Heading North for Michigan the distances between towns called Manchester became larger, some days I could
visit two, others just one. The big gaps were ahead of me in the mid-west, but more invites for a bed for the
night, beer and food kept coming in as the media interest and Facebook friends joined the 6000+ visits to my
blog since leaving the UK. Two new friends in Michigan, one in Wisconsin offered welcome breaks from motels
and lonely night.
Thanks to Red in Manchester Michigan who added his address to my thank you list, and Missy Covill, the Iron
Cowgirl (singer and Harley rider) who invited me to stay the night on her tour bus.(alone I hasten to add).
A party, more food and beer and a fitful night sleeping in a 1970’s school bus with no air con or fly screens. But
not before I had shot a ten gauge shot gun , heard a bull frog and saw fire flies for the first time. And then Cory
Clark the teacher who introduced me to the sport Hoops, or horse shoe throwing . All three invites within a
few hundred miles.
The days went from 45 degrees F in the mornings, to 118F in Alabama, in a traffic jam. (Thanks to the very nice
man in a 4x4 offering me a cold beer from his cooler.)
The bike ran faultlessly and allowed me to ride great distances averaging out at 300 miles a day. The big gaps
between target towns started from here with 800 miles, 760 miles and some of the infamous very long and
very straight highways. The ‘big skies’ of Montana, where a 7.00am blast on empty roads saw me cruising
along at 100mph. Not a car on the road and no police for days.
The Badlands, the Devils Tower from the film Close Encounters and Sturgis, all passed as I visited one horse
towns settled hundreds of years ago. Many diners, gas stations and motel staff heard about my trip, and a chat
to a couple on a Harley three weeks earlier in Kentucky resulted in a very excited lady running at me across a
car park at the Jack Daniels town of Lynchburg, to have a photo taken next to the Mad Manc’. Her partner and
her had ridden a different way than me, but on my route it was about 2500 miles since we had first met. Big
country, small world.
An invite to the Manchester Pub in Manchester Washington, and a ‘Party for Pete’ was enough to warrant a
very long day 748 miles in 13 hours from Livingston at the gateway to the Yellowstone Park, to Manchester
near Seattle. Six tanks full of petrol at $20 each (another bonus of USA travel), and a quick shower and change
at the home of my host John L, and I was entertained for Saturday evening in one of the nicest pubs and towns
visited. I stayed Sunday night too, before the last leg South on Highway 101 and Highway 1 the west coast to
the final Manchester just north of Point Arena, California.
So, to Manchester 25 California, a small coastal village where my arrival at 8.30pm was a quiet affair. A few
pictures and a bit of video with a tear in my eye. I had made it to the final Manchester.
As the sun set I returned 13 miles north along the ‘1’ that hugs the Pacific Coast and is on many a riders bucket
list, to the only place to stay, Elk, and ironically the most expensive place I had slept in for a month. Over a
meal at the bar, the dulcet tones of one diner seemed too familiar. I was tired and had no time to shower and
change before the kitchen closed. A few well deserved beers and a full belly, and despite my unkempt state, I
wandered over to the ‘voice’ in the corner.