I feel a bit lost at the moment, trying to explain exactly where I am.
I'm on Staten Island, in New York City. I'm at the end of the road in America, the final destination for this country, this continent.
I'm at the finish line of the trip which I started from my home in London nearly 13 months ago, after setting off one morning with a firm faith in the bike I sat on, and a less firm faith in the direction we were headed.
I'm also at the end of several years of day dreaming, months of planning, weeks of bike building, and more days of packing and unpacking my panniers than I could ever remember.

But right at this moment, I'm in a warm dry house, having eaten a huge dinner (have been craving chinese for a while), and sitting on a wonderfully comfortable sofa - I will never forget how good seats are after spending so many night cross legged on the cold hard ground.

Today started off like any other day: with maple syrup and coffee.
Drizzled generously on my porridge oats, we ate our fill, packed our panniers, and strapped them onto the bike one last time.

One very specific thing which made today's ride different to most (other than that it being the last), was the fact that we passed through the area of New York where I grew up 20 something years ago. We ate our lunch outside the library that for some reason is emblazoned in my mind. I visited the house we lived in, which as is always the case seemed so much smaller than I could remember.
We cycled past my brother's school, and the kindegarten which I remember being at, and which I was first recognised for that... Incomparable artistic flair. And we headed to Scarsdale Station, where I can remember at least once, waiting with my Mum and brother for Dad to come home from work....

Amazingly right from that spot at the station, we were able to jump onto a bike path leading far into the city. Navigating the streets once off was a more interesting affair. Trying to work our way across the city to the Hudson Greenway, I was nearly run over once, and honked at near non stop.

That trail took us all the way to the tip of Manhatten, where amidst the throngs of police (apparently there's a visit from the President due "some time"), we hopped with ease onto the free Staten Island ferry. After that, it was a mere couple of miles to where we were staying, with only one more stop: to light up the €1 cigar that I've been carrying since Jack first joined me in Germany a year ago...

I guess I can't really say for sure right at this moment how it feels to have finished. Proud, sure. Satisfying, maybe. Terrifying almost definitely.
But one thing I can say without a doubt, is that I feel incredibly grateful. Grateful to everyone who has helped me on the way. The countless numbers of people who have fed me, housed me, even clothed me. Every country has brought smiling faces and generosity beyond that which I could have imagined possible. Every country has brought challenges too of course, but they fade away into the murkiness of "things that happened". The people I've met though, will stay with me forever. And I'm here because of them.

I feel gratefulness too, to everyone who has thought of me while I've been away. In the semi-conscious state that you achieve sometimes while cycling, your mind drifts back to recount every single person and encounter you've ever known, and to think of all the people you've ever met, known, loved or hated. Its nice not to be forgotten.

But most of all, right this moment, I'm just grateful to be indoors, and lying down with nowhere to go, for once tomorrow.

After 13 months and 18,000-odd km around the world, I can conclude one thing: beds are an amazing thing.

Goodnight.

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After a slow and relaxing breakfast of rather unusual but delicious oatmeal pancakes with (you guessed it) maple syrup, we headed out on our penultimate day of cycling. I still can't believe a whole year of cycling has passed, but its true. This last week running up to the end of the trip, the miles have just seemed to take care of themselves. Whether larger distances on flat roads, or mountains to climb, without much effort we've found outselves on the edge of the city, and near the end of the trip.

We knew we'd largely be following nice paved rail trails today, firstly along the Dutchess Country trailway, and later along the Putnam Country Trailway which leads much of the way into New York City along beautiful paved asphalt. The downside, was the need to cross the Appalachian mountain range at some point, which although by no means meant the highest of mountain passes, still brought on some rather steep climbs in our ascent, along with a number of infuriatingly badly signed streets (and thus wrong turns). The climbing today also seemed to take my shoes to their neverending limit, tearing the zip ties holding the soles in place. I can only hope that there are no big climbs tomorrow, otherwise it looks like I'll be doing my last few proud miles in New York City barefoot...

Nevertheless, we eventually got on track and swept down the mountainside onto the rail trail, where we pulled out the tents for the last time to make sure they were fully dried in the midday sun, before packing them away until our arrival back in England. The trail was a welcome sight after the morning's climb, with gentle grades, and smooth conditions. There were only a minimum of tree-root bumps, and the occasional section of pathway which seemed randomly flooded. But the biggest obstacle on the path seemed to be the plethora of Sunday walkers and riders. Even as my trip reaches its conclusion, I still enjoy the somewhat narcissitic feeling of people staring at us as we cycle by - some in confusion, mouth hanging open and heads turning to follow us, some looking decidedly disgusted at the very idea of people having the audacity to be doing something so stupid. But the main reaction we get are the enormous grins, and occasional waves or thumbs up as we cruise by.
There's also every now and then the young couple who at a stop sign will weave past us on their carbon fibre road bikes, and shoot off in a flurry of superiority. More often then not though, we end up catching up to them shortly thereafter. I like to save my most casual riding position and carefree singing for them, as we roll past.

So what else is there to say about tomorrow. 

It's the last day of the trip. 

After setting off over a year ago, the last day's cycling will be spent battling through the streets of Manhatten - knowing our luck of course, it will be dark, cold raining and rush hour when we arrive.

But for once I don't care. 
Nothing can stop me now.

Wish us luck,

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Tonight at least does feel a good bit warmer than yesterday- the air was decidedly chilly when I woke up this morning, and of course everything soaking wet. But, as we tucked into a breakfast of leftovers from the bake sale, and watched the local youth American Football team train on the pitch that we were camped by, the tents hung drying in the warming sun and gentle breeze.

As someone new to the sport (and indeed who finds watching just about any sport to be a strange and trivial waste of time), American football is an especially odd game- not least of all when played by children. With kids thrashing out against each over and barely able to keep upright for more than 5 seconds past the whistle, football seems little more than organised bullying. Not to suggest that it isn't a tough game full of skill and strategy, but for me, watching them crash into each other and go toppling, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. Much to the annoyance and glaring of one of the coaches.

The ride today was once again a gentle and enjoyable run through the rolling hills and country side of the Hudson Valley. Starting off heading through Catskill (what an amazing name), and across the Rip Van Winkle bridge over the Hudson, the story of which was set in this area.
Lunch today was a rather simple affair- not spotting anywhere more suitable to pull over and take a break, we stopped off in a cemetery which offered at least a quiet little area to sit down on a wall. Here at least we were able to relax in the sun for a moment, continuing through our stockpile of brownies, cakes and cookies that we were given from those friendly democrats last night.

New York City is only two days away now. I'm very conscious that every day now I'm counting down the days until the end of America, and the end of the trip. I guess it's a mixture of the excitement and fear, of sorts. I've always looked forward in a way to that feeling of having finished what I set out to do, and what I've been dreaming about for a few years now. But now that the end is all but upon me, I have this sense of fear, and a slight feeling of nausea. It could be because of the sense that everything that I feel that I am is coming to a close....

Equally likely though, is the possibility that after dinner I stuffed my face with too many of those stale cookies leftover from last night....

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The only little convenience store in town of course was doing a roaring trade. Everyone seemed to be rather curious about us, and eager to help (hearing that we were British, they all seemed flustered in trying to find us Earl Grey tea, which we neither asked for nor wanted). But still, the towns were bustling with life, everyone eager and determined to get life back on track as quickly as possible.

We've headed just about as far East as we're going to now, in America, and on this trip as a whole. The ride through the rolling hills around the Catskills has been perfect today- a truly idyllic day of cycling. A nice strong tailwind, and winding quiet roads through the countryside meant that despite our late start, we still managed to finish up before in the early afternoon.
Turning into the town of Cairo (which we found out is pronounced Cay-ro "like the syrup", not Cairo "like Egypt"), we rolled down Main Street until we saw a sign for the Town Park.
Thinking this may be a nice quiet spot to pitch up for the night, we rolled in, and were rather surprised to find smoke pouring from the pavilion and a crowd of people standing by. It turned out it wasn't a fire at all, but a fundraiser for the local democratic party, with a big old chicken bbq and bake sale. With 500 odd chickens bbq'ing seductively away, we sat ourselves down nearby. Soon we had offers of food and drink, and even suggestions of camping here for the night.

It turns out that everyone wanted to hear our story, with people praising us and thanking us for making the trip, among murmers of "God bless you for doing this". Although rather overwhelming, everyone's kindness was certainly appreciated- especially when Jack and I both were given a whole roast chicken dinner each, and more brownies than even I can bear to think about right now...

In a rather odd set up, the local police station (ie hut slash toilet) seemed to be inside the park. For the first (and last) time in America we did the proper thing and checked that it would be ok to camp. The police officer seemed uncertain, until he found out we were British. To this he simply said "oh cool, well I guess you're not going to kill anyone", and pointed to a corner of the field to pitch up.

We have bikesurfers lined up now for our home straight into New York City, due South of here, which is probably a good thing given the definite autumnal weather we have tonight.
In this quiet, small town park, sitting in the spectator stands under a starlit sky on the edge of the football pitch, this will (hopefully) be our last wild camping experience of America, and of the whole year around the World.

I miss it already.

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I think that the sound of wind and rain, as it whips against the windows of a house is made worse by the fact that you know that for at least a short while longer, you can pull the duvet over your head and stay warm and dry. Which is exactly what I did.

The rain had started early during the night as predicted, and showed no sign of easing up by the time I came down the stairs in the morning.
Thick pools of water were forming on the gravelly driveway, and I knew that it would be an absolutely miserable day's cycling in that weather, even if we didn't need to go that far.
There really was only one sensible conclusion to be made: forget cycling.

So close to New York, and with relatively so much time to make it there before our flights, there seemed little reason to push ourselves into the cold and wet when I could stay inside this comfortable warm house, by the wood burning stove, and look out at the rain.
Jack and I were however only too pleased to stay here another day in exchange for helping out with some chores that needed doing. After all, we had warm comfy beds and delicious meals, so could hardly complain. Breakfast was another day of luxury, with the most fantastic waffles I've ever had, and of course: syrup. Janet takes her Maple Syrup seriously, buying gallon jugs at a time. It was also heated gently to make a more runny syrup - quite the contrast to the thicker syrup that I usually use, from keeping it in the refrigerator or even freezer.
As I write these words, I'm beginning to realise that this website is becoming more of a homage to maple syrup than anything else.I think that can only help its popularity.

Jack and I set to work on an old house that was being renovated, and helping with the clear out. Like all building which are well over 150 years old, this house had plenty of areas that needed work, though for us today our only concern was with cleaning. Not the most glamourous job, but our efforts were rewarded by returning back home to the smells of food cooking away atop the stove of the wood burner. The evening was spent sitting around with bellies full, relaxing and talking, and trying to make sure the dog didn't eat the silica packet the dropped out of one of my food bags. Poisoning the dog of the people we stay with probably wouldn't look that good.

With the first frosts of the year predicted tonight, it's amazing the way the weather has suddenly changed.
But, of course, tomorrow we really will be cycling. With little more than 200 miles to go, there'll be no more rest days until we get to New York City..

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Suffice it to say we set off that morning with bellies bulging, and feeling very satisfied. Our day continued for the most part through the flat valley bottom, joining up with the canal path on occasion and skimming along the smooth tarmac roads at others.
There are times, such as this morning, when I find myself with a blank mind, peddling along with the scenery rushing past, and suddenly looking down at my legs. Its during these moments that I sometimes am looking in almost foreign bemusement at my own legs, which I suddenly realise have transported me however many thousands of miles around the world. Surely they can't be my legs....

Thoughts like this aside, with the flat terrain and light tailwind, we stormed along, and so had quite some time on our hands. Stopping for light lunches and watching the canal life go by, we also did the most British thing possible and paused for afternoon tea. Which is no mean feat in the heat of the day, and with a petrol stove. That requires dedication. And an excess of tea, which we still had from being given bags of the stuff a little while ago.

As we sat there sipping our tea, it was quite satisfying to watch a large group of casual cyclists amble by our bench, as I greeted each of them in a different accent. Perhaps it was the sheer tedium in repeating "hello" to each of them, that convinced me that was an amusing idea.
Sadly it became slightly more awkward when a short while later we caught up with them, and was forced to speak in my normal boring voice. I should've just gone full Aussie on the....

With this same group of people on the pathway, I also discovered a couple mor things. Firstly, that I can use bubble gum in lieu of a bell by making loud popping noises with it. Secondly, it's never that satisfying overtaking an older gentleman, even if he is on an electric bike.

Our day would have probably come to a straightforward conclusion after that, had it not been for our blind (and admittedly foolish) faith in Mr Google. The first indicator should have come from Goggle's instruction of "turn left onto proposed bike path". I'm not entirely sure how someone's meant to turn onto a trail that as yet only existed as a concept. Perhaps it had decided that we'd transcended the realm of the physical, and could move amongst the fictional world. Perhaps it simply thought that the world should be based on its design, and not vice versa.
Our second treat came while climbing up a steep incline to reach the house of our bikesurfing host in Sprakers for the evening (if you don't know the term bikesurfing, you clearly haven't been following closely enough. Oh the shame).
The hill itself, although a bit of a shock to the system after weeks of relative flatness, wasn't too bad. What was confusing was the fact that after typing in the address of our destination, Googly had determined exactly where it was, and proudly directed us to it. It will of course come as no surprise to learn that this was not the right house. Nor even close.

The lesson of course is that no matter how good and effective such software and technology is, it's not always 100% reliable.

Lesson learned.

Now to plan tomorrow's route on Google Maps.

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Most of the day was spent riding alongside the canal. This was mostly very straightforward due in part to it being well signed, with basic tulip diagrams sprayed onto the asphalt at junctions, but also by the fact that it was the canal path. Next to the canal.
Nonetheless we still managed to run into some characters, like the old man hiking along the trails, upturned walking sticks with the crooks cut off to create rubber topped poles, who seemed to be a bit lost. Though he didn't ask for directions or suggest he needed help....

We reached the end of our trail today in Utica, where we met our host at the lock. I was a bit apprehensive initially, as this was the first time we were invited around to stay by someone... who was living with their parents. Not becuase there's any shame in doing so, but because it very much felt like it was someone else's house.
Still, I thought with my best British charm, I could surely convince anyone that I was a decent and respectable guest, and that people the world over are generally nice, and not going to rob the house in the middle of the night.
Something I usually have trouble with, being so cruel and ungrateful....

Before heading back home though, we stopped off at the local high school to catch some of the Football (ie soccer) game. Things here, even like soccer, seem very different, such as with the stadium, the kits, the equipment, the electronic scoreboard... Next they'll be saying they don't have oranges at halftime?!
My favourite aspect though was the halftime huddle, which although amusing in itself, was finished with some sort of war cry, or "1,2,3, White!".
At first it sounded like a slightly bizzare and disquieting white supremacy cry. Only later did I find out this simply refered to the colour of their jersey.

It was as always great to spend the evening with people, and the great conversations with Brian and his family and friends.
The menu tonight consisted of "Trash-Bin Burgers", which were simply a combination of more fruit and vegetables than I can remember, compacted into burger form. Certainly more delicious than they sounded, it also brought a nice change to know that we were eating so many vegetables....

There's a lot of things I like about the open-mindedness, and creativity here. There's a genuine want to find out about new things. Its a really healthy and exciting look on life that I hope I can take with me when I return to England. Reminds me of times with Nate, sitting around, drinking tea and talking crap. But in a good way. And without anyone walking off with my futon.
Speaking of which, time for sleep. I seem to be sharing a smaller bed than normal with Jack tonight. Fine in theory, I just reeeeally don't want to wake up with his beard near my face. That's the stuff nightmares are made of...

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On largely uneventful days like today, the mind wanders to strange places. Cycling along the bumpy canal path and quiet roads running nearby, there's only so much attention you need, before your thoughts drift off to other things.... Of my zip-tied shoes, and stitches tearing from clothing. Of my damp tent that has somehow survived the trip, and ripping tyres that just need to make it another 250 miles. Of life, love and ligament damage. And of the chocolate bar I knew was buried at the bottom of my handlebar bag.

As I tried to dry off my tent this morning, I couldn't help but feel weird at the thought of how few more times I would be using it. With one week's worth of cycling now until we reach New York City, and the end of the trip, it feels as if everything is sort of gliding by undramatically. Not that riding along a sunlit canal path listening to Curtis Mayfield's "Move on Up" with a gentle breeze on your back isn't an ideal way to spend a Monday, of course.

When we did reach the house of our host that evening, we had a couple of hours to relax and enjoy the sounds of shouting and swearing from the house next door. It was a fun and factual evening- as well as having burritos and weird beer with hot sauce in, we discovered that glandular fever and mono are the same thing, cities in England don't necessarily have to have a cathedral in, Germ Theory has been around for a couple of hundred years, and American attempts at British accents tend to be awful and just sound like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.

And to top it off this evening, we got to use a Whirly-Pop; a type of strange saucepan with a cranking handle and series of cogs to effectively rotate the popcorn kernals so that they cook evenly and don't burn.

I prefer to just shake them.

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Our first stop was in Rochester for lunch, working our way through the city to get to the Dinosaur BBQ, something people have been telling us about for a few days. Sadly not real dinosaur ribs (nor the cheapest way to eat), it was still a delicious and meaty lunch.

It feels like we've had all sorts of weather today, starting off burning hot with a gentle tailwind, moving on to cool with a slight headwind, followed by heavy rain, grey cloud, and finally clear skies and a pleasant evening, as we cooked up our dinner of chili and beans in the park.

As well as the mosquitoes that have reappeared tonight for the first time in a while, we also seem to see a lot of cats skulking through where we camp, whether its in a park, a garden, or by the side of the road, not to mention all the people we've stayed with who've had a cat or five. We even had some sunning themselves by the canal path, which freaked out a little bit as Jack rumbled closer.
There are a lot of cats in America.
That's a good thing.

And as the post's title suggests, there are also bats, fluttering throughout the trees tonight.. Unlike Alice however, I have no belief that either will eat the other. Probably.

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Once we had breakfast and I re-tied my shoe back together, we headed straight onto the Erie Canal Path, which will lead all the way through Northern New York before we reach the Hudson. The trail isn't the asphalt that we've been so lucky to have in the past, but of course it's nice to cycle on such quiet and beautiful paths.

We had set off rather late this morning anyway, and with a the crunching of gravel and dust underneath, and the slight headwing still blowing against us, it was a certainly not a day of racing manically to rack up the miles. Despite contacting 5 people off WarmShowers in Rochester, we hadn't been able to find a host, and so it was instead that we were going to just pitch up somewhere in the ample grassy verge by the side of the path.
I suppose it's these ways which play out, to result in hugely different outcomes of the day.... Because no one replied, we planned to stop early. The first town we checked though didn't have a supermarket, so we decided to head on another 15 miles to the next town. By the time we finished our shopping it was after 5, and we were eager to stop. Jack decided to buy a spare innertube after yesterdays punctures, and we thought we'd ask the owner if he knew the best place to pitch up our tents.

Well, just a short ride further down the path, we turned off and set up our tents in his garden. My only concern was if he didn't make it home that evening until late, we were going to have to find a private spot to use as a toilet....
Luckily that wasn't an issue, and packing away the remnants of dinner, we joined him inside for some Nascar and a drink. He and his partner were both only midly interested in the race, but with sudden outbursts of enthusiasm. With his neighbour there too, it felt like my mind was going to explode trying to keep track of everyone's conversation, everyone telling a story, asking a question or exclaiming at the tv (which had been turned right up, presumably so that it could be heard over the talking). Of course with all that noise I found myself talking louder and louder too, still not having a clue what anyone was talking about or what was going on in the race.
For those wondering, I believe Jeff Gordon in the 24 car was in first place (which according to cries of delight was a very good thing).

Eventually we extricated ourselves and headed out into the cold wet moonlit night. After only a couple of hours outside in the darkness our tents were dripping with condensation.
Perhaps it wasn't the early night that I was expecting, but I'd have chosen this over a bit more sleep any day.

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Almost as soon as we reached the Niagra Falls, we pushed through the mist that descended onto the streets, and almost immediately burst through into brilliant sunshine. I certainly wouldn't want to suggest that Canada is anything other than nice, but it seemed something of a coincidence that the dark skies that have glowered over us since the day we reached Canada, lifted so suddenly.

The waterfalls themselves, which I know I'd seen when I was younger and living in the States, were of course still stunning. I have only the vaguest of memories of it though - of leaning against the railings, and of oma being there worried I'd climb over. Of being on the "Maid of the Mist" as it cruises up to the falls, and being soaked. And of course of the Canadian Tourism TV commercial (http://www.youtube.com/watch%3Fv%3D7VcNMUxkpNo) from the 1980's, with the jingle that even today I still sometimes find myself humming: "Come to the World, next door...."

And so we headed on over the Rainbow Bridge and back into the sunny States. Strange to think that this is the last State that I'll be cycling in...
Once through immigration and after picking up the usual free State map to navigate with, we headed toward Lockport, where the Eerie Canal path begins, and heads East across upstate New York. It would've been a straightforward ride along some fairly busy streets, were it not for the punctures which Jack had. I guess the patches didn't really hold, because 2 minutes later we were stopped under the shade of another tree. An Airforce base was nearby, and jets were screaming past in formation doing those manoeuvres which look utterly impossible, and somehow rather impressive.
It also gave me the chance to sit under the tree in the cool breeze, and think back to all the annoying and troublesome punctures we've had over the year. I remember Craig's with the first puncture of the trip in Germany, and all the ones since then on our slowly disintegrating Gatorskins.
I wonder if I'll have anymore in the next 10 days...

There's probably not that many reasons to visit the city of Lockport for most people, but for us we had the chance to stay with someone from a local video game store. I think it's fair to say that neither Jack nor I are the most video game savvy of people, but when there's a Mario Kart tournament on the Nintendo Wii going on, we thought we'd show the teenage yanks a thing or two.

Of course we were both eliminated in the first round, but in a way I'm glad. Being in a small, dark room with tv screens blaring and noise thundering around you, surrounded by kids hopped up on sugar, I couldn't help but feel a bit out of place.
Once again, beginning to feel a bit old....

Luckily I was able to drown my sorrows with a very large pizza.
If only everything were that easy to solve.

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The lady who served us initially seemed lost and uncertain, and she confessed that she was the owner and not used to waitressing. With the restaurant surprisingly busy though, you could see that Mickey, the proper waitress, was a real pro. Racing about seeming to be everywhere at the same time, always with a pot of coffee in hand and a smile on her face. Her apron also seemed to be a Mary Poppins-esque pit infinitely full of creams, jams and syrups.
Not exactly the same as your British greasey spoon cafe operation.

By the time we staggered out bloated with food and coffee, the rain had picked up enough to start the arduous task of putting on all the waterproofs that have sat at the bottom of my bags for so long through the hot sunny month in America. All that time I had secretly prayed for rain and cold, or any sort of respite from the intense and sweltering heat that we had every day and night. Now, crawling slowly along the busy highway into the on coming wind, rain and mud being splattered onto us from nearby cars, I'm dreaming of the days of slathering on suncream, and fighting with mosquitoes. Apparently Canada doesn't have "in-between" weather.
 
There have been two things that have kept me going through the day today though - Adam and Joe's excellent Radio 6 podcasts (
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b00876k2), and food.
Pulling into Woodstock at lunchtime, we were dreaming of getting out of the wet and cold, and as if in answer to our hopes, we pulled up outside an "English Style Fish and Chips". With more bottomless coffee, and an all you can eat offer on, we needed little more encouragement.
Unfortunately 4 pieces of fish and several plates of chips later, I started to feel thoroughly.... less good.
 
It was a slow afternoon's slog after that, but with the help of a couple more chocolate bars and apples, we finally made it to Brentford, our destination for that evening. Over a delicious dinner and a glass of wine, we had a fantasatic evening just relaxing and chatting. Our exploits left enough of an impression to warrant us being told that we have Rocket Legs. And repeatedly, that we're crazy. I'm not sure if that's a complement or not. But I'm going to assume it is.
 
But after a few cookies, cups of tea, and several late night sandwiches to keep me going til the morning, it's time for bed. Tomorrow's our last full day in Canada, and although in many ways it's not quite what I had expected, staying with people such as those tonight have certainly made me feel happy about passing through.
Brantford is also where the first distant telephone call was placed by Alexander Graham Bell nearly 150 years ago.
With history like that, it's well worth cycling around the World for.

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But at least we made it here eventually. Not of course that navigation is complicated- during the course of the day we were essentially on two roads. But the cold start to the day, coupled with the howling headwinds we struggled into all the way made for a very slow and arduous ride.
It was also amazing to find how rural everything seemed again. Although houses regularly dotted the sides of the road, vast fields of corn and soy were the main sight in Canada, almost to compete with North Dakota.

I'm also quite certain that everyone we spoke to was confident that the prevailing wind direction was from the West. As if to reassure us, the freezing cold wind blew that way without a pause all throughout the grey and chilly evening yesterday. Still, it was nice being a bit cooler and being able to actually get into my sleeping bag for the first time in weeks, comfortably settle down for the night while the wind whipped harmlessly against the outside of the tent.
What wasn't nice was waking to the headwind.

Still, by the time night fell in London (the other London- the small one), the wind had died down. We had a small dinner in a vietnamese restaurant with our host, who seemed to have no shortage of knowledge of North American history. Ironic, that I learn more about the United States the moment I leave the country...

Tomorrow I can only hope is less windy. Or even better: more windy but in the right direction.

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For now though, I made do with a hearty breakfast cooked up by our host as he hurried around, the occasional call of "heck yeah" in answer to a question. Bacon, sweet buns, and fresh eggs from his hens, all washed down of course with plenty of hot coffee. That's how every morning should start.

The 40 odd miles to the Canadian border rushed by, with the wind pushing us nicely along quiet country roads, stopping only for another warm cup of midday coffee. All the while, the sky was thick with clouds, threatening constantly to open up on us, but only sending down the briefest of light rain showers.

We reached Marine City before long, the destination of choice for cyclists wanting to cross from Michigan into Ontario. With a low-key border crossing, and a $1 ferry across the river border for cyclists, this is the perfect way to get across. It was also a bit of a relief to make it in, since I had only briefly looked into entry requirements to Canada, as well as re-entering the States on the Visa Waiver program.

Even though all we had done was cross a river, there was in an instant change in the feel of the surroundings. Aside from everything being back in kilometres (which in confusion I now find myself convertring back into miles), there were different signs, different houses, different electricity pylons. Even the mobile phone coverage is different- my current signal is with Roger's Wireless, which might be Canada's largest cellphone provider, but to me it sounds like an old man in a shed with a CB radio.

When we decided to call it a day (or at least an early afternoon), we pulled into a park in the small town of Wilkesport which looked like it may be a potential campsite. A group of people were playing street hockey by the firestation, so we decided to ask whether they thought it'd be ok to camp there. They barely acknowledged us, saying that no one would care. Good enough for us.

We pitched our tents by the baseball diamond, the guy ropes all pegged down to keep the tent as stable as possible in these gales. In every direction there seem to be dark menacing clouds, but still only brief smatterings of rain seem to be falling.

Its the first evening in as long as I can remember that I've had to wear trousers, fleece, jacket and buff. Even then the cold wind is numbing my hands and making me shiver.

At least I know how nice and cosy it'll be in my tent.

Is 7.30 too early for bed time?
Naaa.

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Labour Day also seems to mark the end of summer here in America with the kids going back to school the following day. Strange to think the iconic yellow school buses of North America that seemed huddled together in quiet corners of schools will soon be contenders for roadside space as well.

Certainly this weekend though, whether out of coincidence or purely because I was subconsciously looking out for it, I started to notice the change in the trees. Yellowing leaves had started to form around the outer branches, some even rustling down amidst the tailwind that we had all during the day. It felt strange thinking that apart from the nights in Eastern Europe leaving our tents crisp with formation of ice, I've experienced near perpetual summer since I started this trip. Throughout most of Europe, India, Australia, Japan and now America, the sun has shone, humidity has often shrouded us, and mosquitoes have tasted our blood and wanted more.

I'm not going to compare the falling of the leaves to the ending of this tour. That would be stupid. And make me cringe.
But it's nice at least to think how long the summer has lasted, as if it were one long summer vacation.
Nope, still cringing.

Today should, however, be our last day in the USA. For now.
Entering Canada tomorrow, we should skirt through South Ontario (through some towns with pretty cool names...) Before arriving in upstate New York.
Hopefully my equipment can last just a little bit longer, with my shoes needing new zip ties today (the plastic wore through at the cleats), and my rear tyre needing fixing. The long gash left by the nail that tore such a deep hole in my tyre a few weeks ago is still there, rocks and glass getting stuck in and occasionally puncturing through. Hopefully the patches, and the gash which I've filled with glue, rubber strips and duct tape will hold out a little bit longer.

I refuse to spend anymore money I don't have to.

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So, we ate a slow and relaxed breakfast, as the sun dried off the morning mist from our tents, and we chatted to the grounds keeper who came over to ask the usual questions that anyone seeing two cyclists like us might ask.
It was such a nice evening spent in that park, and the first day where I actually felt thoroughly rested - ironic, considering it was also the first night's camping in about a week.
I suppose when you're out on your own, you don't have the distractions of enjoyable company to keep you up, and can get back to your old habit of being in bed by 9.30....

We once again shunned Google's directions of taking us along a bike path, which although running for most of today's route, consisted of nothing more than a grassy strip where the railbeds were presumably ripped up sometime ago.
Instead we followed the highway, which while not exciting were fast enough, with the winds alternating with and against us the whole day. We only stopped briefly to pick up supplies (and FINALLY replace the old plastic bottles we'd been carrying since Japan with "European Artisan Water"), and also to have our first KFC meal in America - an ill thought out decision. After smelling the delicious scent of roast chicken from behind a deli counter, the craving was triggered. But KFC was a poor choice, dished up as a rather pathetic pile of greasey looking and unsatisfying chicken. The only "redeeming" factor being the limitless soft drinks. Which turned out to be a burden as my belly bloated with root beer.

Our evening bikesurfing (the hip new term for WarmShowers which is neither hip nor new) was with a great group of people living in Flint. They are the first vegans we have stayed with during our tour, and served up a delicious meal of tempeh tacos. More interesting was their underlying foundation behind their vegan-ism, which as I understand is less to do with ethial issues, and more to do with the environmental and ecological impact of mass domestication and consumption of animals and animal related products. I couldn't help think back to that night we spent in Alice's Attic, when she took us around the dairy farms, and saw the rather sad sight of the conveyor belt style milking of this enormous complex filled with cows...

The evening became more interesting still, when the father of one of the bikesurfers stopped by, wanting to heat about our trip. Interested in all aspects of the trip, he was especially keen to hear about the human interactions with people in America. I found it really intriguing to hear some of my own thoughts out loud, as tumbling about in my mind, they don't always surface in a coherent fashion. Take this rambling entry, for example. But it reminded me of the fact that even though in a few weeks this trip will be over, and I will have returned to a life as yet unknown, I will always have this experience, and it will have influenced my personality, and no doubt my future for the rest of my life.

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For days we had been told that it would be hot and stuffy today, and we knew full well that we should hit the road bright and early before the worst of it came on with the midday sun.
But, being Jack and I the somewhat lazy and largely coffee dependent pair, we enjoyed a slow, leisurely breakfast with a lot of pancakes and delicious homemade jams, and good conversation with our hosts.

Eventually, and far later than we would have left normally, we climbed onto our saddles and peddled off into the very, very hot day.
The sweat literally ran off me, and I could barely wipe it away fast enough before it started beading and running again. Not since Japan has it felt this humid, and soon every item of clothing was drenched in sticky salty sweat.
Even with a tailwind behind us for most of the day the heat was so much, and I was still feeling so inexplicably exhausted that every peddle stroke felt like it used my last bit of effort.

The route itself was largely uneventful, following a series of dirt tracks and roads, and stopping only for sandwiches and to quaff a bottle of ice cold lemonade from a supermarket. After only 50 miles though, we decided to pull into a small town park. The town was small, but the park was one of those strangely large areas, with two baseball pitches, two enormous covered seating areas, and assorted other parts that I cannot imagine a small town like Pewamo ever really using. But with its perfectly soft grass and huge space, this made the perfect spot for us to camp for the night.

The first hour we simply sat slumped on the shady benches, recovering from the heat. Before we could motivate ourselves to get up though, an elderly couple came rolling up the grass on a golf cart, a dog wedged firmly inbetween them.
They barely slowed as they said their greetings, but before they could get away I sprung up and asked if it would be alright to camp here overnight. Or rather I shouted it, as man just kept repeating "what", as the lady sat and smiled.

It was hard to gauge what was loud enough for the man to hear, before it became loud enough to sound aggressive. But I got the meaning across, and he seemed to think it was fine.
In fact what he actually said was closer to "sure I don't see any problem with that. There's bathrooms here, and at least no one will come and molest you. If you want a bath, Stoney Creek is just over the road. I'm sure you'll be fine".

Thankfully no one HAS come to molest us, and we spent a lazy evening remembering how to set up tents and cook, until the sun went down and the fireflies began to dance in their hundreds amidst the grass, rising like little burning embers into the air.

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We arrived in the city in the early afternoon, and after relaxing in a park briefly (i.e. Made full use of the swings), headed over to the WarmShowers hosts who were kindly putting us up for the night. I'm always amazed by people's hospitality, not least of all when like tonight, despite the busy family lives they lead, we're still made to feel incredibly welcome.
They also incidentally have a peddle powered blender (http://www.sweetpedals.com/) which they used to make smoothies.
Very cool.
The afternoon was spent with Ryan down at the local community bike workshop where he volunteers, which also gave me the chance to work on my bike and finally replace the tyre that I've been carrying around for so long. Its another great community initiative that allows people gain access to the tools and knowledge to help them work on their own bikes. And it looks like plenty of people use it, with an almost steady stream arriving with a variety of problems needing fixing.

One guy in particular, who either through his shere enthusiasm (or perhaps intoxication) was particularly vocal about his two wheeled "silver bullet". Only needing a new tube, he seemed to be there for some time, talking about how sweet his ride was, that he was gonna be getting a hair cut after this, and that friends don't need to be chased after if they ride off to still be friends. Or something like that.
Mere minutes after he waved goodbye, he was back with a flat tyre, tragically having run over a pin. You can imagine the reprecussions of the injustice of it all, with cries of "someone wants to stop me ridin ma bike", a "I just wanna ride my bike man!". Still, it was all good natured, and it was a fun afternoon (what's not fun about spending an afternoon in a bike workshop??).

Even more impressive though was Ryan's daughter, who at only 5 years old looked as confident a cyclist on the road as Jack or I. Maybe not a 2012 entrant, but surely not long...

The heat's really turned up again today, and with another day in the high 90's tomorrow (look at me with my imperial references), it'll have to be a pretty early start to beat that heat....

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Ironic too, that as has been pointed out to me, a year ago today I was on a ferry heading East toward Holland, and today I'm on another ferry heading East toward Holland (a small town on the Lake Michigan coastline).

This trip has been far from non stop, nor has it been the purist form of "around the world" (you'd be surprised how many people have asked whether we're peddling across the oceans). But it has been an amazing opportunity so far, with the people I've met, and the places I've visited.

Today held only a brief time on the bike, cycling from the ferry terminal through the small city of Muskegon. I'm not sure if it's a fair representation of Michigan, but it certainly felt like we had entered a different part of America. Perhaps it was the grey humid air, the cracked roads, the smashed up payphones, the strip clubs or the huge retail parks. Perhaps it was the first Aldi we've seen in the States.

It seems strange as well now, to think that this is the final part of the journey. In less then 4 weeks I will have reached New York City, and flown home. Before then though, we still have nearly 1000 miles to cycle; across Michigan, a little way through Canada, and then the home straight through New York.

The only way I really want to celebrate my time on the road tonight though, is by getting a nice early night.
A bathrobe and slippers would be a nice addition too.

I'm feeling old.

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When we finally dragged ourselves away, and onto the trail, we followed the smooth asphalt routes the 35 miles towards Milwaukee. It was an easy enough ride, with just a small stop off en route to pick up a new tyre from a small bike shop. The new Kenda isn't my ideal choice, with cheap looking grooved surfaces, a mere 60 tpi, and inflating to only 60 psi. For now it's strapped under a cargo net with Celery (the lamb I rescued from the highway shoulder back in Montana), waiting to be called into service .

Tonight we were lucky enough to be staying in the Bay View Eco Village, a small community living in a pair of neighbouring duplexes in suburban Milwaukee who try to live their lives in as sustainable and least consumeristic way possible. This doesn't mean living like animals at all. It's not about having nothing but wool loin cloths and eating the food fallen from the tree. Instead, it acknowledges the way in which people can get by with shared resources. Having communal spaces for example, shared appliances, and of course the expected assortment of eco-conscious practices in the household. They also are a part of a CSA - Community Supported Agriculture (www.localharvest.org/csa/), where you can either pay for a stake in (or work in) a local farm, and reap the benefits.

Something else which has impressed me about America, as I saw in Madison too, are the local events that are put on. Throughout the Summer, free live concerts are put on in the local park (Chill on the Hill), with tonight's final performance being provided by the fantastic sounding awfully named Tristan Royalty Squad (www.myspace.com/tristanroyaltysquad), who are I think somewhere in between Fela Kuti and the Africa 70, and King Crimson.
These kinds of concerts apparently happen throughout the city, and as wel as being a great place to hang out on a Summer's evening, seem to really bring communities together. I love the experience of seeing people sat around a picnic rug together, sharing a meal, while saying hi to the never ending streams of friends family and neighbours who pass by. I don't really feel that same vibe really is felt in London, and certainly that community feel is lacking.

Eventually though the first rains for some time began to fall, and as night drew in people scuttled home.
Tomorrow we leave Wisconsin behind, and along with it the world or cheese, bike trails, and people saying "good deal". We also embark on our first ferry trip of America- across the enormous Lake Michigan, and into the Eastern Time Zone, our final ever time zone on this trip until I land back in London.

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