June 20th – King City, California (BST -7hrs)

Leaving Oatman after breakfast yesterday, Tony’s bike had gone down, leaving him with a broken wrist and a suspected head injury, and leaving the group without its photographer. Given Gary’s accident, this came as quite a shock to all. Up until now, during the fifteen years that the Rally has been running, there had not been a single serious accident to a participant. The odd broken wrist or ankle, but nothing life-threatening. Now, suddenly, this year, we have had two. The fact that these things happened to two experienced riders affected everyone in some way.

End of the Road - Santa Monica PierThe ride into Santa Monica was as smooth as I can remember it, despite the morning LA traffic, and we all managed, eventually, to park on Ocean Avenue, close to the Pier. Without Pat’s wife to organise the al fresco buffet on the sea front, breakfast now takes place in an Italian restaurant across the road, with pictures taken at the Pier afterwards. It was a good spread of toasted ciabatta, muffins, fruit and muesli, and the prize-giving was fun, as always, but – if anyone wanted my honest opinion – I prefer the outdoor option. There was something much more relaxed about the donut and coffee buffet, and the long-suffering organisers were always on hand to snap the same group photo on dozens of cameras.  Everyone had a chance to exchange contact details and recount their favourite memories of the week and the whole thing was appropriately unhurried, after a week of early starts.

In any event, John and I always want something a bit more substantial for breakfast, so as soon as everyone had dispersed, we made our way to the Broadway Deli for bacon and eggs with Doug and Joanne. By about 9.30am, we were on the road again. Bound for Canada and Alaska.

Highway 33Highway 33 is breathtaking. 40 miles of spectacular twisties that belong to bikers – come up behind a car, and the drivers will, almost without exception, move over as soon as they are able. Oil fields on Hwy 33Beyond the mountains, the road passes through the oil fields, a strangely surreal landscape: barren desert littered with countless electricity pylons and rusting nodding donkeys. Then come the fruit farms: millions of trees in perfectly geometric rows, each with their own irrigation system. A lonely Café on Hwy 33And, all the while, the westerly wind pummels the bikes and whips up the dust from the reclaimed farm land. In a hundred miles, it seemed we had passed through several different continents.

We spent the night at King City.

June 19th – Ontario, California (BST -7hrs)

Today, John had his bike booked in for service at Doug Douglas Triumph in San Bernardino. So, unusually for us, we were up before dawn and on the road half an hour before the rest of the group. We had to try and get the bike there by 2pm. Earlier, if possible.

Old Gas Station on Golden HwyIt was very liberating, riding the Golden Highway to Oatman all alone. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the pink light of the early morning sun perfectly complimented the desert landscape. The road was ours. The only traffic to watch for were the occasional startled rabbits.

Actually, that isn’t quite true. We did come across Tony and the New Zealanders, Brian and Barbara, who had taken some time out to do some target practice in the wilderness. But they would wait for the rest of the group to join them for breakfast in the Oatman Hotel, so we just exchanged greetings and rode on.

Despite our early departure, we more or less followed the itinerary: stopping, briefly, at Roy’s Roy’s Café at AmboyCafé in Amboy; the Bagdad Café at Newbury Springs, and Peggy Sue’s Diner in Daggett. We made good time and, though we were unlikely to be able to get to the dealer before 2pm, we wouldn’t be late.

 

Peggy Sue’s DinerKnowing the technician would have to remove the fuel tank, John did not want to arrive with any more than a bare minimum. Mme Garmin said that we had 78 miles to go. John’s fuel gauge showed that he had 91 miles worth of fuel …

However, at 1.50pm, with just four miles to go, the Triumph wheezed to a halt on the southbound exit ramp of I-210. Ha!

We remedied the problem fairly quickly. I simply went to the nearest gas station I could find and bought a plastic jerry can and 2 gallons of fuel. It took me a while to rearrange my luggage to find two bungies to strap the can on with, but I was back with John within 30 minutes or so, and 15 minutes later the bike was being wheeled into Doug Douglas’ workshop.

 

Triumph’s new 1600 ThunderbirdDoug and Joanne arrived a few minutes later to keep us company. A generous gesture, for which we were grateful, especially as nobody could seriously want to sit around a stuffy bike showroom for hours on end. Even the technician apparently decided he couldn’t be bothered to hang around on a hot Friday afternoon to complete the scheduled service. They were nice enough about it, the staff. Friendly and hospitable. But, nevertheless, I was annoyed. OK, so we were a little late but, to me, it had the whiff of yet another typical customer service let-down from a US Triumph dealer. Luckily, John is more tolerant than I am and, besides, he was distracted by the arrival of a brand new 1600 Thunderbird, one of the first in the US, on a trailer outside the showroom.

 

We got into the Quality Inn in Ontario at around 7pm. Oddly enough, John had mislaid our new jerry can. Disposal of evidence, if you ask me …

June 18th – Kingman, Arizona (BST -7hrs)

The El Rancho is billed as a former “home of the stars”, as many westerns were made in the area during the 40’s and 50’s and numerous actors had stayed there. The bedrooms may be a little on the small side by today’s standards, but the hotel retains a lot of its retro charm. It also serves good steaks and Mexican dishes, and has a bar of its own. Not staying in the ‘official’ Rally HQ hotel (the ghastly Red Roof Inn) meant that we were pretty well free to choose our own itinerary for the day.

I was concerned that Mum would be worried if I didn’t call again today, so borrowed John’s mobile and left him to order breakfast. It was a beautiful morning as I sat outside in the sun, listening to birds nesting in the eaves of the hotel. It was quite warm compared with previous years, but there was still a pleasant cool breeze.

Standin’ on the Corner …We blew through the Painted Desert but stopped in Winslow, Arizona. The Eagles’ famous ‘corner’ has been reconstructed after a fire last year, and it was now cordoned off with a police escort awaiting the main group. Again, very impressive organisation from George for his first year as Rally Master. I put some postcards in the post and posed with John for the obligatory photo, with the bronze statue, in front of the mural of the girl in the flat-bed Ford. We then speeded on to Flagstaff to sort out Joanne’s spectacle issue and had lunch while waiting for the new glasses.

 

The Gallup to Kingman day is one of my favourites of the Rally. The next stop was in Williams, Twisters, WilliamsArizona, for a chocolate malt at Twisters. Then we joined I-40 as far as Seligman, where John had hoped to get Angelo Delgadillo to cut his hair. Here we met up with fellow stragglers, Willie and Jim (“the Irish”), Mark and Cathy, and Karen and her group.

 

Karen has been riding as much old road as possible due to Ed’s nephew, Mike, having the ropiest bike on the Rally. At speeds over 60, it develops an expensive-sounding knocking, so they have been keeping off the Interstates, with occasional comical consequences.

 

Red Corvette - HackberryToday’s adventure began when a stretch of road they believed to be original Route 66, turned to gravel. They stopped and asked a police officer whether they could ride through. Reassured, they ignored a couple of warning signs, and found themselves in a flooded underpass, which was supported by scaffolding. The bikes, including Mike’s ancient Goldwing, made it through, but Bill’s trailer was simply too wide to pass between the supports. Determined not to be outdone, the four of them, Bill, Dave, Karen and Mike, unhitched the trailer, tipped it on edge, and carried it through. Sterling stuff, you might think. However, a few hundred yards further on, the gravel road petered out and became dirt … Reluctantly, they came to the conclusion that this was not Route 66 after all, and so began the painful process of retracing the 16 miles or so to where they had started.

We arrived in Kingman around 6.15pm: earlier than usual, but just slightly too late to join George for his night-time ride to the ghost town of Chloride.

June 17th – Gallup, New Mexico (BST -7hrs)

We really needed to catch up with some housekeeping this morning, so opted to stay behind while the rest of the group rode to Sandia Crest and/or Santa Fe. I went to reception to ask whether there was a Walmart or similar store in town.

The receptionist replied, “You’ve heard of the middle of nowhere, well, we’re on the outskirts … “

So, no hope, then, of recharging our phone card and, thus, no hope of calling mum today. We did our laundry, had breakfast, and set out to do a bit of shopping in Santa Fe, 100 miles down the road.

The Road to Santa FeOur only real goal for the day was to eat lunch in Madrid, setting for the biker comedy, “Wild Hogs”. We decided to follow the old road, as per the itinerary, and ended up in a biker comedy of our own making. It has to be said, there are a few gaps in George’s itinerary.  Probably all very well, if you are travelling with the main group, but a little confusing otherwise. The trouble is that so many of the alignments of Route 66 are now little more than dirt roads, it is sometimes difficult to judge if you are going the wrong way. The sign, “DANGER – Active railroad – Look both ways”, probably should have given us a clue. Nevertheless, we ended up riding about a mile along a nice stretch of gravel road, before we finally admitted defeat and turned back.

 

By the time we actually arrived in Santa Fe and started to look for parking spaces, our enthusiasm for shopping had waned, and we were getting hungry. There were ominous clouds building, so we donned our wet weather gear.

It was gone 2pm when we arrived in Madrid, but we weren’t the last.Doug and Joanne had only just caught up, having ridden from Tucumcari, and there were a couple of groups still eating in the Mine Shaft Tavern, the interior of which was used for the Del Fuegos’ biker bar in the film.

Continental DivideThe clouds stayed with us for the rest of the day, though we had only the odd sprinkle of a shower. However, the wind was fierce, whipping my head around whenever I checked the road behind me, and ripping Joanne’s glasses right off her nose. Despite a thorough, and rather hazardous, search of the shoulder, we had to admit they were gone for good. So we stopped again a few miles on so that she could ring her optician for a prescription and, in the meantime, tried to help out another biker who had lost his oil sump plug. After a long and futile discussion with the two men, we donated some two-part epoxy and a spare bolt that looked as if it might fit … and left them gauping at the slick of oil that was slowly forming under the old Kawasaki. Ah well, you can lead a horse to water …

 

El Rancho Hotel - GallupThe only other stop was at the Continental Divide, where a fabulous double rainbow appeared briefly, and we were joined by a loan Spaniard riding a Harley. Having exchanged pleasantries and taken his photo – well, as I pointed out to him, no one else was going to – we were on our way again. It was about 7.30pm by the time we arrived at the El Rancho hotel in Gallup.

 

Donny and Rose greeted us with the news that Gary had been in surgery for six hours and was still on a respirator.  His leg had been amputated above the knee …

June 16th – Santa Rosa, New Mexico (BST -6hrs)

Needless to say, everyone was highly amused to hear John’s tale of woe regarding the Tiger’s alarm system. However, in attempting to prove that it was now disarmed, John actually discovered that there was still some life in the system’s internal battery. The thing must have gone off six or more times before eventually falling silent. No matter.< This time it didn’t delay us unduly.

We were an hour or so behind the main group, which meant they had already moved on by the time we reached Sayre, where Doug wanted to take a picture outside the famous courthouse. I never saw “The Grapes of Wrath”, but a scene was filmed there.

City Meat Market - home of the Mediocre Music MakersWe followed the old road into Erick, where we caught up with Pat Evans’ group. The Mediocre Music Makers had finished their show, so there was no reason to hang around. We joined up withU-Drop Inn - Shamrock Pat and rode on to the U-Drop-Inn in Shamrock, and then to McLean for lunch at the Red River Steak House.

 

We had barely sat down when Pat announced that Gary had had an accident. Red River Steak HouseDetails were few, but it appeared that he had broken a leg and collar bone riding through some construction. However, it soon became apparent that this was much more serious than we had initially thought. It seems that Gary and Len were riding on a stretch of old 66 when they came across a huge heap of asphalt piled in the middle of the road. Len managed to avoid it, but Gary was less fortunate and, in his mirror, Len caught sight of him catapulting high into the air, as his bike struck the obstruction.

Gary’s leg was badly broken and bleeding profusely. The emergency services were amazing and within minutes a helicopter arrived Cadillac Ranchand he was medevac’d to hospital.

 

What little news there was continued to filter in throughout the day, with most people expressing genuine shock that something like that could have happened to an experienced rider like Gary on this ride. We rode on to the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo and ate homemade ‘Ugly Crust’ pie at the Midpoint Café in Adrian. But, try though we might to enjoy ourselves, Gary’s accident occupied our thoughts for the rest of the day.

June 15th – Clinton, Oklahoma (BST -6hrs)

The day started promisingly enough. I made a quick call to Mum, while John looked up a list of BMW Motorrad dealers for Gary, whose bike was leaking oil. We packed up our bikes and went for breakfast, with the intention of riding with Karen, Dave, Mike and Bill.

We checked the room and John drove his bike round to reception to hand in the room keys. Meanwhile, Karen’s party pulled into the adjacent gas station to fill up. However, when John got back to his bike, he found he could not disarm the alarm. Nothing seemed to work and, naturally, as soon as he tried to move the bike, the alarm sounded. We were going nowhere.

John investigates alarm malfunctionOf course, this would have to happen on a Monday, as no self-respecting bike dealer is ever open on a Monday. I tried Datatool’s website, but succeeded only in crashing the reception computer. There was nothing for it but to call Carl Rosner in South Croydon.

 

To give them their due, the technician was sympathetic and helpful … and, to give John his due, he had foreseen possible problems with the alarm system, and had brought all the spare parts he had received when he bought it. All we had to do was to undo four screws and replace the bike wiring with the clever little box of tricks provided for the purpose. John set about digging out the plastic plugs that conceal the screws. The alarm went off. We put our fingers in our ears and let it stop before continuing. They eventually revealed four tamper-proof bolts for which a special bit would be required. Naturally, despite having each brought a fairly complete toolkit, we hadn’t got the necessary tool. Luckily, there was a good auto parts store in town …

So, with every minor disturbance now triggering the alarm, John and I put in our earplugs and dismantled the power source. The box of tricks was duly installed but … still the alarm was sounding. For the third time, we called the UK. “Ah, yes”, said Rosner’s man, “you will have to wait for the internal battery to run down … should take about 20 minutes …”

In the event, the alarm stopped after a couple of minutes and we were on the move at last. To be honest, so much time had elapsed since everyone else had left, that we didn’t expect to catch up. So, rather than blasting on, John and I calmed our frazzled nerves by exploring the day’s itinerary on our own. We followed the suggested route out of town to find a section of the original narrow ribbon road. We turned right onto South Main Street and were doing 35-40 mph as we suddenly found it. George’s itinerary warned of “some gravel”, but we really weren’t prepared to find ourselves surfing along at those speeds. The question was, “where was the ribbon road?” This road seemed to be mostly gravel with a small area of broken concrete in the centre. For a while we road along the centre, Route 66 Ribbon Roaduntil we decided that it was actually easier to stand on the pegs and ride the thicker gravel to the side. It was only then that I noticed a narrow curb bordering the concrete on both sides. So that was the ribbon road! To be fair, it did get better further on, but we did wonder how the main group of 30 or so bikes would have faired.Route 66 shield on Ribbon Road

 

We had visited the excellent Will Rogers Museum in Claremont on previous trips, but had planned to stop at the Gun Museum this time. However, time was getting on, and we really wanted to have lunch at the recently rebuilt Rock Café (devastated by fire last year) in Stroud. So we decided to put the pedal to the metal and hit the Interstate.

 

In fact, I-44 between Joplin and Oklahoma City is a toll road, the Will Rogers Turnpike and, as we discovered, getting on and off it in the right places can be a bit tricky. Suffice to say, we ended up taking a 3-mile eastbound detour before heading west.

After a quick snack at the much-improved Rock Café, we followed George’s itinerary through Wellston, where a bank in the main street displayed the current temperature of 99°F, and Arcadia. We pulled into the car park at the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum in Oklahoma City at about 4.45pm … and parked next to a familiar Honda Goldwing and trailer.

Brand new Lucille’sWe found Doug and Joanne inside, taking a break from the heat. The museum was about to close. We took a quick peek at the giant landscape paintings in the auditorium, and bought a T-shirt and mug in the gift shop. Since it was now rush hour, we took refuge in Braums’ ice cream parlour for half an hour or so. Then we joined I-40 for a fast run to our hotel in Clinton, stopping just onceSunset on Route 66 to see the brand new Lucille’s diner, just a few miles on from the now deserted original in Hydro. It was late by the time we got in.

June 14th – Miami, Oklahoma (BST -6hrs)

The best way, we thought, not to get lost, would be to follow former Rally Master, Pat Evans. After all, we thought, who, having ridden The Mother Road, every year since the Rally began, could possibly know the road better …

Bourbeuse Valley H_DEach year, Bourbeuse Valley Harley Davidson, the only H-D dealer with the distinction of being directly on old Route 66, lays on an exclusive Sunday breakfast of Krispy Kreme Do-nuts, fruit, coffee and juice, for the Rally participants … and each year, we have apparently been with the only group of riders to get lost and miss out. With that in mind, we hooked up with Pat and a small posse of old hands.

 

The dealership opens specially for the group and breakfast is free. Well, ‘free’ in the sense that you are welcome to help yourself to as much as you want. However, few people who go there leave without buying the odd extra T-shirt, quart of oil or chrome accessory. I suspect, forking out for a couple of hundred Krispy Kremes and some nice fruit, is well worth their while. And, with such a helpful team of sales assistants, it would be rude not to …

 

Lewis and Clark TrailFollowing breakfast, Pat wanted to ride a bit of the old road: perhaps a bit that he hadn’t had the chance to see with the group in previous years. We followed a clearly-marked stretch for a while after leaving the dealer until a sign directed us across an Interstate bridge. At the T-junction, there was no clue as to which way we should go, so we turned right. Some miles further on, Pat’s voice came over the CB, “I’m not sure, but this road doesn’t look right to me”. “That’s because we’re going the wrong way”, came the reply. Unfortunately, it quickly became evident to the GPS-users, that we had already gone too far to simply turn back. The next major intersection was 40 miles on.

 

No one worried. We all had plenty of fuel, and it was a lovely road, twisting and turning and undulating, at one point like a giant roller-coaster, through cool green forests and pretty villages proudly displaying the star-spangled banner on every street lamp. “How thoughtful of these folks to honour my Birthday”, joked Pat over the CB, “I’m truly humbled”. “Say again, Pat”, someone cracked, “You’re what? Crumbled?”

 

On and on we rode, further and further from our intended path, until we came to a small town called Potosi. The various GPS units had been giving conflicting information about road names, so I pulled out our road atlas – for no better reason than just to get some idea of how far we had ridden. Pat came over. “If I’m going to be asked where we got to today, I’d better know the name of the forest”. I found it on the map, the ‘Mark Twain National Forest’. “This is part of the ‘Lewis and Clark Trail'”, volunteered John. “Oh good”, said Pat, “Then I can tell people we did this on purpose … it’s a sort of ‘make-it-up-as-you-go’ tour”.

 

Your secret is safe with us, Pat!

 

Eisler Brothers StoreWe parted company after lunch. I was being just a little too slow in changing from water-proofs Rainbow Bridgeto warm weather gear. By the time I had stuffed my rain jacket away in its roll-bag and bungeed it back onto the seat, the others already had their engines running. We said we would catch them up but, in the event, they had a ten minute start on us, so we didn’t see them again until the Eisler Brothers Store in Riverton, where a TV reporter was interviewing several participants about their experiences on Route 66.

 

Then we spent a few minutes taking photos at the Rainbow Bridge which used to mark the State Line on Route 66, between Missouri and Kansas, before heading for our Miami hotel and dinner at Montana Mike’s.

June 13th – St. Louis, Oklahoma (BST -6hrs)

The alarm clock went off at 4.30am but, truthfully, we had both been semi-conscious since 3.30am. Though it was still dark, we could see that it had rained overnight. Even at this hour, there was activity in the car park as participants dried off their bikes and stowed their belongings. The promised hot breakfast consisted of hard boiled eggs, coffee, waffles and toast. I couldn’t complain that it wasn’t “hot”, but I am more of an eggs and bacon type.

At 6.30am sharp, George put on his helmet and tooted his horn and the 15th Annual Mother Road Ride/Rally was under way: George’s first as Rally Master. This year we had a police escort to ensure that we all made it through the first set of traffic lights and on to the Interstate.

Downtown in the RainWe rode with the group into Chicago for a wet photo opportunity on West Adams, now officially recognised as the start of Route 66, and stuck with them all until Wilmington. This year’s group seems enormous, compared with past years. Doug and Joanne caught us up at the Launching Pad Drive-Inn, so we let the others go ahead and trailed along a few minutes behind. Polka Dot Drive InnSomewhere outside Gardner, we noticed we had picked up a tail. It was only mid-morning, but Jim had broken down in Chicago, found a Harley dealer 50 miles south of the city, had his bike fixed, and still managed to catch up. He stuck with us as we visited the old Sinclair filling station at Odell, Funks Grove (where I bought a little bottle maple “sirup”), and the Route 66 Museum in Pontiac, then rejoined the main group after lunch.

 

Lincoln’s NoseWe temporarily abandoned the itinerary to see the Lincoln memorial in Springfield, where we rubbed the great man’s nose.  (It’s good luck, apparently.) Then we stopped again outside Chatham to ride an old section of brick road that George had added for the first time this year. Red Brick RoadAfter that, we hit the Interstate for the next 80 or so miles for an extremely rare opportunity to ride across the original Chain of Rocks Bridge that spans the Mississippi. There were about 80 of us, and it was quite a sight – especially for the pedestrians who thought that the bridge was closed to traffic, as we weaved around the permanent picnic tables and reproduction vintage fire truck!

Chain of Rocks BridgeOur overnight stop was unspectacular. There is nothing whatever to recommend the Red Roof Inn in St. Charles. In 2006, we opened the door to our room to find an unmade bed … On the Chain of Rocks BridgeThis year we couldn’t open the door at all. We had to wait an age in the hot sun before the unfortunate duty manager was able to fix the lock. Even then, the bathroom was so small that you had to raise the loo seat in order to shut the door, and the alarm clock (conveniently pre-set to 6am) seemed to have no “off” switch.

June 12th – Willowbrook, Illinois (BST -6hrs)

Group leaves OwossoWe were due to leave for Chicago between 9am and 10am. I set the alarm for 7am, but couldn’t sleep that long. I could already hear Doug and Joanne moving around, so I took the opportunity of calling the hospital and managed, at last, to speak to my mother. It has to be said, she did sound a bit wobbly, but seemed in good spirits and generally pleased to hear from me. So the trip is still on … for the moment. Assuming no change, we’ll do Route 66, and reassess the situation when we get to Santa Monica. 

Otherwise, John and I spent the next couple of hours repacking and redistributing our luggage, losing stuff, finding stuff that we meant to pack, and generally faffing about. We grabbed a quick breakfast downtown and called into Verizon with a borrowed mobile phone to equip ourselves with a US cell number. Then it was time to hit the road. We aimed to be at Willowbrook around 4pm, and we were, despite some necessary running repairs to John’s CB antenna. Antenna Repairs

 

The car park at the La Quinta motel was three-quarters full of bikes. Familiar faces greeted us, and it felt like we had never been away. Unloading the bikes took an age as we fell into conversation with old friends and new. At last, we found ourselves more or less alone and realised, although we had lost an hour since Michigan, it was time to eat.

 

Parking Lot at La QuintaDel Rhea’s was packed. There was standing room only as we waited for a table. So we had a couple of pints of Route 66 Red and chatted with other late-comers including Fred and Mary, Joe, and Mark and Gina (none of whom are riding this year), and a bemused New Zealand couple, Brian and Barbara, who came in place of Cameron and Ngaire. With no hope of a table any time soon, Geoff Wilde suggested we eat in the adjoining dining room. A sensible enough idea: it was a bigger room and there was no shortage of vacant tables. But we were immediately shoo’ed away by a particularly officious manager, who clearly didn’t want biker riff-raff mixing with ‘quality’. However, not wishing to turn away a table of seven, he reluctantly gave in.

 

Dinner was rather unsatisfactory all round. We missed George’s first briefing as Rally Master, and the waitress somehow mistook my pronounciation of chicken in a basket as sautéed chicken livers. Still, we had a good laugh about previous years, as Joe did his best to scare the newbies with hilarious tales about these two equally green Brits who showed up in 2001. That was, until I reminded him that his own antics that year had given rise to the “Wally Award” …

June 11th – Owosso, Michigan (BST -5hrs)

Well, I couldn’t speak to Mum this morning after all. She is out of intensive care, but couldn’t come to the phone and her bedside phone had not yet been connected. Otherwise, the news continued to be encouraging. The nurse reassured me that Mum was doing “very well”, so I passed on our love and said I would call again tomorrow.

We put a load of washing on and went out for breakfast. Joanne is now officially on holiday, but woke up feeling under the weather with some sort of infection. Not wanting to disturb her, we then borrowed Doug’s suburban and went shopping in nearby Flint.