The boys return to find their absence has had an affect on trade...

Well, there you are, we're all back safe and sound (in body if not in mind... our brains were addled long since by too many JagerBombs). Our last morning in San Francisco included a very pleasant Guiness breakfast in an Irish bar where we were creased up by the jokes of a chappy from Armagh we chatted to. The flight home was long and very smelly, so much so that the BA cabin staff had to put air freshener into the air conditioning. Bertie managed lose his van in an empty Heathrow car park but otherwise the trip home was one of reflection and looking forward to seeing those we'd left behind.

It seemed appropriate to end where we'd started but imagine our shock as we arrived back at the Lion to find the notice as shown in the photo attached to the door. It turned out to be a jolly jape on the part of St Terence (very funny...) and we were soon enjoying our first decent beer for two weeks. It's been a wonderful experience to go away and do what we've done but it ain't half nice to be back home and it was great to see everyone.

Observations about America - we all had preconceived ideas about what the yanks are like, most of them not too positive. Americans are all too conscious of the way the world perceives them but in reality we found everyone we came into contact with (maybe with the exception of the sarcastic night manager of the Monterey Travelodge) to be polite, welcoming and genuinely friendly. The United States is a huge place, our tour really only scratched the surface of a country which has so many contrasts both in terms of its people and the land itself which is beautiful and astounding in so many different ways. Our experience has left us all with a desire to return there and we'd recommend anyone who gets the chance to do so too.

A few tour statistics for those interested in numbers...

Miles travelled - 2655
Miles travelled collectively -15930
Average speed (includes several hours on tickover while we conferred over directions, waited for Chris to get off the bloody phone or waited for Neil) - 54.1mph
Maximum speed achieved - 125mph
US gallons of fuel used (at $3.00 a gallon! ...take heed Gordon Brown you greedy b*****d) - 398
Times lost en route - too many to mention
Number of speeding fines - 2
Accidents - 0
Bikes dropped - 0
Average Pants worn (please note this average has been severely downwardly affected due to Tony's individual score of 1) - 6
Estimated number of units of alcohol consumed - 1350
Estimated number of cigarettes chuffed - 1200
Estimated number of cigarettes of dubious origin - 2
Average weight gained - don't ask
Average cost of phone calls (figures distorted due to C Colder) - will have to wait nervously for the bill

Unforgettable memories - too many to calculate

Thanks to everyone who's either commented or followed the blog. It's been fun writing it, I hope it's given y'all a few laughs along the way.

The Red Lion Bikers will next be touring... to be confirmed

Me and my big mouth...

Just as I make special mention of those nice people of the California Highway Patrol in yesterday's post for their kindness in leaving us alone for the past two weeks, look what happens...

What I can say is that there were no sarcastic 'who do we think we are then, Barry Sheene... ha bloody ha' comments as one might expect from the boys in blue back home. I can only liken getting nicked by the CHP to buying bananas from Sainsbury's. Very matter of fact, very chatty and was more than willing to let me take photos just to prove I wasn't making it up. 92mph didn't seem to faze Officer Dibble and I was soon on my way. To make matters worse, Andy, riding probably the slowest bike of us all (and an American one at that) also picked up a speeder today. However, as we have ridden a collective 15000 miles it's not a bad result bearing in mind the speeds we've been riding at.

Our last day on the road took us from Yosemite to San Francisco. Despite some beautiful scenery as we headed south from Yosemite the trip thereafter was more highways than byways. The highlight must be riding into SF over the Bay Bridge which is longer and more impressive than the Golden Gate we traversed nearly two weeks ago in the rain. Fortunately also, we were able to locate the bike rental shop in much less than the four hours it took us previously and we are now established in the Whitcomb Hotel in downtown SF for a final night of beer and food and no doubt recounting some of the many stories of the past two weeks.

A word for the bikes which we waved a sad farewell too earlier... without exception they have been superb. The BMWs have been impeccable whether whizzing around tight mountain roads or cruising the highways at over a ton. Pete's GoldWing has, probably as expected, been faultless and proved very agile on the tight stuff. Now then, Andy's Harley... I think by his own admission he would have preferred not to be doing 2500 miles on a bike that could shake your fillings loose when ridden over 50mph and if you happen to talk to him over the next few weeks and he ignores you (which i know sometimes can occasionally be the case) please put it down to deafness as his Hog is one noisy bugger. That said, it's made it round and the worn down foot steps are testament to the fact that he was able to throw it around too.

We travel home tomorrow, look forward to seeing y'all Sunday afternoon where we hope to convene you know where. But like any good story, it ain't over til the fat lady sings and though she may be clearing the phlegm from her throat at this moment I won't draw a line under our adventures til we're back in England's green and pleasant land.

Shame on them... Red Lion Bikers have early night

Six bleary eyed blokes emerged into the Vasalia sun on Thursday morning for our penultimate day on the bikes but yet again one which promised some spectacular scenery as we rode through Yosemite National Park. At a first stop for fuel (ten minutes down the road) several cans of redbull were purchased and Digger must have been feeling bad as he did a Big Mac for breakfast which gives you an idea as to how delicate we were all feeling. The day was another cracker and maybe the pictures will do a better job than my words in telling you how stunning this place is. The day was highlighted by Neil's sighting of a wolf (he claims to have video evidence of this but all we can see is a tiny dot which could be a Poodle), to put this in context he also claims to have met Elvis in Las Vegas, saw Shergar in a field near Fresno and thinks that every American with a beard must have been in ZZTop. In the bar of the Cedar Lodge where we stayed, I later enjoyed a pint with a guy who works for the national park and he was describing to me how his wolf suit really gets hot during the summer months.

As the bar closed early we all had a relatively early night. No phone signal here, no broadband... this really is the wilderness

Visalia hotel gone bust... the guys are on the street

After the breathless thrills of Death Valley, surely nothing could come even close. Lone Pine to Visalia sounds like a nice day out in the country to me. You know, the kind of ride when those usually annoying blue rinse Sunday drivers tootle along at 25mph but you're in such a happy mood that you resist any unpleasant urges and enjoy the view... well for a mile at most. Yet again we encountered wonderful mountain roads, the run down from the snow topped Mount Whitney hills to the beautiful Lake Isabella to the orange groves in 80 degree heat as we approached Visalia which for somewhere I've never heard of is a cracking place. The company who planned the tour for us have done a great job but even they could not foresee that our hotel for the night would be closed, furniture pile up in the lobby, the pool drained and a numerous final demand letters piling up in the mail box. Fortunately, Google came to the rescue and within a few minutes we were esconsed in a far more preferable hotel down the road... opposite a pub. Wednesday night must go down as one of the most memorable of the trip. Upon spying my somewhat now overworn Derby County shirt, we were approached by two guys who live here who used to live in of all places Alvaston. The words 'small' and 'world' came to mind. We also conversed with some of the locals who seem to know more about English football than Tony Matthews (that's not really saying much, i know) but their enthusiasm was unbounded. Rumour has it that there may also be video evidence of a certain member of our party dancing... nothing odd about that you may think until you know who it is. Anyway, after another Chris & Tony sing Queen karaoke which more or less emptied the pub we staggered home. Once again, the locals made us very welcome and we leave Visalia with a very favourable impression.

Two days on the bikes to go, mixed emotions as it's been a fab trip but we're missing y'all. Terry, make sure the Pedigree is good for Sunday.

RLB's Digger in line dancing shocker...

Just when you think this tour can't get any better along comes a day like today. On the face of it, leaving the bright lights and various attractions of Vegas behind was always going be a downer and Lone Pine didn't promise much but as we have discovered several times so far it's how you get there that counts. None of us will ever forget the ride through Death Valley which must surely be one of the most beautiful places anywhere and even pushes Grand Canyon into a close second. A hundred mile stretch of road from Beatty (the archetypal Hill Billy American small town where people seem to spend an unnatural amount of time with their sisters) to Lone Pine is one of the best motorcycle rides you could ever do. Finding fast, empty, perfectly maintained roads in such a place of extreme weather again puts the cobbled dirt tracks we call roads in the UK to shame. The smiles on all our faces when we arrived at Lone Pine said it all. I offer further gratitude to the ladies and gentlemen of the California Highway Patrol who haven't taken the slightest interest in our activities to date. Even Neil (our very own 'Captain Slow') hit 120 today.

Lone Pine, as the name sounds, is not a big place but we do have a theory that if the beds are bug free, there is at least one bar in town and the locals don't take Andy's 'sense of humour' too much the wrong way, then we can have a good time. The town is set in the valley overlooked by Mount Whitney which provides a spectacular backdrop.

An evening spent in Jakes's Bar playing an odd game that can only be described as table top curling was topped off later in the evening when our very own twinkle toes Digger showed the locals how to line dance. It was legendary as Digger now is to the people of Lone Pine.

Wednesday we ride to the unknown quantity of Visalia but I have given up prejudging anywhere. Nowhere has let us down on this trip and, hangovers permitting, we'll be on the bikes at 10am.

Err... do we really let this little guy fly this thing?

On our only rest day of the trip (not that all the others have been exactly too taxing), the boys stocked up on calories (yes, my thoughts precisely) and those who could resist the blackjack tables for a few hours embarked on a helicopter ride to see one of the seven natural wonders of the world (according to the little chap with the big smile who took us there anyway) known as the Grand Canyon.

Using words to try to describe somewhere like the Grand Canyon is impossible. My only advice is that if you ever get the opportunity to see it as we did from the air then beg, borrow, steal, or sell your grandmother or children to do it. It's an incredible experience, as was flying down the strip at roof top height on the way back. Thankfully, no sick bags required though earlier a passing rafter may have needed stitches after being unwittingly pelted with stones whilst paddling into the middle of a 'who can throw a stone furthest into the Colorado river' competition.

There are some people who like Las Vegas... and there are those that don't. On first impressions it seems way over the top, crass and gaudy which I guess it is but wow, what a place! It does help if you aren't averse to the odd flutter as even petrol stations have slot machines and when they build hotels they don't start with the casino on the ground floor for nothing. There are some wonderfully imaginative creations, you only have to look at the Venetian to see what going to work after a good spaghetti bolognese the night before can achieve. Unfortunately, however, the Riviera Hotel isn't one of them. The guy who designed this place which must have happened a long time ago had obviously lost all his talents by then to whiskey and beer. Chris's tip of the day... spend the extra 30 bucks and stay at any of the wonderful hotels down the road. Tip number two... always make sure your cab driver is awake while driving his taxi from Hooters to the Bellagio... and tip number three, don't gamble unless you're winning.

Tuesday takes us to Lone Pine... possibly a slight contrast to Las Vegas

Move over Ocean's 11... make way for Digger's Half Dozen...

I don't know about you but my average Sunday involves a lie in, a few hours slobbing with the paper and on the odd occasion a visit to Mecca (no, not the bingo hall) to meet with similarly devout worshippers of the elixir of life... sometimes known as Marstons Pedigree.

So, you can imagine how blown away we all were after yesterday when I describe our day.

We departed Flagstaff under clear blue skies though it was blooming cold, and remarkably we were on the road by 8.30am (this may have something to do with booze fatigue setting in the previous evening when even the hardy souls within our group gave way to a week of continuous supping). The route to Las Vegas happened to take us along a 60 mile stretch of Route 66 (which I'm reliably informed by old people was made famous by a song in the 60s). This in itself would have been memorable enough but after a 50 mile run along highway 93, and despite a benign encounter with the second most notorious bike gang after the Hells Angels who were filling up at the same time as us, we arrived at the Hoover Dam. There are some places that can only be appreciated by actually setting eyes on them and this, like Las Vegas shortly after, is one of them. It is... (to use that awful American word) awesome. There used to be a dam in a stream near where I lived made of twigs and i can tell you it was nothing like this.

Our arrival in Vegas was typified whilst waiting at traffic lights, Mr 'Big Exhaust' Reid thought he'd try and have one over on an American couple driving a customised 1950s Chevvy pick-up. After Andy had revved his Austin Allegro and pipped his hooter, they responded in kind by letting rip what can only be described as a ship's fog horn. We all now have semi-permanent deafness.

An evening in Las Vegas then followed and I am pleased to report that we have broken the Casino at the Ballagio. Well, broken may be a bit too strong a word for it... We did, however, come out up on the night and made our escape before the cussing Casino manager could have us plied with even more free beer (you will note that we seem to have recovered from beer fatigue).
A day off in Las Vegas tomorrow and a helicopter ride to the Grand Canyon awaits (lets hope they've got plenty of sickbags).
Stinky Tony pants update... no change
 
ps. Hi to our friends Harold and Marie-anna from Colorado whom we met in San Francisco last Sunday. Harold freely admits he is an American but still likes us even after reading some of our observations about the locals

Six days worth of sore backsides later...

I start today with news that I know will disturb you all. Our erstwhile colleague, Mr Tony Matthews, is still on his first pair of pants since we said goodbye to Blighty last Sunday. Not only this, but he is happy about this fact and doesn't anticipate going for a clean pair any time soon. I don't care if they are your 'lucky pants' Tony, as a group we believe it's time for change. Maybe a bit of adverse public opinion will change his mind so please feel free to add your comments.

After an evening where we were slightly bemused by the tattooed women of Tucson, we headed off for Flagstaff in near 80 degrees after a short excursion to the Aircraft Boneyard which is an airfield near the town where hundreds of obsolete military aircraft are lined up waiting, well I'm not sure what they're waiting for, but whatever it is doesn't seem likely to happen soon. Quite eerie really.

250 miles today and what a contrast from start to finish. I think what is becoming obvious to all of us is that this country is simply huge and the contrast between places makes you realise why 65% of Americans dont have a passport. We are exploring a tiny part of the US and the differences between the places we've called in at have been startling. The flat desert roads of southern Arizona gradually gave way to some of the most stunning mountain roads imaginable and the view as we came over the top of the hill towards Sedona was unforgettable, as were the 110mph bends. I write from Flagstaff, temperature now 45F, where there is still snow on the ground and the pine forest we drove through was about as different to the sand dunes down south as it gets.

Inevitably, things dont always go smoothly. We have been in the habit of stopping a few miles short of our destination for a quick beer and a ciggi. Today however, the shoplady who sold us the grog seems to have grassed us up to the coppers who turned up a minute or two later. At this point we ditched the beer, undrunk, into a dumpster and stood round looking guilty. When Mr Policeman had gone we were tempted to dangle Neil by the ankles so that we might retrieve the beers but decided against it as paying for second masseur in two days would probably take Neil over budget.

Point to add regarding the helmetless biking of yesterday... Digger, Tony and I now all look like we've been seriously tango-ed. The Arizona sunshine is generally, it is said, a little stronger than the feeble and flimsy-wimsy stuff we get back home. Serves us right.

The long Good Friday...

Today we said goodbye to Yuma and its single brain cell and hello to Tucson which seems much higher up the food chain entirely. One of my favourite movie quotes relates to this place... In 'An Officer and a Gentleman' Richard Gere and his fellow new recruits are lined up by the drill sergeant chappy who asks one poor unfortunate where he's from. The lad replies "Tucson, Arizona, Sir", to which the drill sergeant adds "There's only two things come from Tucson, Arizona, boy... Steers and Queers. And you ain't got no horns!" Ok, small things amuse small minds... That said, Tucson is a pretty town and you certainly dont get the impression that it is in the middle of a desert. One strange observation is that there are 43 Tattoo parlours and only 6 bars. Consequently, there are a lot of mainly women wandering round with more ink in their skin than a bic ball-point factory would get through in years. Once again, a recurring theme is that the locals are very courteous and friendly and wherever we've stopped have been only too willing to give advice on places to go and things to see (admittedly they dont always have a clue what they are talking about but their hearts appear to be in the right place).

The trip here from Yuma was equally spectacular as it was different from previous days on the Tour. Long straight roads that stretch almost indefinitely into the heathaze provided some of the best biking yet. Now we do have an admission here... Arizona do not insist on the wearing of helmets and with the weather a beautiful 75 degrees it was time for the shorts, t-shirt and hatless brigade to emerge. As the following bit of video shows there is nothing more exhillarating than whizzing along at 90 with the wind in your hair and the sun warming the cockles of your heart and other exposed bits. Click on.. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_0ZnzRenP8  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFVBXqPqLts or http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8hr8av5GEY  if you'd like to take a look. However, we don't recommend that any youngsters out there try this at home and as a group we are wholeheartedly in favour of a safety first approach to motorcycling. However, this will go down as one of the most memorable experiences ever.

I have heard some excuses in my life but Neil's whimpering that his back was so stiff and painful upon arrival in Tucson and 'can we see if I can get a massage?' has to go to the top of the list. Sometimes it's necessary to embellish this blog for the amusement of all two of you who read it but this episode just wrote itself. After much groaning, an hour and a half later Neil emerged a new man. I should point out in the interests of his relationship with Alison that Neil's masseur was a professional, if you know what i mean (though i'm not sure if that helps his case much). Also worthy of mention is that Digger played his joker in Tucson (we are each allowed one night when either fatigue or too many bevvies early doors leaves one too 'tired' to go out. It was previously expected that Digger would not contemplate playing his at any point. Pete used his in Yuma while the remaining infants have yet to play theirs.

Flagstaff is our destination tomorrow. Today goes down as the only day of the trip so far when we haven't got lost. A small fact this but when you've spent much of the past week going the wrong way down lots of blind alleys it's significance should not be understated.

April fools...

I am relieved to report that after their confrontation with the San Diego PD, Neil and Tony were set free so that the Tour could continue (though they were apparently pumped thoroughly for information and now have indelible memories of a certain policeman by the name of Big Bubba). Andy returned to the hotel garage to find that his Harley had disappeared... all by itself. Half a coronary later it was revealed to him that he was indeed the subject of a cruel but very funny April Fools joke... aptly named.

Thursday's ride took us from sea level up through a stunning range of hills at around 4500 feet and back down to the plains of Arizona. The weather was fab, the roads stretched into the distance further than you could see and bear in mind that the next time the roads melt back home (assuming we ever have a summer) the temperature here regularly exceeds 45C and the roads are 100%. I believe that I was unfair in my assessment of Yuma yesterday. It's a nice place but the one horse moved to Vegas a few years back and the population seem to share amongst other things several genes and the same brain cell.

As ambassadors of Great Britain (though everyone here seems to think we're all Australian) we did our bit to advance the 'Special Relationship' which exists between our countries and seen here are Neil and Andy sharing an entente cordial with the barmaid of the only pub in town.

After nearly a week of living out of black bin bags, issues of personal hygiene are now coming to the fore. A certain member's riding boots are now banned from three states and are becoming a hazard to public health. It would be unfair to name names, wouldn't it Reidy?


We hit the road to Tucson on Friday, hopefully not literally.

Oh bugger... Tony and Neil arrested!

A slight spanner in the works this morning. Two of our number, both known for their jolly japes, took things a little too far as we took in the sights of San Diego harbour. Tony thought it would be amusing to tell an assembled group of Americans how their version of 2nd World War history is everso slightly innaccurate and that the first three years weren't in fact a warm up.

Unfortunately for Tony and Neil who happened to be laughing loudest at Tone's wit, one of the crowd was an 'on duty' copper who proceeded to arrest our two boys for behaviour likely to incite a mild outburst. They were last seen being taken away by the rozzers to be given some 'local hospitality'.

In true Red Lion Bikers fashion, the rest of us did a runner and are hot tailing it out of here before Neil and Tony break under torture and give our location away.

Shocking news... RLB Tour Blog infiltrated by deviant forces...

HELLLOOOO BOYS!!

Thought we would give you a little reminder of what you’re missing.
Local photographer, Turkey Ed, jumped at the opportunity to help out with his camera and flashgun to take these sexy images of us girls…just for you boys. (I’m sure your blog followers will increase now Chris).
The photo shoot was set up in St.Terence’s, (word must have got round, as even Dawn, Terry’s wife, turned up) with quite a few onlookers, and you thought Terry was joking about the full house on Tuesday night, and Pete, Sandra was not joking either about, I quote “I’m surrounded by men!” She loved every minute as you could tell in her voice and by the smile on her face in the photo. Julie took some persuading, so Turkey Ed did a little job on her and tried to disguise Andy’s beauty, by giving her a slightly darker complexion and a fluffy yellow boa. Ginny came along in her biker gear, as she ‘felt closer to Tony’ that way, and refused to remove her neck scarf. Ali, decided to go the whole way and have a quickie boob job, and wow, can’t you tell? Sorry you had to find out this way Neil, but at least you will be prepared when your credit card declines and you can tap up Digger for a sub. Look on the bright side, you love bigger breasts, apparently, and these are all for you. Andrea, the shy one, decided to go for hair extensions as Chris loves long dark hair, and has convinced her that every girl in America is short, slightly overweight and very very blond. Of course, Karin could not wait to get in on the act, and soon got her kit off for the boys. Despite the roaring fire, the more mature generation had to pose complete with shawl. This one is for you Digger.
Do enjoy boys, we miss you!

Pants...

Welcome to San Diego, which by all acounts and our experience since landing here is a very pleasant city and the only criticism one might level is that there are more places open after 11 in Hollington on a Wednesday night to buy a dodgy kebab than in this city of 3 million souls. That said, this place will be forever remembered as the place where Andy fell off a bar stool in front of a hundred locals and wasn't even drunk at the time. Priceless.

340 miles saw us traverse from Pismo Beach to here. As we were passing LA, we nipped down Rodeo Drive to do a bit of shopping but regretably could not find a pound shop anywhere along its length so left disappointed but with plans to return in the future with view to opening the same, somewhere between Chanel and Wilko's. I couldn't see Julia Roberts anywhere and have decided that that's the last time I watch Pretty Woman after more vodka than is healthy. Sorry love, you've missed your chance. I called, you were out.

Tip of the day... don't eat the chicken nachos from Newport Beach Mexican takeaway unless you're really desperate and within easy reach of a bathroom for the following 6 hours. Second tip of the day... don't ever share a room with Andy if you expect to get any sleep. Third tip of the day... dont ever offer to pay Chris's phone mobile bill, and finally... dont ask for directions from Neil :)

The last leg of the day from Newport to San Diego resembled motorbike pinball as we bobbed through the heavily congested freeway. A personal highlight was exiting the motorway at Miramar, home to TopGun. I'm no longer bitter that they turned me down... Kelly McGillis never did it for me anyway. Inevitably we got lost again, coming into San Diego this time, but with a twist that by this time we'd lost each other too and Neil's plaintiff appeal of 'where am i?' could only be met with 'dont ask us... we're lost too'.

Oh yes, Pants... there is a general feeling that we've all packed too many. On the basis that so far the average pants used by each bloke is err... one, it is unlikely that any more than two pairs per person will be utilised during the remainder of the tour. So, no change there then.

Tomorrow it's goodbye California, good day y'all Arizona. Destination Yuma (pop. 26, horses 1, sheep probably now very worried) famous for, well, bugger all.

From the edge of despair to Red Lion Pool Champ... all in one day

Three days of exposure to Reidy's unique sense of humour is enough to drive even the most sane man to madness and here Pete appears to be ready to jump. Seen here contemplating making that final leap I am pleased to report that having been wrestled from the precipice (not by us I might add as we were all standing cameras at the ready but by a passing resident of Carmel where the photo was taken, though after Pete had asked if he knew Clint Eastwood personally the aforementioned resident threatened to push Pete over the edge... well, i'm sure he's never been asked that one before) Pete then climaxed later in the day by winning the inpromptu Red Lion ex-Pats Pool Tournament held in the extremely seedy 'Harry's Bar' in Pismo beach.

The day prior to Pete's sudden death victory over Digger and Snail was as good as it gets. Riding along the very winding Pacific Coast Highway was a truly memorable experience and all were merry until the fish supper in Pismo. We seem resigned to the fact that we will spend two weeks in this blessed country eating nothing but s**t. Terry, I take back all I've ever said about your deep fat fryer.

The prospect of a long ride to San Diego on Wednesday (coupled with an earlier than usual early doors) meant that we were all retired by 10.30pm. What a bunch of lightweights.

Day One : Lost... lost... and err... lost again

Now England has a proud tradition of producing some of the world's greatest explorers... Drake, Cook, Livingstone, Scott to name but a few. However, the name of Tony is unlikely ever to be added to the list. 'Lost in San Francisco' would make a good name for a film and certainly describes our day. A short diversion so that we could ride over the golden gate bridge, which even on a rainy day is an incredible sight, turned into three hours of 'err.. does anyone have a clue where we are' as we got lost trying to get back to the bike shop from whence we started as one of the BMWs was actually a bag of spanners in disguise. The only thing to add is that most of the locals dont have a bloody clue where anywhere is either.

Excitement initially abounded as we collected the bikes and at this point I should note that after months of merciless ridicule over his choice to ride the American equivalent of an Austin Allegro, Andy seems to be having the last laugh as our BMWs appear to have had slightly more than 'one careful owner' whereas his Harley is a beaut (as is Pete's armchair-on-two-wheels Honda Gold Wing). Unfortunately, gloating in a grown man is an unattractive quality and I am sure that at some point I will document that all too familiar sight of a Harley broken down by the roadside.

A simple gentle loosener along the Pacific Coast Highway to Monterey turned into a seven hour trip, though riding along some beautiful roads, some of which we liked so much we went on twice (ok, maybe we should have brought a map). 

The evening passed with peaceful exploration of Monterey's museums and art galleries. Tomorrow we go to Pismo Beach. One road, A to B, what could possibly go wrong....

The boys meet TV celebrity Jezza in Terminal 5...

After a journey down the M40 made all the more pleasurable due to beer, champagne and bacon sarnies (and the fact that Reidy didn't snore his head off) imagine our surprise to bump into one of TV's top talents and social hero to us persecuted rural types, yes, Jeremy 'Top Gear' Clarkson (not looking too healthy admittedly and seen here posing with his latest book) who was happy to chat and share a beer with us.

America watch out... we're on our way (Message to Willi Walsh... thanks mate)

6th member of team warms up for Tour on epic 4000 mile journey home on odd looking motorcycle...

A warm welcome home to Digger, the stray member of our flock who was sensible enough to spend the winter in the Gulf. Terry has been giggling inanely for days now and rubbing his hands together (a la Fagin) at the prospect of Digger's return and we all expect to convene in the usual place on Thursday for Evensong. All welcome. (picture above shows Digger and, well, looks to me like Skeggy beach... you cant see the sea there either)

The Red Lion Singers meet for choir practice...

With a week to go before their epic canoeing trip across the Atlantic (which appears now to be the only method of getting there thanks to the strike) the boys meet to give press and tv interviews and amidst the media scrum (taking place just out of shot) it becomes apparent that the various diets and get fit campaigns have, well, not exactly worked. Some original ideas have been tried... Reidy's 'Pedigree' diet would probably have been more effective if he'd opted for the 'Chum' rather than the 'Marstons' variety. Special mention should go to Neil's cunning policy of looking thinner by always standing next to blokes who are more rotund than you.

Talk after choir practice did include whether we should nominate a charity (other than the Beer Fund) which might benefit in probably a (very) small way from the trip... there were no sensible ideas so please comment below if you, the people of Britain, have any suggestions. We're not going on a crusade or anything but you know how gullible Americans can be and we might be able to fleece them of a few bucks for a good cause.

Message to Mr Willie Walsh, CEO, British Airways...

Dear Mr Walsh,

I would be very grateful if you would tell your lazy, commie-left-wing, money grabbing, 'they really dont know when they're well off and if they've got time to go on strike they're not working hard enough and should try living in the real world' staff to cancel their strike plans as vitally important world events will be gravely affected if the gentlemen of the Red Lion Bikers have to spend the first three days of their Tour of the USA riding baggage trolleys around Terminal 5 rather than BMWs around California.

We all know that Virgin are better and we didn't choose to fly with the 'World's favourite airline' but as we're stuck with you... get it sorted!

Kind Regards,

Disgruntled of Ashbourne

Well what was months away is now but a few weeks and the conversation around the alter of the Church of St Terence of Hollington involves little other than talk of the trip and of course running the book on who will be the first to drop out. Of course, anyone not among the congregation at the time is sure to come in for the most abuse but it shows the considerate nature of our happy band that we at least wait til a person has left the room before talking about them!

The author, in advance, apologises unreservedly for any offence caused to anyone written about in these pages and undertakes to dish stick out to himself as much as to anyone else.

Feel free to add your own comments... maybe good luck messages of 'bon voyage'? (or 'good riddance' for that matter), anyway, all are welcome. CC