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Forewarned by the friendly staff of the Vermillion Café that nothing would be open in Kanab on Sunday, we decided today would be ideal to visit the Zion National Park. Neither of us had yet had the chance to spend any significant amount of time in America’s National Parks, so we did not know what to expect.

Zion is beautifully organised. Private vehicles are not allowed in the park. Instead, eco-friendly, propane-powered, shuttle buses run every 6 minutes or so from the Visitor Centre to the (mysteriously-named) Temple of Sinawara at the top of the canyon.

Finding no designated motorcycle parking, and a full car park, we parked alongside the RV’s – just outside the car park boundary.

he shuttle makes a number of scheduled stops at various places of interest along the canyon. We got off at Zion Lodge, a motel providing the only guest accommodation in the Park. More importantly (to us anyway), the Lodge also provides the only café and gift shop in Zion.
Unfortunately, being a sunny Sunday, half of Nevada (and his wife and kids) had joined their Utah cousins for an afternoon stroll … and they all wanted lunch! We queued for an hour for our sandwich and root beer. (Next time, we vowed, we will bring a picnic!)

Lunch finished, we thought we should try one of the ‘less strenuous’ trails. The Emerald Pools seemed to fit the bill, “… easy to moderate drop-offs, round trip 2 miles, average time 2 hours”. Perfect.

The walk to the lower pool was, indeed, easy – we could tell by the number of rather overweight senior citizens who were returning from the climb. The lower pool was somewhat disappointing, being rather drier than we had expected, so we headed on up the trail to the middle and upper pools.

The number of old folk diminished significantly by the middle pool, and we saw only one couple of ‘wrinklies’ returning from the upper pool, as we started our climb. They looked quite fit, but clearly found the steepness of the path quite intimidating on the way down.

The temperature was again around 100 degrees. But the 350 ft climb to the upper pool was rewarded by some stunning views across the canyon on the way, and we were grateful for the chance to rest our weary legs in the shade provided by the towering cliffs.

Back at the Lodge, we took the next shuttle all the way to the top of the Scenic Drive, and took the Riverside Walk to where the Canyon narrows. Here we paddled in the Virgin River, before it started to rain, and we thought it time to head back to Kanab.

We badly needed to send a fax to the Post Office, but discovered that long distance calls from our room at the National 9 were not possible without a phone card. (A problem we had already encountered in the Motel 6 in Las Vegas.) This presents all sorts of problems for our modem, so we decided the only thing to do was to decamp to slightly more sophisticated lodgings.

We moved to the Parry Lodge motel, a few yards up the street. We had called in to Parry Lodge yesterday, as it holds a list of about 200 films and TV series which have been filmed in the area. Between 1930 and 1980 many stars stayed at the motel, and their pictures are proudly displayed around the lobby and restaurant. The big names include John Wayne, James Garner, John Ford, Henry Fonda, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jnr, Telly Savalas, Gregory Peck, and Maureen O’Hara, to name but a few. The plaque above our door bears the name Barbara Stanwyck.

Kanab became known as ‘Little Hollywood’, as at one time practically all the townsfolk were supplementing their income, appearing as extras in films such as The Big Trail, Stagecoach, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, Fort Apache, Sergeants Three, McKenna’s Gold, and The Desperados. We felt it was particularly apt that we should end up staying here, having decided against battling the heat and traffic to visit the real thing in LA!

Looking at the landscape surrounding Kanab, you can easily imagine yourself caught up in a Western movie. Millions of years of erosion have created steep cliffs of red-coloured rock around the town. Although the soil is sandy, there is plenty of natural vegetation. We are no longer in the desert here, though when it rains, the pink earth smells strangely burnt.

Yet again, we planned to visit the Grand Canyon at dusk. Yet again, just as we set out, the weather closed in.

On arrival in Kanab, we installed ourselves in the local National 9 motel, and, after a shower, went in search of a beer.

Kanab, we discovered, was founded by the Mormons, and in common with much of the rest of the State, does not have a single bar or tavern to its name. There are a few restaurants which will serve ‘liquor’ with a meal, but these form a tiny minority. To find a bar, we were advised to cross the border into Arizona, about 3 miles down the road – or buy some ‘take-outs’ from the local gas station. Instead, we dined in Escobars Mexican restaurant: one of the minority which advertise ‘Cold Beer’.

After a late start, we bought breakfast in the Vermilion Café, one of several Internet cafés in town. We browsed the gift shops, and ate ice cream for lunch – intending to set out for the Grand Canyon at about 5pm. The idea was to see the North Rim at sunset (around 9pm).

As luck would have it, as we were about to set off, very dark clouds appeared from the South. Unperturbed, we donned our biking gear. Then we saw the lightening. One thing we have learned from our friends last week, is that you don’t want to get caught out in a thunderstorm in this area!

We spent the evening writing our diary, and giving our bikes a much needed clean.

Only a fool would venture out into the desert on a motorbike, with temperatures in the 100’s, on mid-summer’s day. Oh well, they say “Mad dogs and Englishmen …”!

We felt it was time to move on from Las Vegas, and next on our itinerary was the Grand Canyon, in Theodore Roosevelt’s words, “the one sight every American should see”.

Our idea was to base ourselves in Kanab, UT, which Brigid had read somewhere was a centre for the National Parks of southern Utah and northern Arizona. These include (amongst others) Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon, Monument Valley, Grand Canyon Northern Rim, and Grand Staircase.

After about 100 miles on I-15, we were both beginning to suffer from the heat. We left the Interstate at St. George, and stopped for a break at Hurricane. We were feeling so weak, that we asked the chap in McDonalds if he knew what the temperature was outside. When he left for work, an hour before, it had been 106 degrees!

After a considerable break, we consulted the map, and elected to take the scenic route to Kanab, through Zion National Park – away from the desert.

What a good decision! Quite apart from the stunning views, the road through Zion is in immaculate condition, with some great twisties – perfect for motorcyclists, despite the low speed limit. We were also strangely glad of the mile long tunnel, built in the 30’s, which provided a cool respite from the sun. Our $10 passes were valid for 7 days, so we made ourselves a promise to revisit the Park later in the week.

The previous evening Brigid had spotted a competition in the Harley Davidson Café, with a new Harley as a prize. She was determined to buy at least one drink in there, just to enter the draw. John was determined to lose some money in the Casinos – after all you can’t come to Las Vegas and not gamble, can you?

We made another attempt on the Ford Mustang, and collected another set of vouchers. We had another hamburger, more Margaritas, and cashed in a $50 token each for the slots.

John set the fanfare going by winning a ‘jackpot’ prize of $50. Unfortunately, neither of us had brought any ID with us, so we hastily switched seats while John beetled back to the motel to find our driving licences. Eventually the tinny music drove the supervisor mad and she relented, accepting my photo bank card as ID, just so that she could re-set the machine! Needless to say we spent our winnings on two more tokens. This time we came away with consolation prizes: two T-shirts and a travel blanket. (Terrific. Have you ever tried to stuff an acrylic travel blanket into an already bursting backpack!?)

Brigid did her best to lose $20 in a slot machine, but the machine didn’t seem to want to let her. After about an hour, she admitted defeat, coming away with $41 (making a $1 profit on the evening). Having lost a respectable amount of money at the Blackjack table, John decided it would be a good idea to visit Hoover Dam.

Donning helmets and gloves, but otherwise lightly-dressed, we jumped on the bikes and headed towards Boulder City. It was still very warm, but Brigid found that wearing a flimsy buttoned blouse, was not necessarily a good idea. As we picked up speed, the buttons nearly beat her to death, and seemed to encourage some unwelcome attention from passing motorists!

The Hoover Dam was, indeed, an awesome sight. But if you are looking for a good photo, check elsewhere. It is simply too big for an amateur photographer to get a good shot (not without some serious abseiling equipment anyway). However, in making the trip to the Dam at night, we had achieved one other recommended view of Las Vegas. As we came back into town, the whole valley was stretched out before us like a neon carpet. Again, not something we could easily photograph, but another awesome sight, none the less.

Had a late morning (having been kept awake by the rattling of the air-conditioning unit). When we eventually surfaced, it was still unbearably hot outside. However, we made it down to the local Post Office to post home more unwanted ‘stuff’. We also discovered the more ordinary side of Las Vegas. Running parallel to The Strip is Maryland Parkway, where the locals shop.

That evening we made sure we had our camera with us, when we went out. We also discovered a great way to eat cheaply. Outside The Tropicana hotel there was a stand offering a free spin on a slot machine, with the chance of winning a Ford Mustang. Each entrant was promised a prize. 2 tickets to a magic show or the Folies Bergères, or just some free vouchers. (No prizes for guessing what we won!)

Amongst the vouchers, was a two-for-one offer for a hamburger in the Hotel’s restaurant, a $1 frozen Margarita and a two-for-one cocktail from the bar. (No prizes for guessing what we had for dinner …!)

We killed some time at the Tropicana bar, playing video poker, and then went for another stroll. Even at midnight, the temperature did not drop below the mid-eighties. Today, we were determined to get some good photos, so we took a ride in the elevator to the top of the ‘Eiffel Tower’. The view, especially of the water show, was quite spectacular.

We probably didn’t do ourselves any favours, leaving so late for Las Vegas. We stopped for lunch at the Mad Greek café in Baker. A bizarre place in the middle of the desert: all decked out in the Greek national colours, with pictures of sunny little Mediterranean ports, and Nana Mouskouri singing in the background. The café was serving traditional Greek food, but we played safe and opted for a couple of ‘Onassis burgers’. We were grateful for the very effective air conditioning.

When we arrived in Las Vegas, the thermometer in the street read 107 degrees. We weren’t terribly choosy about our lodgings, so when Brigid spotted a large neon Motel 6 sign beside the airport, we checked in. At $41.44 plus tax, and just off ‘The Strip’, it seemed like a good deal. To be fair it was quite comfortable. We had only two complaints. We could not access the Internet, because you needed to use a phone card to make anything other than the most local call. Also, Brigid found a dead cockroach on the bathroom floor … (But, as John said, “It’s dead, what’s the problem?”)

That evening we took a stroll up and down The Strip, taking in the lights. We dined in a replica French brasserie, ‘Mon Ami Gabi’, in a sort of Disney-type representation of Paris, complete with half-scale Eiffel Tower. (Other themed areas include New York, Monte Carlo and Venice.) The waiter distinguished himself by explaining ‘pommes frites’ as “French fries, only better”! We passed on the fries, choosing pommes dauphinoise to accompany our very excellent steak au poivre.

Today was spent chilling out, and resting our aching butts. We paid a visit to Ontario Mills, a vast shopping mall on the outskirts of Ontario, but found nothing we wanted to buy.

Despite the scheduled 5.18am start (to miss the infamous LA traffic), we were given a slight reprieve. We left the hotel at about 6am, for the final leg into Santa Monica. The roads were relatively quiet, and by about 7am, the Rally was over. We parked up on Ocean Boulevard, overlooking the Pacific Ocean, within sight of Santa Monica Pier, to enjoy an al fresco breakfast of Starbucks’ coffee and doughnuts.

We both found ourselves somewhat emotional on our arrival. I don’t think we were alone in these feelings. Many friendships had been made along the 2,500 miles of Route 66. Now it was time to part company, and for everyone (except us) to head for home. Pat lead us in a short prayer of thanksgiving, remembering earlier travellers. We each told of one memorable moment from the trip. The Iron Butt Award was presently jointly to Mark (a New Zealander, suffering from palsy, who had ridden pillion all the way from Chicago) and Hugh (whose Harley Sportster bike was deemed to have the most uncomfortable seat). A special ‘Wally Award’ was presented to Joe Mirroballi (suffice to say that there were only 3 days when something didn’t happen to Joe!).

After the conclusion of the ceremonies on the seafront, we headed with Fred, Joe, Theo, Dirk, Brad, Mark, Hugh, and the two Ginas, to the Broadway Deli, for a more substantial breakfast.

Dirk made a phone call to wish his wife ‘Happy Birthday’. Realising that she was feeling low, alone at home, the phone was passed on to each of us so that we could all leave a birthday message on the answer phone. This prompted Brad to borrow Joe’s phone, to phone his mum. Again, the phone was passed around so that we could all say hello.

Then, Brad found the number for Joe’s wife. Joe wasn’t too worried, “She will be on the way to the airport by now”. Scrolling down the saved numbers, Brad found Mary’s mobile number. Joe put his head in his hands. Brad dialled … and we all got to tell Mary what a great guy Joe was, and how much we had enjoyed his company!

Suddenly, everyone remembered the bikes. They were, by now, parked illegally on Ocean Boulevard, and we had left all our travel documents in John’s tank bag. Mercifully, Danny had remained with the bikes while we ate breakfast. Only one or two had parking tickets, and all our belongings were intact.

After a short stroll on the pier, we said our final goodbyes and headed back to Ontario.

By this time it was mid-morning, and the LA traffic was back to its usual grid locked state. It must have taken us over 2 hours (in baking sun) to reach the motel.

The day started badly. Scheduled time for departure from the hotel was 5.15am, with the prospect of a long ride across the Mojave Desert. I don’t think anyone was particularly looking forward to this part of the Rally, save that, by that evening, we would be on the outskirts of LA – near our journey’s end. (That, in itself, brought mixed emotions.)

Thanks to the inefficiencies of the Royal Mail, who had singularly failed to implement the re-direction of our mail at home, John spent 40 minutes, in the early hours, making frantic phone calls to the UK. In consequence, we spent the next few hours playing ‘catch up’ … and, as we all know, John does not do mornings! Definitely not the best start to the day.

We left the hotel 5 minutes after everyone else, to catch a quick breakfast at the nearby truck stop. However, by the time John had stood in line, waiting to pay for some batteries for the CBs, Pat Evans was already putting on his helmet. Brigid had ordered some coffee, but there was no chance of getting anything to eat. We hastily paid for coffee, and John went to buy a chocolate bar.

As he stood in a queue behind several truck drivers paying for fuel, the cavalcade moved out. By now in a rage, John abandoned the chocolate bars and jumped on his bike. Unfortunately, neither of us saw Pat and the others turn right out of the truck stop.

We set off in hot pursuit … in the wrong direction …

Five miles down the road, Brigid (who had been in the lead – and therefore responsible for navigation) pulled over and admitted that she might have got it wrong. After a quick glance at the map, John (getting more cross by the minute) roared off in search of Route 93 South … regrettably, he missed the turning and ended up going North instead. To cut a long story short, after 10 miles and 20 minutes, we ended up back where we started. At this point John suffered a major sense of humour failure, and started throwing his toys around – much to the distress of Brigid, whose mistake had already exacerbated his bad mood.

Then the cavalry arrived in the form of Fred, Joe, Ed & Karen, Doug, Rich, and Frank (who also apparently do not do mornings – having elected to leave an hour later than everyone else – and, fortunately for us, were also going in the wrong direction). They immediately did a U-turn, and we were thankful to tag along behind.

We had some fun on the twisty road up to the old mining town of Oatman. The road is closed to any vehicle over 40 ft, and it is easy to see why. When one comes across roads like this, it is hard to imagine how the early pioneers of Route 66 ever survived, with their open trucks, overloaded with all their worldly possessions.

In Oatman, we caught up with the main group (briefly). The town probably hasn’t changed much in 100 years. We spent a few minutes there, taking photos, and then carried on into the Mojave Desert.

Once past Needles, as far as the eye could see, the land was parched and barren, with no vegetation other than short scrub. It was hot, but we were blessed. I doubt the temperature exceeded 105 degrees at any time. Last year when the Rally crossed the desert, temperatures exceeded 116 degrees. Off the paved road, the ground was littered with rocks and boulders. It made one question how the early travellers ever made the trip with horse-drawn wagons.

Per the itinerary, we stopped at Roy’s Café at Amboy, CA. The stop was scheduled for 32 minutes, but the Café was closed. A few of the group took advantage of the ‘facilities’, then we doused ourselves with cold water from Ed’s coolbox, and carried on the old road through Ludlow to Newbury Springs, passing many rundown dwellings and businesses, long since abandoned.

Newbury Springs has one claim to fame. It is the site of the Bagdad Café, where the film of the same name was shot. The Café itself is a focal point for local characters and travellers alike, for whom it brings welcome relief from the heat.

Service is slow. But then no one who takes the time to call in is in a hurry. We were entertained by ‘General Bob’, a local octogenarian, who told us that he had been awarded 15 degrees by Oxford University in 1917. He also professed to have founded the United Nations. More believably, he claimed a friendship with the actor, Jack Palance, dating back to the 30’s

Back on the road, we stopped at the Roy Rogers Museum in Victorville, CA. Until his death a few years ago, Roy took a personal interest in the museum, spending several hours every day, meeting visitors and fans. The museum documents every detail of his and Dale Evans’ life, both on and off screen. In a slightly macabre scene, the horses from his show, Trigger and Buttermilk, and his dog, Bullet, and other pets, have been stuffed. All around are items of Roy’s clothing, guitars, guns, saddles, cars, and every other conceivable form of memorabilia. This museum is a Mecca for Roy Rogers fans of all ages.

That evening we stayed in Ontario, CA, some 70 miles outside Los Angeles. We enjoyed a last dinner at Rosa’s Italian restaurant opposite the motel. Nearly all the diners had been with us since Chicago.