Day 9
4-29-10
Williams to Flagstaff
Breakfast – waffles, cereal, orange juice, coffee, two hard boiled eggs and a banana to boot. Looking out the window from my room the sky remained clear with a few clusters of white clouds. Nothing to be alarmed by. I turn on the news and find out that I-40 is closed between Winslow and Two Arrows due to high winds. I am not concerned because this section of my ride is to Flagstaff. When I check out of the hotel the clerk informs me that the wind had not ceased through the night and would be at my tail end today. I am happy and proceed through the front doors only to be hit by with thewind chill factor that brought me here. The sun was out but I did not feel one ray of heat. I say to myself, one more day here would not hurt. I get on my bike and find as long as I am moving with the wind my bones stay warm.
The town of Williams began with ranchers and lumber mills followed by railroad ranchers coming in after the Civil War. Streets in this community are named after Union Army Officers. The town of Williams and the Williams Mountain were named after Bill Shirley Williams, a trapper and pathfinder in the 1920s and 30s. He was an explorer of much of Arizona before it became part of the United States. Williams is the last community on Route 66 that was bypassed by I-40. Route 66 saw its final stretch of the highway decommissioned south of Williams in 1984. A year later Route 66 was decertified resulting in the demise of the Mother Road. Williams managed to survive with I-40 exit ramps bringing about the tourism enjoyed with the surrounding places of interest, the main one being the entry way to the Grand Canyon.
I begin my ride assured that the wind will assist my efforts in climbing the last of Arizona mountains. The wind is cold and my stops are few. Roughly six miles into the ride I noticed the shape of the clouds taking a boldness of dark shades indicating possible showers. My concentration is broken by what I thought were flying white insects, only to find out when one landed on my glasses it became liquid. SNOWFLAKES! It wasn’t much, just enough to count them before it stopped. A couple of miles up the road the flakes became a little heavier, bursting to smaller flakes on the ground in front of my tire as if they were thrown with tremendous velocity. I couldn’t believe I was actually seeing snowflakes break into pieces. I believe this phenomenon was due to the direction they were blowing. I was moving with them which made me think of Einstein’s theory of relativity. My speed and their descent were equal, allowing me to see their descent of flight and demise as they struck the pavement. This doesn’t last long, but puts me in an uneasy state. I come to a sign, gas /convenience store at the next exit and decide it would be a good place to have lunch and something warm to drink. I had traveled 15 miles to this point. I noticed people entering and leaving the convenience store, and find out that it also acts as a P.O. Box for the community residents. While eating my sandwich, a stick of string cheese and a cup of coffee a local resident by the name of Billy Gilbert strikes up a conversation with me regarding my travels. He is a retired contractor out of Phoenix, Arizona but was actually born in Chicago. He seemed thrilled when I mentioned my journey along Route 66. He informs me that he drove the route from Chicago to Santa Monica in 1965 and the enjoyment he had passing the small communities along the way. He mentions an 8 mile stretch of Route 66 still exists up the road near the convenience store, the very road he traveled. He remembers there only being a gas station and three buildings that were built 15 feet from the route, and to this day as a contractor he could not understand why they would built so close to the road. He spoke of rafting down the Missouri Riverfrom its beginning onto the Mississippi down to Louisiana before his quadruple bypass. This was a dream he wanted to make come true in his retirement. I mentioned he looked good and healthy, and there should be no reason to discard his dreams. He smiled and said, “I’m hoping to live them out.” I reply, “I said you will with optimism and a healthy lifestyle. You’ve come this far. Don’t let anything deter you.” A young man walked up and stood by his side as if a gesture that it was time to leave. We said our goodbyes and best wishes as he turned and walked away. I think to myself how fortunate I am to feel in good health fulfilling a dream and thank mom and dad for a safe trip to this point. When I get up and walk to the door I may have been thanking prematurely, for when I opened the door there is a snow flurry alive and doing well. As I proceed to put my rain covers on my panniers and rain suit on myself, several members of the community entering the store make comments such as, you might consider spending the night here. I walked back in and speak to the clerk regarding the weather conditions. She reassures me that these are short and if I proceed on to Flagstaff I should get there before the main front. So, with that information and my desire not to set up my tent in wet, windy conditions along with snow I forge on to Flagstaff. It was exciting and yet a little nerve wracking to be riding in this bad weather. I’ve never seen a snow flurry, much less ridden in one. This, I must say, is a once in a lifetime experience. What a contrast to driving this road, and the thought process that goes with it. Our eyes see this setting in a broader sense due to the driving speed, prohibiting us from focusing on the realities of the environment. We use terms such as beautiful, peaceful and tell ourselves this might be a nice place to live, yet we fail to see its true harshness. I think of the many who have passed before me in a time when traveling was for the purpose of relocation and economic needs. They understood how harsh nature could be, and accepted the adverse consequences of traveling at the wrong time of the year, and how grateful they must have felt getting to their destination. Yet here I am riding a bicycle for the joy of riding and interfacing with people along the way fulfilling my dream. This is a humbling connection and appreciation for the many sacrifices made by past travelers of “the good old days.” We are fortunate to be living in this day and time. Make it all count.
The flurry diminishes to a falling of light snow, none of it sticking to the ground. The road is wet but not unsafe. Roughly five miles before entering Flagstaff all hell breaks loose, or should I say the heavens, because the flurry became thick with some short periods of whiteout. Now that is scary! I have thick gloves on and my fingertips are freezing. Just as quickly as the flurry began, it stopped. I check into a motel on Route 66, rode my bike to the nearest cycle shop for new tires and gear adjustments. By the expression on the faces of the young workers I am sure they were silently laughing as I walked in with my riding gear on. Unknown to them I was also chuckling at their attire. Cowboy hat, boots, shirt, and levis in a bicycle shop? My bike would not be ready for pick up until the following day, so I decide to stay a day over in Flagstaff for much needed rest, laundry and catch up on my journal. I am still happy.
Tomorrow…..Flagstaff
Love ya all,
Old Man Recuperating
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