All the gear. No idea.

Rebels without a clue. That's me and Chappers right about now!

Sheltering from the sunshine (28 degrees in October? My translucent-skinned English torso isn't used to this!) in the air conditioned room, we're hanging up our new purchases to 'breathe', and so we don't get any silica-gel surprises when we eventually wear them in anger.

As predicted, my good friend Andrew went for a tassled brown leather jacket that had undergone an extensive ageing or 'distressing' process so it looks like it's been witness to millions of miles over a period of decades. This is partnered with a pair of jeans with leather patches stitched onto the backside and knees. It's like an early '90s English teacher's corduroy jacket converted into trousers. So VERY wrong to look at!. His helmet is a "Bell - Shorty Shadow" in tan and white. All he needs now is a sailor tattoo, and a hankie hanging out of one back pocket and the look will be complete. Believe it or not, he was considering a Harris Tweed sports jacket as an alternative to leather, because it looked distinguished. I despair sometimes! I think I've called him Chappers too much, and the upper class twit gene is rebelling in disgust. It's doing its best to break through and he's not putting up too much of a fight. He's happy enough though so I shouldn't complain too much.

I on the other hand have quite possibly made the biggest mistake of my motorcycle clothing life. The memories of the scuffed nipple were clearly more prominent than I imagined, and I couldn't bring myself to buy armoured jeans or textile stuff. I kept imagining falling off at 12mph and the seams disintegrating as I slid for half a mile in my boxer shorts. Irrational, but nonetheless, I am now the proud owner of a one-piece AlpineStars race suit. Unfortunately the only one in my size was white. Yes, you got that right. I will be riding around west coast USA on a Harley, in a set of leathers resembling a Star Wars Storm-Trooper. Of course I had to get matching white boots and gloves. My formal excuse will be that I chose white in order to reflect the sunshine, and stay cool and fresh. Somehow however I don't think anyone will believe me. I tried to pull it back from the brink with a Shoei Kagayama replica helmet, but I fear it was too little, too late. Why is it the biggest mistake of my bike clothing life? Somehow I may have managed to clothe myself in a more camp manner than Chappers. I don't think we'll be heading to Alabama!

Anyway. Style faux pas aside, it's one less thing to worry about. We've ordered a top-box from the dealer for Chappers bike, so with a backpack for me we won't need to bin a thing. They've even told us they can wire up a cigarette socket to recharge phones or the laptop from his bike while on the move, and not fry the battery - and while we wait. That's real service for you. In London you'd have to book a couple of weeks in advance and leave the bike for almost as long, come back to find the junior salesman had been using it for pizzaa delivery on the side, and pay through the nose for the privelege. I'm really beginning to see so many things that make me cringe at the thought of home. Little things like we take the piss out of saying "Have a nice day!", because it's a false sentiment foisted upon low-level workers by overbearing chain corporations who want to cream everything out of your wallet - but actually when they say it here, they mean it! The genuine warmth with which you are greeted, served, helped, directed, and experience every other form of consumer interaction is almost touching. I can feel this angry ball of British cynicism punching at my stomach, and clawing up my oesophagus to try and burst out in a rampant tirade of bile and nastiness as a response. However, instead of having to fight it, the warmth washing over me from Americans seems to be flooding through and pushing it back down. It's wonderful!

So, on that point of pure schmaltz, I'm signing off. We're going to enjoy an evening of heavy drinking to say goodbye to Hollywood, before we head toward Vegas. We're not leaving until Saturday but neither of us are overly enamoured with drinking and driving, and I reckon we could fuel the bikes from our own fumes if we drank on Friday and rode on Saturday.

Cheerio!