MAY 2006
NEWS
Last minute panic – or if it can go wrong, it will ...

Saturday 13 May
Last minute dash to JS Gedge to have a new front tyre fitted and a last minute check. Well it WAS the 13th!! The slightly sticking wheel in the morning meant a cylinder overhaul and new brake pads as well as the tyre. I decided on a new Shoei helmet as well so it was an expensive morning at £350.00!! We made up an EEC numberplate, as I hadn’t the greatest faith in my GB sticker on the back box. I grabbed chain oil, and a Mayday run T-shirt … who knows someone in US may recognise it! Trevor took the bike for a run, just to see if anything else was glaringly obvious and all was done.

Monday morning 15 May
6am is an ungodly hour, but I packed the top box with the goods I was prepared to risk being pilfered on the dockside, but nonetheless absolutely essential. A Christmas pudding, jar of marmalade, Marmite and 500 tea bags - come on, civilisation ends without any of these!
The ride was wobbly, which I put down to bedding the new tyre, I have not ridden so many miles to call myself that experienced. Then 60 miles into the journey to Southampton, the rain arrived. Hastings portion size as well and all directed at me. Sodden, wet feet, soggy leather, but I found the dock gate. Some deep-rooted nostalgic memory took me first to the liner berth at 101 pier. Now that took me back 35 years!
WW Logistics guys were great. They warned me about leaving the stuff on the bike due to pilfering in the US docks, but my faith in human nature and shortage of other carrying space meant I squeezed in the leather jacket, gloves and helmet and locked up the box adding a padlock for good measure. Wiping the bike down with oil I noticed the reason to my wobble – the wheel balance weight was no longer there! A great start - I was wet, tired, miserable and now had that to sort. I opted to find a tyre bay in the US. Back at the office/ portakabin I met another biker traveller. Oh, the shame! Here was a man with a bike held together with tape, butch looking panniers with water containers … an on/off road machine, really looking the part of intrepid traveller. Still, he was 30 years younger and American, I’m middle aged and English. He did concede his Dad had a Bonneville still. Point scored!
Train journey home was expensive, and took a total of 4½ hrs with changes. In wet boots my temper frayed as I had originally planned a lift that was cancelled later than I could arrange another. I wondered if this could be an omen, but then again isn’t that part of such a trip. I know the reality of travelling alone. It is often lonely and uncomfortable, passing strangers become friends for as long as your paths cross. The journey is its own companion and the only person to truly rely on is oneself. In two short weeks I would find out. For now I still had to sort out my job, house, bank accounts, packing, and Lord alone knows what else, enough reality to worry about

NEWS FLASH!!
Badger has arrived. The webmaster has received notification this morning that he is safe, well and knackered in the USA, and more is to follow later today (30/5/2006) - stay tuned ...

JUNE 2006
Where do I begin? – it’s been 10 days now since I left my job at Ashdown House. A low key send off, amid some tough decisions, and possibly a few assumptions. A major step, resigning at my age, but then again I have said many times that principles don’t come cheap. However, more of that later. Suffice to say I am now 'working my notice’. If I do say so, it’s a pretty neat way to do it, I recommend it.
I did my best ‘blue-arsed fly’ impersonations for the next few days, buying things I didn’t need at prices I couldn’t afford, but it kept me busy. OK, I kept everyone around me busy too, as I panicked unashamedly at the whole idea of disappearing. A special thank-you to James, Chrissy, Andy and Andrew.
Friday night I had an excellent imbibing in Hastings with a few close friends and my long suffering and very dear children. I don’t believe we have surviving pics, but what there is will follow.
So, Monday dawned, I had packed, repacked, squished squashed, and thrust everything but the kitchen sink into two panniers and a tank bag. James and Chrissy drove me to the airport. We, I, flustered my way through self-check in, and said my goodbyes. Not easy, I still feel extremely selfish. Then again I am being so, it is my time. I am sure all will run quite smoothly without me.
The fun and games started as soon as I stepped through the security gate. I did say that a tank bag had six magnets, several times. After unpacking the whole bag, removing the magnet section and explaining a motorcycle three times, I was left to bundle everything back together as the announcement 'Last Call' for my flight was made. What about the duty frees? A man can't travel without brandy, or the promised Jameson's for my friend in the US. I grabbed a sales person, explained my dilemma, and she happily took money from me . I have noticed a readiness for people to do that lately.
The flight was uneventful, I watched Narnia and the food provided was ... well, I actually enjoy airline food. When we were about to land, we were told it was 92 degrees with 62% humidity! The customs and immigration was so much easier than when I left London. I was asked why I was coming for six months, told the very nice man the great plan, watched him turn green and was through!
The rest of the week has been spent in limbo. This is a place between waiting for the Bonny to arrive and temperatures that would put Hell to shame. The highest was 94°F, and that is far hotter than I want to be. I sit here now awaiting a promised storm, which inevitably passes me by.
The bike is here, but more of that tomorrow ...

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Saturday 3 June
It rained! I can now breathe again and temperatures are back to an almost civilised mid-70’s. The bike was eventually unloaded from the Tampa late on the night of the first. We went to the docks at Baltimore, full of hope and joy. The customs officer assumed I was an experienced importer of motor cycles and anything else and asked me for all sorts of numbers and documents that I had never heard of. Woe and thrice woe, what WAS a Notice of Arrival? I had a phone call, but he was most insistent that a phone call could not be rubber-stamped. He had such a fine array of rubber stamps, it seemed churlish not to find some paper for him to stamp.
Off to WW again, which another customs officer assured me was a short drive, much too far to walk. 200 metres. Listen, it's all relative, it's a weight-distance-relativity thing, it may have been miles to her.
At the dockside office Barbara sallied to my rescue (I MUST send her the site address - she may well qualify as the first 'Badger Spotter' this side of the pond, with bike) I almost forgave her Harley allegiance, but I swear we wouldn’t have got the bike out without her. She even took the fees for us, saving a further driver to who knows where. That money trend again. Chauffeur driven to the sheds in an Oldsmobile fit to fall apart, and ... NO BIKE! A very nice brand new white Goldwing … tempting, but it doesn’t have the same ring - Badgers Honda? No. A second cruise and I am thinking 'How do I claim on the insurance?' Trying the adjacent shed, there she was, my faded beauty, covered in pigeon shit. I assume American Harley-owning pigeons.
There are no photos of this monumental occasion in Badger history, the reuniting of great love. This is not because such a moving moment is best kept private, more the surplus of military vehicles that may have made photography hard to explain. I am sensitive sometimes, please note. Mind you, all intact, everything with her, bed, chair, jacket (now feeling like cardboard) and crash helmet all present and correct. Now back to DC.
Fortunately, following Mairin made life extremely easy. Most of the journey was freeway (note, Americanisms now). Freeways are an interesting combination of a slow motorway and a game of chicken. Rarely does anyone drive more than 65 miles an hour, against our more normal 90-ish, but they come at you from all angles, both sides. The manoeuvring system is to brake hard, indicate a lane change, move, look in the mirror, accelerate or slow down, depending which will cause most grief to a worried Badger trying to look in all directions at once.
It was time I decided to take my leave of the very long-suffering Mairin, whose hospitality I would have been lost without. So for map study and route planning I opted to head to Harper’s Ferry, a drive of 70 odd miles. But there was still learning to be done.
I have now been introduced to Target, Penney’s, Old Navy - names I have conjured with for several years, now a real experience. It was like colouring in a black and white photo of a different place. The result however is a cell phone (they still charge to receive calls here, how quaint! So think before you dial!) I also bought a small, extremely cheap camera to supplement my Canon. I have discovered that when space is at a premium, a large camera kit is not wise. I may yet send it home and buy a mid range digi-cam, just to save space.
My next introduction was to Thrift stores and Dollar stores. Translated, these are charity shops and pound shops, which scarcely does them justice. I now have a set of pans, a book and a ‘like new’ denim shirt for less than a fiver. The Dollar store has kitted me out with other odds and sods. Of course this led to another minor problem. Bonny is not a large machine, but now resembled more the donkey than the sleek equivalent of a 'Pony Express' image. At least when she keeled over under the strain I was not on her and with all that packing, she rested a tad lower than the side prop may have left her. Omens, I decided would be ignored.
Good-byes said, thanks alone an understatement. Time for the road and the great adventure. At this juncture, as seems to be becoming increasingly essential, a 'hello and thank you' to the people I am meeting. All of them contributing already to making this whole thing work. Mairin, I am quite sure you have made this possible, from helping with my Visa to your incredible hospitality. Russ from Gaudaulet, a pleasure, sir, to have met you. Eugenie, more so. I promise you all dinner when I struggle back to DC.

Harper’s Ferry
(Click here for a satellite pic of Washington DC courtesy of the guys at NASA)
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The journey continues. Of course it would have continued a lot easier if A) I could remember right from left, B) I followed simple directions, C) I could understand 'ebonomics' and D) they drove on the right side of the road here, as in the left.
Eventually I found the right road ‘route’ (pronounced rout) and headed west to Harper’s Ferry Hostel. I stopped at a viewpoint over a battleground, the name of which escapes me and immediately attracted attention with my numberplate. I must get the Badger bumper stickers run off here so we can spread this thing and maybe encourage a lot more fund raising. That would be such a good side effect to this mid-life crisis.
I made it to the hostel to find it overrun with Boy Scouts of America. This turned out to be, of course, to my advantage as Dave, one of the attending parents, has a Yamaha and as it happens, a very useful piece of string and spare tent peg making my new abode considerably more habitable. We had an immediate rapport so there went the first of the 1066 Run T-shirts to a good home. He has mailed now (see log) that the Scouts will be following the Badger Run, as will others no doubt.
The learning curve steepened with the camping, but at $10 a night and use of the hostel amenities it’s a great deal. The tent however doesn’t take the bed very easily, so I bought a sleep mat and a gas burner locally. These 2 items are not related, bed burning was a one off post-divorce event, not a trend. The camp bed is now bequeathed to the hostel as an overflow and the bike is several pounds lighter.
Harper’s Ferry was where the American Civil War ignited and is incredibly picturesque. I have included pics of plaques and the like, but history lessons and political comment can wait till I find the time and energy to write an essay. Suffice to say I found the Emancipation issues in the local museums fascinating.
I walked up to St Peter’s church, overlooking the town. This was a highlight for me. The only building to survive the war, they knocked it down and rebuilt it anyway. But the main reason it survived, this Catholic Church funded predominantly by Irish immigrants, was by flying a Union Jack from the steeple. I loved the irony in that.
Beyond the church is a rock called Jefferson’s rock, overlooking where the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers merge. He said there that 'such a view was worth crossing the Atlantic for'. Mind, you can't actually SEE the view 'cos someone built a town and railway there. Such is progress. The views are spectacular and the history fascinating. The next thing I loved in my humourous way is - on this beautiful landscape, the remains of a painted sign for talcum powder, painted on to the cliff close on a hundred years ago … I make no further comment, it speaks for itself.
A lazy day followed my historical foray. Mainly because I discovered pulling the (500lb) bike back up in DC may account for the back twinge, rather than walking so much. I contented myself with packing and repacking until I had the bike balanced better. Again, from nowhere a guy drops into the hostel to make enquiries and struck up a conversation. Pete is also a biker, a BMW man, and we spent an hour discussing campsites, hostels and some of the things I may come up against. When you read this Pete, thanks.
Dinner at the Diner. Cindy Lou’s is a diner where the waitresses have helped me bridge the language barrier and fried chicken takes on a whole new meaning. 'Two Guns' Blaine bought tonight’s dinner for me. Us Bonny owners get everywhere. He is a volunteer fire-fighter for Loundon County Fire and Rescue Company 5. Hi guys!! I have the hat and the badge, pic to follow. I must sew my souvenirs on to my jacket.
As you can see, Badgers Bonny is attracting attention and I am meeting so many fantastic generous hospitable people. Tomorrow we go for mileage.

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To Akron via West Virginia (09/06/06)

Time to recap, as I have a few moments to do so. I left Harper’s Ferry eventually at lunch time - packing up a tent seems to take forever - and then I drove along Highway 50 intending to pick up the Interstate 77. See how easy this rolls off the tongue? The thing is that the 50 is like a vertical version of an English road, brilliant bike road, tight mountain bends and spectacular views. Real fun riding, discounting the loose gravel and overloaded Bonny. As is becoming the norm now, bikers stop alongside, people ask and chat, it’s been so friendly. West Virginia was a beautiful place. Even the gas station phoned around to find a campsite that was reachable. How’s that for service?
I stopped at Tygart Lake State Park, which was 50 miles off. Now 50 miles to reach the gate. 5 more to find the camp area, 8 to get to the restaurant, so pitching in the dark was no fun! The parks I have found are measured in miles, not acres!
I had the same problem getting started again, so got away just after 11.00am. I set a hard ride and did 160 miles straight, stopping for fuel only, meeting another biker, Dave, who invited me for a ride out in Ohio. I doubt I’ll have the time.
I cut off the freeway as it had become incredibly boring after the earlier part of Route 50, a mistake, lovely countryside, but after crossing the Ohio River, I turned the wrong way and didn’t realise it till I'd done 30 miles. This added 80 to my day, so I was tired and less than amused at myself! No pictures of this as the batteries were flat on the small camera and the big one was buried in my kit. So 250 miles in to the day I then did another 200 in 3½ hours. By the time I got up here I was a tad saddle sore. Here being another hostel as different from the last as its possible to be. I have known worse kept country hotels!
Today I took the bike into a dealer to check out the worrying wobble, but it was decided that is due to excess load and the wind. I will admit, riding in a T-shirt and jeans takes some adapting to, but in this heat and on these roads, it’s the only way to be comfortable on a long run. I have noticed that Kamikaze insects, hit at 80mph, I mean 55mph officer, sting through denim.
After finding a library to get internet access … a WiFi hotspot I am assured is not an improper suggestion regarding a spouse, but all to do with wireless broadband ... I went on a lazy ride about 100 miles around Amish country and small town Ohio.
I won’t bore you all with why I have a deep affinity to this area, suffice to say I DID see a chair at JCT 65 on 77! It's true - there IS an IKEA season over here! (for those that think I have taken leave of my senses, that’s a very ‘in’ joke for one special person!)
So, the next few days will be spent as my time, looking at covered bridges, old houses, small towns, maybe even the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, heaven help me! There is even a faint chance I may find a poetry slam locally, so I can stretch the ego as well. I will send some pictures of this hostel and the journey here. The manager Eric is a classical musician and we have hit it off, having a lot in common. I want his job!!! It's an idyllic spot and so perfect for the creative juices.
When I move on, it’s to Niagara. I have left a small hint on the mileage so far - I am pottering around the Cleveland area for those with maps. I am still trying to get the bumper stickers printed off, but it's proving quite difficult to find someone to do them, at short notice. I hope that you are having more luck over there.
I will try and write some of the anecdotes that are missing from this diary, as there have been so many. The variety of accents, the misunderstandings, the characters I have met, I doubt I can do justice to it all. I should have done this in 1979!

Ohio - retrospectively.

I have spent far too long here, probably. It has been all I expected. That’s good and bad. However I have decided that despite broad hints to the contrary I will not air my personal traumas and disappointments to you lot! Suffice to say, moving on is not something I am ready to do, and that has nothing at all to do with travelling some more.
Ohio, or at least this North Eastern corner, has been wonderful, I have ridden out every day meeting all sorts of people. The Bonny is a magnet to all that see it.
For example I dropped into a McD’s the other day, where there was a Ridley motorcycle parked. I introduced myself to the rider, Dan, and his wife. We got chatting and he invited me back to his place, out in the country. He has a pond, with an island recently constructed. It has a covered bridge in the style of the area, and he is building a 40+ft lighthouse on the island. It was so amazing to be taken into a total stranger's home and as he said, to be treated like family.
They even went so far as to invite me back, with my friend, to take a horse ride. It is not to be, as it would need to be a sharing thing for me to enjoy.
There will be a link to ‘Nursery in the Wood’ as soon as I sort out their email address. Yet another special moment. Pictures of their marvellous home I will post, but as it was getting dark, few will post well.
I have seen so many small towns – even my first Ghost Town. This being Cleveland on a Sunday! Worse that the City of London on a Sunday. I dropped in on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame - it wasn’t my cup of tea, but credit where it's due, the city is trying hard to inject something back into itself.
So as I send this missive with pictures to the web master, I am on the road again, heading toward Niagara.
Leaving here will be hard, I love it here. I had almost hoped I wouldn’t like the state at all, but I feel very much at home here. I shall leave behind a lot. Hopefully I'll come back to when the time is right. Time will tell.

Crazy day!!

Now see if you can follow this, pay attention at the back.
I popped through to Boardman (that’s a suburb of Youngstown), still in dear old Ohio, to deliver a gift for a dear friend. I am quite used now to the attention the bike gets over here, so when a guy pulls up next to me in the car park to chat I thought no more of it. It’s always nice to meet people, and I try to behave as I would like others to treat me or mine.
So I am having a coffee when he comes back and introduces me to Larry Ward of News Radio 570WKBN, the host of the Two Wheel Power Hour Show.
Larry, in turn, calls Roy Dyckson, the president of BMW Motorcycle Owners of America Club #72. He is a really experienced long distance travel biker on his BMW. These guys are great. I will now be interviewed every Monday or so live on air on Larry’s show. Roy is leaving tomorrow to ride to Alaska. Quite a trip in the opposite direction to me for now. On top of everything else, Roy effectively has made me an ‘honorary member’ of MOA with a contact list for emergencies and a note from him to that effect. The generosity I am experiencing never ceases to amaze me.
So dear people, the Badger is going on air, and hopefully more and more people will be ‘following the badger’. This is a step in the direction I wanted to be going in. Obviously, the show is primarily a bike show, so my other writings will not be of paramount interest, but who knows, my aspirations to be known as a writer / artist ‘personality’ may yet be realised.
Needless to say, my brain was addled by the excitement, and I looked for a place to camp, or stay. Sarah was incredibly patient, great company and a real help seeing as I ceased to make any sense almost as soon as I got back to her after being with the guys. After dithering around like a fool for over an hour I went to a hotel. After all, it eventually dawned on me that a hot shower, charging all my electrical gear, breakfast and TV added up easily to the difference in prices. Soon I will recount my adventure, to be called ‘checking out motels’ Not to be missed, but I warn you, not for the faint hearted!
What a day it has been. It had to be Boardman, Ohio, is that fate or coincidence? Tomorrow I will make up for lost time. A long day's ride ahead.

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Saturday (17/06/06)

As you can see life is galloping along at breakneck speed, and I am awash with experiences. So much so, I can scarcely do them credit in this log. When, or if, I ever slow down, I will try to relate some in more detail.

When I eventually left Ohio, with very mixed feelings, I headed out to Niagara. My aversion to freeways and love of small towns means that I take a long time between stops. I have a couple of pics of some small towns as I followed the Allegheny River along Route 62 to Niagara. As Oscar Wilde said, the Falls were the second anti-climax to the honeymoon.
Spectacular as they are, especially with the view of Toronto across the lake, I found, having ridden through Buffalo, that the contradiction of lifestyles between tourist and resident was hard to reconcile. I have said it before - for a rich nation, the poverty here appalls me, and I assure you I haven’t seen it at its worse as I am avoiding cities.

However, not wanting to stay there I headed out to a State Park campsite, and with my usual unerring sense of distance ended up 60 plus miles out of my way, crawling into a park well after dark. I pitched the tent as soon as I saw a light next to the loos. Next morning, waving to the Rangers, I discovered I had camped in a picnic park, not a campsite. Such again is the attitude here, the Ranger had told the guys not to wake me. Another great ex-biker. I went up to the office to thank him, and spent a great hour learning about the parks and the different areas I was approaching. Another free night.

I rode across country again on Route 20, and as it was getting late went on an Interstate to make up time, stopping at a town called Utica, for some food and to look for a campsite. Chester, a Russian American, having ascertained I was travelling rough, took me back to his mate’s place for the night. What amazing hospitality. Showered, laundered, fed and plied with far too much vodka I had a great evening with half a dozen of the Russian community. I got very drunk.

After a potter on a quad, another experience, I got on the road. I can’t thank these guys, or everyone enough. The hospitality I am being shown by almost everyone, strangers more so, puts us to shame.
The rest of the day was a slow ride through the Adirondak and Green Mountains. I used the fact I have had a couple of free nights to book into a motel in Vermont. Cheap and cheerful, and not at all scary like Ohio.

Now it looks like rain, my first, and I have to get to the tail-end of Laconia Bike Week, all being well.

21/06/06

Time has flown, yet again, and I am lagging in my updates as to where I am.
I made it to Laconia, via some great scenery, meeting so many bikers on the way. Everyone curious about the Bonny. Hells Angels to straight ‘grey riders’, all sorts. Laconia is very much like Hastings on Mayday, with more traders and thousands more bikers. It’s like a convention. The pics will give you an idea.
Typically I left it far too late leaving there, and there was no accommodation available for miles. I decided to rough it, stay awake or doze on a garage forecourt till it got light, then get to a campsite. To my rescue came more bikers who led me 60 or 70 miles up into the White Mountains to where motels were available and cheap. Distance just doesn’t mean the same, don’t think miles, think time.
The motel that rescued me at 11pm was The Carroll Motel, great family place. I stayed a second night, as it was great to explore the White Mountains some from there. Too many mozzies to camp. Needless to say they still feasted upon me. Last count I have 100 bites on my legs. I suppose it was a fair trade - Bryan, Cindy and their in-laws extended a dinner invite to me, I ate their steak, excellent it was too, the insects feasted on me.
On my travels via Crawfords I was rewarded with being told that Robert Frost had a place close by. I made it just before they closed, it was amazing. Inspiring too, I hope as I am still grappling with the muse to produce something worthwhile. Soon there will be a witty little treatise ‘On adopting a highway’. Watch this space.
I am now south, near to Boston, back in another HI hostel. It's an amazing old farmhouse with Quaker roots, and has been in the same family for generations. Bigger than both the others I have stayed in.
I am hoping soon to find somewhere I can truly relax and spend a few days just writing. I suspect this may be back at Harper’s Ferry

26 June

That’s a Monday I hope, having suffered a wet weekend the like of which I hope not to see again for a while.
So, where have I been? I left the last hostel and went into Plymouth to play tourist. It was amusing, and the re-created settlement was very, very good. I then went to Cape Cod. Seeing the sea again made me quite homesick. No messages in bottles, just this missive.
Hostels International has been a great discovery as I am meeting so many like-minded people. The one at East Ham on Cape Cod was great. I left to sample two nights of local hospitality. Even a haircut is proving to be a hilarious experience. Not that there is so much hair, but Mr Crawford's Unisex salon makes a full performance of the whole thing. Caroline, Kenny, Dave and Emmett have showed so much hospitality, I had a great time.

On the road, to Connecticut I made Hartford, until, resembling a drowned rat, soaked to the skin, I found another hostel. The amazing thing I have found here is the helpful hospitality of everyone I speak to. It is beyond description. The hostel here wins no stars but again, its people that make places. I have so many anecdotes, so many tales already.
I wonder if I should be writing some as essays? Opinions are most welcome. Any suggestions of what you would like to read about, DO let the webmaster know. Be interactive, or I will feel like I am talking to myself. OK, I should be used to that - I was a civil servant who liked to improve things.
So, wet Hartford. It's odd, every time I take a wrong turn or an unscheduled stop I am rewarded with something very special. Frost's place in the White Mountains. Here, it was Mark Twain's house. I had no idea he married money before he settled to write. I wonder if the world would have been rewarded with his genius had he needed to earn a living as well. There's food for thought.
Tonight, I make my radio debut. I will be recording (via the phone) Larry’s Independence Day show. I am excited. I will try and catch a gap in the weather to reach a hotel. My self-reward for fame and misfortune. Mind, as I write, the rain has started yet again. Maybe I won’t get as far as I hope.
Watch this space ...

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27 June

Did I mention rain? A small shower or two? I pottered out of Hartford in a shower and gradually it dried up. So optimistic to the end, I pulled over and removed the Gore-Tex. This action alone to the great amusement of AlizJana (see link) and family in the vehicle next to me. OK, I did get me foot stuck, fall over, lose the cord from the trousers and generally behave exactly as I usually do. I put on my still damp leather and headed off toward Reading, my destination for a cheap hotel and my radio debut.
Then it didn’t rain - the river fell from the sky. Of course, had I looked at a forecast I would know that half the eastern seaboard is currently under water. But I have a journey to do and I get cabin fever very quickly these days.
I was on the state line at Port Jervis and by now visibility was down to yards and still 18-wheelers were going past at over 80, so I decided to pull off the road. I was soaked to the skin, boots full of water and less than my usual cheerful self. A transit van pulled alongside and Mike, a builder, calls me over, lets me in, chucks me a towel or two. Then proceeds to ring around to find a motel I can afford, via his Mrs at home. Where do I find such people?
As soon as the weather calmed a little I made it into Milford, and the Milford Motel. Basic, clean and helpful. The owner even put my jeans and worst affected clothes in a dryer. My room now has maps, papers, and sleeping bag festooning it. I opted to stay another night, even though there are only light showers here, it seems to be a corridor between two worse fronts. That’s my excuse and I am keeping to it!
I have discovered yet another WiFi Coffee shop. This one is particularly laid back, good music and very tolerant of Badgers. No site, I'm afraid, and bad timing - I missed the Open Mike night by a week. Still at 7th Street Coffee Craig, Dave and Mike will see you right, when the pilgrimage starts and crowds begin to follow in Badgers footsteps.
Talking of food, always a subject close to my heart, I found BALCHS, a fish restaurant. Now Joe, apart from being a great bloke cooks the best fish I have tasted since being here. Not quite cod'n'chips, but dare I say it, possibly had the edge? I knew I was on a winner when I saw malt vinegar on the table, a great start and it just got better. Had I stayed I'd have worked my way through the menu
Rain or shine, well, within reason, it's on the road tomorrow to at least find a hostel. Half the price and friendlier as everyone is in the same boat, and usually the same room. No worse than a seaman’s cabin or a squad room, or dorm, thank heavens I have had a varied life. Very little now could phase me, even some of the more colourful characters I have happened across.
OK. Time to get this rising damp thing into perspective, because on top of everything else, I lost me Gore-Tex trousers!!
Some areas around here had 71/2 inches of rain in 48 hrs. The Delaware River - not exactly a stream - seems to have overflowed some. The towns either side of me were evacuated in places and several major roads were closed. To get where I am now I had to do a 30 odd mile detour. I couldn’t take many pics of the river as I only crossed it on the freeway, not a good place to stop to take pics. Maybe there are some links to it all. I have sent a few pics I was able to take.
I am now in a hostel in a state park down near Philly. It’s an overnight one as it is miles from anywhere. Despite the crazy company - another pic called for – Gettysburg is calling. It’s odd, really. I have finished my lightning tour of the north and the whole of the rest of the country awaits, yet right now I’m almost indifferent as I have felt so much at home here in so many ways. Even the bad week was nostalgic to earlier times at home.

5 July - new bike news - see the bike page!

Where has the Badger been hiding this past week? Apart from the mileage check, I have been incommunicado with the outside world. Internet and phone access has been close to impossible, as my last two stops have been deep inside state parks, hiding from civilisation. I spent a second night at Newtown hostel and then as I left there dropped the bike again. No raucous laughter from the Gedges readership please! There were as always extenuating circumstances. I had slowed to walking pace so as not to spook a ferocious looking equine beasty that was carrying a troddler and being led by her grandmother. The child’s, not the horse's, you understand. Then, wild life ganging up on me as usual a squirrel (the size of a wild pig) leapt in front of me and off the path and over I went. Needless to say I selflessly saved all damage to the bike by thrusting my arm between the made up road and it. Skin is not as overrated as one sometimes thinks.
Nursing a bruised ego I pottered eventually into the hostel here just outside Gettysburg. At least the ride here was dry, and took me past the Harley Davison factory in Lancaster. I waved my archers' fingers in the general direction, flanked on all sides by Harleys. Needless to say my adopted outriders were still impressed by the trusty Triumph. I wonder if any Bonnies are actually sold here as mine attracts so much attention. Probably a Harley owner hasn’t seen a proper bike for so long?
I discovered a couple of things on my arrival here. One: the world closes for July 4 and two: I desperately needed new front brake pads. Not a good combination as my forthcoming road is a mountain one for 300 odd miles, not a freeway. I decided to err on the side of caution and despite being out of phone range and miles from any broadband, to sit tight till today. I helped out around the hostel, working off a couple of nights fees by being laundry boy and cleaner. No big deal, it’s good to feel useful sometimes.
I met some great people, again, as usual, so hi, Beth and Phyllis and others who'd better be reading this by now!
This is a ‘Trail Hostel’, sitting as it does on the Appalachian Trail halfway point. This trail has its own indigenous breed of people called ‘Through Hikers’. These weird and wonderful, often eccentric types are all devoted to walking this 2175 mile trail the length of the mountain range. It has its own sub-culture and is a challenge not undertaken lightly. Overall these hikers with their common bond are some of the nicest people I have met, our journeys in common, our chosen means separating us. However, these guys are masters of travelling light. I am sending my first pack of unneeded yet 'don’t want to chuck out' stuff home tomorrow. I am always happy to pick up a tip and if I can downsize enough to make the pillion seat vacant, who knows what direction the journey may take! So always interesting.
The hostel was the Ironmaster's house of the close by foundry, now a ruin and was also, I am assured, part of the underground railway ferrying escaped slaves to freedom in Canada. The slavery heritage is so hard to comprehend, as our own has been buried or swept away as we led the way to abolish the trade (so we like to believe).
In a way I don’t intend to give detail of here, I have had a wonderful reassurance that all my hopes of finding a receptive audience here will be realised. This has lifted my spirits a tad and makes me keen to move from these ‘doldrums’
I am sure that the English readers especially, will be wondering how I spent 4th July. Quietly is the answer as I am still loath to ride back roads at night and this hostel is in the back of beyond. A noisy evening is when the frogs are in chorus and the baby swallows aren’t fed fast enough. Wonderful for me. So, July 4th, chores over with I set up council in the walkers’ café and offered to accept the apology and requisite 200-odd years’ back taxes from any rebel colonist that has seen the error of his ways. The result, despite their present incumbent, was disappointing and so I even had to buy my own lunch.
So, now to bike news. When kicking tyres with a Canadian Honda (shudder) owner I noticed how worn the front pads had become. Ok, I also noticed that the bike is filthy dirty, slack chained, often overloaded and generally looking a tad worn out. Then again, so do I, so I never worry.
I waited till the 5th to set about getting some professional help and found Capitol Area Triumph of Harrisburg. What can I say? John, Bill and Will made me welcome as anyone could. I had got soaked yet again reaching them (if I don’t find some overbites soon I will get trench foot) so I emptied my boots put my socks on the manifold and wandered around the workshop barefoot making a cup of tea. I stayed here for a few hours in the end, discussing Triumphs, pricing, the market and especially the Bonny. I have pics of the shop, workshop and a great renovation job of a '68 Triumph. Brilliant work! The guys - well Bill is the mechanic, he fitted new pads, checked and adjusted chain and gave the whole bike a reassuring check over. It was brilliant service, great people. I asked every nagging question I could think of regarding maintaining the bike over the coming months. Fans of this wonderful machine will be reassured to know that considering I matched all of last years miles in four weeks, pads and tightening the chain and deciding to up the suspension level was all that was needed.
I am going to write a small piece with pics on this visit and health check and send it to Torque, the triumph owners magazine. I was so impressed with the help I was given and their hospitality.
The next part of the journey is to ride the Blue Ridge Parkway. This is a scenic mountain road that I will start in a day or two as I leave Harper’s Ferry, moving away from this Civil War country with its turbulent history.
The next part of the other side of this journey is to sort out the writing I have actually completed. Following shortly is my only completed piece, as yet untitled, which the Webmaster will decide when to post.

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20 July

My oh my, boy! Ain’t it been nigh on a coon's age since Ah laist talked to y’all? How y’all doin’ dahn dere, bein' as y’all British and all.
You will notice the chameleon in me trying to blend in. Perhaps sitting under an umbrella making tea in a lay-by beside Bonny MAY give the clue that I am 'Nawt frem around these parts’. Still, one can’t let standards drop - tea is an institution, not simply a drink.
So, where has Badger been? Up in the mountains, riding the Blue Ridge Skyway and Blue Ridge Parkways. To cover the touristy bit quickly I started in Front Royal, camped next night in a State Park, (mile 53) then a hostel (mile 214.5) then Asheville, another hostel (two nights) then I met Chuck (which I will explain later) and ended up at Blue Ridge Motorcycle campground three nights and Cherokee Reservation (two nights). Wow … it looks so easy to explain written like that … 500 easy miles. Easy? Is anything easy for a Badger?
Front Royal
I stumbled into this quaint town on a scorching day in search of a hikers hostel. Fortunately for me The Terrapin Hostel decided with my packhorse looking bike, I qualified as a quasi hiker. Similar journey, perhaps. Small town America hit home as the dog show was in full swing in the Town Square. The owner/ dog lookalike was excellent, as were the Judges. I made my appraisal, but sadly I don’t run to owning a farm.
Blue Ridge Skyway
This is the first 100+ miles of the dream road. No commercial traffic, slow, winding roads with breathtaking views. I saw me a bear!! There was a big black bear wandering along beside the road, with the cars in front stopped to photograph it. I Know that black bears are vegetarian, but I had eaten a lot of lettuce. The cars all stopped, me too, looking like food fresh from the can. I struggled to get my camera out, but he waddled off. I shouted after him - 'Oi!! I’m gonna make you famous!' A head peered over the wall, and if I don’t miss my guess mouthed the words, 'Sod off tourist!' Still it was another first. I met another two bikers, pure American, from Preston, Lancs. and had a great evening together at the site clubhouse, listening to traditional folk music.
Blue Ridge Parkway
As one road ends it simply becomes another. 450 miles clinging to the mountain. Totally addictive. I stayed everywhere too long, and as you can see, got very very lazy about writing as well. I met SO many people at every viewpoint, every tea stop, it has become impossible to keep track of you all. I await with great interest who adds their names to my e-mail list. I look forward to it.
The edited highlights were Asheville, meeting Kris and Mel (see you in Fla) and of course Chuck and Marcia. I was almost to the end of the Parkway, at the highest point and this bald bearded man offered to take my pic at the marker. We instantly hit it off, and found we had spent an hour chatting. I was led back to the Blue Ridge Motorcycle campsite and we spent the next couple of days chilling and kicking tyres. This site was home from home, good food, great company and through Chuck and Marcia met lots of other great bikers. Ray, an amazing man and a photographer gave me some great tips, so expect better photos from here on in, maybe … or there again maybe not. Chuck I am sure is already, and will remain, a firm friend rather than a passing ‘trail buddy’
Cherokee
Woe is upon me. The computer wireless died somehow. To the rescue valiantly came Jeremy from Computer Rescue Inc. All that was missing was the super hero cape. Within the hour I was back in communication, with this entire backlog to compress. However I had the Indian Nation to explore as well, so I moved along to a motel for a couple of nights to start on this, gathering tales and people faster than I can begin to write them down.
I met Kellie, an online friend for coffee, and through that met Pascha. A good reason to stay another day, just to go for breakfast. I love these mountains and have done since I first saw them at Harper’s Ferry - who knows where it all leads?
Dragons Tail
I rode the Tail! Well, I pottered along it in what I consider to be a respectable 19 minutes ... ish. Come on! I did it fully laden like a tinker on the trot, to the amusement of every sports bike there AND I was stuck behind a pick up truck till he pulled over. I was quite pleased I stayed on - look at the tree of shame pictures!
That’s the up date, scarcely scratching the surface of two amazing weeks, meeting so many people I cant begin to list them all. The Badger's fame is spreading - men in white coats scour the countryside looking for him.
My next good intention is to send Webmaster some pictures and some anecdotal evidence to lighten the tour guide.

28th July

Anecdotal evidence? Did I say I needed anything to make life more interesting? I really should know better than to tempt the fates in such a way.
I completed the Dragon's Tail as I said and headed off on a loop to gather a few more states to my itinerary. I cut up through Tennessee, Kentucky, clipped Illinois, Missouri and dropped into Arkansas. Sounds so simple, pottering along in temperatures cooling to low 90’s. It had to end.
However, I met Joe as I crossed the state line into lllinois, who offered to ride with me, meet his Dad and grab some lunch. It worked, that is what Badger is all about. I was taken to Dexter Airfield, met some great people as usual and laughed my way through the heat of the day. There was talk of storms, but was assured I was way ahead of them - I didn’t worry.
Off I went and reached Mammoth Springs and stopped to get another free map. There was great talk of storms and a group of armchair Goldwing riders stopped in needing motel directions, flapping about the storm on the way. Dismissive of a ‘drop of rain’ I set off … about five miles. Then I embarked on a new learning curve. My first clue was the way tree branches were dancing down the road towards me. Then the wind hit and it was like driving into a wall. Hmm, maybe a good idea to turn around and potter slowly back to town. I did, at about 90 mph with a following wind of similar speed.
As usual, fate brought me to some great people, this time the family of ‘La Pastoral’ Bistro called me in, including unloading the bike and offering me coffee. Then the storm arrived, and down came the rain, another river narrowly missing my head this time, awnings, bits of roof, and a new river formed in what was once Main Street. Half an hour later it was all over bar the damage reports, which whispered up and down Main Street at the same pace. A roof off here, flooded rooms there, trees on houses, no power anywhere. Time for me to ride on, after a two hour floor show courtesy of Mother Nature. Needless to say I didn’t complete the scheduled days ride and stopped at a resort called Mountain Home. What a quaint name. Shame it was Saturday and all the motels were full, or expensive, and it was 10.30pm and I was tired and cold (as temperatures had now dropped to a positively chilly 75F). I found a $50 room, thanks to the manager having moved from Streatham, we had been almost neighbours for years. Thank you Mr Patel.
The bonus of the storm was the next day was a perfect biking day and I pottered into Fayetteville, Arkansas. I leave the accent to your imagination. Internet friends Mark, Jane and Julie have been my hosts, and I enjoyed a few days of family life. Rides out on the bike, meeting great bikers, on some fantastic mountain roads. Almost R&R and more thanks due.
The 'almost downside' is an odd tale to relate. Because of the steep gravel drive to the house it was arranged I should park the bike at the opposite neighbours. As it was late I parked just off the road, but not on their property. Silly me. Next morning at the ungodly hour of 6.30am there was a call to say the bike was down. Drama! The bike was fine, but the back box was split almost in half and the reflector was inside the box. I have no idea if the bike was hit or someone had attempted to see what jewels lay inside. It matters not. A passing motorist the size of King Kong helped me right the bike. Well I put my hand on the bars and he tucked it under his arm so it seemed. He was away before I could even ask his name or say thanks. Then along comes Deputy Sheriff (I think) Larry Johnson just to make sure all was OK. Fantastic. I felt like the whole town was offended that such a thing could happen to a visitor.
I tried to get a new box on line, but overnight delivery made it far too expensive, so dear old Yellow Pages threw up Donnie Day, who was close and customises Harleys. I took the box to him to ask advice and lo and behold, he repaired it. Rivets and mesh we have a box with a Frankenstein look, it’s a brilliant job. Donnie refused any payment at all, and further gave both Julie and I a ‘Guardian Biker Angel’ pin for the jacket. I find it so hard to take in, if this is a Bible belt Christian, and then this type of evangelism is an example to aspire to. I have come to the conclusion that I am richer for the experience, and whoever damaged the bike, by accident or design, is the only loser of the situation.
There you have it. What can one say? Thanks are inadequate, everywhere I go, just about every day I experience an act of kindness, generosity, the like of which I have never seen. I feel almost everywhere that a red carpet has been laid out for me, and total strangers are waiting to become friends.
My radio career seems to be shortened as getting contact with Ohio has proved a tad difficult. Still, watch this space. The Badger’s fame, alas not fortune, is growing daily.

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August 2

As we speak I have 'got the Hell out of Dodge’ and headed for the hills. OK the Rockies, and remember the time difference so that I can resume my radio debut. Contact was made again with Larry and it seems that heavy programming and poor communications have been the problem. It seems all I have to do is get up in time to ride 350 miles in 95F heat and side winds gusting at 30mph, and find a phone and remember the time zones … easy, I hope. By the time I have finished this, you will know if I did.
However, I leap ahead, for I am at last more than ‘24 hours from Tulsa’. This is probably the extent of my fame and a very poor pun.
I rode into Tulsa in one hit on leaving Arkansas and mooched around finding a Barnes and Noble (great things happen to Badgers in such places). From there I found McNallies Pub, a cheap motel, AND an Open Mike session.
What could I do but stay and perform? I even bought a new pair of jeans for the occasion, no expense spared, almost £5 they were, AND almost 4 inches narrower than before. So the slim and svelte Badger, putting all before him, pottered into Saffron’s Coffee Shop for the Open Mike evening.
Now, granted this is not new to me, and although I heard some incredibly professional musicians, eventually the caffeine kicked in and I boldly went up, deciding at the last minute to attempt some of the humour that holds body, soul and these pages together. It worked! Be impressed my loving readers, I made people laugh, deliberately! Well they weren’t laughing before, and were afterwards, so I assume that constitutes a success. I met as usual great, lovely people, especially Saffron, Terry, Fae and the Captain.
Unable to follow on such success I headed out of town and rode 300 plus miles to Dodge City, Kansas. A word about Kansas. It’s flat, hot, and dusty and did I say flat? Roads disappearing into heat haze, the only landmarks are enormous silos floating above the haze like white-painted medieval castles on a lake. Here comes Badger, hot, sticky, on his charger, looking to rescue damsels in distress, slay dragons or tilt at windmills. I must remember to drink more water.
I stayed one night at Greenberg, too hot to continue, then a few days at Dodge City’s Gunsmoke campsite and RV Park. This part of the world has a dubious history, as most will know. I found it hard to reconcile much whilst here. Cattle country still, but not so much the open range and romantic viewpoints. Feed pens are the concentration camps of the bovine world, smell worse than an open sewer. Suffice to say, I’m beef free from here on in, or until I need a burger.
It was a great town, its history epitomising the violence of this country's growth. Buffalo wiped out as the best way to take land from the indigenous population, human life cheap at best in the lawless periods, or by the then government policy to expand into the plains. On a sombre note I wonder how much has changed when any government has its sights on something, be it land, oil, or power. Ach, Badgers do not change the world, simply explore it, comment and poke fun at the ridiculous. The shining armour rusted years ago, Rapunzel had a haircut and the windmill is all that will sweep me off me feet.
I did take in the fundraising Bull Fry. This was an over priced plate of deep fried bull’s testicles. However, deep frying American style, to my palate means I can't tell the difference from KFC, Bull Fry, Mars bars, it's all bullocks' bits to me. Mind the folk were right friendly, and I left early next day. One has to be out of Dodge by noon, it’s a tradition one assumes.
Another looooooong day's ride as I made it to Manitou Springs, Colorado in time to call Clear View Radio in Ohio. Since my last comment some communication has been re-established with the radio station and I am now due to contact Larry again from Sturgis Bike Week on Monday. Nothing like pressure, as I am settling in nicely here. I have yet to meet Badger's e-mailer, but I have met a host of other people and am going to attempt another open mike set on Thursday. Have you ever seen such bravery?
There you have it … next check in will be after Sturgis, and I will be pottering around some mountains en route.

August 7

Nothing, you will have noticed, in the Badger Run is ever simple. Manitou Springs is a traditional healing place where all tribes of native Indians were at peace in order to be able to take the waters. Like an early neutral hospital, I suppose. Anyway there are many springs, each with different mineral qualities, and quite feasibly effective.
Perhaps I needed healing, but I ended up here until Sunday in the end. Considering the bad start to my arrival here, the so-called campsite at Pikes Peak RV and Campground was without doubt the worst place I have yet to pay for as a 'tent camper'. Each pitch consisted of an area of gravel, as part of a car park. It could be argued that gravel is soft, but it is also sharp, and it rained hard that night. For $24 I expect a lot more these days. When they then wanted $6 more to connect to the WiFi internet, which is free about everywhere - coffee shops, libraries, most motels, it was enough. One must accept that a RV the size of 2 double-decker buses using God knows how much electricity, carrying all they need so not spending a lot, is only charged $30, you can understand my chagrin. However, it did create a great camaraderie amongst the tent campers and we all had a great evening, rounded off by a tipple of medicinal brandy.
The bike was in need of an oil change and a new rear tyre so I booked that in for the Thursday. Another chalk and cheese situation. The dealer in Colorado Springs IS a Triumph dealer, and did do a rear tyre fitted for about £60 which was a good deal. Shame they had NO Bonneville brake pads in stock at all. A blight on otherwise a great place. It also means in about 1500 miles, I need to get some, which may prove difficult, as I will be in the wilds somewhat. I am still a tad ticked off at this. Rather than face the over charging of the RV Park again I went to a delightfully seedy looking motel. It was only a fiver more than the campsite and yet had a kitchenette, TV, internet in the area, a clean bed and hot shower. I rest my case.
Wednesday - I am now a breakfast regular at The Spice of Life Coffee shop. Doug and Mike have been great all week. I am chatting to Erin, and other regulars I have made good friends with when Rik offers me the hospitality of his house till the weekend. I was gobsmacked. His place is a wonderful late Victorian house, almost original. He is a great host as well, before long it felt like I had been in Manitou Springs months, not days.
I take this as the time to wave furiously at all the great people I met here, at the Happy Hour, Southside Johnny’s, Ancient Mariner tavern, Gina, Robyn, oh the list is endless, as I say, I feel almost a resident I met so many people.
Overlooking Manitou Springs is Pikes Peak. This 'America’s Mountain' is 14000 plus feet above sea level with a road all the way to the top. 6 miles or so is unmade, loose gravel with hairpin bends and sheer drops to oblivion. My vertigo was severely challenged, but the resulting pictures are, if I say so myself, amazing. Granted, snapping away one handed between bends on the downward journey may not be smart, but was an incredible buzz. The expression on the faces of motorists crawling up the mountain made it worthwhile.
I took over 100 pics on the mountain, selecting 3 or 4 is proving hard. But enough to make you all green with envy. I truly wish days like that could have been shared but emails arrive out of the blue and it's second best. If I was sharing the journey, you lot wouldn’t be getting this, so be grateful and start chucking money Macmillan’s way!
I dragged myself away from Riks eventually on Sunday morning, intending to be on the road by 9. Ho hum, I shouldn’t plan. Domestic issues had to be sorted and helped with in UK and luckily I was able to get most of the necessary calls and messages sorted before losing connections. I made it away by 12-ish, the place is magnetic, I swear it.
Reflecting - some places I drift through, scarcely aware of much. Others I leave more behind than I care to admit, especially in the early days of the journey. Yet here I feel I took more than I left behind, and would be made as welcome on any return as I was this time. A special place.
I AM on the way to Sturgis, very slowly, intending to be there mid-week. I may even have a place to stay as bikers I met today have called ahead to other friends that take campers into their garden during the festivities for a small fee. We shall see

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STURGIS!
Yes I eventually made it to this, the biggest bike event in America. How lucky they were to have the added attraction of Badger and his Bonny, assuming amid all the chrome anyone even noticed.

Getting There
It may be almost boring now that I cannot put tyre to road without an adventure of some sort. Well, adventure is relative I suppose. The ride from Manitou to Estes Park was a classic, no mistaking that, in motorcycling terms. The Rocky National Park is a road of forests and mountains and motorcycles.
I had stayed two nights in Grand Lake H.I. before heading again toward Sturgis, This particular hostel is very different to all the others, being much more an affordable mountain retreat, with a strong history. Shadowcliff has a religious background, the founders being devout Christians. Now the emphasis seems to be more on sustainable and renewable energy. That is both spiritual and literal, for me anyway. I spared you more promises of embarking soon. I could wax lyrical about the Rockies for a long time, but you may just get so jealous as to have to buy a bike immediately. It was a long day's ride as the park took me six hours to do less than 100 miles, but the photos and the chatting with bikers make full amends for that.
The next stage was just hard riding that took me from Colorado, across the corner of Wyoming and to Sydney, Nebraska. I stayed at the small Fort Sydney Inn Motel. I heartily recommend this as a stop over - cheap, cheerful and great amenities, and of course the owners hail from Bradford.
The restored Officers' Quarters of Fort Sidney proved to be the best small museum I have yet to visit. A great overview of local and social history - I was very impressed and promised a mention.
An extremely hot day (again) took me to Wounded Knee via a scenic route. Wounded Knee Massacre site has drawn me since Candice Bergen smiled at me personally in Soldier Blue. The film drew a strong parallel between Wounded Knee and many other less well-recorded Indian massacres with the then current events in Vietnam, such as Mi Lai. I have been moved by all I have learned about the Native American history and have also felt a strong parallel between how their land was taken for its assets under the excuse of them being ‘hostiles’ and the current handling and agenda in the Middle East. That will emerge in a more poetic form later.
The Badlands were crossed next - a glimpse of how they are in the small part I saw, but still spectacular. Not a place to walk on a dark night. The photos are a clue.
By this time I began to notice an increase in motorcycle traffic, as in thousands of them. Imagine the A21 on Mayday reproduced over several hundred square miles. As I said earlier, Daryl, whom I met earlier had put me on to Mike and Charlene who live about 12 miles from Sturgis. Another blessing for the Badger. I have met some great people, and again have another home from home stop over.

The Rally
How do I begin to describe this? Sturgis is a small town of about 6500 population. This swells to close on 500,000 for this week. The town is full of concessions, all of which seem to be selling ‘I was there' T-shirts, leathers and the like or tattoos. I now firmly look the part with my Sturgis denim. Thousands of bikes, fancy dress, bling, and characters wandering up and down the main streets. All this accompanied by the rumble of Harleys (with of course the distinctive Bonny in there somewhere) There were events all over the place, but for me it was people watching that made it, especially some of the less-clad ladies. I KNEW I should have put a sign on the bike saying 'The passenger seat on this machine has a part time vacancy’
Full as Sturgis is, with tents on every patch of garden, the event is so huge that surrounding towns such as Custer and Hill City, at least 20 miles away, also close their main streets to all but bikes and join in the spirit of this amazing week.
The Rally has also opened the entire area to bike tourism. The rides here are fascinating. I took a 150 mile potter around, taking in Crazy Horse Monument, Mt Rushmore and Custer State Park. Bikes in abundance of course. All these places could take a chapter each, so I will let links and my photos provide the taster.
I have now seen LIVE animals in the shape of mountain sheep and a family of bison. The bison, I am convinced, survive the 4x4 hunting season not simply because they are the size of a small house, but because to find mine I had to ride 2 miles up a gravel road in over 90 degrees of heat and dust. Needless to say after finding a road again, I also found a lone old bison beside the road. This somewhat moth eaten old loner may not have been as picturesque as a small herd, but I do believe we had an immediate rapport. Comments on a postcard only.

Badger to the Rescue
My Good Samaritan day! I leave all my sarcastic comments about the reliability of Mr Harley’s machines to one side, but as I stopped in Rushmore for a drink there was a guy trying to chase down an Allen key for a broken down Harley a mile or so away. It was my turn to begin to return some of the kindness I have been shown. It turned out that the throttle cable had broken away near the throttle, and the Allen screw head had burred beyond undoing.
It is well known that although mechanically totally inept, Badgers are excellent bodgers. I cut a crosshead into the screw using a scrounged hacksaw, a screwdriver and hammer. The owner then was able to undo the bracket. The cable was now too short, so I fed it via the twist grip, pulled the excess through and crimped it off with some electrical nipples I’d packed in my tool kit. By some divine intervention, this Heath Robinson affair worked, and I escorted them some 30 plus miles before heading back to my road. The bike coped with the roads and although I am sure it was a pig to control, saved an expensive call out. The whole event took a couple of hours and I have no idea who these guys were, my memory for names now being totally overloaded. I even forgot to give them this website address, so I can only bask in the feeling that I paid a little back somewhere along the way. It helps too that the Triumph has been faultless and the Harley was the same age.

People
Just in the last week I have met so many amazing people. Since the journey began I have met hundreds of the same. I have also not met some even more special ones as well. However, I simply cannot keep up with names and so I must apologise yet again if I haven’t mentioned our meetings or your names. This by no means lessens the contributions of anyone I have spoken with or met during this incredible experience, just that honestly - every day I meet and chat to several new friends. Without even one of these meetings my journey would be less than it is.

Triumph
The spectre of The Triumph dealer in Colorado Springs returns again to haunt me. Because they had no brake pads as a stock item, I am now still stuck here waiting to get a set shipped to me overnight. Luckily an EX-Triumph dealer has ordered some - however I have to pay overnight delivery which doubles the cost - thanks again chaps (do please read as much vitriolic irony into that as you wish) It does however make the service and help I got from Capitol Triumph in Harrisburg stand out even further. What can one say? I do love the Bonny, and I appreciate this is a big country, but with all the attention a Bonny gets, one would think it would be worthwhile for Triumph to make a tad more effort. Perhaps I need to open a dealership here in Sturgis? I wish!! So, another week has passed, I am fast losing track of time. As soon as I am road worthy again I head to some great National Parks, historic places and the like. My next task here is to select enough pics to show the great improvement in quality and the spectacular scenery, without overloading our dear webmaster.

I MUST add here that as a dyed-in-the-wood Luddite myself, none of this missive to the masses would be possible without Andrew of GiddyKipper. The result speaks of his talent, patience and understanding. As soon as one of my dear readers makes me famous and rich, I will buy him a cup of tea in his own cup. Until that time, keep throwing emails and money.

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August 23
Stuck in Sturgis

Well, truth of it is South Dakota. Sturgis Rally finished a week ago on 12th or 13th, and I waited then for the elusive Triumph brake pads to arrive. Then a black cloud, the like of which hasn’t visited me for a lot of years, enveloped me. I won’t bore Badger's readers with morbid details of my personal life, suffice to say that I really didn’t feel like travelling, or very much else at all. So I didn’t – how’s that for unashamed luxury?
Instead I took very long, far too fast rides along freeways and back roads and screamed inanities and questions I doubt there will ever be answers to into the wind. Of course, one cannot waste all that emotion on tyres so I also wrote a lot, finished a couple of pieces that have been nagging me for ages and contemplated the difference between cats and dogs. I came to the conclusion that it usually rains them together. I also concluded that when one door closes - it has usually been slammed on your fingers - you try opening another like that
(All great material – they love it here)
Talking of which, I have also done more Open Mike sessions. The best being at Songbird in Custer SD, the audience actually outnumbered the players and it was most professional - of course there was me. I am finding the comedy almost too easy - all I do is describe the things that happen to me. Pathos amuses so many, ho hum, all for a free beer when I am lucky.
So, one more Open Mike tonight in Rapid City then it's back on the road again, at last. If it wasn’t for the patience of long suffering friends Mike and Charlene, I'd have been evicted days ago. They have made this home from home, I am more grateful than words can say as I have really needed the refuge this last few days. There will be more in a week or so when I have communed with nature in Yellowstone and Glacier Parks, with or without clouds. Then we are half way and it will be time to head for home. That may present a slight problem as I am now directionally impaired in that respect.
Grand Canyon in-joke for the lost:
'I can’t tell Ohio from Nevada
But that big black hole looks familiar'

31 August - more American spelling. Sheesh!

Where are we now? I have toured South Dakota, seen Custer's last stand, moved through Yellowstone and am now in Glacier Park. So miles have totted up in the last week, time galloping on. Before I left Rapid City, there was a parade. Not, I assure you to speed me on my way or to celebrate my arrival or leaving. It was simply to dress up as cowboy or clown and pelt the local children with sweets, or candy as they say here. Now, whilst spending most of the year telling kids NOT to accept sweets from strangers, on this day, the stranger the man, float or politician, the more the kids were encouraged to get sweets from them. Work that one out! I also discovered that a sugar lollipop here is called a sucker, so when a republican would be politician asked be if I wanted a sucker ... well, how could I resist? It was asking for trouble, after all, I had to ask him if this made him the first honest politician?
I dragged myself away from Mike and Charlene's and headed for the hills, well, the plains to be exact and made my way via Little Big Horn and a less than clean motel to Yellowstone. The pictures speak for themselves, amazing place. I met great people, as ever, even two English guys, Matt and Keith, in the hostel, and Peter a guy cycling across the US in three months (rather him than me).
I have done two more Open Mike sessions, and I have to admit that my humour and new poems are going down extremely well. I hope it’s not simply the novelty of my accent, but accept it may be. The new poems are reflections on life, culture, and both the good and bad sides of travelling alone. Others are simply smartarsed comments disguised as haikus, but gain a laugh when needed, most of the time.
I was rained on a lot in Yellowstone, so I opted to move North before it turned to snow, and am now in Glacier Park. I am so impressed with mountains, but one must remember I have never travelled inland a great deal anywhere, being of a seafaring background. For those that worry about the Badger's welfare, the mood lifted as moods are inclined to do, eventually. I am stuck without phone signal for a few days if anyone is attempting contact, but will be in civilisation in a few days, and out of the snow.
The more observant of you will have noticed the sites nomination for an award. Well deserved, with all credit to Andrew, our webmaster. I just do the pottering about, he makes it all readable. Now, if we can just get on the Radio 2 site of the day … or the Times newspaper, after all, their bikers are gourmet and rich. Ho hum, each of us has our place, and who knows where this journey may take us.

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3 September 2006
Portland Oregon

Well, I must be almost half way, and can almost smell the sea again. It’s an exciting thought as I approach the playground of my youth. One of them anyway.
To recap just a tad, as I glossed over the parks - what can one say? The parks and wilderness in and around this part of the world are really incredible and passing through scarcely does justice to them. At Glacier I met Scot, another guy I’m sure whose friendship will last well beyond the meeting.
Once I left there I did two days hard riding, 350-400 miles each day in temperatures ranging from 45°F to 103°F. The second leg was a killer, I lost my route twice, added 150 miles unnecessarily to the day and lost all my foul weather gear (again!) from the back of the bike. When I got into Portland I was tired, overheated, bad tempered and fed up. There is always a plus side, as the Triumph dealer here set me up with a rain suit, which will double as a sauna bath if this weather continues. Again the exchange rate is in my favour, but the helpfulness of the dealer was amazing. They looked over the Bonny for me, just for reassurance, found a visor for my helmet at another trader and arranged for me to get it. That was a godsend as mine was almost impossible to see through.
I have been able to catch up a little just riding, and as a lot was at night, no picture stops. Never mind - the West Coast awaits the Badger. The learning curve has been long and hard in so many ways but it's an addictive lifestyle, despite the down days. Next news will be from San Francisco.

13 September

San Francisco! Playground of my mis-spent youth and it's disappeared under a wave of tourist attractions, selling itself to a new generation that is as happy to look at mine, as a point of curiosity than it is to actually generate its own rebellion.
That’s the grumpy old man in me, the city is full of English kids on world tour, doing exactly as I am. Looking and enjoying. Really we only ever looked at the radicals as well, just that more of them were alive still. I didn’t know it was history in the making. I have been to visit the haunts of my heroes - City Lights Books, La Trieste coffee shop, The beat generation’s haunts. Fisherman’s Wharf where we jumped the free trams, now a $3 minimum and a long queue. Leisure craft rock in a marina that was a bustling fishing port when I was here last. I remind myself that it’s been over 35 yrs and nothing stays the same.
Undeniably, this is the most beautiful city, despite the fog and mists. It’s as easy to chill out with its new residents as it was before, and more to the point, for my agenda, they like my writings, or remain polite enough to say so!
Perhaps I left my heart in San Francisco, or my hair, complete with flowers?
The webmaster is embarking on well deserved R&R so I will be incommunicado for a few weeks. DO write and I will attempt to answer emails, and I will mail him photos whilst he is away. I remain curious as to whether the mileage charity sweepstake ever got off the ground, or remains a bright idea that never was?

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30 September

Whilst the webmaster is away, the Badger will play. This is very akin to not doing my homework when I was at school. The best intentions was to have heaps of witty well prepared ‘stuff’ all ready to present upon his return. Needless to say, it didn’t quite happen. I blame the Mexican influence of South Texas – manana, manana.
I digress, whilst Andrew has been soaking up Mediterranean sunshine I have been sand blasted, propositioned, blown away, burned, attacked - you name it!
OK, all the above are down to the weather, the desert, and the insect life, but nonetheless, I suffer for my art!
So, where was I when last you gazed longingly at my escape? San Francisco I do believe, so I pottered down Highways 101 and 1, to Morro Bay and then headed to, wait for it … Las Vegas!
Yes, I know I have said on so many occasions I would never go there again, but it was en route to somewhere. I am happy to report that my impressions and memories were endorsed and sharpened further.
The ride was amazing, if exhausting. As I left Morro Bay and went via H58, lots of loverly bends (curves to the colonists). The desert was unforgiving and I was hit by a dust storm. The winds were pushing the bike across the freeway lanes so I had to pull off the road several times. The result was a shot blasted bike and a skin peel women of a certain age pay a fortune for. Red is quite becoming, but not a skin tone I will opt for.
The hostel I booked was on Fremont Street on the downtown end of ‘The Strip’. A quaint neighbourhood, unwise to walk in alone I was informed, after my walk. This hostel, not quite the doss house its neighbours had become, but as filthy as a kennel. The worst hostel yet, and not to be recommended for the sober. As most of the occupants were teenage Europeans few were sober, and the staff were only interested in keeping them that way for reasons we don’t need to spell out. All the guests over 25 I met felt the same. Hidden charges, filthy rooms, a pool that resembled a sheep dip, and a kitchen that was a health hazard both electrically and sanitarily. Yet still amid this, I manage to meet special people who even got me to play pool. Quite addictive, the pool as well. Seems to be the running theme of this trip.
There is an irony to the hostel of spoiled kids in an area of abject poverty. You will have noticed the omission of any city photos. This is deliberate as I had my camera locked away. It was that type of hostel as well.
Las Vegas epitomises everything I hate about modern society. Thank goodness I am now so much more aware that busy as it is, it is not reflective of most of the America I have found and love. Last time I was here that fact was a lot less obvious.
There was, however a bike fest on over that weekend, so at least I found some familiar company. Even a Triumph Rocket 3 among some Victorys in the trade stands. More importantly I bought a spare helmet, for less than $40. Its only one of these ‘brain buckets’ but it meets D.O.T standards. I bought a medium, after all, who wants a passenger with a bigger head than mine?
Escaping Las Vegas, it was back to the desert for another sand blasting! Oh my once delicate skin!! The intention was to see the Boulder Dam, but it had sprung a leak because something had hit it or somesuch, so there was a detour. No worries there, as I picked up old Route 66 again, and that was so worthwhile. I arrived in Flagstaff ready to go see the Grand Canyon.
The best-laid plans always have a hitch! Off I went, wonderful weather, 100 mile saunter up dead straight roads, wonderful views, great pictures, ah, WOULD have been had I noticed I hadn’t reloaded the film card in the camera!
The next day I repeated the exercise. This time the wind was gusting 60 mph and the visibility was decidedly hazy. My next mistake was hazarding a U-turn as I over shot a view point, add that to a gust of wind and a 6” kerbstone, and the badger kisses the tarmac yet again.
Stop worrying, the Bonneville is fine! All I bruised this time was my ego. Just to be safe I took the bike into ‘Flying Dorfini’, a Triumph/ BMW mechanic and decided to opt for a service and new tyres as Flagstaff seemed like a good place to tarry a while. The rides around Route 66 are excellent, canyons, hills, ruins, ancient hippies, every sight one could wish for.
The upshot of this minor disaster is the beginning of a new business idea, with an American partner. It is quite possible that you too can emulate the Badger and ride around the desert on a Bonneville (or even a V-Twin) as a packaged holiday. More details will follow in due course, but watch this space.
Next stop was my birthday; I rode to Silver City. Best known it seems for being where Billy the Kid shot his first man. Isn’t it odd how mass murderers become folk heroes here? I took a great ride up to some cliff dwelling ruins, on a road like a plate of spaghetti. These are not as well known as the Mesa Verde ruins, but had more mystery and charm for it. As always I met other bikers and shared the experience. There followed my first real disaster – I ran out of fuel!
Out comes the especially packed emergency kit. This consists of a laminated yellow sign that says ‘HELP’ and a syphon. Bear in mind I am standing on a not too busy highway in New Mexico, shaven head, belligerent looking birthday biker, people did not immediately rush to my aid. The lad that did stop admitted that he knew how to use the syphon, but on his own car was a first. Yet a more helpful lad I couldn’t have wanted to meet. The Highway Patrolman that also stopped to check us out, pointed out that he ‘knew’ the lad, but I take everyone as I find them. I followed the syphoned car 10 miles to a gas station and filled the Bonny and added a few gallons replacement fuel to my escort. The area was far from affluent, yet here again was someone that had stepped both sides of the line stopping after a heavy days work to help a total stranger for no real reward beyond a few quids worth of petrol.
So, onward to El Paso, which I still made that day. Texas! (yee ha) It was a long, long day, and downtown El Paso closes at 9pm. I had to cross the border and see Mexico, even if for an hour as it was there to see.
It was an amazing experience. They have this imaginary line called the Rio Grande, which is not at all grand. It’s a culvert ditch, with some very interesting graffiti on it. Anyone can walk south, although I was a tad worried about the Japanese guy cycling over, heading to Tierra del Fuego, I don’t think he made it back for dinner. You know when it's Mexico, the pavement has holes in it and they take dollars and give change in pesos, which no one else wants. (That’s a neat business idea) I wandered through the Kasbah, assaulted from all angles by people wanting to sell me things, which I wouldn’t buy on principle that they disturbed my pottering and browsing. I walked an hour or so and decided to attempt, 'Re-entry'. As you know this can only be attempted after a short rest, so I popped into the Mission for divine guidance. Always best when attempting a half-forgotten movement. The American side was obvious, the mesh fence became tighter, razor wire replaces no wire, and suddenly there are no ulcerous beggars below the bridge calling up for something. I was grateful for lack of Spanish.
I queued to be addressed by a heavily armed welcome Homeland Security border somesuch, who wanted to read every page of my passport, all of which are blank, except for the Visa, I swear his lips were moving as he read it.
I was asked if I had bought anything in Mexico, I said nope, just a coke. Not the wisest pun. It seems that earlier they had arrested two women for smuggling several kilos of coke in, I don’t know why, the lemonade is excellent. The local opinion was that they didn’t tip said beaurocrat adequately. I decided that El Paso had served its purpose so I rode 600 miles next day to St Antonio pronounced Sanantone, strange habit Americans have of abbreviating almost everything. This, of course, is the site of the Battle of the Alamo, fought it seems, in the name of Freemasonry, I am reliably informed by several plaques. Mind it seems every one wants a slice of whatever was left. (Very little, but that never yet prevented a good tourist attraction – buy a glow in the dark 'I was at the Alamo' wristband)
This was as much of Sanantone as I could bear so I popped up to Artistic Austin. A much friendlier place made so by the HI Hostel. I am hooked on hostels and in due time I will write a review of all I stayed in, comparing costs, facilities etc. I took a few days out here and simply chilled, pottered around on the bike in very good company. The spare helmet I bought was a wise investment be it only for a few hours. I split the next section of my escape from Texas with a stop over in a place I don’t recall the name of. It did enable me to get in touch with the radio program again. The last two weeks I had been unable to get to a phone or anything else for that matter. It was good to catch up and I am looking forward to meeting up with the guys at Daytona October Bikefest
This brings us to the here and now, that being Lafayette, LA. Cajun country. Not to be confused with Fayetteville AR, where I stayed with friends way back when. Now THIS hostel, the Blue Moon, has a music venue alongside. Last night was a Cajun or Zydeco jam session. Tonight, a band. They have a live web cam, and site, not sure if it transmits the music, but believe me, worth finding to listen to. Its amazing, refreshing, I love it. Along with bluegrass I have added it to my listening lists. (www.bluemoonhostel.com)
So, here we are, chilling and well and truly on the way back. Scary thought that.

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12 October
Lafayette, still, continuing. The plan is to leave, but that was the plan a week ago. Funny how some places snag you like quicksand, others are like a lobster pot and you just can’t find the way out. Others its people, or dreams that detain me. Here, it’s just comfortable. I do try to leave, most days in fact. Just something crops up. Music, a swamp tour, sunshine, rain, lost map - I have excuses for every case.
Florida is calling me, yet I get no closer. However, as I rode the Bonny to the swamp tour, the car being full, I decided to pop back in front of the others. Bonny needed to feel some speed and the inevitable happened. Not only did the State Trooper look 12, he thought we had autobahns in England. Poor lad, I didn’t disagree with him, Badger charm was in full flow. Then the carload came past like a busload of Japanese tourists, committing the slight misunderstanding regarding speed limits to posterity. Even he had to see the comedy of the situation so another stern lecture and it was off again.

17 October.
Age does several things to a man. Add swamp fever, (see above) good company and that certain ‘je ne sais pas’ and I simply forgot to update the website! I wonder if anyone noticed? However, I AM in Florida at long last! I eventually left Lafayette, only to get snagged again in New Orleans. The hostel here was everything the Blue Moon isn’t. Like less than clean, overcrowded etc, but notwithstanding the 'sardine impersonation' dorm rooms and the humidity, there was a charm. It is called India House, probably after the Black Hole of Calcutta! The people as usual made my time special. Ryan and Scott especially, Rachel for weaving dreams, and the food providers that recognised my need to eat anything that would otherwise be binned. New Orleans itself is still suffering the results of Katrina. Mind, I am of the opinion that the hurricane stripped back the thin veneer that covered the poverty, calling it ‘arts and character’. Katrina can’t be blamed for poverty, just for exposing it. America is not a caring society in the way we know in Europe. Generally, poverty is treated like leprosy, shunned, ignored and with fear of contagion. I’m all right Jack, screw you, you must be lazy, is what I hear and see too often. Ironically, I have been shown every generosity, so figure that one out!
The bike is making strange noises, which we have traced back to the drive chain. A new one is needed, but I needed to get to Florida. It will not kill me, but the noise at slow speed is disconcerting. At least Florida has Triumph dealers.
I may as well add here that Triumph, the RAT magazine has not answered my E-mails, or shown any interest in the Badgers Bonneville. This may be their loss, as I will be buying a lot of bikes soon, all being well. After tearing myself eventually away from Louisiana, I have ridden straight to Florida, stopping only to sleep no sightseeing at all.
Of course you will all remember that I have avoided rain now for months. Not a drop has drizzled upon me, even when surrounded by floods since before the Rockies. As soon as I arrive in the Sunshine State, it rains, constantly, with 95% humidity. What’s the point in a rain suit if it feels like a sauna?
I have crossed Alabama - that was scary. The welcome centre lady was THE person that voted for George. I KNEW I’d find one sooner or later. The logic for such outrageous behaviour? (add the accent yourself) – his wife is so much nicer than that Carey woman. Agreed, after all she did try to divorce him. I left, with what I considered a tactical victory and headed for Mississippi. Here I discovered, at a motel, that the world’s problems were down to the birth rate of illegal immigrants. Interesting theory, I left again, biting my tongue. Florida, wet as it is, returned me to the standard apology for the President, followed by - Hello, are you enjoying our country? This is the attitude I have experienced everywhere else I have been, quite remarkable.
So, I stayed in Tallahassee and Gainesville, finding myself now in St Augustine, one of the oldest cities in US. Spanish origins. I’m not far from Daytona, so will be playing biker tourist again. – watch this space.
News flash: forwarded to webmaster is the mail from Blue Moon – Badger was guest of the month! Heaven help them, there goes the neighbourhood!

26 October

Woe Woe and Thrice Woe. Badgers luck seems to be turning, and not for the better. Florida seems to be my undoing. I was expecting a bevy of partially clad maidens throwing them selves at the feet of the travel guru of the motorcycle world. This is a self appointed role you understand, but one I am quite taken with.
It was not to be. I dragged myself to Daytona Beach October Bike, to meet Roy Dykson from Clearview Radio, the Ohio station that has stalwartly followed the Badger across the continent. I had a sore throat, a temperature, and a headache and was about as good company as I would have been on a bad day at the office. Roy, not to be outdone, wined me, dined me, forced me to watch a wet T-shirt competition and then more food. I was working on the ‘feed a cold, starve a fever’ principle.
By the end of the day my voice had gone completely and I felt like death warmed up. I took to my bed at the PirateHaus Hostel at St Augustine to await my inevitable demise. It did occur to me that if word got out that the Badger had been struck dumb, then people from all over America would flood in to witness such a phenomena, a silent Badger. It was a risk I couldn’t take, after all, many have prayed for such an occasion for years, and silent is not my trademark.
I dragged myself off to the local Emergency Unit. Now, imagine this if you will -
the reception/triage area is akin to a 5 star hotel, crossed with a post office. A dear lady asked me what was wrong. I whispered I had no voice. She - I beg you pardon, I can’t hear you. Me - (gesturing wildly and whispering) I can’t talk! She turns her back and says to a colleague - I have a man here with an accent, I can't understand him!
Pen and paper, I wrote that I’m English and have lost my voice. Obviously after all this typing my handwriting has degenerated to a degree. They immediately rushed a doctor in, as he was the only one with bad enough writing to be able to read mine.
We eventually communicated that which I thought to be abundantly obvious, I was at Death's door and civilisation as we knew it was under threat. A delightful lady named Dawn then had me sign away any right to my remaining organs, bank balance, insurances and refused to give me her phone number. I TOLD you it was a life threatening condition. Much conferring and experimentation later it was concluded that my blood pressure was too high, I am still too fat (rich coming from Americans) oh yes, and I had lost my voice. Another hour and I had a prescription for antibiotics and the assurance they probably would have no effect as it was most likely viral and not bacterial. But give it a try anyway, thank you.
I filled the prescription. Fortunately they only give tourists cheap drugs. I was assured that the consultation was $75 and they would contact my insurers for me. I went back and took to my bed again, missing riotous gatherings and the above mentioned scantily clad, etc … (woe yet again)
By Monday my croak was much improved, and I was able to get on air in Ohio to dispel the malicious rumour that my voice had been fine before said wet T-shirt contest and all else was a result of uncontained enthusiasm. Now, how could anyone think such a thing of this travelling innocent abroad?
I also received a call from the said hospital. Great I thought, after sales service. How are you Mr Seller? Much improved I was able to report. Good, the voice said. I'm calling as you have a balance owing of $375 with the hospital. I choked. Excuse me, I proffered though my still fragile vocal chords, it was $75 at the time and I was assured my insurers would be contacted. Ah yes, she says. If you settle today, we can give you a special discount of $300 leaving a balance of $75. I was almost struck dumb yet again, and spluttered accordingly. She however, did not follow the English language so well, and informed me she ‘would look into it, contact her supervisor and come back to me accordingly’. I await the same with a dubious pleasure.
Bonneville was not to be outdone. In true tradition of man and machine in perfect harmony, she too, took sick. The slack chain continues to cause much noise and consternation. They are wearing unevenly yet again on the rear set.
I called a new Triumph dealer at Ormond Beach, not the closest, but certainly a nicer ride. There was no mechanic there on a Monday, but drop in Tuesday and they would fit a new chain and check other areas of concern. Tuesday arrives and off I potter to Bonny hospital. Needless to say, I can’t find the place, I phone in, stating exactly where I am. Oh you haven’t reached us yet, I am assured, keep coming. Eventually I work out that the dear girl doesn’t know North from South and I am in fact 20 miles beyond my destination. By the time I get back, I am informed that: a) there are no brake pads or chain in stock, b) because of my delays I missed the cut of time for next day delivery and c) Thursday is the earliest. But they can book me into another dealership if I want to drive off into the unknown. Hmmm I am less than pleased. (that for the American readers translates to so pissed off I want to kill someone)
I wonder if brake pads in America are stock items, as there seems to be a pattern forming here. As I write it is Thursday, Bonny is in the ward being doctored at a cost that will no doubt scare the hell out of me. It is a state of the art Motorcycle City devoted to the marketing power of the Harley, and in this instance, Triumph are certainly in their shadow. Now, ardent bikers will wonder why I sit here instead of dashing up the freeway ‘test riding’ a Rocket 3 or even (shudder) a Harley. Messrs Rossmeyer have yet to be able to insure me for a test ride, anything. Buy un-ridden! There is confidence for you! To be fair, the dealership has only been on this site two weeks, and I have already learned that in the US they hurry nothing, unless either a copious amount of money is involved or there is oil in the offing. Also, in all fairness, despite the failings here, the people, including Shelley Rossmeyer have done everything possible to help me out and get things moving as far as they are able to personally. So, good in parts like the curate's egg. We wait to see how this is reflected in the bill, which inevitable will follow shortly ...
Well, it's not often I get tetchy, but I did. I accept that there are many things that can only be attributed to a new organisation reeling from Bike Week. Problems which meant I spent an inordinate amount of time in the middle of nowhere, twiddling my thumbs, pretending to be a mushroom. Eventually, with help from Niles Bailey on one side and Adam on the other and a certain negotiation from me, all was well. Bonny has a new chain and wheel bearing and a slight headache. Badger is poorer and wiser and knows a new front sprocket is needed soon. The dealership has found a few flaws and I have no doubt I will be up and running effectively soon.
I am now in retreat, so to speak, at the Hostel in the forests of Georgia, this last vestige of hippy new age whatever. I keep an open mind and look forward to a relaxing weekend.

November 5

It’s been 10 days since I dropped a line onto the site, so I am quite convinced that everyone must be worrying about me. Here I am to rest all your minds at rest, reporting once more from North Carolina. I spent Halloween weekend at The Hostel in the Forest. This was a unique experience, I must admit. When I first arrived, I was tired and grumpy, (how unusual!) I found the tour and rules as they were presented irritating and facile, as if I was being faced by a throwback to 1970 (man) naivety and enthusiasm for an ideal that bore no reality to the real world. The site is beautiful, forest may be an American overstatement to the English eye and ear, but it is certainly wooded and humid.
However, joining in with the Halloween weekend festivities and meeting Murray and Tom slowly changed my attitude, and my understanding of what they are aiming to achieve there. The 'murder mystery' style evening was great fun and I met Candace and Shannon, among others. Soon a poem will arrive because I can’t use this medium to describe how the magic of the forest permeated into me after such a bad start. I may even pop back there for a few days and meditate and write before facing the cold of the north again.
I moved on to Savannah for two nights. This time staying at 'Jonathan’s House'. Less of a hostel this time, more of perennial petrol head student's crash pad, but a magic time again. He took me out on the Savannah River as I arrived to watch the sunset, from where I rang the Ohio Radio Station to give them the update. Quite a surreal experience. I lunched with an old friend whilst there, and took in a movie from the Savannah film festival. Amazing time.
Next a night in Charleston, more great people, whom I hope to, keep in touch with. I pottered around some, but then decided to head up to Asheville again to meet up with Chuck and Marcia this weekend on the Blue Ridge again. Some of you may even remember that far back to when I met them. I stayed in Asheville and met other friends I had missed and wanted to see again. Sometimes it is that people only fit into one frame, no matter what we wish for, but increasingly I feel so at home here in the US.
I rode up to the Blue Ridge again, little appreciating the cold. It's been a very long time since I rode in near freezing conditions, saw icicles hanging from rocks or a frost that lasted till 11 am. I was COLD!
So, I just saw that West Ham had a flukey win over the Gunners. It must be time to get home and curb Mr K’s enthusiasm! Seriously, I have three weeks left here and money is getting tight, Bonny has not been maintained as well as she might by those places that should know better. That’s another story, which I will follow up in bike bits when I am home. I have to decide how to spend this time, so will look at weather maps, contact bike dealers and generally cogitate tomorrow, and decide where to next very soon. You my friends will probably be the last to know

And now? He's home - the journey draws to a close. Read the last entry below, then stay tuned for a change of direction with the site ...

Bonny’s passage has been booked home. I am beginning to tidy up and put my bags in some kind of order. I spent a day or so with my dear friends Chuck and Marcia on the Blue Ridge, and if they do read this, yes the Harley IS nice, I just couldn’t admit it publicly. I pottered back to Asheville, where I spent a few days ‘chilling’, the emphasis being on chill. It eventually led to all sorts of things dropping into place. I had a link taken from the new chain, and a new front sprocket fitted. I stopped to do an Open Mike at a coffee shop, but they must have heard I was coming. I say this because the place was closed when I got there. Ah, the price of fame!
Stopping for coffee, I bumped into Candace again. Great way to say goodbye. So unexpected, yet I suppose I should be used to that sort of coincidence here by now. Equally coincidental was contacting Scot, whom I haven’t seen since Glacier Park, to find we were both heading to the Hostel in the Forest. Joel, a new friend who has sent the site some great pics of the Autumn leaves on the Blue Ridge, was also here.
There we have it. www.foresthostel.com - this is where Badgers unwind and come to terms with life and the universe. I came back here and decided to stay and ship Bonny back from Brunswick, then fly up to DC, saving me another freezing. Also it has proved the perfect place to step back from all I have learned and to contemplate a little on what comes next. It certainly feels more like I am approaching the beginning of somethi