As the sun rises over the coastal mountains and begins to heat the air, ground, and pavement of eastern Los Angeles County, and the city of Rancho Cucamonga in particular, so I am also, like the sun rising slowly from my bed.
I slept solid and
soundly. Who wouldn't after over 100 km (60 mi) of stop and go
traffic the day before across LA County? Every muscle in my body is
sore.
I kind of expected
this. My soreness is an unfortunate matter of timing. Here's what I
mean: I have just experienced 5 months of Ontario, Canada winter.
This means I was not, in all honesty, riding my bicycle on my indoor
training machine, as consistently and faithfully as a good cyclist
who was about to attempt a trip across the entire State of California
should have.
Sure, I put in a couple
of hours each week on my Indoor Trainer. Thirty minutes here. Thirty
minutes there. That probably put me in reasonable condition for a 59
year old guy. But “reasonable” condition, when it comes to biking
over the coastal mountain range and across the Mohave Desert, isn't
good enough. I wasn't in good enough condition. And my body, on this
achy “morning after the first day,” informs me of this fact.
But despise all that
negativism just expressed, I am so happy and so glad to be alive. I
love these bike adventures. And no amount of achy muscles can really
detract (too much) from my joy. So I get up, wash my face, and begin
packing up my stuff and loading my bike for today's adventure. Bro
Mark is doing the same.
Good thing we are in no
big rush this morning, because it is about 8:30 am when we pedal out
and away from our motel. We are still on Route 66, called Foothill
Blvd in this community.
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| My bike ready to roll. Notice this large looking load on the back wheel. This will be haunting me in just a few hours. |
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| Bro Mark travels a little lighter than I. But still a significant looking load. |
We start pedaling east.
We are on the lookout for two places to stop. First, we need to
re-stock on our fluid supplies (Gator Aid, PowerAid)
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| Just in case we get thirsty. |
and second, we
need to find some breakfast. A convenience store provides the sought
after fluids. McDonald's Restaurant satisfies (Well, sort of) the
second.
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| You are looking west on Route 66. Looking east looks very similar on this stretch of the historic highway. |
Restocked and refueled
we now start our pedaling in earnest. We have a long way to go today,
about 80 km (50 mi) up and over the Cajon mountain pass and into the
city of Victorville, our gateway to the Mohave Desert.
But about a half hour
into our ride, I realize I'm not really on top of my game. I'm not
feeling sick. But fatigued and depleted. This is not a good sign. The
riding we are doing at this moment is not hard. We are traversing
flat land, on a good road, paralleling the base of the mountains, the
easiest terrain a road bike cyclist could want.
But I can't seem to
really get going. Every rotation of the pedal requires noticeable
effort. I shouldn't be feeling this way at 9:30 AM (09:00) with less
than an hour of pedaling behind me. I'm really tired.
The temperature rises
just as the sun does, quickly. Temps in the high 80's F (high 20's
C) by lunch time.
We stop at Burger King.
I'm feeling rather yucky. I believe Bro Mark is concerned about my
condition. He hasn't really said anything, but I think he is watching
me closely. Certainly watching and wondering and concerned about my
slow pace. I'm adding some anxiety on top of my fatigue. When I think
about how far we still have to go today, I am panicking. Today's
“finish line” feels like it might be light years away.
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| Looking north from our motel we see the mountains we must pedal over so as to reach the Mohave Desert. |
We eat our lunch on the
lawn on the narrow strip of shade along the southwest side of the
restaurant. Mark eats a real meal. I unenthusiastically sip on a
chocolate milkshake with an order of fries to munch on the side. I'm
eating because I need the fuel, not because I'm hungry. I feel rather
the opposite.
Just before we say
goodbye to the royal splendor of the Burger King's court, I take a
moment and replace the battery in my heart rate monitor.
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| Bro Mark re-fueled after paying homage to the Burger King. |
The scenery starts to
change dramatically as we turn north off Foothill Blvd onto what is
obviously a less traveled but certainly more authentic looking
stretch of Route 66. Kind of like stepping into a time warp,
backwards. This is a common experience along Route 66.
The upscale businesses
and plaza malls of the northern edge of the city of San Bernardino
fade away quickly to a rather junky industrialized area of small
scale, dirty and dusty looking small businesses which all seem to
specialize in scrap metal collecting. Old rickety chain link fences
topped by spirals of prison grade barbed wire line the road.
Interspersed between
these waning industrial compounds we spy some of the genuine but
dilapidated “gems” of the old and authentic Route 66 – Vintage
Motels. Doesn't take much imagination to visualize the days long ago
that these “Mom and Pop” non-franchised lodging establishments
provided a steady and dignified business to travelers.
Travelers who just
navigated and survived the journey from Victorville, over the Cahon
Pass, and down the mountain to the edge of the coastal valley. After
days of deserts they can see and feel hope and real possibility of a
new life in California. These Travelers and their frazzled nerves
would have welcomed a cup of coffee and a small room with a small bed
and a place to rest their heads.
But these
establishments are not quite so dignified now. They are in poor
repair. I studied some of them very closely trying to discern if
indeed they were actually open for business, and not just abandoned
buildings. But most were open and in business, as surprising as it
seems.
But structural and
aesthetic dignity was not the only thing compromised. Most of these
motels advertised in bold signage – No joke – “Rooms By the
Hour.” Rooms were also offered by the day, night, week, or month,
and I supposed any other kind of time frame you desired. Apparently
the owners would welcome any business in any way at any time. There
were cars parked in front of many of the rooms. I noticed, however,
that I did not see a single person for several kilometers (miles) as
we pedal by many of these motels.
But then again, I'm not sure exactly what I might or might not be seeing. I am getting more and more fatigued. To accentuate my discomfort, we have turned north and are now heading directly towards the looming mountains. This means a very steady uphill grade. Not enough to make us feel like we are climbing a mountain. But enough of an incline requiring an even greater energy output with every stroke of the pedal.
I look at my watch. It
is only early afternoon. I look at my speedometer. We are averaging
about 12 kph (8 mph). I mentally calculate the distance to the summit
of the mountain pass. Not good. I estimate, at this rate of speed
(which is way too optimistic because we really haven't started
climbing yet), we will reach the mountain pass at 9 PM (21:00). About
6 hours from now. And then we still will have a long way from the
Pass until we get to our motel in Victorville.
I am in the lead,
Brother Mark follows, very patiently. His pace is usually at least 16
kph (10 mph) on a slow day.
I'm struggling with my
thoughts as the sweat pours down my face. As much as I want to
continue, I feel my body energies depleting by the minute. I almost
panic as I visualize us reaching the summit in the darkness of night.
I look around us right now. There is nothing out here. We've even
left those creepy motels somewhere behind us. I am discouraged and
feel like I am melting in the now 90+ F (30+ C) temperature. I am
aware that I am not really fully thinking straight and clear.
I drift into delusional
thoughts like, “Dear Lord, Please beam me up, Scotty.”
But in such desperate
times it is so awesome to have your big brother behind you. Mark has
my back. He's been watching the whole show. Ever the gentleman, he's
not going to tell me what to do. So he asks me, “Hey bro, how you
feeling?”
I reply, “Not so
good.”
Mark asks, “Can you
go any further today?”
That's a challenging
question for my mind and emotions which desire to press on and keep
this trip on schedule. But a no-brainer for my body. It screams,
“No!”
But my mind has already
been struggling with the implications of stopping on this side of the
mountain. That will mess up our entire trip which is geared to a
Victorville destination on the other side of the mountains today. If
I stop, I could screw up the entire trip.
But my body convinces
my mind that I really have no good choice apart from stopping. So I
respond to Mark, saying, “I'm a mess today. I don't think I can
safely proceed.”
“No problem,” says
Bro Mark, “Let's stop in the shade of the Interstate Highway 15
overpass just ahead.”
As Route 66 passes
underneath the mighty Interstate 15, I can barely feel the shade as
latent heat radiates off the concrete wall next to us. Nowhere within
our line of sight is anything but those deteriorating scrap yards.
I can't go much
further. But where can we go? We could turn around and pedal back to
the city limits of San Bernardino. But cyclists hate back tracking! I
can almost hear the wheels in Mark's brain whirring. He says to me,
“Wait here. Drink something. I'm going to ride up ahead a bit and
see what I can find.”
No argument from me.
I'm too tired to move.
I watch Mark pedal on
as I dutifully drink some very warm PowerAid (Yuck! Not a helpful way
to replenish one's fluids or reduce one's overheating core body
temperature).
I ponder the downside
to our situation. Because I am “incapacitated” energy-wise, we
cannot continue. But where to stop? There is nowhere to stop. We
could backtrack downhill to San Bernardino and stay at a cheap motel.
But backtracking is a repulsive concept to a cyclist. And at this
moment, even pedaling downhill sounds like work to me.
I don't ponder long or
much. I realize I am so depleted I am hardly thinking clearly at all.
In a very few minutes,
I am surprised to see Mark returning. He has a triumphant look on his
face I don't understand. He says, “Follow me. Got to show you
something.” I dutifully follow in a daze.
We pedal under
Interstate 15 and I follow Mark around a slight bend in the road. And
there it is. A heavenly site. A brand new Day's Inn Motel, perfectly
poised on the edge of the Interstate inviting weary motorists and
over-extended and fatigued cyclists into its air conditioned cool and
cleanness.
Mark quickly devises a
plan.
Step One: Check into
motel and cool off and rest.
Step Two: Figure out
Step Three.
We proceed with Step
One. My heart swells with gratefulness as we step into the large,
cool lobby and walk our bikes to the reception desk. This place feels
plush. And, much to our delight, there is room in the inn.
(With wonderful irony,
this really nice new motel turns out to be the best place and least
expensive motel we will stay in during this trip. Go figure. Gotta
love it when Free Enterprise – that is, many motels along a busy
stretch of Interstate Highway – drive down prices to the benefit of
the consumer. Long live true Capitalism! Though, admittedly,
providing of a small dash of Compassionate Socialism often improves
the flavor and balance of life.)
In our gloriously cool
room we shower and cool off. I lay down for a few minutes.
We call to order an
executive trip planning committee meeting to deal with this unplanned
stop. Figuring out Step Three is easy. There's a nice looking Mexican
Food Restaurant just across the parking lot of the motel. Step Three:
Go eat an early supper.
Two tacos, an
enchilada, and beans and rice, and a Dr Pepper later and I am feeling
much much better. Who wouldn't? So we call our Executive Planning
Committee Meeting back to order to figure out Step Four as we order
dessert.
Several factors must be
evaluated and addressed.
First, we are no longer
on our original trip schedule. We were supposed to be eating supper
about now in Victorville, on the other side of the mountain.
Second, we are not
going to be able to finish our trip. We've lost at least a half day
of crucial riding time. Our original trip schedule and daily
destinations didn't allow for generous down time like this.
Thirdly, we both sense
that maybe we are loaded a bit too heavy. This is the first time we
have carried a full compliment of camping gear including tents and
sleeping bags. Both of us, but especially me, are feeling the
gravitational drag directly proportional to the heavier loads.
Fourthly, we are
wondering if perhaps we have misjudged the challenges of the Mohave
Desert; perhaps we are endeavoring to travel to hard and too far as
per our original trip plan.
A new plan begins to
emerge as we sit digesting our supper:
We are going to move
our final destination from Needles (Pirate Cove) back to the desert
town of Barstow. This essentially cuts our original trip in half, and
shorter by one day. We will covering half the distance of California
Route 66 instead of the entire distance across the State (Pacific
Ocean to Colorado River).
So that makes our
destination tomorrow the city of Victorville, “just” on the other
side of the mountain range seen outside our restaurant window. The
night after that destination will be Barstow.
We also decide to dump
the camping gear and revert back to our tried and true style (and
preference, if the truth be told) of “motelling.”
(We don't actually
“dump” our camping gear. The nice people operating the motel
allow us to store it in a corner of their storage room until we
return in a few days to retrieve it.)
End result:
Fewer riding days.
Shorter riding days.
Lighter loads.
No camping.
Nice (but as cheap as
we can find) motels.
An extra day for me to
hang out in Prescott with my sister-in-law, Carolyn, and son, Luke.
I like this plan.
Brother Mark doesn't seem too upset either.
But I feel a little
like a trip spoiler. Bro Mark, despite his slightly older age and
slightly less athletic looking body than mine (I jest), he
consistently today, as he has on all our trips, demonstrates a much
healthier constitution than I.
I have to ponder this
reoccurring pattern. If my aging memory serves me well, I seem to
have significant “energy problems” on the first couple of days of
most of our trips. I wonder if part of the reason for this experience
is connected with the timing of these Spring rides.
From a training
perspective, the timing is awful, at least for a Canadian. As the
month of March rolls around (the time we usually take our Spring
trips), I have been unable to ride my bike outside in Canada since
late September or early October. I have been unenthusiastically and
(admittedly) less than consistently doing vigorous and
physically-conditioning effective rides on my Indoor Trainer Machine.
(Excuse Time: The
Trainer Machine is boring. Pedaling nowhere in a below freezing
enclosed porch in the early morning or late evening darkness while
staring at a wall or even watching a DVD isn't really “fun.” Waa
Waa Waa.)
And to top it off, I am
usually really tired by the time I migrate my way to the Detroit
Airport and make the 4.5 hour flight to Arizona. Toss a little bit of
jet lag over three time zones and colour me not at my best.
But we learn from these
things, right? And I have. This will not happen to me again. Really.
I have a plan. I'll share it later. But now, back to the
adventure.....)
Now armed with our new
plan and new sense of adventure, we return to our motel room. We
unpack and divide our gear into two piles: Gear we are taking, and
gear we are leaving behind. Then we reload gear we are taking. We
bundle up for temporary storage gear we are entrusting to the motel
staff. (Hope they don't get any ideas about utilizing the services of
e-Bay!)
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| Camping gear "dumped." Bro Mark reloads his load so as to be ready to roll in the morning. |
Bikes are now ready to
roll with the morning sun.
We spend the rest of
the evening resting. I fall asleep hopeful and excited to be alive
and hopeful that tomorrow will be a better day.
Today we pedaled an
unimpressive 38 km (23.4 mi) at an average rate of 13 kph (8.1 mph) –
I saw snails going faster than I was!
It was a merciful day
for our bums. Time in the bike seat, 2 hours and 45 minutes. Total
trip time from motel to motel was a generous 4 hours and 50 minutes.
I have no doubt we will do better tomorrow :-)
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| This iconic place is for real. Even back in the 1930's they advertised, "Do it in a Tee Pee." |
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| Those mountains again. |
