Extreme Frontiers: Racing Across Canada from Newfoundland to the Rockies by Charley Boorman

years ago with Ewan, when a similar guy in a white van in London wished us all the luck in the world.
    Riding along, I kept thinking about the movie
Police Academy
and what might lie in store for me. The Mounties are tough and I knew their training was second to none; they’re renowned
     for training police forces from all over the world. Hopefully they wouldn’t run me too ragged. I mean, I’m forty-five now
     and a little portly. I’m bike-fit – I’m always bike-fit – but I wasn’t sure I was quite Mountie-fit, if you see what I mean.
    Even though we got lost on the way (it was bound to happen at some point, I suppose), we eventually found the place. It was
     a pretty splendid-looking red-brick building set back from the road in lush-looking lawns. Parking the BMW outside the front
     doors, I climbed off, stripped off my helmet and wiped the sweat from my brow. Russ went in, but a few minutes later came
     out again to tell us that this was the wrong place. This was their headquarters; we wanted the training centre. Apparently
     the people he’d spoken to inside hadn’t been the most helpful – they didn’t actually give us the address of where we had to
     go; they just told us to head back to the lights and turn left. Beforewe did that, we took a breather; three bikes and four sweat-soaked travellers: we were all a little bushed after the heat
     of this morning and those last few days in the canoe.
    Just as our first impressions of the Mounties looked to be a little tainted, a cop in a marked white pickup swung by and told
     us he’d take us to the training centre. Saddled up, we followed him down the street and made the turn suggested to Russ. I
     thanked the cop and he told me that I’d better expect boot camp, because that’s what this place was. That made me nervous,
     but I kept telling myself it couldn’t be that bad, and it was only a day after all.
    We had to stop at some very tall gates in a very tall fence, ten feet at least, with barbed wire encircling the top. This
     was the real deal, and I admit my stomach was churning. Checked through, we rode round to where they’d asked us to park the
     bikes. Dan was waiting for us; he was a corporal from the communications section, wearing a blue uniform and a cap with a
     yellow band. A cheery chappie, he told us that his job was to meet and greet people like us and delegates from other police
     forces, and teach them how the RCMP did the things it did. He showed us into a red-brick building, ‘Centralized Training’,
     where we would check in, then took me down to get kitted out in shorts and socks, all ready for my training day tomorrow.
     Gulp! Now the nerves were really kicking in.
    On the way down to the stores, we talked a little about the history of the RCMP and Dan explained about the horses, the mounted
     bit of the mounted police. Apparently they were actually phased out between the mid sixties and early seventies, although
     there was still an equine training centre in Ottawa. They were mostly used for ceremonial purposes these days, rather than
     actual police work.
    We were now in C Block; built in 1953, it’s the original leathercraft shop where the famous riding boots the Mounties wear
     are made. Inside, the signs were both in French and English. Dan led me down to meet Sean, the stores guy, who said he had
     some goodies lined up for me. Bringing out a blue kitbag, he revealed a white RCMP cadet T-shirt with my name emblazoned across
     it.
    ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘You’ve been expecting me, haven’t you?’
    ‘Oh yeah, that we have.’
    He gave me a red rubber gun, the size and shape of an automatic, to fit the holster he would also be issuing. Then he kitted
     me out with trousers that were too long but would be taken up, and a pair of white RCMP socks, and told me I’d be getting
     some body armour just like any other cadet. I was trying to take it in – all this for only one day. As I was thinking about
     what they might have