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

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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

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Photos

Nevada in May
Camped about twenty miles after the smal town of Austin in Nevada just after a 6,500 foot pass. Woke up with snow on my tent. Was really warm inside think the snow insulated me from the cold.

Ms Tully's class
After spending 2 years as an assistant English teacher in Japan many years ago I had vowed never to return to the classroom. However Ms Tully's class was very well behaved when I visited and I enjoyed talking to them about my trip. I received loud cries of admiration when I explained that the longest period of time I had been without a shower was 6 days.

Jake
I forgot to take a picture of my friends Spencer and Anne who I stayed with in Scottsdale. But they do exist. I haven't yet started making up imaginary friends. Here is a photograph of their dog Jake. Jake is getting on a bit and doesn't do much other than wander around the house.

Giant
In homage to my literary mentor Don Quixote. I have sworn to commit acts of romantic chivarly wherever possible on my voyage. This particularly troublesome giant leered at me and so I had no choice but to attack the brute. Waving my bicycle pump I charged at him full speed. However the oversized coward quaked and fled from the field of battle and I never got the chance to fight him etc etc continue for 1500 pages in similar vein.

Grand Canyon
Difficult to explain how impressive the Grand Canyon is, or take a photograph that really captures everything in one go. Spent a morning riding around the South rim peering over the various lookouts dotted alond the roadside.

Vance
Greater love has no man that to give up his rim to another. In Page, Arizona my rear wheel bowed gracefully out of the tour. With exquisite timing it chose to explode a few hundred yards from the hostel I was hoping to stay at and the only bike shop within miles. Vance didn't have a downhill rim in stock that would fit my bike so he took the one off his own mountain bike and fitted it for me. Thank you very much Vance. Maybe Vane's mellow mood can be explained by the fact that he is now listening to bob Dylan after going through a very intense period of heavy death metal. Lakeside Bikes 12 Lake Powell Blvd Page/Lake Powell AZ 86040 tel [phone] email [e-mail]

Horseshoe Bend, Page, Arizona
Had a couple of nights in Page resting. On the last night the hostel warden got paranoid that people were after him and explained that he was therefore closing the hostel down. He asked me to lock up after I left.

Zion National Park, Utah
At the end of this road there is a tunnel. It is 1.06 miles long. I was not allowed to ride through this. When questioned by me the lady guarding the entrance to the tunnel confirmed that motorbikes were allowed to pass through because they had bright lights. I explained that I also had a bright light on my bicycle. It soon however became apparent to me that even if Halley's Comet came streaming out of my bottom at that precise moment I would not be allowed to cycle through this tunnel. Thus I had to wait a few minutes for a truck to give me a lift. Thank you very much Mark. This is the only time I have ever taken a lift in a truck so far. The purity of my continous line has been broken. I felt ashamed and dirty. It also puts me in breach of the rules of my cycling club, the Tooting International Tourists. Regulation 8(a)of the club's rules clearly stipulates that if a member, for whatever reason, places his bicycle on a motorized vehicle other than a boat he must receive ten lashes for every mile so travelled. With no other member present to administer this penalty I was forced to carry out this sanction on myself a la Opus Dei in the next campsite. The concerned mother of an onlooking family explained to her children that "I was being English".
Would you like to join the Tooting International Tourists? If so please send me an email and a CV with a personal statement of no more that 500 words explaining why you would make a good TIT. Successful applicants may eventually receive a newsletter, a club badge and inititation into a secret society that covertly controls a wide variety of influential blue chip companies.

Getting my kit out
This is what I am carrying inside my trailer.

Tim, Tim and Flyboy
I met Tim and Flyboy on the Nevada Utah border. They were on a charity ride from Provo to Vegas. 475 miles in 4 days for a charity that raises money for life-saving transplants, COTA. See biketovegas.org for more information.

Nevada State Railroad Museum, Carson City
Riding through Carson City managed to resist the temptations of the flesh in the form of the Moonlite Bunnyranch II and the more spiritual calling of the Bread of Life Christian Fellowship situated right next to each other. However I could not pass by the Nevada State Railroad Museum. Spent an hour or so admiring a beautiful collection of steam engines many of which had been used in Hollywood films.

Bears Crossing, Lake Tahoe, Nevada
Before leaving Phoenix I got tooled up with some Bear spray. For 37 USD you get 7.2 seconds of spray. This makes it one of the few things that I am aware of that are (slightly) more expensive than a City (London) lawyer's charge out rate. You can't take bearspray through Canadian customs and bears in Canada are bigger and more common so as soon as I have finished tapping this out I'm going to go and buy some more.

Spooky stalker Bird
Was convinced that the same bird was following me all around Lake Tahoe for about twenty miles. Finally it perched right above me and watched me eat my dinner. Then it disappeared.

Jesus Cloud
It took me ages to get through Paradse Lost. I realised that I had been reading it for too long when I became convinced that this cloud looked just like Jesus's head. Now reading a much less taxing novel about a Mexican drug runner which whilst easier to digest has not yet inspired any similar visions.

Platina, Highway 36, California
If you ever pass through Platina on Highway 36 make sure you stop by and order one of Wendy's excellent omlettes. They are really tasty and filling.

Jane, Roxanne, Scotch and Nutmeg
Was adjusting my pedal strap when Jane stopped her car and asked me if I would like a place to stay for the night. Ended up spending two thoroughly enjoyable nights with Jane, her husband Randar, daughter Ruby and their three dogs Nutmeg, Roxanne and Scotch. Thank you all very very much indeed.