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.

Las Vegas Bound - Fisher House Ride Day 2

Sorry about the lack of Day 2 pictures. I spent a lot of the day riding in the rain, so that in and of itself isn’t very conducive to picture taking. Plus, I’ve been down the I-44 stretch of road so many times, that I really don’t think about stopping for pictures. If I’m on I-44, it’s for one reason and one reason only, speed. In this case, it seemed like the best route given the bad weather I was heading toward. For this entry, I threw in some pictures from previous rides just to break up the monotony, but didn’t get many on this trip. So, again, please accept my apologies and, hopefully, you’ll enjoy the reading.

This is my old 2004 Fatboy sitting on a low water crossing on Cow Creek Road in Texas - It's from back in 2005 when I was just getting started ringing up 95,000 miles on this bike

I pulled out of the Motel 6 and into the rain around 6:20 and began Day 2 of my ride. My motel was on the east side of Seymour, so the initial stretch of US-50 guided me through town and eventually onto the open road. The rain was persistent, but not very heavy. Plus, once you’re wet it really doesn’t make much difference whether you’re getting wetter or not. The biggest problem was keeping my glasses and the windshield clear enough to be able to see with some degree of success.

I rode 40 miles from Seymour to Bedford and decided to take a break from the rain and grab my traditional ride breakfast, a sausage burrito and cup of coffee at McDonalds. The TV at McDonalds was tuned into one of the news channels, but I was lucky enough to catch the weather segment. Unfortunately, the radar looked green all the way across Indiana, but there was a glimmer of hope that it would be drying up by the time I hit the Illinois border, a mere 70 miles away. I finished my breakfast, used a dozen napkins to dry the seat I had occupied and headed back out into the rain. The rain was lighter than when I stopped, so that was some good news.

Dripping Springs, TX, again back in 2005. The Road King in the foreground belongs to my riding buddy, Jerry

The stretch of US-50 from Bedford to Loogootee was one of the best parts of the ride in Indiana. Too bad it was still raining and the road was wet because this stretch had some nice hills and curves that would have been more fun at higher speeds. It passes through a section of the Hoosier National Forest and crosses the White River in a little town called Shoals.

At least the radar didn’t lie to me. The rain let up a few miles east of the Wabash River and I began to see some blue sky for the first time that day. The Wabash forms the border between southern Indiana and Illinois. It looked like I might get the chance to dry out. I made a gas stop in Olney, Illinois, but for the most part, my trek across Illinois was nothing to write home about, so I won’t bore you with any details. US-50 passes through flat farmland and I rode it most of the way across Illinois and, near Scott AFB, entered I-64 for the westward haul into St. Louis.

My arrival time into St. Louis was poor. It turns out the Cardinals were playing the Cincinnati Reds in an afternoon game. Traffic was backed up on I-64 into East St. Louis and I puttered my way across the Mississippi River in stop-n-go, bumper-to-bumper traffic. Normally, I would have bypassed St. Louis to the south, but this trip I wanted to see the Gateway Arch again. Of course, the Arch is within sight of Busch Stadium, home of the Cardinals, so me and thousands of my closest buddies were headed to the same spot and exiting on the same exit.

This pic is actually from this ride. In St. Louis at the Mississippi River and the I-64 Bridge I puttered across that day.

In hindsight, I was kicking myself because I realized later I could have crossed the Mississippi on the Eads Bridge or the Martin Luther King Bridge and probably avoided some traffic. Oh well, next time I’ll either do that or remember to check the baseball schedule ahead of time. Still, I eventually made it into town and was able to get my picture of the Gateway Arch. Getting out of town was much easier and before I knew it, I was on I-44 sneaking quietly out of St. Louis and into the Missouri countryside.

The Gateway Arch in St. Louis

I made a gas stop about 35 miles southwest of St. Louis in Pacific and was back on I-44 west for another 130 miles and gas in Lebanon. By the time I arrived in Lebanon, I was beginning to see more threatening clouds to the west. I used my phone to do a quick check of the weather and it indicated there were thunderstorms in Kansas and Oklahoma. My plan was to peel off of I-44 and move slightly northwest to US-54 and take it west into Wichita, Kansas for the night. The weather in Kansas looked pretty rough, including severe thunderstorm warnings and watches. The weather in Oklahoma wasn’t much better, but the storms were spread out a little more and it seemed like my chances for sneaking between storms was better.

I decided to make a call to my in-laws to see if they were home and, if they were, ask my father-in-law what the weather was doing and see if I could crash at their house that night. He was at his rental property in Tulsa and a storm has just passed through dropping some rain and hail. It was a quick storm and, by the time we were talking, the sun was back out, but there were more dark clouds to the west. The bad news was that the storm that had just passed through Tulsa was traveling from the southwest to the northeast and that meant it was coming straight up I-44 from Tulsa toward Joplin, Missouri. Still, even with that info, the weather in Oklahoma looked less dangerous than what I was hearing about Kansas. It was decision time. I knew what to expect on the road between Lebanon and Tulsa (I-44), since I’ve ridden/driven it many times. I didn’t know anything about US-54 (my original planned route) in western Missouri or eastern Kansas. I opted to make a run for my in-laws house in Bristow, Oklahoma even though that meant abandoning my ride plan through Kansas and Colorado.

A 2006 shot of the Fatboy on one of my first rides after moving to Virginia. This is Carr Lane. I didn't know it was going to be a dirt road when I turned down it, but it was a great ride.

The next leg was another 120 miles of I-44 and I hit rain just as I was entering Joplin, Missouri. Joplin sits about 8 miles from the northeastern border of Oklahoma and the southeastern border of Kansas. Since the rain had just started, I didn’t have my rain gear on. Luckily, I was able to find a gas station before getting too wet and used the opportunity to top off the tank.

A couple of years later, in the fall of 2008, I was riding on Carr Lane again when I saw this eagle enjoying a feast on a deer. I assume the deer was shot and left by someone since the head was removed as a trophy. This bird was probably 3 feet tall. He looked like a small child standing out in the field.

I need to whine for a second. By the time I stopped in Joplin I had done 250 miles (130 miles from Pacific to Lebanon and 120 miles from Lebanon to Joplin) with only the gas/weather stop in Lebanon. Anyone that rides long distances will tell you that 100-plus mile runs on a bike can be very, (how should I say it?), butt-numbing. By the time I made the stop in Joplin, my butt hurt, my back hurt and I was tired. Needless to say, donning my rain gear was an adventure. At least I didn’t fall down in the middle of the gas pumps, but that was only because I was close enough to the bike to take one hop and plop down on the seat before I busted my butt in front of God and everyone. I decided to stick my feet through the rain pants in a more relaxed, sitting position.

Another of my favorite roads in Virginia, Foxcroft Road.

By my calculations I was 145 miles from Bristow and could make the remaining part of the trip without the need for gas. This meant that if I found a break in the weather, I was going to go for it and ride straight through. As honorable as this intention might have been, it was a moot point. The weather wasn’t going to take a break. It was simply going to supply me with alternating shots of light rain, heavy rain, hellacious rain, and, just for kicks, the occasional hailstones.

The first round of hail tapped off the windshield, my helmet, and other parts of the bike and me, but didn’t deter my progress too much. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t impenetrable either. I rode slower and stayed in the right lane for most of the time, but I was still able to keep moving southwest. That is until I hit another round of pea-sized hail a few miles down the road.

This time I was unfortunate enough to take a shot to the cheek bone just under my right eye. Besides it hurting like hell, it also caused my eye to water and between the rain on my glasses, the rain on my windshield and the generally shitty conditions, that eye wasn’t of much use. My left eye told me there was an overpass coming up. I made an immediate decision to pull under it and wait out this part of the storm. I misjudged my speed and the wet conditions and slid through the cover of the overpass and came to a stop sitting in the rain and hail. I pushed the bike backwards until I was shielded from the storm and within 30 seconds the hail had stopped and the worst of the rain seemed to have passed. In other words, had I kept riding another quarter of a mile, I probably would have come out of it without having to experience a long distance skid and the effort of pushing the bike backwards. At least the stop gave me a chance to rub my cheek and dry my glasses (not that it mattered much since they were spotted with rain drops within seconds of pulling out from under the overpass).

By the time I made my sliding stop, I was 25 miles into Oklahoma and riding on the Will Rogers Turnpike. Ain’t it grand that Oklahoma takes I-44 and turns it into a toll road to get across the state? I know I love being given the opportunity to pay for the privilege of riding on highways that tax dollars built. Oklahoma’s excuse is that the tolls pay for maintenance. Yeah, right.

I got this shot of Jerry cruising by on one of our Texas rides.

Anyway, I digress. Another 20 miles and I was able to pull over into the turnpike service area and take refuge with two other motorcycles. The rain continued to ebb and flow from light rain (enough to be really annoying) to outright downpours. I still had 100 miles to go and from where I sat, it didn’t look like it was going to be much fun. I called my in-laws to let them know I might be a little later than I had planned.

Another shot of Jerry riding in Tennessee on one of our Daytona trips.

I never saw one of the other motorcycle riders at that stop. I assume he decided to sit in the McDonalds and relax. The other rider was a true biker. He walked out of the convenience store by the gas pumps where we had parked the bikes. He wore jeans, sweatshirt and leather jacket and vest. That’s right, no sissy rain gear for this guy. His Road King was decked out with ape hangers and he didn’t require the use of a windshield. To top it off, he was headed to Lawton, Oklahoma, another 175 miles past my destination. We discussed the weather, with particular interest and disdain for the hail.

After 20 minutes, I decided I had wasted enough time and pulled back out into the rain. I guess it was probably 20 or 25 miles down the road when my biker friend past me. He had the Road King roaring around 80 MPH and rode like he owned the Will Rogers Turnpike. I gave him some room, twisted the throttle and rolled along behind him until we reached the outskirts of Tulsa. The rain tapered off east of Tulsa. The roads were still wet and traffic increased, but for the most part, I cruised through Tulsa without incident.

I don't remember the name of the road, but this was another one of my path less traveled routes through Texas from a few years ago.

Bristow is 20 miles southeast of Tulsa right off the Turner Turnpike (Oklahoma likes to change the name of the turnpikes between cities, but this is still I-44). The better thing about Bristow is that Route 66 runs right through town. This is the famous Route 66 that crosses the US from Chicago to Los Angeles. I rode Route 66 from Chicago to Clinton, Oklahoma back in 2003. Since I had chosen to turn southwest versus going through Kansas and Colorado, I now had the opportunity to do a few more miles of Route 66.

I stopped in Bristow to fill up the tank, so I would be able to jump on the bike and head out of town first thing in the morning. Of course, while I was pumping the gas, the rain started again. I only had to traverse 2 miles of Route 66 to get to my in-laws, but I had just begun to dry out. Oh well, whatta ya gonna do? I pulled into the in-laws place having slapped another 700 miles on the bike that day with large chunks of that mileage in the rain. I was 1330 miles from home and still had 1230 miles to go to get to Vegas.

Home Sweet Home for the first 5 months that I lived in Virginia. I shared my 200 sq ft of luxury living with the motorcycle. Good times!

My mother-in-law treated me to a bowl of chili and I spent a relaxing evening hanging out with her and my father-in-law. Since I made a dramatic change in my route to Las Vegas, I plotted out a new route that would let me do parts of Route 66 as far as Kingman, Arizona. As is usually the case, the well thought out and masterful ride plan I completed a month before leaving home was shot to hell by the second day of the ride. Jerry Evans, who has ridden cross country with me many times, will tell you it is standard operating procedure when riding with me. Mostly the route is made up on the fly. I think that’s one of the things that make my rides interesting. I may have an ultimate destination in mind, but even I don’t know exactly how I’m going to get there. 