Hello one and all. First off, an apology for the delay in the first post. Internet access on the San Juan islands was none existent and Seattle was a bit of a mare; but more of that later. So greetings from Portland, Oregon where over the next few days I will get you all up to speed with what I've been up to. Now back to fair Chester and the start of the trip at the National Express bus stop.
Any dreams I had that this trip would run smoothly and according to plan had given way to reality by time I boarded the flight to Vancouver. Indeed I nearly fell at the first hurdle with the coach driver debating whether or not to let the bike in the hold. Many thanks to National Express for employing a needlessly miserable jobsworth retard. Anyhow, the last goodbyes to the nearest and dearest were said ( minus my globetrotting Father ) and I boarded the coach. Watched 'Sideways' on the way down, which I mention only to voice my disappointment with a film so many people had urged me to see. If it was meant to be ' Swingers ' with wine instead of big band music; it failed badly. Unlike Jon Favreau's lovelorn loser, the central character inspired no sympathy or empathy and the Vince Vaughn parallel was just a dick. Anyway this is not 'Tommy Zooms Film Review', so on to London.
Standing at Golders Green station with the boxed bike and the three bags which held my only possessions for the next 2 1/2 months; the reality of the undertaking finally started to sneak into the Scagger's consciousness. I drifted minute to minute from excitement to anxiety until Andre's arrival. We had not seen each other for two months and the weekend when it was decided i would accompany Andre on this trip and the tickets were booked. It was a weird relief to see him and kind of signaled an end of 2 months of organizing the trip, getting my parts to the band's album finished and cycling to and from Heswall. Now all we had to do was get to
Vancouver and cycle the west coast of America. Easy!
We were to stay with Andre's old flatmate Robbus Maximus in Hampstead and he'd booked us a table at a fine Thai restaurant. We were also joined by that visionary Richie Hyde; who's company was even more illuminating than normal! Twas a great night, but the mixture of ultra hot food and nervous anticipation resulted in us imbibing too much wine and we awoke with sore heads. Nay bother, lazing on the heath in the best sunshine of the summer restored our spirits and we would chill out that night with the flight the next day.
I had been reminded the previous day that my dear friend Gary Lloyd had a performance in Trafalger Square this afternoon, so we set off to finally see one of Gary's pieces live. Still a bit foggy we had trouble finding it until drifting through the hazy hustle bustle of london in the sun came Steve Reich rhythms and a grand yet lush melody. I knew immediately that this was the work of Lloyd! It was accompanying a modern dance piece and i struggled to fathom the relationship between the two characters until after it had finished and someone produced a wheelchair for the male dancer. Looking around me, i realized the entire event was to raise awareness for people with disabilities! My awareness now raised, the piece really worked but bias aside, the music outclassed the movement.
Gary had another performance to oversee and Andre and I had last minute missions to complete so it was decided we would reconvene at Irish john's pub in Camden. The missions were going badly until we gave up and stopped for some expensive Tapas and a glass of sherry ( still not a fan ), after which we found all the stores we needed within minutes. Strange how when you're desperately seeking something it eludes and when you take a step back its right before you!
Irish John is my long lost friend from university and is now the landlord of the cracking Spreadeagle. If you're ever Camden way, be sure to stop by for a fine pint of Young's bitter. I'd met up with John for the first time in 8 years only the previous month and he and his girlfriend from back in the day, now wife Emily had not seen Andre in even longer. We laughed and remembered the time we had been round at John's when Andre's flatmates called round to tell him that his room was on fire. "I'll get there after I've finished this wine" mocked Andre, holding the belief we all shared that this was a particulary unfortunate joke. They persisted with their claim until Andre rose and announced, "Do excuse me, I've a fire to put out!". Over the next 2 minutes doubt crept into those who remained until we thought we'd venture outside, where across campus we saw smoke, flashing lights and many a pyjama'd student. I remember arriving to see a lump of melted plastic that had once been Andre's stereo chucked out of the window and the hero of the story receiving an overly severe dressing down from the local fire chief. A tealight lit in the name of ambience had been the cause. The effect? Proof that new age bollocks is exactly that!
Enter stage left, Gary and the all consuming presence of his friend Roger. I've been entertained by Gary's intellectual friends in the past but Roger, a scriptwriter by trade, is easily the craziest and most charmingly infectious. He has a nervous energy which results in conversation of quickfire wit and scattershot wisdom which is as exhausting as it is beguiling. It was a real honour to meet this old hellraiser and I'm not just saying that because he's offered to find us friends to stay with in San Diego and maybe L.A. !
Now, from our time recovering on Hampstead Heath, Andre and I were resolved that we would have an early night so to be fresh for the 8 AM taxi and the 11 hour flight to Vancouver. In line with the plan, we excused ourselves around 10 and headed to Rob's and the kitchen/living room that was to be our place of slumber. What foolish naivety! This is a shared house in London on a Saturday night. We arrived back to find one of the girls and her mates drinking and a smoking with a mindset for more of the same. We could hardly turf such nice young ladies out of their own kitchen and by 3 AM with paranoia about waking to our alarm ( which was my mobile ), any thoughts of sleep were postponed till the flight. I must make it clear that Goebbel's and her friends ( apologies Lieberwitz, I nicked your joke ) provided much merriment and by the time we viewed the Sunday sun rise over London atop their roof a certain abandon had entered our souls!
We were ship shape of a fashion by the time the taxi arrived, with thoughts of getting the bikes safely on the plane foremost on our minds. With the flight not till 12.30, we had assumed that the 8 AM taxi, with an hours drive to Gatwick to give us ample time to be first in the queue to check in. The taxi driver it seemed had other ideas. He missed a junction and with slavish obedience to his GPS, the firm who only did airport runs, managed to take us on a scenic tour of the Greater London countryside and add 40 minutes on to our journey. He did not receive a tip! We sprinted through Gatwick with bikes on trolleys, which totally obscured our view but made it to check in just fine. The sublime Sunday morning had long since given up and reverted to rain, so we were glad to be escaping the english summer for foreign climes, though the emotion on boarding the plane was more relief than excitement. Now was the time to sleep.
Of course the sleep didn't happen and the flight was delayed by about an hour. It was slowly dawning on us that we were about to go at least 40 hours without sleep. During our stay in Vancouver we were staying with another of Andre's old flatmates, Steven and his brother David. They had sent word to us that they had bought tickets to a gig on the night of our arrival. It had sounded like a great idea but was now starting to feel like a daunting task: I had not attempted such a feat of sleep deprivation since my university days but whilst wired, the force was strong in these two nascent adventurers. So long blighty, hello Canada. It was going to be strange trip!
Roche Harbor, Disneyland for Seattle's sailing classes. English Camp, one front of the farcical pig war, not a bad place to be stationed. San Juan sunset part 2. 
Salt Spring Island roads, either 5MPH or 30+MPH!!, Fulford Harbor. Sneaking into the US, Jihadist's take note! San Juan sunset.
Leaving Vancouver, Lions Gate Bridge. The bike, fully loaded. Andre basking in the beauty of Horseshoe Bay. Last minute checks - Steven's pad, Vancouver. The Georgia Straits. Goodbye Vancouver. Contemplating the ride from Nanaimo to Salt Spring Island - little did we know!
Our trusty steed's across the ocean, out of their boxes and back in one piece. Our genial host, the uber cool Steven. Below, myself, Steven and David and Mini Festival in Vancouver.
