We had planned on leaving early for to see the redwoods, just north of here. But something caught the eye of Josh. He was reading my blog entry from yesterday and discovered Hulu.com. And from there, something incredibly magical happened.

He and we discovered….

Oh yes, Time Tunnel, starring Tony and Doug. Sure, yes, their names are unassuming and incredibly boring and white¹.²

Anyway, we were delightfully distracted by Time Tunnel. This was the episode where Tony and Doug got captured by aliens in the year 1883. It was amazing.

So that was our morning.

Finally, around 2pm or 3pm we got ourselves together, hopped in the 9th Street Limo that I had waiting for us and departed, first stopping at Whole Foods for some unwhole foods. We live for irony these days.

After vegan snack buying, we headed for the wilds of The Area Just North of Here. We were in search of the Big Tortoise. The Big Tortoise once terrorized Berkeley proper, but then fled, leaving a trail of death and destruction in its wake.

We ran through the briers and we ran through the brambles. We ran all the places where a rabbit wouldn’t go. But we did run through the places where the Big Tortoise would go.

Along the way, though the danger was great. We saw many creatures.

We perchanced to catch a quick glimpse of the wateraccoon. The wateraccoon is half raccoon and half fish. They dwell in the deepest, darkest parts of the forests in The Area Just North of Here. I was only able to capture the raccoon part of the wily wateraccoon. And even this was amazingly rare.

It was then that we spotted what we believed to be Big Tortoise. He was sitting on a log, unassuming. Some turtles aren’t bothered by anything. Even flying saucers. And there he was.

All I managed to capture was a blurry picture. This was horrible. We wanted so badly to not just capture a picture, but the Big Tortoise himself!

But all of a sudden a Great California Sky Whale swooped down from the heavens!

We cowered in fear! Josh and Cole ducked for the cover of the brambles. I picked up a large pointed stick to defend the cowering couple from almost imminent danger!

The Great California Sky Whale first attacked me with his dorsal fin, knocking me back several yards. I regained composure and struck his fluke³ and he let out a frightful bellow!

It was then that the Great California Sky Whale picked up Josh in his sharp teeth, and tossed him to and fro, eventually nearly impaling him on a nearby wooden fence that was built in 1903!

We all screamed! AH! And Cole, in her most daring display of heroinism yet, jumped into action! She grabbed the pointed stick from my hands and did battle with the Great California Sky Whale and the Big Tortoise. She was momentarily helped by the wateraccoon as he splashed his deadly water at the Great California Sky Whale. The Great California Sky Whale retreated as Cole chased him over the nearby hill to his super secret hideout – The Barn with Two Things on Top of It.

Oh what glory! With Josh and I nearly spent and defeated, Cole was the hero and the Great California Sky Whale would bother us no more! Huzzah! And huzzah again!

Here is the historical picture of the historic holy ground where the great battle was waged. It is considered one of the most sacred places in The Area Just North of Here. For it is here that the only victory in the great war against the Great California Sky Whale had been achieved.

It is here that three warriors stood/slumped victorious!

And they have renamed this sacred soil, which was once called The Area Just North of Here… Bear Valley! For what is more ferocious and mighty as a bear⁴? And what is more serene than a valley? Here, in this most serene of places, the great bear of a battle was waged and won, saving the good citizens of The Area Just North of Here.

Upon fully realizing our triumph, we were carried on the shoulder of small, furry creatures to the Forest of Endor where we were worshiped as god and the golden one told the story of our previous victory at the Battle of Yavin where we lost 90% of our fleet, but managed to evade their turbolasers to fire proton torpedoes into a two-meter wide exhaust port. Everyone said it was impossible, but it’s not. I used to shoot womp rats back home and they’re not much bigger than two meters.

This is all a vastly different story, so I digress.

Anyway, it was an incredibly lovely day. I even conquered a Great Stump on my way out of Endor.

We then went back to the 9th Street Limo for our journey back to Berkeleyland.

Upon the reaching of Berkeleyland, we watched the first five episodes of Flight of the Conchords and then took rest.

And you should take rest too.
Good night.

1. Sorry to anyone named Tony and/or Doug – but it’s true. I know it’s not your fault. It’s your parents’ fault for naming you Tony and/or Doug. But it’s true. [↩]
2. Oh, and for you parents out there who have named your children Tony and/or Doug – unless you’ve named them this in honor of the 60’s sci-fi TV show, Time Tunnel… shame on you! [↩]
3. Which is totally not even vegan. [↩]
4. Except, perhaps the Great California Sky Whale. [↩]

What started out as an ordinary Friday, ended in a blizzard of weirdness by the time midnight rolled around.

Again, this morning was all about not doing much. And I could really get accustomed to not doing much. Aside from showering, the only thing I accomplished was changing the headlamp on the scooter. All works just fine, by the way.

But around 1pm is when the day started in earnest. I again rode to downtown to hang out with Cole. I’m getting used to riding in this town, which is vastly different than riding in other towns. I’m not really sure why.

I parked in the same spot as yesterday, next to a Bajaj and an older, probably early 60’s Vespa.

That mostly just made me miss having an old Vespa. I’m hoping this doesn’t translate into me getting another old Vespa. But I’m betting it will. My scooter plans and herd must not expand beyond my means.

Or I have to have a garage. In which case, the scooters will breed like rabbits.

We ate at Long Life Vegetarian Chinese Place and again it was good. Josh joined up this time and we had a lovely dinner. I got Soy Chicken & Tofu in Spicy Sauce, and though it’s not very spicy, it is pretty good. Not as good as the Veggie Beef though.

And when we were finished feeding, we walked over to Comic Relief, the poorly-named, but awesome comic book store. I bought too many comics, but regret it not.

The jewel in the crown of my purchases being Incredible Change Bots by Jeffery Brown, possibly my favorite writer at this point. The book is a parody of Transformers and it made my day.

I also picked up Summer Blond by Adrian Tomine and Only Skin by Sean Ford, which is turning out to be basically amazing.

My problem with me and comics is that I don’t live close enough to a good comic book store to really keep up. For example, I was reading Buffy Season 8. I read the first five issues and haven’t been able to get to a store to get the rest. Now they’re up to issue 14. I can’t just jump in and read it without reading 6-13. Sad. The same goes for the new Firefly comics. The same would go for Angel Season Six, but I never saw Season Five, so it just didn’t matter much.

Speaking of Firefly, I was telling Cole about the fanfic by Steven Brust called My Own Kind of Freedom. I’ve not yet read it, but I’ve heard it’s great. So if you’re a fan of Firefly, check it out. And if you’re not a fan of Firefly, why aren’t you? Seriously, go watch it! All of the episodes are available for free (and legally) online at Hulu. You will thank me later. There is also a movie you’ll have to rent called Serenity. And then the fanfic. Which is here.

We staggered home eventually and Cole and Josh made us breakfast dinner. Pancakes, french toast, sausage and bacon (all vegan). It was magically delicious.

And that brings us to Bowie, doesn’t it.

Last night, we watched The Man Who Fell to Earth. It was a huge slice of weirdness ala 1976 starring David Bowie, Rip Torn and Buck Henry. And it has to be seen to be believed. Now, I’m a huge fan of weird. Give me a weird movie and I’m all over it.

But this one was unbelievably tedious. Though it clocks in a bit over two hours, it seriously felt like four. And I’m also a fan of long movies. I’m the only person in the universe who liked The Postman. Long movie? No problem! Weird long movie? That’s ok too! Man Who Fell to Earth? Oh my…

It’s definitely got a 2001: Space Odyssey feel to it. Yeah, it’s sort of like if 2001: Space Odyssey was a softcore porn staring a very skinny David Bowie for eight or nine hours. Should it be watched? Yeah, probably. More than once? I don’t see how.

The movie looks good, very late 60’s (though it was from ‘76). It was shot almost entirely in New Mexico. The plot is meandering and basically pointless, but I’m guessing that the plot wasn’t the point or something.

Anyway, if you have a burning desire to see David Bowie or Rip Torn nude¹ , then you pretty much have to see this. As for me, I’m just glad that it didn’t give me nightmares. Very glad.

And then I went to sleep. I nodded off a little bit during the Bowie movie, but not enough to actually miss anything. Sad, really.

Miles today: 5
Miles total: 4987

1. We were delightfully spared the sight of a naked Buck Henry. Thank you. Thank you SO much. [↩]

Having not much to do is a wonderful thing. This whole trip has been pretty tough. Long days, waking up early (which I do anyway), pretty strenuous stuff. It takes its toll, so it’s nice to have nothing to do sometimes.

And for me Berkeley is almost that.

But around 1pm, Cole, the mysterious heroine of this post, calls and I ride over to near Shattuck Street and park the scooter next to a 2005 Bajaj Chetak. I think motorcycle/scooter parking might be free in this town. Hard to say.

We head to Herbivore for a bite to eat. A guy who looks a bit too much like Prince takes our order and I get this amazing wrap thing.

It was pretty delicious.

I wanted to check out some record stores, so that was next on the agenda. I got the new Elvis Costello album, a David Gilmour/David Bowie 10″ of them covering a couple Pink Floyd songs and a TV Personalities remix 12″. The Elvis Costello album came with a little card that sends you to a website so you can download mp3s of the music. The whole album, actually.

Listening to it now. It’s called Momofuku. Not bad at all! It’s a good purchase. I think I’d definitely buy more music if it were on vinyl AND you get free downloads. Woo!

I can’t listen to the other stuff because Cole and Josh don’t have a turntable right now, but I’ll just ship them back with the rest of my stuff.

Outside the record shop, I discovered a new level of bike locking security. Duct tape. It was amazing. If I were a bike thief, I wouldn’t mess with this simply out of respect. It’s brilliant. Check it out.

All of this was taking a lot of time, but that’s great. The weather was good and the time flew by.

That Cole girl wanted to head to the farmers market and so we did. Lovely. Wonderful place. Lots of fresh organic stuff. They even have apple cider out here! Weird!

While we were getting some bread, a little kid of maybe seven years asks the guy for a muffin. The guy gives the kid the muffin and replaces that muffin in the display stand with another. He then said, “Like magic!”

The little kid sort of freaks out and says “No it’s NOT!” The kid’s mother (who was carrying a canvas bag with The Nation logo on it) then had to explain that he didn’t mean it that it was really magic.

I would pay this mother ten whole dollars to hear her explanation of why her kid freaked out at the mention of magic. Just what is she doing to her children? Strange folk round these here parts.

On the way back to get my bike, I came across two instances of poetry. The first was the Poem Store. The Poem Store is simply a guy with a typewriter who, upon giving him a certain amount of money, would write you your very own poem. I didn’t have much money, so I skipped this feature. However, what a fun job. I think I want to do this.

The next instance of poetry came from an older fellow named Mathew H. Lares. He was selling a few poems for $2. I decided that since I had only two dollars, he would get it. I bought them and do not regret the purchase. Not my style really, but good writing and a good cause. There should be more poets hawking their stuff on the street. Again, I want to do this.

Oh so then, I ride back to Cole and Josh’s only to discover that I brought the wrong house key with me. I can’t get in their apartment. So I ride to where Cole is nannying to get her key. But she gave her key to Josh because he gave his key to me. So there I sat, locked out.

I decided now would be a good time to get a start on changing the headlamp. My scooter keys and my tools are all outside. So I did that and such things were fine. I still have to finish it though.

We ended the evening by watching the Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode, Beast of Yucca Flats.

Good day? Sure was. I slept well!

Miles: 7
Total miles: 4983

My first full day in Berkeley, California. It’s weird to not have to load up and ride 200 or 300 miles to wherever. It’s a culture shock.

So I woke up and just sort of milled about. Played on the internet and talked to Josh and Cole before they left for work. Josh bought cinnamon rolls (VEGAN cinnamon rolls) for us and they were delightful.

They both left for work and I decided to shower and watch American Gladiators online. Guilty pleasure much? Sure, but who cares? It’s Hulk Hogan and a bunch of people getting the crap kicked out of them. How can you not like this?

With nearly every show being shown on TV also being shown on the internet, I’m trying to figure out the need for TV (meaning cable or satellite) if you have a good internet connection. Now, wherever I end up moving, they’re sure to have some 3-in-1 deal where you get internet, phone and tv for $100 a month. It’s hard to beat that and I would probably take it. But seriously, TV on the internet is the way to go.

Cole called and asked if I wanted to meet her for lunch. So I rode out to where she was nannying, and we walked downtown to Long Life Vegetarian Chinese Restaurant. We were there twice before when I was here last. They make an amazing “beef” thing. Very good.

After foods, we walked around the downtown. Berkeley really is a great town. I don’t want to slag it off. It’s got great shops and the folks whom I’ve met are pretty nice. It’s also got a LOT of Volvo station wagons and more professors wearing socks with sandals than you would ever.. EVER want to shake a stick at.

Seriously folks, if you wear socks with sandals, stop it. Make a commitment. If it is cold enough to wear socks, wear shoes as well. If it is warm enough for sandals, forgo the socks. Are we clear on this?

The town also has its fair share of older women with long gray hair in bib-overalls.

Most the folks here are extremely impressed with themselves. Well, most of the professionals here are. The regular folk are fine.

Berkeley is great for pedestrians and bicyclists. If you are either, you’ll love this town. It’s not amazingly scooter-friendly, but most towns aren’t. I believe it’s because scooter friendly is also motorcycle friendly and nobody wants motorcycles in their town. Especially towns with a lot of bicyclists.

Bicyclists have to obey traffic laws. Yes, they get their own lane, which is great, but they still have to stop at stop signs and red lights. They can’t cross at pedestrian crosswalks (unless they’re walking their bike).

This all adds up to me telling the bicyclists of Berkeley that they are not pedestrians. If there are pedestrians waiting at a crosswalk (or more likely crossing at a crosswalk without looking in either directions – just dumb, people) I’ll, of course, stop.

However, dear bicyclists, you are not pedestrians. If you are waiting on your bike at a crosswalk (or just zipping across the street via a crosswalk), I’m not going to stop for you. And don’t give me that overly self-righteous look, ok? It’s completely lost on me. Go eat some free-range organic chicken and leave me alone.

There, I said it.

But really, Bekeley is a wonderful place. It’s beautifully laid out, sort of like Santa Fe, but green and without the Santa Fe style houses.

We walked up to Live Oak park and watched some squirrels (this is all happening with the kid she nannies for, by the way – she didn’t just leave him at the house). And then we made our way back to the house, hanging out there for a bit.

During the hanging out, we saw deer in the back yard. I snapped some pictures. These deer are much smaller than Pennsylvania deer. And the mother (we saw a mom and two fawns) would hop instead of run. It was freaky.

They were there for a good ten minutes and seemed pretty unafraid of us. That’s probably not a good thing. Of course, it’s not a good thing for deer to be in your back yard if you live in a city. It just means that the city is WAY too close to where the deer live. Which means the city is way too big.

Our deer friends then made their way to the street in front and then down the street to wherever. Again, not a good thing.

But cute. Oh my, cute.

From their porch you can see “the city.” Berkeley and Oakland are cities, but not THE city. THE city is, of course, San Francisco. This is a weird place. But you can see the Golden Gate Bridge from their porch. I bet you pay a lot of money for that.

So I rode back to Cole and Josh’s house and wait for them to return. They do to discover that Josh’s bike has been stolen. A filthy yegg had creeped his or her way into their fenced-in area and burgled the bike. Dastardly, for sure.

But the bike was gone. Two bikes in three weeks. I promptly went and locked up my scooter. Covered it too. First time I had to do that this whole trip.

Josh’s family had invited us over for some dinner and so we went. There, we tried to think of five non-George Lucas/Steven Spielberg films that Harrison Ford had been in. We also discussed many other important topics.

His family is pretty cool. Huge family, with the aunt and uncle and cousin or two there. They even had great dogs. Weird, huh? Weird!

It was late when we got back and soon after, we were sleeping.

Great first day in Berkeley. Thanks!

Miles today: 5
Miles total: 4976

In 2004, I described the town of Carpinteria, which was my home for the night, like Milton-by-the-Sea. I think it’s changed since then. It’s a lot more upscale than it was. And that’s a real shame.

I wanted to get up early so that I could get an early start so that, if it came down to it, I could ride through Big Sur and straight onto Berkeley – a distance of at least 375 miles. That was a lot and I figured that I wouldn’t do it, but you know, just in case.

Making my way around town, Carpinteria didn’t have the charm it did four years ago. Sure, some parts did, like Casa del Sol, the motel that housed me. But not much else.

I have a thing for old motels. Not run-down motels (well, I have a thing for them too, but it’s different). This motel was great. The walls are poured concrete. Very cool. The ceilings are hardwood with real beams. Easy to love. Ok, the heater didn’t work and the bathroom was redone in some crappy 80’s homemaker style, but everything else was alright.

For the first part of the trip, I was avoiding highways. I wanted to see some towns. The first “town” that I came across was Santa Barbara. It’s odd to go from the blindingly poor conditions of the desert to … this. “Privileged” doesn’t even come close to describing it. I often describe this kind of stuff as “Bucknell Parents’ Weekend 24/7.” But even that doesn’t touch it.

Everyone who lives here, everyone, is several thousand times richer than I’ll ever be (and ever want to be). It’s amazing how ridiculous it is.

However, Santa Barbara, like Santa Fe, is a nice looking town. Santa Fe is nicer (sorry, Santa Barbara, but deal with it). While there, I saw the most amazing bus. Not a VW Bus – not exactly. It was an old school bus, painted blue like the sky, man. And it had a VW Vanagon welded to the top of it… and a little patio thing out the back. It was pretty cool.

I wish I would have taken more pictures or coaxed them into giving me a tour. But it was early and… well I just should have anyway.

Goletta was the next town. Actually, it’s sort of attached to Santa Barbara – but very very very clearly not Santa Barbara. First of all, their Main Street runs perpendicular to Santa Barbara’s main street. And it’s clearly not Santa Barbara.

Goletta is “famous” because that is where Ebullition Records and HeartAttack ‘Zine existed/exist. They’ve put out some great records and hopefully will again.

I didn’t stop there or anything, but it was neat to go through the town.

“The One” is California Route 1. It’s famous for its ocean views and twisty, windy ways. But before it gets all twisty, it winds its way through some very picturesque central Californian hillsides.

I was usually all alone on this road, which is often how I like it. And on the occasion that I would hit a small town, it was usually pretty unassuming. A few of them were fairly impressed with themselves, but I didn’t stay long in those towns. They have no soul and will suck yours out.

Lompoc was a nice town. Small, mostly latino. Union Pacific Rail had a little depot here and I’m betting most of the population works there – or in the fields picking the stuff that will be carried by Union Pacific. Guadalupe was also a similar town.

But soon this stretch of road, which took me 14 or so miles away from the Pacific Ocean, would be at an end. Basically it ends with elephant seals.

Thousands of elephant seals use this one particular beach for mating, birthing and molting. Today they were molting. However, over 4,000 baby elephant seals were born here in Decemberish. The seals are often here and when we were through here in 2004, they were also present. As were a ton of people. And ground squirrels. Very not shy ground squirrels. Adorable.

It was time to hit the road. The twists awaited, so I geared up and hit the twists.

Now, I’m not usually a huge fan of “twisties,” but these were fun and the road was usually my own. Had this been a weekend, that wouldn’t be the case. But it wasn’t and I had a great time.

For nearly 80 miles I got a perfect view of the ocean. I saw cliffs and bridges built in the 30’s and very few other motorists.

It was a perfect ride. If I could turn around and do it again, I would.

I twisted my way to Big Sur State Park. This was supposed to be where I was going to camp, just like in 2004. However, it was 2pm. And I was cold. The temps were in the high 50’s and would only be dropping. The air is crisp, but soggy, because of the ocean. Cold and damp was on store for me through the night.

Or, I could ride through to Berkeley – some 150 or so miles north. Could I make it? My headlamp was still out, though I bought a replacement for it in Goletta. I should be able to make it to Cole’s well before nightfall. But what if I got lost or something?

I figured it was worth the risk. I didn’t want to stop riding. Sure, I put on 175ish miles, but could I really go for 175 more? And most of those would be interstate miles.

Hm. Yes. Yes I did. I felt like riding on the interstate. There, I said it. I guess the twists got me all twisted.

And as for fears of getting lost, well, I got lost. Several times. But this was fun too! It’s great to see the look on someone’s face when you pass them going 80mph on a little red scooter. That is especially rewarding when it’s an SUV or a Harley. The look they give you is worth the risk of going 80mph on a little red scooter.

A few sort of faulty directions later and I was there! Here! I was in Berkeley and Cole and Josh were welcoming and wonder and we had pasta (the quintessential tour food) and it was good!

What’s in store for me for the rest of the week? Who knows! Let’s rock!

Here are my pics.

Miles today: 420
Mile total: 4971

… since starting Route 66, I mean.

Today is the start of a new leg of Route 66. This leg lasts only two fully days of riding and then I have a much-deserved week off.

During that week, I’ll still have daily updates and will hopefully be riding as much as possible.

If any scooterists out in the Bay Area want to show me around, feel free to let me know.

Next week – The Loneliest Road in America (till SLC)…

The blog will probably change a bit. There have been SO many things that I wanted to talk about concerning riding, but have left them out in favor of Route 66 stuff. My philosophy was that Route 66 stuff is happening NOW. The random stuff about riding will happen again, so talk about it then.

Random stuff like – yesterday I noticed that my headlamp was blown. The day before that, it was the highbeam, now it’s both. I’ll be stopping at an autoparts store and fixing it on the road today (or tomorrow). The running light still works, so I do have some protection.

I should have carried a spare. Lesson learned.

Ok folks, it’s nearly 8am on the left coast and that’s when I’m hitting the road.

Big Sur tonight!

“Every exit is an entrance somewhere else” – Tom Stoppard

It’s sad to see it go. Just as it was sad to see it go in 2004 and 2006. When I woke up this morning, just as I had woken up the mornings of the last day of 66 in 2004 and 2006, I imagined being able to spend time at Santa Monica pier. To gaze into the Pacific Ocean and recount my weeks on the Mother Road.

This morning when I woke up, I knew it was the last bit of Route 66 I’d see for awhile. I knew it was the last time I’d open my guidebooks and research the history of past alignments. I knew from here on out, things would be very different.

This morning when I woke up, I showered and loaded the scooter. The family who stayed next to me brought a pick up truck’s worth of stuff for the weekend. They had more camping supplies than I’ve ever seen anyone have. I had a Vespa’s worth.

I rode out of the campground to Daggett, where I left off yesterday. And in Daggett I wandered around, explored the small town a little.

Daggett was the last Route 66 town I would explore on this trip. From here on out, things are too hectic, especially on a Memorial Day, to do much more than ride.

I was told to explore Sante Fe Street a bit. So I did. On it I found the Daggett Garage, which has an amazing past. You can read it here. Very neat.

Yesterday, I said that Daggett wasn’t a good place to stop for the night. I take that back. Not that the KOA was wonderful or anything, but everything that came before Daggett and everything that came after Daggett were very different from each other. Basically, from Barstow on, it was very LA.

Not that there isn’t great stuff in Barstow and Victorville, there is. But the population increased and the ability to just pull over and take pictures decreased. It became less about doing and more about seeing. LA is basically all about seeing. Most cities are. The Route 66 that I like is very rural. LA has some great stuff and I think it’s a pretty ok town. But it doesn’t beat Daggett, California.

Barstow, which is basically Daggett’s parent city, has a bunch of motels and generally keeps a Route 66 vibe. It’s bigger than I remember it and on this holiday morning, traffic was dead, but that’s ok with me.

A lot of distance separates Barstow and Victorville.

Jack Rittenhouse says of this point –

You are now leaving the vast desolation of the Mojave and are entering a region in which many small towns lies close together. The nearby Mojave River provides enough water to enable shade tress to grow in these towns, although there is still bare desert between. The region is full of dude ranches, small farms, and “desert hideaways.”

Much of this is still true. These towns aren’t so small anymore. The shade trees are less, as is the amount of bare desert between. But mostly, this still holds true.

The towns of Lenwood, Hodge, Helendale and eventually Oro Grande, while still separated by desert, are basically run together. Upon this desert separation houses have been built and developments have popped up. This is no longer a lonely stretch of road.

One of the final Route 66 icons (going east to west, that is) lies on this stretch. The Bottle Forest.

Route 66 has a lot of weird. I like weird. And the bottle forest is weird. Elmer (aka the Bottletree Man of Oro Grande) has constructed a whole forest of bottle trees. Two years ago, we stopped and talked with him for a bit. But today I was more in the mood to get to Cajon Pass before the traffic returning from a crappy weekend in Vegas got there. More on that in a bit.

After a pretty huge cement factory, I came into Victorville. Over 30 miles had passed since Barstow. I was low on gas and thankfully Victorville provided. I think I would like Victorville. It still seems to hold onto some of its small town charm. Unfortunately, the city is moving in. Over 200 movies were filmed in Victorville. The town used to resemble a typical “wild west” town. Most of those movies were wild west movies like the Gene Autry picture, Twilight on the Rio Grande.

Even the Jazz Singer was filmed here. I think this might just be the last Route 66 town (again, going east to west).

All morning I had been dreading one thing. Actually, all throughout the planning of the trip, one very small stretch of road had me so terrified that I was happily going to go three or four hours out of my way to avoid a 10 minute chunk of interstate.

That chunk is Cajon Pass.

Cajon Pass drops a billion feet in only a couple miles. Ok, it’s not that bad. I think it’s a 6% grade. Which also is fine. However, the speed at which the kind folks going into LA take this pass is amazing. When I did it in a car, at 85mph, I was terrified.

I figured a scooter just couldn’t do it. I was told by locals to skip it. I was told by a guy at the campsite where I stayed the previous night that with the wind and fog and trucks, he wouldn’t do it on a scooter.

It’s always wise to heed the advice given to you by locals. But in this case, I did not.

I stopped at the Summit Inn, gathered some strength and tore out onto the interstate expecting to have to do 80mph just to stay alive.

The winds were picking up, the fog was thick and settling in, and the speeds of the motorists were amazing. Rittenhouse suggests that “sometimes it is necessary to use second gear for safety,” but these folks weren’t paying much attention it.

After about 30 seconds, an 18 wheeler passes me. He is going about 65mph, I had not yet picked up full speed. When he pulls in front of me, he slows down to about 55mph. And he was my front door all the way down the pass.

Thank you, unnamed trucker. Thank you for quite possibly saving my life.

Near the bottom of the hill is the exit for Cajon Blvd, Old 66. I take it and follow that (mostly) into San Bernardino.

You can read more about Cajon Pass here.

San Bernardino is where the LA portion of Route 66 is in full effect. From here on, it’s a city.

There are many relics of Old 66 along the way. And it’s definitely not something that should be missed, especially for the 66′r who wants to do Chicago to LA.

This time I was taking a slightly different alignment, going through Chinatown.

I got a little lost along the way, but managed to figure it out.

See, California is REALLY amazingly good at marking which roads are Route 66. However, they don’t seem to find it important to tell you when a road stops being Route 66. Like, when you have to turn left on whatever street to follow Route 66. They just don’t mention it. Thanks, California.

I’ve also noticed that California randomly has numbered exits. Some are numbers and some just aren’t. That’s an improvement, but it makes no sense at all to just do like half of them (though even that is giving California way too much credit). Seriously, fix this.

In cities, it’s pretty well impossible to pull over and take pictures of stuff. Even though there are a ton of red lights, it seems that there just isn’t enough time to pull the camera out of my pocket, turn it on, take the pic, turn it off and stuff it back into my pocket. So I decided to just hang it around my wrist and not turn it off. I would take a picture at every red light that stopped me.

I did this for quite some time and it seems to be a pretty fun thing. I wish I would have thought of this before.

I hate driving in LA. But riding a scooter in LA isn’t bad at all! I thought it would be worse. It almost makes me like the town. Today showed me a side of LA that isn’t all evil. I could probably live here… but wouldn’t. It’s just too big.

And there I was, only a few blocks away from finishing Route 66. I got a little sad.

Several minutes later and I found the archway over the entrance to the Santa Monica Pier. I pulled over the best I could to take a picture or two. The endings of the Route 66 journeys always seem anti-climactic. I’d love to get out and take pictures, visit the pier, like I did in 2006, but today that wasn’t possible. Much of the street was blocked off for Memorial Day festivities.

All I could manage was a picture taken practically over my shoulder.

There was hardly even time to think, “what will I do now?” Route 66 and Jack Rittenhouse have been my companions for nearly the whole of this journey. As I made that turn north on California Route 1, I thought, what will I have to guide me? What is the plan? Was Route 66 just my schooling to get me started? Is it up to me to guide myself, and you, the reader, through the rest of America?

Maybe.

It’s worth a shot.

So let’s get started, ok? From Ocean Ave, where Route 66 unofficially ends, I swung around to California Route 1 and took it north. My destination was Carpinteria, CA, roughly 70 miles up the coast.

For you long time readers of my blog, you might remember Carpinteria as the town where Nikki, Ashley and I stayed after finishing Route 66 and before heading onto Big Sur and visiting Cole.

My plan after Carpinteria? Heading to Big Sur and visiting Cole. Somethings are best left unchanged.

Route 1 is a twisty little road that appears and disappears with California’s amazing lack of signage. I was following it and suddenly, just before Oxnard, it was gone. Where did it go? I’m not sure. I stopped an asked directions and was told that it would start again, just stay on US 101. I did and it did and it was great to see the Pacific Ocean again.

Along Route 1, there are lots of places to pull off to view or swim in the ocean. I gladly took advantage of one about 30 miles north of LA.

I got off the bike and walked up on a rock. While I was up there, an asian woman in her early 20’s approached me holding a parking or speeding ticket. “Are you the ticket collector?” I wasn’t really sure why she was asking me, but I said “… no?” She tried to explain that she wanted to pay her ticket to me. Yeah, she thought that I was a cop. Why? Maybe it was the bright red scooter with Pennsylvania tags. I really have no idea why she thought I was the fuzz, but it was cute. She laughed, a little embarrassed, and walked away.

A bit farther up the coast, I pulled over to see an amazing art project along the side of the road. Someone had stacked up pillars of rocks. Some were miraculously balanced on top of each other. This was great. I’m glad I wondered onto it before they were knocked down.

Back on the 101 and a few miles later, I was in Carpinteria and then at my motel – La Casa del Sol! Definitely not the nicest joint in the world, but I’m a sucker for 40’s and 50’s era motels. Even if they are a bit run down.

However, I do want to start camping. Or at least staying with people. We’ll see how that goes.

And for those who are wondering, every exit is an entrance to somewhere else. The blog will keep going and I’ll keep posting. I can imagine that this will take on a slightly different feel, but it will still be here and I hope that most of you will keep reading if you like it.

Here are my pics from today.

Miles today: 264
Miles total: 4551

Special care must be taken when riding into the desert. The Mojave, which Route 66 runs through, is Death Valley’s kid brother. It’s dangerous. The last time I was through it, it was 115 degrees. That’s nothing to take lightly.

I made sure I had enough water. I unzipped the vents in my jacket and riding pants, I put on my summer gloves and wore only a tshirt under my coat. Sure, the temperature was only 55 degrees now… but soon it would rocket to a deadly cauldron of fire!

I rode out of town until Route 66 dead ended and took the interstate to where I could again pick it up. The searing sun overhead wasn’t either. However, some very lovely rain clouds coated the sky. The swelter that should be under my black riding jacket was missing, instead goosebumps coated my arms.

It’s ok, I thought, I’m prepared. Soon, it’ll be a billion degrees and I’ll be cool as ice.

The strange little town of Goffs was my first stop. And good. Because the traffic between the interstate and Goffs was horrible. I didn’t remember such a thing being so on other trips. But then I realized that I was also on US 95, which heads to Las Vegas, Nevada. That would explain the traffic. And when Old 66 and US 95 went their separate ways, all was better.

The distances in the desert are all very exaggerated. Things that seem small, are actually rather large. Things that seem far away take very little time to get to. There is not sense of proportion in the desert. What seems like it should only be a mile or so away is actually ten. This creates such a surreal environment.

And since surreal is what I’m after, Goffs fit the bill.

It has been a ghost town since well before World War II. Route 66 bypassed it in 1931. But a recent resurgence, the restoring of their original school, has put Goffs on the Route 66 map. The often bizarre outdoor museum/sculpture garden certain helps.

Folks definitely should come for the history. I’ve heard that the school is now a museum. But since it’s open by appointment only, I’ve never been in it. A foolish handy man had left the gate open, so I took advantage and walked around the grounds.

Old pieces of machinery were placed along the paths. A windmill dominated the dry, sandy landscape. Most of these things represented pieces of the culture history of the Mojave Desert.

The flattened VW Bug and the weird robot guy under a loading dock and surrounded by 1960’s gas pumps didn’t make sense, but somehow fit.

I’m sure there was much more to explore, but thought that I should be going. I mounted up and off I rode for… Fenner? Fenner wasn’t much of anything. But it did have a gas station, the last until Amboy.

Here is where some rain fell. Yes, even in the desert, I can’t escape the rain. It was only a drizzle and only lasted a few minutes, but it was enough to make the desert smell of spring. We have that in Pennsylvania too, after a rain storm in April. But here, it was amplified. I stopped the scooter and just took it all in.

In Fenner, I fueled up and bought a bag of chips. The gas, by the way, was $5.68 per gallon. I guess if you need gas, you’ll pay anything. I didn’t mind. I’m perfectly ok with gas being $10 per gallon. Maybe people would finally rethink how they travel.

Probably not.

I crossed the interstate after filling up, rode about five miles and then hung a left onto National Trails Highway. This was the post-1931 alignment of 66. It’s about eight miles long and I had to turn around, but that’s ok.

There’s not much there at all. However, I strongly suggest seeing this. The road descends from the interstate above an amazing desert valley. You can see fifty miles in any direction. Even with the low-hanging rain clouds, the view was unbelievable.

This alignment, like the pre-1931 alignment, pass through Essex after connecting.

Essex, for what it’s worth, is gone. Originally, it was a railroad water stop. But since diesel locomotives need no water… and since there’s I-40, Essex dried up.

That’s not exactly true. In 1977, the population of Essex was 35. All 35 residents wrote the Los Angeles Times and claimed to be the only town in America without a television. Johnny Carson got wind of this and invited all 35 of them onto his Tonight Show. A Pennsylvania company that manufactured television translating equipment donated the good and finally, in 1977, Essex discovered television.

This is a lonely road. Even on a holiday weekend, Memorial Day Weekend, cars are scarce. I took many of my pictures while standing on the road. I’d often cross without even a thought of looking. Out here, in the silence of the day time, you can hear a car coming from nearly a half-mile away. You can hear a train from several miles away. Sound, as well as silence, is amplified.

The road was less lonely for the regular travelers of Route 66 through the 40’s and 50’s. Several rest stops provided the denizens of the original Route 66 with a place to enjoy a lunch with their family – in the middle of the desert. The idea worked some of the time. Just not in the summer.

One of these rest areas, between Essex and Cadiz Summit, is still being used to house a handful of plaques explaining the history of Route 66, the natives and the land. In all too brief essays, you learn that this desert is and never was deserted. Thousands of years before Route 66, this land was lived on by ancient cultures, ancestors of the native americans, who also inhabited the area. Before any of them, gigantic pre-historic mammals like the woolly mammoth and saber toothed tiger called this not-yet-desert their home. And before that, dinosaurs of various enormities!

All this from a tiny, bullet-ridden plaque. And a bit of modern archeology revealed cement foundations that used to support the picnic tables at this very rest stop! Wonderful. Actually, it was pretty cool.

Far off in the distance, a train passed. It was barely visible. I took a picture and in it, you can hardly see that it’s there at all.

Along the road, from Essex to Amboy, for years now, people have left messages written with stone for the amusement of themselves and their fellow travelers. Mostly, it’s names, spelled out in your typical desert rocks. Sometimes, people brought their own stones, painting them bright blues or yellows, so that their own names would stand out above others.

This goes on for miles. In 2004, we did our own, spelling BunMonMou – the name of our trip¹ In 2006 I looked for it as I did today. But it’s gone. Or I probably just missed it. There are hundreds along this road.

I’ve mentioned before how much I enjoy seeing the thins I saw in ‘04 and ‘06 in ‘08. One of the places I was looking most forward to was Cadiz Summit.

When we were there in 2004, it was a heavily spray painted building. In 2006, it was a heavily spray painted building with a couch and TV sitting out in front of it. I wondered how long that would last.

The answer is – they’re still there, in spirit. The TV has been hacked to pieces and is now impaled upon the several tires it once sat upon. Rise up, oh old tires! The couch has met a similar end, it’s broken and beaten carcass left to bleach in the sun, several yards from where it served as a prop for some artist somewhere.

The history of Cadiz Summit is even more spectacular than the graffitied remains. You can read a bit here. The pictures and stories are really fun. Does anyone ever check out the links I post in my entries?

Up over the summit sprawls the valley that holds the towns of Chambliss and Amboy. Much of this valley used to be used as an artillery range during World War II. Chambliss was the largest town between Needles and Daggett. It’s now, like most other Mojave towns along Route 66, a ghost town.

Chambliss is the home of the often photographed Road Runner’s Retreat. Every business in Chambliss is closed.

On the horizon, shortly after Chambliss I could see the Amboy Crater. The Amboy Crater looks like a cone volcano, not a crater. And that’s what it is, a cone volcano.

But before reaching this tiny volcano, and even before reaching the town of the same name, you pass three very important trees .

The bra tree, the boxer tree and the shoe tree.

All trees are what they seem to be. In the example of the bra tree, it is a tree filled with braziers.

The boxer tree is filled with boxers.

The most impressive, and the longest in existence, is the Amboy Shoe Tree.

I’m not sure how these came about, but every time I see one, I wish I would have brought an old pair of shoes.

But at the very least, I can admire the artistry and the surreality.

From the Shoe Tree, you can see Amboy, and more importantly Roy’s. Roy’s is finally reopened! And while it’s not a fully functional Motel Cafe, it does have gas. The prices aren’t ridiculously as high as you’d expect.

I was able to fill up and walked around the site a bit. A man in a forest ranger’s uniform who was packing a pistol was pumping gas. It was a bit odd and he almost seemed to be a volunteer, but who knows?

I had some ambition to make the three mile round trip to the top of the Amboy Crater. I wanted to. And the temperature was perfect for it – it was hardly over 75 today. But even though I stopped and contemplated it, I declined. Maybe someday I’ll finally do it, but not today.

The Amboy Crater is one of the most recently formed volcanoes in America. The most recent eruption seems to have happened around 500 years ago. The lava field is large, but not as large as the next volcano, just down the road.

I’m always impressed with the nothingness of Bagdad, California. At one time it was a huge mining town, specializing in copper, silver, borax and gold. Huge wagon trains hauled the stuff out of it back then. And even after the mines dried up, Route 66 kept Bagdad on the map.

Now, there is nothing left of it except for a tree. Just one tree. There are no foundations, no old buildings, no nothing. It’s gone, leaving a small solitary tree as a reminder.

The farther west you go on Old 66, the closer the interstate gets to you. At first you’ll see it in the distance, catch the flash of an 18 wheeler chugging down the highway. But as you near Ludlow, you are right along side it, like a frontage road.

As I pulled into Ludlow to grab a few pictures, ten or so motorcyclists on brand new Harleys with their brand new leathers were filling up at the gas station across the street from where I sat. A couple of them pointed and laughed at me on my little scooter. I motioned with my hand that they should laugh more and they stopped.

Now, what I don’t understand is this. I have, for the past twenty-six days, and 4,000 miles, ridden from Pennsylvania through some amazingly nasty weather, slept on the cold ground, shivering myself to sleep. But because I did it on a motorscooter, it’s somehow not as hardcore as buying a $40,000 bike, dressing up in $1,000 worth of leather and only taking your toy out on really sunny weekends?

I’m sorry, if you think what I’m doing is funny, then what they’re doing is unbelievably hilarious. Actually, what they’re doing is just moronic. They are morons. The real motorcyclists treat other folks on two wheels with respect. And while I’m not out here doing this for some weird respect kick, I find it sad that these poseurs have such tiny penises self-esteem that they have to compensate by laughing at me.

Ride on, weekend warriors!

Ok, so anyway. I crossed the interstate, riding along side it as a frontage road until I crossed it again on Lavic Road, so named because it’s the edge of the Mount Pisgah lava field. This field is huge. And Route 66 rides the outside of it and even dashes through it a bit near Newberry Springs.

Home of the Bagdad Cafe. The Bagdad Cafe used to be in Bagdad, way back a long time ago. It was where everyone from everywhere gathered. Well, when that closed, the legend continued until some guy made a move called the Bagdad Cafe. It was filmed in Newberry Springs at the cafe that would soon be renamed Bagdad Cafe.

I’d normally stop here, but there was a tour bus – and not wanting to deal with 60 people, I took a few pictures and rode on. The last two times through, we stopped and were the only ones in there. I liked that. But on this holiday weekend, that’s not going to happen.

Before I knew it, I was in Daggett. And this was my turn off for the KOA a mile or so away. Just like that.

I didn’t mean to plan the trip this way, but nearly every stop I’ve made has seemed natural. What I mean is, each segment was different than the one before it. The segment before Oklahoma City is vastly different than the one before it. So stopping in Oklahoma City made sense. Springfield, IL, Albuquerque, NM and even Amarillo, TX all felt this way. But Daggett isn’t a place to stop. Today, Victorville should have been where I stopped. But it wasn’t. It’s Daggett and it’s awkward.

Tomorrow is my last day on Route 66.
Tomorrow I will see the Pacific ocean and my 24ish day trek down the Mother Road will come to an end.

The trip then will take on a new life, a new meaning. But the thing is, I don’t know what that will be. And I don’t know how that will affect me writing this blog. I suppose we shall see.

Here are my pictures today.

Miles today: 187
Miles total: 4287

1. BunMonMou stood for Bunny, Monkey, Mouse. I was/am the Bunny, Nikki was/is the Monkey and Ashley was/is the Mouse. [↩]

Oh I woke up today and it was sunny! I woke up in Seligman, Arizona and the sun was out and I was happy. No, it wasn’t warm or anything like that. It was maybe 40 degrees, but when the sun is out after a day full of rain, it’s a pretty exciting thing!

So I showered and loaded up the scooter in the sun! Did I mention it was sunny? It was sunny! And then I went back into the room to do a final check and wrestle my armored pants and jacket onto my body.

And when I came back out guess what?

Yeah. It was raining. Of course it was. Question… Does the weather have to suck EVERY day of this trip? I mean… COME ON! If it’s not rain, it’s wind or threat of tornadoes or cold or snow! Just a pleasant sunny day, please.

Anyway, maybe I should have waited it out, but with the way that rain has been on this trip, I didn’t figure spending another day in Seligman would help matters.

I threw on my Devo suit and road west.

The rain was intermittent. In the first twenty miles, it fell from the sky in varying levels of intensity. It was never a downpour, but it was never enough to make me question the rain gear.

Route 66 around Chino Point leading into the Aubrey Valley, west of Seligman has been through a couple of alignment changes. I noticed them while the rain soaked through my gloves. I wasn’t wearing my winter gloves. Maybe I was saving them for when I just couldn’t take it anymore.

A few miles before Grand Canyon Caverns, I couldn’t take it anymore. My hands were a mixture of cold, wet numbing pain (if that’s possible) and I was dying for some way to warm them.

I pulled over and dug in my saddlebag for my dry winter gloves. The rain had temporarily abated, but I figured by the sky that it would shortly return. Shivering in the 42 degree dampness, I realized that I’ve had a handwarmer with me the entire time.

My exhaust. While the pipe is hot enough to burn the flesh from my bones, the emissions are warm enough to thaw my hands without them bursting into flames. It also warmed my gloves. This was perfect and I kicked myself for not thinking of this before now. I would have killed for this in Missouri.

Two years ago, it was sunny when we drove through here. Just before the town of Peach Springs, we could see the southern edge of the Grand Canyon. Today, I didn’t even notice it. The low hanging dark gray clouds reduced visibility from a blue sky day.

Older alignments were mostly to my left, but crossed current 66 as we dropped down into Peach Springs. Which alignment did Hi Jolly and the US Army Camel Corps take for Edward Beale? It’s hard to say. But Beale named the town Indian Springs in 1858. Later, Mormons settled and planted peach trees. Peach Springs then stuck.

The peach trees and the Mormons are gone. This is now the tribal headquarters for the Hualapai tribe. A few old gas stations and cafes dot the road leaving town.

As I climbed a hill on the west side of Peach Springs, to my left an old alignment, maybe the original Route 66, wound its way around swells and notches in the earth. All the while, modern 66 hacked its way through gentle rolling hills. To my left, I could see the subtle beauty in road construction. I could see how riding Old 66 could bring you closer to the land.

But this business of cutting huge gashes into and through the mountains simply so we could travel a few miles per hour faster seemed utterly disrespectful.

Nevertheless, this long stretch of Route 66 was serene. It was beautiful, even through the rain, which was again falling. Ahead, near the town of Truxton, named by Beale after some family member¹, splashes of sun threw shadows over the distant hills, giving them an artificial quality like that of a matte painting.

Truxton was a new town. It goes unmentioned by Rittenhouse in his 1946 Guide Book to Highway 66. But even in its newness, the town’s gas stations are closed, its motels (except for the Frontier) are closed. This town came and went quicker than others. I didn’t stop for more than pictures, but then, it’s rare that I do.

Shortly after, I descended into Crozier Canyon. “US 66 previously ran through this canyon community, and the remains of several tourist buildings can be seen,” wrote Rittenhouse in ‘46. “There is a swimming pool here,” concluded his entry on Crozier.

He mentioned that the highway often cut through solid rock. This is the alignment I was riding and the cuts are certainly impressive.

I left the highway to explore the old alignment as much as possible. Mostly it’s dirt and mostly it’s on private property. The owner, who has posted an abundance of “No Trespassing” signs seems less than thrilled that he holds a rare piece of history. This section of Old 66 was the last bit of 66 to be paved, in 1937.

While exploring, I waited for two trains to pass. This area was ripe with rail traffic today. The trains pulling the hill often had a couple of engine helping to push them along. One train was well over a mile in length.

Back on the modern alignment, I passed through Valentine. There used to be a gas station, grocery store and some tourist cabins here. It’s most famous for it’s Indian School, which is now closed. I stopped and took some pictures, noticing that a cactus I saw here two years ago was gone. Joshua Trees were now becoming common sights.

The rain seemed to have stopped as I pulled into the Hackberry General Store, a very well restored gas station turned curio shop. This is a must-stop for any Route 66′r. I have stopped here all three trips. Today, it was busy. Bikers from some other country, folks in RVs, a family from Allentown, Pennsylvania impressed that I rode the scooter all the way to here. This is an important place.

Here is when it again started to rain. I had taken off my rain gear in hopes that the high desert mountain sun would break through. It did for a bit. But the rains came and the wind blew like the spring shower it was.

I waited it out, not wanting to mess again with the gear. Normally, I wouldn’t think much of riding in the rain. But I just wanted it to end. Thankfully, my dream came true about a half an hour later.

Rolling on, to Kingman, I found myself on a large, flat, nearly prairie-like plain. The BNSF tracks were to my left and large mountains to my right. A few nameless settlements speckled the horizon and foreground, creating a suburbia for Kingman.

It’s in Kingman where I was supposed to stop last night. But snow and rain forced me to stop early, in Seligman. It’s nearly 100 miles from Seligman to Kingman. I’m very glad that I didn’t attempt it yesterday. Even though today it was raining, I needed to see this stretch of road with a refreshed mind.
So again, for the third trip in a row, I didn’t stop in Kingman. Oh, it’s a large town. It’s got everything you’d need. And they love their history. Route 66, the Santa Fe Railroad, Andy Devine – they’re all celebrated in Kingman, Arizona.

Mentioned by both of my guide books, but unmarked by Kingman, is a dead end stretch of road leaving Kingman. This is how Route 66 and the National Trails Road before it exited Kingman prior to the 40’s.

It’s a great bit of road and it’s a shame that it dead ends at the mercy of the interstate. Rail traffic hangs on cliffs above, rumbling every few minutes as a fright rolls by.

Turning around and heading back through Kingman, I fueled up for my ride into Oatman.

Getting to Oatman is not a simple drive. At first it seems to be. Leaving Kingman for the hills, the road is straight and seems to be swallowed by the horizon. But this is a false security. The road will soon wind and twist through the Black Mountains of Arizona.

It builds slowly, passing Cooling Spring and Ed’s Camp. But shortly after, tight curves and near spirals are common. And though I didn’t see any this time through, I kept an eye out for the local burro population.

I stopped at the Shaffer Fish Bowl and climbed the stairs to get a good look at the road that was throwing me around. I can’t imagine someone decided to build a road here. But they did and I’m on it.

Finally, I reached the summit. Sitgreaves Pass. From here, it was only a short, but tangled, ride to Oatman.

It appears like a wild-west town. But it never really was. Oatman was a mining town until the mines closed during World War II. Route 66 then picked up the slack. There were seven gas stations in Oatman. And because the road to Oatman (the only way to get to California from Kingman) was so treacherous, a towing service was offered. For $3.50, a tow truck would bring you to the top. $3.50 was a good chunk of change back then. But some cars, especially those with trailers, needed it.

For nearly a half hour I walked around Oatman. It was the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend, so the place was packed. But being there by myself isn’t much fun. I petted a burro or two, visited a couple of shops and was on my way.

The lawman of the town sat on his ATV on the east side of town. A small red light was fastened to the front rack. He nodded his head as I rode by.

The run down into the Colorado River Valley was simple compared to the run into Oatman. The curves are less sever and the slope is slightly more gentle.

The towns of Golden Shores and Topock are the last in Arizona. I’m not sure how they exist, but they both seem to be thriving (and not off of Route 66).

I had to jump on the interstate for a couple of miles to get into California. And I noticed that California has yet to implement the far out idea of numbering their exits. They usually don’t even have mile markers. Why is this? I’m not sure. But they really should get on it.

At the Park Moabi exit, there’s a small length of Route 66 that dead ends into a wash. The wash, if you choose to take it, will cross under the interstate and meet up with a very old alignment of Route 66. I attempted to do this, but the stones were too think and acted like sand. Yes, I nearly got stuck out there.

I figured this would happen, but thankfully, I dug my way out. This seems to happen a lot with me. The scooter is not a dirt bike. I must remember this.

In this park, I believe was the Desert Training Center for World War II troops who were being sent to North Africa. It trained 90,000 men including infantry, artillery and armored units. My grandfather was in the 1st Armored Division and fought in North Africa. He was not trained here, but at Fort Knox.

And I find myself, for a third time, in Needles, California. This is the last stop before the desert, which I will be tackling tomorrow. I decided upon a motel room, but I miss camping and hope to return to it tomorrow, in Barstow, California.

Here are my pictures from today.

Miles today: 152
Miles total: 4,094

1. Nobody is sure if it was his mother, Emily Truxton Beale, his grandfather, Thomas Truxton, or his brother, Truxton Beale. Maybe it was named after all three. [↩]

If you read my little update, you’ll know that I was in a pickle over what to do and when about the three inches of snow I found on the scooter this morning.

So, I did what anyone would do. I walked around Flagstaff and took some pictures. This is a great town. And if it weren’t for what was falling out of the sky… in MAY, I would live there. I walked the streets and felt very at home. This was the first time I had been to Flagstaff when the students were there. The other two times, it was summer.

This was very clearly not summer.

And then, something weird happened. The snow stopped. The sun came out. This wasn’t supposed to happen!

So I loaded everything up and took off!

Well, the sun didn’t last long. Didn’t figure it would. For the first few miles, I had to be on the interstate. It was dead. Really dead. I am certainly not complaining.

The interstate wouldn’t be involved much today. Just a little now and a little later. The little bit now dropped me off at the Bellemont exit. This is a “turn around and come back” bit. But it’s a nice drive along old 66.

This four mile or so alignment was the ‘41-’64 alignment, I believe. The east end dead ends into I-40, as does the west end.

However, if you cross I-40, you can pick up where the west end left off. And this is an amazing drive on Old 66. Honestly, one of the Route’s best.

Along this run was a mix of pretty ok pavement and mud/gravel. I was worried about this, but it turned out to be ok. Arizona mud is NOT Texas mud.

This segment of Route 66 is an auto tour. They’ve got markers along the way – even three interpretive signs (though I only saw two, somehow I missed the one in Pittman Valley) explaining where you are and the different alignments. It’s great. Finally someone does something right. Honestly, there could be more of these signs, but it’s only because the ones that are there are great. I want more.

The alignment I would be on first was the 1921 – 1931 alignment. That ran through a pretty much amazing pine forest before turning up a Fortynine Hill.

Fortynine Hill is the highest point on 66 in Arizona, but not the highest over the entire Route (like Arizona’s sign says). That is Glorietta Pass in New Mexico.

It had been snowing on and off, but thankfully nothing was laying on the ground. At points, mist was rising from the road. The temperature was well above freezing (40ish) and I’m assuming this is why it was happening. But whatever the reason, it was pretty cool.

The road was mostly dirt and mud, but very passable, even the descent. Here, the road leaves the ‘21 and ‘31 alignments (both can be followed only by hiking). The tour route drops down to pick up the final alignment before 66 moved to the interstate corridor.

The two other alignments (1921-31 and 1931-41) could be seen nearly the entire way. Soon, I was in Parks, which is mostly just a store and a few houses. Just before reaching Parks, the ‘31 alignment rejoins the ‘41 alignment. The ‘21 alignment is just to my right for another couple of miles.

I know this isn’t super interesting to most folks, but I love this stuff. I hope to get back here and really explore this area. For some reason, Fortynine Hill was an obstacle for Route 66. Four different alignments were used to cross it. Very few other sections of 66 can claim that.

And because of these changes, the businesses had to change. Parks, Arizona made sure to take advantage of each of these alignments (that is until it because the interstate). Parks General Store was built in 1910. The main road (the National Old Trails Road), what would become the 1921 alignment of 66, was “behind” the store. Except from 1910 to 1931, the “back” of the store was actually the front. The business faced the road.

But in 1931, Route 66 was moved to what was then the back of the store. The owners took the windows from the front of the building and moved them to the back of the building, which was now where the main road was. The back became the front.

Other towns actually picked up and moved to meet new alignments.

After Parks, there is more gravel and some great turns and curves around Davenport Lake. This alignment is amazing and I’m so glad that the weather was almost cooperating. There was snow. Actually, at this point, it was sleet. And it was coming down pretty heavily. But for some reason, the road was fine. A bit chilly, but fine.

No other chunks of 66 give you so many alignments to pick from. My next choice, after crossing the interstate, was the ‘21 alignment almost into Williams.

The last two times that I was on this road I saw a ton of really amazingly cute pikas. But today was too cold. They were all huddled in their little dens, just like I wanted to be.

The ‘21 alignment into Williams goes through yet another pine forest. There are tons of these out here. It’s an odd juxtaposition against the desert terrain of yesterday.

And thus ended my amazing ride through the central Arizona pine forests. I’ve done it twice before and in much, much better weather, but somehow this was more rewarding. Through the snow and cold and sleet, the mud and gravel, somehow this was a great ride.

Williams was next and I really don’t know what to do with Williams. It’s a town big on Route 66. And it’s got a pretty cool steam engine that takes you to the Grand Canyon. At least, I think it’s pretty cool. I’ve never seen it. Never there when it’s there.

I rode around Williams, up one street and down the other, both had been 66 and both are lined with businesses. I was getting hungry and saw a sign for Denny’s. The sky was growing a little darker, so I figured I’d eat a bit.

After I finished eating, the snow was really coming down. I didn’t figure this would be a problem as it wasn’t sticking to the pavement. I geared up and took off for the fifteen miles of interstate ahead of me. But by the time I pulled out of the parking lot, my face shield was covered in snow. The inside of it had also fogged over. This was a bad situation.

I wiped the snow away, but the fog on the inside made it not matter so much. I tried to wipe that away while pulling to the side of the road. After parking as well as I could, I wiped it a bit more and headed back for town.

I stopped at the Safeway (a grocery store) and the little blizzard did its thing. I walked around inside for about a half hour. And when I poked my head out again, the sun was shining!

Perfect. I mounted up and rode off to Ash Fork, my next stop.

When I got to Ash Fork, the snow had turned to rain. It was practically a down pour. With Devo suit a-blazin’, I rode through the town, taking a picture here and there. Taking pictures in the cold is a difficult thing. See, when it’s warmer, I have smaller gloves. With smaller gloves, i can easily work the camera. But big winter gloves, like I had on today, make it impossible to do anything at all.

So today, I would take off the left glove, get my camera out of my pocket, turn it on with my left hand and snap the picture. Yes, all with one hand. Thankfully, I only dropped it once.

A quick hop onto the interstate and I was finally there. I was at the longest stretch of Old 66 on Route 66. 159 miles! But first, some exploring.

At the exit, I crossed the interstate and took a left on the frontage road. This was Old 66 that ran easterly to Ash Fork. Now, the interstate is blocking any clear passing, but that wasn’t why I was here.

I was here to see the Partridge Creek Bridge. Yeah, that’s right, yet another bridge. But this one has a tree growing in it! Off in the sort of distance, there was a pretty huge storm. It was moving in my direction, so if I was going to do this, I’d have to do it now.

Along the way, I frightened a herd of cows – the farmer graces his cows around and on Route 66. They nearly stampeded. But after a couple of miles, I was there!

And so was the tree growing up through the bridge. I parked and took a few pictures. I can’t imagine how this tree is secure enough to remain standing, but it seems to be.

On the way back out, the cows were gone. But the storm wasn’t.

I returned to where I started this little detour and met up with Crookton Road, Old 66 into Seligman.

Stopping in Kingman, about 50 miles from Seligman, was my original plan. But the rain, snow and freezing made me rethink that. Seligman was about 17 miles away. And soon I would be warm.

The way I was feeling and the way the weather was behaving, i’m glad that I stopped for the night.

Along the road to Seligman, you can see at least two other alignments of Route 66 as it winds its way up the hill. One of them, the one south of the main road, seems almost accessible. I wonder if it is.

And up one more hill, down it and I’m there in Seligman. While I was looking over the city, I watched a storm pass through. It’s quite a bit different than in Pennsylvania. Here, if you want to avoid a storm, just don’t go where it’s raining. You can specifically see where it is and isn’t raining. It’s pretty impressive.

After the storm passed, I rode into Seligman and got a room at the Aztec Motel. Pretty nice place. I settled in and got the notion to walk around town.

I stopped in Angel’s shop, but oodles of French tourists were crawling all over the place. So I walked a bit around the town and retired for the evening.

And that’s all I’ve got to say about today. Today was a much, much better day than it could have been.

Here are my pics from today.

Miles today: 102
Miles total: 3942