Apart from the occasional rattle on the garage door by the wind and hoot from Ivor, the night passed peacefully. As Adam had set breakfast at 7 am our alarm clock was set at 6:45 am, which was about 5 hours earlier than our bodies would have liked.
Even inside the garage inside the tent the air outside of the sleeping bag felt very cold. The forecast was for overnight temperatures to have dropped to -4oC or less, so pulling down the sleeping bag zip seemed the most illogical thing to do.
Leaving the thermal protection of the garage we were met by a clear star-filled night sky with the temperature most certainly below zero. We haven’t been up and about before 7 am for a while so it was a surprise how dark it still was. Our daylight hours are certainly starting to decrease, which will start making our daily mileage all that more challenging.
As we entered the house we were met by Jenn, Adam’s partner. Jenn had spent quite some time in the UK previously as wishing to learn Russian she went to the most obvious city in the world to do so, Manchester.
Breakfast was oatmeal prepared by Adam and a wonderful assortment of toppings, from blueberries and walnuts to banana and hemp seeds. The great conversation continued until time was up. Adam and Jenn were heading to the Water Festival near Dallas and we had a halfway point to get to.
We packed and for once were ready to head off within 15 minutes, a record for this trip so far. With a hug and a photoshoot, we bid farewell to our new friends and headed out of town.
The route out of Amarillo was easy for a change, with a concrete paved bike trail just a few minutes from Adam’s that lead all the way to the I’44 service road, which is as close to Route 66 as we would get between towns, the I-44 itself being Route 66. This is presumably because I-44 was built on top of Route 66, but that is a guess. I’ll need to do more research on that before working on the movie screenplay.
Cycling from town to town along the I-44 service road between towns is becoming a regular feature through Texas. The roads are generally traffic-free, allowing us to cycle side by side and chat rather than relying on our intercom headsets.
The wind has died down, although it is still hanging in there, but it’s cold, bitterly cold.
Today had the potential of a few breaks from the saddle, although not due to hot chocolate supplying service stations.
First up was the not so catchy named ‘2nd Amendment Cowboy.”, another giant to go along with the three others we have seen on the route to date.
The 2nd Amendment is one of the things that continues to baffle me about the US, so I’ll leave it at that, in the hope that one day the US will actually read the words of it, and realise it was written in a different era making it no longer relevant in a modern civilized world.
A few more miles further down the road was another Route 66 icon, which we arrived at a little unexpectedly. It was an uncommon sight to see a car parked on the grass verge, so to see twenty or more was a sign of something going on. Looking over to where a steady stream of people were heading I could see the unmistakable sight of the Cadillac Ranch, a field with twelve Cadillac buried nose down into the dirt.
There was a turnstile into the field, so the Koga’s were going to have to miss out on this photo opportunity. The 50m walk to where the Caddies where buried was across hard-packed soil. The cars themselves were planted in the same soil, surrounded by a muddy pool of water, which upon closer inspection was iced over. I told you it was cold!
It is custom to take a spray can and paint something on a Cadillac, or at least that’s what visitors have done for generations. The tradition also appeared to them just to discard your empty spray can on the ground, so the area was a disappointing mess of mud and litter. It amazes me how people can be so inconsiderate, but unfortunately no longer surprises me.
We haven’t been passing too many towns you could actually call a town, let alone call it a city as they tend to in the US. The interestingly named Vega was, therefore, a welcome break from the saddle. It’s a while since our last old Route 66 gas station, so the Magnolia Gas Station was a nice addition to the collection. An elderly couple in a car turned up the same time as us, took a photo, then sped off. Either they were on a very tight Route 66 schedule or they foolishly stood downwind of us. As they didn’t speak to us we will never know.
Across the road was the Vega museum. It wasn’t a Route 66 attraction as such, but as we cycled into town a lady went out of her way to shout it’s virtues out of her car window, so thought it worth a short visit.,
Before we had even kicked the kickstands down Danny, the museum tour guide was shaking our hands and welcoming us to Vega. The museum was a random collection of old stuff, which I am sure told a story if we had time to work it out, but as Danny had told us the Midpoint Cafe would be closing in under two hours, and with a two-hour cycle left to get there, we made our apologies for such a short visit and headed west once again.
By the time we approached Adrian, the midpoint of Route 66 we knew we had missed the 5 pm deadline for pie. Arriving at 5:10 pm the chairs were already on the tables and nobody was about. Maybe they don’t open at all on whatever day of the week today happens to be!
Across the road is the Midpoint sign, so we took the opportunity to take a few snaps, before discussing our accommodation options for tonight.
There was a motel across the road, which was tempting, but we wanted to put in a few more miles to shorten tomorrow’s ride into Tucumcari, so decided to head for a picnic area on I-44, a further 10 miles along the road.
We were expecting the service road to take us all the way there, so we’re a little disappointed when at five miles into the cycle it came to an end, with a short dirt track taking us on to the hard shoulder of the I-44 again.
Without an option, we pedalled as hard as we could to cover the remaining five miles before the sun started to set.
At the picnic area, we sat in one of the shelters while trucks continued to thunder passed, some occasionally pulling in to change drivers or park up a rest.
The welcome sign to the picnic area stated we could stay here for up to 24 hours, but the pitching of a tent was by permission only. As the sign didn’t share from whom the permission could be sought, we decided to feast on peanut butter, Cheetos and jelly sweets, while waiting for the sun to set.
We pitched the tent in the cover of darkness, climbed into our sleeping bags fully clothed and have settled down for what is clearly going to be a very cold night.
