Kicking California Route 66 Day 4 March 14 2013 Victorville to Barstow

Kicking California Route 66 Day 4 March 14 2013 Victorville to Barstow

Our Trip: Starts in Santa Monica (Los Angeles) on the left.
The purple "pin" is NOT our first night in Rancho Cucamonga. The pin should be closer to Fontana.
Yellow pin is second night in San Bernardino.
Turquoise pin is third night in Victorville.
Green pin is fourth night in Barstow.

We get up and prepare for departure from our Victorville motel to begin our final day east across California on Historic Route 66. If successful today (And why shouldn't we be?), we will have pedaled half way across the Golden State on this Historic Road.

Packing our gear for the day and about to say "Adios" to our motel

We check-out of our beautiful little Hacienda-like room and pedal just a few minutes down the early morning quiet road.

The evening previous we spied in the distance a very alluring doughnut shop. We hear it calling us this morning.

Usually these tasty establishments poise a frustrating dilemma -- I just want to order everything. But today ordering is easy. A huge cinnamon roll the size of a dinner plate immediately wins my heart. Death by refined sugar. So be it. I also order a large milk for nutritional and guilt-reducing purposes.

We eat.

We pedal on.

Within moments we are on the outskirts of the city.

We pass the Amtrak Train Station. A unique blend of renovated old and artistic new.

Nearby we pedal past the popular “Route 66 Museum.” Unfortunately, it is not open at this hour. I must settle for a photo of the building and a promise to come back some day.

As it appears on the map, Route 66 from Victorville to Barstow looks long and irrelevant and one would suspect redundant.

Redundant because Interstate 15 is only a short distance to the east and providing a paralleling super efficient travel opportunity for all motorists.

Irrelevant because there is no “commercially noteworthy” town, city, or community identified on the map for this stretch of the Old Highway. All this begs the question, “So why would anyone travel of this road?”

I had asked this question months ago when doing my “research” for this ride. I concluded back then that this stretch of highway would be deserted and Bro Mark and I would own the road and spend hours relishing Zen like moments soaking up the historical vibes of the ghost towns like Oro Grande, Helendale, and Hodge that dot only the oldest maps for this old segment of pavement.

I was partially wrong.

We immediately discover a significant portion of the local population enjoys using this two lane section of old Route 66 as a scenic and admittedly efficient alternative to Interstate 15. We also get the impression whatever the reasonable posted speed limit might be, it isn't taken seriously or forced. We also discover the absence of a ride-able shoulder on this highway.

All this to say we experiencing a busy, noisy, and slightly nerve-wracking morning rush hour on Route 66. As the cars squeeze by each other and our bikes, I decide to retreat to a happy place in my mind and change the famous lyrics of The Route's famous song. I start singing, “Get your squish on Route 66.”

But I am not all wrong about this segment of The Road. She offers quality glimpses into the historic life along these parts.

Oro Grande once was alive. Most of these vital towns along Route 66 are now modern ghost towns.

The immediate history of this Road is prolific concrete production. Huge quarries hug the east edge of the road. Lots of truck traffic. I suspect as long as California keeps growing, the local workforce here has reasonable job security.

But mixed (Not much of a pun intended) along the highway among these huge processing operations are old homes and businesses and towns. Some of them deserted. Most of them struggling.

As the morning rush fades, the 66 Time Warp Factor kicks in. A thick layer of poverty enshrines motels and restaurants and gas stations which once prospered in this lunar-like desert. I can imagine the 24/7 activity bustling all around us when this very road carried over 40%, almost half, of all of America's East-West traffic.

 

But this morning all remains quiet. No one in sight. Not even a dog to chase us.

In late morning we stop at a convenience store near Helendale. We can see Helendale just to the west. I suspect an earlier alignment of Route 66 might have run right through the town. We feast on ice cream sandwiches and soda pop. I'm feeling the heat. Temperature pushes just past 90 F (30 C).

Bro Mark is gazes at one of the few elevated bumps in the land.

Gazing off into the Mohave Desert as we pedal along, I am again taken by the unique barrenness of this desert.

Someone lives here.

Last September we rode Route 66 from Ash Fork (not too far from Flagstaff) to Pirate Cove (just across the Colorado River on the California side). That desert, particularly before you climb over the mountain into Oatman, Arizona, actually has life in it, even if it is struggling, straining-for-life desert plant life.

After lunch I was desperate for some shade. I thought this building was empty. But I was wrong.
Note the door on the far left. It is a brand new door.
I noticed as a quietly crept away that the back of the house is much more loved and lived in.

But not the California Mohave Desert. To call it a Lunar-like Landscape is not an exaggeration. Very little vegetation. Lots and lots of dirt and sand. These miles and kilometers without a doubt present some of the harshest environment I've every witnessed.

From a biking point of view, this rates as challenging country. Not because of steep hills or mountains. There aren't any here. (Which simply means I haven't discovered them yet.)

But what appears very lacking around here with every kilometer and mile we go are “services.” Not as in church “services,” but specifically, readily available sources of food, lodging, and shelter.

Bro Mark and I are both grateful for seeing and riding a portion of this Desert firsthand. We make many mental notes regarding what we will do different and new when we return next March to traverse the beautiful but demanding region ride from Barstow all the way across the Mohave Desert to the Colorado River and city of Needles.

This is not on the city limits of Barstow.
Someone "borrowed" this sign.
Notice all the bottles on the posts.
This is the Bottle Tree Farm.
I suspect bottles are one of the few things that grow well in this climate.

As lunch time comes and go and we are getting hungry because there is no place to eat on this now depopulated stretch of asphalt, more houses begin to appear. Pedaling on they begin to appear closer and closer together. These homes are not vintage Route 66. Much newer. We clue in that these are “commuter homes” on the outskirts of Barstow.

A little further along the road failed and shuttered businesses line the street. These once functional businesses unfortunately found themselves on the “desert side” of Barstow. A law of business seems to function in Barstow: The closer thy business standeth in proximity to Interstate 15, the more prosperous thou shalt be.

Soon the Denny's and Burger King and Travelodge and other comforting and familiar cookie cutter franchise establishments appear. We feel safe again in the warmth and reassuring glow of middle class American consumerism.

After passing lots and lots of motels of all different shapes and sizes, but all “decent” (Not like those in northern San Bernardino), we reach our Mom and Pop Budget Motel (That is the real name! Not the “Mom and Pop,” but the “Budget” part ). Our hosts hand us the key to our air conditioned and comfortable room.

I lean my bike again the wall by the door. Bro Mark leans his bike again the wall by his bed.

We did it. We pedaled half of the state of California on Route 66.

We pedaled from the Purple Pin to the Green Pin in four days.

This second major bike trek, in our long range goal of covering all of Route 66 by bike, completed.

A distance of 290 km (183 mi).

Adding our bike trek of last September on Route 66 from Ashfork, Arizona to Needles (Pirate Cove), California, we have pedaled approximately 442 miles (710 km) of Route 66.

That's a long way, but only about 18%, or about one fifth, of the entire Route.

But as mushy and nostalgic and sentimental we want to get at this moment, we have more important things to do – like shower and eat!

We take turns showering.

Putting on our non-spandex apparel (so as to maintain our true Super Hero Identities) we take a short walk up the street to a very nice looking restaurant that suggests it could serve a really nice Mexican meal. I'm already starting my “Mexican Food Loading” so I can sustain myself until my next visit to the Southwest, which, as far as I'm concerned, will not be soon enough!

Epilogue

We finish the bike trek in Barstow. But we aren't “home” yet. In fact, we don't even have a car. So we must find one. I'm certain we could “lift” a vehicle somewhere around Barstow. But a more legal alternative would be to get back to Los Angeles and retrieve Bro Mark's pick up truck. Friend Chuck is babysitting it for us there. (Unless he has discovered the rapid transactional power of E-Bay.)

Fortunately for Bro Mark and I, the Amtrak Passenger Train (which pretty much parallels Route 66 all the way from Chicago to LA) stops here in Barstow. And not only does it stop, but it stops at a beautifully restored Station. More on that in a moment.

We already had reservations for this train from our original destination of Needles. The plan was to pick it up at the end of our original trip plan and ride it back to LA where we would meet Chuck and the truck. (Chuck and Truck. Cool rhyme.)

But since we are in Barstow, the powers that be at Amtrak are ok with us hopping aboard here. Great plan. Only one inconvenient side effect: The train stops at the station around 5:00 AM (0500). I'm an early riser, but even that's pushing it for me. But, oh well. Ya do what ya gotta do.

So we finish our Mexican lunch. We eat enough for the next two meals. We head back to the motel. We repack our equipment. This means taking stuff off the bikes. We set aside whatever we can carry in our pockets for the train ride to Los Angeles. But we are not actually going to Los Angeles as in downtown Los Angeles. We are Amtrak-ing to the Station in the city of Fullerton. (Just a few minutes drive from where I grew up, or at least tried to grow up, as a kid!

So as the sun sets on the Desert Oasis of Barstow, I am tired and I head to bed. Bro Mark, on the other hand, is more robust and energized. He goes somewhere for a few hours. I think he went somewhere where he could eat and do computery type things. He has this new Google Pad he is determined to master before he dies.

We get up early in the morning, at a time normal people call the middle of the night.

We eat a classic American breakfast at Denny's while the waitress vacuums the floor.

We stroll down the Main Street (Route 66) toward the amazing large train station which is now in a remote and older section of town.

I praise the citizens of Barstow and others for their amazing diligence in restoring and preserving this historical structure. This station used to be a Harvey House – a major classy hotel graced by both commoners and movie stars. Remember, once upon a time, Trains ruled the Land, especially in the demanding and harsh environment of the American Southwest. Horses and autos were not reliable in this unforgiving desert.

The restored Station, now a first class museum, wasn't open at 4 am. But just standing on the platform, I could sense the powerful presence it manifested in her Glory Days.

Shock of shock. The train is on time. And it stops just for us. We climb aboard. Walking carefully through the darkened passenger cars past the snoring travelers, we find out seats. I enjoy several hours peering out the window and watching the sunrise.

At the Fullerton Station, we easily find Chuck and Bro Mark's truck. We say our goodbyes and head right back the direction we just came.

Our first stop is our motel in San Bernardino. Our stored camping gear has not disappeared on E-Bay. We express our appreciation to the management, load our equipment in the truck bed, and hop back in the truck.

In less than an hour we are back in Barstow at our motel. We load our bikes and equipment in the truck for our ride back to Prescott.

We decide to take Route 66, rather than Interstate 40, across the Mohave Desert. This will be the road we pedal next March. Bro Mark has seen it before. I did when I was a small child, but remember it not.

We make note of the possible places to get water, food, and lodging, or pitch our tents.

Traveling through Needles, and Pirate Cove, and across the mighty Colorado River, and through spooky Oatman, Arizona, we eventually reach Kingman, where we hop on Interstate 40 towards Ash Fork, and then south to Prescott.

We spend most of the ride planning our next adventure.

“After all, if life isn't a grand adventure, then what is it?” (Amelia Earhart)

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Biker Bars" seem to be the Franchise of Choice along Route 66.
But even they seem to be struggling.

 

 

 

The Bottle Tree Farm.
It was "closed." So we aren't really sure what it is supposed to be.

 

Stage Brush Annie's is written up in the Route 66 literature. But looked out of business today.

A smartly designed home that works with the environment instead of against it.

I had to laugh. Why not a more discrete name, like, "Get Out of Here While You Still Can Realty"? 

 

This sign appears to be Hodge.
I saw no one no where in any direction.
Obviously an invisible population of 431.

 

 

 

 

One of several buildings part of what was once a bold attempt to create a huge desert retreat and "spa."
Now empty and providing a home for local wildlife.

This is the oldest segment of Route 66 we have seen to date.
We discovered this driving towards the Colorado River.
This road is not even on any maps any more.
It is the remains of an old alignment of Route 66.
I suspect it was deserted even before the Interstate was built.
We followed it in the truck until it ended at a cliff on a canyon/river bed.
Can you imagine traveling this road and terrain for days in the 1930's
 in an old automobile with all your belongings tied on the top?