It was a sad time saying goodbye to Sabra and Cortney in ABQ. They’re great folks, great hosts and I can’t possibly thank them enough for putting us up. Thanks!!

Though our destination was north of Albuquerque, we had to head west for about 100 miles. Heading west from ABQ means one thing: Route 66. That’s right, I was back on the Mother Road.

We left the city on the interstate, but as soon as we got to Mesita, I turned off on 66. It was a long journey of 650ish miles ahead of us, but there’s always some time for Route 66.

This bit of it was Dead Man’s Curve! Ouuu, scary! But it’s one of my favorite stretches, so I was glad to be able to do it again… even if we were PT Losers.

We took Route 66 when we could from there to Gallup, NM, covering the route in about two and a half hours. It’s really weird that it took me all day to do it on a scooter. Of course, I really explored it - here, we were just doing a drive-by.

Once in Gallup, we took US 491 north, all the way to Cortez, Colorado, where we stayed nearly a week ago.

Along the way, we passed Shiprock, New Mexico, where the Ship Rock can be seen from miles away, almost hovering over the high desert horizon. The landscape was a nice way to end our time in the Four Corners area.

After a quick fill up in Cortez, we headed north west, still on US 491 to Monticello, Utah. We were back in Utah!

I know Utah gets a pretty bad rap, mostly because of the Mormon thing, but it really is a beautiful state. And now that I’ve been pretty much all over it in 2004, 2006, 2007 and now in 2008, I think I can speak with a bit of authority on this subject. Utah, though I wouldn’t want to live here (except maybe in SLC), is a really pretty state. If you haven’t visited it, you really should.

I’ve been across Utah enough to where I’m accidentally backtracking!

We grabbed US 191 North in Monticello and suddenly things started to look familiar. That’s not too uncommon when you’re traveling in the desert areas, a lot of desert looks the same. We then passed a really colorful cafe.

“I’ve been here before!” I exclaimed a bit too excitedly. It must have been in 2006 with Nikki and her brother and sister. I immediately doubted this because nothing else looked at all familiar.

The landscape was mostly flat, but was chucking huge rocks at us! Church Rock, for example. This looks sort of like a bee hive. More like a bee hive than a church, but who cares, it’s a really amazingly cool rock that I don’t remember seeing before.

Moab was next up on our travels. But before that, we passed “Hole in the Rock.” Well, we didn’t pass it, we stopped. Just like I stopped in 2006. Somehow or another, we must have came through here then. How? I’m not sure. We were traveling from Flagstaff to somewhere in Colorado, so this must have been along the way.

Hole in the Rock is a tourist trap, plain and simple. At any rate, it’s a pretty cool place. Some guy, a few decades ago, built his house into a rock (thus the name). You can tour his house for $5 a pop and maybe we should have. I didn’t in ‘06 and I didn’t in ‘08.

What does it say about me that I’ll drop $200 on comic books and won’t let go of a $5 note to see a cool house inside a rock? No idea.

But around the grounds of Hole in the Rock, there’s enough free stuff to keep you busy for the better part of an hour.

They’ve even got a Hebe statue just like my grandmothers. Ok, a lot of folks do, but I’m always happy to see dear Hebe again. Hebe is the daughter of Zeus (who isn’t?) and the goddess of youth. Go, Hebe, go!

In my family, her name was always pronounced “Hee-bai,” but actually it’s Hebe. Sorry, mom.

By now, I was convinced that I had been over this road before. As we entered Moab, I remembered the town. It’s a crappy tourist town, but I remembered it!

I think it was here in 2006 that we took some other road to I-70. Or maybe we took the same one that I was taking today. Anyway, in ‘06, we headed east on I-70, in ‘08, I was heading west.

Thankfully, we weren’t on I-70 for long. US 6 broke away from it, heading northwest to the Salt Lake area and we took it.

Route 6, again, delivered. It was a great road, winding through mountain passes and along some pretty busy Union Pacific lines.

I even got lucky and caught a picture of a north-bound exiting a tunnel. You know you’re jealous.

I take a lot of train pictures. I think I might collect them into one big train photo album. But would anyone really care? I don’t know. But I would dig it. So I’ll do that sometime.

US 6 takes us to Spanish Fork, so we stopped in at the HK temple for a quick hello and then drove to Orem, where my scooter was being worked on.

Thankfully, they were still open, so guess what? Yeah, I got my scooter back! Woo! I was thrilled.

The Scooter Lounge seems to be made up entirely of super helpful and awesome guys. They treated me really well and I’m glad that I got to meet them. If you’re ever riding through the SLC area, check them out.

So far I’ve had good luck with shops. Vespa OKC was great, Vespa ABQ was really great and The Scooter Lounge was just as great. All the shops are busy this time of year, so for any shop to fit me in basically thrills me.

Sarah drove the PT Evil and I got to ride all the way to Long Life Vegi House! And even though it was crappy I-15, I loved it!

I have said this before, but I don’t think I could possibly say it enough. I now hate cars. I don’t want one and wherever I choose to end up, it will be where I do not need a car. You have no idea how much this excites me.

After a bite to eat, we drove/rode to Mandy and Earl’s, where I’ll be staying for a handful of days before heading on up to Portland, OR to visit Ashley, who I traveled with in 2004 and a bit in 2006.

Was it a good day? I think so!

-

Here are my pics.
And here are Sarah’s

Car miles today: 654
Car miles total: 1976

Scooter miles today: 52
Scooter miles total: 6,033

Because of all the criss-crossing, the map is getting hard to read. Sorry. It’ll start making sense again soon.

“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. [↩]

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

I awoke to this sight of the scooter dusted in snow and more coming down and I’m unsure what to do.

It is supposed to snow until 9am, though it could last throughout the day, dropping three inches. At nine in the morning, it’s supposed to be around 36 degrees in Flagstaff. However, in Williams, roughly 35 miles away, it will be ten degrees warmer.

I am not equipped to ride in such cold temperatures. I wasn’t expected much under 45 degrees. But near-freezing is just not possible with what I’ve got.

Staying here another night is an option, but I would much rather move on. The high in Flagstaff is only going to be 40.

Before getting to Williams, I have to climb in elevation. 7400 feet, to be exact. This is the highest point on the post-1937 Route 66 (Glorietta Pass in New Mexico is the highest overall). So basically, it’ll get worse before it gets better.

Between Flagstaff and Williams lies mostly dirt roads that used to be several different alignments of Route 66. Oh, and interstate. And not much else. All of the dirt roads will be off limits today. The snow, which mostly melts upon hitting the ground, has soaked them.

And while that makes the trip to Williams a lot quicker, it completely defeats what I wanted to do on this trip. This sucks. It was one of the stretches that I was most looking forward to. Even if I stick around till tomorrow, it can’t happen, they’ll still be too muddy.

I’m using two books as guides. One says they are gravel, the other says they are dirt. Gravel would actually be perfect in the snow. Dirt, not really.

Gravel would slow me down to the speed of a brisk walk, which, as opposed to the interstate, would be much warmer than trying to do 65mph in 35 degree temps (which, if you were curious, is a wind chill of 17 degrees).

Check out time is at noon. I’ll take advantage of that and see what the weather brings.

I’ll update this before leaving.

-

It’s 10am (1pm, for you east coast folks). And it’s sunny. So off I go! Wish me luck. Here’s hoping there’s no wind (so far, there’s not) and here’s hoping the trucks aren’t SO bad on I-40. And here’s hoping that it’s gravel, not mud. Woo!

Yesterday was all about winds and dust storms. What will today be about?

Well, not dust storms, that’s for sure. But there was wind. However, there wasn’t wind when I woke up. Holbrook, Arizona.

As I rode through the streets I was pretty happy that it was a warm morning. I had heard rumors that it would be snowing in Flagstaff, my destination today, and with such a mild morning, I doubted it.

Holbrook has a lot of dinosaurs on their streets. Just a couple hundred yards from my motel, there was a tyrannosaurus rex killing a triceratops. In front of a rock shop (which number about as many as the dinos) were ten or more rather large dinosaurs. Who buys these? I hope someone does. I’d love to see a 15 foot tall green, smiling brontosaurus in the yard of some suburb. It would really make my day.

Today they expected rain. Of course they did. If there is bad weather, this trip demands it! Word of wisdom: to NOT do Route 66 in May. Wait till July or maybe September. May is too rainy.

The rain started just before I entered Joseph City. I had never been to Joseph City before, we bypassed it twice.

I could see that it was really pouring in the town itself. But here, next to a Love’s truck stop, it was just a drizzle. So here, at the Love’s truck stop, I hung out for a bit. And before I knew it, unlike in Missouri, the rain was gone.

The streets were wet, but I was dry as you please. I looked for something to photograph in Joseph City, but couldn’t find anything until the very Pennsylvanian house at the end of town. Not sure what that was about, but it was a nice surprise. Maybe it was the house of William Allen, a mormon who was sent to Arizona by Brigham Young. He founded Joseph City.

Just west of Joseph City is a very ugly power plant of some kind. Also, there is the interstate which hacks its way though the hills of Arizona. Route 66, which respected the land, flowing with its curves and rises, is gone. Either buried under the interstate or now a forgotten and inaccessible dirt road.

While the overall picture is one of beauty, it pales in comparison to the Arizona that Jack Rittenhouse described in his book. He said of this stretch:

On the level plains west of Joseph City, you enter a region of true Arizona beauty. During many months of the year, great, soft clouds drift across the turquoise sky; the earth is a warm tan; the sunsets are an indescribable riot of vivid colors which change swiftly. Far ahead you can see great peaks, snow-capped much of the year. These are the San Francisco Peaks, ancient volcanoes which are Arizona’s highest mountains. You will pass them west of Flagstaff.

Here it is! And I find myself back at the Jackrabbit Trading Post. This was built in 1947 and is one of the most famous Route 66 icons in existence. The wind was picking up and I was getting pretty chilly. Even so, I decided not to go in. I stopped to take a few pictures, but did not go inside. It is, essentially, a curio shop. I haven’t the money nor desire for souvenirs. Ok, well, some desire. But no money and no room on the bike.

To get to Jackrabbit and to get from Jackrabbit to the next town, Winslow, I had to use the interstate. The wind today was getting stronger. However, today it was a cross-wind as well as a bit of a head-wind. Yesterday it was all headwind and I couldn’t move faster than 50mph. So far today, I could get it up to 55.

Like yesterday, the wind was affecting things. Only, today, I had to lean very hard to my left, like I was turning. Otherwise, I would be blown off the road. This actually happened pretty often. Thank god for large shoulders on the Arizona interstates.

And like yesterday, the 18 wheelers were having their way with me. As one would approach to pass me, the wind would push me even harder towards the shoulder. But as they passed me, the lack of cross-wind would set me straight and, if I wouldn’t check it, would add about 10mph to my speed, only to be beat around by their tail wind as they pulled away from me.

I would slow from 60ish to 50ish to ready myself for the return to normal, wind-blown speed. This was a safe way to deal with it. But mostly I did it out of pure terror. This wind was too much. Again.

Thankfully Winslow was there.

Winslow loves three things. 1) Route 66, 2) The Eagles and 3) trains. Thankfully, all three can be found in abundance in Winslow, Arizona.

Route 66 is on two streets, one east bound and one west bound. I did both, of course.

Right when you enter Winslow, you’ll see their World Trade Center memorial it contains two large pieces of girder that were in the World Trade Center.

The plaque reads:

“These two steel beams from the World Trade Center, entrusted to the citizens of Winslow by the City of New York, along with this flag that was flown at the Pentagon, stand as the centerpiece of our Remembrance Garden. The words “United We Stand” remind the world that we will not fear terrorism. We hereby dedicate this Garden to Northern Arizona’s promise that ‘WE WILL NEVER FORGET’”

This memorial was erected early on, dedicated merely one year to the day of the fateful 9/11. I find it both nice and eerie. The steel beams seem like replicas of the twin towers. I’m not saying it’s in bad taste, but it’s … odd.

The town itself has old motels and a great park with some cabooses in it. Unfortunately, you can’t play on or in them. But I spent some time walking around them. I even peeped inside. A caboose is much bigger than I thought. I wish I had one. They’re not so expensive. Maybe someday.

But what Winslow’s most famous for is “Take it Easy,” The Eagles song that is set on a corner in Winslow, Arizona.

The town loves this. And, really, how could you not? They’ve even dedicated a corner of the town square to it. Here stands a bronze statue (on the corner) and behind him is a mural of a fine sight to see. It’s a girl, my lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowing down to take a look at this bronze statue.

Winslow is a very picturesque town. That’s not to say that it’s beautiful (in the traditional sense), but there’s a lot to capture here. If it were warmer and less windy, I would have stayed longer. Again, no Route 66 in May. On a scooter, anyway.

And on a scooter I headed for the interstate.

Here began my 40+ miles of straight interstate riding. Yes, there were some side trips, but I’d always have to come back to were I started to pick up the interstate and move on.

Six miles and it’s Meteor City. Meteor City was obviously named after the large meteor crater not far from it. However, this isn’t the exit for that. All that is here is a white geodesic dome that sells tourist stuff. Old 66 is also along here. But it’s pretty inaccessible.

Five more miles - the wind and trucks were killing me out there. My arms were tired and I needed a break. I stopped at a rest area and hung out for a bit. But having the itch to keep moving, I kept moving.

A mile later was the exit for the actual Meteor Crater. If it were warmer, I would have paid the admission price and seen the thing. However, I did not.

But I did discover something pretty great. After exiting, I came across Old 66. The west-bound section was closed off by a “No Trespassing” sign. But the east-bound section was open. And there was something on the hill. What was it?

As I rode along the old bit of 66, it took shape. An old castle?

No. This was Route 66’s very own Meteor Crater Observatory. Back in 1946, admission was free (though later, they charged a quarter). You could climb the tower and, through a telescope, maybe see the crater, about 4 miles away. This building also housed a replica of the impact crater left from a meteor 20,000 or so years ago.

I can’t imagine the view was so great from here, but what a building! Here’s what it looked like way back when.

Three more miles of interstate and it’s Two Guns. Two Guns isn’t a town. It never was. It was always a tourist trap. Well, it isn’t now. Now it’s many different piles of rubble, each pile marking a different Two Guns incarnation.

I spent about an hour an a half here. I first rode to the old Shell gas station, just below an abandoned KOA campground. And then, because a pick up truck was poking around, I rode over to the “second gas station and zoo.” This is the one with “Mountain Lions” painted on the side.

This “second gas station and zoo,” located on the edge of Canyon Diablo, have been part of Route 66 since, at least, the 40’s. They probably stopped being so around the time the interstate came in. As the story goes.

I poked around here for a little. I had been to this spot three times now. In 2004, 2006 and now. 2004 was the year that we drove across a pretty scary bridge that spans the canyon, now closed. 2006 we discovered that it was closed and didn’t drive it.

So I then moved back to the KOA area. The pick up truck was gone, it was my turn.

I have a thing for abandoned campgrounds. I don’t know why, but they fascinate me. This was a good find. I had never gone up here before. For some reason, I thought that people lived up here and would shoot at me with the two guns. Or something like that.

The KOA had a small pool, which is now, thankfully, used for skating. The A-frame building has been raided for its copper wiring and graffitied all over.

The camp sites are all pretty well noticeable. Even the electrical boxes, also raided for copper, still stand next to wiry, dying trees.

I parked my scooter here with plans to walk to the edge of the canyon to see what I could see.

I took off my helmet, but left my balaclava on. I felt all sneaky so as a joke to myself, I pulled my hood up and hid my face under the mask. Dressed all in black and wearing a face mask, I was ready for a little exploring (or a riot, your choice).

I walked along the rocky and grassy flat land towards Canyon Diablo.

As I neared some ruins where Two Gun “Indian” Miller lived, I noticed a minivan and then saw a family with three small boys. Not remembering that I was dressed in black and wearing a mask, I started to walk up to them.

The father called to his kid, “get over here… NOW!” The kid looked at me and swifty obeyed his father.

I got a little giggle out of this. I took off the mask and waved and smiled at the family. I said, “Hi there! Sort of a windy day, huh?” Small talk, but it broke their fear of me (that and realizing how tall I wasn’t).

We talked a bit and then they drove off. I explored these ruins some and found the Death Cave (seriously, click on that, GREAT story), but I had also been here before. The ruins I really wanted to explore were the earliest there.

These were the ruins built by Two Guns Miller himself!

The family in the minivan somehow got to where they parked. I thought all the access roads to where they were had gates blocking them. Clearly, one did not. That meant that the bridge may very well be open if I looked hard enough.

And so I did. I had to zig-zag my way to it, but I made it to the bridge! The bridge is old, but still in pretty good shape. It lead me past some ruins of an unknown era, around a bend and to the original Two Guns site.

Here was Two Guns Zoo and an old gas station built by the Hopi tribe.

This site was much larger than the “newer” site from the 1930’s. I took a lot of pictures, you’ll have to check them out at the end of this post. Having seen everything I came to see, I decided to find my way back to the interstate.

For more information that you could ever imagine on Two Guns, please go here. It’s a great source of info and history of the area.

In the eleven miles between Two Guns and Twin Arrows, the next exit, I discovered something fun. While before I was freaked out by truckers when there were cross winds, I found that I could “surf” with some fun results.

The wind was blowing at me like someone throwing a right hook. It was hitting the left and front of me, often times forcing me into the shoulder. A truck was coming behind me and I got the idea that instead of slowing down when they go by, why don’t I take advantage of the vacuum and see what happens.

The truck moved beside me and then a little in front. The wind suddenly stopped and I picked up nearly 10mph. I jumped from 55 to 65 in a matter of seconds. But I knew there would be a price to pay. As the truck pulled in front of me, I held my speed and the tail wind of the truck threw me, but not so bad. When all was said and done, because of the wind, I dropped back to 60. But all in all, I gained 5mph.

I did this many times between these exits and afterwards. This was fun and quite a lot like surfing. I’d wait for the next wave, see it coming and hop on!

Twin Arrows, where I exited, is all blocked off and pretty much going to rot to nothing. I don’t know who owns stuff like this, but I can’t imagine why. It will probably never reopen. The arrows are already decaying away. Enjoy it while you can, folks.

Back to the interstate for another eight miles, surfing as we went. And here we are in no time in Wynona. There is nothing in Wynona except a bridge that was used in the movie Forest Gump. But this is the “back” way into Flagstaff. I like this road. There is another alignment a bit south of here that I should eventually take sometime. But I took this one, which winds through a pine forest, climbing to nearly 7,000 feet. The mountains to my front were snow-covered. I could see snow falling on them as I got closer.

Luckily, there was no snow in Flagstaff itself. Just Macy’s Cafe. I stopped for a veggie burger and some internets.

The wind tuckered me out again today. And it’s supposed to snow tonight. Thus, no camping. It’s a motel for me.

I went out for some really great Indian food after settling in at the pretty crappy motel. The Indian food was quite delicious. Thanks!

A great way to end the day.

And that ends my very long story.

Here are my pictures.

Miles today: 127
Miles total: 3840

Hi folks. Before I tell you about my day, let me give you a weather report. It was windy. Sunny and windy, cloudy and windy, dusty and windy. When you are reading all about my day, please keep in mind that no matter what I was doing, I was doing it in 20mph - 55mph winds. Sometimes the wind blew me off the road. Sometimes the wind blew the scooter over. Sometimes the wind did both. The wind created dust storms and gave me near zero visibility. And sometimes the wind wouldn’t allow me to go over 50mph. Actually, that was a lot of the time.

Today was a long day.

I woke up with my tent around me. Actually, I didn’t really wake up, because to wake up would imply sleep. I didn’t really sleep. I may have dozed in and out of semi-consciousness, but anything resembling sleep didn’t happen.

It was in one of these semi-conscious states, around 6am, that the tent finally collapsed. It held its own for a very long time, but in what were probably 30mph sustained winds, what can you expect?

I figured that the winds would die down to manageable levels soon enough, so I did some laundry and slowly packed up the scooter. Folding up the tent was no easy chore in wind such as this. I tried to let the wind aide me in the folding, but it wouldn’t play nice. Eventually, I just crumpled it up and stuffed it in the dry bag. Done and done.

Gallup, New Mexico is a pretty ok town, I guess. I wouldn’t want to live there or anything, but they do have a healthfood co-op. I visited it and it’s small, but pretty nice. I’d much rather have a small co-op than a Whole Foods or Trader Joes (evil). I bought a bunch of Clif Bars and some water and was on my way.

There are a bunch of old motels in Gallup and I remember last year I said that I’d like to see more of this town someday. And here’s my chance, I rolled down Coal Street (used to be Route 66) and it has a nice little downtown. Go Gallup!

One of my favorite stretches is next. I forgot how nice western New Mexico can be. That is, when there’s not 40mph of wind blowing in your face.

Devil’s Cliff is a pretty scary thing to conquer with winds such as these. The wind at this point, like I said, was probably around 40mph. Yes, that’s gusts, but that’s what counts.

And gusts out here aren’t like gusts back home. Back home, gusts are quick, over in 10 seconds, if that. Out there, gusts are basically sustained winds. The gusts will blow for maybe a minute or so and you’ll wonder how such a beautiful cloudless day could bring such violent weather.

There are signs warning the driver to watch for rocks. But if one were to roll down the cliff right now, what would I do besides watch it bounce down the mountain and knock me off the other side? If you are killed by a falling rock, you know it’s your time to go. So I didn’t really worry. Nothing I can do.

It was at the top of the cliff that the wind got so bad I had to stop. In reality, the wind wasn’t all that bad compared to what was to come. But it was bad enough to pull over. And when I did, the wind blew me and the scooter onto our sides. One second we were all rubber side down and the next, our arses were looking out for better weather.

I managed to get us both on two feet/wheels, parked and secured the scooter and went to sit down on a rock, hoping that an even bigger gust wouldn’t blow me over the cliff.

And upon thinking that, one nearly did. I almost lost balance, so I backed away from the edge. Good thing too, because the wind got worse and I had trouble standing.

I found a more secure place to plop down (sitting was much preferable than trying to stand) and took a few pictures of the trains that went by. I remember taking pictures of trains here before. I remember the day looked very much like today. Cloudless and that deep, southwestern blue. But today was different. Today, as it was shaping up, was a bit dangerous.

At this point, I was still thinking that the wind would die down before too long. In between gusts, I mounted up and made my way down the road.

The geography around here is amazing. It definitely steals the show from the Mother Road. Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy to take notice of the scenery.

When I would notice something, I’d have to stop and make very sure that I was pointed a little downhill. Normally, I would look for a perfectly flat spot. But with the wind, a perfectly flat spot would ensure that I would be blown backwards. A slight incline would equal things out.

Except for the weird gusts off the canyon walls. Those would nearly knock me over. Except that one time, when one of those gusts actually did knock me over. It was shaping up to be a very long and tiring day.

The scooter with full packs is not a light thing. I’m able to pick it up, but it takes nearly all my strength. Today I had to do it several times - all while battling the wind.

Just across the Arizona border, there was a welcome center. I took advantage, hoping that the winds would magically disappear while I milled about looking at various vague bits of information about the state of Arizona.

The lady at the desk said that it would get worse before it gets better.

Needless to say, I didn’t stick around long. Holbrook, my home for the night, was about 75 miles away. My roads from this point till Holbrook were either dirt or interstate. Neither of which you want to do in 40+mph winds.

Well, 40+ is what I thought they were. According to Accuweather, the gusts where I traveled through were 59mph. Glory be.

To start me off in Arizona, I was given a nice, paved two-lane black top. I’m pretty ok with these in the wind. Pretty much no traffic, which was good since I couldn’t go faster than 50 - 55mph. Now, I was really hoping the wind would die down. I have quite a bit of interstate to do today. But not to worry, I thought, this can’t last forever.

The road, which was probably not Route 66, wound along side the interstate as a frontage road. The reason I don’t believe it really ever was 66 is because farther south of the interstate, there’s a 1923 bridge that used to carry Route 66 traffic. And even though that was bypassed by Route 66 in 1931, I just don’t think that frontage road was 66.

But I did know where to find an old stretch of Route 66. It was post-1931 and it’s got a pretty cool bridge too!

This stretch crosses Querino Canyon and used to be paved. Used to be. Now, it’s dirt. And dust. Dust is pretty difficult to ride in when it’s on the ground. It’s even harder to ride in when it’s in the air. This stretch gave me a bit of both.

This is another one of my favorite treks on 66. It was almost enjoyable. Oh, I just kidding. It was indeed enjoyable. But difficult and oddly busy.

Each passing truck was a local, so they took the road much faster than I could, creating a dust cloud that mixed with the wind. Normally, on a side trip like this, I’d have my face shield open. But today that was out of the question. Even with it down, my face was filthy and there was dirt caking in my eyes, ears and nose.

After crossing the bridge and heading up the other side of the next hill, I saw before me a cloud on the horizon. And when this dirt road finally ended, I got a clear view of what was before me.

Maybe locals know better, but to me, this was a full blown dust storm.

The horizon couldn’t be seen. Even the next hill couldn’t be seen. The wind was howling towards me and here came the dust. When it’s upon you, you realize that it’s not as thick as you thought it was, but it was still way too think to ride. I waited it out and thankfully it passed.

It cleared long enough for me to hop on the interstate for a handful of miles. The dust was gone, but the wind was stronger than ever. My top speed on an interstate is around 80mph (as indicated on my slightly optimistic odometer). My top speed today was 50. Sometimes I could hit 55. The traffic on this stretch was light.

I exited to check out another old bridge just south of Sanders. I snapped a shot of it, steadying myself on a little slope, and turned around to see… well… to not see where I was just a minute ago.

Everything was captured in this thick brown haze of dirt and wind.

A train went by. And even in the dust storm, I took its picture. I’m incorrigible.

The bit of road between Sanders and Chambers is two-lane black top. I believe this is actually old Route 66.

This is also my last bit of this sort of road for awhile. And in celebration of such an event, the dust stayed away.

Until I reached the interstate.

From Chambers through Navajo and the Painted Desert to Holbrook, all I had was interstate. 44 miles of unrelenting super slab.

There are eight exits that exist along those 44 miles. I took advantage of most of them.

In Navajo, the second exit, I stopped for gas and to check out an old alignment that I wish I could have taken. The dust was pretty killer at this point and I wasn’t exactly sure of the way.

The next exit is the one before the Painted Desert. It is a dirt road that takes you a mile to old 66. Thankfully, the dust had settled. The wind was even a little less. Taking Old 66 west for several miles along once-paved gravel you eventually come to the Painted Desert Trading Post.

This building will not be standing in a couple of years. It’s already buckling and about to fall.

As is the bridge that is about a mile west of the old trading post. Its sides are caving out, reading to fall into the dry bed of Dead Wash which it crosses.

If I would have taken this old road farther west, I would have come to a fence that marks the boundary of the National Park Service. Because of this, if you come back here, you have to turn around and ride out.

And interesting thing happened on the way out, heading east with the wind at my back. I was doing about 15mph and decided to slow down a bit. I let off the throttle and continued traveling at 15mph. I was giving the bike no gas, yet she was still cruising along. This is how strong the wind was. The road was gravel and I was even going up a slight incline. Freaky. I’ve never seen wind like this before.

Oh, but back to the interstate.

Back to the wind hitting me head on and the gusts hitting me on my left, pushing me onto the shoulder of the road. Back to the vacuum of slipstreams left by trucks, sucking me to the left, nearly into the other lane. It was crazy, I would be doing 50mph and a truck would pass me. As it did, my speed would shoot up to 65mph. Real quick. I’d have to adjust the throttle and slow down because I knew once their slipstream was gone, the wall of wind would hit me again, knocking me back to 50.

I passed the Painted Desert exit. Originally I had planned on stopping there, but I was simply too tired. Fighting to stay upright takes a lot out of you. The wind and the dust, the trucks and the road did me in. I just wanted a motel room.

As I was fighting for my life in the shoulder of I-40, I noticed a plethora of signs for Stewarts Rock Shop and other tourist traps. I decided to take Stewart up on the offer for a bit of a rest.

I made my way up the hill and thought I’d just pull over on a little rock clearing. I turned left and the scooter and I both went down. What looked like packed dirt was very loose and very deep sand. And we were both stuck in it.

It seems like this was dust just brought here by one of the storms. Thanks.

When lying face down in the dirt you realize that maybe you should have stayed in Albuquerque. Or stayed anywhere that’s not here, at the foot of a tourist trap, face down in the dirt.

I pick myself up and the wind nearly knocks me over. This should be fun, I thought. I dig in and get Ruby upright. Somehow I manage to slip again and we both go down. Again.

Second try worked. We were both up, but how do I get unstuck? This sand is like mud. May as well be. I pushed and pulled, balancing myself on the scooter and with the wind. Nothing. She wasn’t moving.

What I had to do was fully dismount, losing the extra weight of me, rev the throttle and eventually we worked our way out.

This was not nearly as fun as it sounds. No way.

After catching my breath and getting my wits about me, I took a few pictures of the weird crap Stewart has around his Rock Shop.

But it was back to the interstate. I made one or two quick stops after that, visiting a bridge and an old curio shop. And then it was a straight shot into Holbrook.

I rode the town, visiting the WigWam motel (which didn’t open till later, so no deal for me), and getting some pretty horrible Chinese food (silken tofu?? come on!).

After managing to keep that down, I checked into the Super 8.

The wind picked up even more. The weather said it was 55mph. I believe it.

Today was a great Route 66 day. But probably the most challenging day of the trip so far. It definitely ranks up there with the monsoon that stopped me in Rolla, Missouri.

I’m glad I got to experience this feature of The West. I hope it goes away tomorrow. It pretty well sucked.

Here are my pics from today.

Miles today: 125
Miles total: 3713

The night on the Aerobed in Courtney and Sabra’s music room was passed very nicely. I awoke and showered and hung out a bit with them.

They’re just great people. I’m really fortunate to have met them. Courtney has a VW Squareback that is all my envy. We checked it out and tried to do the guy/car thing, but neither of can really pull that off. But GREAT car.

He left for work and Sabra and I discovered three, yes THREE, black widow spiders under a dog house thing. Now, anyone who knows me knows that I have a ridiculous and unhealthy fear of spiders. And while there was definitely fear going on, there was also this weird respect too. See, black widows have this sort of evil beauty to them. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s 100% pure evil. And you really do have to respect pure evil. It’s just so… pure.

So thank you Courtney and Sabra for letting me crash for the night. You’re awesome! And thanks Gavin for everything. I can’t wait to come back! And thank you, Albuquerque, for being such a great city. Someday I’ll find a really good Indian restaurant, I just know it!

Well after the evil, I loaded up and headed for the Vespa shop to get a new tire. That shop is amazing. I’m usually not one for Vespa shops. They’re usually pretty lame. But this one is great. Nick, who runs it, is a swell guy and really went out of his way for me. I can’t thank him enough.

While I was there, I spied a Vespa small frame that I must have someday. I really don’t ask for much.

Oh! And I must tell you about my new favorite song of all times! While I was at the shop, he was listening to NPR. Well when they stopped talking, they played some “New Mexican Music.” One of the songs I heard was “Guacamole” by Texas Tornadoes. Here are the amazing lyrics!

Met her at the Mercado
She was buying avacados
Man… she really turned me on

She reached for my pepper
I grabbed her tomatoes
And I knew, it wouldn’t be very long

She went to the mesa
I grabbed my cerveza
I got the onions and lemon

And the way she looked at me
Man I could clearly see
It wouldn’t be very long

Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
We’d me making Guacamole all night long

Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
We’d be making Guacamole all night long

She headed for the light
I fell in right behind
Man… She sure looked good to me

She reached for her money
I said “wait a minute honey
I believe, this one is on me”

So we got in my pickup
We started to back up
And headed on down the road

We went to her casa
Tortillas de masa
And made guacamole all night long

Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
Guacamole! GUACAMOLE!
We’d be making guacamole all night long

So do you want to heard it?! OK!

Wasn’t that just amazing?

So anyway, after we finished up, I headed out of town, taking 2nd Street to Central (which is 66) and 66 out of town, having to take the interstate for over 20 miles. Now, the secret to the interstate is simple. Get behind a truck going too slow. This way, people won’t notice that you’re the one going too slow! It works. And I felt really comfortable.

Thankfully old 66 came back at exit 117, right before one of my favorite stretches. Dead Man’s Curve!

While I don’t really know the history of Dead Man’s Curve, this thing is tight and I’m certain it is deserving of the name. This stretch is great. After curving around “owl rock,” you twist all the way around Dead Man’s Curve. And with a few other squiggles, you’re through and on your way to Laguna!

Route 66 used to go through New Laguna, but it was bypassed in favor of a pretty lovely straight stretch. I personally prefer the New Laguna segment. It’s closer to the rails and I even got to see a train!

Trains are all over the place out here. It’s quite nice.

What is also nice is that Route 66 wasn’t a frontage road through here. Sure, sometimes it was close to the interstate, but usually it just wandered off on its own, finding new turns and twists and towns to play in.

Like the quick run through Budville. The town really isn’t there anymore. Maybe it never was. But the Budville Trading Company service station (since 1928) is still there. It’s no longer in business, but I think it’s open to the public, though nobody was there when I rode by.

The next town was Villa Cubero. Old 66 went through Cubero (not Villa Cubero). But that was by-passed in favor of going through Villa Cubero.

Villa Cubero has a gas station and an old cafe. It was in this cafe where Hemmingway wrote part of “Old Man and the Sea.” So they say, anyway. But it seems like a fairly random thing to just make up, so I’d say it’s plausible.

After San Fidel, the Road turns back towards the interstate (or rather, the interstate turns towards Route 66). I crossed over it and rode along side it for a spell. I took a quick detour through McCartys to get a better look at a church. I’ve been weirdly fascinated by the Spanish-style churches out here.

Originally, Route 66 curved around some lava beds, though later, they straightened it. I was tempted to follow the newer alignment through the lava beds, but it was right next to the interstate and I’m fairly certainly I went that way before. Time for a new old alignment.

The lava beds are really impressive though. And even Old 66 doesn’t completely bypass them. You can still see how the lava flowed and rippled over the ground. If you want to get really really geeky, you can check this out.

I was definitely getting hungry and decided that Grants would probably have a Chinese place. In fact, they had two.

Grants is a very Route 66 town. And it seems out of place in New Mexico. This is more of an Illinois town. I’m not sure why, but that’s just how it feels. Maybe it’s because it was a mining town. This is where they got uranium! Awesome!

Also in Grants are some great examples of mid-century signage. They even have a still-running movie theater.

I ate at some Chinese place and though the folks were nice in there, the food was really bland. And it contained cucumbers. I think it’s a first for me. Never had cucumbers in Chinese food before. The tofu was good, but that’s how tofu is. It’s the perfect food.

The run after Milan, Grant’s sister-city, is a very long four-lane. I love deserted four lanes and that’s just what I got. For miles!