Riding route 66

Glad I was able to get out a couple of weekends ago. It was a short ride, but any overnight ride you can get is good. I’d been completely burned out on my Job, The whole Covid-19 thing, the state of the world and just feeling trapped at home was weighing on my soul. Having been me for 53 years, I knew a good overnight ride was just what I needed. Somehow, It’d reset a thing.

The night before a good ride is like Christmas morning expecting Santa; You wake up several times, check the time and try to go back to sleep. By 4:30, I’d said fuckit and made a pot of coffee, showered, and started to load the bike. By 5:30 AM the sun had started cracking over the Superstition Mountains. The day was clear, and it was only 75 degrees. I kissed Missus Zip goodbye, and backed my bike out of the driveway.

I hit US60, and headed west towards the other side of the Valley of the Sun. The road were a lot less crowded than they usually are at 5 AM. Signs of people working from home.

I hit interstate 10 and headed west. Phoenix is a great big Valley. From where I’m at on the east side, its almost 100 miles to what you could call the west side. 80 miles of that is suburbs, downtown and everything else. The parts of Arizona I like the best are the rural parts, and where people start to get interesting. That’s where my ride really started to get good, once I got through the city.

I left the 10, and headed northwest toward Salome AZ. It had warmed up quite a bit, but as I rose out of the desert floor it started getting cooler as I headed toward old highway 60.

I’m regretting I didn’t spend some more time along that stretch, as I write this. There were some cool old signs, and some old stories I’m sure. I’ll have to go back at check it out.

I finally hit Lake Havasu and the parker dam around 10 AM or so. I was getting hungry, but I figured I’d save my money and pay it in Oatman. With the travel ban, covid and everything I figured they could use the money.

I love the history of Lake Havasu: it was a town of a few hundred when The McCullough chainsaw founder decided he wanted to buy London Bridge and make a thing here. London wanted to sell it, and he bought it for 2.4 million dollars. He then tagged it, brick by brick and brought it to Arizona. Everyone thought he was nuts. He brought it here, and the town exploded from there. Hell, my wifes grandma bought a lot in town, in the 1970s to retire, and lived there till the day she died. Seems like a little vision, can go a long way.

The BBC did a pretty good article about McCulloch and Lake Havasu a few years ago, check it out. It’s a cool story. Much respect to that guy. Hell, he started a town.

I hit Topock and the Colorado River on the edge of the state.

Took some pictures, and headed up through Golden Shores and Oatman. A great ride. This was route 66 from the 1920s to the 1950s. It was the way the okies from the dustbowl came, as they worked their way to California for a new life. It’s twisty and hot, with great scenery and hot temperatures. I remember my first trip through here; this road was dirt, and largely forgotten. The resurgence of route 66 brought it alive again, and its a great road now.

By the time I hit Oatman, I was ready for some food. I’d gone through all my beef Jerky, and my water was gone. A little time out of the sun would be good as well.

Since I first got the route 66 bug back in the late 80s, I’ve seen a steady increase of growth and resurgence on route 66. It’s usually pretty well traveled, but not that day. It was dead. I was the only bike in town, and a couple of cars at best. Only a few shops open, and after walking the town I realized I wasn’t going to be eating here. I spoke to a couple of business owners there and asked they were concerned about how they were going to make it. I know how these small little tourist towns are, and how difficult it is to run a small business. I left half sad, but mostly pissed off that we’ve made this virus into something that will fuck a persons livelihood over.

I rode down the mountain with that thought, fairly pissed off the whole way. My thought’s were, and still are: How did we get to this point? We’ve had pandemics before, but somehow this one got “branded”. Hell, in 1968 we had a flu that wiped out a million people. We’ve had a lot of other diseases that didn’t show up on peoples radars over the years that have killed people too. The common flu kills at least 70,000 people a year. We’ve overcome worse pandemics than this. Why can’t common sense rule the day?

I’m pretty good at taking in the details of a big picture I think, and the numbers for me just don’t add up. But then again, I may not be the right person comment on this, because supposedly 5,024 people die on a motorcycle each year (the odds are 1 in 770) and I’m sure as fuck not going to give that up.

Anyway, that was my thought coming down out of Oatman.

I hit Kingman, and hit up Mr D’z. It was open, and had the first sit down meal I’d had in a month. It was fucking awesome. A waitress, some good food I didn’t have to make and a smile. The burger was awesome. I think it had some pastrami in it. I was so happy to have something be normal I tipped her 20 bucks.

From there, I pointed the bike toward Seligman, and old Route 66. Kicked my foot up on a footpeg, enjoyed a little music at full blast and headed toward the place I was going to stay for the night.

Through Hackberry, and onto Peach Springs and into Seligman.

Stayed at the Supai Motel. I’ve always wanted to stay here. It has the best neon in Seligman, and figured it’d be cool to see it in the morning. I took some pictures, and headed out of town.

From there, I’d had a gut full to think about. I hugged as much of route 66 as I could, but most of it seemed like it was on the Interstate. I didn’t take too many pictures, but had a lot on my mind. Mostly good.

I’d gotten what I needed out of this ride. A time to think about things, a few miles and fuel for the fire to go back to work and do my thing. I got perspective. It seemed good, and right.

What I came up with, on that ride home can be perfectly summed up here:

At the end of the day, I’m a father, a husband and a Grandfather. The world is changing. What I choose to do, is build my kids. Maybe Pass a thing down. You can find a good a thing if you look for it.

Life is good.

Ride safe, ya biker pricks.