Pomona -> Santa Monica, CA
3441 -> 3495 (54 miles)

Whoo-Hoo! I made it, all the way across the country, all by myself! Damn.

Not really, not all by myself. I made it with all the freedom, love, and support of Melanie Clements, the totally cool one; with the head-shaking smile of Peter Clements, and his own awesome example of focus. I made it with all the worry and prayers of Mom, all my brothers, sisters, partners, and their kids; with the support of everyone at Peddie, colleagues, students, friends all; and with the help and support of everyone I met all along the way. The unrelenting kindness of everyday people meeting and connecting with an everyday guy doing something a bit offbeat, has been a steady inspiration. Nobody over the age of six does anything "all by myself."

Speaking of which,...Lloyd girls: "Monster Dude," a green plastic scary monster with fearsome teeth set on the rear of my bike facing aft has done a terrific job guarding against the dangers behind me I could not see. There were plenty, and Monster Dude met the challenge.

I was met at Santa Monica by Mary-Ann Pomerleau and her friend Rich, in town today for some fancy AFI affair honoring George Lucas. Those who know Principio should smile at the convergence of forces and the serendipity of my finishing my own "signature experience" in the quiet company of someone who saw Principio start.

Flying across Foothills Boulevard, old 66 here in town, then crossing further on Los Feliz, and then ripping my way to the ocean on Santa Monica Boulevard -- allt this was a steady rush all day. Leaving a KOA in the morning, zipping across Hollywood, then crossing Rodeo Drive to finish at Ocean Avenue and Wilshire Boulevard, was an American symbol stretch. Put differently, I had a short stack of pancakes and coffee in a diner in LaVerne with patrons with tattoos and waitresses with attitude; I had had a light lunch on the veranda of the Wilshire Miramar with friends heading off to a black tie dinner. Welcome to America.

More later folks. Right now I need to find a place to stay, and then figure out how to get home. Details, details.

pax,

--PJClements

Tuesday, June 7, Day 70
3325- ??
Barstow ->

I made it across the Mojave desert. Those who have worried about this section of the trip (me, my mother, Catherine,...) may now exhale.

This report will be brief for now, but I'll expand on several incidents soon.

A slow morning in Needles as I planned my Mojave crossing. I explored the three I-40 interchanges in Needles, go the scoop on both bus and train transportation, and then headed to the pharmacy for poster board and a marker for my sign:
"X-Country Cyclist seeks lift to BARSTOW"
I tried it out at the Wagon Wheel truck stop, with no luck. Then at the Mobil Station interchange. No luck. Finally, I headed to the entrance ramp at the last interchange, where I met fellow ride seeker Clarence Brown. Clarence was heading to Barstow, having been ripped off by the friends he heas in Needles to help. $800 taken from his wallet while he showered. Denied a drink because he only had 16 cents. Tall and handsome in a southwest way, Clarence had the weathered face of a 60 year old man who'd worked outside. His jeans and his western shirt were pressed, his boot and belt nicely oiled and broken in. His hair looked like it once could have done what Porter Waggoner's did, but it was modest now, more modern. His left forearm and hand were wrapped in a bracem no longer useful. "The heat's killing me. I'm heading back to Barstow, and then maybe up to Big Bear Lake where it's cooler. I can't stand it much more." I shared what little water I had, and the loaned Clarence my sign while I pedaled off for more water and a couple of sandwiches. Clarence gave me his spot at the ramp for a while. "I'll go nap under those trees. Maybe you'll have more luck than me. Four hours and not a ride yet. But I'm not in a hurry. The check doesn't arrive until the first of the month."

I did my dance and wave my sign, and in about a half hour a pickup with a couple inside pulled over. "Can you ride in the back?" asked the driver. So I opened the tailgate, hauled bup my bike into the pickup bed, and climbed in with my rig. Clarence came over. We shook hands and he said good luck, looking sad. My ride took off, hit 75 before the on-ramp ended, and I watched Needles, the Mohave Valley, and the thin green tree line of the Colorado River recede we climbed up into the desert. Two hours and 139 miles of speed desert later, Rickles pulled over, uplatched the tailgate and said "Here's Barstow!" I barely got my bike off and whook his hand before he was off again and I was on the western edge of the desert, glad not to have attempted by bike what I just watched from the wind-blasted rear of a Chevy crew cab pickup.

Sitting in the truck bed watching what we'd just passed, I waved at all the truckers we passed, and giggled at the adventure I was on. Here I was, a grown man, jostled in the back of a pickup truck like a load of farm gear, leaning back against my saddlebags, wearing a a yellow jersey, a bike helmet, and a big grin, waving at westbound vacationers pulling speedboats and RVs. Sure beat trying to pedal 100 miles from water in Needles to water Ludlow, then 40 more to Barstow, all against a powerful wind. I was as happy as could be.

This morning I've crossed the remainder of the Mojave, reaching Victorville. The next challenge is to climb to the El Cajon pass to cross the San Gabriel Mountains into San Bernadino. From there, it's downhill to LA ! Not too many miles left, but I better leave the library now and go figure out a plan for these last mountains.

--PJClements

Sunday, June 5, Day 68
Kingman ->Needles CA
3247 -> 3307

Thursday: Flagstaff -> Sleigman (77)
Friday: Seligman -> Truxton (52)
Saturday: Truxton -> Kingman (44)
Sunday: Kingman -> Needles, CALIFORNIA!!! (60)

The past few days have been terrific. The desert is lovely, especially in the morning when the winds are calm, the light sharp, and the air ethereal. From Flagstaff I had a run on I-40 for a while, but was able to pick up 66 through the Kaibab Forest, a solo ride through cool Ponderosa pine, an easy climb. At a bend in the road, a coyote and I crossed paths in the early morning quiet, each of us pausing, nodding to each other, and then continuing off on our traveling business.

I met Ed and Lauren Hodgens of Atlanta at a break, Lauren following a fiance to Las Vegas for the next part of her life, Ed helping her, his daughter, set up in a new home, one his last Dad moves, both clearly excited about their family work together.

After a stop in Williams and the JavaCycle coffee shop (coffe? bicycles? MY kind of place!), I headed out for another section of Interstate. Soon, however, after Ash Fork, 66 resumed, and I had a great ride in the wind alone into Seligman, home of the 66 revival.

Route 66 and I-40 part company here in Seligman, the new road heading south to cross the next range, 66 heading north toward the Grand Canyon, then looping south to Kingman. Services occur rarely, so I cut the whole Kingman ride into two days, to gain some mastery over wind and thirst. Perfect! I thus relaxed and enjoyed the desert, stopping to explore ruins along the road, taking my time to sun dry myself on warm rocks, tuning into the arid majesty of wind, rock, and sand.

Truxton was a short stop at the Frontier Motel, a 66 Classic, and a terrific conversation at the Frontier Saloon with Ruth Gordon, a 78 year old Arizonian transplant from Arkansas (55 years ago); Jen and Henry, two Dutch travelers visiting the American west; and Philip Quasala, a Havasupai who grew up on the reservation just north of Truxton. More on these folks' dreams later.

Saturday was an easy roll down from Truxton through the Crozier Canyon, a quick stop at the general store in Hackberry as the long drop toward Kingman continued, and then a long flat valley ride into town alongside the 66's old friend, the Santa Fe railroad.

From Kingman I headed out to do some more climbing on old 66, up toward Oatman with the 22 switchbacks heading up, and then some 27 more heading down toward the valley toward Topock. The ride up to the Sitgreaves Pass in teh Black Mountains was one of the coolest sections of the trip, a pure sweat busting climb on an old empty road. The climb included terrifying glimpses down into the valley, wild mountain burros braying and honking across the valley, and images of early 1930s families worrying their way up this pass, cars laden with extra water bags, oil and gears vaporizing with the grind. Midway up the mountain I stopped at the only civilization in sight, the Cool Springs Camp, a restored original highway stop, a stone building with cold drinks, pleasant conversation, two old gas pumps, and the memory of all who'd passed before.

Oatman, an old gold mining town and modern tourist attraction (gunfights occur a couple of times each weekend afternoon, right out in the street), has a good old hotel, where I rested while chatting with some local guys at the bar. Meanwhile, burros wandered and schmoozed outside, wheedling carrots from tourists and posing for pictures.

I headed west out of Oatman on a shortcut to Needles, the temperature rising as I headed downhill into the Mohave Valley. By the time I hit valley below, waves of heat were rolling up, and I rode the last 20 miles into the wind to Needles with my head down. I crossed to Colorado River into California, gave a feeble cheer, and flopped down into a $25 motel on old 66.

I think finding a ride across the Mojave Desert is a good idea. I'll head into town, buy some poster board for a sign, and see if I can finagle a lift to Barstow.

More later folks. I'm in my last state now, and Santa Monica seems like a possibility, and in just a few days!!!

-- PJClements

Tuesday, May 31, Day 63
Holbrook -> Flagstaff, AZ
98 miles, 3059 total

Sunday, Gallup to Chambers, 50 miles, was a terrific ride, though challenging because of the afternoon west wind. Through the Navajo nation, the stuff along the road, including 66 itself, disappears, and the ride is a long reflection. In the middle of a long pull between towns, the Chieftain Motel arose, my only option given the distances.

Monday was a 51 mile grind against a steady gale, from first pedal stroke to the last, a collapse into the KOA in the railroad town of Holbrook, a town "too rough for women or children." A short Monday required a long Tuesday, a 96 mile ride from Holbrook to Winslow (30) miles, and then to Flagstaff, with nothing, even water, in between. After standing on the corner of 2nd and Main, waiting in vain for for the sweet love in a flatbed Ford that might save me this day, I filled up with water, packed my backpack with ice, and headed for the road. All day long the distant, snow-capped peaks of the San Francisco mountains were a mesmerizing beacon, accompanied first by high desert scrub, then by red rock washes, then a long stretch of grassland that looked ready for buffalo, and then, just before Winona ("And don't forget Winona"), a rise to 6000 feet and a new spread of pine, for an hour just taller trees not blasted by the open winds, but then, as I climbed still and the San Francisco peak grew enormous, the tall thick Ponderosa pine of high western forest. I had another 300 yards or so left in me when I checked into the Flagstaff KOA, a truly happy camper.

Wednesday will be short: some bike maintenance, a laundry gig, some noodling around Flagstaff and a walk-in at a realtor. Melanie and both liked Flagstaff ten years ago on our cross-country motor trip with Peter Clements, the "Aliens Tour." Maybe we'll come here for the next section of our lives. (Nothing too soon. WAY down the road, so relax, Mr. Headmaster.)

After Flagstaff, there comes Williams and then Seligman, and then a long section of original and remote Route 66. Cool. Sure would appreciate an east wind.

Enjoyed camp neighbors Don and Shannon deYoung, and 6th grade Dylan and 10th grade Brittany, of Calvert City, Kentucky. On a family vacation to see the west, including the Grand Canyon tomorrow, they were friendly and generous neighbors, sharing some dinner, a cold beer (verrry cold...umm, excellent), and a healthy approach to life. "You know, after 9/11, a lot of people just said, Hey, you gotta take it easy, and live a little and share. You know, we're all Americans over here. We're all family. If you want to be a jerk, go over to Iraq or something," said Don, while grilling up a mound of burgers. A muscle of a man with a quick wit and a buzz cut, Don has a warm, gruff way with his youngsters, like your favorite bear. Don works on the river barges between Pittsburgh and Southpoint, Ohio, one month on and then the next month on, leaving him lots of time in big blocks to play with his family. Shannon, who works with the EMT, seems a good partner and foil, unflappable and steady. I hope they get to hike down into the Canyon tomorrow, and then go home to Kentucky and tell a thousand stories back of Billy the Kid, the great Canyon, and all their daring exploits.

--PJClements

Sunday May 29, Day 61
Gallup NM -> ?
2862 ->

Today the young men and women of Peddie's senior class graduate, and I feel a bit flat, for the joy embedded in this ritual, a mix of formality and exuberance beneath the tent on Peddie's center lawn, is a deep, smooth pleasure. Students I've known and worked with in the classroom, on the fields, in the dorm, on bicycles in Tennessee, celebrate a liminal moment in their lives, and we get to do it together as a community. The morning is electric with promise; the ceremonies are swollen with accomplishment; and the afternoon, after the seniors have all left, after their rooms have all been emptied, and after their families and friends have all driven away, is full of the quiet exhale of summer. I'll miss saying farewell to many of the kids and their parents, but I'm happy too that we're all heading off to follow dreams.

For me, today, that's the Arizona line, and it's only about 24 miles down the road.

--PJClements

Saturday May 28, Day 60
Gallup, NM, 2862 miles

These have been some terrific days, crossing New Mexico, and the rides from Albuquerque to Grants (83 miles), the then Grants to Gallup (66) were spectacular. Physical space uses a different exponent system here than in the east; time is more clearly visible in the land; and the four elements have asserted their primacy. Approaching Grants on a rising road, I noticed the mesas on the north and south slowly converging, and soon it was clear that old 66, the railroad, I-40, and the Rio Puerco would all squeeze together through a narrow pass. The locomotives' diesels, the trucks's loud gearing, and my breathing labored louder as we pulled closer to a half mile opening, towers of wind and river cuts focusing all these moving men and machines, then releasing us out into another flat valley, higher now, but layered with lava, the fourth element grinding through this scene. The next day, riding into Gallup, the staggered northern mesas slowly let me pass, each tilted up slightly, their strata parallel, their heads jutting out like so many Gibraltars. Church Rock and Cathedral Rock announced the town, and I was glad to arrive.

My stay in Gallup was lovely and special, thanks to the warm welcome of Jason Slesher, Experiential Programs Manager of the National Indian Youth Leadership Project, who welcomed me into his house, his city, his home. I pulled into town, found a bike shop for more patches and fresh rubber (miles on I-40, though easy, is killing my tires -- those damned wires from shredded truck tires), and then a terrific crew at The Coffee House, an upbeat joint on Coal Street. There I met several young folks, some cyclists, and enjoyed the streetscene prep for a punk concert that night in the grand El Morro Theatre down the block. Everyone seemed enthused about Gallup, its rich potential, the clear civic progress of the present administration, and the richness of the cultural power of Gallup.

After clearning up a bit, Jason took me to meet some colleagues, young Jeff Benham, a recent high school graduate who is deeply involved in land conservation, helping build trails on new city land, working with younger high school students in several of the NIYLP outreach programs, helping too in Search and Rescue. Raelynne Randolph, also of NIYLP, joined us for dinner, and she too was a great ambassador for the city and its spirit. All these people were busy creating themselves, not settling for the dispiriting, seeking rather growth and ownership. In family, in work, in politics -- all portions of their idea of community -- these folks were joyfully taking command of their lives by building their home.

After dinner, Jason toured me around Gallup, through the town, up into the hills to the north and the edges of the Zuni mountains to the south. In the morning, we went to the Saturday market for breakfast, for jewelry, and the mix of cultures that markets create. We talked geography, religion, anthropology, pedagogy -- a marvelous time. An accomplished and centered man, Jason is another special person who makes clear Tanya Shaffer's comment that "Travel gives strangers the opportunity to amaze you."

-- PJClements

Wednesday, May 25, Day 57
Moriarty -> Albuquerque NM
2656 -> 2703 (47 miles)

A long day yesterday, 84 miles from Santa Rosa, where I took a rest day, to
Moriarty, NM, the western edge of the Great Plains. At the end of the day, the Sandia Mountains rose in the west, making it clear that the vast rolling of some the plains was over. Vast will continue, but here in the beginning of the Basin and Range portion of the continent, we have rock upthrust by faulting again, something I haven't seen since Tennessee. And these babies look big, too.

Yesterday's ride was all in I-40, beneath which the remnants of old 66 lie
expired. The wind was sweet in the morning for an easy 40 miles. In the afternoon the wind switched to the west, so the ride was more of a grind. Except for three flat tires, each the result of the tiny wires that lie about after truckers' tires disintegrate on the interstate. Missing the big chunks of dead tires is easy; picking up the insidious invisible wires is inevitable.

Today's ride was back on old 66 as I headed into Albuquerque. A lot of
climbing into the Sandias was rewarded by a long roll down into Albuquerque. I
stopped by "The Bike Coop, Ltd" for some of the necessary brotherhood, and met some terrific riders, both teachers. Stephen Knight Williamson, of Active Knowledge Adventures, was an inspiration, working on his maters into order to found a charter school based on experiential learning. His "bike and barge" trip to England of a couple of summers ago sounded awesome, as did special ride along the old, original Santa Fé Trail. I'll be in touch with him later when I'm done.

The rest of today will be exploring town a bit, finding a cheap motel (plenty of $25 places on the way into town, so there must be some on the way out too), writing up a terrific conversation with two young men from Santa Rosa, and getting set for a long ride to Grants NM. Leaving town along 66 includes something the locals call "Nine Mile Hill." I wonder what that's about.

I'm making progress every day. Finally, I think I will make it to California, something I wasn't sure of a few weeks ago. Something like being a senior and wondering whether you'll ever get all the work done to make it to graduation.

--PJClements

Monday, May 23, Day 55
Santa Rosa, NM
2568 miles from Peddie

Greetings, all, from the public library in Santa Rosa, NM (scuba diving capital of the southwest). After 96, 52, 81, and 67 mile days and a lot of time out in the increasingly bright sun, and with a forecast for high 90s today and a plan that called for an 87 straight line run from here to Moriarity (pinto bean capital of the WORLD!), I woke this morning with a body that said, "Seems like a good rest day, bonehead. You're feeling strong, but your left foot is a bit tender, your right shoulder is a little crinkly from riding so long in the aero bars, and your plan needs a little more reseach." So, contravening a long career of not paying attention to good advice, I didn't merely nod at this wisdom. Today I am exploring the town of Santa Rosa; visiting the "blue hole" that attracts scuba divers to this desert spot; and figuring if it makes more sense to ride up toward Santa Fe on the original, pre 1937 track of Route 66, and then head southwest, and down, toward Albuquerqe, or to follow my present plan and take the straight shot toward Albuquerque. Getting local knowledge on whether services (water) actually exist at what appear on the map to be towns will be the order of the afternoon. I won't see wireless for a while, nor, perhaps, public libraries, so there may not be postings here for a couple of days.

In an odd way, these last few days have been uneventful. When I'm on old 66, it is generally a frontage road to I-40, and there is no traffic, other than a ranch pickup every half houror so, or, once or twice a day, a passenger car with out-of-state plates following the old road too, the shotgun passenger waving as they pass. Also, yesterday, on a long straightaway a couple hundred yards south of the interstate, a west bound trucker gave a long blast on the horn and then pumped his arm out his window as he rolled on by. That little piece of contact and encouragement lit me up for twenty miles. I've discovered that I can look up at a mesa that's six or seven miles away, and then allow my mind to explore places and ideas slowly, all the while pedalling strong and stready progress to the distant landmark. I couldn't do this back in Virginia. The landscape was too stimulating, my mind too busy, the movement of distance and time too tight to let loose and think for long blocks. Like meditation, prayer, or long classes, stretching out takes practice and progression. Here now, my body is able to pedal out big mile days unremarkably, I'm conditioned to drinking every six minutes (Ironman watches are grea tools), and as the distant buttes and mesas provide slower moving landmarks, my mind and imagination are filling up the space nicely. So? I'm glad I went from east to west; endorphins are good; the mind is unbelievably elastic; and not bringing electronic entertainment was a great decision.

More later from down the road.

-- PJClements

map: http://www.mapquest.com/maps/map.adp?formtype=address&searchtype=address&country=US&addtohistory=&1ahXX=&address=&city=Santa+Rosa&state=NM&zipcode=

Thursday, May 19, Day 51
Shamrock -> Amarillo TX
2272 -> 2368 (96 miles)

[previous posting at noon, from McLean TX...]

...later, from Amarillo. Today was a long ride, 96 miles, but it wasn't as
much a grind as it sounds. From Shamrock, Route 66 was in good shape, though the
friendly concrete had been often paved over with a "chip and seal" surface --
tar and stones generally -- that isn't as good for cycling. I stopped in
McClean to check the library and catch some breakfast. From McLean to Amarillo, 70
miles, the road was almost always flat -- billiard table flat. There was one
rise, on top of which was the official Texas Welcome Center, huge, of course,
and dramatic. The balcony of the welcome center overlooked some of the old XIT
ranch, once the largest ranch in all of Texas (it covered ten counties!).

For this small section the frontage road disappeared, and I rode the
Interstate for two exits until the frontage road reappeared. Ahhh....that was sweet.
The grade was smooth, the surface perfect, a breeze at my back, and the wind
wake of passing traffic gently pulled me forward faster. For nervous readers out
there, the section of I-40 had huge, clean shoulders, terrific sight lines,
and long distance travelers. Flying down this road was great. I hope when I
must return to I-40 for parts of New Mexico and Arizona that the road is as sweet
as this section of I-40.

How flat is this Llano Estacado? From Groom to Amarillo I did not cross a
single bridge or see any water course. Seven miles west of Groom I turned back to
see where I'd come, and I could still see the large cross they've erected in
Groom. There are no landmarks other than what man has made. As flat as it is,
the land is not level, however. There is a sneaky steady grade up to the west
here, a billiard table raised at one end, just slightly. Happily there was a
breeze from the east at my back, and the rising miles rolled beneath me.

It was hot today, in the 90s, and on some of the town roads in Amarillo, I
was popping tar bubbles in the road. Friday and Saturday promise to be warmer.

Friday will be shorter, to Vega, TX. Saturday I'll stretch out to Tucumcari
New Mexico, I hope. A new state!!

-- PJClements

Thursday, May 19, Day 51
Shamrock Texas -> ???
2272 -> ??

A quick note midday to those who read and worry.

I'm in Texas! Yikes! More than hiking over the Cumberland Gap, and maybe the equal of bridging the Mississippi, crossing the Oklahoma / Texas border was a emotional moment, for this symbolic border is a real move into new territory. This was a crossing from the increasing wide open but still "Green Country" of Oklahoma to the higher, drier (<20"/year) grasslands of the Great Plains. This is very different country, this Llano Estacado (http://www.tsha.utexas.edu/handbook/online/articles/LL/ryl2.html ).

But I must hurry off and hit the road, for I have a 90 mile goal for today. Route 66 has been terrific in Texas so far, from Texola to McLean*, and on, I'm told, all the way to Amarillo, my destination today. Who knows what lurks beyond that cattle town? So, no Interstate so far, just the friendly concrete slabs of the old Mother Road, fair breezes, and the promise of 90 degrees in the afternoon. Roll on!

* (MacLean, Texas, in whose library I am writing, has a Museum called "The Devil's Rope and Route 66 Museum," a Tribute to Barbed Wire.)

pax -- PJClements