The End

65 days after leaving Union Station, Washington we rode triumphantly over the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco and very suddenly our trans-continental journey was over. We'd cycled 3590 miles for the Bone Cancer Research Trust spread over 52 days.

Apologies to those regularly Team Bones followers but we won't be posting a full update until next week when we are back in the U.K. However that belated final installment will be rich with hilarious anecdotes and breathtaking photographs that should aptly describe the final leg of our journey as well as filling a few of the gaps that have appeared in the blog along the way. Hopefully it will be well worth the wait.

Thanks to everyone who's been so generous in supporting our journey across Washington D.C, Virginia, Kentucky, Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, Utah, Nevada and California. Your donations and encouraging/inspirational messages kept us going the whole way.

...a much needed progress report from Nevada

Day 59 to Lovelock, Nevada. 76 miles.

A relatively long day was firstly brightened up by a suprise truck-stop 30 miles in and some of the largest breakfasts so far ("Why is the weight not falling off?") and then by an afternoon dip in a clear cool lake where the locals were wowed by Martin's stand in boxer/swim-shorts. He's definitely not one to leave anything to the imagination.

Day 58 to Winnemucca, Nevada. 56 miles.

Imagine someone holding an industrial hair-dryer on hot in your face and then trying to cycle into that in 100 degrees heat. Annoying. Fortunately we stumbled across a nice motel with a pool and a dinner which served outrageously big portions of baby-back-ribs (you don't need a complementary portion of spaghetti with the ribs and chips... obscene).

Day 57 to Battle Mountain, Nevada. 76 miles.

Long road, stinking hot, lots of dirty meat based food, standard day.

Day 56 to Elko, Nevada. 50 miles.

After hitting the snooze button too many times we had an unplanned lie in. Fortunately it was only a 50 mile day so we were only in the saddle for three hours. i'm starting to curse my decision to buy hat red spandex bib. Every time I need I pee I have to get practically naked by the roadside and every time Dan takes a picture. You'd think it would stop being funny... he doesn't think so.

Day 55 to Wells, Nevada. 61 miles.

Shorter day in terms of mileage today but two dirty great hills which we timed to climb at midday... idiots. Half of Well's (where we stayed in the evening) had been destroyed by an earthquake a few months ago. After Joe was ripped-off paying $20 for a bag of sodas in the local mini-mart and we were forced to have a Burger King for dinner we decided the scenic tour of the town probably wasn't neccesary. It would be fair to say that in terms of appearance towns in Nevada aren't he most quaint or charming.

Day 54 to Wendover, Utah. 102 miles.

Up early for the standard motel 'complementary continental breakfast' of an instant coffee, stale sweet muffin and bowl of corn puff cereal, we hit the road by 7.30. It was a good thing too as it was hitting 90F by 9am. Fortunately I had smeared myself in factor 60 (yes you can buy it and no it doesn't rub in) not to mention that stylish doo-rag to keep the sun off my long head. Dan and Joe have got pretty to used to the sun and have the most outrageous T-shirt/shorts/gloves tan lines.

Today's trip was along the salt planes so thank goodness was completely flat. The scenery was stunning even if the road was dead straight for 80 miles and luckily there's a big hard shoulder so we could ride side by side and have a chat. I didn't once have to reach for the ipod for an uplifting hit of High School Musical which was a good sign. We got to Wendover by 4 so had plenty of time to watch rubbish TV in our motel and snack heavily.

Day 53 to Lake Point, Utah. 27 miles.

My bike arrived by lunchtime (after Delta had shipped it to another city in Utah). So after screwing it all back together and stopping off at a bike shop to stock up on spare inner tubes, we started as a threesome in ernest. We got nearly 100 yards before stopping for an all you can eat Lebanese buffet lunch... start as you mean to go on. After having braved the lentil and onion based meze (brave being the right term for Joe who has been a touch more regular than he'd hoped.) we joined the interstate which was to be our home for the next 500 miles. 27 miles later having been laughed at constantly for my ridiculous 'don't leave much to the imagination' cycling shorts and a bright orange doo-rag we arrived at Lake Point. It turns out the name was deceiving as at no point could you see the Lake from our soulless truck-stop motel. Still some undercooked chicken wings from a restaurant with less atmosphere than a derelict Harvester soon lifted the mood and we headed to bed ready for a big day tomorrow.

...and then there were three.

Sunday 20th - 1000's of miles on the plane.

Hello blog readers. Let me introduce myself i'm Martin "Assistant to the Team Leader" Stew.
I'm one of Dan and Joe's friends from Uni who's joining them for the last 800 miles to San Francisco. Those of you who have seen the photo in that little red spandex number will realise i'm here to bring a little much needed style to the trip.

Before I tell you what you we've been up to since I arrived, allow me to vent a bit of my anger with Delta Airways. Firstly they stung me for excess baggage. Then they decided it would be hilarious to put me next to a six foot five vegan Maurie who was tattooed from head to toe and seemed to extend his disdain for animal products to a revulsion for deodorant (i've checked the ingredients of my Right Guard and there's no meat in a roll on). Then on the next flight from New York to Salt Lake City I was put next to a Bubba Gump look-a-like who had never flown before and started shrieking with genuine terror when we hit a bit of turbulence. I had to prise his hand of my inner thigh and turn up my headphones to drown out his whimpering.

Anyway enough about the flight. I was met at the airport by the boys Brad and Kyra, two friends Dan and Joe had met in Utah. The first thing that struck me was the fact they looked like two mountaineering hobos. It is impossible to appreciate how ridiculous Dan and Joe's beard's are until you see them in person. Joe's course wispy offering looks similar to Gary Johnson from Team America after he's been valmorphorised. Meanwhile Dan's grotesque growth makes him look like the reversible character from the Daddies Sauce bottle. He is also constantly snacking on bits of food which gets snagged in his beard not dissimilar to Mr Twit.

Day 41 - Moab, Utah (95 Miles)/ Day 42 - Rest

Having slipped into a routine of late starts and early finishes in Colorado the prospect of our first day in Utah and introduction to the deserts of the west was not an appealing one - 100 miles with no services.

Despite it still being a struggle for Dan to eat in the mornings we were up at 5:30am and after driving/cycling through were tucking into a McDonalds the only available breakfast in Fruita at that time. By 6am we we were on the road laden with 20 litres of water between us and a lunch-box brimming with power bars/beef jerky.

7 hours, our first ride along an interstate (US80), border #8, a ghost town (Cisco - a series of abandoned shacks in the desert), a brief squabble, a quick bite by the pool at Uath's only AAA 4* rated resort (http://www.sorrelriver.com/index.php) - technically that is a service?, 95 miles and some of the best scenery so far later we arrived.

Having built the confidence a bit we should now have an idea of what to expect on some tough desert days ahead in Nevada when the Assistant to the Expedition Leader Martin joins the journey (Salt Lake City on the 21st).

Day 39 & 40 - Fruita (56 miles & rest)

It was a fairly uneventful day from Delta, at least as far as Grand Junction, the last major town in Colorado. I (Joe) did my now customary trick of managing to find that needle in a haystack to pop my brand new 'bomb-proof' tyres on the outskirts of the city, and so yet again the pair of us walked the last mile or so to the nearest bike shop to have team member's tyres coated in Kevlar, set in concrete, filled with jelly, ANYTHING TO STOP THEM POPPING. The diagnosis was simply that I am the 'unluckiest man in the world.' Bodes well for the desert.

From Grand Junction we headed 7 miles West to Fruita, a really friendly small town with a great campsite on the Colorado River. The next leg of the journey would take us to Moab (mo-ab) in Utah, 97 miles away with no reported services on route, so it was an easy decision to take day 40 as a rest in Fruita to prepare for this first foray into the desert.

The rest, as ever, was spent lazily pottering around town, eating, doing laundry and sleeping, but the long trip to come was always at the back of our minds. The alarm was set for 4am in an attempt to avoid the worst of the heat.

Day 38 - Delta (49 miles)

We woke up to freshly baked cinnamon rolls and hot coffee, which fuelled us up for the 1000ft ascent that was the first job of the day. Cerro Summit was a great ride, and from the top it was all downhill to Montrose. We found a great sports restaurant, and really enjoyed the Wimbledon men's singles final over eggs, ham, pastries. hashbrowns, toast...why is the weight not falling off? Sadly, Montrose was where Parker went his separate way, heading West to follow the 'Western Express' to San Fran, while we headed North on our jaunt to Utah.

Delta was a gentle ride away, and we enjoyed a few quiet pints that evening before hitting the tent, sorry to see Parker ride off into the sunset (or imminent storm as it looked, unfortunately) but excited at the prospect of a reunion on the West Coast, which is beginning to become more of a reality that a distant dream.

Day 37 - Cimmaron (45 miles)

With hangovers to rival Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum, us three weary revellers headed West, hoping to get to Montrose by night. The scenery remained impressive, with the road winding through rock faces and alongside mountain streams before ascending once again over Black Canyon. A great lunch stop at Elk Creek ended any hope of Montrose, but after 45 miles we were more than happy to arrive at the campsite at Cimmaron, decorated with signs of 'fresh baked pie.' Buffalo burgers and hot peach pie went down a treat, and when Parker made a campfire by the side of a babbling brook we had the distinct impression we had stumbled into an episode of Dawson's Creek. Another good day in the Rockies.