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The last leg of my journey was the least well-planned. I had a vague
idea, thanks to a cycling book I had read, to follow "Route 66" from Los
Angeles to Chicago, without really knowing much about the road, more
than it is where you "get your kicks", according to the 1940's musician,
Bobby Troop. In fact, from the start of the route, where Santa Monica
Boulevard meets the Pacific Ocean in California, my journey has been
filled with interesting people and places, and with good roads and a
prevailing westerly wind, I can't think of a better cycling route across
the States.
First, a little bit of history....
The route, built in fact in a westerly direction from Chicago to Los
Angleles, was the first fully paved road in America. Built during the first
40 years of the 20th century, both to support the development of the motor
car and to increase military mobility, it is known as the Mother Road, or
Main Street of America. In the mid- 1930's the devastating drought of the
Midwest forced farmers west in search of work and food, and the road became
a vital lifeline for many families, in a migrant trail immortalised in John
Steinbeck's novel, The Grapes of Wrath.
Later, the post-war boom and developing love of travel and the motor car,
saw Americans travelling the route for leisure. The businesses that sprang
up around the road were to service travellers' needs; motels, diners,
campgrounds and gas-stations.
By the end of the 1960's, the birth of the Interstate network had a
crippling effect on the old road, pushing aside many settlements and many of
the businesses with them, forcing them to close. Today, some survive, mainly
as museums and memorabilia stores, and the route has become a nostalgic ride
down memory lane for many travellers.
The road stretches for 2,448 miles, across 8 states and 4 time- lines,
and of the 87% of it still preserved, all is suitable for cycling.
I began my journey cycling out of the busy suburbs of Los Angeles and
climbed up through the San Gabriel mountains. Two weeks later, I was still
climbing when I reached Flagstaff at 7000 feet. And it was freezing cold,
with snow on the ground. I suffered for several days on the bike in my
shorts and half-fingered gloves, but the snow did at least make for a very
pretty excursion through the ponderosa pine forests to the Grand Canyon.
I had a surreal moment in the high prairie lands of the Arizona Desert.
Cycling on a near deserted, endlessly flat road, I became aware of a
smart-looking car parked on the verge, 200 yards ahead of me. As I got
nearer, I could see the driver; a well-dressed young man who was standing
behind the vehicle, facing me. He was looking directly at me. Nothing to
worry about there, but as I approached, I could see he was holding a small
gun to his right eye, pointing it directly at me. I could see the silver
metal glistening in the sun. I thought, "am I imagining things? I know this
is America, but...."
Mechanically, I cycled towards him and sure enough, his head and arm,
poised, followed my movement along the road. I felt it would be stupid to
stop. What would I do then, anyway? I was within 20 yards of him, and had
made up my mind to sprint past as quickly as I could, but as I veered
instinctively towards the middle of the road to pass him, Aiden, a cheery
tourist, lowered from his eye......his tiny hand-held video camera, and
greeted me with, "Hi, how ya doin'? Cycling the States? Awesome!"
As I staggered to a stop, I tried to look as normal as possible, but it
was some minutes before I could speak.
The desert certainly plays tricks with your eyes, and your mind....
America is all about size and choice, and nowhere is this more evident
than in the world of food and drink. (Yes I'm back on that subject again...)
The superstore chain called "Big/Lots" sets the scene nicely. The choice is
always big, and there is always lots and lots of it.
You want a coffee in a service station? Set aside about 20 minutes to
assimilate this lot: regular, decaffeinated, espresso, cappuccino,
choc-cappuccino, white chocolate caramel, strawberry surprise, cinnfully
nutty, vanilla, low-calorie cappuccino, and the intriguingly-named 'English
toffee coffee'.
Want cream in that? Try half 'n half, coffee-mate, amaretto, hazelnut,
Irish crème, French vanilla, chocolate crème, kahlua, cinnamon...
What about size? Can't go lower than 12 fluid ounces, but please choose
from 16, 20, 24, 32, or an incredible 44 fluid ounce cup. (That's nearly 3
pints by my reckoning...)
I just love the bakery stand that proclaims:
"We have Large Danishes, Big Muffins, Giant Cookies, Super Cakes."
Mmm, yes please.
Of course, it's not all plain sailing, because in the States, we Brits
also have to learn a new language.
Fries are chips, chips are crisps, candy is chocolate, chocolate is a
drink, muffins are sponge cakes, hot-cakes are pancakes, cookies are
biscuits, and this morning at breakfast, I finally worked out that biscuits
are, in fact, scones.
From Arizona, my journey has continued through some of the most diverse
scenery in the world. The red rock formations and snow- capped Sangre de
Cristo mountains of New Mexico have given way to the flat panhandle and
cattle ranches of northern Texas, which in turn have become green rolling
hills and field in Oklahoma. With 1400 miles behind me, I have now turned
north-east to head up towards Chicago, before turning east once more to New
York.
Finally for now, I have some sad news to report. After 10 months, 24
countries and 9,300 miles, the roads of America have managed to supply
something that all the roads of Europe, Asia, India and Australasia, could
not. An object, (namely a staple), sharp enough to penetrate one of my
tyres. Yes, a puncture! Oh well, I suppose all good things must come to an
end. For the record, my luck in this department ran out in Elk City,
Oklahoma.
America just keeps getting better and better and better.... Leaving the
desert and prairie lands behind me, I cycled through the green rolling hills
of Missouri; one of the prettiest States that I crossed. At the Mississippi
River, the hills ended with the State Line to Illinois, and it was flat and
windy for several days, reminding me of some of my first cycle touring
experiences in Normandy, France.
Indiana passed quickly and eventually I was on the shores of Lake Erie in
Ohio. Ten days of the most wonderful cycling followed, along the Lake,
watching the migratory birds en route to Canada, and touring the many
lighthouses and museums in the area.
Just when I thought it can't get any better than this, I reached
Pennsylvania and picked up the Seaway Trail, a marked cycle route all the
way to New York State and Niagara Falls.
This has been the longest Spring I have ever known. Leaving the west coast
in "springtime" March, I am still in "springtime" May on the east side of
this vast country. And despite the country having experienced some of its
worst spring weather for many years, I have managed to sail along in a
corridor of blue sky and sunshine, aided by a tailwind of the sort we
cyclists only ever dream about.
I am sold on America, and it has mostly to do with the wonderful people
here. I have met with kindness, enthusiasm, well-wishers and generosity
everywhere. From the motel owner back in Arizona, who carefully left some
bottles of mineral water on my bicycle for my day's journey, to the family
in California who insisted on buying me a Route 66 map in return for
"cycling across our huge country, man!" From the owner of the coffee shop in
New Mexico, who wouldn't take payment for my latte, but thanked me "just for
stopping by", to the lady in the library who wouldn't let me leave my
internet booth without giving me a big hug and promising to email me. From
the tea- shop owner in Ohio who insisted on calling out the local press
officer to interview me for the Ohio Sentinel Tribune, to the otherwise-sane
middle-aged man in Groom, Oklahoma, who asked me for my autograph, as "we
ain't seen nothin' like this in our liddle town, girl, nawt never!"
What a wonderful place!
I have just left the most amazing sight of my journey. The Americans use the
word "awesome" to describe a whole range of things; it is entirely suitable
to describe the Niagara Falls. I could have taken a much more direct route
across the States from coast to coast, and reckon I have added about 600
miles to reach Niagara Falls, which is some detour, but I can honestly say
it was worth the extra effort.
From here,
I will cycle for ten more days to New York City, to finish my unforgettable
journey.
The wettest Spring in the north east for many a year, predictably
cleared up just in time for me the cross New York State, along the Erie
Canal to Albany, and finally down the Hudson River into a hot and steamy
New York City. Somehow I arrived right on schedule on Monday 6th June,
and reflected that in the 12 weeks I spent in the United States, I only
felt the rain on 2 of those days. Such great weather certainly helped to
enhance the whole American experience.
I spent 82 days in the States, cycling 3671 miles and taking 303
hours and 8 minutes to do so. Other than 3 nights in the excellent Santa
Monica Youth Hostel in Los Angeles, I took advantage of the convenient
motel network for accommodation. I had my only puncture of the entire
trip in Oklahoma, and changed my bike's rear wheel due to a split rim.
After 3 days sightseeing in the Big Apple, I have boarded the QM2
liner for the 6-day transatlantic crossing to Southampton - a wonderful
end to an unforgettable journey.
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