Extracts from Karl's diaries covering his journey through the USA

Saturday, 27th April 2002. Nogales. 31° 19’north, 110° 57’west.

This morning on my way out of the re-entrant I manage to tip B2 over which then lands on a barbed wire fence, tearing a chunk out of my Union Jack on top of the box. That's the only damage done thank goodness and I right then haul it up the steep bank and on to a very busy road, causing my usual degree of chaos. I swear to God, I am not going to get away with this in the US.

I push on until I reach the centre of town, or near as damn it, and find a rat hole of a hotel, yet still have to pay $15. They have a room for $10 but there's not enough space to get B2 in, as I can't get it past the door, so I have to settle for a larger room and pay more. Going through my usual routine I turn on the shower and get a cold trickle of water. Things don't change! I grumble and gasp under the ice cold dribble.... $15! Anyway, there's no time to waste as I have to go out and get things sorted. The first thing is a haircut, (not looking forward to that at all), and also give my kit a real good scrubbing. It's now midday so I have to get myself in gear.

There's going to be media waiting for me on the border and I am under orders to get myself looking presentable. I lose 60% of my hair, reverting to a pre-Expedition appearance, looking like something from 'N Sync'. Not too keen on this new clean image thing. Father also instructed me to eat well and I'm not going to argue with that. There's no shortage of places were burgers can be bought, and then topped off with a pizza. I spend $7 sorting out my e-mails and am on the Net for three hours, Christ! It just flew by. Later I go down and reccy the border crossing point, trying to anticipate any problems and checking that I could get B2 through the pedestrian gateway. It would be a tight squeeze but it's possible, and a far better option than pulling it through the traffic entry point, as this would be packed solid with little room for the likes of me. I decide to check things will be OK with the US Customs people, might as well seeing as I'm down here, but they just look at me as if I were some sort of a blithering fool :--

"If you're a pedestrian sir then you cross through the pedestrian entry point...don't you."

"Yes, but I'll be pulling a large trailer and..."

"Well sir, then you would have to drive through with all the other trailer homes at the appropriate entrance point."

"No, it's a box on wheels and..." I get that look..."

Oh, it doesn't matter." I look about and see that my interest in the crossing point has caught the attention of the US police.

"Hey Frank, think we might have a nutter here."

So I leave it at that. Back at the grotty pit I decide that I will leave tomorrow, I wasn't going to pay $15 for a second night. Driven out by the dismal decor I find a spot in a restaurant across the street and catch up with my writing. This was not your average restaurant but an extremely smart and expensive looking steakhouse. A nice place for me to sit and relax but not to eat. I'll just and get a coffee or something. Whoa! Look at those prices man! They're not bad at all, quite surprising in fact. On to what I consider a bargain I get myself a rice prawn meal for P34, little more than $3. However, come the end of the night I receive a bill for P175!?!... What the hell! I had words with the waiter who informed me that everything on the page began at P100, but was only marked with the price beyond that i e 34. I’ve just paid $19 for a meal, a serious balls up.

The following day I get up and leave the hotel. It's Sunday, 28th April and I still have a day to kill. I stand and stare at myself in an old, faded and cracked mirror for a while. I look so different now that I've had my haircut. It had been long for the best part three and a half years and I now hated it short.

Everything seems oddly surreal as I stroll down the main street. Is this really it? Is this the last time I'll enter a Latin town and look around the streets, now so familiar to me. Once within a stone's throw of the US border the town changes dramatically into a huge tourist hotspot. The streets are full of shops and restaurants to accommodate the gangs of US day-trippers. I sit with a coffee in a packed cafe, surrounded by Yanks, just listening to the babble of 'English'. And so I just hung out all day, sitting and thinking over all that had been and gone. I looked back over some old maps and traced my route. Cities and towns that for so long had been nothing more than simple black ink dots on my map were now faces, places, times and emotions. There were street scenes, landscapes and volumes of memories. The maps would come alive. Catty now felt so far away, in a different world, and it didn't feel good. All day I sit and watch the people and life in general just going on about its way as it always has done. Tomorrow I would not wake and see the women sweeping their doorways and shop stalls clear of dust. Gone would be the squeaking wheels and cogs of the ageing tortilla machines, as would the crowing roosters and barking dogs. Today would be a time for reflection as tomorrow will indeed be a new dawn.

In the evening I sit with a Yank from Tucson and his newly found Mexican girlfriend. Bill's a competition bodybuilder, a big lad, and during our conversation I get an invitation to stay at his place when I finally make it up to Tucson.

I’m not going to bother with a hotel tonight as I'm a little worried I'd already spent too much, so I get in with the Mexican soldiers up on the border post and sure enough wangle myself a spot on the floor on which to sleep inside the customs building... and only about 20ft from the USA. I sit and joke until late into the night with these lads of Mexico's 24th Infantry Battalion. It's here that I realise just how good my Spanish has become, as I'm able to crack jokes in Spanish.

Monday, 29th April 2002. US border, Nogales.

I sleep little if any in the busy ‘24 hour’ office, or at least it's hallway. The area is brightly lit all night. Next to me are a number of large crates in which the search dogs are kept.

My last few hours in the Latin world... and I'm sleeping with the dogs!

Continued :--

Early hours, Monday, 29th April 2002.

Just not able to sleep I find that I have lots of time to kill so sit around talking with the troops. In front of my building is an abandoned shop where the 'shoeshine boys' would sleep. It also still has some toilets and sinks so I'm able to wash and spruce myself up there.

Come the daylight and things begin to pick up. I am just about to head out when I'm approached by two chaps in photographers jackets, cameras hanging around their necks and note pads in hand. " You must be Karl, we're from the 'Arizona Daily Star'. Hi, I'm Mitch Tobin."

This reporter sits with me for a while conducting an interview whilst the photographer leaps about, snapping away. They then follow me as I make my way along the tunnel walkway to a large terminal, this being the pedestrian port. Inside are four turnstiles and a gate for large luggage and shopping trolleys. I slot into one of the two queues and file forward to have my ID checked by the officials. It doesn't appear as strict a going over as I thought it might be. US citizens can get through with only a driving licence and local Mexicans seem to be using some form of a pass. It's finally my turn and I have to slide B2 through the gateway to be looked over by the police. It grabs a fair amount of attention and raises some eyebrows. However, there doesn't seem to be any problems with the US Customs and moments later I step outside.

United States of America. 'Stage 4.'

In the sunlight I am greeted by Daniel Corbett and his cameraman from 'KGUN 9' a TV station from Tucson. Daniel is a former BBC weatherman! There is also a female reporter from the local newspaper, 'The Nogales International', Genevieve H Gutierrez, or 'Gigi ' as she likes to be known (thank goodness). There is also another guy that I had not initially recognised because of his short hair, but it's Sam!! My old pal from Cuenca, Ecuador. It had been great to get all this press attention, but having Sam here had put the icing on the cake.

From this point on my world begins to spin and I perform in front of the camera's. We then take a break and I'm escorted by a soldier up to an office to receive my visa. There is then a somewhat confusing conversation with the customs people.

" Travelling from here to Canada on foot??"

" What's your job?........ What the hell is walking?"

" Exped...... What?"

I fill in my 'green card', pay my $6 and receive a 90 day visa waiver before rejoining the media group outside to continue the interviews, which seem to go rather well. Daniel Corbett and his cameraman walk with me for a while, chatting for a block or so and then within 20 minutes it's all over and Sam and I are allowed to catch up on old times.

It doesn't take me very long to switch on to the fact that my environment is very different now, everything is so open-plan and well spaced out. On the sidewalks there is plenty of room, plus they are clear and have ramps at regular intervals, so no more slamming up and down the kerbs. No more using the roads in the centre of towns either, plenty of room here, they even have bike lanes.

Wednesday, 1st May 2002. 31° 38`north, 111° 02` west.

I leave the house early for town, seeking out a cafe that opens early, and it's not hard to find one. Now it's all about burgers and doughnuts people!...yes! Everything tastes so good too, a taste bud explosion. Some guy stops to read the map on B2 showing my route, and congratulates me. He then points out I should take extra care in Alaska because....

" That's where the Russians will be coming to invade us quite soon, as told in the prophecies. Judgment Day for the USA is coming. Its chosen path is whoredom, homosexuality, adultery and fornication. God would now crush America! A new war is about to start in Iraq and we will lose. We will be destroyed as it has been foretold... we sinners, sinners!... Oh by the way, here's a handout that explains how it all works. " Why, thanks".... Well, there's the first of them then.

I sit in the 'Jack-in-the-box' Burger Bar, great stuff! Happy with the tasty food and good music in the background. I read the prophecy of doom... I just love this stuff. A group of girls come over and give me $2.50, paying for my meal, simply because they'd read about me. My head is still spinning from the way things have changed so much and so quickly. It's in runaway mode. Someone else then comes over and is just so pleased to meet me, and I receive more cash!

I head off for the main road or 'Interstate Highway'. This is where I will find out if all the talk is true about not being able to use these roads to walk on. People seemed unsure, however before I get anywhere near the highway, and not far from the outskirts of town, I am stopped again to sign copies of the 'Arizona Star'. I'm invited by a group of people to sit for a while in their office and have breakfast, (again). They allow me to use the internet while they wash down B2, and then take photographs of me with my kit. More people appear from nearby offices to meet this ‘walking man’ they'd heard about and consequently there are more photos and more autographs. It's beyond 13:00 before I get out of there, but it has been a real result as I'd had chance to check my e-mail. A lucky chance as well because the BBC had been trying to contact me in order to meet me in Tucson, and now I could arrange things by phoning them from this office. Their office was my office they insisted. Not only did I get to speak to the BBC, but to other media groups local to Tucson as well. Things are really getting very busy, and having my own well-connected office for an hour or so is extremely useful.

Just before I'm about to step onto the Interstate Highway a cop car appears, flashes his blue lights and then a voice booms out loudly over the Tannoy,

" Get off the highway!" He then pulls in front of me. " You can't use this road to walk on boy, it's against state law." He explains. " I can ticket ya, you'll need to be using the 'frontage road'." (A single-lane road running parallel to the Interstate).

OK, not a problem, however I seem to get it wrong again and by accident end upon the Interstate once more thinking I am in fact on a frontage road. It's a little confusing as altogether I can see five roads, spaced-out but paralleling each other. I'd followed a sign for the frontage road yet ended up on the right hand two lanes of the Interstate. I'm well impressed with these frontage roads, (as I think this one is) as it has a bike lane with plenty of room. I'm convinced that the traffic I can see moving through the dead ground to my left is the Interstate and so push on.

More people stop and pull over to talk and get autographs. My aim for today is to cover the 29k's to the house of a friend of Gigi's. A pleasant chap we had met on the night out in Nogalas, so I end up going flat out to make up for lost time, with only half a day to do it in. More points for my 'I-Spy Book of Road Kill'... a 'Gavelina', or wild pig.

A little further on I'm met on the road by George McQueen, the guy I'm going to stay with. He's with a friend and both of them work for the local National Park. George gives me more detailed instructions on how to get to his place and accordingly I find the little country house in good time, managing to get a full day's walk in. Just before reaching George's I'd passed a Border Police checkpoint, but these guys had no problems with me walking on the Interstate as it's not their jurisdiction. That's the job of the Highway patrol.

At the house I'm met by George's father, Stephen and later his mother and his brother. I was really impressed with the house, it was superb, although referred to by them as nothing more than a 'humble country home'. I have my own room with a computer and connection to the internet so that I could do some more work. And my God! The food was great! They don't just have coffee, it's flavoured coffee with flavoured cream! I had my first bagels, blueberry bagels... hot with butter... mind blowing stuff. Every damn thing I eat tastes so good.

E-mails are coming in thick and fast from people in Tucson, via the team in England, with invitations to stay at their place when I get into town. It's difficult to choose, I've never had a choice before. There's also lots of media people wanting to hear from me. My head is still spinning. While at George's place a friend of the family brought her son down to meet me and get an autograph. They also ask if I can possibly stop by the little school and give a talk to the kids as it's on my way out.

What could I say but "Yes, of course."

Monday, 13th May 2002. 32° 45 ' north, 111° 46 ' west.

Today it gets hot, touching 40°C (104°F). Apparently a record breaking temperature for this early in the month. Somehow today I managed to lose the frontage road as I'm on the wrong side of the Interstate and end up cutting fences and pulling across country to get back onto the Interstate. Just as I'm pulling off to get back onto the frontage road I get pulled over by the police, but it's not a problem, just the usual questioning and a chat. It's then over a flyover and back on track.

Come the end of the day I reach the town of Eloy, and by now very tired, sapped by the raging heat. My kit is almost too hot to touch and I flinch when touching the aluminium on B2. Just about at the end of my tether and red hot I decide to crash in some redneck bar. I try in vain to pull B2 into the entrance way rather than leave it outside, as there were no windows in the dark dingy bar. The staff freak, thinking their time has come at the hands of some suicide bomber. Consequently there is a bit of a stand-off as I've little or no energy left for diplomacy or even good manners. However, I leave B2 outside and drink in the diner area where I can see it. The locals are still good to me, despite my pathetic performance.

Beyond the bar I push on for only a mile or so and then am able to find a pleasant place to sleep, away from the railway and the shagging trains, (which also kept me awake for most of last night). My tiredness is beginning to show through. I'm desperately missing Catty... in fact I'm always having this Catty thing, have been for the last year-and-a-half... every day, but just recently the whole thing has become a lot more serious. I'm just not willing to leave her behind while spending all my days planning a future together, or at least trying. This is not an easy thing.

Wednesday, 22nd May 2002. 34° 58' north, 113° 44' west.

A good night's sleep, and again a cool day. My route today takes me northwards to the town of Wickenberg, that just happens to sit on the 20mile marker. From there I'll be turning south/south west for California.

On the route into Phoenix I had seen gophers for the first time, or 'Pocket gophers' as they're called. The ground squirrels I'd seen before that are called 'Rock squirrels'. Remember those small birds I described in the last chapter, the ones with the odd pom-poms on their heads. I've learned that they are 'Gambles quail'. I see lots of them pattering through the bush in small flocks. I see a lot of birds of prey, the most common being the Common Black hawk, the Harris hawk and Grey hawks. The place is alive with smaller birds such as Giller woodpeckers, Cactus wrens, the bright red Cardinal and vermilion flycatchers. They're as common as house sparrows here. The wild 'Javelin' pigs I have mentioned before are not pigs in fact but rodents! So far I've only caught one glimpse of a mule deer.

Just before midday I meet up with a group of cyclists. It turns out they are all deaf and cycling across the US from the West Coast to the East on a fund raiser for the 'Deafway Students Scholarship Fund'. I get 'talking' to one guy or rather doing my best to communicate by pointing and gesticulating before he reads the plaque on B2. Suddenly it's hero time again and I sign T-shirts, hats and in fact all sorts of things, accompanied by a lot of photos. It's kind of strange being amongst a crowd of people who are obviously quite excited and yet in complete silence, just a lot of hand movements. They give me a T-shirt with their logo on which everyone signs. They then give me $50, which at first I'm dead set against, given what they're doing, however they just won't take no. Taking money from these people doesn't seem right at all, and in fact I'm never happy excepting donations from anyone. Sure, sometimes I can really use the money but it never feels right. But as far as the expedition goes I just have to say yes. There are just so many other people in this shitty world that need it more than I, that's for sure. I may have my sponsors at present but when it comes down to it I still need every penny. Anything we can save gives me a better chance of staying alive up north and that's a fact. This is the land of milk and honey, but were not out of our hole yet.

Thursday, 23rd May 2002. 33° 56' north, 113° 04' west.

A decent night's sleep and by 07:00 I'm doing a bit more shopping for those last few essential items. Spare batteries for my Walkman, toilet paper, gravy mix, powdered milk and some sausage for my breakfast, $36, Oh and 50¢ for a newspaper.

The day's walking starts with an uphill climb out of town and onto a long, empty road that leads into the middle of nowhere. B2, and my kit in fact, is extremely heavy, loaded with water. I've lost my radio signal from Phoenix now and all I can get is a country-music station or a Mexican station.... still! It's as clear as if I were in Mexico. I have a whole new set of blisters to bother me and the chafing has started between my legs again. I'm still having stomach problems, feeling bloated and aching all time. I believe it has to be the change of diet, nothing too serious. It's a long, hot, boring day but at least it's a good road with light traffic. Having said it's hot I'm told by the locals that it's nowhere near the temperature it should be for this time of year. They talk of a freak cool spell... which won't last.

I put in a few miles then find a roadside diner and pop in for some breakfast (x2). I whip out the laptop to look at something I typed up yesterday and find I have a software glitch... here we go! I end up struggling to keep the thing from crashing, but eventually fail. Corrupted files means it won't even start up now. I then spend the rest of the morning working on the problem before eventually pushing on. Not far down the road a white pick-up pulls in front of me and an elderly couple step out, Anne and Walter Horn. Anne stands there with a handful of papers. We greet each other and the softly spoken Anne explains that they've been looking for me for over two days. They had hired this pick-up in the hope that I would accept an invitation to take a respite at their place. She had been talking to Andy Cooper via e-mail and the papers were print-outs of the conversations between them. Anne explained that their daughter, Tracy (33), runs her own PR company and they think they can help me with publicity here in the US. With all this I'm hardly going to say no, however their home is in Prescott, a long way off to the north. I agreed to the plan overall as long as they could get me back to this point. Just a hundred yards down the road was the '81 mile' marker so it wouldn't be difficult finding the exact spot. We load B2 into the back of the pick-up and are on our way.

Prescott is a one-hour drive to the north, out of the low-lying desert and up into the hills and pine forests, including a huge scorched area where only a week ago a massive forest fire had threatened to engulf the town, getting to within two miles of the town centre. The town basically stands in the midst of the forest and it's such a shame to see all this damage. We drive straight around to Tracy's house. Sure enough she heads her own PR company, and with her five co-workers works from an office at the house. They normally only cover work within Arizona and there's no guarantee of publicity coverage state or nationwide, however I'm welcome to stay and chill-out... Hell, why not, it's a very pleasant environment. The folks here seemed genuinely pleased to have me around.

Tuesday, 11th June 2002.

I have my second puncture in two days and this time find that the new inner tube has minute, tightly-packed ridges running over its surface, which is real smart as you can't patch over it! That's my new inner tube down the drain. I replace it with an old one, that then starts to go down. Can I find out why?... Can I hell. I end up spending a lot of time sitting in the sun, telling the police that 'yes, next time I will try and get further off the road, honest!'

At midday I pick up some more water, but soon find I'm being forced off the road as the temperature soars. According to the thermometer on my bergen it's now 50°C (122°F), but then this is strapped to my black bergen webbing. The other one, which sits in the shade on B2 reads 46°C (115°). Whatever, it's so hot I'm really beginning to feel it now. I crawl into a ditch running under the railway for some shade and decide to wait it out until later, giving it a chance to cool down, or at least for the suns strength to weaken somewhat. Summer's here and so am I. It would appear I'm going to have to start walking in the mornings and at night. I'm sitting here with one helluva headache and nosebleeds.

I move on later that evening and stop a little short as I find a spot to get off the road, which is rare now. I'm always fenced on to these roads, which are bordered by never-ending wire on either side. It's dark now, 20:15, but the temperature is still in the thirties.

Wednesday, 12th June 2002.

On the move by 05:30, just before the sunrise. This is the earliest I can walk without actually walking 'at night'. By 10:30 it's about 40°C (104°F) and time to get off the road. It just so happens I come across the small village of Bouse, which is extremely fortunate. I crash into a small cafe and load myself up on breakfast and orange juice. The latter is my replacement for Coke, which I'm trying to avoid. The only problem of course is that the juice is about twice as much as Coke, $2 or more.

Sitting here I find it extremely difficult to stay awake, so much so in fact that one of the kitchen staff suggests I take a nap in his trailer. This is how I end up spending the whole day chilling out in an air conditioned trailer home. These homes seem to be the in thing in this area, along with RV parks.

I'm back on the road again at 18:00, later than I want to be and end up walking in the darkness. Not a good idea on this road. There's no real room for me, no hard shoulder and it's a major trucking route, so it's just like the good old days, even during the day. There's no moon at present though, making it pitch black. Wearing my fluorescent vest, I'm not hard to see from either the front or behind but it's still a risky business on this road.

Eventually I pitch my tent but I'm hemmed in good and proper by the fences, so end up sleeping very close to the traffic and my tent rocks in each trucks slipstream. My nerves just won't let me sleep.

Thursday, 13th June 2002. Parker.

Trying to beat the sun up and on the road at about 05:30, but it doesn't take long to start warming up and by 10:00 it's again in the 40°C's. The land around has changed somewhat too, much drier and no trees all of a sudden. With little or no wind it's a kick ass day and by the time I pull over to pitch tent in an attempt to hide from the firestorm, life becomes unbearable. The heat continues to climb but thank God a bit of a gusting wind picks up. The other day, at about 1700 it was, in Bouse, I emptied the 'hot' water out of my bottle to be replaced by cold. As the water hit the stones a cloud of steam leapt into the air! I'd never see anything like it.

Life in the tent becomes very grim. The water in my bottles is so hot that it scalds if I pour it on to my skin. From time to time, when possible, I pour some water over myself, which hurts at first but then after a couple of seconds it suddenly cools as it evaporates. This combined with a slight breeze is the best feeling in the world. However, it's a fleeting pleasure and within a couple of seconds my skin is dry and the wind feels like a blowtorch. You don't need to be in the sun as the air itself burns you. Everything emits a heat haze. You can almost hear the stony sand crackle like hot coals on a fire. I can't sleep, nor can I stay still in any one position. If I lay for too long on my side or back the heat from the ground begins to burn me. Christ!... this is shagging awful. I'm drinking as much water as I can but in this temperature drinking is unpleasant, and as for eating... forget it. For days now I've completely lost my appetite. Dousing myself from time to time to stop the burning, my water begins to run low. Vaseline and creams turn to liquid and leak everywhere. My kit is a real mess. Black masking tape melts, comes undone and literally drops off my kit.

It's in the high 40°C's again and the nosebleeds return. It has to be the dry air playing havoc with the lining of my nose. I can't breathe through my mouth as I would then double my consumption of water. All in all, this is not much fun. I planned to lay up here until 17:30, but come 16:00 and I just can't take any more. On top of that my water is running very low, so I break camp and get on the move.

The temperature won't show any signs of dropping until much later and consequently my pace is slow, almost painful. As if the heat is not enough I have a few annoying problems. On my first day back on the road I evolved a tendon problem in my right ankle. The tendons running down the front of my ankle have been pressing on the boot and have now become bruised and swollen. Painful, but not enough to cause me to limp or slowdown. The second problem is a nasty sore area between my legs and round on to my backside. I have no alcohol or cream now to treat it, however I have found that the answer is Listerene mouthwash. This stings like hell but after one or two weeks its anti-bacterial properties get to grips, plus as a bonus the pain stops very shortly after applying it.

After only 7 miles I come across Parker, a small town beside the Colorado River. Dry and dusty, but an oasis none the less. Today has been long and slow and in this temperature iced water has been the only thing on my mind since I left Bouse. I crash into a small cafe, virtually wiped out, so damn tired. I must have drunk 4 large glasses of orange juice and water with ice. To be in this cool air conditioned cafe is such an intense relief I decide I'm going to rest here in Parker for a day and clean up a little. I also have to buy a new inner tube for B2 and some new kinds of food. I can't cook in this... no way! You could put a gun to my head but you'd never get me to even think about putting hot food near my mouth. Consequently I'm going to buy snack foods for the next two days between here and Lake Havasu City.

My motel costs me $45. I paid almost $10 for my orange juices! A meal $5 at least-- a good feed $10 no sweat! I'd taken out $100 from a cash machine when I got here... it's gone! I'm forced to take out a second and that's almost blown after some shopping. Jesus, I can't keep this up. If the lads back home had not got me those sponsors life would have have been so incredibly grim.

Just before leaving Parker I decide to change tactics and move through the night. For a couple of reasons :--

1. I'm told that the road from Parker to Lake Havasu City is in better condition than the one I've been using, plus it has a hard shoulder.
2. Rather than spend a day in the desert being microwaved and low on water, if I move through the night I should be able to reach a river where I can then lie up through the next day and possibly get some sleep. The following night should get me to my destination where I can find a place to sleep, and so on....This next leg would work better this way I think. As long as I have some room to myself on the roads at night I should be safe.

Monday, 17th June 2002. Lake Havasu City.

It's about 20 miles from here to the junction with Interstate Highway 40, tonights goal. A steady climb for most of the night, with the lights of the city down below over my shoulder. It's a long, slow drag and I'm extremely tired. This walking nights and sleeping days sounds a simple plan, but it's not really working out that way just yet. From the start I've known it might be a bit tricky or take some time to get into a routine, but soon I'll be so exhausted I'll be forced to sleep, if only I can stick it out.

By 01:00 the moon has set and it's very dark. I can't make out much and I'm constantly losing my night vision, blinded by car lights. For hours your mind has nothing to focus on, no details except the stars. There's just nothing to see. I get very sleepy and wind up walking in a trance. By the end of the night I'm completely whacked, but just south of the highway junction. I call it a night hoping maybe to get a little sleep as it's still dark. However I'm awake at first light, about an hour later. I mutter and whinge to myself... why can't I sleep? From then on there's no chance of sleeping and it doesn't take long before it gets hot, then very hot, and all I can do and is just lay there. To my relief it doesn't get as hot as I expected, or could it be I'm just getting acclimatised. The dry ice lasted until mid-morning and my water stayed cool until later that afternoon, all wrapped up in my Softie jacket, insulating it from the outside world. Everything else in my tent begins to burn and melt. In town I'd also picked up a small plant sprayer so that I'm able to keep myself cooler by continuously spraying myself down. Keeping wet is a must as sweat just evaporates instantly and dry skin feels like it's burning in this air. From this point there's move of about 10-12 miles to a small town. This should give me a chance to sleep as I would be left with some hours of darkness.

Tuesday, 18th June 2002.

Not long after setting off this evening an SUV pulls in beside me and I'm greeted by Chris Marsham, long-time admirer of the expedition after reading about it in a backpacking magazine. He works as a security surveillance manager for a casino in Bullhead City. Chris had been in contact with Andy back home and also Patti so had homed in on me. He'd brought with him a cool box full of ice cold drinks and food. We had a chat on the roadside and got to know one another. I also had an invitation to stay at a hotel belonging to the casino where he works... on the house! He'd work things out, meet me on the road tomorrow and give me the details.

I'm now moving on to the Interstate and am concerned the police would be down on me like a ton of bricks, however Chris reckons I will be OK here as the police are local lads and were very seldom out at night, being concerned mainly with peak traffic times during the day. I felt a bit more confident with this news and Chris would know having been an LA cop for many years. There's fairly heavy traffic on the freeway, lots of trucks, but I have a lot of room so it's not a problem. I stop for a water break and find the ground is covered with what I think at first are large spiders, but under my torch light I find that they're sand-coloured scorpions, scuttling about in large numbers, all over the tarmac. Tonight I decide to sit on the crash barrier rather than the ground.

The night drags on and I find that I'm slower than I want to be. I arrive at the Colorado River at about 01:30 and begin looking for a place to sleep. I'm having no luck here and end up getting very pissed off as I was already exhausted, losing the dark hours and consequently sleep time. There's just no place to hide away. All around the river area are buildings, sub-stations and pumping stations etc. Lots of fences, lots of 'No Trespassing' signs. I wind up having to go back out into the desert and finely find a place to sleep at 03:30, not good! 05:00, its light and I'm awake! For the love of God! Today I'm not so lucky and the temperature soars. It's a gruelling day and suffocatingly hot. The worst hour's start at about 13:00 and by now my water is so hot that if you hold the bottle for too long it starts to burn your hand. All I can say is that it will be hard for you to imagine just how hot it gets out here unless you have experienced it at some point, it's literally incredible! My best friend and secret weapon is the plant spray. With enough water I can keep myself wet and not have to pour hot water from the bottle, losing a lot of it in the process. My plant spray is in permanent use. The day drags slowly on and on occasions I think I might fall asleep, but just as I drift off I suddenly snap to. 'Oh come on, sleep for crying out loud!!' But of course the more you try to sleep the more you can't. Relief eventually comes when it's time to start again, pack up and get on the road.

Tuesday, 24th June 2002.

It's clear that this walking at night thing is not the way ahead, but neither is walking throughout the day. So I decide to walk whenever I get up in the morning and do the first 10 miles. I'll then rest up and set off walking again between 19:00- 20:00, getting some sleep later in the night.

It's then over the mountains and down to road junction to the point where my first water cache is buried. I had been planning with Sammy, my friend in Las Vegas, and he would drive out and leave 3 caches of water along my route. Off to one side of the road junction, down by the river, I locate the first cache. I had been told that there was nothing in this area, but find, to my delight, a gas station that I can hide behind and obtain cold water etc. It was very hot again during the day but without doubt just a little cooler, albeit a few degrees.

By 19:00 I'm on the move, on a long straight road through a very bleak landscape consisting of sand, stones and the very occasional patch of dead scrub. In the darkness off to my left is a bright glow in the sky above the McCulloch mountain range. From this general glow a piercing finger of light points skyward as though solid. this is one of the brightest lights in the world, fired out of the top of a huge pyramid--- the 'Hotel Luxor' in Las Vegas.

Wednesday, 25th June 2002.

The long hot morning leaves me picking off small balls of salt that have formed on the ends of my hair, caused by sweat evaporating before it has chance to drip off.

I have the good fortune to come across the small town of 'Searchlight' and consequently get time to chill out for a while until time to push on. At some points on this leg the road climbs but it is always dead straight. On one occasion I hear a loud screech of brakes and turn to see a car, which had been coming from behind me on the other side of the road, now starting to enter into a spin. One-and-a-half turns later it skids to a halt. Luckily there is very little traffic and the two young men in the front seats just look at each other, more than a little shocked. I've no idea what happened.

Monday, 19th August 2002.

Up and on the go by 07:00. But I'd not slept that well, despite the fact I'd been extremely tired yesterday. In Overton I could hardly keep my eyes open and spent all day looking forward to a good sleep. I'd not eaten and just couldn't face it.

Last night I ended up close to the I-15, (Interstate 15). This is a bit of a problem as I now have to use this road for some time. I'm fully expecting to run in to problems with the police, yet I have no other options. This is my only route north from here.

From the point where I join the I-15 it's a straight climb and a good hard slog up onto the Masa (Table) of Mesquite, a high flat plateau. I'm extremely pleased to find a stiff wind at the top, which takes the bite out of the heat. For some reason there is also a haze in the air cutting back the sun's rays somewhat. Having not eaten I begin to feel it and can actually sense the pace slowing. The going on this plateau is quite easy, but by midday it has begun to heat up and looking around I notice a distinct lack of shade. There’s nothing, nothing at all. At least the police have not shown up yet. Eventually I find a small culvert under the road. It's pretty tight to get into but once in I find there is just enough room to sit up. I tidy the place a bit, making some room for myself, dragging out rubbish and tumbleweeds, whilst checking the place for snakes and scorpions. Once finished I've just about had it, knackered and very tired. I have to leave B2 outside, next to the road, but within view.

Once I'm settled the first thing I do is inspect a whole bunch of blisters I'd suffered with for the past two days. Not good at all! Rather than wait for them to burst while I'm walking, I open them now, or rather reopened in this case, clean and cover them again. Once this is done I sit in a daze, surveying my limited world as through a porthole. I just can't keep my eyes open, but if I lay down neither can I sleep. God! This is just so frustrating. I raise my head to take a look at B2 only to come face-to-face with a snake!! I flinch back as does the snake, but it's still no more than an arm's length away. What is the only weapon I have within reach... the McDonald's water spray! Very slowly I pick it up and twist the nozzle setting to 'fine jet'. Armed with this anti-snake water pistol I give him a quick burst in the face, making him retreat a couple of yards of. Two more bursts and he slithers away. He'd probably never seen this much water, and it certainly surprised him. It isn't a 'rattler', but is light brown in colour with a reddish brown bars down its back. Ten minutes later curiosity gets the better of him and he's back for some more of the same treatment.

There's no chance of sleep now anyway as people are now stopping to investigate B2, but then running off when they notice there's someone under road. I can't even relax now though. I read 45°C (113°F) here in the shade, probably because there's no wind under here. Thank God for my water spray! Again I hear a car pulling in above me, but this time it's accompanied by the sound of a police radio. Oh Christ! It's time to face the music. I scramble into a better position where I peer out to find the concerned but jolly faced police officer. He'd been sent to investigate a 'sick man' lying ill in a culvert... or at least that's the report. No sooner had I began to explain the circumstances than a fire unit paramedic group pulls up. Oh! For the love of God! A storm in a tea cup the chaps are pleased to find. Well, at least I get some more water.

Again I try to eat, but just can't manage it. The sun is now low and it's time to emerge into this grim, hot and flat desert world. I feel like crap, but manage to get under way. The distance between the mile markers definitely appears to be lengthening as the pace drags. I'm convinced there's not one ounce of energy left in my body and yet it goes on. Down and down now from the plateau. By the end of my 10 miles I'm clear of it but the only thing I can think of is sleep. I'm so damn tired, but now I find myself stuck in a gorge, trapped on the road. Furious with life I stagger on, cursing everything in sight. At last I come to a spot where I can pull into some dead ground. I'm cut to the bone and now feeling so weak I just drop to my arse and sit there... I can't move. I smile to myself and mutter, 'I'm going to die if I don't eat, it does that'! Finally I pull myself together and throw my sleeping bag out, but then realise the ground is covered with ants, so decide I have to pitch tent. It's 23:10 before I make it inside, but I still have to clean myself up and brush my teeth before collapsing in a heap. I'm not feeling very clever at all and don't feel good. Despite being exhausted I can't sleep. 01:00 comes around, then 02:00. I toss and turn.... I really can't believe this! It goes on all night, but surely I must have slept for some of it?

Tuesday, 20th August, 2002.

Around 06:00 I motivate myself into a frenzy and haul myself vertical. I'm feeling as rough as hell, as though waking into a nightmare. I force myself to eat what I can, but then utterly reject my food. I just can't stomach it and an anger rises within me. The next thing I know I'm out of the tent, throwing my bags of biscuits in all directions into the desert, cursing and screaming. This is it! No more of this dried food shit, no more crappy milk powder. From now on it's fresh rations, I just cannot do this stuff any longer. After a two-minute tantrum I calm down. As tired and weak as I might be I'll make it to the next town, Mesquite, only 10 miles away, and there I can refuel. Again I'm glad to find it's mostly downhill as I don't think I'd make it up a 'biggy' right now. I bump into some old chap who is biking around the US and after a few quick words shuffle on down a long, hot road that just seems to be getting longer with every step I take. That next mile marker never seems to come. My waters running low as well, I've just been drinking so much. The tortuous pace and heat continue but finally I begin to approach Mesquite. The last mile is absolute hell.

I drop B2 outside a garage and as I do my head begins to spin. Yes it was hot, but this was not just the heat. I feel nauseous and as I walk inside I begin to hyperventilate. I just can't slow my breathing down and find myself standing with my hands on my knees for a little while trying to keep it all together. I really didn't feel very well at all. I tank up on juices, ice cold, but still the thought of food makes me want to retch. I need to rest, sleep and eat, so decide to crash here in a hotel at the 'Casino Oasis'. Not bad rooms as well, only $27. The cheapest of the hotels that you will find here among the Nevada casinos. I need some time out as I'm not going to get much further like this.

I get to my room, pull B2 inside, and stumble towards the shower. Standing beneath a cold stream, I peel my clothes off one at a time before sitting down... it don't get much better. After my wash and brush-up and a little snooze I go out and eat like a mad man. I put away four meals in the space of the evening. After that I sleep well.

Saturday, 31st August 2002.

I hurt! I'm on a constant hobble, limping most of the time. I had to have a paratrooper style pep-talk with myself earlier this morning to get a grip of myself. Stop whining and get over it. Apparently it's only 23 miles to the next exit that has a gas station, again very convenient.

I eat a hearty breakfast and move well, but by midday the little toe on my left foot is driving me nuts. I have to do something to try and relieve the pain, so I cut a chunk out of my foot beds under the little toe to give it some more room. Once again both my little toes are just large blisters. Deep blisters that are very sore to the touch, even where the nails used to be. Having said that I've no shortage of blisters on the rest of my feet. There are plenty to go around. I have blisters on every toe, on the sides of my feet, the balls of my feet and now on the heels. They don't seem to want to heal and just get deeper. But still they don't, and won't, slow me down.

This is real cowboy country out here. Yesterday I was passed by a real authentic wagon train, even driving a herd of horses with them. They had a small girl with them who could not have been more than five years old, nipping about on horseback as though she was born on it. She looked so small on such a huge animal.

I stop for a short break, looking at the map. The next exit on the road is only about 3-4 miles down the road if that. Hunting is the big thing around here and everybody seems to be a hunter, in their 'woodland' camouflaged jackets and hats. Every building you go in has hunting photos on the walls, even the fast-food restaurants.

As it turns out I've been duped again, there are no service stations at this junction. This is where the road splits and the I-70 heads east. I'm left with no alternative but to push on for the next junction a few miles up the road. Not that I really needed it with these feet just now, but hey! At the junction for 'Cove Fort' I get lucky. I find a small lonely station, setback well off the road but worth the hassle. Once I've stopped and sat myself down, I can hardly get up and walk a yard.... Hell's teeth! This can't be right!

Sunday, 1st September 2002.

Getting back on the road for another day is a grim business. I don't know how long I can maintain this for. My normal routine of 'ignore it and it will go away' doesn't seem to be working, and hobbling down this endless road is becoming very depressing.

I start the day on a steep climb, which gives me something else to think about, however on the easier journey down the other side my mind goes back to the time when I was in Salt Lake at the Outdoor Retailer Show. Just before I was due to leave one of the Superfeet team was fitting me with new footbeds, and trying to explain better ways to get my boots to fit and stop any blisters. What if they had put in extra insoles at that time! I know they gave me a spare set, but I'm sure they said that I could use them if I needed to. The truth is, I was really busy talking to people at the time and other folk were trying to interview me. I stop, take off the boots, and have another look under the footbeds. Obviously I'd done this before, but what looks like the bottom of my boot... is not! Using my knife blade I dig out a snug fitting extra insole. For the love of God!! These must have reduced the size of my boots by half a size or more. Once I remove these from both boots I get back on my feet and... with a few sharp breaths... hobble onwards. So it goes on, very slowly and very painfully. I'm stopped by a copper from the Highway Patrol.

" You can't walk on this road".

So begins a debate on the 'ifs and buts'. I point out to him that none of his colleagues, who pass me on a daily basis, have said anything in the past, and obviously don't have an issue with it. There's a great deal of humming and harring, but in the end he says that if that's the case it will be OK, as long as I stay away for the traffic.... and keep out of trouble.

That evening I decide to call time when I see the small town of 'Fillmore' to my front. The sensible thing will be to let these blisters heal a while now that I've found the cause.

Monday, 9th September 2002.

It's been a stormy wet night, but the morning is clear, bright and warm. 20 miles or more over the hills and into the next valley, a tornado touched down in the town of Manti, wrecking homes and causing millions of dollars worth of damage. Luckily no one died.

I plan to finish todays leg at 'Exit 222', at the town of Nephi. However my day starts with 10 miles of roadworks initially and then I'm stopped by a Highway Patrol car again. This time I'm told in no uncertain terms that it's time to get off the road as it's definitely against the law. If I'm caught on the I-15 after Nephi I will be charged... but at least they are willing to let me remain on the road until then. Not that there's any other alternative at present.

It's a sunny day, with temperatures around 35°C-37°C, cool by all accounts. At 'Exit 222' I get settled in at the Burger King. I could do with a good feed and at 700-800 calories per burger this is the place for me. After that I move on to a restaurant and eat well again. Looking at my map, I'm only about five days from Salt Lake City but don't want to arrive there until the 16th or after, consequently I need to slow down and pace myself a little. So for starters I knock tomorrow on the head and get a room for tonight, which will give me a chance to clean up the sores between my legs. Clean and dry there's a chance they will heal.

Tuesday, 10th September 2002.

Today I just hang out at the restaurants and fast-food joints, where I seem to spend most of my days, thinking about what needs to be done in Salt Lake City. The future is definitely looking brighter, there is hope. That night I pitch tent around the back of a truck park. The weather is looking grim again, it could rain.

Wednesday, 11th September 2002.

Sure enough it's a wet start as I pack things away. A leak in B2s box has led to a good soaking for everything inside. A mile or two down the road is the town of Nephi and I need to find a library in order to use the internet. It starts to rain very heavily, throwing it down, as I find the library at the town hall.

Here I receive an e-mail from my father that rips my cosy world apart. His letter simply deals with facts, things that don't sit well in my world of dreams. Unfortunately sometimes it's only the dreams that hold it all together for me. This life of mine is pretty fragile and can be shattered like glass. As I read on he explains how none of my dreaming or ranting would overcome the problems we had at present. All I can see is the fact that someone is telling me I'm about to lose my girl! I'm seeing red, as well as feeling nauseous deep down. Anger swells up as I sit with my eyes closed, attempting to bring my rage under control. It would appear that the chaps back home believe that having a support party is not the direction that the exhibition should be taking. They believe we are unable to fund such an undertaking and that on top of that a support team would detract from the overall credibility of the Expedition as such. That it would take away a lot of what makes the Expedition 'saleable', would take away some of the 'mystery'. Mystery? There's no bloody mystery about sitting in a dark empty tent every night! It sucks! Well bugger me... People won't be entertained if I am not a man of international mystery will they! Like when did I ever set out to entertain the fucking world? Or the fact that you can sit with your cup of coffee and chat about how hard my life as a man of mystery is...Thank God, I at last know why am here then, it all makes sense now. Arrrgggghhhhh!!!

Outside I hook myself back up to B2 and just stand there... in the pouring rain. Anger is rapidly giving way to a deep sadness. Catalina... it's all about Catalina. I don't move, I can't muster my thoughts. My mind is panicking, scrambling... would I lose her? Could I let her go? The mere thought of it is frightening. I eventually shuffle off down the streets of running water, empty except for the odd car. From here I'll now follow the side roads which parallel the I-15 through Provo and up into the city limits of Salt Lake City.

Wednesday, 16th October 2002.

Again another crystal-clear sky. Needless to say it's quite cold and I have to stiffen my resolve to get out of my sleeping bag and change into my walking clothes. I wear a different set of clothes at night because the stuff I've been walking in during the day can get wet with sweat. Getting out of those warm clothes into a stinking and literally frozen set is nothing short of horrible. I hate the mornings.

Friday 18th October 2002.

Still not sleeping very well, another cold night. I'm starting to get a bit weary. At last I figure out what eats box elder bugs. It's grasshoppers! So they are some use in the larger scheme of things.

The land stays flat, just farmland and cows. I join back up with the I-15, Interstate at a place called Downey, again just a couple of huts, barns and silos. There is however, a small shop that has tables and chairs within, so I pull over for breakfast. After a while the shopkeeper asked if I'm the guy walking round the world. She says she's received a phone call from the local TV station, KBVI Channel 6, asking if she had seen me at all. From her I get the phone number of the station and after finishing my coffee give them a ring. I speak to the assignment desk, who tell me my friend Dean has been on to them to let them know that I'm coming in. They will organise sending some guys out to meet me. Sure enough later on that afternoon, Dean and a TV crew catch up with me on the frontage road paralleling the I-15. The female interviewer doesn't take long to do the interview and I'm soon on the move once they have cleared off. I continue to a small town called McCallon and crash in the Moose Hollow Cafe. This place is a real classy log cabin. The walls are crowded with deer heads and antlers. Everything else though is dwarfed by a massive moose head whose original owner must have had to have been shot by a tank. Apparently all his stuff has been shot locally though, and this place is a real hunters bar. Locals are very friendly. I get talking to two men, both bear sized with long beards. Real mountain men. They tell me these stories about how they had survived in extreme conditions, and how they had walked all over the mountain's, at one point being snowed into a cave for two months. They're a bit on the fat side now, but I'm assured there were a lot leaner once. It's quite funny really because as we are talking a family turns up and as the young ones catch sight of these two, they run back out again and won't come in. The parents have to carry them in, crying. Neither of these big guys has a full set of teeth, and what they do have looks like the odd gravestone. I sit talking with these guys until it gets late and then put push on down the road for a little while until I find a gas station with a truck park next to the I-15. I find a place to the rear of the trucks and get my head down. It's already cold and the temperature drops to -7ºC during the night.

Saturday, 26th October 2002.

Last night I camped up three miles short of Idaho Falls, in a farmer's field. There was no cover, but there was little I could do about it. The usual freezing night.

I push on into town as there are things I have got to do today. I need to keep everybody up to date with some e-mails and find out what's happening. There's also a certain amount of shopping I must do. As I'm working my way in towards the city centre, I’m approached by someone who comes over from a restaurant doorway. Some guy that has recognised me from the local newspapers or TV. He calls me over, and being the owner, invites me in for breakfast on the house, which is just what I need. We get talking, as you do, and he explains that both he and his crew that are in there need a good breakfast as today they start eight days of pumpkin cutting. Apparently every Hallowe'en he has 300 candle lit pumpkin heads around his house, and obviously this involves a lot of work. He says it's guaranteed to draw in the local press and TV.

After my hearty breakfast I carry on into town to find the library. Opening my e-mails up I find I have 14 messages so spend most of the morning answering them all. Moving on to an outdoor /sporting store, I'm looking for a far better sleeping mat. Unfortunately they don't have the type of thing I'm looking for. Nor do they have any of the snow tent pegs that I was hoping to pick up. What I do buy though is a load of bungies, and a snow shovel. Experience in Norway tells me that when the snow gets a bit deeper I'm going to need one of those.

With the shopping done I head out of town, but find it very difficult to locate somewhere to sleep. The area is industrial estates mixed with farms, but eventually I get off the road and, sneaking into an industrial estate, find a spot behind a large building. Tonight the temperature drops to -10ºC.

Tuesday, 29th October 2002.

On leaving Wexburg I decide to stop at a gas station and top up with some breakfast. On coming out, low and behold, it's snowing! Quite heavily in fact. This is the first snow I've seen this year, and it's also the start, the beginning, of what will be a very cold six months no doubt.

Back onto the road I go, out into the snow. Although it's settling fast, this is wet snow and it sucks. As soon as the snow lands on me it begins to melt, making things pretty miserable. Banks of slush begin to mount up at the sides of the road. It becomes all too apparent that I haven't got the right boots to deal with these conditions. Unfortunately, the Gore-Tex waterproof trousers that I have 'ride up' and allow snow and slush to drop into the top of my boots. The boots have a Gortex layer which will keep my feet dry from the snow on the road, not however when it makes its way in through the open tops around my ankles. I'm going to need some snow gaiters. Not only that but I realise that using my sunglasses just doesn't work either. Today I'm walking into the wind and the snow is being driven into my face to the extent that it's being forced inside the hood of my Gortex jacket and building up underneath my glasses. I can't see where I'm going half the time, so I need to get myself some snow goggles ASAP.

In the little town of St Anthony I bump into a guy who lives in Prescott but works up here, as a supervisor for the Forestry Commission. He'd read about me in the newspapers and also seen me on the road. We get chatting away and it appears he'd done 20 years in the US Navy before leaving and taking on this job. He also has a little pad up here where he stays if he can't make it home for the weekend. I get an invitation to stay the night, which is fine by me as it means I don't have to do the 'change of death' tomorrow morning. He also seems pretty knowledgeable as to just where I can pick up the final bits-and-pieces that I need. I was beginning to give up hope as the town's are now getting smaller and smaller. In fact working for the Forestry Commission, he states, he may be able to supply some of the stuff himself. Obviously the Forestry Commission in the US is totally different to that in the UK. He covers vast areas and can be out for days on end. He is supplied with the equipment he needs and reckons he can get me a reasonably light weight and compatible sleeping bag that I can use inside the one I have now, plus a pair of goggles.

I decide to spend the day in town. My friend goes out for a while and comes back with a whole box load of gear.

Sure enough he has some snow goggles for me, and also a 'Thermarest' (a self-inflating air sleeping mat to insulate against the cold ground). This is good news as I wanted to buy one of these, however thought they were too expensive. With this comes a cracking little inflatable pillow. The forestry workers also get issued with US Army ration packs when 'in the field', and he gives me some of these. I'm looking to stock up on food anyway as the chances of re-supplying myself on a regular basis dwindle as the distance between the small towns increases. Unfortunately I can only manage to get four of these ration packs into the Beasts box, so that will have to do. The rations themselves are very good actually, plus they contain a small, thin piece of material which when mixed with water creates a chemical reaction and becomes a heating system that will heat the supplied meal. It's some sort of a sulphur compound and my friend reckons they have no trouble in boiling the food. On top of everything else he throws in a pair of leather gloves. A really decent guy, and bumping into him has been a real result. Later in town I get stopped by folks from a local news channel. The weather is really grim and yet the girl interviewing me turns up dressed for the office. Basically a suit with short skirt, a thin blouse and high heels. Although it's only 0ºC there's a stiff breeze blowing and thus a wind chill factor. Plus the wind is blowing the snow straight at us. She's shivering so much she nearly shakes herself into pieces. It's an ABC local channel, but they never covered the story this evening, probably because no one would have understood her. Tonight on the news though I see my friend from Idaho Falls... being interviewed in front of his 300 pumpkins. He was dead right... it hooks the press every time.

Thursday, 7th November 2002.

It's time to write up my notes again. It's like bloody homework. Is there anything I hate more than these shagging notes? Oh yes!....possibly the Immigration Service. But anyway, I make an effort to sit down and write until it becomes too dark. Just at present life in my little green home is a pretty good. I have some extras, like a new lightweight sleeping bag, plus I still have the fleece bag liner and altogether these are great. I'm so warm that I can keep my damp socks and clothing on and come the morning it's all dry. I have my new blow up ground mat or 'Thermarest' and an excellent pillow that I can wedge against my fold-up chair to stop it disappearing during the night. My only problem now is, it's all so comfortable I don't want to get up in the morning.

In the early hours of the morning, in pitch darkness, I wake suddenly, on instant alert. Something else is in the tunnel. Suddenly it makes a rush for the tent! Within a split-second the tent wall bulges as something tears at the material. Jesus Christ! I've not had time to even get out of my bag! What the hell is it?....a bear, mountain lion... what!? It's... tumbleweed. Two very large tumbleweeds had been blown into the culvert and had come bouncing through before getting caught up in the lines of my tent. Their course, spiky dry branches made an almost deafening noise as the wind tried to tear them loose. I sit wide-eyed and panting, heart pounding, pumped full of adrenalin. Shit!.... Tumbleweed!

Monday, 16th December 2002.

Recently, as I've mentioned previously, I stopped using ordinary gasoline and bought some Coleman's fuel to use with my stove. This is basically clear and I've been keeping it in one of my plastic bottles. I now do dumbest thing I think I have ever done. In growing gloom I fill one of my pans from this plastic bottle, thinking it's water... and put it on my stove to boil!! At this point I'm in my tent, which is all closed up as the wind is now blowing a gale outside, and so is this ticking timebomb. I go about preparing my food, but then notice that the water had boiled rather rapidly this time. It's then that the fumes, released by the boiling, ignite. Within a fraction of a second the temperature in my tent climbs from -7ºC to something akin to the surface of the sun! A bright fireball rises and fills the inner chamber of my tent. This, however, definitely isn't the time for panic. If I knock over the pan all is doomed as I would flood the tent in burning fuel. With due haste, though as calmly as I can, I reach for the pan handle through some now blue flames and, unzipping the tent, move the pan out as far as I can safely reach. Once in the wind the flames take off and it roars like a well fire. With phase one over with I'm now free to panic and frantically look for any damage... nothing!... not a thing! The hair is missing from my hands and face but that's it. This had only taken a few seconds and my mind is still wondering why my water had burst into flames. Talk about confused. Clambering outside I take up my white camouflage sheets and drop them onto the burning pan to suffocate the fire. It would appear I haven't lost a great deal of fuel either. My mind having still not quite caught up with things, I reach down and take hold of the pan... Sssssssss!! "Arrrrggggghhhhhh!!"

All in all, it's not been a very good day.

Tuesday, 31st December 2002.

A cold start as I pull out after breakfast at the cafe. There's then a climb out of Shelbys' valley. It's a bit of a late start so I finish the day about 16 miles up the road, but only 19 miles south of the Canadian border. I'm happy to find that on Exit 379 there's a small bar /cafe. What a stroke of luck on New Year's Eve, until that point I'd barely seen a soul.

On entering I find only two elderly men sitting at the bar, the place looking particularly sparse. However, it isn't long before others start to turn up, mainly oil field workers from the nearby oil pumps a few mile down a road to the east at a settlement called up Oilmount. Five miles to the West is a settlement called Kevin and these places have populations of 10 and 32 respectively. The people at the bar are pleasant and friendly and I get asked to sit and have a drink with them rather than sitting alone working on my laptop. I have a few drinks, mainly coffee with Bailey's and a glass of wine, but tonight I have to sleep out so I'm not drinking too much. Depending on my mood, I find that on some days it's hard to get into conversation with the oilfield workers from these parts, and when they are all getting drunk it gets to be hard work. But hey! I stay and see in the New Year. Once done it's then time to find a dark corner to hide away in. By the end of today I will be in Canada. Just around from a door and under the window is B2. Like most nights when I go out, I'll find it covered with a layer of sparkling frost... only tonight I don't.... it's gone!

Time stands still for a couple of seconds and then that sickening feeling wells up from the pit of my stomach. I stand motionless in disbelief... it's happened! It has finally happened! I walk around the building just in case someone has moved it, but I know, I just know it's gone. I push out my search radius to include the woodline and ditches now on the fringe of the light radiating from the bar. It really has gone. I feel a sickness that slowly becomes anger. I swallow deeply and take a couple of deep breaths before re-entering the festive atmosphere of the bar. I check my cellphone... no signal, but I knew that anyway as I'd tried it when I first got here. I go and sit back at the bar. The jukebox spits out good old country music very loudly as I order a wine. A local throws his arms around me, his breath a mixture of beer and chewing tobacco. The barmaid brings me my wine, "On the house". I ask her for a phone.

I don't know the Police Post number so just ring 911 then explain it's not an emergency but I need an officer to stop by as I've had a lot of equipment stolen. I'm hit with 101 questions but have no intention of trying to thrash this one out on the phone as I know how this works and how confusing it will get. As I try to suppress the raging fire storm inside, I just calmly try to tell the woman that I really do need to see an officer in order that I can explain in detail what it's all about. It's a lot of outdoor equipment that has been stolen from outside the '4 Corners Bar'. The locals continue having their blast, but as they party I sit quietly having one of the darkest moments I can remember.

"New Year's Eve", I mutter to myself. " One day away from Canada".

I close my eyes as the enormity of the loss sinks in. My photos, my maps from way back in Chile. I had a collection of maps from the day I'd begun the expedition with every place I had slept marked on them with the date, covering the past four years... all gone. And B2, my old friend, all the way from Leon in Nicaragua. The more I think about it the more I can recall just how much I've lost. "What's the matter with ya, come on, Happy New Year!!.. Have another one on me walker!" Christ, I don't even want to tell them. Tool County, outer Montana. How long will it take the police to arrive, I have no idea. I tell the barmaid I could be here for a while as I will have to wait for the police and then explain what has happened. The locals are shocked into complete disbelief. Here! Now! In our community... they can't believe it. So the mood of festivity changes to disbelief, anger and apology. These people are genuinely outraged and ashamed. They state that they don't lock their cars or homes as this sort of thing never happens around here. That is why it probably happen to me, as I had never felt safer. This is the last place I can imagine this happening... and it's at these moments that it does. You drop your guard once and they get you. Now what? Where do I go from here?.. I haven't a clue. A thin layer of snow has fallen in the latter half of the evening and yet there are no tracks that may indicate where B2 has been moved to. Christ almighty! It started snowing around 20:00, B2 could have been missing for hours. The party is somewhat subdued now. Well, aren't I the party-pooper.

The following day, 2nd January, I speak to the local TV news crew. I'm hoping this might prompt someone who might have seen anything. However a few days pass and there's no further news. There's no police report, or in fact anything at all. I now realise I have to focus on rebuilding and not wait around, plus I am now going to have to start paying for my hotel room. I move my centre of operations to the local gas station which caters for truck drivers. I am still waiting for the police report. During the week I receive a number of calls from people who pass on their condolences on my misfortune. The people I had met on Christmas night in Conrad have put up a $500 reward for the recovery of B2. Other people call up to see if they can just help.

I'm now sleeping on the floor of the TV room at the gas station. Needless to say, there has been some friction initially between myself and the station staff. They are not keen on hobos, but once everyone knew my situation I'm more than welcome, and am getting free coffee into the bargain. Still no police report, so I except a lift from my Conrad chums down to Conrad. The following day a woman from Great Falls gives me a lift down and puts me up in an annex to their house in a place called Tracy, a small community south-east of Great Falls. The day after that Ruth Finch and a friend drive up from Helena to collect me. Making inquiries on the phone I find an engineering workshop in Helena who seem keen on the chance to build a new machine, so I eventually arrive in Helena to supervise the work. I stay with Larry and Ruth Finch. They have a spare room and tell me that I'm welcome to stay for as long as it takes. We waste no time in getting the new machine on the go, as I know it will take some time. Then there is a new passport, new signs for the beast, not to mention all the new equipment I would need to boot. Money will be a problem. This will be a huge payout even with the help of my sponsors like North Face. That's if they agreed to shell out a whole new set of kit, tent, sleeping bag, waterproofs etc etc. The trouble is thinking what I need now reminds me of what I've lost. That gets me thinking about the things I'd really cared for, like the photographs and the maps. Not just the maps for the future but the old maps I had collected religiously. These were priceless, often I would sit and look back over these maps to be reminded of the best and worst times over the last four years. I would grow rapidly depressed if I dwelt on it.

Wednesday, 12th February 2003.

At last I get the word that the new B3 is ready. I go down to inspect it but I'm not that pleased with it at all. Although looking similar to B2, the workmanship is inferior. I'll be lucky if I get half the mileage out of this one that I had out of the old B2. I suppose the best part of the new one is its box... and that was a last-minute rush job. Needless to say, the following day I get a call from the police in Shelby stating that they've found B2. It had to happen didn't it! The day after I pay $400 for a trailer I'm not happy with, they find the old one. Sod's law or what! Had they found it a couple of days earlier I would have left the new one at workshop and told them to poke it, given the standard of work and the fact that they had taken way too long.

Ruth drives me back up to Shelby police station to reclaim the old warhorse. Again the police station is very quiet, no one around. After a few minutes waiting someone turns up and takes us outside to a hangar, where I'm pleased to see the frame of B2, albeit looking somewhat rough. It's bent here and there, and there are some cracks in the welds. Everything other than the frame is missing of course, but I didn't expect to get this much back. I'm able to kick it back into shape on the sidewalk and get it mobile with the use of a few 'plasti-cuffs', (large plastic ties used by the police sometimes as handcuffs). Both the police and I reckon it had fallen / been thrown from the back of a truck probably on the night it was stolen during the getaway, as it would have taken a lot of force to do such damage. I decide to put the new box into the old frame, while the new the frame can remain with Ruth and Larry as a back-up spare. This thing is built like a tank and I feel it will cope. It then takes the best part of the day to rebuild B2 up to an expedition ready state. Ruth gets us a room each for the night. These people have been as good to me as it's possible to get. The money that everyone has raised has been a great help and they just didn't deserve me or my mood swings.

Thursday, 13th February 2003.

Canada This morning Ruth drives everything back up to exit 379. After our goodbyes I am finally off, once again only 19 miles short of Canada. It feels good to be back on the move. A pleasant day, just a little over cast. A bit of a cold side possibly but not that bad. I just don't want it to rain, not with the crap waterproofs I now have.

The day goes well and ends with a climb over some small hills before dropping down into Sweetgrass and the immigration crossing point. On the US side they have an idea who I am and what happened, so I don't have a problem leaving without a visa. And again there's no problems on the Canadian side, and having asked if I can have an extended visa because of the expedition and the walking etc I'm given one year. Just over the border is the small town of Coutts. As the sun sets I find myself a small restaurant and I'm allowed to sleep above an extension they're having built at the moment.

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