19/06/2009 by Brigid.

The El Rancho is billed as a former “home of the stars”, as many westerns were made in the area during the 40’s and 50’s and numerous actors had stayed there. The bedrooms may be a little on the small side by today’s standards, but the hotel retains a lot of its retro charm. It also serves good steaks and Mexican dishes, and has a bar of its own. Not staying in the ‘official’ Rally HQ hotel (the ghastly Red Roof Inn) meant that we were pretty well free to choose our own itinerary for the day.

I was concerned that Mum would be worried if I didn’t call again today, so borrowed John’s mobile and left him to order breakfast. It was a beautiful morning as I sat outside in the sun, listening to birds nesting in the eaves of the hotel. It was quite warm compared with previous years, but there was still a pleasant cool breeze.

We blew through the Painted Desert but stopped in Winslow, Arizona. The Eagles’ famous ‘corner’ has been reconstructed after a fire last year, and it was now cordoned off with a police escort awaiting the main group. Again, very impressive organisation from George for his first year as Rally Master. I put some postcards in the post and posed with John for the obligatory photo, with the bronze statue, in front of the mural of the girl in the flat-bed Ford. We then speeded on to Flagstaff to sort out Joanne’s spectacle issue and had lunch while waiting for the new glasses.

The Gallup to Kingman day is one of my favourites of the Rally. The next stop was in Williams, Arizona, for a chocolate malt at Twisters. Then we joined I-40 as far as Seligman, where John had hoped to get Angelo Delgadillo to cut his hair. Here we met up with fellow stragglers, Willie and Jim (”the Irish”), Mark and Cathy, and Karen and her group.

Karen has been riding as much old road as possible due to Ed’s nephew, Mike, having the ropiest bike on the Rally. At speeds over 60, it develops an expensive-sounding knocking, so they have been keeping off the Interstates, with occasional comical consequences.

Today’s adventure began when a stretch of road they believed to be original Route 66, turned to gravel. They stopped and asked a police officer whether they could ride through. Reassured, they ignored a couple of warning signs, and found themselves in a flooded underpass, which was supported by scaffolding. The bikes, including Mike’s ancient Goldwing, made it through, but Bill’s trailer was simply too wide to pass between the supports. Determined not to be outdone, the four of them, Bill, Dave, Karen and Mike, unhitched the trailer, tipped it on edge, and carried it through. Sterling stuff, you might think. However, a few hundred yards further on, the gravel road petered out and became dirt … Reluctantly, they came to the conclusion that this was not Route 66 after all, and so began the painful process of retracing the 16 miles or so to where they had started.

We arrived in Kingman around 6.15pm: earlier than usual, but just slightly too late to join George for his night-time ride to the ghost town of Chloride.

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19/06/2009 by Brigid.

We really needed to catch up with some housekeeping this morning, so opted to stay behind while the rest of the group rode to Sandia Crest and/or Santa Fe. I went to reception to ask whether there was a Walmart or similar store in town.

The receptionist replied, “You’ve heard of the middle of nowhere, well, we’re on the outskirts … “

So, no hope, then, of recharging our phone card and, thus, no hope of calling mum today. We did our laundry, had breakfast, and set out to do a bit of shopping in Santa Fe, 100 miles down the road.

Our only real goal for the day was to eat lunch in Madrid, setting for the biker comedy, “Wild Hogs”. We decided to follow the old road, as per the itinerary, and ended up in a biker comedy of our own making. It has to be said, there are a few gaps in George’s itinerary.  Probably all very well, if you are travelling with the main group, but a little confusing otherwise. The trouble is that so many of the alignments of Route 66 are now little more than dirt roads, it is sometimes difficult to judge if you are going the wrong way. The sign, “DANGER – Active railroad – Look both ways”, probably should have given us a clue. Nevertheless, we ended up riding about a mile along a nice stretch of gravel road, before we finally admitted defeat and turned back.

By the time we actually arrived in Santa Fe and started to look for parking spaces, our enthusiasm for shopping had waned, and we were getting hungry. There were ominous clouds building, so we donned our wet weather gear.

It was gone 2pm when we arrived in Madrid, but we weren’t the last.Doug and Joanne had only just caught up, having ridden from Tucumcari, and there were a couple of groups still eating in the Mine Shaft Tavern, the interior of which was used for the Del Fuegos’ biker bar in the film.

The clouds stayed with us for the rest of the day, though we had only the odd sprinkle of a shower. However, the wind was fierce, whipping my head around whenever I checked the road behind me, and ripping Joanne’s glasses right off her nose. Despite a thorough, and rather hazardous, search of the shoulder, we had to admit they were gone for good. So we stopped again a few miles on so that she could ring her optician for a prescription and, in the meantime, tried to help out another biker who had lost his oil sump plug. After a long and futile discussion with the two men, we donated some two-part epoxy and a spare bolt that looked as if it might fit … and left them gauping at the slick of oil that was slowly forming under the old Kawasaki. Ah well, you can lead a horse to water …

The only other stop was at the Continental Divide, where a fabulous double rainbow appeared briefly, and we were joined by a loan Spaniard riding a Harley. Having exchanged pleasantries and taken his photo – well, as I pointed out to him, no one else was going to – we were on our way again. It was about 7.30pm by the time we arrived at the El Rancho hotel in Gallup.

Donny and Rose greeted us with the news that Gary had been in surgery for six hours and was still on a respirator.  His leg had been amputated above the knee …

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19/06/2009 by Brigid.

Needless to say, everyone was highly amused to hear John’s tale of woe regarding the Tiger’s alarm system. However, in attempting to prove that it was now disarmed, John actually discovered that there was still some life in the system’s internal battery. The thing must have gone off six or more times before eventually falling silent. No matter.< This time it didn’t delay us unduly.

We were an hour or so behind the main group, which meant they had already moved on by the time we reached Sayre, where Doug wanted to take a picture outside the famous courthouse. I never saw “The Grapes of Wrath”, but a scene was filmed there.

We followed the old road into Erick, where we caught up with Pat Evans’ group. The Mediocre Music Makers had finished their show, so there was no reason to hang around. We joined up with Pat and rode on to the U-Drop-Inn in Shamrock, and then to McLean for lunch at the Red River Steak House.

We had barely sat down when Pat announced that Gary had had an accident. Details were few, but it appeared that he had broken a leg and collar bone riding through some construction. However, it soon became apparent that this was much more serious than we had initially thought. It seems that Gary and Len were riding on a stretch of old 66 when they came across a huge heap of asphalt piled in the middle of the road. Len managed to avoid it, but Gary was less fortunate and, in his mirror, Len caught sight of him catapulting high into the air, as his bike struck the obstruction.

Gary’s leg was badly broken and bleeding profusely. The emergency services were amazing and within minutes a helicopter arrived and he was medevac’d to hospital.

What little news there was continued to filter in throughout the day, with most people expressing genuine shock that something like that could have happened to an experienced rider like Gary on this ride. We rode on to the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo and ate homemade ‘Ugly Crust’ pie at the Midpoint Café in Adrian. But, try though we might to enjoy ourselves, Gary’s accident occupied our thoughts for the rest of the day.

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