April 23

It's hard to describe how today came about. But I'm happy it did.

First, however, I have to tell you about packing T-shirts. (Bear with me, it's related to today's ride.) 

When I was setting out the clothes I wanted to bring on this trip, several days before packing, I figured I could get by with just a T-shirt and a polo shirt. I was wearing the polo shirt at the time, and it needed to be washed, so I set the T-shirt in a strategic spot to remind me to get the polo shirt after it was washed, and I would then pack them together. On the frantic day of the ride, after I had closed up my bags, I spotted the T-shirt on the shelf. "Hmm, I thought I was going to take that," I said to myself. "Oh well, I'm sure I had a good reason to pack whatever else is in the bag instead." Duh. When I got to my first overnight stop and went through my clothes bag, there was no T-shirt and no polo shirt. I had no shirt to wear when I was off the bike. (I've since bought three souvenir shirts to keep me clad.)

I tell you this because today's ride followed a very similar pattern, and it's one I seem to keep repeating. (Should I be concerned?) I had made a decision some time ago about today's route that made total sense. I reviewed it and confirmed it a couple days ago. I then, inexplicably, reversed it this morning — totally forgetting my previous decision — and by the time I realized what I had done it was too late to change. So, I just accepted my blunder. And everything worked out beautifully. 

The Adventure Cycling Association's Bicycle Route 66 offered two options for today's 40-mile ride from Winslow to Holbrook. You could ride about two-thirds of the distance on the shoulder of Interstate 40, or you could take a quiet, remote, scenic backroad virtually free of cars. It didn't take much consideration. My original decision was a slam dunk —  I'd take I-40! Why? Because the scenic backroad had 20 MILES OF GRAVEL!! ... I DON'T LIKE GRAVEL!!

Well, when the sun rose this morning and I stepped outside, I could sense it was just a perfect day to be on a bike. The temperature was in the 40s early. It would warm up into the low 60s by midday — what I've found to be a comfortable temperature range when wearing the gear I have with me — and the winds would be light and mostly pushing me along. 

Since it would be a shorter day — it would take me about four hours to reach Holbrook — I figured I would have time to head across the road  from where I was staying and enjoy one last breakfast at The Falcon Restaurant,  a place I came to appreciate during the three days I spent in Winslow. The Falcon will never be nominated for a James Beard Award, but it has a welcoming vibe that brings you back. All of the staff are warm and friendly. And you can tell that most of the customers have been coming there for years. 

I got to The Falcon at about 7:30 a.m. After I finished off my two eggs, corned beef hash, hash browns, toast and coffee, I asked two of the waitresses I'd seen each day — Jeanette and Marie — if I could take their picture.  It would be my memento of The Falcon and Winslow. They went along with this crazy tourist, joined by another waitress, Monica.

I then headed back to my Airbnb apartment, where I had everything packed up and ready to go. This is when I had my "T-shirt moment. " I took another look at my maps and thought, "Why am I going to take I-40  when there is this scenic backroad to enjoy?" No thoughts of gravel entered my mind. So, it was decided. I'd take the backroad and enjoy the scenery!

I rolled my bike out the door at about 8:30 a.m., got on the saddle — for the first time in over a week — and started pedaling toward the road that would take me out of town and then on to Holbrook. After about a quarter-mile, I heard something rubbing. I'd spent over an hour the night before fixing the bent front fender that was rubbing against the tire. This time it was one of the front brake pads rubbing against the rim. I pulled off the road and leaned my bike against a shed at what I think was a body shop. The brakes were in the same position they had always been in, so I probably hadn't mounted the wheel just right. I undid the front quick-release lever and remounted the wheel. No more rubbing. 

Back on the road.

I turned left on Highway 87 and headed south out of town. It was a gorgeous morning! After a couple of miles I saw the sign for a left turn onto Highway 99, which would take me another seven miles to the scenic McLaws Road. Those seven miles went by fast. The McLaws Road sign was up ahead. No cars were around, so I moved into the traffic lane and made a gliding left turn onto ... GRAVEL!! . . .  Oh. Yeah. Duh!

So, here I was. No way was I going to backtrack nine miles to be rewarded with a ride on the I-40 shoulder. This gravel actually didn't look that bad. The road surface appeared to have been graded and well-maintained. My bike also has fairly wide tires — 38 millimeters —and they were handling this surface pretty well. So, I just kept going. And I had a strange feeling I had made the right decision after all. Kind of like I was supposed to.

The next 20 miles were amazing. The terrain was flat or rolling. No hills were very tough, especially with the little push I was getting from a light wind. I was in the middle of wide open spaces. And it was so quiet. I did have to keep my attention on the road surface and where I was riding. I learned to spot soft, sandy patches that could topple me. And I found a pretty reliable, compacted line along the crown in the road. Occasionally, I hit some washboard conditions that gave me and the bike a good rattle, but they didn't last long enough to bother me.

Over the road's 20 miles I saw only three cars.

The farther I went — perhaps because the sun was getting higher in the sky — bands of red-orange (from the soil) and green (from the vegetation) seemed to increase in definition across the landscape.

At one point, two contrails — about 10-15 minutes apart — caught my attention as they shot up from the eastern horizon into the deep-blue sky. They appeared to be from rockets. I later checked the news and saw no reports related to what I saw. The U.S. military, NASA and private companies are involved in rocket and missile launches in New Mexico, so I assume the contrails were related to something going on there. It must be routine.

The rest of the ride was fairly uneventful. I was just able to relax, pedal easily and enjoy the peaceful surroundings.

When I got into Holbrook, I had to find my way to my motel, which is off of the main route of Bicycle Route 66. I tried Google Maps for assistance, but its description of where I was supposed to go — which involved walking my bike up a narrow dirt trail — confused me.

I spotted a woman in her yard and stopped to ask directions. Her husband then came out of the house, wearing a Route 66 cap. After he deciphered Google Maps for me, I told him I was riding Route 66.

"Oh, really!?" he replied, lighting up. "I just bought that little house over there." He pointed to the opposite corner. "I'm going to turn it into an Airbnb for people traveling Route 66. It's getting to be a big thing!"

Holbrook to Chambers

On Sunday I'm pedaling about 70 miles to Chambers, whose only businesses are a motel (which gets horrible reviews), a dumpy restaurant and a gas station/convenience store. It's the only place with those services between Holbrook and Gallup, New Mexico, so that's where I'll be sleeping, eating and getting supplies for the next day. The route to Chambers will feature another backroad — this one paved! — and some more riding on I-40.

Who knows what decisions I'll make then.

Contact me: Thoughts or comments? Email me at richardridesusa@gmail.com.

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