The twisty roads in Mexico, our 32nd country, were nice enough but ruined by
speed humps absolutely everywhere, some in the middle of the countryside on
blind bends - crazy! The toll roads were madly expensive even by European
standards and the libra roads through the mountainous interior painful slow
due to speed bumps, convoys of trucks and hairpin upon hairpin, forcing us
into some wild overtaking moves at times - but, hey! when in Mexico do as
the Romans do.

We had a whistle stop walk around the atmospheric and extensive ruins of
Palenque with over 2400 Mayan buildings, cut short by a torrential jungle
downpour. We had not realise that the traditional Mayan way of life is still
alive and kicking in the villages of this region. We chose not to pay a
visit as we do not particularly enjoying the "human zoo" experience.

We rode towards Mexico City full of trepidation, we hoped for nice clear
signs to the ring road and Guadalajara but ended up totally lost in the
mental traffic. Some friendly cops sent us on the right road and some not so
friendly cops pulled us over. Apparently the end digit of our number plate
was the wrong one for driving in the city that day - some attempt in cutting
down on pollution and traffic. How the hell were two dumb gringo tourists
supposed to know that. We were escorted to a compound full of cops and
disgruntled looking motorists with their impounded vehicles. In the end the
$100 each fine was dropped to $20 and then disappeared altogether after some
pleading and a flash of the UNICEF letter saying we are raising money for
charity. I hate doing it but sometimes it can get you out of a tight spot.

We took a quick visit to Lerma BMW outside Mexico city where the very
friendly partners offered to check the bikes through the workshop and
invited us for lunch. The place was massive, the sole imported for BMW bikes
in Mexico and the sole facility for bullet proofing BMW cars for worldwide
export. We had a tour round the factory and saw a bunch of cars being set up
for Cornel Gadaffi ....... that reminds me of a place we visited near the
beginning of this trip......... The bikes checked out ok, except for all the
usual tractor noises that we are now quite use to.

Puerto Vallarta seemed great though somewhat touristy - but that was what we
wanted - a wild weekend. The old part of town was quite tranquil and the
Hotel Roger was a nice spot with roof terrace, swimming pool, AC and TV -
badly needed luxury! Spent lots of time by pool trying to unpastie ourselves
and watching tubby Mexicans try not to drown themselves, don't think any of
them had seen a pool before. The rest of the time we spent in a wild bar
called Senor Frogs, but that's another storey ..............

Great weather, fantastic tarmac and twisting turns up into Sierra Madre
Occidental Mountains. My faith in Mexican roads was restored, no tolls,
hardly any speed bumps and little traffic. The views were wild, stunning
escarpments, bluffs, rocky cliffs and pine forests. A great riding day in
perfect temperatures.

The locals throughout Mexico were friendly and politely inquisitive. The
police were no bother at all, after all the worry about the dreaded
Federales. In fact in the whole of our trip we have only paid one bribe (for
speeding in Peru) and no one ever pointed a gun at us.

It was cool riding High Plains Drifter, cowboy country through the northern
central part of Mexico. Followed by the straightest, dullest, hottest desert
roads from hell into Parral - a nice spot where the revolutionary Pancha
Villa bought it. Yet another hot day in the saddle - the hottest parts are
my crown jewels ......... ain't that the truth!

Decided to take a run down deep into the Copper Canyon to Batopilas, Alan
sat it out as his back was playing up and his tyres were quite worn.

Riding without bags the bike handled well round the windy tarmac roads
through the pine forests and high canyon scenery. It was a bit tricky off
tarmac with my part worn road tyres but the trail was mainly gravel and dry.
Once I started to drop into the canyon the deserted and silent scenery was
breathtaking, the hairpins were hairy but I took it easy trying to avoid the
quick route straight down. I stopped on a wood bridge at the bottom having
only seen about three vehicles all day and four BMW riders from New Zealand
showed up. We stopped for a chat and they brewed me a lovely cup of tea.
These old boys (and a girl) were on a leg of a round the world trip and on
the same route as us north to Alaska.

Rode on through Batopilas to a Cathedral in the middle of nowhere. Why
anyone would have built such a massive church in a tiny village remains a
mystery.

A false start crossing the boarder into the USA as we had to back track 20
miles to check the bikes out of Mexican Customs - figure out why they don't
have customs at the boarder - I can't.

Going into the USA they just waved us through, no passport stamp, no customs
procedure, just a "have a nice day" and we were through. We thought it had
to be a mistake even though we had both questioned the boarder official. We
parked up and went back and "oh yes" in fact we do need a stamp, photo and
finger prints etc. Wonder why they have thousands of illegal immigrants
coming over the boarder each day?

It was good to catch up with Alan's parents in Williams, Arizona and they
seemed very happy to see their "Little Soldier" again. They very kindly put
us up in the Marriot hotel  which was absolute luxury compared to some (in
fact all) of the places we had stayed in the third world over the last year.
James and Jeannette took us out for a slap up meal with full on American
portions, I could see Alan's waistline expanding with every mouth full -
think we will be a couple of porkers by the time we get home.

After a relaxing couple of days and a Grand Canyon tour it was time for an
emotional farewell with Alan's parents. I could hear Alan sob, sobbing over
the intercom all the way back down Interstate17.

We checked our bikes into Scottsdale, Phoenix BMW for a full going over. A
good crowd of friendly blokes and they did a decent job on the Beamers too.

Monument Valley was classic Indian country with some great photo and video
opportunities. Being a cowboy film fan it is a place I had always wanted to
see. Great scenery and the country where some of the classic movies were
made - like "Stage Coach" with John Wayne - my Dad's favourite film.

Great riding day through canyon lands Bryce and Escalante National Parks in
Southern Utah. Bumped into loads of other bikers including a group of
friendly Harley boys who let us ride their bikes - our first time on a
Harley's (Heritage Soft tails) - "Born to be wild"

Following a nice fast twisty road up into the Rockies in Wyoming we managed
to avoid the black rain storms until we got pulled over by a State Trooper
for speeding. After a bit of smooth talking we got off with only a warning
but then got soaked in the storm - I guess that is what is called Karma.

We rode into Grand Teton National Park, with magnificent views of the jagged
snow covered peaks and fields of bison. The population of Bison in the
Americas is estimated to have been around 70 million at one time. Settlers
hunted them for hide, sport, food and to impoverish the native Americans who
depended on them. By the 20th century only a couple hundred remained. Now
herds are are being built up again and these prehistoric looking beasts can
be viewed in several of the National parks.

An Irish couple who we had met a few days before, turned up on their Suzuki
V-Strom and we rode together into Yellowstone. We saw moose and more bison
and a big geyser but no Yogi bears. Great natural beauty but loads of ugly
tourists.

Up into Canada through Banff and Jasper national parks we viewed all sorts
of wildlife including five big black bears, elk, deer and massive mountain
sheep.

Bear attack ............what to do. If it's a black bear play dead, if it's
a grizzly run like hell - I think I will assume they are all grizzlies!

Prince George is a bit rundown in places and probably the grittiest place we
have stayed since Mexico - lots of old drunks, and displaced indians
wandering the streets - think I prefer it like this, the US can feel very
sanitised. In one bar we were asked by a young lady if we wanted a "show" -
sounded expensive so we made a quick exit........ honest!

Nice ride north up the quiet and scenic Stuart Cassiar Hwy and across the
boarder into Alaska to the dead end, one horse (and many bear) town of
Hyder. I decided to take a ride up the trail to look at the salmon stream -
grizzly country - and the glacier. The bears were conspicuous by their
absence but the glacier was cool (frozen in fact) and the ride into the
wilderness fun and isolated. An old guy was camped out at the top of the
mountain selling DVD's he had filmed of the local wildlife, apparently he
lives full time in his car and only comes down once a week for groceries.

Spent a great night in the hotel bar drinking beer and playing pool with the
local girls, who it seems grossly outnumber the men in town. We did our best
to console those poor girls by letting them whip us at pool. Apparently a
bear walk down the dirt street outside the hotel - somehow I missed it.

I split up from Alan as he did not want to ride up to the arctic circle,
think he is afraid of being too far away from McDonalds as he is well into
his "Get Fat Again" diet plan - he will be in good company! He headed down
to Anchorage to stock up on spandex trousers and fit up rated suspension to
is bike.

I rode up to Fairbanks and carried on up the Dalton Highway, 500 miles to
the top of the world and the Arctic Ocean. The gravel trail was in pretty
good shape but on the wet bits it was quite squirmy with only normal road
tyres. Nice scenery and definitely an end of the world feeling of calm and
almost total isolation. I was heading up well above the arctic circle for
the summer solstice and the midnight sun.

Half way there at Coldfoot I found a remote spot and set up camp for the
night. I was really looking forward to settling down to read my book by my
camp fire in the middle of the forest but the mosquitoes had other ideas.
Around three pints of blood later I figured I better get in the tent before
I needed a transfusion. I dreamt of being attacked by Lions and woke to
rustling sounds in the camp - was it bears after my John West salmon or just
the figments of my post dream imagination?

The last 250 miles past the arctic circle up to Deadhorse is totally
isolated, other than the odd Eskimo settlement there is nothing, no food, no
gas (petrol), no nothin'.

I rode above the snow line on the final mountain pass down onto the desolate
tundra of the Great North Slope. It would have been lots of fun and
picturesque had it not been raining. The track was very slippery and I had a
couple of buttock clenching moments when I though I might be picking the
bike out of the mud - big job when there is only one.

The final run into Deadhorse was drying out and there was lots of wildlife
to see along the roadside including herds of Caribou and an elusive arctic
fox. Deadhorse is solely an oil mining camp, the permanent population is
only about 12 but a normal shift of workers numbers over 5,000. All the
buildings including the hotels are prefabed, there is a strict no drinking
rule and if anyone is caught fighting they get fired and sent home - even
though I had nothing to loose I decided to have a quiet night anyway.
Luckily the sky was clear and at midnight I walked out to see the sun well
above the horizon on the longest day of the year.  The 24 hour sun is pretty
cool for a day of two but would take some getting use to, as would the
winter 24 hour night - interesting to visit but I wouldn't want to live
there.

Before the ride back I took the guided tour (only option through the oil
fields) the last few miles up to Prudhoe Bay and the Arctic Ocean - as far
north as you can go. As it was a nice day and to celebrate the final turn
around of the journey I checked for polar bears cleared a hole in the ice
and took a quick dip.

The ride back was like another world, the skys were clear, the track had
dried out to a fast and fun dirt trail and the Brooks Range mountain pass
was spectacular. Camping totally wild that night by the side of a babbling
creek I lost another half gallon of blood to the mozzies and tried some
campfire cooking. All this outdoors stuff was fun but I couldn't help
thinking about Tubby Alan living in the lap of luxury - hot showers, cable
TV and a Big Mac!

Back in Fairbanks I visited the local BMW dealer as my back brake pads were
down to the metal. This old timer outfit is run out of an old woodman's hut
in the middle of a forest. The ancient timber buildings are totally
dilapidated and rammed full of half dismantled bikes, cardboard boxes and
old spares. Access is down an overgrown single track path surrounded by
hundreds of old bike tyres and rusted vehicles of all descriptions. The old
guy running the show - Klondike Pete - was like something out an old western
movie. Initially grumpy and surly but turning out to be a friendly and
interesting old geezer. He had the parts I needed and was full of useful
advice - like don't go up that Dalton Highway it will ruin your bike - too
late mate!

Got back to Anchorage and found Al in a motel room as he had been off riding around the Alsakan interior heading as far south as he could encountering more bears and moose.  Wet through from the ever persisten rain he was taking the chance to dry everything out in the comfort of his cheap motel room.

So that is it for now after 37 countries and 54,000 miles we are
on our way home! Our flights are booked from Toronto and we will be coming
home after almost 2 years on the road. If you don't already know about it there will be a
homecoming celebration at the Clayton's Lounge (see links page). We will be
pulling our bikes into our home town of Marlow at 1.30pm sharp when the
party will start - and finish when the last man (or woman - as if!) is
standing.