December 6, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

Our rest actually turned out to be four days as the whopping 5km hill south of Loreto and what would have been cycling 5 days through largely nothing meant we decided to take easier option of getting the bus from Loreto to La Paz (also on the east side of the peninsula). We now had some experience taking bikes apart and putting them back together (luckily they only wanted the wheels off anyway) and we thoroughly enjoyed the big climb from the windows of the bus, unfortunately the disadvantage being that opportunities to take good photos were sacrificed. We were somewhat shocked, though, by the speed which the driver chose to go, which was far too high for the windy terrain. We thanked our lucky stars that we don’t suffer from travel sickness and were obviously very happy to be going a lot faster than we would have been on the bicycles.

In La Paz we made ourselves at home at the Baja Bed and Breakfast, which is run by a lovely Mexican couple and once again spent two days resting before our last two days of cycling to the bottom of the peninsula. It was also a refreshing change to have access to some better and bigger shops.

Our first day to Todos Santos meant crossing the peninsula to the Pacific side so we assumed that it would be a hilly ride, but were pleasantly surprised to find the terrain relatively flat, and for the first 35km enjoyed a massive shoulder at the side of the road. Not only this, at the Novillo petrol station N was overjoyed to use some of the cleanest public loos she had seen for a long time. The day continued with ease as picnic tables presented themselves at a closed restaurant just as we started feeling peckish (picnic benches never usually appear at this point). Despite a somewhat slow entrance into Todos Santos due to various roadworks and lots of mud, we arrived in good time due to our fastest speed yet at nearly 20km an hour and found accommodation at one of the cheaper establishments in town.

Todos Santos is a haven for ‘artists’ and the galleries and shops tend to attract various hordes of tourists from down the road in Cabo. There is also a Hotel California there, which is even more of an attraction, and despite The Eagles’ insistence that none of them wrote their famous song there, lots of tourists still come to have their photos taken outside it. So of course we stopped for a drink in the famous tequila bar, although we kept it simple with a couple of beers, and didn’t find it too difficult to leave!

We were aware that the road to Cabo San Lucas was a fair bit hillier, which was fine, but awoke to the sound of rain, something we had not thought of since the two soggy days we’d experienced north of San Francisco. We assumed that the rain would stay relatively light and set off after the most extortionately expensive breakfast yet ($6 for a ham and cheese croissant was a joke). The highlight of the morning was crossing the Tropic of Cancer a few kilometres outside Todos Santos although as there were no helpful signposts to indicate this important milestone, we had to take an educated guess at its approximate location. For the first 50 kilometres the rain was light or non-existent (not very tropical!) and the road was somewhat flatter than expected. Again our average speed was a good 17km/hr so when we started getting hungry we decided to skip the complications of making up sandwiches for lunch and made do with bananas and muesli bars instead, and pedal on towards Cabo. It was around this point that the road started becoming a great deal hillier and we found ourselves confronted with several challenging climbs and various complicated traffic situations due to the lack of shoulder. When we were being overtaken by a large vehicle and approaching a blind curve or summit, it was our standard practice to stop at the side of the road, or in the gutter, where possible to let it pass. However, decisions to stop generally had to be unanimous (otherwise we would crash into each other), and this was very difficult when cycling with noisy traffic overtaking, thus inevitable arguments ensued about when exactly it was appropriate to stop, and how to communicate that decision.

The rain became heavier and as we neared Cabo San Lucas (at the very end of the 1600km-long Baja peninsula), so did the traffic. When we reached the top of one challenging climb, we were mortified to see the road dip dramatically back down into a valley and then a never-ending perfectly straight road climbing back up the other side. The traffic complications intensified as we tried to cycle up this long straight never-ending road. Being the first straight bit of road in a long time, cars were queuing up behind slow-moving vehicles and at the first opportunity and were less than concerned about the presence of a couple of wet, harrassed cyclists also trying to get to Cabo. So with cars overtaking lorries and lorries overtaking bikes, someone had to give way!

We had two options during these sordid moments: to stay on the road knowing that the lorries would not have enough space to overtake us at a safe distance and try and enjoy the adrenaline rush of nearly being sucked in under a massive eighteen wheeler, or get off the road and let the traffic pass until it was safe to proceed. The former decision also had the added danger of frantic lorry drivers honking at us to warn us of their presence, and the idiot cars overtaking them (a nerve-wracking and horrendous habit which is enough to shock any poor cyclist off their bike). Obviously being the life-loving and not so dare-devil people that we are, we chose the second option of getting off the road which more or less ensured our safety but made getting up that ghastly hill in the pouring rain a never-ending chore which must have taken over an hour. Added to this madness were several idiotic drivers overtaking in the opposite direction despite the fact that we were coming in our bright orange and yellow reflective bibs and our panniers covered in bright yellow raincovers: N’s furious gesticulations made it very clear how she felt about this although they did nothing to deter these speed-crazed drivers.

When we finally arrived at the top with our nerves more or less shattered we stopped outside a new hotel development and tried to eat a left over sandwich from the day before, but the avocado had already had its day so we decided to try and keep our hunger at bay. At this point, two security guards from the development came out and shook hands with us. We asked them how many more hills there were before Cabo – two - and how many kilometres there were left - 5. Just because you can speak the same language as someone does not mean the information they give you is accurate (this we learnt from a good few years of living in Seville), and were not completely surprised to see a sign several metres further down the road that Cabo was in fact 10 kilometres away. Luckily the guys’ definition of a hill was not the same as ours as they were two very small slopes that took little time to get up, otherwise the rest of the journey was largely downhill. Despite the rain getting ever more heavier, we were not going to arrive in Cabo before another challenge, and that was the roadworks. Roadworks in Mexico usually mean lots of mud, and if it’s raining as it was that day, this means cyclists and everything on their bikes get totally splattered, bike brakes don’t work nearly as well usual and (difficult to spot) potholes fill with filthy water. Added to this was a good ten minutes behind one of the stinkiest lorries that ever traversed the earth, and in front of a car full of very puzzled-looking Americans.

We were welcomed into the town itself with a shout of ‘Gringo’ from some silly boy, at which point N scolded him in a torrent of Spanish (something she has a fair bit of experience with), pointing out that firstly, one does not speak to people that way, and secondly, we couldn’t possibly be gringos as we weren’t American. After trying to dodge all the massive lake-like puddles and speed bumps (little slippy round balls of metal that stick out of the road – very unbicycle friendly indeed), things started looking up when we found an excellent Swiss pastry shop and stuffed our faces with their delicious brownies and muffins. Even better, next door we managed to get our hands on a nice big bottle of gin and two bottles of wine which would hopefully restore our nerves to their usual state.

With panniers stocked, we arrived at our hotel caked in mud, soaking wet and hoping they would be kind enough to let us check in. But not before we had to drag our now very heavy sodden bikes and luggage up the steepest hill in town. Luckily, the hotel staff were very understanding and inquisitive about our trip, although one pair of rather inebriated American women, on seeing our packed up bikes, thought it apt to proclaim, ‘What kind of idiotic, stupid people would cycle in this kind of weather?’ in very loud voices. Not exactly what we wanted to hear at that moment, although we understand that some of our readers are probably having the same thoughts!

We were very relieved indeed to reach our destination and never has a shower, a fancy meal at the hotel restaurant, a gin and tonic and several glasses of wine been more welcome. The dramas of the day, however, were not at an end. A few drinks later, someone (not N) managed to leave the sinktap running. The sink, which we noticed earlier wasn’t draining properly, started to fill. And as we happily watched television thinking that it had started raining again outside, the trickling noise we heard was actually coming from the bathroom. Just as we were about to go to bed for some very well-deserved sleep, we realised that the bathroom and the entrance to the flat were completely flooded. Paul wanted to leave it as it was, but N was not (prime cockroach attraction!), and phoned the front desk who sent the poor maintenance man over to clean up the whole mess with a towel and a bucket because all of the mops were locked away for the night. Yet another action-packed day on the bikes thankfully came to an end and we looked forward to a week of rest, recovery and relaxation in sunny Cabo San Lucas.

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December 2, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

We’d heard far too many bad stories about Mexico, and, after procrastinating for too long in San Diego, feeling apprehensive and armed with copious amounts of toilet paper, we cycled down the road and across the border. The immigration officer welcomed us to Mexico with a big smile and after amiably completing the paperwork, blessed us on our travels through his country - a pleasant change from the accusatory questions we got used to from US immigration.

From the border, we threw ourselves into the heavy, smelly traffic bedlam of Tijuana, the streets of which left little room for cyclists. However, most drivers were courteous, often making their presences known with little friendly beeps and usually left a reasonable amount of space for us to get by. A very busy three-lane road coughed us up into the bus terminal, where we were very relieved to have arrived safely, after all the bad impressions we had been given about Tijuana.

Of course, getting on the bus with our bikes was going to be no simple project. After the information we had received previously, we were not sure about our chances but, after a polite chat with the friendly ABC staff, and with everyone ignoring the big ‘No Bicicletas” sign, we were relieved that we would, after all our worrying, be allowed to put our bikes on the bus. However, it did mean taking the wheels and pedals off, finding bags to put them in, turning the handle bars, wrapping up the chains in cardboard, all the while trying to keep track of 8 panniers, two handle bar bags and two sausage bags lying around us. The attendants didn’t look very impressed when they saw our ridiculous quantity of luggage, persuaded us to take some on with us and took the rest in anyway and loaded it all up. It was a nice moment to get on the bus and take our seats, despite sacrificing most of our spacious legroom to about half of our panniers.

We were even more relieved the following morning to find that our bikes and copious amounts of luggage had arrived in San Ignacio (a small town in central Baja) with us, and entertained the local shopkeepers and kids with the whole process of putting bikes and luggage back together again. After being somewhat jaded by the constant desert and cacti in the morning fog, as we cycled the short distance into San Ignacio, we were pleasantly surprised by the palm trees and lagoon that welcomed us; it was indeed an oasis. On entering the main square, we were even more surprised to find a big festival going on, with all the schoolkids dressed in various costumes and marching around, forming a circle in the square while each group of children showed off their dancing talents. With all our futile procrastination and worrying, we had failed to notice that we were entering town on the Día de la Revolución, a national holiday.

We spent the rest of the day relaxing and doing bike maintenance at the lovely Casa Lereé, highly recommended for a first night in Mexico, where we enjoyed our comfortable room, a lovely garden and an excellent library. We also chatted and shared photos with our friendly neighbour Judy, from South Korea, who is travelling around the world.

Our first day of cycling in Mexico was full of surprises, good and bad. We were quite nervous about cycling on the roads, as we had seen from the bus that there was very little shoulder and we had also been warned several times about how awful Mexican drivers were. The traffic on the Transpeninsular Highway was very light on the day we cycled to Santa Rosalia, and the only time there was really cause for worry was when there was traffic going past us in both directions – moments that were nerve-wracking but few and far between. We needn’t have worried as, when these did occur, most of those travelling in the same direction as us slowed down and waited until opposing traffic had passed before overtaking. Of the four cars in total who overtook us in a careless manner with little regard to our safety, three had California plates. All of the lorry drivers were totally respectful and many people (as in Alaska) either waved at us, or gave us thumbs up. The scruffiest cars and their drivers were undoubtedly the friendliest and most enthusiastic about giving us encouragement. But this was only our first day…

Thus we made our way over some challenging landscape: lots and lots of gradual ups on a seemingly endless highway surrounded by desert, cacti and solidified lava, and then the ‘Cuesta del Infierno’ a hardcore 18% downgrade into whopping canyons and weird rock formations (photos a must see). After expecting to see the Sea of Cortez over at least five hills, we finally caught sight of it and were somewhat relieved to see signs of the town of Santa Rosalia. Well, the outskirts of town were marked by beach and wasteland absolutely covered in rubbish, and then we had our first run in with the local dogs, who were very excited indeed about our arrival. The dog dazer was one thing we’d forgotten to put on our list, and how we regretted it while poor Paul tried to fend off the dogs’ snapping jaws at his ankles. Luckily, their territory seemed to be marked by some invisible line and we finally escaped their attentions and happily cycled on into town.

We chose a hotel recommended as ‘adequate’ in the Lonely Planet, and although the room was very basic compared to where we’d stayed the night before, and the bathroom gave off a rather unsavoury smell, we were tired and decided to take it as we were promised hot water – our biggest priority at that moment. The shower, with its actually barely tepid water, soaked the floor, and as we were unable to find anyone or anything to help us mop it up, we used the only towel they provided and all the bits of newspaper Paul was prepared to part with, and headed out for an excellent dinner at El Muelle. After a wee walk around town, we returned to our room, not overly enthusiastic about sleeping in the basic bed and the very worn and not very clean-looking sheets. This turned out to be the least of our worries when we found the bathroom and its door crawling with cockroaches. After killing the first wave, we spoke to the owner’s wife (a very interesting and talkative character with lots of bright blue eyeshadow and bright red lipstick) who came and sprayed the bathroom with insecticide…to very little effect. They still came crawling in, from the holes in the plumbing under the sink, between the sink and the wall and god knows where else. After insisting that we have the spray back, we brandished it against the babies, teenagers and whopping adults in our waging war, all scurrying around – and trying to come into the room as well. This was something we could not deal with - the creatures making their way into our panniers and our bed had to be prevented at all costs. The bathroom door was at the end of the bed, and after failing miserably to put up our new mosquito net (it came with no instructions and with very confusing attachments!), there was no way of guaranteeing that the nasty things wouldn’t come crawling all over us as well. The poor sordid towel used to wipe up the shower leakage was called into action again to block the gap between the bathroom door and the floor, and was sprayed liberally to try and deter the beasts. Unfortunately, a couple of the lither ones still managed to get through our first line of defence.

We were very very tired but sleep was not going to come easily with the dread of cockroaches in the room. We managed to fall asleep sometime after midnight for a short time, but N then reawoke with that horrible annoying pee that one has to do in the middle of the night, which is usually not an issue but when camping or having to face a bathroom full of cockroaches becomes a battle of wills. After putting it off for a very long time, knowing that those ghastly creatures were waiting for her in the bathroom, nature of course had to be satisfied: there were more of the buggers waiting (although not quite so abundant now) and one of them had to make its way onto her leg mid-pee, which just about shot her last nerve; sleep was going to be very difficult to come by once again, and tears came instead.

As a result of the night of cockroach hell, the next day we were not in any mood to cycle anywhere. So off we went for brekkie, and it didn’t take too long to decide that we’d stay another day, but move up to the swankiest hotel in town - at a cheap $60 and the state we were in, it was an easy decision. Hotel Francesa is a wonderful colonial style hotel made almost entirely of wood. Our room led onto a lovely verandah with an excellent view of the sea and the adjacent copper mines. Despite (or maybe because of) the brown colour of the wooden bathroom, not a cockroach was to be found and a very restful day was had enjoying the hotel pool and catching up on well-deserved sleep.

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November 26, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

On Sunday morning, we met up with Liliana (a friend we met through Madrid’s Bravobike bicycle touring company) and her boyfriend, Richie, for a very lively and tasty brunch at George’s Greek Cafe, where we also enjoyed the waitress, Bubu’s, entertaining banter.

Leaving LA behind us, our route followed a good bike path through several beach towns south, which made cycling very enjoyable. Even more encouraging was the quantity of amiable and enthusiastic people we met on the way: Californians are very friendly indeed and many took a great interest in our journey. However, a couple of portions of our route took us onto the road, and unfortunately we experienced two incidences of hostility, the first in the form of two girls who were too stupid to work out why we were in front of them waiting at a red traffic light which resulted in lots of swearing and shouting on their part, and the other in the form of a muesli bar thrown with great force out of a car window which managed to hit Paul’s elbow and Naomi’s hip. We shrugged our shoulders and carried on over increasingly rolling hills, eventually finding ourselves at our destination, Laguna Beach, a very wealthy town indeed by the look of some of the neighbourhoods and shops that we saw.

Our hosts, Jane and Dick, had warned us of a big 3 kilometre hill up to their house, something that didn’t deter us. However, after getting up the not too difficult first kilometre of it, a small SUV whizzed passed and parked up in front of us. Out came a man who said, ‘You must be Paul and Naomi!’, and of course Dick had come to give us a lift up the hill. We were tempted to carry on cycling but, after a brief millisecond of weighing up our options, decided to accept the kind offer – it was, after all, rapidly getting dark. After jamming the bikes and luggage in as far as they could go, we chugged our way up the hill and realised why he had come to collect us – the road was very very steep indeed! Jane and Dick’s very kind hospitality included lots of drinks to quench our thirst, and an excellent dinner of steak, potatoes and salad. Jane also very kindly took us to the very top of the hill the following morning so that we could see the views, not only of the Pacific Ocean and Laguna Beach, but of the towns further inland too.

After negotiating the very steep hill back down to Highway 1, we made our way through more of the beach towns of Orange County and then the massive marine base of Camp Pendleton, where Naomi got stung by some unidentified insect, possibly a new secret military weapon, but more likely a bee, as it left its sting and the attached venom sack in her shoulder. After watching the sun set from the beach at Oceanside we made our way to Carlsbad to find a bed for the night. We only had a short distance to cover the following day, so while Paul enjoyed another well-deserved lie in, Naomi went off for another legwax, this time at the hands of Tammy, and even got a goody bag to take away with her.

Yet more beaches and seaside towns took us towards San Diego and finally led us to a big hill (the first in a while) up to La Jolla mesa, and after having to negotiate the rush hour traffic of the suburbs, and getting rather lost in the labyrinth of university housing, we arrived at Jesus and Alison’s flat. We spent two rather guilty days enjoying their excellent hospitality (their two boys, Mariano and Temoc kindly gave up their bunk bed for us) and getting lots of advice about Mexico.

The following day we made our way into San Diego, via even more beach suburbs. We were particularly impressed with Pacific Beach, which boasted an impressive travel shop (where we stocked up on ‘necessities’ for Mexico) and a cafe serving delicious sandwiches (called 976). Despite the short distance, our dawdling made us late for our arrival at Sandi and Chris’ stunning penthouse apartment. Sandi immediately made us feel at home and we enjoyed two lovely days in their company. This included lots of tasty food (definitely not vegan!), a visit to the world famous San Diego zoo and some wonderful views of the city, its surrounding inlets and peninsulas and the lights of Tijuana in Mexico from their flat, located in one of the taller buildings in downtown San Diego.

Our originally planned two days in San Diego quickly turned into four while we procrastinated about our next move. We were somewhat nervous about entering Mexico, having heard numerous scare stories about bad drivers and worse roads, not to mention news reports about armed robberies, killings and kidnappings. Because we were two weeks behind schedule, and most scare stories tended to be about the northern Baja we decided that heading South of the tourist strip from Tijuana to El Rosario was the best plan. We took a day trip into Tijuana to get a feel for the place, and to enquire about buses to central Baja and their policies in regard to carrying bikes. On entering Tijuana, despite its terrible reputation, we realised that it really wasn’t as dodgy as many liked to make out (well not to walk round anyway), enjoyed a delicious torta (sandwich), refused lots of invitations into people’s shops and pharmacies (it’s a hotspot destination for Americans to buy prescription drugs without a prescription) and were delighted to find that Mexican loos were cleaner than expected (in fact cleaner than Spanish ones!). However, one problem did arise at the bus station where we were informed adamantly that the bikes wouldn’t get on the bus unless they were boxed. So back to San Diego we went, wondering how we were going to get round this new obstacle, and of course needing another whole day and night in San Diego to figure it out.

We’d found accommodation at the Hotel Occidental, and were disappointed to discover that we were paying $80 for ‘European-style’ accommodation (this is a euphemism for shared bathrooms in the States) which was actually more of a hostel than anything else. Shared bathrooms wouldn’t be an issue if it wasn’t for the fact that they are usually unisex, and women have to therefore tolerate the residues left by some of the standing sex when they spend their pennies. So from our boxy room, Paul found an internet site (www.hotwire.com) where you can book a room in a hotel in a certain area of town, but without knowing which one it is. They do inform you, however, how many stars the hotel has – in this case it was three and a half for $70. We were delighted to discover we were going to stay at the Sheraton for $110 less than the usual quoted rate, and therefore headed off eagerly to get our money’s worth. Of course we couldn’t check in until 3pm, so we went off to kill time around town. While we were inspecting a mini-model of San Diego through the window of the Visitors’ Centre, we were aware of, but not paying much attention to, a group of rather well-dressed people hanging around a statue. Naomi got into conversation with a photographer nearby, at which point it was discovered that the statue was of Pete Wilson (an ex-California governer) and that the man himself was also present. As this was not an opportunity to be missed, we asked if it would be possible to have a photo taken with Pete Wilson, his statue and our humble selves. After all, how often does one get a chance to take a photo of a man and his statue! And how often does Pete Wilson get a chance to have his photo taken with a couple who have cycled from Alaska to San Diego?

So our last day in the States was quite an exciting one indeed, although not without its ironies - from the not very clean toilet in our bathroom at the Sheraton, it was evident that the previous occupants were of the standing sex.

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November 18, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

As we were not willing to negotiate LA on our bikes and we had a mountain of things we wanted to do and several people to see, we decided our only option was to rent a car, which turned out to be a very wise decision indeed. After a very short and pleasant bikeride to Santa Barbara airport, we loaded up all our gear into the back of our much anticipated Suzuki SUV Chelsea tractor type thing and set off down the motorway, feeling very much like we were living life in the fast lane. The road from Santa Barbara to Santa Monica, although picturesque in parts, proved to be extremely bike unfriendly, especially as Malibu lasted for a total of 27 miles (which would have been half a day’s ride) and had little to offer the passing tourist except a road with speeding traffic and swanky ugly houses on either side of it (any views of the sea were blocked by said houses). We loved the car even more when we turned onto Topanga Canyon Boulevard, as this was a particularly nasty winding uphill road with lots of aggressive fender-bendering traffic, all of which was enough to make any driver nervous, let alone a cyclist who hadn’t sat behind the wheel of a car for nearly six months. An even windier, narrow and steep road at the top finally led us to Antony and Emily’s little mountain hut on the edge of Topanga National Park, where we enjoyed an evening of food, wine and chat and their little baby Will’s amusing antics for entertainment. Due to a lack of space, their new neighbour, Damien, very kindly offered us his warm newly carpeted floor to sleep on which we gratefully accepted.

We spent the entire following day in the car (very L.A.), exploring the various famous and infamous ‘hoods of Venice Beach with its odd people, Bel Air with its over-sized houses and Beverly Hills and Hollywood with their wannabe stars and over-priced shops. Still, our bottoms were very content at spending the day in nice cushty leather seats and in the evening we checked into the Vibe Hotel, a curious motel cum hostel which played non-stop dance music across the courtyard all evening.

After grabbing a quick but tasty bite to eat at the Thai place next door (which had an in-house Thai Elvis Presley look alike singer to get our feet tapping), we hopped into a taxi to Spaceland to see one of Paul’s favourite bands, The Thrills. As it’s not a very well-known band, we were expecting a run of the mill crowd, but on arrival, were quite surprised to find a number of overly (well, actually underly) dressed hotties hanging around outside, with legs going all the way up to their necks. Their presence was curious and atypical for a minor Indie touring band and after a longer than usual wait to get in the first support band – Rock and Roll, allegedly from France – came on stage. At first little appeared out of the ordinary, standard support band fare, until the previously mentioned hotties started pushing their way to the front and a cameraman appeared who seemed more intent on filming the audience rather than the band. It was at this point that Naomi spotted a couple of faces familiar to her from the pages of In Touch magazine (the American version of ‘Heat’) and realised it was Audrina Patridge and Lauren Conrad from MTV’s Hollywood reality show ‘The Hills’. (Don’t worry if you have heard of neither the show nor the stars, they are quite far down the Hollywood food chain). The accompanying gaggle of an entourage proceeded to push and shove their way to the front, leap on stage and in true Hollywood fashion make their presence very known as they tried to get on camera. One leggy lovely, after some particularly flamboyant dancing, was approached by an older producer type who offered her a ream of documents to sign – a contract? A release waiver? whatever! I’m on TV! - which made her dance with even greater enthusiasm. Not surprisingly, as the band finished their set and the cameraman lowered his camera, the glitzy front row crowd evaporated leaving the usual black denim clad, t-shirt wearing music fans to await the next couple of bands. The Thrills unfortunately did not make it onto the stage until three hours after they were supposed to, but we were pleased finally to see the band we had come to see, and without the off-putting line of dancing wannabes obscuring our view. A surprisingly good gig indeed!

The next day we enjoyed a film (American Gangster) at the Mann’s Chinese Theatre, which is a lovely cinema; its Chinese lanterns and oriental décor make an excellent cosy setting to watch a film. The inside is much more more of an experience than the tacky outside, where one can find lots of tourists who come to ogle the hand and foot prints of big Hollywood stars.

After investing rather copious amounts of money in a brand new Brooks saddle for Naomi’s bike at the Hollywood bikeshop (we’re still waiting to find out if this was one of our wiser decisions), and another quick squiz around a silly neighbourhood (which included Mulholland Drive, and all the big name studios which charge stupid amounts of money for tours), we headed off to find Olga’s house in the maze of Mount Washington, something which was much easier than expected. Olga, an ex-student of Naomi’s great aunt Gertrud in Germany, and her husband Roy, were excellent and generous hosts for the next two days. We had some excellent meals in and out of the house, and especially enjoyed a visit to the Griffith Observatory to see some fabulous views of LA, and learn a little bit more about astronomy. It was also lovely to catch up on the news and stories of old family friends.

Sadly, our journey had to continue the next day, although Paul was quite excited about his visit to Hollywood Park where he was dropped off to play poker for the morning. The limit hold ‘em poker tournament was unfortunately not overly successful – the morning start? poor cards? no breakfast? light bankroll? who knows? But as always an experience, and even more so in Hollywood. When Naomi came to join in the gambling at the races next door, she was expecting a glitzy horse-racing stand with lots of people in fancy hats (too much British TV?), but on entry was quite surprised to see many not very rich people at all stuffing their faces with junk food and feasting their eyes on the televisions and their programmes, desperate for that big win that would change their lives. Our little spate of gambling that afternoon did not change our lives, but Naomi had a couple of winning flutters - one a nerve jangling photo-finish – and was quite happy to walk out just that little bit wealthier than when she walked in. Unlike Paul.

After the last race, we set off for Long Beach, where we took our sleepy, neglected bikes out of the back, tearfully said goodbye to our very cosy SUV and prepared our bottoms for a few more days back in the saddle.

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November 9, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

A nasty steep hill out of Monterey gave us just a taste of what the riding would be like for the next two days and, after cycling through yet another swanky neighbourhood of seaview houses, the road opened out onto the area, or perhaps the state of mind, known as Big Sur, probably the most scenic part of the Californian coast. This meant that there were some very big hills to be contended with. However, despite the difficulty, the ascents were made easier by the spectacular views from the road (photos are a must see!). Highlights included the Bixby bridge and a well deserved rest stop at the ‘Spiritual Garden’ - a place where someone had displayed a smorgasbord of artistic bric-a-brac, including a man size ‘nest’ set out with cushions and pillows. It was very tempting indeed to stay for a siesta instead of sweating our way up the second big hill of the day.

The improved weather (and very expensive accommodation) meant the decision to camp was much easier to reach than on previous occasions and after some expert advice from and lovely dinner made by Eric, we settled in under the Redwoods with the sound of the ocean in the distance. The next day was more of the spectacular same, although an intermittent swirling fog annoyingly obscured our view at the more outlying points of the land.

At the vista point perched at the top of one of the biggest climbs of the day, a man approached us, asking, ‘So when I see ya cycling up those hills, should I feel sorry for ya, or should I just think you’re a stupid son of a bitch?’ at which point we entered into an enthusiastic debate about the pros and cons of cycling along the Big Sur. Don and Carol were going to have lunch further north, and on their way back they found us at Ragged Point where they kindly invited us to eat with them that evening.

The big hills finally gave way to some wonderfully flat prairie land, where the miles literally flew by in seconds. Just south of the Piedras Blancas Lighthouse we had the opportunity to observe some elephant seals in action, some of them fighting, but most of them basking themselves in the sun. At San Simeon, we shared stories and anecdotes over a wonderful meal with Don and Carol at their hotel.

On our way south the following morning, we had one more rendezvous with Don and Carol, who stopped their car at the side of the highway to donate their hotel toiletries to us (Neutrogena – good stuff!) , after which a flattish route took us through the picturesque Cayuco, and then onto Morro Bay, where we got a wee glimpse of the big rock before it was completely obscured by a thick fog. Our lunch on the beach in the sunshine immediately downgraded to a lunch at a picnic table in a touristy part of town, also in thick fog. The sandwiches were bought at a health food shop, and unfortunately turned out to be totally vegan (lettuce, avocado and a bit of sauce), which meant that there were precious little calories for us hungry cyclists. In a typically elegant moment for N, the wind also decided to pour her carrot juice into her lap, which then dripped down her leg, and splattered her socks and shoes with a very interesting orange hue.

Thick fog accompanied us all the way out of Morro Bay and its surrounding wetlands, before the sun broke through once again and the road took us into San Luis Obispo, where we immediately stopped at the famous Madonna Inn for tea and cake to make up for our insufficiently filling lunch. The place is decorated in a very elaborate, ornamental, kitsch, ornate, over-the-top style, mostly in colours of pink and red – the toilets downstairs were a real sight, and the cakes matched too!

Adventures in San Luis Obispo did not come to an end there, however. In the evening we made our way down to the Farmer’s Market where we invested in lots of delicious fruit and, after wine tasting in a place where people obviously felt impelled to dress up for the occasion, enjoyed a lovely meal at the Blue Sky Cafe in a more relaxed atmosphere. We were very lucky to be in San Luis Obispo on this day as it was the first Thursday of the month, which is when all of the cyclists get together for their Critical Mass (campaigning for cyclists rights etc), and something curiously called Bike Sumo. After a few rounds of the centre, we followed these people (somewhat reluctantly) down some badly lit streets to the edge of a park somewhere out on the edge of town. We joined the other cyclists in a big circle, most of whom were in fancy dress (the night before had been Halloween), with two participants in the middle engaged in some sort of combat with their bikes. On closer inspection, we realised that Bike Sumo is pretty much exactly that: the aim is to get your opponent off his bike by crashing into him as hard as possible, with no regard whatsoever for the consequences for the bicycles involved. Participants had to identify themselves (usually with some sort of nickname), the winner was decided by the best of three rounds and one did not under any circumstances complain about the resulting damage to his, or her, bike. In fact, the fighting pair shook hands in a gentlemanly fashion, the loser conceding ‘You got me, man.’ Of course, N’s bike unfortunately got caught up in one of the frays, (but, keeping her mouth firmly shut, got Paul to fix the resulting brake problems while most of the participants urinated by the adjacent bins after the whole ritual was over). To recover from all the excitement we went for a couple of drinks in downtown SLO where we found yet another live band performing and more people-watching opportunities to indulge in.

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October 13, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

Very bad weather, two very ghastly route options and, as always, being behind schedule meant it was a good opportunity to take advantage of Amtrak’s fine Seattle to Portland service. We boarded the train after the usual stress of boxing bikes and dragging panniers around the station, and, after a lengthy delay due to ‘police activity on the tracks’, were happy to watch the nasty weather from inside the train.

The rain was still pouring when we arrived in Portland and after an aimless trip around the less than savoury Burnside area looking for accommodation, we were very grateful to find our comfortable and dirt cheap motel in one of the funkiest parts of town. It was around the corner from an excellent ‘theatrepub’, where, unlike most establishments in the States, you could actually take booze into the cinema with you without all sorts of threatening signs and warnings (a real plus after not being able to drink beer while watching the Arctic Monkeys in Seattle!). Not only that, the film we went to see (Knocked Up) kept us thoroughly amused throughout (or maybe that was the beer laughing)! The following night, we were taken for a delicious meal and a lovely walk on the river by our family friends, Dolores and Rosemary, and caught up on a good 20 years worth of family news!

We absolutely loved Portland. It was very bicycle friendly with lots of organic and vintage shops to suit any unusual tastes. Delights included Powell Books, the biggest independent bookstore in the world, especially as their bikeracks outside were named after famous cycling books, cool bars like the Sandy Hut (otherwise known as the Handy Slut - very classy stuff!), and some choice places to eat (that didn’t have Caesar Salad on the menu, thank god!!). AND N finally found a pair of flattering cycling trousers - a mighty feat in itself, a vintage poker chip box for Paul’s birthday and her first decent legwax of the trip at the Waxon Spa, courtesy of Kristan. Not only this, there is no sales tax in Oregon so everything was thoroughly enjoyed at marginally cheaper prices! We did not want to leave…

But as always we had to. After a long hour in the post office sending home a load of stuff we didn’t need anymore, we bumped into fellow cyclist, Eric, who we’d originally met on the ferry from Salt Spring Island in Canada and made a vague plan to meet up later on that day. We got drenched a number of times as we set out and the cycle route took us up some of the most vertiginous streets in town. And town spread a long way out. There was little more to see than the strip malls of the Portland suburbs for many miles. We did venture into one of the stripmalls where Paul picked up a tax-free ipod (despite N’s protests to boycott), at which point we got accosted by several well-meaning but misinformed cycling-enthusiasts warning of the dangers of the Oregon coast at this time of year. Delayed once more, we again got soaked in the pissing rain and eventually arrived in McMinnville and our very cosy McMenamins Hotel Oregon in the dark. A few beers and a bottle of wine with Eric and an excellent night’s sleep soon cured us for our journey to the coast the following day.

However, once again it was a battle with the elements, this time with Eric for extra slipstreaming. For the first hour we were soaked with constant barrage of rain and headwinds in the freezing cold; luckily we warmed up with a cuppa in Sheridan and finally the sun came out in time for our arrival at the mighty Pacific Ocean. As soon as we leapt off our bikes to admire the pounding surf and the setting sun, we got our first introduction to the alternative west coast vibe. Eric had a very interesting chat with a fellow touring cyclist (travelling with little more than a tent and a sleeping bag in a plastic crate) who had spent most of the last week in jail for shoplifting as he’d run out of money to buy food, while we got accosted by Douglas Dewar proudly of ‘Scotch’ descent, who had a very keen interest in Israeli harvesting calendars, and felt obliged to explain their significance to us. Meanwhile the sun was setting and we had 12 miles left to go! We left Eric at a diner with his coffee and rapidly made our way to Depoe Bay with some difficulty as the scenery was so gorgeous we had to stop and take photos; so amazing, in fact, N got distracted and fell off her bike twice!

Once again, though, we learned that just because we were on a coastal road did not guarantee perpetual seaviews. We were very lucky to see the most one of the most scenic sections of the Oregon coast (from Lincoln City to Florence) in sunny weather and thoroughly enjoyed the views from Cape Foulweather (named by Captain Cook in a dreadful storm), Cape Perpetua, and of Heceta Head Lighthouse and the Oregon Coastal Dunes. The latter stretch for 40 miles but were only occasionally visible from the road - their presence was always noted, however, for the quadbikes constantly buzzing around on them. ATVs (all-terrain vehicles) were yet another type of vehicle to add to our repertoire of abbreviated and initialised American vehicles (on top of SUVs and RVs), and despite the unique, rare and endangered species to be found on these dunes, the popularity of quadbikes rules, the animals suffocate, the plants get crushed and everyone else has to tolerate the constant aggressive buzzing noises in an area which would otherwise be a realm of peace and quiet but for the waves crashing against the shore. Not only this, one of the visitor centres informed us that the ATVeer’s and their RV’s contribute nothing to the local economy as they brought all their food with them and only paid ATV dune license fees which go straight to the federal government. So we’re still wondering who benefits…

From Florence to Port Orford the road mostly follows a hilly corridor of trees behind the dunes with little to see. Adventurous moments presented themselves with the death-defying bridge into Coos Bay, one of the most dangerous parts of our journey. While most bridges with narrow shoulders have some kind of sign to warn of cyclists sharing the road, this bridge thoroughly discouraged any cyclist by advising them to walk bikes on the pavement, despite being too narrow for this purpose. As there was no other alternative, we precariously rode our bikes over the long bridge and hoped that the cross winds wouldn’t throw us into the endless stream of traffic inches from the pavement. However, the beach at Bandon was a rare highlight with some incredible rock formations (unfortunately, photos are marred by fog) and the road south from Port Orford more than made up for any lack of ‘vistas’. Cliffs, bluffs, seastacks, deserted beaches and, after a couple of days of grey skies and drizzle, the sun even managed to come out. Having bumped into Eric once again, on one of last stretches of the Oregon coast to Gold Beach we were warned by both the Park ranger and road workers (and the weather forecast) that we should be looking for somewhere to ‘hunker down’ as there was a big storm brewing out in the Pacific so we willingly took their advice and stopped in Gold Beach for a well-earned and much-needed rest day after 6 days of cycling, and 450 km from Portland.

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October 6, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

We celebrated N’s birthday by staying in some swankier-than-usual accommodation at the Harrison House Suites B&B, where we indulged in four-course gourmet breakfasts, a hot tub, very cushy furniture and an excellent (albeit cloudy) view of Friday Harbor. Festivities continued with some tasting of the local San Juan wines and a wee trip across the island to Roche Harbor on two mopeds and a ‘Scootcar’. The latter was so horrendously smelly to travel in, with petrol fumes engulfing the whole vehicle as it scuttled up the road, that Moira and Naomi were quite relieved when the ordeal was over and they could look forward to hopping back onto their normal bikes.

We left San Juan Island in thick fog and Anacortes on Fidalgo Island did not have much better weather to offer. However, we did have the opportunity to cross Deception Pass (a strait, not a mountain pass thankfully!) and its bridge connecting the three islands: Fidalgo, the tiny Pass Island and Whidbey Island. Our wise decision to walk bikes along the pavement instead of cycling the very narrow bridge (and therefore holding up all the impatient traffic) turned out to be rather a palaver when the pavement also became so narrow the panniers had to be squeezed through the post and the railing!

An easy cycle, clearer weather and a lovely sunset welcomed us into Coupeville. The pretty centre of town was clearly not happening so we headed off to the Tyee Motel and Pub where we met a variety of characters over the course of the evening. Our first encounter was with Mickey who seemed particularly interested in Moira’ conversation. He’d obviously been in the bar for a while, with his wife of course, and encouraged Paul and Tim to take on the local pool hustlers. Ryan was in Coupeville with his brother for a custody court hearing for his kids (he was 22!). On hearing that Naomi was English, he enquired if that was in France. Indeed he admitted to suffering from the deficiencies of the American education system. Paul and Tim remained on the pool table until the end of the night and retired reigning champions of Coupeville, more down to their competitors’ inebriation than anything else!

Whidbey Island is a very strange shape with lots of different geographical and weather features, as we discovered the next day.
With the sun shining down, a deserted straight road led to Fort Casey and Crockett Lake, a designated tsunami danger area with lots of houses built right on little more than a sandbar separating the sea and the lake (the mind boggles at insurance premiums!). We zigzagged our way back and forth across the island which became very hilly, and through the intermittent fog until we hit Greenbank Farm for yet another well-timed and delicious lunch. Most delightful was the Loganberry Pie. The main road finally took us to Clinton where we said goodbye to our final island and ferried over to the US mainland at Mukilteo, where we enjoyed Janet and John’s (our friend, Monika’s mother and step-father) kind hospitality and the excellent view from their wonderful house overlooking Puget Sound, Whidbey Island AND the Olympic Mountains!

Of course, the next morning we couldn’t see a thing out the window. The thick fog later subsided revealing a gunmetal grey sky as we made our way through Seattle’s suburbs to the much further than anticipated town of Woodinville, where, after a whopping hill into a very wooded neighbourhood, we were treated to more generous hospitality on the part of Tim and Paul’s cousin Sue and her husband Rick. The route into downtown Seattle was far leafier and more pleasant than expected following the Sammamish River Trail and the Burke-Gilman Trail around Lake Washington while trying to spot Bill Gates’ massive house on the opposite shores, unfortunately without success.

We managed to hit downtown Seattle without getting wet, and checked into the 1950s style Moore Hotel in the centre. After getting thoroughly distracted in REI (Recreational Equipment Inc), we found ourselves very hungry back on the streets. Desperation led us to a lively bar with loud music where an Asian type menu was an offer - bars and restaurants in the States seem to have merged into one thing these days. Any chance of conversation was totally quashed when Mr DJ hit the decks and we ate our food between two pumping throbbing speakers blaring house music. However, there was lots of eye candy and excellent people-watching to keep us all entertained.

The next day we met up with Leann (Monika’s sister, Janet and John’s daughter) and her fiancee JP for a good look round the sights and shops of Seattle. Highlights included a fantastic shop called Lucy where N bought a whole new set of clothes she only just managed to squeeze into her panniers, Tim bought a camera and Paul started thinking about buying an Ipod (a sin in N’s book, whose first and only experience with an Ipod was thoroughly disappointing) but decided at the time to stick to a couple of beers instead which served as good preparation for the Arctic Monkeys gig that evening. At which we heard more British accents in one place than we had since we’d left the UK! While Tim and Paul bopped to the beats, Naomi watched from the balcony (where she could actually see something) and Moira wisely went to see the Martha Graham Dance Group instead.

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September 18, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

Sadly on Friday it was time to leave Vancouver. Everyone was extraordinarily late again meeting at the market in North Vancouver which meant we were not going to get the 1:30pm ferry from Horsehoe Bay to the Sunshine Coast.

We found a bike route on the Vancouver cycling map which, on entering West Vancouver (which has the highest income per capita in Canada), was not quite as bike-friendly as we thought. We found ourselves on a beautiful promenade running right along the coast, but alas, bikes were not allowed (despite the ample space) and the pedestrians did not let us forget it with their constant tut-tutting. The fact that we had huge panniers hanging off our bikes didn’t seem to give them much of a clue that we were from out of town, and it did not seem to occur to them to direct us back on track. When we re-found the official bikeroute, it appeared to discourage all but the most masochistic from cycling through the neighbourhood. So half-walking and half-struggling up these endless vertiginous (steep) gradients past some of the poshest houses in Vancouver, we were convinced that our hopes of reaching the 3:30pm ferry were pretty lost too until we suddenly found an escape route onto the freeway.

This was great as the road suddenly turned downhill, but once again complications arose when the sign for foot passengers and the ferries (we, as cyclists, are normally categorised as foot passengers) forked off to the left and signs to Squamish and Whistler (where we did not want to go) forked to the right. This meant a good wait for a break in the endless stream of rushing traffic to cross the freeway. Once crossed, we descended right down past all the Friday weekenders lining up in their cars to the front of the queue and into the ferry terminal.

We were warned several times of an ominous big hill to climb up once we got to the Sunshine Coast, and could easily avoid it by taking a left turn into the little town of Gibsons, which we did. However, as we suspected, the hill would come back and haunt us, and we ended up having to climb the damn thing out of Gibsons, where I suspect it was somewhat steeper. It wasn’t long before we found the excellent Welcome Inn B&B where we had booked a wee cottage. So lovely were our hosts that they gave us a lift down to the Gumboot Restaurant in town, a very nice but possibly over-rated place, though the waitress was awesomely friendly. After dinner we had the pleasure of waiting for the bus with the local Saturday night crowd, some of whom were quite worse for wear, we assume innocently from having drunk vast quantities of some kind of alcohol. One poor soul, Daniel, was so out of it he kept banging his head in a very catatonic manner in some kind of desperate attempt to attract attention to himself. The bus was a little late but the entertainment on offer in the streets of Roberts Creek more than made up for it.

Our breakfast the next morning was very special as we had something called an asparagus strata which was a type of omelette with egg and cheese. We also enjoyed some lovely conversation with the other guests, Diane and Lloyd, and our hosts Joan and Mike from South Africa. B&Bs in this part of the world often put all the guests around the same table (unheard of back home, where all guests get their own tables) so conversation is a necessary art first thing in the morning!

We stopped in Sechelt for a good part of the day, and got particularly distracted in a bikeshop before doing our usual food shop in the supermarket. However, we still had accommodation for the evening to sort out and did not account for the fact that there was a jazz festival in the direction we were heading. On phoning every phone number we could find in all the accommodation guides we found nothing available but luckily found help in the local Visitors’ Centre where the very competent and knowledgeable man eventually found us some rather pricey accommodation at Ruby Lake some 50km up the road. But it was already 2pm and the clock was ticking, so onto our bikes we hopped and sped up the road.

The weather was very good that day and the Sunshine Coast, in this aspect, did live up to its name. However, the road we took (we were advised by various cyclists to stick to the main road as this was safer and less windy), had no more than about three glimpses of the actual coast and although we enjoyed a lovely picnic lunch next to the picturesque Trout Lake, we were quite disappointed with our lack of vistas of the sea.
The road was also very very hilly so we arrived at our Ruby Lake Resort somewhat tired but very ready for a good shower and some food at the nice-looking restaurant. The restaurant also served as the reception for the motel and was very busy when we arrived. I asked the woman who hurriedly checked us in if we could come for dinner at 830pm so we could have more time to get showered, but she insisted that we come earlier if we wanted to eat. Dutifully we rushed off to our rooms to get cleaned up but this was rather hampered as they had left only two sets of towels in the room despite knowing that we were four people. When we went to ask for extra towels, reception assumed that we would pick them up at dinner, utterly failing to notice that after cycling all day we would want to wash before eating! The impeccable standards of service were maintained over dinner as we waited over an hour and a half for our dinner to arrive (at 930), a particularly galling wait after being told to come earlier than 830! The Ruby Lake Resort and its over-priced services will not be receiving a return visit from us.

But the Westview Hill Bed and Breakfast we stayed at the next day will be receiving another visit from us if we ever come back to Powell River again, although our journey to get there did have its usual complications. It was a very wet day which meant that the road was now no longer sunny nor coasty and therefore did not live up to its name at all. We enjoyed a good plate of bacon and eggs on the ferry journey from Earl’s Cove to Saltery Bay before cycling the hilly 35km to Powell River, where we had originally hoped to stay in the Beacon B&B. The hostess opened up the door and welcomed us in, wet and bedraggled and we settled into our rooms looking forward to getting comfortable and dry after a good wallow in the hot tub (an added perk). After arranging breakfast and paying our bill it was discovered that one of our rooms was actually double-booked, so still in our damp soggy clothes, we packed up our bags and and heaped them onto the bikes and cycled back out into the rain and up another very steep hill to our new B&B where our Polish hosts awaited us with our own private two-bedroom apartment; this time we were not let down in any way. In fact, we loved it so much we decided to stay in for the evening instead of going out for dinner as originally planned.

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September 17, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

We absolutely loved sunny Vancouver, where we spent three action-packed days, and still didn’t get to see everything! Our first morning was spent up Grouse Mountain photographing grizzly bears, watching the world-famous but somewhat cheesy (although entertaining) lumberjack show and eating our picnic lunch with one of the best views of the city of Vancouver there is. In the evening we had the opportunity to get to know a number of N’s (3rd,4th and 5th!) cousins at an entertaining dinner arranged by Wendy and Ann, our wonderful hostesses.

Wednesday brought us an excellent lunch in a Vietnamese restaurant in China town, and Moira and Tim (Paul’s mother and brother) on the evening flight from Glasgow. Their undamaged bikes were tossed into the back of a taxi and we sped off to the somewhat (in)famous Patricia Hotel, unfortunately located in the middle of Vancouver’s dodgiest area, the streets of which were populated by pimps, prostitutes and various crystal meth casualties trading single cigarettes and marshmallows (apparently this is all they eat).

The following morning a whirwind tour of Vancouver on our bikes took us down the coastal path, through the wilderness of Stanley Park, along the beaches of English Bay to the Fischer Price ferry (Aquabus) to Granville Island and its bustling markets and quiet suburban streets. Eventually we ended up in Kitsilano and the very funky Sophie’s Cosmic Cafe, which had kitsch, not kids’, toys stuck to the wall. We enjoyed an excellent chatty lunch with the delightful Maggie, who gave us a wealth of information on Vancouver. Our next engagement was a coffee date with the lovely Jane and her sweet dog, Oliver, which ended with a tour of her beautiful house and some directions to get to the best shops in the area.

After a frantic shopping expedition to obtain various cycling necessities, we realised we were going to be very late for our dinner with Wendy and Ann back in North Van in the evening. While Moira and Tim dodged the crystal meth victims on their way to sort things out at the hotel, N went on ahead solo and found herself struggling onto a bus with her bike, a big bunch of flowers, two bottles of wine, her handbag and a u-lock (luckily aided by a very helpful bus driver), to try and somehow make us less late for the dinner date. Moira, Tim and Paul arrived a fantastic two hours late, but all was not lost as we enjoyed a wonderful feast with lots of wine and laughter, a wonderful way to end a most chaotic day!

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September 12, 2007 by paulandnaomi.

Oliver made its mark on our map by providing us with the best and booziest meal we’d had on the trip. The Toasted Oak boasted Okanagan wine tastings with excellent food to complement them. Unfortunately, the evening blurred as we worked our way through the very good wine list and our memories now fail to recall most of the wines we drank. (oops!) For more information that we can’t provide, take a look at http://www.winecountry-canada.com/.

After watching the all-clear and sunny forecast (thankfully without a hangover), we set off on minor road that had been recommended, towards Keremeos. It was quite possibly the steepest road out of Oliver but thankfully with very little traffic (this usually makes the effort well worth the climb) and were suddenly hit by a completely different weather system. We were bombarded by wind around various corners and encountered our first rainclouds since Kootenay Lake. After hearing various stories about cougars (and attacks being on the rise!), there was a bit more of an adventurous edge to the day’s journey - and we still had the usual (but not quite so scary) bears to worry about! While dodging said rainclouds, we eventually came to our highest point of the day after four hours (once again) and once more reached civilisation at Twin Lakes golf course, incongruously perched at the top of the mountain. Highway 3 took us back down to the not so picturesque Keremeos (although it must be said that the mountains around it are). Once again we found ourselves in the cheapest motel in town, although this time we could tell why! Our appetites were quenched with an excellent take-away curry from the Sanderson’s fruit stand down the road.

We went to sleep with the wind whistling through the trees, and the next day’s cycling was spent battling the wind towards to Princeton through the Similkameen Valley (we thought this might mean ‘westerly wind’ in the local First Nations language). Luckily, the road was relatively flat compared to what we had been used to which made the wind a fair bit easier to deal with. A quick stop for coffee in Hedley turned into a long stop to hoover up a big plate of not very nutritious or tasty ‘hotcakes’, served by a waitress who refused to fill our waterbottles. Instead, she turned us in the direction of the hose outside and now I’m convinced that the $3 tip I left her was $3 too much. Luckily the sweet girl in the petrol station next door was happy to fill them - in the same kitchen as the restaurant!

Luckily the closer we got to Princeton, the wind died down and N had developed a big craving for Greek food - luckily the only restaurant we found was Greek. However, confusion reigned when she found that her moussaka was not only served with a salad, but with potatoes, rice and bread too! As the moussaka itself was enough to fill the hungriest cyclist’s stomach, the plate went back to the kitchen with all the unnecessary carbs untouched.

The next day presented us with another big dilemma: we had to be in Vancouver in two days’ time, but with over 300km and a range of mountains separating us, this was going to take some imaginative, if not, hardcore cycling. We decided our only palpable solution would be to try and get a ride, and were somewhat nervous and excited as we really had very little clue of where we’d end up. After a short half-hour of thumbing, we got picked up by a retired primary school teacher, Rika, who was on her way up for a Sunday hike in Manning Park. She dropped us at Cascade Lookout, one of the highest points in the park with a spectacular view. Although feeling somewhat guilty, this lift (all uphill) did save us a day of total uphill cycling. Despite having an excellent, although short, descent to the main road, we did have to get up to the second summit named Allison Pass, which gave ourselves the opportunity to warm oursleves up before the descent. Unfortunately, this was marred by a narrow road with little shoulder, speeding traffic and some nasty and unexpected uphills. The highlight, however, was Hope Slide where a big chunk of mountain had fallen off itself (see photos 8th Sept).

Our next stop was Hope, a bit of a misnomer at first, as in terms of public transport, there was little hope of getting into Vancouver. However, after whipping out our thumbs once again, it eventually lived up to its name by bringing us the lovely gregarious dog-breeder Sonja and her husband Jim, and their enormous empty pick up, who/which took us down to Deroche, from where we cycled to Mission just before sundown. This was not such a misnomer as our goal for the day had indeed been to get to Mission, the last stop of the West Coast Express train service into Vancouver.

It must be said that the closer to the city one gets, the more of a nightmare it is for a cyclist to proceed in a safe manner. This last leg from Deroche to Mission along a narrow shoulderless highway was very intimidating as we now had to deal with the added danger of cars (mainly towing enormous boats) who blared their horns at us - I suppose as they perceive that we’re in the way (who’s taking up more room is my question!), and the downright nasty passenger who felt that giving us the finger would somehow be productive. We counted ourselves lucky, however, as many cars did give us sufficient space and we didn’t get sandwiches thrown at us, as happened to Stephanie and John (our hosts in Juneau) when they were cycling around Australia.

The following morning found us on the last train into downtown Vancouver (at 7:27am!) where there was a PRIORITY SPACE FOR BICYCLES with special straps and everything, which we were so impressed by we took a photo. On arriving in Vancouver, we had our own little tour of the city while looking for bicycle shops and breakfast, and eventually made our way to the SeaBus, which is a very efficient ferry that takes foot passengers (and bikes!) over to North Vancouver. At said neighbourhood, we very slowly made our way up our last hill of the journey to Wendy’s wonderful house in Upper Lonsdale, where we spent the rest of the day doing little more than eating, resting and relaxing.

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