up a new Love Machine from Avis and I am excited to see what she will be like.  Will she be beautiful? Will she put up with being filled with sand and Sam Adams caps? Will she mind being parked in a ditch ?  Will she let transvestites connect jump leads to her terminals?  I'm sure she will be lovely and I look forward to getting to know her! I am flying with BA so no techno-plane this time.  We are sitting waiting for them to mend the bogs and I can see the last of the coal being loaded.  The pilot has his leather flying jacket and goggles ready but until they fix the crappers we are going nowhere.  I suggested that we all promise not to go to the loo for the whole flight but apparently that isn't acceptable.   I promise to not to blog the w

‎This blog is really meant to just capture my thoughts as I cycle here and there. Basically it is all about ME. Today I must make an exception. On our recent 9 day end-to-end we had Tom, a 67 year old Irish gentleman.  ‎Tom impressed us all by doing his 100 or so miles each day in considerable style and showing no sign of the 15-25 years he was carrying compared with his fellow riders.   At the end of the trip all the 'youngsters' got on the bus and went home to salve their arse calluses but Tom......loaded two heavy panniers on on his bike a‎nd headed back to Land's End. We were all impressed but today I got a text to say that he did the return in 7.5 days! I am gobsmacked.  ‎This lovely 'old' man has ridden 1850 hilly miles in 16.5 days, half of them with heavy luggage. I will be happy if I can simply swing a leg over the crossbar in 13 year's time. In the unlikely event that Tom stumbles upon this blog I would just like him to know that I my admiration knows