I wrote most of this as I was writing out the blog entry.
This sucks SO bad. A HUGE dust storm kicked up and the weather people (who didn’t mention ANYTHING about ANYTHING ten minutes ago, now say that there’s a sever thunderstorm coming through right now. No kidding. Thanks, guys.
Later The tent is blowing over and I’ve had to fashion a new way to keep it in the ground. I’m using my tie down straps to hold up the side that keeps blowing down.
My tent poles are literally held together with cheap duct tape.
There is dust everywhere. I have to keep the windows open or the wind blows the tent over. But with the windows open, the dust comes through the screen.
Little later… The weather people are now saying it’s partly cloudy with winds at 16mph. They are clearly lying to me. Even the radar shows nothing. I guess this is how they do things in Idaho. Want to know what the weather’s going to be? Just wait… it’s a surprise!
Dust is EVERYWHERE. It’s in my teeth, in my eyes, I’m covered in it. The floor of my tent is covered.
The tent is ripping. I’m not sure that it’s going to make it through this. The poles were broken during the Gallup, NM wind storms and I’ve wrapped them in duct tape. They seem to be holding and that’s really really weird.
My analysis of weather. Weather hates me when I’m riding. As the long-time readers will know, I’ve had REALLY bad luck with weather, especially in Route 66. But when I was in Albuquerque the first time (not riding), the weather was GREAT. As soon as I left - wind, rain and snow. Oh, but when I got to Berkeley (again, not riding), the weather was amazing!
It then tried to trick me by being pretty good to Salt Lake City. And when I got there and traveled with Sarah (again again not riding), the weather was great! And last night it dipped into the freezing temps and right now I’m sitting with my back to the tent wall, holding it up against 60mph winds.
Seriously, knock it off.
Looking to the west, I can see it getting really dark. If things go bad and start to really rain, I’ll take my act indoors.
More later… The wind died down for a bit, but now it’s picking up with rain. The neighbor’s tent just blew down. Possibly away. It’s dark now and hard to tell. They’re very unhappy about it.
They’re having a much rougher time than I am. They’ve got several tents and they’re all blowing down. If I were them, I’d go to a motel. But I’m just me and if I have to abaondon ship, I can hide out in the bathroom. The office and recroom are closed, so I can’t do much about that. It seems we’ve been sort of abandoned by the campground manager.
At least it’s not snowing.
I guess.
The neighbors are sticking around. Hats off to the troopers!
Later still
You know how they always tell you that tornadoes sound like freight trains? Well, you know what else sounds like freight trains? Freight trains. And there’s one right by the campsite every 20 minutes or so. I’ll hear this rumbling in the distance, the wind will pick up (because that’s what wind does) and suddenly there’s a rumbling sound like a freight train!
Because it’s a freight train.
Morning edit
All is fine. The storms passed with a little rain and now it’s nearly 7am. People are up and coughing. A lot of people are up. I think there’s only one bathroom for the entire camp. That bathroom includes one toilet and one urinal and two showers. This should be an incredible start to my day.
Here are The Monks with “Hushy Pushy” to get you started on your day.
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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.
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.
What a day. So much has happened that I’m not sure that I can really summarize it.
I woke and showered and loaded up the scooter and by 8:30am I was off and heading for Elk City, OK. There was a museum there that I wanted to check out. The weather was iffy, but I figured that it should be ok. And it was.
Before Elk City was the small town of Canute. I think Canute used to be a pretty big town. But after the interstate by-passed the town in 1970, it basically died. It has some old motels and a grotto. Neat little town. Shame it’s dead.
The road from Canute to Elk City, like a lot of 66 in western OK is basically a frontage road, however it’s still concrete from the 1930’s. Can’t complain about that, really.
Elk City is a bigger town and was nearly able to survive being bypassed. However, there are still a lot of abandoned gas stations and motels.
The thing Elk City’s got going for it is the museum. So I decided to check it out.
It was weird, but ok. It’s divided into four buildings. There are actually a ton of buildings, but you can only get into four of them. They have it set up like a town and it is rather cool, but the vibe was weird. However, it was only $4 to get in, so I really can’t complain about that either.
I spent about an hour there, which maybe was too much, but still had a good time.
As I left Elk City, the sky was clearing up and there was tons of blue to be seen! Which was a good thing, since I was up for a little exploring of some of old alignments, which are dirt roads.
I wanted to see the little-known town of Doxey - bypassed by Route 66 in 1930ish. There’s nothing left of it, not even foundations. But it was neat to see.
Upon entering the next town of Sayre, the skies got darker. But it didn’t really rain. Sayre was another town that basically died after being bypassed. You might recognize the county courthouse from the movie Grapes of Wrath.
I’ve been this way twice before and both times I remember the stretch of road from Sayre to Erick (great name, huh?). It used to be a 4-lane highway, but after even that was bypassed by the interstate, only two lanes were needed. So the remaining two lanes were abandoned. There’s also an old Rock Island Railroad line next to it.
We drove on the abandoned section in ‘04 and ‘06, but those were rental cars. Taking a Vespa down that road is asking to plug a flat tire in the rain.
And speaking of rain, the sky was looking a bit rainy. I pulled over as it started to drizzle and contemplated throwing on the Devo suit. I chose not to, ate a Clif Bar and rode into Erick. As I rode into Erick, the rain started to really come down.
In Erick, I found an old gas station (not hard to do) and took shelter under it while I began to put on the rain gear. A dog barked at me through the door and windows. I barked back and he moved farther away. Good dog.
After struggling with the gear, I hoped on the scooter and rode around Erick, taking pictures here and there. I found a great building with tons of signs all over it, took a picture or two and was getting frustrated with the rain.
Just as I was getting ready to ride off in a grumpy mood, a gray-haired woman in overalls came over and told me that I could park the scooter under her porch. It was the same porch with all the signs all over it. I agreed and she asked if I was coming there to see them.
I said that I was. And I was. I just didn’t know it.
She invited me in and I remembered hearing about this redneck/hippie couple who have a store full of things not for sale. I found it.
Or rather, they found me.
So here allow me to introduce my two most favorite people of Route 66. Harley and Annabell of The Sandhills Curiosity Shop in Erick, OK (The Redneck Capital of the World!). You can see rednecks work and play in their own environment!
This really was what I was searching for.
Sandhills is not a store. Like I said, nothing in it is for sale. It is a meeting place. Mostly, it’s a stage for Harley and Annabell. Harley make an art form out of vulgarity. His medium, at times, is obscenity, just as Picasso’s medium was paint.
We sat around asking each other questions about each other and basically had a wonderful couple of hours. These are good people. Kind and loving. The kind and loving show through Annabell more so than Harley, but honestly, it flows pretty heavily from both of them.
They opened a healthfood store, then a music shop and then an antique shop. When none of those worked out so well, they were playing some music, just the two of them, and a group of tourists stopped by. By the next song, the shop was full and everyone was having a great time.
Over the years, word of mouth made them Route 66 icons. They do no advertising, ask no money and basically have a blast not doing so.
How did I miss hearing about them? I have no idea. But I’m glad that I didn’t. I’m glad that I didn’t go into Erick thinking “hey, I wonder if I’ll get to meet Harley and Annabell.” I’m glad they found me. It sort of gave me a bit of hope in the happy coincidences category.
They sang me a couple of songs - one was a kick ass version of Route 66, which I got a video of and another was one of Annabell’s about a day in the country side. It was beautiful. They’re both wonderful musicians. Heck, they’re both wonderful people and I believe they made my day.
Here’s the video. Sorry it’s a bit small. I tried to change it, but couldn’t.
While I was in there, the sky cleared.
So off with the rain gear and on with the journey! 100 miles to go!
They saw me off with hugs and blew me kisses as I rode down the street. I blew kisses back and honked my horn, so thankful that people like this exist.
Texola was my next town and I’ve explored it before, so mostly I gave it a quick hello and a look-see to see if anything had changed. Not much had really. Thankfully, my favorite sign on Route 66 is still there.
Texola is in Oklahoma. But barely. At the edge of town begins Texas. Yee-haw!
The road from the state line to Shamrock was long and straight and mostly concrete. Shamrock is about 15 miles in and there’s not much to see along the way. Just flat Texan beauty.
Shamrock is itself pretty run down. However, since I was there, someone decided it would be a neat idea to put in an Econo-lodge. I wonder how long that will last.
What Shamrock is most known for is the U-Drop-Inn. It’s an old gas station and cafe done in a very art deco style. It’s been restored (though I think the tower is leaning a bit). I was running a bit late and didn’t go inside. Next time, I hope.
And though I’ve stopped there before, no trip through McLean, Texas would seem right without a visit to the Devil’s Rope Museum. The DRM has more examples of barbed wire than anywhere else in the world. Probably by a long, long shot. It is utterly fascinating how many different kinds of barbed wire there are.
They’ve also got a very small, but in my opinion, the best Route 66 Museum on the route. Many would disagree, but I stand by my claim.
Before I went into the Devil’s Rope Museum the sky was lovely. Upon coming out, the sky was not quite as lovely, but still really nice.
And so here it is. My chance to finally explore the area around the Jericho Mud Gap. You can read a little about it here.
It’s unfortunately impossible to do the whole route since some of it is now on private property. But it is possible to do some of it, provided it isn’t raining. And, for now, it wasn’t.
County Road BB is what it’s called now. But from 1926 to 1932, they called it Route 66. It was unpaved and thick as paste. Farmers used to make a good bit of money by pulling people out of the mud. Stay away when wet.
I knew this. In ‘06 I even experience how thick and impossible this mud could be. We visited the old town of Jericho. There’s not much left, just an old motel and a house or two. But this time around, I wanted to explore the roads that lead up to Jericho.
I hopped on BB and immediately climbed a hill. From the summit, I could see the Old 66 descended into a valley and then up another hill, several miles away. Was I really able to do this. The dirt was like sand. I couldn’t go faster than 15mph. Was this even remotely a good idea?
Well, no. But why should that stop me.
I could see some clouds gathering in the distance, but it was nothing.
The road was slow-going. But there was no turning back. It was longer than I thought it would be and as I cleared another hill, I could see that rain was falling well off into the distance. It wasn’t a big deal, I was just thankful it wasn’t falling here.
I turned a bend and up another hill and suddenly started feeling rain drops. And then saw lightening. The land here is much different than back home. What looks like it’s miles away is basically right on top of you.
Now I was worried. I didn’t want to get stuck out here during a thunderstorm. I grabbed my map to find the next road that would take me back to the paved Route 66. County Road 23. It was close. But so was the end of BB. I was so close to finishing it!
As I reached County Road 23 the rain stopped. The sky got a little brighter and there was no thunder, no lightening. It was as if nature was daring me to keep going. And believe me, it was tempting. It was probably only another two miles. Maybe 15 minutes at most. So tempting.
But no. I had already done a dumb thing by attempting this, I shouldn’t compound my woes by continuing when I know that I’d get stuck. So I hung a right on 23 and in a matter of a minute or two I was back on paved 66.
One minute later, the sky opened up.
Lucky for me, I was under and overpass, putting on the Devo suit.
And from that point until I rode into Amarillo, nearly 60 miles away, it rained and rained and the temperature dropped to 50 degrees. I was cold, miserable and wished that this wasn’t how I was going to end a wonderful day.
But it was. I rode through Groom with it’s giant cross and Conway with its Bug Ranch and a bit farther was Amarillo.
It was too cold and wet to camp, so I found a really cheap motel (campground prices) with free WiFi and here I am, again, drying out.
There is a lot to see in Amarillo. And tomorrow I’ll show you around.
Ok. Today was/is pretty nasty. I got as far as Rolla, Missouri and had to call it quits. I’ve never ridden in rain this heavy. They’re saying that some places got 5″ of rain. That is ridiculous.
But let’s begin where I left off this morning. At Panera.
The skies looked a bit threatening and there seemed to be some storms on the horizon. According to the weather, maybe a storm around 1pm. No problem. I’ll ride through it and live to tell the tale.
And for awhile, it was a really nice ride. I checked out the town of Eureka. Not much there. It looked like they took a lot of pride in it and it was nice, but nothing for me, really. But the ride to the next town, Pacific, was nice.
Where they cut away parts of the mountain to make the road, there are caves. That sentence was weirdly worded. Sorry. But there are caves, nonetheless. It was pretty cool.
Rittenburg1 said that there was a historical marker here describing that the Confederates came to this point. The marker is now gone. I wonder what happened to it.
He also mentions there being an overlook with stairs going up to it. I’m betting that’s where the caves are. This area will now be a strip mall, ok?
I passed Gray Summit, where Old, old 66 and Old New 66 meet. I was on Old New 66, by the way. My original directions had me going the Old Old 66 alignment, so I was a bit out of sorts. Also, for some odd reason, Historic 66 isn’t marked. There were no signs.
I finally figured it out, taking a picture of a funky old motel sign while doing it. Off in the distance I could see the clouds getting thicker. But the weather guy said no rain till 4ish. It was about 11.
The stretch of 66 between Gray Summit and St. Clair has some lovely curves. There’s a section of it that slides away from the interstate. A few old motels and a dead gas station or two make the ride a bit more memorable than not.
Which is nice, because not too much farther down the road, Route 66 becomes nothing more than a boring frontage road. The interstate is mere feet from it.
In St. Clair, I stopped at R & R Ace Hardware to get an extension cord for camping tonight. The weather guy said that there wouldn’t be too much in the way of rain over night. No problem. I’m ok with rain over night. Just not when I’m trying to set up the tent. Give me 10 minutes and then you can rain all you please. Till morning, when I need 10 more minutes to strike the tent.
Just west of Stanton, around 11:30, the skies took to looking mighty nasty. Several rather large bolts of lightening stretched from black clouds to the ground. You could literally see the rain falling from them.
It wasn’t anywhere near 4pm. Did the storm come early? Did it expand? I had no way of telling. So I pulled over, quickly through on my rain gear and rode into what I knew was going to be a pretty big storm. However, I thought, storms out here are quick. They last a few minutes, maybe a half hour and they’re gone, replaced by sunshine like you’ve never seen before!
That’s not exactly how it happened today. About two miles later, I was in a heavy down pour. My face shield fogged up (or perhaps it was my glasses), but it didn’t matter anyway because the rain was so hard, I couldn’t see.
I couldn’t really pull over anywhere because both sides of the road were basically rivers. I slowed down and kept on going.
The rain gear certainly helps. Without it, I would be soaked head to toe within minutes (within seconds in this rain). But it’s not very tight around the wrists. I’m not really sure what to do about that, but the sleeves of my jacket and my shirt were dripping wet almost immediately.
By the time I reached Cuba, around noon, the rain has slowed to just a steady deluge. There was no wind, thank god. But riding in a driving rain is tiring. I figured that it couldn’t last long. This was a wave. Once it passes, we’ll have some sun and sure, maybe it will rain again, but that’s ok.
Cuba has a ton of great murals. I wanted to take pictures of all of them, but the rain was making my camera suddenly shut off. I’m not surprised and it does seem to be working fine now, but I had to keep taking it out and it was getting rained upon. I did take a picture of every Civil War mural in Cuba, though.
[As I’m writing this, my camera is now turning itself on and off as if having a mind of its own. This is not a good sign.]
Of course, just after Cuba, rain or no rain, I had to stop and take Ruby’s picture under the largest rocking chair in the universe. The people at the store next to it were looking at me in a bit of disbelief. The rain was pretty heavy at this point. My helmet isn’t totally waterproof, but it does ok. And now my boots were proving just how not waterproof they are. I’m not sure what to do about that.
Route 66 takes a break from being the interstate’s kid sister in St. James, taking you through the town itself. Or rather, it would if there wasn’t a lot of construction. So back to the frontage road for me.
Here, the rain began to fall harder than any rain I’ve ever ridden through before.
Just before the town of Rolla, I stopped in a Love’s Truck Stop. They had a Subway and it would be nice to wait out the storm there.
I walk through the doors and the follow at the counter, in a thick southern accent, asks where I was coming from. “St. Louis,” was my reply. He tells me that the worst is over and that it should be ok soon, if I’m heading west.
Perfect. Just what I wanted to hear. I head for the bathroom, take off the rain gear and found a weird cologne vending machine. It was creepy. I dried off a bit and then ordered a veggie sub at Subway. I figured that by the time I was done with this, it would all be ok and I’d be on my way to Lebanon, roughly 60 or 70 miles west of here.
Well after eating the sub, things were a bit different than I had hoped. I walked to the window and it was somehow raining even harder than it was before. I wasn’t sure that such a thing was possible, but trust me - a VERY hard rain.
A waited about an hour. Nothing. And the Weather Channel on one of the display TVs in the truck stop said that it was going to rain basically forever.
It was about 3:30 and the rain, while far from stopping, wasn’t nearly as driving. I threw on the rain gear and managed to pull together the last bits of desire to ride another 60 miles and mounted up.
About a mile down the road, and roughly a mile to the town of Rolla, the rain picked up, my face shield fogged over, as did my glasses. I threw open the face shield in a pointless attempt to see anything.
It helped a bit, I could see. But all I could see was that the road was taking a weird uphill bend and that a good section of the road was buckling.
The shoulder was gone. There was a wash, filled with about a six inches of rushing water. I leaned a bit, out of the curve, to escape it, but leaning out of a banked curve in a monsoon with fogged over face shield and rain-blinded glasses isn’t as easy as you might think.
And a second later, Ruby and I were bouncing along the “cliff” of the road which quickly disintegrated into a rather large and muddy ditch.
Somehow I managed to keep the rubber side down, so we were both safe. However, we were both also sinking. I revved the engine and the real wheel just spun in the thick Missouri clay.
I was lucky, in a way. If I would have entered the ditch a bit earlier, I would have stuck the front wheel in the much larger gully and flown over the handle bars. Lucky me.
Now what?
The adrenalin was pumping, so I figured that I better take advantage of it. I grabbed the rear of the bike, but nothing. I could move the front wheel, but that didn’t help anything.
A few cars passed, the drivers craning their necks to see the scooterist clearly in a distressed state.
I tried to move the rear again. Nothing.
Thankfully, a family in a pick up truck stopped and their 14 year old boy and I were able to move the rear wheel just enough that I could get some traction on the wet stones. I’d rev the engine and she’d move an inch or so. We did this for about five minutes until I was up and on both wheels.
I thanked them over and over (as one should), took a few pictures and figured that this kind of thing was bound to happen. I reapplied the Cat Crap de-fogger stuff to my face shield and glasses (not a fun task in a heavy rain). But it helped.
It got us into Rolla, but while I wasn’t fogging up, the rain drops were sticking like snot to the front of the shield. I was blind again. If I lifted the shield, my glasses would be covered, if I let it down, I couldn’t really see.
In utter frustration, I pulled over in front of the Rustic Motel. I thought about it for about five seconds and registered at the office.
And that is where I am now. Room 120, if anyone cares to visit.
Today was crap. Pure, utter crap. I saw basically nothing. Rode only about 100 miles and am still 60 (ugh, maybe more) away from Lebanon - my goal for the night. Missing out on my daily goal is no big deal, but I really just wasn’t ready for this much rain.
Luckily, most of my bags are waterproofish. Though this amount of rain makes even waterproof things rethink such claims. My camera seems to be dead. There are three or four Chinese places in town and I REALLY want tofu, but It’s still pouring and all my gear is drying out.
The tent is blowing over and I’ve had to fashion a new way to keep it in the ground. I’m using my tie down straps to hold up the side that keeps blowing down. 
The weather people are now saying it’s partly cloudy with winds at 16mph. They are clearly lying to me. Even the radar shows nothing. I guess this is how they do things in Idaho. Want to know what the weather’s going to be? Just wait… it’s a surprise!
Weather hates me when I’m riding. As the long-time readers will know, I’ve had REALLY bad luck with weather, especially in Route 66. But when I was in Albuquerque the first time (not riding), the weather was GREAT. As soon as I left - wind, rain and snow. Oh, but when I got to Berkeley (again, not riding), the weather was amazing! 
The wind died down for a bit, but now it’s picking up with rain. The neighbor’s tent just blew down. Possibly away. It’s dark now and hard to tell. They’re very unhappy about it. 
