Kicking California Route 66: Day 1 Monday March 11, 2013, Santa Monica to RanchoCucamonga

All sunshine shines not the same. For the first 18 years of my life I supposedly grew up in Southern California. (Some would question if I have actually ever “grown up.”) In contrast to my California years, I've spent over 30 years in my life in Canada. Based on my experiences in these very contrasting environments, I believe that not all sunshine shines the same.

The sunshine striking the earth in the Southwest USA looks and feels quantitatively different than the sunshine striking the earth in Ontario, Canada. Ontario sunshine has a warm, almost golden glow to it. Maybe that's because being further from the equator the sunshine has to pass a greater distance through the atmosphere. I don't know. I'm just guessing.

But the sunshine striking the earth in Los Angeles, California, looks and feels different. Brighter. Stronger. “Sunshiny-er.” (The spell check disputes that word.)

Such powerful sunshine penetrates the curtains of our (very) small motel room. My eyes flicker at the natural “alarm clock” the visible light spectrum creates. I'm feeling hugely better than I did when I collapsed in bed late last night, or I should say, very early this morning.

Imagining how hot and sweaty I will be in just a few hours, I head to the shower. At least I can start the day not attracting attention as an aromatic environmental toxin. I love showers. I call them “Hydro Therapy.” I'm pretty sure that somewhere out there scientific evidence proves warm and cold water striking the skin enhances mental, emotional, and physical health and well being.

After my Hydro Therapy, I prepare to face the world donning my super hero spandex bike suit. Bro Mark has awakened from his beauty sleep by this point. He is already suited up. (Bro Mark is not an environmentalist, I think, and therefore does not believe in morning de-tox showers.)

We do the final packing and securing of all our gear (which we will discover in the next 48 hours constitutes way too much gear. And within the next four hours, I learn how to properly secure my relatively new pannier bags to the rack and sides of my rear wheel in a manner in which they do not fall off in the middle of busy street intersections).

 

The street just outside our motel as we head west towards Santa Monica Beach

We say “good bye” to our memorable motel and hop on our fully loaded bikes and head the wrong direction. On purpose. The city of Needles and the Colorado River lay east of us, several days of bike riding away. But we purposely head west right now. We want to go to the beach. Not for a morning swim, but for historical reasons. We want to see what travelers of long ago saw when they finally ended their 3,966 km (2,448 mi) trek in Santa Monica from all points east on Route 66.

 

Getting closer to the beach. Note the nice bike lane. Los Angeles seems pretty good about providing these, sometimes.

The Santa Monica Peer provides the terminus of Route 66. I've seen enough of Route 66 in central and western Arizona to just begin to get an inkling of what emigrants fleeing the dust bowl and poverty of the Depression must have experienced when they saw this endless blue ocean after weeks of barren desert travel.

The white structure centre picture is the building at the base of the pier.

Bro Mark next to the multi-use path along the beach; a common feature in Southern California.
Nice for walking, riding, skate boarding, roller blading, etc.

Coming off this pier, I also experienced my first annoying mechanical problem with my bike. Not a total breakdown. But a malfunction impacting my pedaling in a serious way. My bike would not shift into its lowest gear.

For some cyclists, this might not be a problem. But for me, this constitutes a big deal. My muscles do not ripple against the tightness of my spandex suit like a Superman or Batman. I, therefore, need that “easy” gear or “granny gear.” (A rather gender discriminatory term, eh?) Especially when I am loaded very heavy as I am today.

But there's nothing to be done about it right now. And fortunately today, we do not climb any significant hills. But I immediately miss Granny. And thoughts of the 4,000 ft (1,220 m) pass we climb on our route tomorrow sit uncomfortably in the back of my mind.

But now we leave the pier and head west (The correct compass heading) on Santa Monica Boulevard. We are in the downtown area, but this is not “the” downtown. But close enough. I look down streets on my right and I can see the classic and modern downtown Los Angeles sights captured in movies featuring this city – such as the tall, round Capital Records building. Given the intensity of morning rush hour traffic on the six lanes of Santa Monica Blvd, I am not keen on challenging the downtown core commuters on my lightweight aluminum bike. (If I had a Titanium Bike and an Iron Man suit, I might consider riding through the downtown core.)

The beginning of Santa Monica Blvd.
And the ending, or beginning, of Route 66, depending on which direction you are coming from or going to.

We ride carefully on the edge of our right hand lane. The 9:00 AM (09:00) shadows stubbornly cling to the street and east side of the buildings. Commuters strut their vehicles with a strong confidence and mostly disregard for our presence. But Brother Mark and I were urban born and raised. Our Orange County California childhood city smart skills kick in and we maneuver east carefully and successfully.

One of about 200 signal lights ("controlled intersection") we will enjoy throughout the day.

A short distance ahead we simultaneously see a famous eating establishment, “Jack In the Box.” Without exchanging a word, we realize the steak and egg burritos are calling us to consume them. We do so.

Breakfast at Jack In the Box

Empowered by our consumption of simple and complex carbohydrates and protein from Grade E meat sources, we pedal on. For the next 109 km (68 mi) we experience intense urban cycling. Which means, lots and lots of traffic lights. I calculate almost two hundred traffic lights by the end of the day. (Picture a lot of ups and downs off the bike seat throughout this day.)

The automobile traffic is not as intense and nerve wracking as I thought it would be. I only came close to getting hit by a vehicle twice. The first incident occurred as a van rushed past me to make a very abrupt right turn in front of me onto a street I was pedaling across. I'm pretty sure I felt the back edge of his van brush the hair on my left elbow.

The second incident occurred when an elderly lady, who was to her credit paying very close attention to Mark and I as we proceeded through the intersection, contemplated completing her left-hand turn. I don't think she was trying to be lethal. I think we just confused her. At any rate, I think she panicked. (She had already, as we say in the trucking industry, “taken possession of the intersection.”) Perhaps she was afraid of being hung out there in the middle of everything. Whatever her thoughts, she rapidly accelerated into her leftward bound direction.

Unfortunately, I was in her path. As soon as she saw me, she braked hard. No contact followed. No damage to vehicle or bike. Possibly some to the lady's nervous system. But I have not heard from her lawyer, so I think things are ok.

Anti-Gridlock Zone? I don't think so. At least the commuters haven't gotten the message.

So goes our morning – Navigating the concrete jungle of Santa Monica, through the heart of Los Angeles, so as to arrive at the seemingly endless and seamless (that is, no distinct or obvious boundaries, except the obvious fluctuation of visible economic prosperity or lack of) of urban communities.

A rare moment when Bro Mark is following me.

As the sun climbs towards its zenith, we pedal through iconic cities of metropolitan Los Angeles. Names of real places made fantasy through folk lore, urban legend, television and movies:

Santa Monica

West Los Angeles

Beverly Hills

West Hollywood

Sunset

Pasadena

Aracadia

Monrovia

Duarte

Irwindale

Azusa

Glendora

San Dimas

La Verne

Claremont

Upland

Rancho Cucamonga

 

Beverly Hills proved “interesting.” Pedaling along, enjoying the sights, and looking for the Beverly Hillbillys instead of looking at our map, we suddenly realized we were “lost.” Enter technology. Using my very limited US Data Cell Phone Plan which I purchased from Bell Canada for just such a scenario as this, I discerned our position and we plotted a course back toward Sunset Blvd. We actually enjoyed some nice residential streets and a little break from the heavier traffic. I think we were only about two or three miles “off course.” But never did see the Hillbillys :-(

One must remember that Route 66 is not a street name, but rather a highway designation. And a historical obsolete one at that. Meaning, there aren't a lot of “Route 66” signs in all jurisdictions along the Route. Each city decides how they want to identify, or not, the Historic Highway. But by the end of the day, I give Pasadena and Rancho Cucamonga high marks for blending the historicity of Route 66 with the dream of American capitalism. Not a bad partnership: Preserve and promote history while making an honest dollar. Truly the American Way, eh?

 

The Aztec Hotel was? is? a Route 66 Icon. I was surprised to see it closed.
Just a few weeks ago I saw a DVD on Route 66 and it was shown as very much alive. But this was typical of my research. Many establishments promoted in the travel literature have, it seems, over just the past few years, faded into history.
I keep hearing that Route 66 is experiencing a renaissance of sorts. But we didn't see a lot of evidence of that.  

Lunch was great in East LA. We were so thrilled with our breakfast burritos at Jack In the Box, that we ventured to enjoy their lunch fare. I had a couple of tacos and, I just love this about the Southwest USA, Iced Tea! (I would gladly give up my Dr. Pepper addiction if I had easy access to Iced Tea.) The real stuff. Brewed and chilled and with the option of plain, or lemon, or lemon and sugar. I prefer the plain without sugar or lemon without sugar. But if I must, I will drink the sugar enhanced version 2.0. (Fast and Slow Food establishments in Canada have yet to figure out the “brewed iced tea” miracle yet. They offer this fountain drink concoction of sugar water which they label as tea. But it has no tea at all in it. Come on now. What is that all about?)

At the restaurant we met a few young men who were most impressed by our insane plan of pedaling across the desert. I felt good getting the respect of such Urbanites.

Speaking of Urban, East LA impresses me as ultra-Urban. We ride through in the early afternoon. Regardless of the blazing sunshine, my “Personal Security Button” felt pressure from the environment. East Los Angeles provided a moderate challenge to my generally conservative courage quotient. (I'm a real chicken sometimes.)

Nobody tries to hurt us. Nobody even seems to look at us. But the graffiti and pervasive poverty found this White Anglo Saxon Protestant Male (Not a title I would choose for myself, by the way) a little uncomfortable. But I quickly add, this insecurity emanates more from my imagination than the environment. (I don't think I would say that if riding through on a bike at 2:00 AM/02:00.) The locals didn't invoke it or create paranoia. Perhaps I've just seen too many movies and now possess a paranoid, stereotyping brain. Hope not. That sounds pathetic.

If opposites attract, this explains why East Los Angeles and Pasadena are neighboring cities. Is it a matter of socioeconomic cultural distinction? Or a testimony to the multicultural diversity of Southern California?

Heading east out of East LA, the environment becomes less “citified” and more sub-urbanized. I was getting a bit tired, having by this time put almost 100 km (62 miles) of city streets under my wheels. But I was also very much missing and very much getting concerned about the “loss” of my lowest gear. My arthritic knees really depend on that easy-pedaling function when I am faced with anything approximating an upward incline. I am pedaling along getting even a little more worried about the loss of my low gear as I thought about that 4,000 ft mountain pass we are scheduled to ascend tomorrow.

And then something akin to a miracle happens.

Directly ahead of us and to the right we see a bicycle shop. I have known all day that retrieving my lowest gear is just a matter of a very minor adjustment to my gear cable – but an adjustment I am not skilled to make. But I am not over thrilled by the sight of this bike shop. After all, it is past 6 pm (18:00) in the evening on a Monday. What bike shop would be open on a Monday at this hour?

But as we pedal closer, we see a van with the bike shop name on its side, slow to a stop in front of the shop. A man steps out and walks to the front of the van. He's looking our way. He waves. We wave back. We pull into his parking lot. The man says, “I've been in this business long enough to spot cyclists who might be looking for some help.” Amazing! This guy is not only a bike technician, but also a mind reader! We grin and respond, “You are so right on!”

We explain our loss of low gear concern. He, who we quickly learn is Cory, Owner of Coates Cyclery, 760 E. Foothill Blvd., Pomona, California, 91767, 909-624-0612, http://coatescyclery.com/, who says, “Come on in, I'll fix that for you.”

So Cory re-opens his shop, puts my like on a repair stand, and in a few minutes brings my lowest gear back to life.

We see lots of interesting sights and hear lots of interesting sounds in our Cycling Adventures. But the most interesting, and memorable, and meaningful experiences involve the amazing and great persons we meet along the way. And Cory is one of them. Here's a guy who has worked all day and has a family to go home to at the end of the day. But he volunteers to put that all on pause for a half an hour and help us out.

A Modern Day Hero and a Modern Day Explorer/Adventurer

And you know what else? He didn't charge us for his services and wouldn't let us pay for them! The brotherhood of cyclists is most alive and well. (If Cory ever comes to Ontario, Canada, I am going to offer him free counselling! :-)

Waving goodbye to our new favorite hero, Cory, we continue pedaling east on Route 66 through the cities of east LA County bordering its historical curbs. The sun is setting very low at this time. We are losing our daylight. But we are very close to our Rancho Cucamonga (I just love saying that word “Cucamonga”) motel destination, the New Kansan Inn; a vintage Route 66 motel.

We stop and activate our red strobe-like rear ( bicycle :-) flashers. We really should attach and use our headlights. But we opt not to. Street lights and car lights provide enough light that we can see where we are going. If someone does not plow down our behinds from behind we should be alright.

Eventually we reach our motel. We are given the “handicap” room; which means it is a large spacious room with easy access shower, etc. I wonder if we perhaps looked and walked in a way that prompted the owner to do this?

First Night Home Away From Home
New Kansan Motel, Rancho Cucamonga, California

After much needed and refreshing showers, our friends, and frequent transportation facilitators, Chuck and Marguerite (i.e. they haul us and our bikes around when we need a truck! They rescued us in Ocotillo, California on a previous trek across the Sonora Desert) knock on the door.

Chuck and Marguerite have been waiting for hours to have supper with us. They are patient souls. We head to a nice restaurant and enjoy a great meal while speaking of our day's adventures and life in general.

Once back at the motel, the Shelley Brothers have zero difficulty going to sleep. We are tired enough. And so we should be.

End of Day 1 Picture.
We both look a little older than we usually do.

Today's stats:

Distance: 109 km (67.5 mi)

Average Speed: 14.5 kph (9 mph)

Time on Bike Seat Pedaling: 7 hours, 34 minutes

Total Trip Time Today: 11 hours

We drift off to sleep wondering about the climb we face tomorrow through Cajon Pass and over the coastal mountain range and into one of the world's most severe desert environments.

 

Santa Monica Beach

 

 

A memorable street sign for me.
From 1977 through 1986, my family and I lived on and worked on Normandie Ave several miles south of here in the community of Gardena.

This is not a product placement ad

Middle of the Day 1 Picture.
Notice we do not look as old as we do at the end of the day.

 

 

 

Point Clark Loop Adventure

Last Sunday was  not quite an endurance ride, but one of my longer rides this summer.

I hop on my bike with the goal of pedaling an 80 km (54 mi) "loop" to the south and west of my country home near Tiverton, Ontario, Canada.    

I leave my home about 9:30 am under sunny skies and a pleasant 18 C (64 F) heading south towards the village of Armow. Forty five minutes later I passed through Armow and continued on south to the village of Ripley. 

(The road to Ripley)

Fascinating little town. In the 1850's a bad Scottish landlord on Lewis Island, Scotland, was making life unpleasant for 109 hard working families. 

So they said, "Enough." (And probably a few more appropriate phrases and gestures.) 

They all moved to a section of  wilderness here in Ontario and continued to work hard clearing the land and eventually earned the right to call it their own. Later their settlement was named Ripley. Believe it or not :-)

This is believed to be the largest settlement of one group of people at the same time and place anywhere in Canadian history. Cool, eh?

So now I finally understand why almost every village in southern Bruce county has a Scottish name. 109 families would have been the most dominant cultural presence in this beautiful countryside.  By clearing and taming this land they certainly earned the right to name the villages. 

And they did. Check out any Bruce county and Huron county map and you'll find names like Glammis, Holyrood, Kingraf, Kinloss, Lucknow, and Gargill. There is probably a village named Argyle somewhere.

And to think I learned all this while reading three historical monuments while chewing on a power bar and drinking power aid. 

Hopping back on my bike and enjoying the 20 kph (12.4 mph) tailwind provided by nature, I am averaging a really nice 21 kph for the first two hours of my ride when I enter the Lake Huron shore village of Point Clark. 

(The road to Point Clark)

Point Clark is home for one of several amazing lighthouses built up and around the Tobermory Peninsula from about 1850 through the early 1900's. They were state of the art wonders in their day. 

And it's a good thing a lighthouse is here -- the rocky shoals extend 3.2 km (2 mi) out into Lake Huron from the shoreline. 

There have been so many shipwrecks around this peninsula over the past 150 years that Scuba divers come from all around the world to check them out in the shallow, clear (and very cold!) waters.   

After straining my neck looking up at the 1850-ish lighthouse undergoing renovations, I turn my ship north and up the coast towards Kincardine. 

(The beach road north of Point Clark)

A pleasant ride weaving along the sleepy Sunday morning beach roads with both beautiful vintage and modern cottages. 

(More beach road)

Arriving in Kincardine (Note the good Scottish name) I am 50 km  (31 mi) into my trip and well into the second half of the big loop (or more accurately, rectangle) route I am pedaling. 

(View of Lake Huron between Point Clark and Kincardine)

I stop and eat a very Canadian lunch at Tim Horton's restaurant, really enjoying the BLT and chocolate milk. (Beer and Wings would have perhaps been a more Canadian lunch.) 

I continue heading north along the coastal shore roads to the cottage community of Inverhuron where I stop and purchase a Dr Pepper at an old fashion country store and drink it on the old fashion bench outside in the shade of the awning. 

(Creek flowing into the Lake in Inverhuron)

I pedal my final 12 km home where I enjoy my post ride stretches and a warm shower after an almost 6 hour adventure. 

A beautiful day and a beautiful ride. 

Today's stats:

Distance: 80 km/49.6 mi

Max Speed: 52.1 kph/31.7 mph

Average Speed: 17.8 kph/11 mph

Time on bike: 4 hrs, 30 min

Total trip time: 5 hrs, 55 min

Temp: 18 C/ 64 F

Calorie Burn: 1,768

Fat Burn: 151.1 

My Labour Day Weekend Annual Endurance Ride

On Sunday, September 2,  I rode my "Annual Endurance Bicycle Ride Proving To Or Deluding Myself I Am Still Young Ride." 

This year's event found me leaving my near to Tiverton home in the   morning fog trekking towards the town of Goderich,  67 km to the southwest. 

(Goderich is  great town on the Lake Huron coast which also happens to be home to several of my kids and all my grand kids, meaning I would have lots of visitors at the hospital there if needed.)

Leaving home at 8:00 am I pedal through an hour of "London Fog." But once the sun broke through I am shedding my outer layer and will know no coolness (until I return home at 7 pm and plunge into our little swimming pool). 

Half way point to Goderich on Bruce Road 1 is the town of Lucknow, towards which is mostly a flatland journey through swampland. 

But from Lucknow to Carlow, a little general store and last outpost of civilization before reaching Goderich,  I face  25 km (15.5 km) of significant and consistent incline with a substantial headwinds which prompt me to think unpleasant thoughts for a long hour or so.

Son Bryan rides out from Goderich to meet me. Enjoying his company. 

Arriving in Goderich 4.5 hours after leaving home, I enjoy a fine lunch with Bry and Steph and Caleb and their new kitten, Pippa (who bolted a few days later for a couple of days only to be tracked down and returned and is now under probational house arrest).

About an hour later, before my muscles and joints get the false impression they are done for the day, I lather on the sunscreen again and head back towards home. 

Bry on bike and Caleb in trailer escort me out of town on the famed Maitland River Rail Trail. 

Once back on the pavement I enjoy my previous headwind now as a glorious tailwind. 

But it is now very hot and humid. I am getting my so predictable heat headache. So I now pause every 20 minutes to eat a third of a power bar, drink a third of a bottle of power aid and pour a third of a bottle of water all over my head. I call it evaporative cooling. I am also enjoying these 25 kms (15.5 mi) of downhill-ish road. 

So with persistent pedaling I find myself pulling into my lane way just minutes short of 11 hours since I left here this morning.

This year's endurance ride covered 135.7 km (84 miles). 

While feeling reasonably tired through the day, I never felt "bad." No muscular or joint pain while riding. 

Even though I soon turn 60 years of age, I guess I am still young for another year :-)

Perhaps perspective is important here. Three and a half years ago, my arthritis was so bad, I could barely get out of bed. Life was pain. 

Then Bro Mark got me biking. Add some basic nutritional improvements to the mix and I find myself doing feats today I couldn't have done when I was 20 or 30 years younger. 

I'm not bragging. I'm trying to encourage our readers. No matter what your age or condition, start exercising. (If I can do this kind of stuff, I know you can!) Your mind, emotions, and body will thank you and reward you greatly!

Today's stats:

Distance: 135.7 km/84 mi

Max speed: 43.3 kph/26.8 mph 

Average speed: 17.2 kph/10.7 mph 

Time on bike: 7 hrs, 55 min

Total trip time: 10 hrs, 55 min

Temp: 16C/61F to 33C/91F (humidex temp)

Cal Burn: 2,887 :-)

Fat Burn: 247.6

Where are all the blog posts?

They are coming! 

Preparing blog posts for California Route 66 ride. 

But you can read almost daily posts of Shelley Brothers riding adventures on our Facebook page "Shelley Brothers Cycling Adventures."

For example: Yesterday I did my annual endurance ride. Read all about it on the Facebook page.

Or, read about brother Mark's one month solo ride from Houston, Texas to Tucson, Arizona!

Thanks for your patience. 

More blogs to come! 

Kicking California Route 66 - March 10, 2013 - Day Zero: Getting to the Starting Line

Someone somewhere must have said, "Getting to the starting line is the most challenging aspect of a race."

I believe it. (Of course. I'm the one who said it.) Even though I am not racing, I do find it a logistical challenge to get to the geographical starting point for our big bike rides. And this trip providing no exception. 

Bro Mark and I are planning to ride California's Route 66, west to east, straight across the Golden State. A five day ride from Santa Monica Beach (Los Angeles) to the desert city of Needles on the Colorado River. About 450 km (280 miles) of historic "Main Street America."

Our route weaves through the heart of the "City of the Angels," across Los Angeles County, over the 4,000 ft Cajon Pass of the costal mountain range, and across the high Mohave Desert. A challenging ride by almost any definition. Challenging distances, Spartan terrain, and sparse access to water, food, and shelter. 

But the first challenge is to get myself from Ontario, Canada  to California, USA. 

I intensify the normal logistical challenges of getting oneself across a continent by absentmindedly scheduling myself a full day of clients on Friday, March 8. I should have been home packing and organizing (and resting!) for my very very early Sunday morning departure.  

So I find myself sitting at my desk in my home office all day Saturday completing Friday's paperwork and preparing invoices to be sent off so my family will not starve. (I am so stinking responsible sometimes it irritates me. It can create such conflict with an adventurous lifestyle.)

Come late Saturday evening I find myself packing my bags. Fortunately this still daunting task has been slightly mitigated by my foresight last week to gather up and inventory my cycling equipment and supplies from the various corners and crannies of my home from whence I previously scattered them. This is primarily an exercise of carefully checking each equipment item off my list and packing my big duffle and backpack so as to move efficiently on and through the shuttle bus and airports and plane.

I complete this task about 2:00 am Sunday morning. That's when I get a big surprise. I am reminded that all clocks are to be moved forward for some absurd reason called Day Light Savings. This means I have just lost (more precisely, been deprived of) a precious hour of sleep. (How can it be called "savings" when I have "lost" one hour of sleep?) So I collapse into bed. 

At 4:30 am (which is really 3:30 am) I awaken to iPhone alarm playing Poco's "Crazy Love." Staring into the pre-dawn darkness I think "Crazy Trip." "Crazy" may not have been the exact word I was thinking at that moment. And I briefly ponder what exactly I thought might be exotic and adventurous about how I planned this departure. (I could not come up with a satisfying answer at that moment, nor as of today's date.)

My body begrudgingly assumes something that roughly resembles an upright position. A warm shower and dosage of icy water from our 95 foot deep drilled well over my head alerts me slightly enough above a sub-conscious comatose level that I can dress and load the car and head out the lane way at 5:30 am. Someone is driving the car. I think it's me. 

I ask Squishy,  my 14 year old teenage VW Beetle (I call him "Squishy," for he is smallish),  to activate our imaginary Auto-Pilot feature (Why not? Someone told me that if you can believe it, it will be :-) for our two hour drive to London, Ontario (The Canada London, not the other one) where Squishy will rest for several days in the Ramada Inn parking lot and I will board the Robert Q (Interesting last name, eh?) airport shuttle bus and be chauffeured for three hours to the beautiful Wayne County Airport in Detroit.  

I am not thinking much this morning except occasional unpleasant thoughts about some person who contrived this artificial and unnatural Seasonal Clock Adjustment. What a rip off. 

Two hours and three large cups of Tim Horton tea later, I meet my wife, Deb,  who has been enrolled in a real estate course all week in London and just took her Broker's test. [Update: Deb passed the test with a 96% grade. Ain't she awesome? I'm counting on her radical success in the real estate business to fund my future bike trips and retirement. I haven't discussed this, in detail, with her, yet :-)]

Our visit is short due to my current episode of LDD (Logistical Deficiency Disorder). That means I am either running late, or cutting it way to close to the wire. A quick fourth cup of tea and two trips to the Washroom (Rest Room to our American readers. Canadians prefer to wash in there. I guess Americans prefer to rest in there?) brought on by the multiple teas, and I drive across the street to the Ramada Inn, tuck Squishy in for his well deserved rest, and lug my duffle over to the shuttle bus loading zone. 

I hop, as much as one can hop at 8:30 am with only two hours of sleep in the past 28 hours, onto the Robert Q airport shuttle bus and begin the three hour bouncy ride to Windsor (the Windsor in Canada, not England. Part of being a Commonwealth Country is that you do not have to create many original names for your towns, cities, and streets.), across the Ambassador Bridge (Ah, the memories. As a long haul truck driver I rumbled across this bridge almost twice weekly for six years) and through the scrutiny of the Homeland Insecurity Officers protecting the USA from Canadian Tourists. 

I arrived at DTW about 11 am with just enough time to check my bag in and get an x-ray/radiation treatment by airport security. I literally walked right onto my plane. No wait. A rare moment of efficiency in my LDD life. 

The 4.5 hour flight to Phoenix became a four hour flight thanks tail winds. I actually got to sleep a bit between servings of Dr Pepper and peanuts. 

Stepping out of the chill and into the warmth of Phoenix, Arizona in the month of March is a delightful experience. (Appreciated much more so by Canadians than most people.) Such moments always conjure up thoughts about cashing in on my American citizenship and relocating in the southwest. (But then I think of USA medical insurance and health care and polarized politics and quest for world domination -- Wait, I didn't say that -- and the urge fades fast. I hope my American readers have a good sense of humor, or at least tolerance, today.)

I find and claim my duffle bag from the baggage carousel (It was having so much fun riding said carousel that I had to coax it off with promises of a funner time in California)  and then call Mark. Perfect timing. He is just now entering the airport road maze with his nifty little pick up truck loaded with our bikes and his gear. I meet him at the passenger pick up curb and throw my stuff into the pick up bed. It is about 4:30 pm local time and we begin to snake our way through evening traffic. 

A Burger King beckons us and we respond. 

Back on Interstate 10 we head west for Los Angeles. As usual, we talk and talk and talk. About 6 hours later we penetrate into the core of LA.  

We find the home of our friend Chuck. (About 35 years ago, when dinosaurs still roamed the earth, Mark and Chuck were students together at Northrup Institute earning their Airframe and Power-plant licenses, or something like that, so they could fix big and little airplanes.)

The plan is that Chuck will drive us to and drop us off at our motel. He will then take Mark's truck to a secure location until we return to claim it after we complete our bike ride. 

We find Chuck and then we find our motel. To be specific, "The Pavilion" motel. You must understand that Mark and I are connoisseurs of, shall we say, "budget" motels. We always stay in the least expensive accommodations available. (Not because we are "cheap," or anything like that, because we aren't. Really. We are just responsible consumers seeking to live within our means and socioeconomic strata. Watch out. Hang around a Ph.D. in Sociology like Bro Mark for a while and you actually start thinking and talking like that.) Occasionally we stay in luxury motels. These are easily identifiable because they provide plastic drinking cups and Kleenex. But most of the places we stay don't. And most of the places we stay can be rented by the hour. High class joints.  

But "The Pavilion" in Santa Monica is, I believe, the most "basic" place we have ever stayed. No plastic cups. No Kleenex. One double sized bed. One small wooden chair. One toilet. One sink. One shower. One huge television. One huge mirror on the wall. And -- this is very ironic -- it is the most expensive place we have stayed on any of our trips! It's not about "value." It's all about location. When you own a motel of any condition and it is located two shorts blocks from the Santa Monica beach and pier, you can pretty much charge whatever rate you want.

It is almost 11 pm (2:00 am Ontario time!) as we push our bikes and lug our gear into the room. I'm exhausted. Not from over exertion. (All I've done is sit around all day.) But lack of sleep now catching up with me. I've got a large headache. 

We spend a few minutes organizing our equipment and loading some of it on our bikes. At midnight I take a quick shower and lay down and do not remember anything else. I could have been in the Hilton.

The red line is our route. But not the whole route.
There should be a couple of more inches of red line to the left.
That would be the part from Santa Monica Beach and through LA.

The blue line in this map is the red line that isn't in the previous map.
This is ALL city, or what is politely called urban cycling.
Not for the faint hearted or uninsured.

That's the whole route as seen in his 1940 map.
Sure looks short, eh?
Also looks populated.
The left hand half of the route is populated.
The right hand half of the route is not, or at least isn't now.
Actually, I don't think it was ever really too crowded.

Some of the personal stuff I packed.
Socks, underwear, light jacket, dog spray, butt butter, six extra bike tubes, extra bike tire, etc.
 (Unfortunately the bed stayed home.)
What isn't shown here is the tent, air mattress, sleeping bag, and ground cover
that would give me plenty of ballast
and ensure that any sporadic and unscheduled suspension
of the law of gravity would not allow me and my bike
to drift away into space and potentially colonize a new planet.
 I felt better knowing that.  

Here's all my stuff stuffed into my handle bar bag,
 two new side bags (that hang down the sides of my back wheel)
and the small bag that sits on my bike rack over my back wheel,
and the small tool/repair bag that attaches under my seat,
or actually the bike's seat,
and my backpack.
Rather professional looking, eh?

Well, look at this! Another map! Someone seems to be obsessing a little bit in the map department, do you think?
You can see the change in marker colors indicating the 5 and a half days of the trip. It was a theory, anyway.

Yet another map.
This is getting embarrassing.
But I really like this map.
It makes the trip all the way across the state of California look really really big and long.
So any two guys that do a trip like this must be amazing and awesome, right?
No, I didn't say "crazy." Hush now. Don't even think it.

You know what this is.

Speak, our Burger King. Your subjects shall obey.
Answering the call of the Burger King in Phoenix, Arizona.
(Notice the clever product placement in the background. We should send them an invoice for this.)
That's Brother Mark, in case you were wondering.

That's me.
Tall. Good looking. Athletic. Rich.
(Well, not rich. I lied about that one.)

Our spacious room in the "Pavilion Motel."
There are not enough "stars" to rate this establishment.

Bro Mark playing techie with his bike.

This is actually the following morning, March 11.
That's Mark dressed in his Capt Arizona suit.
(Proof that at least Mark survived the night.)
As you can see, we have less equipment on the bed, and more on the bikes.
This is progress.

Ready to roll on Monday morning.
Note the jacket on Capt Mark.
After this morning, the jackets were just extra weight.
Take away the ocean down the block and you take away the coolness.
Except for Mark and I.
We're still cool.
Metaphorically speaking.

Entrance to the Pavilion Motel.
That's our room on the left, just past the Pepsi machine.