I missed J at Tacoma and couldn't somehow manage to communicate with my awesome new smartphone either by text, phonecall or email. so headed off to downtown Seattle on foot with my kilos of luggage. J got through to me as I was waiting for a Seattlebound monorail train to start. He was at baggage reclaim. Where was I? Reunion 10 mins later, J looking fit and healthy. J told me that no one had as yet commented on his British accent. I announced that someone would be sure to do so before the cock crowed three times. In Seattle it was bus stop time, but which stop? J went off to seek intel. I got talking to this tubby black lady outside the station. "Gee...accent?!" she said almost immediately. I said "Yeah but wait till you hear my mate..." J appeared announcing predictably that he had located the bus stop round the corner. "Hey!" says Juliet (well she MIGHT have been called Juliet) "Could you just say something else?" At that point the Seattle town clock struck 7. I spoilt it a bit by then commenting on Juliet's wonderful Seattle accent. She looked mystified. "But I'm from Florida....?" Safely installed in grotty hostel, and sampled our first American style bar snack which did for supper and more, with some interesting beer. Jet lag? Jury still out.
Nick's arrival in Seattle (Jony)
Although the diary of a first day's journey would normally be written by the campfire after a well-earned supper and tales of objectives achieved, this is not the case today.
I should have been alerted to Nick's ability to pluck disaster from the face of triumph when I left him alone for, literally, 30 seconds, on the street in Seatttle yesterday, in order to get my bearings. When I returned - did I mention it was only 30 seconds? - he was engaged in conversation with a large person of the female persuasion, such as you might well find on the streets of Camberwell Church Road for example, which might account for Nick's familiarity and ease with said woman. Nick gives his version of events above but he does not reveal that, as I dragged him away to catch a bus, he could not resist leaning over and giving the frankly amazed woman, a peck on the cheek!
A bit of background (Jony)
After many months of very grown up planning that included a couple of super responsible 'Back to Bike' courses to refresh our skills and the wildly impulsive purchase of a Harley Davison from the owner who just happened to have stopped at some traffic lights, Nick and Jony's plans to live-life-while-they-still-could, plans that were first hatched after we had each been treated for prostate cancer back in 2013, to the starting gate, ie Heathrow.
The initial idea - to follow James Dean (or was it Paul Newman?) and ride the famous Highway 66 on a Harley - was refined and redirected along another famous biking route: Route 101 which runs down the Pacific Coast Highway from Seattle in Washington, via the sweeping cliff tops of Oregon and the Big Sur in California, to San Diego, down Mexico way. Partly because Nick's sister-in-law, Natasha lives in Malibu Beach this was chosen as our destination.
Although there are many companies offering short, accompanied motorbike tours in Seattle area and in the Los Angeles area, there were few able to offer a 'one way' hire and, in the end, we went with Eagle Rider, who are loosely associated with Harley Davison and thus ought to know their stuff. As a born-again Harley rider, Nick would consider no other machine; it was just a question of which model. He went for an upgrade on the Softail Classic that hides its gleaming chrome light in a darkened but heavily secured garage in North London.
In the course of our 'back to biking' course, I briefly tried a BMW 1200GS - the model popularised by Ewan McGregor in his round the World Series with Charlie Borman. Despite the fact that it was completely the opposite of the curvaceous RT that I ride around the Cotswolds, I loved the performance of this and therefore decided that the american trip would be a good time to test this out at length.
We are therefore chalk and cheese: Nick's "Big Sophie" is, I think, about 1700cc of noisy, throbbing, in yer face american muscle replete with studded luggage and chrome everywhere! My BMW sounds like a sewing machine in comparison, with its bright blue tank and sporty style, we ride out like well... is it Don Quixote and Sancho Panza? or more Dr Johnson and Mr Boswell?
There's no doubt that Nick fancies himself in the learned role: he takes every opportunity to inform his public, from the most menial diner attendant to the woman on the street, that he was educated at Oxford and knows a thing or two about Ovid. I, too, am not unhappy in the support role, though perhaps Radar from MASH might be more appropriate, given the sad shortage of Nick's technological skills.
However the roles pan out, we're looking forward to a couple of weeks of self discovery, laughs and some spectacular scenery. Unfortunately, as I write, Nick has completely crashed out after two day's boasting about how amazingly resilient he is to jet lag! O tempora o mores, as Ovid would probably have put it.
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