It wasn’t until it was time to get up, around 7:15 am, that the muscles started to really overreact to the idea of climbing out of bed.
Breakfast was an interesting mixture of carbs, but without anything that would give it away as breakfast. We were already half packed, so the other half shouldn’t have taken us the time it did, so it was after 9 am before we managed to check out. By the lack of cars in the car park, I assumed we were the only guests staying at this hotel, even at this ridiculously low rate, so the manager come receptionist was still in his pyjamas when we rang the bell on the reception counter. Clearly he wasn’t expecting any early check-ins.
First stop was just 200m up the road, the U-Drop Inn, to get a few photos of the bikes next to this iconic building before they had to share their photo with other tourists. Too late, an Airstream caravan was already parked up at the gas pumps. That said, it did add to the authentic look of the place, so no problem there. Before we had taken more than a couple of shots we ended up talking to Mark, the Airstream’s owner. Mark is a self-proclaimed Airstream nut, owning three of them. Can you image in the UK owning three Swift caravans?
Mark had just given us a short guided tour of the Airstream when Jeana, his wife, came over with a large DSLR camera around her neck, so presumably had been off taking photos. Mark and Jeana were returning home to Chicago after attending a hot air balloon festival, so not wanting to hold each other up any longer, we had a joint photo session before saying our goodbyes and heading off in the direction of Amarillo… with a UK Airstream import business with Mark swirling around in my head.
We knew we wouldn’t make it the full 90+ miles to Amarillo today, but with the return of the headwind and no idea about the state of the road, or even what we may come across during our travels, we didn’t know where we would be spending the night. All we did know is that our options were limited.
We knew the whole day was a gradual incline that would see us close to 1km about sea level by the end of it. This by itself would not have been a problem, but to be pushing against a headwind with every revolution of the pedal was, so in a ridiculously low gear, we got into a rhythm and pushed on.
About 15 miles out of our lunch stop target we came across a lone guy carrying a rucksack. He was at the bottom of a short down before a big up, so Deborah was already approaching lightspeed when she passed him. Interested in what a fellow self-propelled traveller was up to I pulled over.
Tom, whom at a guess was in his early twenties, was hitchhiking his way across the US. Having left New York a month ago, he was now hitching along I-40, heading for southern California. His immediate goal was the service area at the top of the hill that Deborah was likely approaching, to stock up on food and drink. After that, Amarillo tonight and southern California in four weeks, so not too much faster than us.
By the time I was at the top of the hill and Tom was a black speck in the distance I could see the service station was closed, so it was going to be a long and disappointing morning for him.
We powered on to the town of McLean, one of the main town between Shamrock and Amarillo. The first building of note we came across was the Devil’s Rope and Route 66 Museum.
We pulled up we got talking to a couple driving Route 66, having left their home in Portland on the day we left Chicago. Betty had recently retired from the travel industry, so her and her husband David were taking the opportunity to spend more time on the road than a job would usually allow, and likely a few hotel points build up through working in the travel industry.
We weren’t allowed to take our bikes into the museum, as we were assured they would be safe outside, but it’s always a worry when they are not in view so we kept this visit short. There is only a certain amount of time a barn full of barbed wire and random Route 66 signs and posters can hold anyone’s attention for, apart mat be from a barbed-wire collector, which I would imagine are a rare breed.
Upon exiting as met Becky and Tom, heading to the balloon festival in Albuquerque in their converted school bus. Another fascinating couple that we could have talked to for hours, but time was not on our side.
Two minutes down the road at a service station, while Deborah was in search of a brain freezer, I ended up in an argument a discussion with an ageing ‘cowboy’ that believed all bikes should have engines and those that don’t should keep to the gutter, telling a story of when he came across a group of cyclists that were in the middle of the lane… ‘boy did I cut a path through that lot with my truck’. There was a ‘little more’ to this conversation, especially from me, but I’ll leave the detail of that to the accompanying TV series.
McLean was as empty and dead, at least the surface, like too many other towns we have passed through, so it wasn’t long before we were back in open countryside.
The next place that warranted a name te map was Alanread, but upon arrival, it appeared to be little more of a service station and an RV park. Much to Deborah’s disappointment there was still no ice drinks, but as our onboard liquid was running low we where forced to buy fountain sodas instead.
While enjoying a few minutes of shade a chap covered in paint introduced himself as Art Wizard, a muralist, travelling Route 66 in his RV, painting murals to pay for food and fuel. He couldn’t talk long as he was painting a wigwam on the roof of the service station and only came down to say hello when he saw us riding in on our bikes.
The Adventure Cycle Associate map between Alanreed and Groom stated the next section was on I-40, which was little concerning, but with no alternatives that wouldn’t add a half a day on the cycle, we did as directed. The shoulder was quite wide, but the 6 miles on the interstate were still a little scary, with monster trucks often passing within a few feet, unable to pull out into the outside lane due to being overtaken by other interstate traffic.
We finally made it into Groom without being squished, which would now be our stop for the night as the sun was closer to the horizon than any other day in the saddle so far.
First stop was the only motel in town, but the price of $60 for what was on offer was more than we were prepared to pay. We then cycled over to the only grocery store in town to find it closed. Seeing us peering in, the manager must have taken pity, as she opened up to allow us a quick shopping spree if a gallon of milk and two family-sized bags of crisps can be described in that way.
As we left we asked her if there was anywhere we could put up a tent for the night, to which is suggested ‘The Cross’. We had spotted an enormous cross as we cycled toward Groom, so headed over to it, about half a mile out of town.
On approach, it was clear this was a major Christian centre, with an enormous Christian shop, crucifixes, statues and other religious things of interest (if you are that way inclined) positioned around the site, including a full-sized ‘Jesus Tomb’ and a building housing a replica of the Turin Shroud.
Bobbi Jo, the lady manning the shop, couldn’t have been more helpful. She suggested we put the tent up next to the ‘Tomb of Jesus’ and even offered us te staff shower facilities, which we jumped at. I think using the ‘Tomb of Jesus’ to sleep in, regardless of how tempting it looked, may have been a slight abuse of the hospitality shown.
Realizing this was a mosquito hangout the tent was erected faster than a popup from Decathlon, with all our gear unceremoniously then thrown in. We then broke a rule if a lifetime and set about exterminating the mosquitos that had made it into the tent, before settling down to a feast of whatever we could find in our panniers, plus the newly purchased milk and crisps, before settling down for an early night.
Even with the rumble of the interstate in the background, we both fell to sleep very quickly, waking at 11:45 pm precisely when the lawn sprinklers turned on, finding Bobbi Jo’s suggested campsite was in the middle of it all.
Oh, how she must have chuckled to herself all the way home…