12 days to go... Tandeming through the Iron Curtain

We should be sailing into view of the white cliffs in 12 days. It's been a long time away, but the weather has been fine for the last week and the landmarks keep ticking along. Suddenly we were half way across Europe having made it to Budapest, then we were through the line of the Iron Curtain, then we waved goodbye to the Danube. Soon we will be heading across the Rhine, into Belgium and then we'll be looking out across the English Channel for the first time in around 600 days. Our heads are full of everything from impatience, to jittery excitement to confusion. But the simplicity of cycling home is keeping us going; everyday we pack up our panniers, hop on the bike and keep heading another 100km or so closer to our end goal.

But the last 4 weeks haven't been all that easy. Hol and I have had to re-learn how to love the tandem. We had looked forward to getting back on Carlos for months, but after 3 weeks of steep hills leaving Turkey, breaking bike bits, horrendous roads in Romania and wet weather in Hungary we still hadn't hit our stride. It was partly due to a 'so near yet so far' feeling as we inched across the map, but we had also forgotten how poorly suited one's ass is to perching on a wedge of metal and leather for 5 hours a day. I am glad to say that as we sit munching on cake in Schwabing Hall in Southern Germany we have once again hit the rhythm and life is good.

I think our initial troubles were in part due to the fact that Hol and I have different approaches to riding the bike. I feel that a laden Carlos is the size and weight of a small car and should therefore be on the road. Hol feels that as there are bike lanes criss-crossing Europe in a finely woven web we should be on those. The first weeks were full of repeated grumbles as the bike paths along the Danube turned into unpaved levées and you felt like you were spelling your name out riding through people's back gardens and on narrow pavements. I favoured racking up the miles on busy roads, Hol liked the more loopy, leisurely approach. This led to alternate moments of frosty silence from the front or back of the bike. As we come to a halt on the edge of a rutted forest track Hol will pipe up with something positive about the nice clean air, birdsong or spring blossom. In the same way, as we are passed by the fifth large articulated lorry in as many minutes caking us in filth I will shout into the wind about how great it is to leap across the map. The frustrated one simply lets out a sigh just audible enough for the other to take it on board.

However, after a wonderful day off in Budapest staying with a family friend from Devon we found our bike chi again. The roads in the West are quieter, better surfaced and the bike paths resisted the temptation to disappear down rabbit holes and farm tracks. We also started camping again. It was like the old days in the States as we followed the Danube around the 'Golden Bend' and West into Austria. We had imagined there to be a clear shift in the roads as we crossed the line of the old Iron Curtain, but the suddenness of change was even more than we could have expected. Austria has to be the most ludicrously bike friendly country in the world. In fact it got kind of creepy how organised everything was.

Small towns were immaculate to the point of almost being sinister; where was the local village drunk, the awkward goth teenagers, the crappy charity shop in the middle of town? It was too fixed and controlled. I don't want to be down on Austria as it was a beautiful country with a huge amount going for it, but people were so serious, smiles scarce. People don't go for a stroll, they go 'Nordic walking'. This is simply walking with ski poles. We chortled when we saw the first people doing it, we were concerned when we saw a group of students being taught how to do it(?), we despaired when we found paved 'Nordic walking' trails through the countryside. Everything had been laid out for efficient convenience to the extent that we managed to cycle all the way through Vienna without riding on a single road as specialist tracks, populated by nothing more dangerous than a rogue unicyclist, let us float through the capital. These people seemed to have everything sorted, but yet nobody was smiling... at all.

We pedaled onward through one immaculately tended, but eerily sterile, village after another, past ancient castles, vineyards and all the time criss-crossing the Danube as it slowly narrowed as we neared the source. Before we knew it we were entering Germany. I had been wondering about spending time in Germany and had to confess to not being sure if I would like it. I can't trace this feeling, but am sure it is deeply wrapped up in the historical relationship with the UK. However, the shift as we crossed the border near Passau was almost comic. Everyone was suddenly waving and smiling at us. Maybe they were all grinning at the sight of the scowling Nordic walkers on the other side of the river, maybe it was that everywhere here has large beer gardens and sausage stands. On our first night in Germany our gap toothed campsite owner insisted we tried his local most (scrumpy), before giving us a blanket off the antique tractor to keep us warm and waved us on the way the next morning after offering to help with everything he could. And since then we have just had an incredible time going across Southern Germany. The landscape is stunning, the history of the towns and cities is mind boggling and the overwhelming impression is that the Germans are the closest race to the British we have seen on the whole trip.

They love nothing more than sitting in a pub garden in the sun eating sausages from a BBQ and drinking large quantities of beer. They choose to shun suncream resulting in extremely sunburnt faces on the first warm day of the year. They love whizzing around on motorbikes, cars and anything with wheels, wings or on water at the weekend. It is a version of what a certain type of person strives to make England; efficient, better tended and cleaner. All the roads are smooth, well sign-posted and all the towns are well planned without being deserted like Austria. There is also the added bonus of people wandering around in an extraordinary mix of what I can only really call 'Euro-style'; hugely suspect mullets, exceptionally dodgy tracksuits, occasional huge moustaches and some far too tight t-shirts. Sitting in the sun at the Schwalbisch Hall festival knocking back a few beers yesterday was eerily like being home, but maybe with more mixed ages in the pub from toddlers to Grandparents. I wonder if it is just having been away for so long that makes this land seem so similar to home.

We have around another 4 days before getting out of Germany and into Luxembourg and Belgium. Having had a bike stolen in Belgium in the past I will most likely be sleeping with the tandem as a pillow. The thought of being this close to the finish and something going wrong is a horrible one, but each day at a time, and before we know it it will be time to stop...

Going home, going home, going home, going home...

If we told you about our 1,400km from Istanbul to Novi Sad in Serbia 48 hours ago it would be a different tale. The last two weeks have been one of ups and downs; Glorious spring sunshine alternating with freezing, rainy headwinds; smooth and quiet then pot holed, truck filled roads; quaint villages full of humble rural life and depressingly deserted, boarded up industrial towns.

For the first week I couldn't shake the stuck record of, 'We're going home, we're going home, we're going home, we're going home, we're going home' from my mind. We cycled through lands that felt impenetrable through language and cultural barriers. In Turkey people looked at us curiously, shrugged, smiled then gave us a welcome cup of chai before getting back to their tasks. In Bulgaria people gawped in utter confusion for so long that there was no time to see their reaction once they had processed what they were seeing. In Romania we whizzed through ancient villages getting heckled by gangs of boozing men in guttural tones that weren't clearly positive or negative. One man seemed simply to bark at us. In Serbia on the other hand, reactions to the tandem have been more finely tuned.

Yesterday we had been cycling for 1,300 km and 12 days without a day off. We had pegged Novi Sad as our day off destination and had a nice steady route planned to get us here, avoiding the apparently doomful traffic of Belgrade. We were therefore a bit tetchy and tired when we pedaled into Pancevo yesterday only for there to be no room at the inn. Our choices were another 115km to Novi Sad or traffic misery into Belgrade. We decided to slump down in the main square to eat some sugar and make a plan. Little did we know a plan was already descending upon us.

'Hey hey, cyclist, cyclist', a man in a full length black leather coat, flip down mp3 fitted shades and grey curly barnet taps Nick on the shoulder.

'Me, me cyclist, come come see', We get ushered to one side of the square, reluctantly heaving the tandem when really we just want to collapse and not have to deal with any suspicious looking men in long coats. 'See, look, me... Stockholm, Regensburg, Athens, Tulcea.' Our weary faces lift as the man shows us a board of photos of his cycling trips. This isn't just any oddball, this is a cycling oddball, which means we can relax.

Ten minutes and zero English later we are pushing Carlos into a small garage on the outskirts of town and being ushered into Dusan's one room pad next door. A map of all his cycling trips plasters one wall, Mount Olympus posters adorn the other and in pride of place sits an oil painting of his 20 year old Specialized 'Epic' racing bike. In between speakers that take up about half of the room and a table tennis score board lie stacks of books he's written about his cycling adventures. It's from this moment that we realise we have stumbled across another gem of a human being and roll with the brilliance of it. Before we know it we're collapsed on the bed-cum-sofa being taken at top speed and volume through his live music DVD collection: Pink Floyd Live in Pompei, ACDC in Munich, Roger Waters Super concert of The Wall in Berlin, Walter Trout (?), Jimmy Winter ('White Jimi Hendrix, albino man'). and last but not least, Jeff Wayne's War of the World's Live tour. Of course.

Before it gets too weird that we have no means to communicate other than the medium of Rock, his 21 year old son Niki arrives. His excellent English and long flowing locks suggested that he might have grown up watching a few too many of his Dad's DVDs.

'My father says you can stay here tonight, he must go and talk on the TV now and later he has to train the local table tennis team and then tonight he is out of town so you can have his bed.' Wow. Its more bizarre than we can ever have hoped for. But free, warm bed – brilliant. After missing a train into Belgrade we spend the afternoon with Niki exploring Pancevo and eating hamburgers twice the size of my head (the Serbs are incredible hamburger makers). After days of cycling through places and being desperate to ask questions its good to get an insider's view of this part of the world. Frustration with politics but an appreciation of things getting better and a definite intrigue at the future role of the EU comes over strongly. But most telling, for this soft mannered Serb, Canada, a paved cycling path and house in the mountains is the dream.

As we head off for a post burger beer a vision in white flashes across the road. Its Dusan on the aforementioned Epic in full white cycling gear (were the gloves with silver floral detailing made for women?) tearing through the streets of Pancevo as if it's a time trial track. Amazing! For the first time the tandem wasn't the most conspicuous thing on two wheels in Eastern Europe. After some exchanges in Serbian Nicki asks 'Er my Father is wondering if you would mind talking on local television with the tandem. Only if you are not too tired, no problem if you would rather not.' Our response was fairly positive. Its not every day you get the opportunity to feature on Serbian TV with your beloved tandem. An hour later we were parked in the middle of the town square being interviewed by an enthusiastic TV reporter asking such questions as 'Are you tired?', 'Why are you in Pancevo? Do you have enough money?' and 'Do you like White Snake?'

After all that excitement we get some much needed kip on the sofa before its back into action again at 7am with the return of Dusan. The TV is on at full volume with Jean Michel Jarre live in Houston blasting out and some cheese pies for breakfast. Nicki and the vision in white lycra ride with us half the way to Novi Sad, kindly, if a little dangerously, protecting us from trucks and giving us a slip stream (tricky with a fully loaded tandem and two tiny racers). Half way through the ride Nicki turns to me and says, 'Today you have made my father very happy, all his life he has been with women who do not like cycling. He always wants a women who likes cycling, who understands, and today he has seen you on the bike and so he knows they exist and this makes him very happy.' After a photo shoot in the middle of a puzzled looking Serbian village, we say our goodbyes and all wish each other the best of luck in the future. I have a feeling we might see those two rocking up in London one day in some phenomenal cycling gear with big grins.

Novi Sad was bombed extensively by NATO in 1999 to put pressure on Milosevic to end the Yugoslav regime, but has since reinvented itself into a youthful city full of cafes, restaurants and and drinking holes. Perfect for our day off and to top off the Serbian hospitality our hostel owner welcomed us with a massive grin and glass of beer, full of joy because tomorrow he gets to look after his lambs in the fields. There is a local speciality here called 'lescovacki voz' (Leskovac train). This is essentially a 'train' of meats brought to you throughout the evening. It would seem churlish not to try it... From here we head pretty much due North to Budapest, West to Vienna and then hit the straight line to London through Germany, Luxembourg, Belgium and France. ETA into Hyde Park is 4 weeks time today on the 8th May, but as with all great adventures, you can never be too sure what might get in our way or speed us up en route.

NERD FILE: El Paso to Vancouver

For the last 2 months I have spent a unreasonable amount of time studying maps or glued to a speedometer being alternately fried to a crisp in the desert, huddled in snowy blizzards or sheltering in the tent from blood thirsty mosquitoes. I never seemed to learn, as Hol did early on, that knowing exactly how high we have to climb will not make the pass lower, that knowing the hourly wind shifts for each day will only make you more angry when the supposed brisk tailwind is slowing you to a crawl going downhill, and that the supposed water stops on the map only have a 50:50 chance of materialising in the heat. I still don't understand why map makers haven't yet come up with a symbol to mark a deserted trailer with a bourbon sluggin', gun totin' owner that differs from the one they use for 'town: population < 100'

Total Distance: 2753.6 miles
Days on the road: 53 [46 on the bike]
Total Time Pedaling: 192h 26m
Longest Day: 115.2 miles, 7h 20m of pedalling
Highest Pass: Red Mountain Pass, Colorado 11,007 ft
Longest Climb: 5,100ft vertical gain from Durango to Silverton over Coal Bank and Molas Passes
Top Speed: 49.2 mph (dammit)
Worst headwind: Gusting 45mph 2nd day riding to Radium Springs, New Mexico
Coldest Night Camping: Fontenelle Creek, Wyoming -7 degrees C
National Parks: The Black Canyon of the Gunnison, The Tetons, Yellowstone, North Cascades
Best signpost: Next to a Wendy's advert saying Home of the famous 3/4lb cheese triple we found a vet in Sedro-Woolley advertising the Home of the famous $25 cat neuter

Having chosen to ride up the spine of the Rockies also meant we took in our fair share of passes. In the course of crossing the continental divide 8 times we took in the following passes:

Coal Bank Pass, Colorado: 10,630 ft
Molas Pass, Colorado: 10,879 ft
Red Mountain Pass, Colorado: 11,007 ft
Indian Creek Pass, Utah: 9,100 ft
Francis Creek Pass, Utah: 8,400 ft
Bondurant Pass (The Rim), Wyoming: 7,900 ft
Craig Pass, Wyoming: 8,262 ft
Virginia City Pass, Montana: 6,950 ft
Badger Pass, Montana: 6,760 ft
Big Hole Pass, Montana: 7,630 ft
Chief Joseph Pass, Montana: 7,264 ft
Lost Trail Pass, Montana: 7,014 ft
Tiger Pass, Washington: 3,300 ft
Sherman Pass, Washington: 5,575 ft
Wauconda Pass, Washington: 4,310 ft
Loup Loup Summit, Washington: 4,020 ft
Washington Pass, Washington: 5,477 ft
Rainy Pass, Washington: 4,855 ft

High Points: Meeting someone who claimed to ride at 65mph on the flat on their bike and pedalled so hard smoke came off his wheels, seeing the Black Canyon of the Gunnison for the first time, almost every down hill, every tail wind, 5 days off in Jackson with new friends and family.

Low Points: Agonizingly cold hands coming down in a blizzard into Silverton without warm gloves, the 4th puncture and wheel about to collapse after riding 108 miles with only another 7 to go Vernal, running out of water in the desert.

Luckiest moments: Our tyres delaminating and collapsing just as we pulled into Durango. We had just come flying down a twisting 4 mile descent dodging oil trucks and RVs and it was home to the first bike shop in miles and miles.

Scariest moment: Front tyre blowout after hitting a rock at 40mph coming down the main road from Lost Trail Pass, being chased by packs of dogs in New Mexico.

Thanks to my Dad for sending our gear over to El Paso, Charley and Kamala for getting us on our way, the hosting from Stuart and Veronica in Alburquerque, Jason and Devon for the bed and the survival kit in Durango, Breton for letting us sleep in his airstream in Montrose, KP for the free overhaul for Carlos in Vernal, Dick and Nancy for the brilliant guided tour of Jackson, Sally for our R&R base in Vancouver and many more who made it such a flippin' sweet trip.

So that is about it for now on the bike.

We are now ready to do a more leisurely return loop into the US. Having spent so much time in small town America, it's time to check out the cities courtesy of Amtrak and Greyhound. It's going to take a little bit of adjusting. Day 1 in Vancouver and looking for books to read, we strayed into 'Little Sisters' second hand bookshop. I faltered at the door at the rainbow feather boas and arty black and white male nudes, but Hol had dived straight in. The fact that I was genuinely looking for a copy of Lord of the Rings seemed apt, but I managed to just stop Hol before she engaged the assistant in hunt on my behalf.

We are told the US rail system is the preserve of over talkative freaks and weirdos and so I can only think we will fit right in. We have a couple of days in Seattle before a 23hr ride on the Coast Starlight to San Francisco on the 15th and then a 33hr ride on the California Zephyr to Denver on the 24th.

We have also got our final sea leg booked aboard the HANJIN Madrid. A little different from Lista Light as it weighs in at 69,000 tons, is 278m long and cruises at 27 knots. We'll be setting sail from Vancouver to Gwangyang in South Korea on the 19th August for an eleven day crossing.

So... we made it

2750.1 miles and 53 days of riding. I don't want to be melodramatic, but I think its safe to say that was an epic adventure.

The closing stages weren't easy ones. We hadn't looked to closely at the map of the Northwest of the USA before but it looked to us like that page of the atlas had been screwed up, thrown in the bin, retrieved and then been just slightly uncrumpled and left, well... lumpy. However, we were keen to get to Vancouver for Nick's birthday and so rode 21 consecutive days from Jackson Wyoming over 5 states and many, many mountain passes. Knees, bike and bums did surprisingly well at holding up despite noises, both literal and metaphorical, from all. Money saving for the upcoming city times meant we also stuck to camping on rec grounds on the edges of towns with no showers and such. Canned chilli dinners became more frequent as fatigue after long days stifled our 'one pan' creativity. Smells got worse, clothes crustier and conversation mono-sylabbic as we gradually retreated into a pedaling machine not all that fit for the civilized world. Scorching days of up to 100 degrees beat down on us for longer as the sun rose earlier and set later the further North we got, and we found ourselves desperate for shade at the end of the days. The damper climate also bought out the insects. This all compounded with an attack of hay fever and consequent sleepless nights meant that we were spandex zombies as we autopiloted our way through the suburbs of Vancouver.

But determination was very high and with fitness levels at a peak we were eating up 90 mile days regularly. The challenge of time brushed all doubts to one side and whatever our aches and pains were telling us we were set on living it up in Vancouver to see in Nick's 28th year. After two days of feasting on Greek, Japanese and Belgian meals, cookies and cakes, sparkling wine, cocktails, Tanqueray and tonics and pints of Guinness it was well worth the rush!

So for all the drama above, the last couple of weeks of the trip were as spectacular as any. Following fast flowing rivers out of Montana we found hidden green valleys sprinkled with European villages with cherry and apple orchards, vegetable patches and wild flowers, whilst the snowy peaks of Canada loomed vast in the distance. Our most surreal night was definitely when we returned to our campsite next to the river to find preparations in full swing for a local paramedics training afternoon. 50 civilians were being made up to look as if a drunk gunman had gone on the rampage whilst panicked students tried to save their lives. We couldn't have asked for a better afternoon's entertainment. When you have a very friendly 10 year old with a hugely realistic gun shot wound to the face asking if we had been to see the live Dr. Who show in London there is little that seems wrong with the world. We even got a free BBQ dinner after telling people our tales.

Then we crossed over into Idaho for 2 days and followed the Pend Oreille lake. It looked on the surface like Lake Maggiore until we found a roller disco on the other side playing Hall and Oates on loop. We both got very excited on seeing such a huge expanse of water after being so land locked for so long. This was only just pipped as highlight of Idaho by seeing a rotund (pushing 20 stone) woman whizzing about on rollerskates in a white wedding dress. Our one night in Idaho we found a camping spot right by the lake in the town of Sandpoint. It was prom night, there was a brew pub and it was folk night at the local whisky bar. It suited us very well. The night ended with Nick getting chatted up by a local girl who 'accidentally' split some of her drink over him whilst I boogied to the tunes in a whiskey haze. After much dropping in of the word fiancé we ended up getting invited to a tofu breakfast which was hastily skipped in the morning when we woke up with steaming hangovers and a 65 mile day in front of us. The only consolation was that 3 pitchers of Mick Duff's IPA meant we were probably the only people ever to stay in a tent within 20 feet of the main east to west coast trainline of the US and get a solid night's sleep.

Washington was as mixed a state as the whole journey thus far. Everyday brought on the challenge of a new mountain pass and varying temperatures. Just when we thought we were well entrenched in the green, forested lands of the North we cycled through another dry and boiling desert and popped out the other side to climb up to snow level Alpine mountains again. Very confusing. Then we finally hit the North Cascades National Park. Our final land mark for the trip and the 6th mountain pass in 5 days. We conquered the 17 mile 4,000' climb to Washington Pass (5575') smoothly and so pushed on for another 75 miles of a headwind that meant you had to pedal hard downhill and fight to stay vaguely out of the middle of the road. Huge Alpine covered mountains with steep dropping valleys and water spilling out over rocks everywhere you turn. It was a magical and dramatic day of awesome passes, enchanted streams and terrifying wind. The perfect accompaniement to our current reading of Lord of the Rings (you can imagine how flippin' cool we look in a campsite reading matching editions of The Hobbit and Fellowship of the Ring of an evening). Once we made it through The Cascades the mountains gradually became foothills and before we knew it we were on flat farming plains that stretched out towards the Pacific. For the first time in weeks we didn't have a huge mountain range blocking the path in front of us.

On the last day we had 46 miles to cycle over the Canadian border and through the suburbs of Surrey, Guildford and Richmond into the heart of Vancouver. We ended up cycling over 70 miles as we struggled through road closures and one way systems. The closure of the only bike friendly bridge into the city meant we got stuck on the very bike unfriendly freeway for a while before hauling Carlos over a giant suspension bridge, squeezed between a huge drop one side and rushing trucks on the other. All in all it was a pretty terrifying day that eventually took us to a spot in the sun overlooking the Pacific only to see the ice cream van pull away as we walked towards it. It was only after a pitcher of beer and a plate of Nachos in our hotel before we could calm down and really contemplate what we had just completed.

It seems strange to have finished it now. We lived on the bike for just under 2 months checking wind, inclines, tyre pressures and applying copious amounts of vaseline to all manner of regions best not discussed. Arriving in a big city is a huge shock to the system but a good one. It feels like we have made it half way round the world and when we looked across the harbour and saw a Hanjin container ship that is sister to what we will be setting sail in for South Korea it felt like a big milestone. Time to rest.

More photos here for those who are interested:

Wyoming and Montana: snow, grizzlies and geysers
Idaho, Washington and British Columbia: alpine wonderland, more mountains, Nick's new shiny red cycling top

Also, Nick will be posting a nerd file of cycling trivia sometime soon.

The big and small of Spring

2000 miles done and dusted, we have finally left the desert behind us and its time to head West.

Since arriving in Wyoming and traveling up into Montana, the last 2 weeks have been filled with awesome mountains, alarmingly close wildlife encounters and incredibly generous hosting. On arriving in Jackson excitement was high. A highly anticipated destination being home of the Grand Teton Mountain Range (French for The Big Boob), gateway to Yellowstone and where we planned to have 5 days off the bike with our first Tuppen visitor. On arrival we were welcomed in by Dick and Nancy; a friend's aunt and uncle who had offered us a place to stay. From the photo of us on the tandem on their fridge to the string of gifts on our departure, this couple offered us all the warmth and comfort of a real home we miss so much on the road. Being proud long time residents and genuine cowboy and cowgirl, they gave us an expert tour of town and the surrounding mountains. We were fed intriguing tales of days in the wilderness, whilst being quietly in awe at how well Dick could pull off a big buckled belt, cowboy boots, tight denims and tooth pick. Hanging out with strangers and feeling completely at home is now one of my favourite pastimes.

It then felt even more like home when Nick's dad rocked up in Jackson for 4 days of big feeds, good booze, lots of chinwagging and a bit of wilderness trekking. It was a perfect break with clear skies and warm sun, but to top it off we came within 5m of a wild Grizzly crossing a road on the first day, saw a second one on a hillside in the middle of nowhere on the second and had a guest Moose to dinner on the third. It was a humbling experience, but the downside was Nick could no longer calm my nerves about camping by saying 'bears are so rare we will never see one'.

Over the course of the four days iced lakes thawed, snowy trails became trekable, aspens came out turning the hillsides bright green and wildlife frolicked in the plains after a long cold winter. Spring sprung right in front of our eyes and we soaked up every minute of it. From Jackson we cycled into Yellowstone where we found our way blocked by some terrifyingly huge bison a couple of times, saw another bear, went from 6 feet of snow to hot grassy plains to geyser fields, all in one day's ride. From there its been mountains and valleys, green, rainy, head winds, tail winds, snow and sun all the way up to Missoula.

But despite such joys, it is suddenly strange being in the largest town we've been for about 5 weeks. The city girl in me has been crying out for civilization as we crawl from small town to small town. Unfortunately Missoula hasn't really lived up to expectations, being the largest city in Montana it seems to be full of awkward youths looking for a high life that just doesn't really exist out here. There are bling covered teenagers playing loud music, cars racing each other down the roads, hippies walking around with no shoes, drunks on corners and other weird goings on. We now rather miss the friendly feeling of the 100 population settlements out in the mountains and it is making us focus on the finish line.

Suddenly the challenge is starting to take its toll. With fitness levels peaking, Carlos in working order and knees seeming to hold up, physically the remaining 700 miles feel like a done deal (touch wood). So with that challenge softening the mental strain sets in. We've seen so much on our way up already the brain becomes a bit saturated. We've been through deserts, canyons, along rivers, through gorges, in blizzards, in forest, through national parks over mountain peaks. It feels like we've seen it all and so now its tempting just to get our heads down and bash out long days to get there. But we've got to hold back and soak up the last 700 miles. We both know how much we will miss the bike and the physical challenge once we have stopped. When you are pedaling it feels great and when you find a good camping spot you look back on the day with a big grin. But if you stop pedaling and you aren't in quite the right place the evening can be a dark place. There's only so much tinned chilli and rice one can take. And we still haven't learned that going for a walk around deserted small towns probably won't result in finding a pub full of friends.

Nonetheless, the hugeness of this country does not cease to amaze and fascinate me. Every mile we go a little closer we get to understanding what makes this part of America tick and why it is so different to us. This nation has got everything. They can do whatever they want and see every variety of landscape on their home turf. Holidays are short and so weekend or evening leisure time is everything. Since everyone has so much space toys are plentiful – boats, quadbikes, motorbikes, mountain bikes, kayaks, RVs, junk to tinker with, tools for making more stuff etc. There's not a whole lot of incentive to get on a plane and see the world, something that I now completely understand. In fact its a bit odd that we spend so much time trying to escape England when we could just settle in and soak up everything its got to offer. Maybe easier said from afar, or maybe everyone else is and we're the big hypocrites.

Gas guzzling is another issue that horrified me to begin with but I've now sussed out. There is no public transport in small town America, distances are huge and there's more than likely to be snow in your way for some of the year. Cars are definitely excessive but comparing it to suburban 4 wheel driving in the UK is a long stretch. The American psyche revolves around freedom and no one wants to be told they 'can't'. Hence no one wears helmets on motorbikes, gas is guzzled, plastic is plentiful and anyone can buy themselves a gun (all of which still make me flinch). But this is just the culture out here, its not as if America wants to destroy the world. In fact most want to preserve it (especially the hunters, which took me a while to understand) and are very proud of their beautiful land and wildlife. That openness that we often mock for being fake or weird (or definitely would do in London) is genuine friendliness and its great! We have felt welcomed in everywhere, are always helped out if stuck and everyone wants to go out of their way to make our time here a bit better. That is everyone except the donut munching, gun swagging Texan that nearly refused me entry to the US.

Speaking of which, that leaves me with only two real problems in this society. Firstly, perhaps the one reason that America has gained such a bad rep in recent years. In a worryingly large number of small towns in America the only news channel you can receive is Fox News. 24 hours of scare mongering and sensationalist reporting of half facts, if facts at all. I will not linger on it for fear of a rant not suitable for this blog. Secondly, a fast food culture has led to a huge number of people wanting and expecting life to be as easy as possible. Because there is endless space companies have provided just that. You can get your dinner, do your banking, grab a coffee, get gas, collect your mail, get groceries etc whilst barely leaving your car. In short, if you're lazy and gullible then you are doomed to die obese and terrified of the rest of the world.

So only about 700 miles to go until we hit Vancouver. Plenty more mountain passes and by all accounts a lot more rain. We are grateful for the Montana Standard's attempt at portraying a varied weather pattern but we have just about managed to read between the lines:

Today: 63/40 - A chance of afternoon thunderstorms
Tuesday: 66/37 - Spotty storms after the noon hour
Wednesday: 71/38 - A slim chance of a thunderstorm
Thursday: 70/40 - A stray afternoon storm possible
Friday: 72/41 - Isolated afternoon thunderstorms

Extreme tandemage

Absolutely incredible mind blowing stuff. I have lost all feeling in the majority of my fingers. My bum will probably never look the same again. When Nick and I finish a days ride we look more like long lost arctic explorers than youthful cyclists. My body hasn't experienced this level of physical exertion since being made to do the bleep test back in '96. Consequently we have both shed that stone of fried chicken and rum from our Caribbean days and are gaining buns of steel. Adrenaline and excitement are rife as we spend most of the day high on endorphins or that half a litre of syrup we poured over pancakes at breakfast. Life is sweet.

After a fantastic stay with some long lost relatives in Albuquerque and a day off the tandem resulting in a cultural adventure around ancient Indian Pueblos and the artsy cafés of Santa Fe, we got on the most direct route North out of New Mexico. The 550 highway was our home for four days of desert, blue skies, red rock canyons, head winds and more desert. The miles drifted by and we lived and breathed everything that road had to offer, which was not much apart from colossal breakfast burritos, oil trucks, monster road kill and dust. But on our third day the never ending orange land in front of us was replaced by an enormous white block of mountains. The San Juan Mountains we were planning to cross. Suddenly the challenge we had set ourselves smacked us both in the face and a nervous anticipation hung over us until those snowy peaks were conquered.

The moment we left New Mexico everything changed. The land turned green, trees had leaves, river beds were filled with water and snow dominated the sky line. Our first stop was Durango where we planned to get the bike fixed up ready for the mountains and spend the afternoon scaring ourselves with how big they looked. It was also the first place we had arranged to go and stay with some warmshowers.com hosts; people who put touring cyclists up for a night. Durango turned out to be the best place we could launch ourselves into the mountains from. The bike shops gave Carlos a good seeing too, numerous people told us we we should be 'stoked' and were 'awesome' for attempting the passes on a loaded tandem and we received free cookies at local cafés. Not only that but our hosts welcomed us into their family BBQ feast for the evening, took us out for an enormous breakfast in the morning and cycled out of town with us for 12 miles to the foot of the mountains.

The last three days have been filled with obscenities and exhalations of joy being shouted out from both ends of the tandem. Those massive and intimidating mountains were exactly that and we both loved (pretty much) every minute of the ride over them. The first day we cycled 52 miles from Durango to Silverton over the 10,630 ft Coal Bank pass and the 10,879 ft Molas pass. On the gradual part of the climb we had an entourage of 30 or so people on racers training for a race in a couple of weeks time. Each one would stop and chat as we pedaled and puffed our way up the climb. It made the first part of the day go surprisingly quickly and before we knew it it was time to face the 6 miles of hairpins. Head down, autopilot on and up we go. About 6 inches of snow fringed the road and gradually started to pour out of an increasingly cloudy sky. We reached the top in a thick blizzard and huddled in the shelter of some Portaloos. The thermometer read -4 degrees C. Before we could contemplate the achievement of getting up the pass we prepared for the chill of the way down. Just as we were looking our most mental yet with socks on hands, jeans around necks and jumpers for hats under our helmets a load of tourists jumped out of their cars and abruptly took some shots of 'the crazy folk tandeming through a snow storm'. Ahhhh fame. Nothing warms you like a steaming hot cup of ego!

After an hour of racing downhill into the blizzard we arrived in the bleak mining town of Silverton, frozen to pieces. After automatically opting for motel over campsite we jumped into the only open restaurant ordered two giant burgers, stacks of fries, two pints of Guinness, two shots of rum and waited to thaw. Surprisingly enough the only time I haven't been ID'd ordering booze on this trip was wearing Nick's socks on my hands and a helmet. The blizzard must have aged me worse than I thought.

After sleeping and thawing we head back out up the mountains. This time the sky was blue and the sun was out and despite a flat tyre 30 seconds in we felt prepared for the 11,010ft Red Mountain pass. The whole day was one of the most spectacular of my life and there is little I can write to describe it. On the way up we felt strong, at the top we were cheered on by an entourage of motorcyclists and on the way down we gasped with joy and excitable fear. At the bottom the mining town of Ouray was a haven of sunshine and warmth with spectacular views of the mountains we had just crossed. Smug and content we grabbed some lunch and headed off North into a warmer and flatter Colorado.

Today everything aches; especially since we decided to take a little detour up a 3,000 ft climb to the Black Canyon of Gunnison this morning. Luckily we both had about 10,000 calories worth of pancakes this morning and so made it up to view the 2,700 ft deep canyon in one piece. Unfortunately the breakfast calorie fest wasn't entirely burnt off in the climb and on first seeing the canyon I screamed 'oh my ***, sh*t, f***.....' to the dismay of several tourists enjoying the peace of the canyon just around the corner. No one can hate a tandem for long though and soon they were all admiring our mornings climb.

Despite all the cracked faces, chapped everything and the shadow of an encroaching plague, Carlos is giving us the ride of our lives and we're soaking up every minute of it.