Scottsdale, Phoenix, Arizona (United States) to Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

It has been a long day. I finally pull off highway onto a small gravel road. After a calorific supper consisting of corn beef bagel sandwiches (Did you know that there can be as many as 300 calories in a single bagel?) I perch my tent on a hill behind some bushes. Have been riding across Northern California on Highway 36, a twisty little fellow whose snakey curves are too much for the logging trucks that have been breathing down my neck on Highway 89 for the previous couple of days.

Am camping wild tonight after a pleasant conversation with a security guard who explained if I wanted to stay on his private ranch (field) I would have to pay the annual $5,000 fee. No thanks. So tonight it is just me, my bike, a bush and a bottle of aloa vera hand sanitizer. However I am pleased with myself, I am making good progress through the States so far and looking forward to the Oregon coastline which I have heard so much about.

Just settling down when I hear a stange whining howl. Part human, part animal. the strangest thing is it also sounds vaguely familiar. I am sure I have heard it before somewhere. I try and dismiss from my mind and roll over in my sleeping bag (now interestingly stained thanks to a can of WD-40 accidently discharging itself). A few minutes later I hear the sound again. Closer. "UUUUUarrreuuuuu" then a more gutteral "Ennnnnrri chaiiryy" even closer "Ooooonee". I clasp my bear spray and try and work out what it could be. Not sure what a bear sounds like, but don't think it should sound like that. A few minutes of silence broken only as the wind passes through the leaves then again, closer still again "Uuuuareuuu".

My mind is now flooded with all the Bigfoot or Sasquatch stories that I have been hearing for the past couple of days. Ridiculous nonsense. Can it be just a coincidence that Humboldt County, the only place in the States where hairy 9 foot tall men are seen is also the place where the best marijauna in the world, allegedly, is grown? I am going to have a look. I am not going to stay cowering in my tent all night letting a strange noise scare me. Last year when I was in Argentina camping beside a road I heard a large plodding noise slowly and dramatically making its way towards me. After about ten minutes of absolute terror when I finally got up the courage to peek outside my tent I saw a cow harmlessly peering at me from the other side of a barbed wire fence. So I steel myself. Confront your fear Malloch and you will be a Jedi. Push on.

Clutching my bear spray I unzip my tent as quietly as possible and make my way up the bank of the hill. A full moon reflects quite a lot of light and it is possible to see quite a lot. I peak over the brow of the hill and see one of the stangest things I have seen so far on my trip. A game of 5 a side football is in progress. The players are massive, huge. Not fat, not slender but bulky. Wiry arms an legs trail gracefully off long hirsute backs. Stranger still they are all wearing red and white shirts. Then the penny drops and I recognise the sounds that they have been making earlier. "Who are you?" and "Thiery Henry". They are Arsenal shirts. Incredible, these things, I dare not call them human yet, seem to be Arsenal fans.

What should I do? Part of me is terrified. Part of me is intrigued. I have left my camera in the tent. I feel drawn towards them in a way I can't explain. Its like watching a horror movie when the victim is doing precisely the wrong thing. Don't wander into the forest on your own. Stay in the house, turn on all the lights and call the police. The game is now only a few yards away from me.

Then the decision is taken out of my hands. The ball come flying towards me. Instinctively I control it with my chest and bring it down in front of my right foot. Something lurches towards me, I drop my right shoulder. The dummy is bought. This gives me just enough space to edge around it on the left hand side. l see a figure moving into space and send a diagonal defence splitting ball through and sprint forwards to pick up the one-two return ball. The recipient anticpates my movement and lays the ball through. With one touch I lift the ball over an advancing keeper, who with his long pigtail and droopy moustache looks not unlike David Seaman (although more mobile). The ball bounces once then slots home in between the two trees that are serving for posts. I have scored.

Groans of approval that seem older than time emanate from all over the forest. I have been accepted. I spend the next two hours playing one of the best games of football I can remember. Physical but not dirty. Balls are being beautifully stroked all over the forest floor. There is no showmanship or any of the darker theatrical crafts that have invaded the modern British game. It is just good hard fun. A large horn sounds once in a deep reverberating boom. The players switch sides. The team I am playing for is captained by the largest of these creatures. A long drooping nose hangs down over a curled lip and huge earlobes flutter in the wind like exotic dying butterflies. He is called something that sounds like Oooooneee Aadmmms.

In the second half the game is tied at 2 a piece until the last five minutes. Then as bodies flag concentration lapses and there is a rare defensive error committed by the other side. Oooooneee pounces on this ruthlessly and his huge forehead smashes the ball between the posts. We hold on for the remaining few minutes, just keeping it tight at the back. Then the large horn sounds again twice. The game is over. The players all shake each others hands and pat each other on the back and start to retreat into the forest. Oooooneee beckons for me to follow them. For about half and hour we walk through trees that are getting closer and closer together. Whilst I struggle to get through their huge frames slip effortlessly through ever narrower spaces in this arboreal labyrinth. Then we reach a circular clearing. In the middle is huge twisted tree stump that I can't help thing looks a bit like Arsne Wenger's head. A deep primitive drum roll and a ceremony begins. A large flask is passed around. I hear enthusiatic shouts as I take a few gulps. The liquid has a powerful woody taste, with a subtle hint of wild strawberries.

Stories are being told, songs are being sung in a deep thoughtful rumbling murmor of that occasionally boils over into a bone grating cackle. I have so many questions. What are they? Why are they here? Why are they playing football in a forest in Northern California? Why are they Arsenal fans? I am sitting next to Oooooneee and am trying to communicate with him. He senses my curiosity and frustration at not being able to understand what is going on. He just smiles in a way that suggests that now is not the time for such questions. We have just played the beautiful game. He motions that I drink more and enjoy the evening.

I am not sure what happened next. The last thing I remember is drinking heavily from the flask, then a warm blanket of heavy sleep falls over my memory. When I come to the next day I am in my tent perched on the same hill. It is a sunny peaceful morning. I make my way back onto the road and into a small collection of houses that has decided to call itself Platina. I wait a couple of mintes for the grocery store/cafe to open whilst chatting to Ron who is rolling some cigarettes for his wife then Wendy arrives and makes me a very nice 3 egg omlette.

My journey continues...

Currently in Vancouver, Canada. Had a brilliant time riding through the United States travelled through Arizona, Utah, Nevada, California, Oregon and Washington and met some fantastic people. Hello and thank you to everyone I met.

Estimate that I have about 2,500 miles left to ride. Plan on doing this in the next two months. Internet access is getting less frequent and more expensive so am spending less time on the computer. Do not know whether I will squeeze another blog again in Canada so next blog will probably be when I finish somewhere in Alaska, hopefully in Prudhoe Bay, probably in late July.

Just a reminder that I am riding to raise money for Medecins Sans Frontieres. I would like to say thank you very very much to everyone who has sponsored me so far. I really appreciate it and it is a big inspiration which keeps me going north in the saddle.

If you haven't sponsored me yet but would like to please visit my website www.pushonnorth.com for details, or go directly to my justgiving page to make a donation over a secure internet link. (http://www.justgiving.com/timmalloch).

Push on

Tim

---

---

---