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Because of the forecast cold weather, Pat decided to put the start back to 7am. When we awoke, there was still frost on the bikes. Again, we decided to ride with Theo and Dirk. We set off following the map, in search of a stretch of original road. However, after a couple of wrong turns, we ended up on a dirt track on the road to nowhere, and decided to catch up with the group after all. After around 60 miles on I-40, Brigid indicated that she wanted to pull over. We were both freezing cold and in need of extra clothing, so we stopped on a slip road and donned some extra layers. The linings of Brigid’s Furygan gloves had long since given up the ghost, and Theo kindly lent her some Thinsulate-lined gloves, which proved excellent (must find some of my own …).

We caught up with the main group at the Petrified Forest, and stayed with them until the afternoon.

At Winslow, AZ (although on the itinerary, Pat was not intending to stop there, until an outcry from the Eagles fans in the group), a splinter group left for a side-trip to the Grand Canyon: just a short excursion, they said … but they didn’t make it back to the motel until about 10pm!

Due to the Canyon trip, Pat’s party had dwindled to eight. According to the itinerary, we should have stopped for lunch at the Museum Club in Flagstaff. Unfortunately, they had stopped serving food. Instead, we enjoyed a burger at Crazy Bob’s, a few yards down the road, with Pat, Theo, Dirk, Sandra, Roger, Rick, and Bob.

In Williams, AZ, we stopped to enjoy the delights of Twisters, a 50’s style soda-fountain. Then we headed on to Seligman, where Angelo Delgadillo is credited with starting the re-generation of Route 66, from his barber’s shop, about 10 years ago. We took our photos, Theo had his beard trimmed by Angelo, then five of us headed for the nearest bar for a much needed cold beer. Pat left with just two other riders.

When we felt fit enough to return to the furnace outside, we followed the old road. After a few miles, Brigid suddenly pulled over. By the time John returned to see what the problem was, Brigid was busy sticking duct tape over her visor. Heading due West, the glare from the setting sun was blinding her, and having ridden for several miles screening the sun with her left hand, she had thought of a more practical solution. We were unable to raise Theo and Dirk on CB, and by the time we were done, they were on their way back to find us.

We caught Sandra up at Pritchett’s Hackberry Visitors Centre. The Centre is a disused gas station, complete with 50’s style pumps and a number of cars from that era on the forecourt. Around the back was a red Corvette (of the same model that was in the series ‘Route 66’). We bought ourselves Route 66 doo-rags at the gift shop, and carried on.

The route into Kingman was majestic: dead straight, newly surfaced, road with mountains either side, away from the heavy traffic on the Interstate. We couldn’t have passed more than half-a-dozen cars in the 20 or so miles into Kingman.

Quote of the week: Brad Dunkin: “Pete, we’re supposed to be heading west. The sun should be in front of us. We’ve been going south for over an hour.”

Peter Hanke: “Yeah, I know, but it’s a great road ..!”

Another 5.15am start for everyone else, but we elected to leave a little later at 6am. Brian, Jeff, Theo, Dirk, Roger and Rick had decided to follow the original trail of Route 66 into Santa Fe (where some of the guys were keen to visit the Harley Davidson dealership … what is they say about Harley owners always needing a friend with a trailer …), so we tagged along.

It was surprisingly cool on the way up to Santa Fe, so much so that when we stopped for photos, most of us took the opportunity to put on gloves and jackets.

John and I had been riding each other’s bikes since the previous day, but (probably due to last night’s beans) we both found each other’s bikes uncomfortable, and swapped back.

On the way back from Santa Fe, we took the road to the summit of Sandia Crest at 10,678ft, from where we had a bird’s eye view of Albuquerque, before rejoining the Turquoise Trail back to Route 66.

Albuquerque was (in Brigid’s words) “beastly” – full of traffic lights, and very hot! We didn’t hang around. While the main group took I-40, a few of us decided to take the original road, which ran alongside the Interstate. At the “Continental Divide” (a gas station and gift shop run by the local Navajo Indians), we noticed storm clouds gathering and the temperature changing. Suddenly, it was every man for himself! We hot-footed it back on to the Interstate, and hit the gas. Helpful road signs indicated that “Gusty winds may exist”, but they could hardly be any worse than those we had been experiencing for several hours.

John used his experience of the twisties on Sandia Crest to good advantage. At speeds exceeding 90mph (to the surprise of Dirk and Theo), we made the hotel (Red Roof Inn, Gallup, NM) in the nick of time. Brad and Gina were only a few minutes behind us, and got a soaking.

As had become habit, the party met up round the pool to share their day’s experience over a few beers. Fred was despatched to order some pizza, but by then we had all begun to notice the cold. After a few minutes discussion, we decided that the only available public room was the laundry … the pizzas arrived, and the Maytag Pizza Party was born.

Bemused guests found their washing thoughtfully moved from washer to dryer. Joe even put quarters in the machine! Everyone got to take away a slice of pizza and a beer …

Unluckier were Mark and Gina. Bob Hearn had offered to take their luggage on to Gallup in his motorhome. Unfortunately it had broken down on the way, and most of their clothes were now on the way back to Texas.

Today was the first of the 5.15am starts! Because of the increasing wind, we swapped bikes today. The reasoning was that John (being taller in the body) would be better protected by the windshield on the BMW, as the seating position is lower. Brigid, on the other hand, is shorter in the body, and had no problem with the positioning of the windshield on the Triumph. Notable stops today included an old jail house in Texola, TX. Everyone was very keen to lock everyone else up in the tiny cell and take photos. Pat said that one of the riders last year looked so uncomfortable behind bars that it must have seemed “way too familiar”!

We stopped for a very quick coffee at the Art Deco U-Drop Inn, Shamrock, TX. Unfortunately, it was still so early in the morning that the Inn itself was closed, and the only coffee to be had was a polystyrene beaker from a café across the road.

We missed the Devil’s Rope Museum, McLean, TX, which was indicated on our itinerary (as it was closed – again due to the time), but stopped at the restored Phillips 66 gas station for photos.

We stopped at Groom, TX, to take in ‘largest cross in the Western Hemisphere’ (well what would you expect in Texas!). To be fair, at 180ft and surrounded by the stations of the cross depicted in life-size bronze, it really was quite awe-inspiring. Alas, one of the many photos that would be impossible to take – other than from a light aircraft.

On then, for a late breakfast (brunch) at the Big Texan, Amarillo, TX. This restaurant boasts a FREE 72oz steak dinner … to anyone who can consume it within 60 minutes! In order to qualify for the free dinner, you pay a $54 deposit. You are then seated on a small stage, and presented with a full meal including the 72oz steak (cooked to your liking), salad, baked potato, coleslaw, shrimp cocktail, and bread roll. Only if you can plough your way through the whole meal, do you get your money back.

Sam Borland, a man who clearly enjoys his food, took the challenge, but failed – having consumed some 57.5oz of steak, and all of the accompaniments. A brave effort, but he didn’t touch another steak for the rest of the trip! We had a modest 5oz steak with cowboy beans, and a chocolate malt.

By the time we left the Big Texan, a number of the other riders had already gone ahead. The next scheduled stop was ‘The Cadillac Ranch’.

We were not particularly interested in looking at 7 or 8 heavily graffitied Cadillacs planted nose-down in the ground, so were pleased to see Dirk, Theo, Joe, Hugh, Roger, Rick, and Ed and Karen, just leaving. We did a quick U-turn in the road, and managed to catch them up as they joined the Interstate.

At the Mid-Point Café in Adrian, TX (the mid-point of Route 66, equi-distant between Chicago and LA) we caught up with another breakaway group of riders, and took some more photos.

Having re-joined the Interstate, the wind really caught up with us. Gusting side winds of 40-50mph hit the party quite unexpectedly, and for several miles we all battled to stay on the road.

The only (brief) respites coming from passing trucks, which provided a welcome windbreak every now and again. John, in particular, now regretted his choice of the lighter bike, as he was blown time and time again onto the hard shoulder of the Interstate. The truckers, seeing our difficulties, slowed down as they approached so that they didn’t aggravate the problem.

At Tucumcari, NM, we left the Interstate to visit the Route 66 monument. (A seriously weird work of art, apparently modelled on a vast Studebaker wing.) As we left the parking lot, there was a misunderstanding. Whilst most of the group turned left, Joe and Theo turned right to rejoin the Interstate where we had left it … and that was the last we saw of them until we reached the motel.

After our hair-raising experience on the Interstate, we decided it was time to equip ourselves with proper CB radios instead of the two-way FRS radios that we had used up until now.

We ate dinner in Joseph’s, a local Mexican diner (Oh God, more beans!), where Brigid discovered frozen Margarita’s (Thanks, Theo).

By now, a growing number of riders had decided that we were seeing a little too much of the Interstates, and not enough of Route 66, although much of the original road still existed, and was often a quieter and more enjoyable ride.The two Canadians, Theo Meester and Dirk De Jong, persuaded us that it would be worthwhile leaving at 7am to ride some of the older roads. (This must be a first … John persuaded to leave earlier than he has to in the morning!)

On the plane, Brigid had noticed that a lot of Route 66 landmarks seemed to be dedicated to a certain ‘Will Rogers’. Neither of us had any idea who Will Rogers was. Now was our chance to find out. We stopped at Claremont, OK, at the Will Rogers Memorial Museum.

Will Rogers, a quarter-blood Cherokee, turned out to be a big film star from the silent era, and also a celebrated home-spun philosopher, satirist, writer, and pioneer aviator. When he died in 1935 in an experimental aircraft, moments after takeoff, the world
mourned.

In Catoosa, OK, we stopped briefly to see the Blue Whale.This strange fibreglass creation was once a successful water park in the early days of Route 66.The attraction was rather lost on us, as it has been neglected for many years, and the ‘water’ is now just a stagnating pond.

We ate lunch in the Rock Café (in existence years before the Hard Rock Café), in Stroud, OK. Like many of the traders along Route 66, the Café has seen some lean times in recent years. But now, thanks to a resurgence of interest in Route 66, business is booming again.The Café is quite small, so when Pat and the rest of the Rally caught up with us, we moved on.

Because we were keen to stick to the old Route, we missed the Cowboy Hall of Fame, but we did stop at the Round Barn in Arcadia, OK, the significance of which (we are ashamed to say) was lost on us, as it was closed. We by-passed Oklahoma City, as there were demonstrations surrounding the execution of Timothy McVeigh (the Oklahoma City bomber).

We stopped at the Best Western motel in Clinton, OK, for the night. One of the other attractions we accidentally missed, was the Route 66 museum across the street from the motel.The literature indicated that the museum closed at 6pm. As we arrived at 5.55pm, we decided it was already too late to visit. It was only later that we discovered that it had been open until 7pm!

Appropriately enough for a Sunday, we got a little lie-in this morning.We left St. Louis at about 8am, bound for Miami, OK. first stop of the morning was in Rolla, MO, where, curiously, the town had erected a half-size ‘replica’ of Stonehenge … ‘as it would have looked, complete’.The whole thing was a bit surreal.It wasn’t entirely clear why it was there at all.The text on the plaque appeared to be an explanation of ancient Egyptian water-sculpting techniques!

We followed a lot of the original Route 66 road through Missouri, including Devils Elbow, a unusually twisty section of road: fun for modern day motorcycles, but hell for your average Model T. In its day, this part of the road claimed many lives.

We crossed a corner of Kansas, where we stopped at Rainbow Bridge, Riverton (another historic Route 66 river-crossing), for ‘a Kodak moment’, before entering Oklahoma.

We stopped for the night at a Super 8 motel in Miami, OK: heart of America’s ‘Bible Belt’.Thanks to Brian Husbands (who thoughtfully provided a couple of cases of chilled beer on our arrival), the significance of this was lost on most of the riders until dinner time.

We dined at the Best Western restaurant across the road from our motel. There was no alcohol on sale, due to it being Sunday, and the arrival of the Rally had, by all accounts, caught the restaurant rather on the hop. An embarrassed waiter was reduced to listing the menu items that were still available, rather than those that were ‘off’!

As it was Brigid’s first visit to the States, Theo Meester suggested the oddly-named Chicken-Fried Steak (which was exactly what it claimed to be – beef steak in breadcrumbs, with white sauce), and iced-tea. (Curiously, Chicken-Fried Steak usually appears under the ‘chicken and fish’ section of restaurant menus.) The ‘steak’ was edible, if not very exciting, but the iced-tea got the thumbs-down from both of us (again, exactly what it claims to be, cold tea) – a shame, since it seems very popular everywhere here. (Cold tea in itself seems a bad enough idea. What makes iced-tea even less appealing is that it often appears to have been ‘stewing’ for some considerable time in a ribbed plastic jug reminiscent of school dinners.) Thanks, but we’ll stick with the root beer.

In fact, the only sports bikes on the Rally were ours. We left the Fairfield Inn at about 5.15am – just before dawn – make for the start of Route 66 on Michigan Avenue, Chicago “…
before rush hour”. We soon discovered one of the first truths that would endure for much of
our trip. Sometimes the best photos are the ones that you just can’t take.

It is very difficult to put across in words the feelings generated by the sight of 50 or so motorcycles (chrome gleaming), riding in near perfect formation, as far as the eye could see, silhouetted against the Chicago skyline in the pink and orange hues of the early morning sunrise.

Once in Chicago, we were all allowed a few minutes to get our pictures before getting on the road. All the riders took turns offering to take photos with other people’s camera so that everyone ended up with a photo posed beneath the historic ‘Start Route 66’ road sign.Then Pat Evans, the ‘Rallymaster’, donned his yellow helmet and the Rally was officially on the way.

This brings me to the second truth of the trip (at least where the Rally was concerned). Never take your eyes off Pat. Woe betide anyone who is not ready to move once that yellow helmet goes on!

The scheduled stops at the Launching Pad Drive Inn (home of the ‘Gemini Giant’), Wilmington, IL (for fuel), and Funks Grove (for maple ‘sirup’?!) gave us all an opportunity to chat to the other riders. We tried corn dogs for lunch at the Cosy Dog Drive Inn (Springfield, IL), and Brigid developed a taste for root beer.

Outside St. Louis, the Rally took a side trip off I-270 to look at the old ‘Chain of Rocks’ bridge, which used to carry Route 66 across the Mississippi River.The bridge is now maintained in part by private donors whose names appear on small plaques on the central span of the bridge. (Brigid cynically suggested that the plaques bore the names of those who had jumped …)

To us northern Europeans, the weather was already becoming uncomfortably warm, so once installed at the Red Roof Inn (St. Louis, MO), we set off in search of a couple of lighter jackets. Seeing the general American disregard for ‘safety clothing’, John was worryingly keen to shed his crash helmet. Along with the two denim jackets, we bought a few bandanas (large handkerchiefs to fellow Brits – only unlike the cartoon British holidaymaker, the American version is tied at the back of the head – not knotted at each corner!). We refrained from going totally native, however, choosing to wear our jackets and helmets during the long daytime rides, shedding them only for short evening trips.The bandanas soon proved their worth, as they could be soaked in iced water (thanks to Ed and Karen York whose trailer was equipped with an icebox) to provide much needed relief from the heat of the midday sun.

We parked up at the Fairfield Inn, Willowbrook, on the outskirts of Chicago, in sunshine, shortly after lunch. A few other bikes had arrived, and we both soon realised that ‘sports’ bikes (anything that isn’t a Harley or heavy-duty cruiser) were definitely going to be in the minority on the Rally.

Brigid, in particular, began to feel self-conscious about her meagre 650cc single-cylinder engine. But, as usual, both bikes aroused curiosity, and the other participants (worryingly equipped with top-of-the-range Harleys and Hondas) were all friendly and encouraging.

We used the afternoon to equip ourselves with 2-way radios, and post home various unwanted items. Then we met up with the others for a chicken dinner in Del Rhea’s famous Chicken Basket restaurant across the road from the motel.

We had made the decision to try to reach Chicago by Thursday night – leaving ourselves a full day to explore the City before meeting up with the rest of the Mother Road Rally participants on Friday evening. Our mileage chart indicated that the shortest route would be 546 miles – a pretty marathon day’s run, by anyone’s standards.  However, a quick inspection of the map suggested that using the Canadian route would shave a good few miles off the journey. This fitted well with our plan to see Niagara Falls en route.

Much has been said about the Niagara Falls, but as with all spectacular attractions, we thought that the descriptions were probably exaggerated. The plethora of tourist traps (all claiming to be the one and only ‘official’ authority) on the road did nothing to change this opinion.

We could not have been more wrong. For a couple of miles, as we approached, a cloud of white mist, thrown up be the Falls, was clearly visible. Despite the sun, the air was pleasantly cool and damp. On the Canadian side, the commercialism was vastly reduced, and the full magnificence of the Falls could be truly appreciated. As Londoners, we were amused to find red double-deckers in use as tour buses – complete with original route numbers!

After an hour or so, we headed out of town on the QEW, bound for Windsor (Detroit). We stopped for gas and lunch at a service station in Dundas, Ontario, moving on as quickly as we could. Within about 30 minutes, John signalled that he wanted to pull off the 401. The mileage of the last few days had taken its toll, and he desperately needed to rest. We stopped at the next motorway service station, and John dozed with his head resting on folded arms at a restaurant table.

Within minutes, John was woken by the sound of a British voice enquiring about the Triumph parked outside. The owner of the voice turned out to be an ex-pat, until recently working in Kentucky, and a big fan of Triumph motorcycles. He was in the process of moving back to Canada, but kindly invited us to look him up if we were passing Kentucky, and perhaps ride with him in the Smokey Mountains.

Wherever we go, both bikes generate interest from fellow bikers of all ages, but the Triumph particularly seems to spark enthusiastic appreciation.

We crossed the US border at about 4pm. Realising we were unlikely to make Chicago, we decided to stop at Kalamazoo (as in “I got a gal in …”) for the night, leaving us a short hop of 140 miles to our destination.

Another fine day saw us heading cheerfully north again, bound for Niagara Falls. The 460-odd miles to Buffalo, New York, were mercifully uneventful, and we arrived at our motel at about 8pm.

Our bikes were booked in for the their first service, and we duly arrived in Brockton at about 10.30am, intending to spend the day exploring downtown Boston on foot.

The station was conveniently close to Dunbar Eurosports’ showroom.  It was baking hot as we waited hopefully on the platform for the ‘T’ (the name given to the Boston metro system).  Some bemused workmen approached to inform us that we had just missed the train. Inspection of the timetable revealed that we would have to wait a couple of hours for the next. So, instead, we headed back to the main road, in the expectation of finding a bus.

Public transport, we have now discovered, is not widely available in the US, as most people own at least one car.  A helpful Post Office clerk directed us to the next station, where we had lunch and caught the train.  By the time we arrived in Boston we had only 1 ½ hours to kill before we had to return to pick up the bikes. However, we were able to replace our tattered ponchos, and buy a couple of Platypus drinks bladders in preparation for the following week’s rally.

We spent the night with Deborah and her family in Brighton.