The Long & Winding Road AKA

Emu's 6 Week Tour

Look Here For Raymond's Version Of Events

Part 13
Meandering with Purpose: Road to Vegas

The alluring aspect of Route 66 may well be found in the places and characters you meet along the way. After breakfast as we rode west the terrain took on a more desert like appearance. We stopped at the crossroads that is Hackberry. Except, I don't recall seeing a crossroad, just one of the most unique gas station/general stores I've ever seen. The buildings are very rustic and whether beaten. The old tin swinging sign squeaked and creaked as the wind pushed it back and forth. Underneath the storefronts canopy sat a covered Corvette, old wooden benches to sit on and more paraphernalia than I have space to describe. The store was not yet open, and just as we were about to leave, a local came riding up on a four-wheel all-terrain. We got to talking and turned out, this gun toting survivalist character was originally from Canada.

The store finally opened and inside was a Route 66 version of Disneyland. All kinds of pictures and paraphernalia from the '50s and '60s with a little 30s and 40s thrown in to boot. The soda bar area was right out of the Soc-Hop era. The neon in this place could rival Times Square! And finely, the men's room. If ever there was a restroom taken to the limit of adolescent pictorial fantasy, this is it! I believe if you're under a certain age, there is a time limit imposed, and if you're older, but been three weeks on the road, Dr. Ruth must chaperone the washroom visits. The store's proprietor, a very colorful character in his own right, suggested we visit Oatman, a mere 50 mile round-trip out of our way. He truly understood when we told him, there was no "out of our way" on this trip. Again as we were about to leave, a motorhome pulled in, and a European couple emerged and went directly to Raymond's LC. They loved the big cruiser look and the idea of just riding the open road. They wanted a picture of Raymond and his bike to show their friends on the other side of the pond. Raymond brought the LC to life as his adoring European public looked on. We waived and rode off into the sunset ... about 10 hours premature.

The road to Oatman is still part of Route 66, but what a road it is. The hills are not the highest and the canyons are not the deepest. But the way the road wraps around, twists and turns, climbs and descends is phenomenal. Some of the turns in the narrow canyons were the tightest I've ever seen. In the length of a football field, there were five switchback turns. On some corners, as you loop around close to the outer edge, there is no guard rail, just a 200 foot drop straight down. All along the way there are boarded up abandoned mine shafts cutting into the hillside. We came around one corner to be greeted by one of those gigantic cactus you see in the old westerns. The greatest danger on this road is to start into a blind corner only to find a pensioner and his 76 Cadillac Fleetwood rounding in the opposite direction.

The town of Oatman is an old abandoned mining town from the 1800s. It survives today as a tourist attraction. The descendants of the mules that pulled the ore from the mines, have run of the town. They wonder the street(s), walk into the stores and in general make the town a rather unique place to visit. There are authentic western gunfights, blanks and all, staged every couple of hours. This is the old West, every John Wayne wannabe tourist loves to see. The funny thing is ... it works!

The road leading from Oatman is not quite as intense, but the desert beauty makes up for the leisurely curves and turns. As we got close to Havasu, off to the side of the highway was an expanse of perfectly formed mogle hills. From the tracks, this was the local dirt bikers heaven. Raymond was the lead rider and had to turn around when he realized that I'd pulled off the road. He backtracked only to find the Babester and I sitting on top of a mound some 500 yards off the road. I just had to go dirt riding. Raymond must have thought I was nuts, and for a moment, hesitated before he rode his LC over the mogles to my position. I don't think riding a fully loaded 1500 LC off road is Raymond's favorite thing to do. I have to admit, running a fully loaded 1400 up to speed, and going airborne jumping moguls, is not the brightest idea I've ever had and fortunately an idea I did not try to follow through on. But it was kind of cool to sit on a hill, on a cruiser, in the desert, in the middle of nowhere.

From there, we had to enter California to get on the road to Nevada and Las Vegas. It seems California is setting up to be its own country. When you cross the border from another state, there are security stations you must pass. Although not quite as elaborate, this is reminiscent of the customs set up when entering the States from Canada. We rode California for a little over an hour before entering Nevada on highway 95. By the time we reached Searchlight, I was running on fumes. I actually filled up with a lot more gas than the tank is supposed to hold. We ate lunch sitting by the motorcycles, in the shade provided by the building. The early afternoon temperature was triple digit, a Canadian dream ... I was finally getting warm!

We wanted to ride across Hoover Dam before heading into Vegas. At Boulder City we turned the wrong way and rode into Las Vegas. Realizing by the city skyline ahead, Hoover Dam had to be elsewhere. We turned around, headed for Lake Mead and a very impressive Hoover Dam. Again there were traffic jams because of security checks to and from the Dam. We rode across the Dam, but because of the crowds, traffic and security concerns, we could not park anywhere near the Dam. We have Al Qaeda to thank for that. We did however, stop at a marvelous lookout over Lake Mead. It's rather amazing to see this small inland ocean sitting in the middle of the desert.

It was now getting close to dinner time, so we headed into Las Vegas to find a motel close to the strip for the night. Ahhhhh, Las Vegas! Or should I say "Visa Las Vegas!"

Part 14

Meandering with Purpose: Visa Las Vegas

It was late afternoon when we left Hoover Dam and headed into Las Vegas. The first thing I noticed once we were off the interstate, was how new everything looked. We were making our way to the strip through East Las Vegas. The streets are wide and full of traffic. Every street, regardless of time of day or night, all seemed jammed with traffic. We worked our way along Tropicana, and after a bit of looping around, we found a Motel 8 one block from the strip. The room was $62 for the night. One block west on the strip, the big hotel with a lifesize Eiffel Tower lumbering over it, wanted $1000 a night. We might have gone for it, but it wasn't Raymond's turn to pay for the room!

Now, when in Vegas two things are a must. 1: you are required to lose your money in the casinos. 2: you must take in a Las Vegas show. Months earlier, when Raymond and I decided Las Vegas would be on the list of things to do, I checked the Las Vegas web site to see who would be playing at the hotels. One entertainer I'd always told myself I'd see in concert someday, was booked at the Hilton. I told Raymond my plans for the night and he agreed to go. I called the Hilton for tickets and was told there was no show that night. Oh well, like I said, someday ...

We unpacked the bikes and decided to hit the strip on foot. Now, what the Grand Canyon is to nature's idea of what a total assault on the senses should be, ... Las Vegas is man's total assault on the senses. Standing on the strip, you witness more neon than you thought possibly existed. Architectural wonders from a small New York skyline to an Eiffel Tower, to a tower with a roller coaster on top. One hotel, the Venetian, has a canal complete with gondolas running through it. The main foyer is like a village square, restaurants and storefronts all re-creating Italy. Each hotel is a landmark on its own. They are even in the process of building a monorail that will travel to and through the major hotels and casinos.
We wandered the strip looking for Raymond's elusive $3.99 all you can eat buffet. The strip can be very expensive, and we finally found a reasonably priced restaurant buffet at the Nugget. (At least I think it was the Nugget. When you're starving they all seen to look alike after a while) Along the way we dabbled at the casinos until Raymond lost his LC. (last coin). At the Hilton hotel we found the Star Trek Experience. For $29 a head, it was an experience we did without. But we did find Quark's bar from Deep Space 9, complete with Ferengi and Klingons. Quark's was quirky! After a long day that started in Ash Fork, Arizona at 630 in the morning, we finally made it back to the motel around 2 AM.

After all our searching the night before, the hotel next door had the $3.99 steak breakfast. Our motorcycles were all packed and ready for the trip into California and the Mojave Desert. All we had to do was check out and hit the road. While processing our Visa cards, we asked what the cost of a room would be on Tuesday, since they vary from day to day. We were told $42 and since we had stayed the night before, that charge would automatically drop to $42 as well. We mentally did the math and realized we could stay in Vegas another day, for basically $10 apiece. Raymond needed to change his oil anyway, so it made sense to stay the extra day. It didn't take long to unpacked the bikes. Then it struck me, I called the Hilton and got tickets for that night's show. Oil changes on a road trip are normally no problem. You go to a bike shop, and they will tell you they can't fit you in. You ask if you buy the oil and filter, will they let you do-it-yourself somewhere on the backlot. I have found most bike shops are most accommodating. The Las Vegas dealer wouldn't allow us to work on Raymond's bike. I have to admit, space was very limited and they seemed very busy. So we bought the filter and headed off to Wal-Mart. Always have a plan "B" went on the road. The plan was simple. Raymond always buys his Castrol syntek 10w/40 from Wal-Mart anyway, so we buy a cheap plastic oil pan and funnel and do the oil change in the parking lot. When done, return the old oil for recycling. We returned to the motel, and in the mid afternoon heat, it seems we were the only two to enjoy the outdoor hot tub.

The steak breakfast at the hotel next door, was so good, we returned for dinner. Great food at a great price. Then it was off to the show. Now, I really wasn't going to mention anything about the show. But recent events in Milwaukee have shown me that it's OK for a little diversity in musical tastes within the motorcycling community. If the Harley crowd was willing to embrace Elton John to mark 100 years, I guess it was only fitting that we saw Sheena Easton enroute to the Braveheart Tour in Wisconsin. Braveheart has Scottish overtones, Sheena is Scottish and still has a wee Scottish accent. Besides, a good-looking woman with a Scottish or Irish accent just does it for me. Where the Harley crowd got to watch Elton John prance and fluff his boa, we got to watch a little dance, a little song and cleavage!

With oil changed and two days of recreation in Las Vegas behind us, we returned to the road and being in the wind. California, the Mojave desert and the Pacific Coast lay ahead ...

Part 15

Meandering with Purpose: Crossing the Mojave

By 8:30 AM, having had another $3.99 steak breakfast, we rode from Vegas toward California. The early morning temperature was comfortably cool and there was barely a cloud obstructing the sunshine. We had gassed up the day before so it was a straight Interstate run to Baker and the Mojave Desert. At least it should have been. Vegas to Baker is about 95 miles. We had used up about 15 to 20 miles the day before getting Raymond's oil changed. The last ten miles to Baker were done on reserve and a lot of sweating. The Babester was sucking fumes when we hit the pumps. Running on empty became a bit of a theme while in California. We showed the girl behind the counter the map and asked if the cutoff ahead was the road into the Mojave Desert. She said it was, but there was nothing out there. She must have thought we were nuts when our faces lit up and we said "Great"!
We headed south into the Mojave on Ca.-127 toward Kelso. The girl had been right, with the exception of one car headed north, there was nothing out here. Perfect! We rode much of the time side-by-side using the oncoming lane. To us Easterners, the landscape was a marvel to behold. Mostly flat, but with rolling hills and rock outcroppings not too far off in the distance. The plant life grows low to the ground and there was more of it than I had expected to see. We stopped about a mile or two from Kelso. Looking down the road, the gradual elevation had us slightly above the town. Off to our distant right was a large rock outcropping called Kelso PK. We could have left the bikes in the middle of the road as we poked around the roadside desert. We were the only travelers for miles around. The desert heat was now starting to build and becoming noticeable. We stopped under the I - 40 overpass to take advantage of the shade while we checked the map. We were no sooner off the bikes when Raymond's phone rang. It was funny to watch Raymond explain to his wife how to find the middle of nowhere on the map. We then called Steve in San Diego to let him know where we were. He asked how long we figured we'd be getting to his area. Looking at the map I told Raymond about two maybe three hours. Apparently Steve almost died laughing at that estimate.(Next time I'll say two or three hours give or take six)

We pushed on toward Amboy. The temperature was now closing in on the triple digit. My plastic water bottle no longer contained icewater, but rather something hot enough to make tea. It was no longer refreshing to drink, so I put it to another cooling use. Motorcycle traveling at 50 miles an hour. Mouth full of warm water. Expell warm water straight ahead into wind. Warm water gets blown back right into face. Wind and water cool face. Next time, remove sunglasses before expelling the water. Raymond had a good laugh at the periodic clouds of mist blowing by my head. I toyed with the idea of seeing if Raymond would be gullible enough to try this procedure from behind his windshield.

Amboy is a town consisting of one gas station/ice cream parlor. You can have any ice cream flavor you want as long as it's vanilla. The population of Amboy is apparently 14. We only saw a one resident and he was a bit of a character. The sign on the door states that water has to be truck in. So you know things are going to be expensive. Gas was 3 dollars a gallon, so we put one gallon in each bike to tie us over to 29 Palms. While we cooled off with a "vanilla" milkshake, we debated the temperature with the proprietor and only visible resident of Amboy. We figured the temp was around 95. He figured it was cooler and to prove it, took a thermometer outside. A while later be retrieved the thermometer which was now reading 105. In Amboy, that's entertainment!

As we left Amboy we passed through the Bristol Dry Lake. Now this parched piece of real estate looks like the desert of old Hollywood westerns. Flat and cracked from lack of moisture, baked under a punishing sun. I have to admit, I sure I enjoyed the Mojave as we rode along blowing warm water into wind. From 29 Palms we followed 62 to I-10. Along the way we saw our first forest of windmills. It's something to see, hundreds of airfoils spinning in the wind. It was now getting to the latter part of the afternoon, and we still had quite a distance to ride, so we rode the interstate to make up some time. We picked up I-215 south of Riverside and rode to the campground Steve had suggested. We set up camp just north of San Diego. The Mojave Desert was now behind us and we had seen the last of it for this trip ... or so we thought! It's amazing what you can find when you make a wrong turn .... But that's another story ...

Part 16

Meandering with Purpose: San Diego

We had barely set up our tents at the campground some 30 miles north of San Diego, when the rumble of an approaching 1500 LC caught our attention. Enter one Steve in San Diego! (or should that be "steveinsandiego") After almost five years, I finally got to meet the man who has me wearing out my dictionary! Fortunately I hadn't come to this meeting totally unarmed. I had Raymond, who knows big words (and their meaning) too! As we finished setting camp, the three of us talked, checked out the other's bikes and did a bit of laughing along the way. From an earlier phone conversation, Steve had found a bike shop that could replace my rear Metzler the next day. Raymond and I had planned on riding into San Diego, so Steve escorted us as far as the bike dealership (just so we'd know where it was) and then headed home. We had arranged to meet up with Steve for a "today's ride" from the dealership after the new tire was installed. But tonight, San Diego was calling.

Almost 30 years ago, my ship spent enough time in San Diego that we almost qualified to register to vote. The Canadian Navy was always sailing south to see if the American Navy could come out and play. I was looking forward to seeing my old stomping grounds. It's one thing to come into San Diego by sea. Very hard to get lost. It's quite another to come into San Diego via motorcycle some 30 years later. Steve had given us easy directions to follow, but hadn't factored in my and Raymond's amazing ability to screw up the most simplistic directions. We missed the cut off he suggested and wound up taking a series of expressways and roads before we finally, by pure luck, found our way into the downtown core. We did however manage to find ourselves traveling the freeway which curves through Balboa Park. The foliage in this valley is lush and dense. With the setting sun passed the point of direct light, a shadow like quality only enhanced the effect of the valley as we rode. Once past Balboa Park we found ourselves downtown. Everything had changed. We made it all the way to the foot of Broadway at Harbor Dr. before I got my bearings. Everything I knew from 30 years ago, was gone. Broadway in the early '70s was a sailors delight. Bars, arcades, bars, strip clubs, all kinds of weird little shops, bars, the Armed Forces YMCA and fast food outlets. Even Bernie's, the bar that opened at 6 AM and was the last stop on the way back to the ship in the morning, was gone. At least the airport is still there and it's great to watch the jets do a rapid descent over the city. Only the old Armed Forces YMCA still stands. It sticks out like a sore thumb among the new yuppie style malls and the skyscrapers that now adorn the downtown area. What a difference 30 years makes. Granted, I was disappointed not to see familiar landmarks of almost three decades ago, but I have to admit San Diego is still a beautiful city.

It was now getting dark and the temperature was dropping. We made our way through the city and eventually found Hwy. 15 north. We stopped in Escondido, near the bike dealership for a late dinner and to warm up. All that was open was the local McDonald's. We didn't have our riding jackets with us, so to say we were cold would have been a gross understatement. Raymond couldn't believe how cold the Sunshine Coast could get when the sun went down. After burgers, fries and hot coffee, (coffee for me) we rode the last five or six miles to the campsite.

The next morning we were up, packed and on the road by 8 AM. We ate pancakes at our favorite McDonald's in Escondido before heading to the dealership. We arrived about 15 minutes before the shop opened. We struck up a conversation with another rider in the parking lot. This fellow noticed Raymond's plate and couldn't believe he'd ridden all the way from Florida! Raymond then pointed to my bike and said I was from Canada. The man nodded and then excitedly repeated he couldn't believe Raymond had ridden all the way from Florida. I noticed this reaction several times during our travels across the southern States. I believe this confirms my theory that nobody really knows where Canada is! Florida they know ... Canada, that's up north somewhere, right? The service department opened and upon entering, for a moment thought I was in big trouble. There on the computer monitor in big bold letters were the words "BLAME CANADA ..Eh!". Oh oh, don't need any trouble. I was about to conceal my Canadianism by putting on my very best and thickest "Merican" accent when I realized it would be futile considering the nice, bright, Ontario license plate prominently displayed on the 1400. Fortunately I had not stumbled into a den of Canuck haters. One of the service managers is Canadian. The guys in the service department were great. The Metzler they had in stock was the wrong size. So they called all over the place and had a proper Metzler delivered within the hour. During this time Raymond and I wandered around their massive showroom. We talked at length with a sales rep about the rumors of Suzuki's 2004 cruiser lineup, about the Nomads sitting in front of us and riding in general. By 11 a.m. with new tire installed and Visa card back in pocket, we were ready to roll.
Raymond contacted Steve to let him know we'd be ready to roll shortly. Unfortunately some problems had arisen and Steve wasn't able to join us. The time spent with Steve was way too short, he's a heck of a nice guy. But there's always next time ...
We headed across Hwy. 78 to Interstate 5 and started up Hwy. 1, the Pacific Coast Highway at Capistrano Beach. Our Pacific Coast adventure had begun ...

The Journey Continues Here

Note This is Ed's story of his almost 19,000KM journey.
It has not been edited by me in any way and is posted here,
so others may enjoy the trip Vicariously
Emu is a member of the Intruder Alert Cafe

Be Sure to Check out Raymond's Abridged Version of Events

Type @ ya'll later
Night_Wolf

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