17/06/2009 by Brigid.

The day started promisingly enough. I made a quick call to Mum, while John looked up a list of BMW Motorrad dealers for Gary, whose bike was leaking oil. We packed up our bikes and went for breakfast, with the intention of riding with Karen, Dave, Mike and Bill.

We checked the room and John drove his bike round to reception to hand in the room keys. Meanwhile, Karen’s party pulled into the adjacent gas station to fill up. However, when John got back to his bike, he found he could not disarm the alarm. Nothing seemed to work and, naturally, as soon as he tried to move the bike, the alarm sounded. We were going nowhere.

Of course, this would have to happen on a Monday, as no self-respecting bike dealer is ever open on a Monday. I tried Datatool’s website, but succeeded only in crashing the reception computer. There was nothing for it but to call Carl Rosner in South Croydon.

To give them their due, the technician was sympathetic and helpful … and, to give John his due, he had foreseen possible problems with the alarm system, and had brought all the spare parts he had received when he bought it. All we had to do was to undo four screws and replace the bike wiring with the clever little box of tricks provided for the purpose. John set about digging out the plastic plugs that conceal the screws. The alarm went off. We put our fingers in our ears and let it stop before continuing. They eventually revealed four tamper-proof bolts for which a special bit would be required. Naturally, despite having each brought a fairly complete toolkit, we hadn’t got the necessary tool. Luckily, there was a good auto parts store in town …

So, with every minor disturbance now triggering the alarm, John and I put in our earplugs and dismantled the power source. The box of tricks was duly installed but … still the alarm was sounding. For the third time, we called the UK. “Ah, yes”, said Rosner’s man, “you will have to wait for the internal battery to run down … should take about 20 minutes …”

In the event, the alarm stopped after a couple of minutes and we were on the move at last. To be honest, so much time had elapsed since everyone else had left, that we didn’t expect to catch up. So, rather than blasting on, John and I calmed our frazzled nerves by exploring the day’s itinerary on our own. We followed the suggested route out of town to find a section of the original narrow ribbon road. We turned right onto South Main Street and were doing 35-40 mph as we suddenly found it. George’s itinerary warned of “some gravel”, but we really weren’t prepared to find ourselves surfing along at those speeds. The question was, “where was the ribbon road?” This road seemed to be mostly gravel with a small area of broken concrete in the centre. For a while we road along the centre, until we decided that it was actually easier to stand on the pegs and ride the thicker gravel to the side. It was only then that I noticed a narrow curb bordering the concrete on both sides. So that was the ribbon road! To be fair, it did get better further on, but we did wonder how the main group of 30 or so bikes would have faired.

We had visited the excellent Will Rogers Museum in Claremont on previous trips, but had planned to stop at the Gun Museum this time. However, time was getting on, and we really wanted to have lunch at the recently rebuilt Rock Café (devastated by fire last year) in Stroud. So we decided to put the pedal to the metal and hit the Interstate.

In fact, I-44 between Joplin and Oklahoma City is a toll road, the Will Rogers Turnpike and, as we discovered, getting on and off it in the right places can be a bit tricky. Suffice to say, we ended up taking a 3-mile eastbound detour before heading west.

After a quick snack at the much-improved Rock Café, we followed George’s itinerary through Wellston, where a bank in the main street displayed the current temperature of 99°F, and Arcadia. We pulled into the car park at the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum in Oklahoma City at about 4.45pm … and parked next to a familiar Honda Goldwing and trailer.

We found Doug and Joanne inside, taking a break from the heat. The museum was about to close. We took a quick peek at the giant landscape paintings in the auditorium, and bought a T-shirt and mug in the gift shop. Since it was now rush hour, we took refuge in Braums’ ice cream parlour for half an hour or so. Then we joined I-40 for a fast run to our hotel in Clinton, stopping just once to see the brand new Lucille’s diner, just a few miles on from the now deserted original in Hydro. It was late by the time we got in.

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17/06/2009 by Brigid.

The best way, we thought, not to get lost, would be to follow former Rally Master, Pat Evans. After all, we thought, who, having ridden The Mother Road, every year since the Rally began, could possibly know the road better …

Each year, Bourbeuse Valley Harley Davidson, the only H-D dealer with the distinction of being directly on old Route 66, lays on an exclusive Sunday breakfast of Krispy Kreme Do-nuts, fruit, coffee and juice, for the Rally participants … and each year, we have apparently been with the only group of riders to get lost and miss out. With that in mind, we hooked up with Pat and a small posse of old hands.

The dealership opens specially for the group and breakfast is free. Well, ‘free’ in the sense that you are welcome to help yourself to as much as you want. However, few people who go there leave without buying the odd extra T-shirt, quart of oil or chrome accessory. I suspect, forking out for a couple of hundred Krispy Kremes and some nice fruit, is well worth their while. And, with such a helpful team of sales assistants, it would be rude not to …

Following breakfast, Pat wanted to ride a bit of the old road: perhaps a bit that he hadn’t had the chance to see with the group in previous years. We followed a clearly-marked stretch for a while after leaving the dealer until a sign directed us across an Interstate bridge. At the T-junction, there was no clue as to which way we should go, so we turned right. Some miles further on, Pat’s voice came over the CB, “I’m not sure, but this road doesn’t look right to me”. “That’s because we’re going the wrong way”, came the reply. Unfortunately, it quickly became evident to the GPS-users, that we had already gone too far to simply turn back. The next major intersection was 40 miles on.

No one worried. We all had plenty of fuel, and it was a lovely road, twisting and turning and undulating, at one point like a giant roller-coaster, through cool green forests and pretty villages proudly displaying the star-spangled banner on every street lamp. “How thoughtful of these folks to honour my Birthday”, joked Pat over the CB, “I’m truly humbled”. “Say again, Pat”, someone cracked, “You’re what? Crumbled?”

On and on we rode, further and further from our intended path, until we came to a small town called Potosi. The various GPS units had been giving conflicting information about road names, so I pulled out our road atlas – for no better reason than just to get some idea of how far we had ridden. Pat came over. “If I’m going to be asked where we got to today, I’d better know the name of the forest”. I found it on the map, the ‘Mark Twain National Forest’. “This is part of the ‘Lewis and Clark Trail’”, volunteered John. “Oh good”, said Pat, “Then I can tell people we did this on purpose … it’s a sort of ‘make-it-up-as-you-go’ tour”.

Your secret is safe with us, Pat!

We parted company after lunch. I was being just a little too slow in changing from water-proofs to warm weather gear. By the time I had stuffed my rain jacket away in its roll-bag and bungeed it back onto the seat, the others already had their engines running. We said we would catch them up but, in the event, they had a ten minute start on us, so we didn’t see them again until the Eisler Brothers Store in Riverton, where a TV reporter was interviewing several participants about their experiences on Route 66.

Then we spent a few minutes taking photos at the Rainbow Bridge which used to mark the State Line on Route 66, between Missouri and Kansas, before heading for our Miami hotel and dinner at Montana Mike’s.

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