We woke at 7 am after a good night’s sleep. The free breakfast received a 3-star rating out of 5, even though the breakfast room was too small for the hotel. It seemed more like a swingers speed dating event, with the room filled with small round tables each with four chairs. Every time one couple left a table another couple would fill their place. Conversations around the tables all appeared to be related to either the Grand Canyon or Route 66, not that I was listening in, but I can safely say that the guys flying helicopters today would be kept busy just with Travelodge residents.
Once we were packed and checked out we walked the bikes down the main street to get a few photos or a town that clearly made a living from both reasons for people to be here, although I’m not sure where the mockup of a Wild West town in the middle of it all fitted in.
As the towns are not ideally spread out for Route 66 cycling, the choice for today was a 40-mile day or a 120-mile day, or day ending in the middle of nowhere. As 120 miles isn’t an option for us and we didn’t feel like wild camping, the decision was Seligman.
Just a couple of miles out of Williams we joined the only road available to us heading in the direction of Seligman, the I-40. At the top of the on-ramp was a reminder that we are getting closer to our final destination, our first Low Angeles road sign.
As interstate cycling goes, the route between Williams and Seligman isn’t all that bad with interesting scenery and some of the longest free-wheeling descents of the trip so far, with one being a full 6 miles without the need to pedal, but we were both happy to exit it when we came to the big Route 66 exit sign.
We had a picnic of melon, yoghurt and milk by the side of the road just after exiting the interstate while speaking to Feni (the daughter that doesn’t read my blog and has little interest in what her parents are up to).
The next twenty miles, cycling on the old Route 66 was almost all uphill, with interesting enough scenery to keep our minds off the initial 15 miles uphill stretch.
As we entered Seligman something went crack on my saddle and suddenly I was sitting on a seesaw. With only a mile to the hotel I balanced my bum on the saddle as best I could until we found the hotel, but clearly doing a balancing act for the next 500+ miles wasn’t going to be an option.
Again we checked into the cheapest hotel in town, although this one was 50 cents more expensive than last night’s hotel at $33.25. The hotel has been owned by a couple originally from Sri Lanka for the past 10 years but is in the process of switching over to an OYO hotel. The lovely lady checked us in, while her husband was in a heated discussion with another gentleman in the seats adjacent to the reception desk. Not that I would even listen in on a conversation, but it seems the hotel isn’t doing very well and there may be a problem with it changing to an OYO branded hotel if things don’t improve. From what I can tell, there is only one other guest staying here tonight.
I interrupted the conversation going on to my left for a moment when I asked the lady that was checking us in if there was a cycle store in Seligman. She responded that there was a gas station up the road that could inflate my tyres. Overhearing this, the owner said that there wasn’t’ and the younger guy that was giving him a hard time about booking numbers, added that he hadn’t seen one when he drove into town this morning, but there is definitely one in Kingman, in the next town just up the road.
Kingman, the next town up the road is in fact over 70 miles away along the interstate or two days cycle along Route 66.
Upon closer inspection the seat post bracket that holds the saddle in place, made of aluminium, had broken in two places, leaving two of the retaining bolts retaining nothing. On trying to remove one of the bolts with my allen key the key just spun around, making the original hexagonal-shaped hole a lovely round shaped hole. I did manage to get the bolt out, but it clearly wasn’t going to go back in again.
Deborah had been searching on Google maps while I was messing about with the bike and had found a garage half a mile up the road. This was the only chance I had as the only shares that I had with me that would fit the seat post was Gorilla Tape. I found the garage quite easily, only for a very helpful old chat with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and using one of his hands to rearrange something in his trouser pocket, to confirm they don’t have any bolts or washers. While it looked like a traditional garage, maybe it was one of those new garages that only fix cars that don’t have bolts and washers, so I thanked him and walked on. As luck would have it, the garage was next door to a General Store that seemed to sell everything from toilet paper to wood-burning stoves, but also had the best nut, bolt and washer department than I have seen anywhere.
The Chief Nut, Bolt and Washer Guru was there to help me. With my bike parked up next to the shelves that I was hoping contained a solution to my problem, Ryan started to go through all the possible nut and bolt options. After about 10 minutes he came to the conclusion that the bolt from the bike was neither metric nor imperial, with neither a fine nor coarse thread. Perfect.
We found a bolt that looked about the same as what I needed, but the tread didn’t match. Without many options, I bought it, together with a couple of washers. I then cycled the bike, minus an attached saddle, back to the hotel reminding myself while doing so not to sit down.
Back at the hotel and out of options I decided to go for the all or nothing option and used the bolt that I had just purchased and screwed it into the seatpost that I knew had a different thread. Either the bolt would cross-thread the little aluminium widget inside the seat post and hold firm, fixing my problem, or it wouldn’t and I would somehow need to cycle for two days to the nearest cycle shop without a saddle. Fortunately, the bolt cross-threaded the widget and held tight and with the two washers as something for the retaining bolt to retain, the seat post appears to be functional again, so much so, if it makes it to Kingman in two days I may just leave it as it is and add it to the list of things that need to be fixed back in Scotland.
With the bike functional, although not at pretty as it was this morning, we headed off in search of food. As the motel room has a microwave we both had a sudden craving for a jacket potato and beans. Thirty minutes and four shops later we had managed to confirm that Seligman does not have a single can of baked bean suitable for a vegetarian and that it has only six potatoes, costing 79 cents each, although without the baked beans that find was worthless. Back at the motel, we have dined on yesterday’s leftovers, including tortilla chips, salsa, bread, cheesecake and biscuits. The hunt in search of potatoes and beans was not all a waste as we did get a chance to check out all this little town has to offer the passing Route 66 tourist, which is, in fact, quite a lot.
We aren’t sure where we are heading for tomorrow as there is very little between here at Kingman, but Kingman seems just out of our reach for a single day’s cycling. So in preparation for a day of uncertainty, we are having an early night so that we have a chance of early morning to make the best use of the day. That said, a train has just gone through the town and while there was no blowing of horns the windows in our hotel room actually rattled.