Keep Right

If you’ve read any of my ride stories you already know I don’t like riding on interstates. But, sometimes you can’t avoid it. As far as I’m concerned, there are only 3 reasons to ride the interstate:

1. Speed – You have a deadline or need to make up time to get where you’re going

2. Rain – You have a little more room to maneuver and visibility (seeing and being seen) is usually better

3. Night – For the same basic reasons as #2

If none of the above is applicable, you’ll usually find me cruising on a two-lane road enjoying the scenery and, hopefully, stumbling upon the unexpected. So, it goes without saying that my frustration level shoots through the roof when riding on the interstate and dealing with drivers who don’t understand the concept of “Keep Right Except To Pass” or “Slower Traffic Keep Right”. These drivers are directly interfering with achieving Number 1 above.

I know I’m not the first to register this complaint, but if I can influence just one person from being the dork that commits the left lane driving offense, then it was worth my time to write this. Actually, it was worth my time anyway because I wanted to get this off my chest.

Now I’m not complaining about urban traffic where every lane is being used to keep traffic flowing. I’m talking about the boneheads who cruise along in the left lane even when there isn’t an entrance or exit ramp, another vehicle, or anything else around for miles. If you insist on riding in the left lane, the onus is on you to pay attention to traffic approaching from behind you and move out of their way. By the way, once you move to the right to let them pass, STAY THERE!

“Keep Right Except To Pass” – Seems like a simple concept, huh? I mean, you use the right lane to cruise along and if you happen to catch up with someone, you move to the left lane, make the pass and then move back to the right lane. Wow, I can’t really make it any more complicated than that. Unfortunately, I use the “Go Right In Order To Pass” option a multitude of times because the “Keep Right Except To Pass” concept was too hard for a large number of drivers to comprehend. Maybe they feel they need a quarter mile gap in order to move back over to the right. No, I refuse to give them the benefit of the doubt. MAKE YOUR PASS AND MOVE THE HELL BACK OVER TO THE RIGHT LANE!

The one thing I see all the time is people moving into the left lane to make a pass, but not accelerating to complete the pass and move out of the way of faster traffic. The problem is they had their cruise control set at 1 mph faster than the guy they were passing, so it took 10 minutes to make the pass while backing up faster traffic behind them. If you find yourself moving into the left lane to pass, MAKE THE PASS! Don’t screw around in the left lane. Here’s a helpful hint: Your gas pedal still works when your cruise control is set. You can actually accelerate by pressing on it to enhance your passing capacity. And guess what else? When you move back to the right lane and lift off of your gas pedal, most of the time your cruise control will revert to the original setting. Cool! (This helpful hint was meant facetiously, but I couldn’t come up with the best set of words to make it flagrantly obnoxious.)

“Slower Traffic Keep Right” – Another simple concept, but yet one that seems to cause mass confusion on the interstate. Look, it doesn’t matter if you’re going 75 mph in a 65 mph zone. If the guy coming up behind you is doing 80 mph, YOU ARE THE SLOWER TRAFFIC! It’s not your responsibility to regulate the speed of others. If you’re passing, make the pass and move over. If you’re cruising, then you’re already in the wrong, so quit cruising in the left lane and MOVE TO THE RIGHT!

Of the hundreds of miles I spent riding on the interstates on my Las Vegas trip earlier this year I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say I saw more than 50 drivers abusing the left lane by either not moving back to the right lane after passing or just simply cruising along in the left lane oblivious to all of the other traffic around them (even when 5 or 6 cars passed them on the right). And by the way, this wasn’t just old drivers, women drivers, Asian drivers or any other stereotypical label you might use in a bad driver joke. This disorder knows no bounds when it comes to age, gender, or ethnicity. Drivers of all ilks are equally capable of ignoring these two simple signs and rules of the road.

“Keep Right Except To Pass”, “Slower Traffic Keep Right” – Remember, the ass that gets run over may be your own!

Alabama Bound – Fisher House Ride Day 7

I’ve made the ride between Austin and Houston many times and there’s not much you can do to jazz it up unless you’re willing to take a lot more time. For the most part, it’s US-290 for 130 miles, especially if you’re destination is the northwest side of Houston. Unfortunately, that also equated to a day of riding without taking many pictures. So, I apologize for the lack of pics in this post. The last 3 days of my ride were mostly on interstates so I didn't take many except when I stopped and visited the Fisher Houses.

Leaving from Kyle did give me some variety though. I used TX-21 to slide east and slightly north to Paige, Texas where I hooked up with US-290 and hauled butt to Houston. I had breakfast plans with friends in Houston and didn’t want to leave them hanging too long.

We were scheduled to meet at a place called The Egg and I, or something equally as un-biker-like. Come on man! I ate breakfast at the Cowboy Café the day before. How was I supposed to eat at some she-she foo-foo place called The Egg and I? Luckily, the place was packed and my buddy Patrick was able to convince his wife, Tanya, that JBs Steakhouse and Grill would be the better place to go for breakfast. So, before I could get off the bike at The Egg and I, Patrick and Tanya stopped me and suggested JBs. God is good.

Breakfast tacos...yum yum!

I had a giant plate of breakfast tacos at JBs and enjoyed spending time with Tanya and Patrick. They were our poker buddies for many years in Texas and I still miss those Saturday night get togethers. Plus, it hit me that the little old lady I met in Roswell reminded me of Tanya. The Roswell lady was much older, but if you added 25 or 30 years to Tanya, I’m guessing you’d get my Roswell girl as the result. They had similar builds and sounded similar although the Roswell lady was raspier. Still, I couldn’t help the comparison between the two and had to tell Tanya I had met her in the future. Maybe there’s something to that Roswell UFO mystery stuff after all. I may have been experiencing time travel in the parking lot of the Cowboy Café.

I spent an enjoyable time with Tanya and Patrick, not to mention loaded up on a good breakfast. We said our goodbyes and I rolled out of JBs parking lot in search of US-290 again. My intention when planning this ride was to stop at the Houston Fisher House on my way through town. But, as usual, I was running later than I planned and wanted to get to Mobile before too late in the day to have dinner with my old high school friends. It was a Saturday morning and I hadn’t hooked up with the director at the Fisher House at the VA hospital in Houston, so all I would be able to do was get a quick picture and keep going. I opted to skip the stop and make up some time.

This brings me to the worst part of the trip. If you are traveling to Mobile, Alabama from Houston, Texas there’s really only one route and it includes hundreds of miles of I-10. You will encounter some of the worst highway in America traveling this section of I-10. It is rough, they throw in miles and miles of construction, and you never know when traffic might just come to a complete stop for no apparent reason. Needless to say, it is not my kind of highway. The only saving grace is the 18 mile bridge across the Atchafalaya Swamp. It’s rough too, but at least you have the swamp on both sides of the highway to keep it interesting. The Atchafalaya Swamp is the largest swamp in the US. It is about 20 miles wide from east to west and 150 miles long from north to south and covers approximately 595,000 acres.

The Atchafalaya Swamp

I had lunch (my usual McDonalds cheeseburgers) in Covington, Louisiana and called ahead to my friends to make sure we were still on for dinner. I was back on I-10 in no time and continued east to Biloxi, Mississippi. Biloxi is home to Keesler Air Force Base and home to another Fisher House. I knew I wouldn’t be allowed on base without the proper paperwork (i.e. I left my registration somewhere other than on me or my bike). Still, I decided to try my luck with the security detail at the gate and see if I could either talk my way onto the base or be allowed to walk. Unfortunately, the gate closest to the Fisher House was not open and the signs directed me to the main gate. The Fisher House was too far from the main gate for this old man to walk, so I had to pass on a visit to this Fisher House too.

I wanted to visit the Keesler Fisher House in particular because they took care of my mom and dad during my dad’s eye surgery at the VA hospital there. Dad couldn’t say enough nice things about the director there and how hospitable the Fisher House staff was. I had exchanged email messages with the director and knew he wasn’t going to be around that weekend, but I still had hoped to be able to pop in for a visit. Oh well, maybe next time I’ll be better prepared.

The lighthouse on US-90 in Biloxi.

I grabbed a couple of pictures in Biloxi and took I-110 back to I-10 for the final run to Mobile. I stopped at the welcome center on I-10 as you cross into Alabama from Mississippi. It’s one of the prettiest rest areas you’ll find. I always make it a point to stop there when I’m traveling east on I-10. The giant oak trees with the Spanish moss hanging from the limbs are beautiful. I like finding a quiet place and sitting there for a few minutes. It refreshes me better than any energy drink and I like to think it restores a little piece of my soul every time I visit there.

The beach in Biloxi with the Beau Rivage Casino in the background.

I had dinner with several friends at a Mexican restaurant just south of I-10 near Theodore. It’s becoming a habit to drag my high school friends out any time I’m in Mobile. It’s nice to get to see them and catch up, but it’s also nice to watch them as they interact with old friends that, in some cases, they haven’t seen in a while either, even though they live in the area. It’s amazing to me how those friendships from more than 30 years ago continue to last and how exciting and interesting it is to get together and hear what everyone has been up to.

After dinner, I jumped back on the bike and rode the remaining 50 miles to Foley, Alabama where my mom and dad live. The next day was Mothers’ Day and I was hoping to surprise my mom. Unfortunately, I let the cat out of the bag when I called Dad earlier that evening to let him know when I’d be arriving. She was standing there as he tried to answer my questions without giving away the secret. She figured it out and he had to tell her before I got there, but it was still a nice surprise.

My niece and former sister-in-law were also visiting, so it was go to get them too. It was a quick visit because I needed to be on the road again the next day, but still, it was worth the extra time to get to say hi, particularly on Mothers’ Day. Of course mom got up the next morning and made us all breakfast, but I think that made the day that much more special for her (at least that’s what I tell myself).

This day covered 700 miles with all but 70 miles on interstates, either US-290 or I-10. 630 miles of interstate riding isn’t really my idea of a good day on the road, but sometimes you just gotta suck it up and roll with it.

Back to Texas - Fisher House Ride Day 6

I woke up on Friday morning, May 7^th, to another great day for riding. That was good because this was scheduled to be a long day with 800 miles across New Mexico and Texas. Unfortunately, I got off to a bad start by out-thinking myself. As I pulled out of my Motel 6, I could have easily ridden across the street and gassed up at the station right there. But, being the impatient, gotta get on the road, kind of guy that I am, I decided to ride down the interstate a few miles and get gas there. I rode the 9 miles south on I-25 to the US-380 east exit only to discover there’s not much at that exit. US-380 goes east into a little town called San Antonio (not the big place in Texas, but the little place in New Mexico) and San Antonio doesn’t have a gas station or at least not one I could see.

I made a u-turn and headed back the way I had come. I-25 north for the 9 miles and 20 minutes later, I pulled into the Phillips 66 station across the street from my Motel 6 where I filled up the tank. I wasted 30 minutes and rode 20 miles and hadn’t made a lick of progress. Nice! Then it was back on I-25 for the third time to travel the 9 miles back to San Antonio. Ay yi yi!!!

A view of Sierra Blanca from across the desert west of Lincoln.

But, all was not lost. US-380 took me east across some of my favorite terrain in New Mexico. If you’ve never been to south central and southeast New Mexico you’re missing some of the best territory the southwestern US has to offer. I highly recommend you make a trip to the Ruidoso area and enjoy the Lincoln National Forest and the Capitan and Sacramento Mountains. The nearest airport is probably El Paso, Texas, but even the 140 mile ride up from El Paso is scenic and takes you along the edge of the White Sands Missile Range. Don’t let the desert sands fool you though. After about 100 miles you hit the mountains and then the scenery becomes excellent.

US-380 passes north of Sierra Blanca (a 12,003 ft peak near Ruidoso) and south of El Capitan Mountain (a 10,083 ft peak north of Lincoln). It also passes directly through Lincoln, NM where Billy the Kid made his famous escape from the Lincoln County Jail. The terrain around Lincoln is rough and untamed. I think that’s what I like about it. I love imagining what it must have been like back in the 19^th century riding horseback through this territory. Of course, that would have been during the peak of the Lincoln County War where a man might have had to pick a side that could leave him dead. So, maybe riding across on a Harley in the 21^st century isn’t so bad.

An example of the some of the rugged territory in the Capitan Mountains.

Billy the Kid made his daring escape from the Lincoln County Jail on April 28, 1881, just a couple of weeks before his scheduled May 13^th hanging. In the process of escaping, he killed two deputies. In July 1881, Pat Garrett, the sheriff of Lincoln County, made his way into Fort Sumner, NM where he learned Billy was staying with a friend there. He surprised Billy in the middle of the night on July 14^th and shot him dead in the Maxwell house. Billy the Kid’s grave is located in Fort Sumner which is about 140 miles northeast of Lincoln. I’ve visited it before on one of my trips through New Mexico, but not this time. Of course, there were rumors and stories for years that Billy wasn’t killed that night by Garrett and one such story even includes him dying in Texas at a ripe old age. I’ll leave that mystery for someone else to solve. I just like the territory and the legend of the area.

The historic sign in Lincoln explaining the origins of the Lincoln County War.

I made a stop in Lincoln to look around. I’ve been here before too, so it was a quick stop to get a couple of pictures and give my butt a rest after 100 miles or so in the saddle. US-380 merges in with US-70 10 miles east of Lincoln in a little town called Hondo. From there it was another 48 miles to Roswell, home of UFOs and aliens. The road between Hondo and Roswell takes you from the mountains back into the desert. It’s wide open and terrific pavement. I opened up the throttle and jumped in behind a local pickup truck that was running 80-85 mph.

The only problem we encountered was a ladder lying in the road. The problem was, the guy I was following at 80-plus mph decided he needed to stop and pick up the ladder. There was never any real drama, but the sudden stop did send a quick charge of adrenaline through my veins as I dodged him and rolled on east toward Roswell. About a quarter mile up the road I saw another pickup truck turning around. I don’t know if he was the original owner of the ladder or just a scavenger like the guy who had been in front of me, but either way, I was tempted to turn back myself and see who got the ladder. Hopefully, they settled it peacefully. I didn’t hear anything in the news that night about a massive gunfight in the New Mexico desert over a ladder, so I suppose it all worked out ok.

More of the New Mexico countryside outside of Hondo.

In addition to it being time to refill the gas tank, I decided I needed breakfast and began looking for a local diner as I rode slowly through Roswell. I saw a gas station on the east side of town to my left and almost missed the diner on my right. Luckily, I spotted the parking lot full of pickup trucks out of the corner of my eye and knew immediately that the Cowboy Café was going to my home away from home for breakfast. You can never go wrong by eating at a local place with a parking lot full of pickup trucks, particularly if you’re looking for a good breakfast.

I filled the gas tank and turned back to cover the half a block to the Cowboy Café. The Cowboy Café shares a parking lot with the gun store next door. How in the world could I go wrong? A parking lot full of pickups and a gun store next door? This place had to be the best diner in town.

The Cowboy Cafe. I highly recommend it for breakfast if you ever find yourself in the Roswell area some day.

I was not disappointed. The service included a couple of terrific waitresses who welcomed me up to the bar and made sure my coffee cup stayed full. They handed me a copy of the local paper to peruse while I waited for my breakfast. My incredibly large breakfast arrived a few minutes later and was topped off by an offer I couldn’t refuse. “You want some homemade hot sauce with that, honey?” the waitress said to me. “Oh, heck yeah!” was my reply. Needless to say, I was in gastronomic heaven! I just had to hope the hot sauce didn’t decide to go on the offensive somewhere down the road.

After getting my fill of eggs, bacon, toast and coffee, I made my way back into the parking lot. I was shedding a layer of clothing since the cool of the morning was wearing off and moving some things around in the saddle bags when a little old lady walked up and started chatting with me. She was decked out in a red outfit that included red shoes and a red leather driving cap (I noticed her Mercedes sitting next to me). She stood 5-foot nothing and had a raspy voice like you would expect from someone who may have smoked for many years.

We chatted for 20 minutes or so as she told me about her life. Her husband of 50-plus years had passed away a couple of years before and she had moved from Roswell to Midland, Texas. Her reason for the move was to go somewhere that had better airline services so she could travel more. (This should give you an idea of how “in the middle of nowhere” Roswell is. Midland, Texas isn’t exactly a metropolis, but it’s bigger than Roswell and apparently, after taking a quick hop into Dallas or Houston, the world is at her fingertips.) Her and her husband had always talked about travel, but, as it goes in life, didn’t get around to doing much of it. She decided she wanted to rectify that situation after his death and was out seeing the world. She was in Roswell visiting her daughter. And, to make it even more interesting, she told me about how much she enjoyed riding a Harley years before with a friend who had one. She was wonderful and, while I knew I had a lot of miles to still cover, I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a few minutes. I feel like a jackass for not getting her name or a picture. It was such a good time talking with her and listening to her stories that I completely forgot to document it for my ride story.

I continued on US-380 east out of Roswell. Eastern New Mexico and west Texas are very much alike when it comes to the terrain and scenery. It’s mostly flat farm land covered with oil wells (some pumping sweet crude, while others sit rusting away). There are a lot more active wells now than I remember the last time I drove through the area. I’m sure the increase in oil prices has a lot to do with that, but I can remember riding through and seeing acres of wells sitting idle in years past, so it was good to see them pumping and feeding the local economy again.

They were even drilling new wells in West Texas. This was one of several drilling sites I passed during the day.

85 miles east of Roswell, I passed into Texas on US-380. I always give a loud “Woo Hoo!!!” when I cross into Texas from any direction. I lived in Texas for more than 20 years and still have a hard time believing I left there. But hey, you gotta put food on the table and the job was in Virginia, so whatta ya gonna do? Plus, Virginia’s pretty great too. Still, there’s something about that Texas mystic. It’s a lot like the Harley mystic. If I have to explain, you wouldn’t understand. Texas is a special place.

I made a gas stop in Brownfield, Texas. I had planned to get to the east side of town, but a freight train on the west side of town had me blocked anyway, so I decided to fill up at the local farmers co-op on my side of the tracks. I met a few other bikers from Kentucky and North Carolina who were filling up there too. The group was riding together, but the Kentucky twosome were turning north out of Brownfield, while the North Carolina threesome was continuing east to ultimately catch I-20 across the southern US. I didn’t ask where they had been, but we did discuss the great riding weather we were having on this particular day. They rode out a couple of minutes ahead of me, but I passed the North Carolina boys a few miles east of town. North Carolina was in my plans too, but not for a couple of more days.

In a little town called Post, Texas I swung southeast on US-84 toward Abilene. US-84 is a four-lane highway and the most memorable part of this stretch of highway was the wind farms. I assume this is the area where T. Boone Pickens has put his money where his mouth is. The windmills were located in large groups along the ridges and generating power for the towns and farms in the region. I was impressed with the number of windmills in the area. I guess T. Boone was serious when he said we needed to be investing in alternative energy sources.

An example of the wind farms in West Texas. If you look closely you can see the windmills continue across the horizon.

I passed a freight train loaded with military vehicles as I rode southeast on US-84. The train was sliding more east than US-84 and was getting further away, so I decided to take detour and see if I could get to a crossing that would allow me to get a picture of it. I jumped on a farm-to-market (FM) road (Texas designates some of the rural roads as FM roads that are maintained by the state, but aren’t designated as state highways because they are typically smaller roads and connect rural or agricultural areas to market towns.) This was FM-1606 to be exact and it delivered me to the train crossing a mile or so east of US-84. I got there in time to pull my camera from the saddle bag and snap a couple of pictures as the train rumbled by.

The train full of military gear headed south toward Abilene.

Getting up close and personal with the train.

I decided since I was already on a detour, I would continue on FM-1606 and see where it took me. It was a good decision since I stumbled upon a scene that contrasted the old and new in a way I wouldn’t have encountered without the detour. I passed by an old farm with an old broken down water windmill standing beside it. In the background was this massive new electric windmill. It made for a great picture.

I thought this picture best tells the story of why I like to get off the beaten path. Here the old and new collided in a way I wouldn't have seen without my detour down FM-1606.

I continued east on FM-1606 only to discover that it seemed to go on for miles without anything in sight. By this time, I had around 135 miles on the tank of gas and knew I was going to need more in the next 20 or 30 miles or else I’d be pushing that Harley down the road. Since nothing appeared ahead of me, I decided to u-turn back toward US-84 and take a little road I saw earlier that went south. I knew as long as I traveled south and/or west I would ultimately hit either US-84 again or I-20. Either one would get me where I needed to be.

As it turns out, I ultimately found myself back on US-84. I rode it to I-20 where I headed east for gas and lunch in Sweetwater. A full tank of gas and two McDonalds cheeseburgers later, I was back on I-20 headed east into Abilene where I took US-84 again going southeast across Texas. I rode the 125 miles from Sweetwater to Early where I made another gas stop. By now, I was in “racing the sun” mode. My planned stop was in College Station and that was still more than 200 miles away. There was still a lot of daylight left, but not that much daylight. It was looking inevitable that I would find myself riding through parts of Texas in the dark and that brings a whole host of critters into the equation.

In Goldwaithe, Texas I had to make a decision. I could blow off going to College Station, turn south on US-183 and ride into Austin and find a place for the night, or I could continue east on US-84 and make a run for College Station. I opted to make the run for College Station and headed east out of town on US-84.

A couple of miles outside of town I noticed a guy and a dog walking on the other side of the road. I could see that the dog wasn’t on a leash and, as you probably guessed by now, the dog bolted across the road in front of me. As he crossed he hesitated for a split second in my lane. I hit the brakes, locking up the rear, and start sliding toward him trying to keep the bike under control. The squeal of my rear tire must have snapped the dog out of his hesitation and he jumped out of the way. I slid the bike past him only to look in the mirror and see him dart back across the road in front of a mini-van that barely missed him.

This was particularly unusual because back in 2003 I was riding back from Oklahoma and passed through Goldwaithe going south on TX-16. On that occasion I had just passed through town and was running the bike back up to 70 mph when I noticed a dog crouched in his yard. You could tell he was going to chase me, so I slid over to the left side of my lane and got ready to blow past him. Well, he was smarter and quicker than me. He barreled out of the yard and made a beeline for my right ankle. He hit me solid and sent me and the bike flying into the northbound lane. Nothing was coming, so I was never in danger of hitting something, but still, the impact was significant. When I looked back I expected to see him sprawled out in the road. Instead, he was upright and walking back into his yard. What a tough SOB! I was very impressed.

Within half a mile I felt the pain begin to build in my right boot. I honestly thought the little bastard had broken my ankle. I could feel the swelling. But, just like this trip, I was racing the sun then too and couldn’t afford to stop. I kept riding and tried my best to ignore the pain.

I reached my motel that evening and the first thing I noticed were the bite marks in my leather chaps. He apparently drilled me with mouth wide open. The next obstacle was removing my boot. First, I had to take my knife and pry open the eyelets on my boot because they were smashed together and wouldn’t let the laces come loose. Once that was done, I was able to remove the boot and looked down at an ankle that was a purplish, blackish color. It wasn’t broken, but it was in far worse shape than it had been when I rode into Goldwaithe that day.

Score: Goldwaithe dogs 2 – Chuck zero!

I rode US-84 east toward Waco and reached the outskirts of town as the sun set behind me. I had only traveled 120 miles since the last gas stop, but it had been a long day in the saddle and I didn’t want to risk passing through Waco without topping off the tank. I made a gas stop and decided to check my phone messages and let Renee know my plans for the evening. As it turned out she was talking to my son Jeremy (the one who had gotten married a couple of days before in Vegas). He invited me to come spend the night with them in Kyle instead of going to College Station. The only rub was that Kyle is south of Austin and (if you remember my decision point in Goldwaithe from above) I had already intentionally gone east toward Waco instead of south toward Austin.

It was decision time again. I could go the 90 miles to College Station on TX-6 (two lanes, slow and deer) and pay for a motel room or I could go the 125 miles to Kyle on I-35 (four lanes, speed and deer) and sleep for free. Being the cheapskate that I am, I opted for the free night in Kyle.

I flew past the Horny Toad Harley-Davidson shop in Killeen and fought the idiots on I-35 where driving in the left lane for no apparent reason seems to be the state pastime. I arrived in Kyle sometime around 10PM and crashed my daughter-in-law’s first night home as a married woman. Luckily, she let me in the door and we enjoyed fajitas and a cold beer (or two).

This day ended with 810 miles under my belt and about 16 hours on the road (counting the first 30 minutes where I made no progress at all). It also included some of the best riding of the trip across New Mexico and Texas. It was a long day, but a terrific day that ended with Jeremy and Casey, our newest addition to our family. It doesn’t get much better than that! Plus, the sofa I slept on was very comfortable. I was able to get a good night’s rest and was back on the bike early the next morning headed for Houston and breakfast with friends.

Homeward Bound - Fisher House Ride Day 5

I spent a couple of days in Las Vegas enjoying the sights, wasting a little money, and hanging out with family and friends. The highlight of the trip came on Wednesday afternoon when Jeremy and Casey tied the knot in a very nice ceremony at the Little Chapel of the Flowers. I got to see Jeremy and Casey one more time when Renee and I showed up outside the Cirque du Soleil show, Ka, so I could say goodbye before heading out on the bike the next morning.

I slipped out of the MGM Grand early the next morning and wandered across Tropicana Avenue to the Hooters Hotel and Casino to retrieve the Harley. I rode east down Tropicana and made my way to I-515. I retraced my path into town and crossed over the Hoover Dam again and back into Arizona. They're building a new bridge over the Colorado River at the Hoover Dam, so I suppose it won't belong before most of the traffic will bypass the dam for the faster bridge route.

The new bridge going in at the Hoover Dam. It's kind of sad that a lot of people will miss winding their way down to the dam and crossing there, but it will improve the travel time for a lot of people.

Most of the morning was spent backtracking down US-93 to I-40 to Flagstaff. I had my first detour of the day planned for Flagstaff. I stopped in town long enough to fill up with gas, then headed out to go south toward Sedona. As I was leaving the gas station I heard an interesting rattle, but since I was pulling into traffic, I couldn't stop immediately and take a look. As soon as I was up to speed, the rattle was gone and I wrote it off to my imagination.

I wanted to check out Sedona, but wanted to get the birds-eye view of it versus just riding into town. I knew about an overlook that was not too far off of I-17, so decided I would try that. The overlook sits on a dirt road that actually runs down into the valley and into Sedona from the east. However, it's 12 miles of dirt road including switchbacks and other obstacles. Riding that distance, in those conditions on an Electra Glide, didn't sound like much fun. So, I opted to go the 7 miles to the overlook and bypass the ride down the side of the cliffs.

The overlook was 7 miles down Schnebly Hill Road (exit 320 off I-17 if you're interested in visiting it). Seven miles of dirt road wasn't much fun, but at the same time, the road wasn't in too bad of shape. There were a few washed out areas, but generally speaking, it was navigable. A couple of miles down the road, I passed a dump truck doing some road repairs. One of the workers warned me not to go past the overlook as the road got worse and he was certain I'd dump the Harley if I tried to make it down to Sedona. I assured him I was only going as far as the overlook and continued on down the road.

A view of (and from) Schnebly Hill Road.

Unfortunately, the rattle came back with a vengeance on Schnebly Hill Road. As soon as I got to the overlook, I began to inspect the bike to see if I could figure out what was loose. It didn't take much examination. I reached down and grabbed the left side exhaust with my gloved hand. The entire pipe shifted up and down. Further inspection showed that only one of the header bolts remained to hold the pipe in place.

Crap, the first mechanical malfunction on the ride and it occurs when I decide to get as far off the beaten path as I could. Oh well, there wasn't much I could do about it on the spot. I made sure the remaining bolt was as tight as I could get it and decided to make the best of my stop.

The view from the Schnebly Hill overlook of the Sedona Valley.

The view was incredible and well worth the trip. I could see across the Sedona Valley and into the town of Sedona, which was about 6 miles away. There were several sightseers there and one crazy rock climber who was fearless. She made me nervous just watching her. I snapped a couple of pictures of her. I couldn't believe how easily she moved across the rocks and at the edge of the cliff.

My buddy the rock climber sitting at the edge of the earth.

After getting a few pictures and enjoying the view for a few minutes it was time to make my way back along the 7 miles of dirt road, hit I-17 north and return to Grand Canyon Harley-Davidson in Bellemont. This was the same dealer I visited on my way out to Las Vegas a few days before. I had passed them an hour or so earlier on my way into Flagstaff and knew they were my best bet for getting the bike fixed. It would require me going backwards on I-40 for 10 miles, but at least I knew where it was and how to get there.

Another shot of the Sedona Valley. If you look closely, you can see the town of Sedona in the upper left of the shot.

I rolled into the Harley dealership and explained my problem to the service manager. He took a look to ensure that was the full extent of my problems and within a few minutes, had me back on the road. Total cost: $17.95. I don't think I've ever had my bike serviced in any manner for $17.95, so needless to say, I was thrilled. I actually questioned the girl who rang me up to make sure I heard right and she quoted the price correctly. All was good, I thanked the good folks at Grand Canyon Harley-Davidson and was back on the road in no time.

The side trip to the Sedona overlook, along with the 20 miles extra to get to the Harley dealer, and the stop for repairs had cost me about 3 hours. Now I needed to make up some time in order to get to Socorro, New Mexico, my planned stop for the night. It was already mid-afternoon and I still had 350 miles to cover.

I used I-40 to make up time and hauled butt across Arizona. As I rode across the desert the wind was stirring up huge dust devils. I could watch them travel from south to north and cross the interstate in front of me. My main goal was to make sure I timed it so that I didn't catch one of them as they were crossing. Besides the challenge of keeping the bike upright in the swirling winds, I didn't want the bike or me to get sandblasted.

I exited I-40 at Holbrook. At the bottom of the exit ramp I saw a young couple standing at the corner. They held a sign that said, “Two crazy hippies traveling across America without any money”. The guy had long hair and a beard and the girl was in a long dress with a cap on her head. They both just smiled and waved as the truck in front of me turned. I couldn't resist. I stopped and gave them a five dollar bill and wished them luck. I should have taken the time to pull the camera out and get their picture, but as usual, I passed up a great shot because I was in a hurry and trying to make up some time. Sometimes I can be a real butthead.

I passed back through Holbrook and turned south on US-180. I planned to take US-180 south and east into Springerville, AZ and then catch US-60 east to Socorro. A few miles south of Holbrook, I spotted what I thought was a stick in the road ahead. As I got closer, I realized that stick was moving and was actually a 4 foot rattlesnake slowly made his way across the highway. I gave him some space and roared past him. He was the first of 4 snakes I saw in the next 10 miles. The other 3 must have had worse luck than the first one because they were dead and pressed into the pavement.

A few miles east of Hunt, I saw a sign indicating US-180 was closed ahead and the detour was 180-Alt which veered off to the south and connected to AZ-61. I took the detour and turned east on AZ-61 which eventually hooked me back up with US-180 in St. Johns, AZ. I rode into Springerville and gassed up and rolled out of town on US-60 headed east. Springerville sits 13 miles west of the New Mexico state line, so my trek through Arizona was almost complete.

Elk crossing signs along US-180 and US-60 in Arizona and New Mexico.

The elk crossing signs on US-180 and US-60 were a little disturbing. I ride in Northern Virginia where we have way too many deer running around. But, the deer are pretty small. I couldn't imagine hitting an elk. Given their size, I suspect an elk hits a motorcycle rider just about square in the face. This wasn't leaving me with a warm and fuzzy feeling as I cruised down the road at 70 mph. Needless to say, I kept my eyes open, but luckily, never saw an elk.

Crossing the Continental Divide on the way back home. Note my cool Ed Hardy designed helmet in the foreground.

Since I was riding east, I was losing an hour and the daylight. I crossed the Continental Divide again. I passed through Pie Town, billed as “America's Friendliest Little Town”. The story of Pie Town goes like this. In the early 1920's Mr.Clyde Norman, a tall Texan and a WW1 veteran who liked to bake, began making dried apple pies at his upstart business on a piece of ground along the "Coast to Coast Highway" later to become U.S. 60. The word got around that the best pies anywhere were to be found at Pie Town.

I can't confirm or deny their claim for friendliness or the best pies. From my perspective, there was no one in town. In fairness, I didn't stop and check things out, but there weren't any cars around and it looked pretty deserted to me. Hopefully, I just passed through on a slow day and things are still rockin' in Pie Town.

George Strait has a great song called, “Cowboys Like Us”. The chorus has a line in it that says, “Cowboys like us sure do have fun, racin' the wind, chasin' the sun”. I think the songwriters, Bob DiPiero and Anthony Smith, got those lyrics backwards because I'm always, “chasin' the wind and racin' the sun” on my trips. This day was no different. As twilight settled in on the high New Mexico desert I saw a lot of wildlife in the fields on either side, but none made their way into the road (and no elk were spotted either). Night came as I was about 30 miles west of Socorro. The sun won the race on this day and I rode into Socorro in the dark.

US-60 t-bones into US-85 in Socorro. Had I taken a better look to my right, I would have seen my Motel 6 about a half a mile down the road. Somehow, I missed the giant Motel 6 sign though and took a left instead. I realized, after a mile and half, that I must have made a wrong turn. I made a u-turn and rode south, back the way I had come and rolled into the Motel 6 around 9:30.

I decided it was too much trouble to go out and get some dinner, so I walked across the street to the gas station and convenience store to see what I could scrounge up. I grabbed a couple of Tornadoes, a bag of BBQ Fritos, and 2 Coors Lights. The Tornadoes looked kind of like Taquitos you can get at 7-Eleven. I may have made a poor choice in the flavor, but I thought they were awful. I choked one of them down and had to toss the other one. My dinner of champions wound up being a bag of BBQ Fritos and the Coors Lights.

I finished the day with 681 miles under my belt and my head resting comfortably on my Motel 6 pillow. I was looking forward to the next day's ride. It would be taking me through one of my favorites areas, central New Mexico.

Las Vegas Arrival - Fisher House Ride Day 4

Day 4 started out ominous. I woke up to travel advisories for slush and ice on I-40 between Grants and Gallup. This didn’t sound too good. I packed up and walked out to the bike where I had to use a t-shirt to wipe the ice off the seat, handgrips and windshield of the bike from the overnight freeze. The temperature was hovering around 34 degrees.

As I was readying the bike, an older gentleman in the parking lot began telling me about his trip into Albuquerque the day before. He described multiple accidents on I-40 and all kinds of vehicles, including motorcycles, sliding off the road between Holbrook, Arizona and Gallup, New Mexico. Here’s a tip. When you first meet someone who rides a motorcycle don’t start your conversation with a story about a friend or relative who died riding a motorcycle. Equally bad form, implying they are going to die if they leave the hotel parking lot and ride west on I-40. I know the guy didn’t mean any harm, but you really don’t want visions of your death dancing through your head 2000 miles from home.

I fished my bandana out of the saddlebag and tied it around my face like a Wild West bank robber and headed for Arizona. I filled the tank with gas and rode less than a mile before stopping for a picture of the Route 66 bridge over Rio Puerco. I missed all of the interesting Route 66 stops in Albuquerque and, thanks to the weather, wasn't going to get to see much of Route 66 in New Mexico, so I figured I'd grab at least one picture for the archives.

Route 66 bridge over Rio Puerco near Route 66 Hotel and Casino on a clear, but cold morning

As it turned out, the weather was much ado about nothing. I didn’t have any problems with road conditions even though I was prepared to stop in Grants, if the situation got bad. It was definitely cold, but never treacherous. I saw some snow in the median and on the sides of the highway, but not much more than a dusting remained by the time I rode the 120 miles to Gallup and stopped for breakfast and gas. I was bummed that with the exception of Tucumcari and Santa Rosa, I missed most of Route 66 in New Mexico.

I pulled into McDonalds in Gallup for my usual sausage burrito and coffee. Remember the homeless guy at the exit back in Oklahoma on Day 3? The one thing that stuck out for me was that he didn’t feel the need to get up in your face. He quietly asked for assistance and if you gave it, he was grateful, if you didn’t, he was inconspicuous. This really hit home for me in Gallup.

Before I could get my leg over the seat of the bike, I was approached by two Native American Indians asking me for money. I politely said no, but that wasn’t good enough. As I dismounted, they pushed closer to the bike and subsequently me, further explaining their plight and pressing for a handout. I responded a little more firmly this time, but still tried to be polite. By the third press for money, I decided politeness wasn’t going to win the day. I turned quickly on my heels and reached inside my jacket pocket as if I had something in it and told them to back the hell up. They took a step back and I used the opportunity to explain, in very specific terms, that I wasn’t going to give them any money and they needed to move on (for those that know me, you can fill in the adjectives and add to the vocabulary as you see fit).

This approach worked and I was finally able to go inside and get my breakfast. I did sit close to the door and at a window where I could see my bike to make sure it stayed safe. They wandered around asking other people for money, but didn’t go near the bike. By the time I came out of McDonalds, they were gone.

I rode across the street to fill up with gas. As I was pumping my gas, I was approached by another Indian and asked for money. I felt kind of bad for this poor bastard because he caught the full brunt of my aggravation with the first two guys. I told the guy he wasn’t going to get any money and to leave me alone (again, you fill in the missing expressions…use your imagination). Even after that, he still offered to clean my wheels for 50 cents. That sucked. I felt bad about jumping down his throat, so I gave the guy a buck and told him to just go.

I couldn’t get out of Gallup soon enough. I don’t know what to do about the plight of the majority of Native Americans and I realize the situation is at times self-inflicted or part of a self-fulfilling prophesy, but it sucks to see so many of them have to beg for money. I’m pretty sure casinos aren’t the answer. I suspect there is a very small minority of tribe members getting very rich while the majority of the tribe continues to have to scrape and scrap for a meal. But, this is a ride story, not an Ed-Op piece for the Washington Post, so I’ll leave it at that.

The weather was good by the time I got to Arizona. It was warmer and I hadn’t experienced any poor road conditions. I decided it was time to get back on the Route 66 bandwagon. My first departure from I-40 took me on Route 66 into Holbrook. I finally got to see the Wigwam Motel. This was one of the more famous motor inns along Route 66 and is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

The history of the Wigwam Motel is interesting. The original owner, Chester Bell, first saw the Wigwam Village in Cave City, Kentucky in 1938. He liked the idea and decided to build his motel in a similar fashion. He contacted Frank Redford, the owner of the Wigwam Village in Kentucky and they came to an agreement. Mr. Bell would use the wigwam design for his motel and would place a radio in each room. You put a dime in the radio and it would play for half an hour. Mr. Bell would send the dimes from the radios to Mr. Redford as compensation for using his design. Ultimately there were seven Wigwam Villages built across the US, but because of its location on Route 66, the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook became one of the more famous.

Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, AZ

My next Route 66 stop was Winslow. Of course, I couldn’t go to Winslow and not stop at the corner of 2^nd and Kinsley. This is the corner made famous by the Eagles in the song Take It Easy. I didn’t know this, but Jackson Browne teamed up with Glenn Frey to write the song. The town commissioned a mural on the wall of the corner building depicting, “…a girl, my Lord, in a flatbed Ford slowin' down to take a look at me.” It was a fun spot to get off the bike for a few minutes and take a break.

You gotta love the mural with the girl in the flatbed Ford on the corner in Winslow, AZ

Welcome to Winslow!

I rolled out of Winslow and back onto I-40 and continued my trek west. I pulled off I-40 at exit 204, east of Flagstaff. Humphreys Peak, the highest point in Arizona, loomed over tree line and made for a great photo op. I stayed on Route 66 through Flagstaff and jumped back on I-40 on the west side of town.

Humphreys Peak towering over the Flagstaff area

I made a short stop at Grand Canyon Harley-Davidson in Bellemont, AZ to grab a t-shirt and a mask for the cold weather. From there, it was I-40 again for 45 miles to my next section of Route 66. I was looking forward to this section all day. Route 66 makes a loop northwest through small towns like Seligman, Peach Springs, Truxton and Valentine before coming back to I-40 in Kingman.

There was a tour group in Seligman, so it was bustling with people taking pictures and checking out the various Route 66 oriented shops. I had 75 miles on my current tank of gas and wasn't sure about gas options on this stretch. I popped into one of the stores to see if I should top off the tank in Seligman or if I could get gas down the road. The owner, Angel Delgadillo, was sitting in the store. He appeared to be a permanent fixture in the store and held court from a bench just inside. Angel had just turned 83 a couple of weeks before.

Angel's Route 66 Gift Shop in Seligman, AZ

I asked Angel if there was gas on Route 66 between Seligman and Kingman. I didn't know it at the time, but Angel is called the Guardian Angel of Route 66. He was able to tell me about each town along the Route (including where there was gas) with specific mileages between towns and stops. But, his final advice was, “Get your gas here.” I took his advice, topped off the tank up the street, and rode out into the best part of Route 66 I've ridden.

Most of the Route 66 tourists stop in Seligman, but few seem to take the road out into the Arizona desert to make the loop to Kingman. That's probably why I liked this stretch of road so much. I only passed 5 or 6 cars on the 80 mile ride. This is my kind of road and my favorite type of riding. I cruised along at a leisurely pace enjoying the sights along the way.

Now that is a lonely stretch of highway. Route 66 west of Seligman.

Another view of Route 66 on the Seligman to Kingman loop.

I rode into Kingman and made a stop at Mother Road Harley-Davidson to add to the t-shirt collection. They had several nice, new Harleys sitting on the showroom floor. The temptation rose in my gut, but I was able to suppress it and get out of there before I bought a new bike.

I gassed up and it was time to leave Route 66 behind. I needed to head north on US-93 to Las Vegas. The ride on US-93 wasn't too bad. More traffic, not much to see, but the payoff comes as you enter the Lake Mead National Recreation Area. The terrain changes from desert valley to hills and mountain passes ultimately opening up on a panoramic view of the Hoover Dam.

Hoover Dam - This picture was taken on my way out of town versus on Day 4, but it was the better shot with the sun behind me.

US-93 took me from the dam to the outskirts of Las Vegas where it becomes I-515. I didn't review my directions before heading into Las Vegas, so I had to improvise a bit in figuring out how to get to my home for the night, the Hooters Hotel and Casino. Unfortunately, I guessed wrong and exited I-515 earlier than I should have. It wasn't the end of the world. I knew the hotel was on Tropicana and I knew it was beside the airport. So, I kept an eye on the airplanes landing and worked my way across town. I'm sure it took longer, but it was kind of fun just turning right or left depending on the size of the street and/or the direction of the planes.

I happened to be the first of the wedding party to arrive in town. Everyone else was flying in that evening or the next day. So, I was forced to hang out in the casino (did I mention it was the Hooters Hotel and Casino) and wait for the others to hit town.

This day ended with another 575 miles on the bike and hanging out with my son, daughter-in-law and their friends. All in all, a great day on the road and a great time with family and friends.

Las Vegas Bound - Fisher House Ride Day 3

I hit the road around 7:30 the next morning, Sunday, May 2^nd. It was raining lightly, so I geared up again in the rain suit. The light rain continued for the first 50 miles or so, but was never anything to worry about. My destination for this day’s ride was Albuquerque, New Mexico. I rode a few miles down Route 66 to Stroud, Oklahoma. Since I had ridden Route 66 on this stretch back in 2003, I jumped back on the Turner Turnpike (I-44) in Stroud to make my way to and through Oklahoma City (OKC). I picked up I-40 on the southwest side of OKC and turned west. I made a gas stop in Hinton, Oklahoma, about 45 miles west of OKC.

As I turned south to go under I-40 to the gas station, I noticed a homeless guy sitting on the corner. He wasn’t bothering motorist as they passed. He simply sat there with his sign requesting any help anyone wanted to offer. I didn’t stop at the time, but decided I’d get some change (something smaller than a $20) and drop it off on my way back. I bought gas and breakfast at the station (it wasn’t a McDonalds’ sausage burrito, but it was a breakfast burrito and coffee).

I hadn’t had any tunes on the trip to this point, so as I was mounting back up to leave the gas station, I fired up the iPod, stuck the ear buds in my ears and turned on some riding music. The first song that hit my ears was Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd. What a great way to hit the road!

The homeless guy was still at the corner, so I pulled over and slipped him a five. I had Lynyrd Skynyrd blasting in my ears, so we didn’t exchange any words, just a respectful nod from me to him and him to me. I pulled away and hauled butt to Clinton, Oklahoma, where I planned to pick up Route 66 at the point I left it seven years before.

Route 66 runs parallel to I-40 across Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and part of California where it swings south and runs along I-15 into San Bernardino. The nice thing about my ride on this day was I could hit parts of Route 66 that looked interesting and jump on I-40 to gain some time as needed. Clinton was only 35 miles from Hinton, so I didn’t have far to go before I was stopping and taking pictures.

The Route 66 Museum in Clinton, Oklahoma with indoor and outdoor displays.

The next 50 miles in Oklahoma was an on again, off again affair between me, Route 66 and I-40. I made Route 66 detours through Oklahoma cities like Elk City (home of the National Route 66 Museum), Sayre, Hext, Erick (hometown of singers and songwriters, Sheb Wooley and Roger Miller) and Texola before crossing into the Texas panhandle. I met an older couple walking hand-in-hand at the National Route 66 Museum in Elk City. We chatted for a few minutes and the lady told me how they were on another one of their many rides along Route 66 (this time traveling from the west to the east). The museum in Elk City is laid out with the various shops you might have found in any small town in America back in the 40’s or 50’s. There was a hotel, saloon, bakery, general store, bank, etc. It was a nice stop and I spent an enjoyable few minutes wandering around the “town”.

Pictures of the reconstruction Route 66 “town” at the National Route 66 Museum in Elk City, Oklahoma.

The inside is the general store, but I liked the reflection of the "town" in the window.

A view inside the "bank".

The local gas station.

The wishing well in "town".

I said my usual, “Woo hoo” as I crossed into Texas. Texas was home for 23 years, so it always feels good to cross back into the state, even if I’m just passing through. My first Route 66 stop in Texas was Shamrock. Shamrock’s Route 66 attractions include the Tower Station and the U-Drop Inn. The Tower Conoco Station got its name from the tower that sits on top of the roof and was built in 1936 in an art-deco style. The U-Drop Inn is connected to the Tower Station and was called "the swankiest of swank eating places”. The station operated for 50 years, sat dormant for 20 years, and since has been fully restored and serves the Chamber of Commerce and tourism office.

The Conoco Tower Station and U-Drop Inn in Shamrock, Texas.

McLean was the next town on Route 66. I passed through town and stopped long enough to get a couple of shots of the restored Phillips 66 station. From McLean, I rode into Groom. Immediately on my right I spotted the leaning water tower. It was actually built this way as a roadside attraction to get travelers along Route 66 to stop in Groom.

Restored Phillips 66 gas station in McLean, Texas.

The leaning water tower in Groom, TX.

I passed through Groom and stopped at the largest cross in the western hemisphere for the second photo op offered in the little town of Groom. Erected in 1995, the cross in Groom stands 190 ft tall. Information on the website says they have 1000 visitors a day and estimates that 10 million people pass by on I-40 every year. I could see the cross in my mirror for many miles as I rode west on I-40 toward Amarillo.

The 190 ft cross in Groom.

I exited I-40 east of Amarillo and, as a result, I missed out on stopping at the Big Texan Steak Ranch, home of the 72 oz Steak Challenge. The meal is free if you can eat the 4 ½ lbs of sirloin steak, shrimp cocktail, dinner roll (with butter), baked potato and salad in an hour. The original restaurant was on Route 66 and opened in 1960. Once I-40 opened, in the early 1970s, they built a new restaurant alongside it. A fire destroyed a lot of the restaurant in 1976, but they managed to re-build.

The Big Texan Steak Ranch (from their website)

The last time I looked there were more than 30 pages listing the names of the people who managed to beat the 72 oz Steak Challenge. In 1976 they lost their records in the fire. Later, records from 1976 through 1991 were water damaged in a sprinkler system accident (kind of ironic, huh?). But, if you have your certificate from pre-1991 and want to make sure your name is in the record books, all you have to do is send them a copy and they’ll put you into the new computerized records (I hope the hard drive doesn’t catch on fire and cause the sprinkler system to go off!).

I rode through downtown Amarillo, but missed my turn on 6th Avenue. Route 66 runs along 6th Ave, then swings down to 9th Ave and west out of town on Amarillo Blvd. I missed the turn on 6th and ran into I-27 at about the point where it intersects with I-40, so I jumped back on I-40 west and blew out of town. Ten miles down the road I made a gas stop that coincided with a trip to see the Cadillac Ranch (not to be confused with the Bunny Ranch in Nevada). The Cadillac Ranch is ten Cadillac sedans buried nose down out in a field. Don’t ask me why, but Stanley March “planted” them back in 1974 and they moved them in the late 1990s to the current location. They are covered in colorful graffiti. I took a picture from the road and kept moving, but was surprised at the number of visitors. Apparently, the Cadillac Ranch is quite the tourist attraction (probably exactly the reason Stanley planted them in the first place).

Cadillac Ranch

I continued west on I-40 with Route 66 side trips that passed through Vega and Adrian in Texas. Adrian is the midway point between Chicago and Los Angeles. By this time there were clouds building and storms on the horizon. I decided to stop screwing around so much and make up time on I-40. A few miles east of the New Mexico state line I got lucky and split a pair of thunderstorms, one north of I-40 and the other south. It was actually kind of cool because I could see the rain and lightning and hear the thunder from both storms. It was like Mother Nature’s stereo and 3D all in one.

Mural on side of café in McLean.

I didn’t make another Route 66 stop until I came into Tucumcari, New Mexico. In Tucumcari, Route 66 is lined with motor inn relics and restorations. Some of the motels are still in service, but a lot of them are now closed and sit empty with weeds growing in the parking lot. Still, it was a nice trip down nostalgia lane.

You'll see a lot of motels like the Economy Inn in Tucumcari, NM along Route 66 where time and lack of attention has left then boarded and fighting the weeds.

The main drag on Route 66 in Tucumcari, NM.

I made one last Route 66 detour in Santa Rosa before focusing on Albuquerque.

Shots from the Route 66 Auto Museum in Santa Rosa, NM

My plan was to get to Albuquerque without getting caught in a storm. I can only say that was the plan, but alas, as John Lennon once said, “Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans”. On this day, life included riding headlong into a nasty cold front. I hit the leading edge of the front a few miles east of Clines Corner. A strong headwind began to blow and the temperature began to drop. I needed gas anyway, so this seemed like a good time to stop, get gas and gear up (another opportunity to bust my butt putting on my rain pants).

Two other riders were at the pumps when I rolled in. They had left south central Colorado that morning and confirmed for me that I made a good decision in going south toward Oklahoma the day before. They told me they had spent most of the day going a few miles, stopping and scraping the ice off their face and windshields and thawing out. It sounded like a miserable day of riding for them. They had traveled south on US-285 most of the day and were about to head east on I-40. They were ecstatic when I told them the weather was 20 degrees warmer 20 miles down the road.

I contemplated going into the restaurant and taking a break, but the weather reports made it clear I wasn’t going to avoid the storm unless I was willing to spend the night there. I didn’t want to do that, so back on the bike I went. Clines Corner is 60 miles east of Albuquerque and the rain started before I re-entered I-40. It rained for the next 50 miles and the temperature continued to drop. But, I got lucky in Albuquerque and the rain stopped, making the ride through town a little warmer and safer.

I was thinking about riding to Grants and stopping there for the night. I saw a sign stating that Grants was another 70 miles down the road and simultaneously saw a sign for the Route 66 Hotel and Casino. That settled it. I decided the Route 66 Hotel and Casino would be my home for the night. I managed to get checked in, up to my room, shower and change into some dry clothes before the sun began to set behind the mountains to the west.

Route 66 Hotel and Casino (from their website)

I wandered around the casino checking out the various games and tables. After a tour of the casino, I made my way back to the main bar and settled into a stool. The bartender was from Hawaii and a good guy. He was very laid back and pretty funny. He chatted up anyone who saddled up to his bar. A couple of patrons were frustrated to learn that casino rules prevented them from being able to take their drinks out of the bar and into the casino. I have to admit, that was a first for me too. I don’t think I’ve ever been to a casino that didn’t allow alcohol on the floor. But then again, I don’t get out much. Oh well, I wasn’t gambling anyway, so it wasn’t my problem.

I watched bits and pieces of the NHL game on the TV behind the bar and order the chicken quesadilla. The guy sitting next to me struck up a conversation and within 2 minutes turned it into his personal diatribe about the Obama administration and his desire to overthrow the US government. He was all for the removal of Obama, Pelosi, Reid, and probably several others. He was talking to me and anyone who would listen. I was listening, but my heart wasn’t in the debate. I had just ridden 600-plus miles, the last few miles in the rain, wind and cold, and really just wanted to sit at the bar sipping my Coors Light and chilling out. I finished my meal, grabbed a Coors Light to take to the room and decided to call it a night.

Back in my room, I turned the TV to The Weather Channel and learned that there was a very deep low pressure system making its way across New Mexico just north of where I was sitting. Normally, a low pressure system looks like a comma on the weather radar. This bad boy was wrapped around itself so far it looked like a backwards “at sign” (@ - but you have to reverse it in your mind). The system had dumped snow along I-40 in eastern Arizona and was currently dropping snow in Gallup and Grants. Suddenly, my decision to stay the night at the Route 66 Hotel and Casino seemed like a stroke of genius. As I’ve said many times, I’d rather be lucky than good. This day ended with another 645 miles on the odometer and me comfortably spread out in my king size bed.