I know it's becoming boring, but...

...it's also becoming a tradition: that I take two photographs; one a shot from my hotel window; and the other a shot of the room. So, here they are: my room at the El Tropicano Hotel and the view from my room.

My room...

... and the view from my hotel window

Riding around San Antonio...

The beginning of the journey

Still feeling a little weary, but decidedly more upbeat about my hotel, which has a lot more character than the Crowne Plaza where my colleague is staying, I sauntered downstairs to see whether I could find a decent breakfast venue somewhere in downtown San Antonio. Already the sun was up and it was looking amazing outside, just like a stunningly hot summer's day in the UK in, say, mid-July. But then I heard the general cacophony of the hotel's breakfast room and decided to stay in.

The El Tropicano has a Mexican flavour about it; remember, we're virtually on the border here and the staff all seem to be Mexican or hispanic and it's great. The entire hotel has that Mexican Cantina air about it and I really like it, right down to the piped music, which isn't 'musak' but that upbeat Mexican brass sound that you get in movies like The Three Amigos.

Me and the bike, San Antonio, Sunday 2nd March 2013

Breakfast was self-service and, if it has to be said, but in a kind way, a little slapdash. Little things, like one knife and fork and spoon wrapped up in a napkin (albeit a cloth napkin, not paper). The problem is that when you finish your main course (in my case scrambled egg, sausage and fried potatoes cut into small cubes (lovely) it would be nice to have another knife to butter your toast. But they're not readily available so you have to ask, which is just a little irritating.

It was good to get tea with milk, even if I did have to ask, and the waitress brought orange juice to my table and was generally very helpful and down to earth. That's what I liked about the El Tropicano – it was down to earth and not up it's own arse.

Something else that was nice was the clientele: ordinary people, mainly Americans, some old, some young, some families, a good mixed bag and, fortunately, no businessmen. This was definitely not a businessman's hotel – it was the Harley, not the sportsbike of the hotel world, the Jeep, not the Jag, so to speak, but the room was good, as you can tell from my now traditional shot of the hotel bedroom. I really like the El Tropicano and guess what? The Rolling Stones have stayed here, probably way back in the sixties and who knows, they might well have occupied my room as it's huge, it overlooks the pool and it's the right height from which to throw a television set. Although, the nice flat-screen Hisense model dominating my room is probably a little hard to throw out of the window – and who would want to? (Alright, I have long harboured the fantasy of throwing a television set out of a hotel room window. One day, my friends, one day...).

Cycling around San Antonio

The Alamo where, sadly, Ozzy Osbourne misbehaved himself.

This morning, while out wandering about town I noticed, to my satisfaction that San Antonio has a number of what it calls B-Cycle stations dotted around. Later, after lunch and a long, tiring walk from The Alamo along Navarro and then North Saint Mary's to my hotel – in the afternoon heat – I spotted one of these stations and then noticed on the map provided by the hotel that the place was peppered with B-Cycle stations and one was a very short distance from the El Tropicano.

I was going to have a swim in the outdoor pool but believe me, the water was freezing, so I headed off towards the nearest cycle station and hired myself a bike. The deal here is $10 for half an hour and you're supposed to re-dock the bike and take out another one – the idea being you don't simply hog a bike all day. The $10 bought me a 24-hour pass, so I could go out now and get out another one, but I'm not going to, although I guess I could go out tomorrow morning. We'll see. Hey, I could ride to the Convention Center, the Henry B Gonzalez Convention Center, where I'll be for most of next week. As I say, we'll see.

View from the bike.

The shot on the left is the view from the bike. Note the lack of traffic on the road. 

It was easy to get the bike out of the station, much easier than in Essen a week or two ago and soon I was on my way. Like the bikes in Essen, the Bixi bikes in Montreal and, of course, the Boris Bikes in the UK, the B-Cycles have baskets and a padlock. The basket carried my rucksack, which contained everything I'd need. I pulled out of the Navarro station and headed down North St Mary's, turning left on to Navarro, right into East Houston, right again into Soledad and then I lost track of what road I was in; the main thing was there was no traffic so I simply rode around town, stopping here and there to take photographs.

I found myself down by The Alamo and managed to get a photo taken of myself in front of the historical fort by an obliging gentlemen in a bright yellow Tee-shirt. By this stage I had no idea how to get back on to Navarro for the ride back to the hotel so I had to ask the man in the Tee-shirt for directions. It turns out it wasn't far away. I rode out on to East Houston from the Alamo Plaza and then across Jefferson and turned right on to Navarro. From there it was a straight road until I found North St Mary's and the bike station, which was hidden from view and, I'd imagine, quite difficult to find. I parked up the bike and then retraced my steps back to North St Mary and then left into Lexington to my hotel.

Back in the rack, the ride is over.

It was hot and I figured a cold Dos Equus would be worth drinking so I ordered one from the hotel bar and chilled for a while.

Comparing the three rides: Montreal, Essen and now San Antonio, the best was Montreal, followed by San Antonio and then Essen, although they were all good in their own way.

After San Antonio, I'm off to Knoxville, Tennessee, birthplace of Johnny Knoxville of Jackass fame and film diretor Quentin Tarrantino. If there are bikes there, I'll ride 'em. Then it's Los Angeles so hopefully there will be bikes there too, who knows?

Better go, I'm starving hungry and need something to eat, followed by a good night's sleep.

San Antonio, Texas...

You can't fly direct to San Antonio from the UK so I took a flight down to Houston, which took nine hours, and then after an hour or so at the airport, transferred to a short flight to San Antonio – all with United and pretty good all round. The London-Houston flight was good – daylight all the way, which I like – and because there's not much else to do when you're on a long haul flight, I read the newspaper.

In fact, for the first time ever, I had time to actually read my Guardian. Normally I read Tim Dowling, the Q&A, possibly the Experience and the property pages and the rest remains unread due to other commitments. But when you're at 35,000 feet, strapped to chair with little else to occupy your mind, the newspaper is a good idea. I'm so glad I queued at Terminal Four's WH Smith to buy it.

We'll come back to queuing later on as I'm a little fed up with the way businesses inconvenience their so-called customers just so they can save money. Saving money is the key phrase here, but it translates very easily into greed. There were a few examples, the first being United's auto-check-in at Heathrow. Oh for human beings! It's like in the supermarkets when they beckon you over to the auto check-outs. I never go and I can never understand the gullibility of those who promote the technology that will basically put them out of work.

United has auto-check-ins at Terminal Four and I very quickly lost my patience (I'm amazed at how quick-tempered I get in frustrating situations when I know that the frustration is being caused by somebody else – in this case United Airlines – trying to save a quick buck. I much prefer human contact, but no, I had to type in all these details that required me to unpack my suitcase. Very irritating.

While the United flight UA5 to Houston was fine overall, something else that bugged me was that I had to pay for stuff. Normally, say with BA or others (but not budget carriers) you order a small bottle of wine (187ml) and it's free, but not with United. It cost $7 a time and I could only use my credit card. Okay, the rest of the flight was good and the service was fine, so I'll let them off, but I hate that grasping nature of the business world, especially in these lean economic times. It's almost as if they're cutting off their noses to spite their faces – in my opinion, the main reason behind the continuation of the global recession.

What makes me laugh is their inability to grasp the situation. Nobody's got any money, but that doesn't stop, for example, Marina O'Loughlin in the Guardian's Weekend magazine reviewing the Quality Chop House on the Farringdon Rd in London and adding the sentence, "About £50 a head with drinks and service." Now, I know what you're thinking: "she's only telling you how much the place costs" – but that's not it. It's that silent assumption that those reading her review will think, "Oh! £50 a head, that's reasonable!" No, it's NOT reasonable. With two people thats £100!!!!! Add a couple of kids and you're be nearer to £200! And for what? A plate of Basque charcuterie. Lardo strips? Blackface Haggis Scotch eggs? So what? It's still a few quid short of £200 and who the hell can afford to waste that amount of money on dinner out? I'd rather spend it on two week's worth of shopping.

I wonder if you'd tip the restaurant at that sort of price? I wouldn't. My view on tipping is this: I never tip, unless I'm abroad in, say the US, where tips, I think, are more a part of the culture than in the UK. By that I mean that people have said to me you must tip because they get a bit irate if you don't and, to be honest, I don't want to upset anybody when I'm in a foreign country where anybody can roam around at will shooting people with semi-automatic weapons.

Another reason I don't tip? The experience is NEVER up to scratch, the service is NEVER that good, the food always leaves me with the feeling of 'hmmm...it wasn't that brilliant' and I also find myself thinking: why can't the restaurant pay their staff better so that I'm not expected to give them their bonus? Bastards.

No, the idiotic nature of 'business' is everywhere. They just don't get it. How about the Birmingham Royal Ballet performing Aladdin at the London Coliseum? A nice night out, a treat for the children, perhaps? Well, let's see now, stalls at £65 per head and if a family of four take up the offer, they can enjoy the show from as little as £20 for up to two under-16s and here's the crunch, "for every two FULL-PRICE adult tickets. That's £130 to start with. Throw in dinner at the Quality Chop House and you're night out is creeping up to £500. Well, what's £500? Nothing! We spend that on a night out every weekend!

And that's what I mean. In the business world where, incidentally, wages are declining, business, generally, acts as if a recession isn't  – or hasn't – happened, when quite clearly it has; and then you read on the news about how shops are being boarded up, companies are going into administration and there's an kind of expectation that we should all be really concerned about the poor businessmen who are losing money and having to shut up shop because we, the horrible, inconsiderate consumers, are not shelling out £50 a head to the nice little proprietor of the Quality Chop House so he can keep his head above water. We don't count, oh no, we can get in debt as long as the Quality fucking Chop House remains in business and the seats at the Coliseum are all taken. And if they're not and the Coliseum has to close its doors 'for the last time' then we're all expected to dip our heads in mourning.

It's so simple to understand: salaries are declining, prices on the other hand are going up. This means that people can't afford to do things like they used to UNLESS the prices come down. But they're not, so the businesses go out of business and then we all sit in front of our televisions wondering what the world is coming to – or rather the media wonders what the world is coming to and the businessmen wonder too, but the sorry truth of the matter is this: they KNOW! They KNOW! But they're so thick with greed they keep trying to tempt us with £50 per head meals and then wonder why they're restaurant is empty. O'Loughlin, incidentally, gives the Quality Chop House 8/10 for value for money! Wow! She must be SO wealthy! Oh, hold on, she can claim it on expenses.

So, I arrived in San Antonio where, incidentally, there are blue skies and no cloud and outdoor swimming pools. Right now, as I look out of my hotel window, there is a bright sun and it's only 0741hrs. I'll have photos just as soon as I fire up the camera.

There's not that much to report on at the moment. I had a terrible night's sleep, which I put down to jet lag and I've discovered that the hotel I'm staying in – the El Tropicano – does not permit international calls. I was getting in a quiet rage about this in the middle of the night, but when I awoke in the morning and found that they do have WiFi, I decided to let them off.

I won't let O2 off, though. There's another example of a crappy business. Remember not too long ago when the O2 network just went off for millions of subscribers, me included? Well, that's one example and then this morning I discovered that my phone has no signal. How pathetic is that? Mind you, it means that I won't be using it, which in turn means that O2 will lose out. Once again, a prime example of the short-sightedness of British business who fail to believe that old adage, 'the customer is king'.

More to follow, ie photos and I'll see if I can find some push bikes to ride around town.