Across America by Motorcycle

Reflections

As I wrote in my last newsletter, I asked Willie, Glen, and Lloyd to send me their reflections. I have included them below. I cannot fully describe the breadth and depth of my appreciation for the contributions that each of these men made toward the ultimate success of this project!

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From Willie Fernandez:

I first saw Mark’s motorcycle in my friend’s motorcycle shop. Mark had engaged my friend Chris to make his lights and signals work in preparation for his 2019 ride. I was intrigued about the motorcycle and the journey, and quickly offered to help Mark get his dream project underway.

When we started out, it was a nightmare. I had signed on to help someone get their motorcycle to where it needed to be because it seemed like he really needed the help. Right away, I got to see just how much help he really needed.

When we met up with Loring Hill (safety rider and mechanic) in New York, everything was okay. There were a lot of challenges to coordinate everything. We all pitched in to help Mark complete his dream trip. At some point along the way, I realized I had also been bit by the bug. I had become highly motivated to see Mark finish such a cool journey.

For me, one of the most memorable moments occurred in New Jersey, when we picked up the trailer in its new “wrapper.” Although I had helped with the electrical wiring on the bike in Chris’ shop, Loring just dove in to “simplify” it. But Loring suddenly seemed to understand that, while he had unique knowledge and skills, I also had some useful knowledge and skills. So we divided the work. He sheepishly handed me the wire cutters. I finished the electrical wiring while he adjusted the valves and prepared the bike for the next long day of riding. Thus began a bond of mutual respect that followed us the rest of the trip.

After a few days, we settled into a low-stress routine. By the time we got to Kansas, I felt we had fully meshed and were working well with each other. But then the crankshaft broke and everything kind of fell apart. Without a bike to maintain, Loring headed home and we continued west “on tour” where we got to see a lot of really cool stuff like the top of the old Raton Pass Road.

When Mark wanted to put the band back together to “reset” the trip to begin in Kansas in 2022, I signed on early. Loring could not make it, so I asked a friend of mine, Glen Pyle, if he was up for the challenge of keeping Mark safe on the road while I would put to use my experience maintaining the motorcycle. After a few test rides in Ohio, we headed west and put the bike back on the road at the last gas station in Kansas we’d stopped at before breaking in 2019. It took the new team a couple days to mesh in 2022, but by sunset in Pueblo, it was fantastic from there on out. Mark’s friend Lloyd showed up on his BMW adventure motorcycle to scout any sporty routes and help Glen keep Mark safe.

We had a great time and saw a lot of interesting stuff including the back roads in California that I’d never seen, Magdalena, New Mexico and the nearby Very Large Array radio telescope, Meteor Crater, and even had lunch on the rim of the Grand Canyon with an amazing view. We enjoyed being reunited with Lloyd and his friend Andy through New Mexico and Arizona.

This was an unforgettable journey. I started out offering some logistical support. Looking back, I was proud to have become such an important part of this team.

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From Glen Pyle:

Mark’s journey began a couple of years before I was brought in. Willie was involved and expressed how excited he was. As Willie talked, I became envious and wanted to go too. Unfortunately, I was not in a place where I was able to participate and take time away from work to experience what became the adventure of a lifetime for me!

When Willie approached me for help with “take two” of the journey, the world was coming back together from the COVID pandemic. I eagerly said “yes” and was able to join the group as a safety rider.

We had a couple of practice rides through Yellow Springs and Xenia, Ohio and I finally earned Mark’s trust with my decision-making guiding him through intersections and other road features. Of course, he got the picture when he saw me in the middle of the road halting traffic. I think Mark quickly observed that I wasn’t going to put him in harm’s way! Once we worked out the kinks of the interoperability of the Garmin navigation and Sena Mesh communications systems, we departed for Kansas to begin Mark’s second attempt to complete his tribute ride.

The journey proved to be spectacular, a group of guys coming together to help Mark fulfill his dreams and his passion for getting the “Red One” across the United States.

Mark’s passion was contagious. We stopped from town to town. I watched and saw Mark’s face light up as we encountered curious onlookers and he told his story. It became my story too, so when people would talk to me about what we were doing, I often started with the story of Mark’s Dad having the parts in his garage and how it took him several decades to bring the “Red One” back to life. We traveled to places and small towns I would have never experienced if it hadn’t been for the “Red One” and Mark’s dreams!

There are not enough words available to express the gratitude I have for being involved.

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From Lloyd Hill:

While I have known Mark for years in our professional capacity, I never knew he had the makings of a 1919 Henderson motorcycle in his garage, let alone a zeal to replicate the cross-country journey of another motorcyclist on the same type of bike when it was purchased brand new a hundred years earlier. But then again, Mark likely didn’t know I had been racing and riding motorcycles since I was a kid. Once these unknowns became connected and Mark told me about C.K. Shepherd’s book, I read it and I was hooked. I was going to be a part of this journey!

Since I typically trailer my motorcycles out to New Mexico in September for riding with friends, I started incorporating off-road scouting missions for Mark in Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona. I would ride, film, and provide feedback to assist Mark with his planning. Once Mark’s ride commenced, I was there for all riding in Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona (which is where the challenging off-road sections were), scouting, filming, narrating, performing the role of “safety rider,” and riding each and every off-road section to help Mark replicate with exacting precision C.K.’s route of 100 years earlier. It was an epic experience that I’m quite proud to have been a part of, and I’m glad that Mark is taking the time and effort to share his journey just as C.K. did.

Thanks for letting me play in your sandbox Mark!

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If you have not already seen the short video, I recorded a few words reflecting my own sentiments at the conclusion of the journey in San Francisco. You can view that video here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yfcBs5mBuzc

Best wishes and thanks again to all who made this dream come true.

Mark

Conclusion 2022 Recap Day 11: September 20, 2022, Gilroy to San Francisco, California

Rush Hour Traffic in the San Francisco Bay Area

It seemed that the closer we got to the Clift Hotel in San Francisco, the heavier traffic was getting. My initial plan was mount up south of the city to ride all the way to the Clift Hotel, but when we arrived at the Chevron station near the southern end of Potrero Avenue to ride the remaining three and a half miles to the Clift Hotel, that plan changed again. As far as I could see, there was stop-and-go traffic heading into the city, with traffic lights at nearly every intersection.

In case I didn’t mention it previously, I will do so now. Beginning with their initial model in 1912, the Henderson brothers built four-cylinder in-line air-cooled engines that depended on movement (preferably at speed) to keep air moving over the engine to stay cool. When we got to San Francisco, I flashed back to the beginning of my trip in traffic-clogged New York City in 2019. Two words came to mind: Not pretty.

Dealing with NYC traffic in 2019 looked not only unappealing, but it struck me as unsafe. But my safety rider and mechanic, Loring Hill, was game. Loring, some forty years my junior, was already a veteran of several transcontinental Motorcycle Cannonball rallies. I watched in amazement as Loring skillfully coaxed the Red One over the Williamsburg Bridge, thirty blocks across lower Manhattan, block by block, light by light, then down and through the Holland Tunnel. He managed his speed to get green lights when he could, or stop and shut the engine down when the lights turned red. While Loring made it look easy, he later admitted it was a challenge even for him.

So here I was in San Francisco facing much the same kind of intense traffic with stop signs or signal lights at every intersection! I was only twenty blocks from reaching my destination on a centennial tribute ride that I had planned for nearly two decades, had twice commenced, and had covered thousands of miles. As I looked into the distance at the seemingly-unending signal lights and bustling traffic, I had to ask myself, “is this worth risking overheating and seriously damaging my engine?” Truth be told, I was also worried about getting run over by a distracted motorist.

The only responsible choice I had was to put the Red One back in the trailer and make our way to the Clift Hotel. Needless to say, it was a major disappointment. But if my decision kept me safe so I could arrive at the end of my journey with the Red One in one piece, then it was a sacrifice worth making.

Arrival at the Clift Hotel

A few weeks before we arrived, I heard back from one of my childhood friends – Dirk Setchko – who said he would try to meet me at the Clift Hotel when I arrived. I spent some time coordinating with Dirk, explaining when we planned to arrive at the Clift Hotel. Unbeknownst to me, Dirk arrived at the Clift Hotel an hour or so before we were to arrive. He informed the hotel staff about the travelling circus that was soon to arrive. He told them we “only” needed an open “pull through” parking spot in front of the hotel to unload the Red One and take a few photos. When we arrived, there was a massive space for us to pull in and park in front, more than we needed! I can’t be sure that it was usual for that much space to be available, but there was a lot of traffic on Geary Street, so I cannot help but imagine the extraordinary efforts the hotel doorman, Todd Shinn, went to ensuring we had the space we needed.

Dirk saw us coming up Geary Street. Having previously loaded his BMW into the trailer next to the Red One, Glen was driving Willie’s truck as we pulled up to the Clift. Dirk caught it all on video and in photos. Once we got the Red One out, I parked it on the sidewalk in front of the Clift and started it up. I also started a Facebook Live session and broadcast for four minutes while Glen filmed. Dirk presented me with a bottle of sparkling wine in celebration. It was a surreal moment that was, to be honest, over too soon.

Conclusion 2022 Day 11 Recap Video: https://youtu.be/yfcBs5mBuzc

I had long dreamed of completing this trip, but had not given adequate thought as to what to do after arriving in San Francisco. I didn’t want to abuse Todd Shinn’s consideration by overstaying my welcome. Willie, Glen, and I all seemed to have “places to go – things to do” after we finished, so I had not booked any rooms at the Clift for the night. Probably twenty minutes after we arrived, we carefully secured our motorcycles in the trailer. I bid farewell to Dirk and Willie, and we (Glen and I) left for Ohio in Willie’s truck. Willie got a lift back to San Francisco airport with a friend so he could meet his new grandson who had been born just before we arrived in Winslow, Arizona. Glen and I headed east over the Bay Bridge to join I-80 through Reno to overnight in Winnemucca, Nevada.

Two more days of driving later, on Friday, and I was home.

I asked Willie, Glen, and Lloyd to send me a few remarks about their experiences on this adventure and will send them along in an “Epilogue” in about a week.

Words cannot convey my heartfelt appreciation for all of those who helped bring this dream to life, but “thank you all!” will have to suffice for now.

Mark

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Conclusion 2022 Recap Day 10: September 19, 2022, Goleta to Gilroy, California

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

In the hotel parking lot, first thing in the morning in Goleta (just north of Santa Barbara), we were greeted with a rainbow as we were preparing to leave. Willie took a photo and then applied some kind of filter. The rainbow was beautiful, but I saw it for what it was, a sign that rain was in the air. It was already drizzling as we were getting ready to leave the hotel. Our first bit of riding was going to be on US 101, followed by a hill climb to the Old Coast Highway turnoff north of Gaviota. C.K. Shepherd wrote he was near Gaviota when he found a spot in the hills to camp for one night. But, due to rain and slick roads, we ended up trailering the Red One up to the turnoff to the Old Coast Highway.

Day 10 Video Recap: https://youtu.be/vugz_eOgFAg

It was still raining when we arrived at the Old Coast Highway, so put on my rain gear before firing up the Red One. This was beautiful country and – at times – the rain subsided and gave way to a thin fog that let the morning sun through to illuminate the golden grass growing across the tops of the rolling hills. I recalled the similarity of this landscape to that in a photograph that C.K. Shepherd saved in his personal archives as being taken somewhere between Los Angeles and San Francisco.
"A paved road between Los Angeles and San Francisco" - CK Shepherd - 1919

After rolling comfortably for several miles through the countryside, we came upon Solvang. This is a pretty town that was clearly influenced by Danish immigrants. We stopped out front of the Solvang Vintage Motorcycle Museum. It was only open on weekends, so all we could do is peek in the windows.

I rode out of Solvang, toward Los Olivos, where we would soon after be forced back onto US 101. Rain – often moderate – persisted for a good part of the morning. We pulled over at a market in Los Berros, south of Pismo Beach, hoping the rain would let up at least enough to allow me to ride through the town of Pismo Beach, but it just kept raining! I had been looking forward to riding through Pismo Beach, but the weather just refused to cooperate and we instead opted to load up the Red One.

I did manage to ride through Santa Margarita and Atasadero, then trailered to San Ardo where I got back on the road all the way to King City. For miles on the road north of San Ardo, C.K.’s words rang true: “Always the Southern Pacific Railroad is on our right, sometimes just a few feet from the highway.”

We had lunch in King City and then, just north of Salinas, I put the Red One back on the road so that I could ride the San Juan Grade Road. This is a meandering road that climbs into the hills and then descends into San Juan Bautista toward Gilroy. Back in 1919, this was the road that all motorists took from Salinas to San Jose and beyond, but the last 100 years have not treated the roadway well. It was very rough. It was only eight miles to San Juan Bautista, but it was an extremely rough passage. By the time I covered the distance, most often riding no faster than 25 MPH while bobbing and weaving around the potholes and bumps, my body resolutely sent all the signals that even I could understand: I was done riding for the day!

We spent that last night on the road in Gilroy, south of San Jose.

Mark

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Conclusion 2022 Recap Day 9: September 18, 2022
Barstow to Goleta, California via Los Angeles

To the California Coast!

Barstow to Los Angeles: The plan for the beginning of this day was to ride the Red One all the way from Barstow to Hesperia, south of Victorville. C.K. Shepherd had ridden through those towns to Los Angeles back in 1919, but the road C.K. took after that – over Cajon Pass into San Bernardino – is now gone, having been paved over by Interstate 15 back in 1957.

Rim of the World Scenic Byway: In 2018, I scouted an alternative route through the San Bernardino Mountains via part of what is known as the “Rim of the World Scenic Byway” (CA-138/18). Unfortunately, this route revision consisted of a steep and twisty road that runs from Hesperia up to the summit near Crestline, and then down an even steeper twisty grade into Arrowhead Springs north of San Bernardino. And to make things even more racy, throw in the many motorists, most of whom seem more interested in velocity than enjoying any scenery, let alone the chance encounter with a 100-year-old slow motorcycle. This route would admittedly be a challenge for me, but I rationalized the adventure would be worthwhile because it had many picturesque spots. Still, despite my best effort, I was saddened to nix this portion of my ride in the interest of safety. I knew there were just too many impatient motorists driving at speeds much higher than my leisurely sight-seeing preference on this relatively narrow, steep, and twisty road. While I will be forever disappointed by missing the breathtaking views and challenging ride this road had to offer – views similar to what C.K. would have seen in 1919 – I lived to ride another day. But I also knew this wasn’t the actual path C.K. rode, soothing my disappointment.

The National Old Trails Road Out of Barstow: But I did have a workable plan to ride the National Old Trails Road (old Route 66) west out of Barstow and then curve south through Victorville and to the foothills of the San Bernardino Mountains in Hesperia. After that, it would be nothing but city traffic into Los Angeles, a far cry from the experience C.K. had riding through orange groves in the country east of Los Angeles in 1919. C.K. wrote that in San Bernardino, after his No. 1 piston completely disintegrated, causing the engine to seize, he spent two hours fishing chunks out of his crankcase while refreshing himself with a locally-available snack: oranges found growing on trees. But those orange groves are now overgrown by urban sprawl stretching some seventy-five miles east from the Pacific Ocean. Also, unlike C.K.’s engine trouble he was again experiencing when he arrived in the Los Angeles basin, the Red One was still running on all four cylinders, and I was quite looking forward to visiting the building that once housed the Henderson Motorcycle Agency in 1919 downtown Los Angeles.

Leaving Barstow: I was riding the Red One west on the National Old Trails Road (old US 66), northwest of Barstow, and was just getting into open country when my saddle started getting very squirrely. This caused the bike itself to become unstable, so I pulled over. It seems that 2,000 miles was as far as I was going to get on my previous “fix” to extend the studs under the nose of the saddle. It had all come apart and the tang that used to connect the chassis to the seat was now just flopping about.

We got out the epoxy and set about bonding things back together, but that stuff requires at least five hours to set. I was disappointed but, short of spending another night in Barstow, we had no choice but to press on with the Red One in the trailer.

Soon enough my day got brighter. Here we were at 907 South Main Street in Los Angeles where the building at that location today gives every indication it is one and the same structure that housed Henderson Motorcycle Sales Co. in 1919. The storefront is now a yoga studio – of all things – but I could envision Henderson motorcycles lined up for sale on Main Street. There is also an alley next to it that could have been used to roll bikes into the garage. Sadly, I have never found any period photographs of this Henderson Motorcycle franchise.

The Red One parked right out front of the Henderson Motorcycle Sales Co.
building from 100 years ago.

After our brief stop at the old Henderson Motorcycle building, we drove up to 426 South Hill Street, the street address for the Hotel Clark where C.K. stayed while waiting for his third engine overhaul to be completed. While exploring this area some years earlier, apart from noting that there were few, if any, storefront businesses and virtually no pedestrian traffic, I also took note that Hotel Clark was closed and walled up without anything resembling a public entrance or parking garage. Unfortunately, despite multiple changes in ownership over the last hundred years, the Hotel Clark was still not re-opened in 2022.

Counting our blessings for the generally light Sunday traffic, we headed for Ventura. We stopped at the In-N-Out Burger in Oxnard. They don’t have those in Ohio where I live or Hawaii where my daughter lives, but since my daughter always raves about this joint when she visits California, I saw this as a great opportunity for some good-natured ribbing. Burgers were eaten, photos were texted, and the intended envious reaction was received. Mission accomplished!

After that we went up US 101 (locally known as “the 101”) a few more miles to Exit 65, just east of Ventura, where I was able to ride the Red One through Ventura on the same Main Street that C.K. rode back in 1919 as his odometer “ticked off the 4,500th mile” on his 4,950-mile trip.

One thing that made my passage through Ventura challenging was that they had turned several blocks of Main Street into a pedestrian mall in the city center. Unfortunately, signage on the resulting detour to parallel on Santa Clara Street does not tell you when it is possible to resume riding west on Main Street.

As a result, I guessed. When I thought I’d ridden far enough west, I turned right on Palm Street hoping I would be able to re-enter Main Street, but Palm Street only allowed vehicles to cross Main Street. Worse, Palm Street became extremely steep after crossing Main Street, which caused problems for both me and Willie. I stopped and doubled back, but Willie could not make a U-turn and was forced to grunt the truck and trailer up to “the summit.”

After another block or two west on Santa Clara Street, I was finally able to get back on Main Street. There, Glen and I rejoined Willie who was somehow magically waiting for us coming the opposite direction near a shopping center parking lot. Glen and I turned left onto Main Street and Willie turned right to tuck in behind us as we continued west toward the next landmark, Emma Wood State Beach.

The first problem we faced was that the only available route from Ventura to Emma Wood State Beach involved riding a short distance on “the 101,” a major road with three lanes of traffic at freeway speeds. The onramp was steep, but I still wanted to do my best to reach at least 55 MPH by the time I had to merge. By the time Glen told me I was clear to merge, my throttle was cranked WFO. Glen was “directing” traffic away from me and Willie was running interference behind. I felt like I had the Red One nearly at terminal velocity when we reached our exit, so I was able to just coast under the overpass and onto the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH), formally known as California Route 1, at the southern end of Emma Wood State Beach.

Those of you who have seen the cover of my 2019 book, Across America by Motor-Cycle – Fully Annotated Centennial Edition, (the cover of which shows C.K.’s bike on the beach in California with mist obscuring the more distant landscape) might understand my ambition of finding the exact spot that photograph was taken.

Day 9 Video Compilation: https://youtu.be/MA9Q3_whKvQ

I wasn’t able to assure myself that C.K.’s photo was taken at this exact location, but my extensive research revealed no plausible alternatives. We stopped to take a picture in case this might be the only opportunity. I remain confident that we must have been very close.
Mark and the Red One at Emma Wood State Beach

I was very excited about the prospect of being literally “on” C.K. Shepherd’s trail. I had no doubt that C.K. rode his 1919 Henderson along this very same beach road on the way to San Francisco in mid-August 1919. I rode a few more miles up the beach until it became clear I was going to have to merge back onto “the 101.” I pulled over so we could enjoy one last look at the Channel Islands and Pacific Ocean before we packed it up for the day. Our overnight hotel was a few miles further, just past Santa Barbara in Goleta.

The next day would be our last full day of riding. We would end our day in Gilroy, south of San Jose.

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Conclusion 2022 Recap Day 8: September 17, 2022, Peach Springs, Arizona to Barstow, California

California!

Having arrived in Peach Springs the day before, I found myself reflecting on a major change to the operation going forward: In the parking lot of the Hualapai Lodge on Saturday, my safety rider and off-road scout, Lloyd Hill, loaded up his trusty BMW R1200GSA into the bed of Andy Faust’s truck to begin the first leg of his long road home to south Florida because of that four-letter word we all hate hearing… “work.” It was a bittersweet moment for us all, I think. Lloyd’s direct assistance for so much of this endeavor was coming to an end, and I was sad to lose his counsel as well as that of his friend Andy. Within an hour or so after waking up, we were down to three (Willie, Glen, and me) for the remaining three days to reach San Francisco.

Hualapai Lodge: I had booked rooms for us all in Peach Springs at the Hualapai Lodge, which I think may be the only hotel in town. The Lodge is operated by the Hualapai Tribe of Native Americans upon whose reservation the Lodge sits.

Unfortunately for us, the Lodge also sits a few hundred yards from a major freight railway, one that apparently extends east through Nelson and beyond to Flagstaff. The frequency of the trains through the night caused me to recall a scene from the popular film, My Cousin Vinny, when they discovered their hotel was next to noisy train track. I must have heard 20 trains passing through all night long, blowing their horns as they approached the grade crossing nearby the Lodge. Needless to say, I was highly motivated to make it to Barstow where I might get some rest.

The Peach Springs Trading Post: One of the more colorful stories that C.K. Shepherd included in Chapter 19 of his book was that of his arrival in Peach Springs. He had, for some reason, anticipated that Peach Springs would be a metropolis, so he was surprised to hear from the operator of what seemed to be a remote Trading Post that he was actually in Peach Springs. It seems C.K. Shepherd obtained fuel, foodstuffs, and supplies from the Trading Post proprietor, Everett H. Carpenter, who had built the Trading Post in 1917 at the edge of the “Hualapai Indian Reservation.” Two years after C.K. came through, Carpenter took on a partner, Ancel Taylor, who soon took bought Carpenter out. In 1926, Taylor tore the old wooden Trading Post down and erected a new stone building at the same location. This building is, today, listed in the National Register Historic Places and currently houses the office for the Hualapai Tribal Forestry Department.

The photo of the Trading Post as it appeared in 1918 (below) is included as Figure 197 in my book, Across America by Motor-Cycle – Fully Annotated Centennial Edition. It is probably very much as it appeared to C.K. Shepherd when he arrived in early August 1919. The side of the building in 1918 reflects the name of the proprietor, E.H. Carpenter.

Before we left town, I walked across the street from the Hualapai Lodge to take a photo in front of the building reconstructed in 1926.

Peach Springs to Kingman: Our search for a local coffee shop or similar in Peach Springs yielded no results, so we departed Peach Springs for Kingman with a hankering for some coffee and proper breakfast. Kingman was some 50 miles down old Route 66, but it was the first place we might find breakfast. I didn’t think resuming my ride on an empty stomach was a smart thing to do, especially with my smaller road crew, so we trailered down to Kingman.

Link to YouTube Summary for Day 8: https://youtu.be/ZixS8TitiDI

After breakfast in Kingman, I rode the Red One straight down the main drag, leaving town by passing under the I-40 overpass whereupon I intended to turn left onto the frontage road and head southwest on that gravel road for at least 15 miles toward Yucca. From my scouting trip in 2018, I remembered that the road conditions might be questionable for me to ride those 15 miles, but I had not remembered the entrance to the frontage road.

Glen, who was riding in front of me with the map loaded into his Garmin, missed the turnoff to the frontage road entry point because it was not indicated by any sign and didn’t quite look like a road. I saw the turnoff just as I was upon it, so I stopped to wait for Glen to come back. It turned out that this unplanned stop would be fortuitous.

A guy pulled up behind me in a pickup truck and got out. He was wearing a t-shirt with the old classic Excelsior logo on the front. I knew he was a friend of old motorcycles, so I looked forward to saying hello. It turned out this was “Mike,” the mysterious internet guy who had suggested we stop at the Friendship Run the day before. He had seen us riding through Kingman and began pursuing us in his truck to personally introduce himself. Thanks again Mike and glad we got the chance to meet.

After our brief exchange with Mike, off we went down the frontage road. Glen was on point, as usual, and I was behind him riding the Red One with Willie bringing up the rear. Glen was riding a true street motorcycle, so when the road turned to gravel and then “washboard” gravel, I got concerned this was a road that Willie - at least - might not enjoy riding for the next 15 miles, so I stopped and we made the call... turn around and trailer the Red One to Trails Arch Bridge.

I longed for my now-missing safety and off-road scout rider, Lloyd, who I know could have made quick work of scouting the complete 15-mile road. He still might have returned to tell me that this was not a trail for me, as it had several sandy “washes” and rocky sections, but it seems an intrepid Google Street View driver was up for the challenge in February 2023, because Google photographed the complete section of road I missed out on. You can view the Google Street View “2023 scout ride” beginning here.

The Trails Arch Bridge: In his 1919 book, C.K. Shepherd described reaching Topock, Arizona, which was a very small town that had grown up around a railroad station. C.K. wrote, “we come to rest under a great shelter thatched with straw that has been erected by the roadside opposite the restaurant the only building in the town beside the railway station. A few yards further on was a massive steel bridge 400 yards long that spanned the Colorado.” The bridge C.K. described was the Trails Arch Bridge, a single-lane bridge built in 1916 specially for automobiles (the previous bridge required sharing traffic with trains). Immediately below is photo of the Trails Arch Bridge taken December 1, 1919 (annotated to show Topock, Arizona at left and California at right). Next is a photograph of the Red One and rider at the Trails Arch Bridge taken September 17, 2022.

The same Trails Arch Bridge remains standing today, but it is no longer used for vehicle traffic. Today, it serves as a natural gas and utility conduit. We unloaded the Red One at a conveniently-located parking lot with an excellent view of the Trails Arch Bridge. I performed a few minor service checks and left there with a small hope of riding some 130 miles to Ludlow, California with a stop at the plaza in Needles in front of El Garces Hotel (a Harvey House establishment built in 1908 and connected to the Needles rail station).

Needles: Unfortunately, there aren’t many secondary roads to ride on in that area, so I hit the gas on the Red One and raced down the onramp to I-40 westbound in Topock. The Red One can easily cruise above 60 MPH, but it seems needlessly risky to the machine (and rider) to sustain that speed on an interstate highway with car and truck traffic, so we cruised west on I-40 at about 50 MPH and let others pass by us. Merging a 100-year-old motorcycle onto an interstate with faster traffic was a challenge that was not entirely risk free. We rode in pretty tight formation. Glen rode on point with his head on a swivel looking for – and calling out – the “least-worst” merge options (e.g. “after this white Ford!”) on our intercom. I rode close to Glen with Willie tight behind me. When we got near the end of the onramp, I stayed in the right part of the merge lane. Willie picked his spot, put his signals on, and aggressively slid over to “occupy” the right lane on the highway (allowing faster traffic to pass us in the left lane), telling me that I was clear to merge. This was something we perfected over time, but it was much easier when the onramp was downhill like it was in Topock. I was actually probably doing 65 MPH when we effected the merge onto I-40 in Topock.

Once established in the right lane on the Interstate, I allowed the Red One to slow to a more comfortable cruise speed of 50 MPH. As the procession of cars and trucks would pass us, we had more than a few double-takes from drivers and passengers who came alongside to see what the hold-up was. Often with non-believing wide eyes, they would often slow down to gawk and take pictures. They might not have known what a 1919 Henderson was, but they sure had a story to tell when they got where they were going. I just kept the throttle almost wide open and eyes ahead looking for the first exit we could take, seven more miles west, so we could ride on secondary roads into Needles.

Of Needles, C.K. wrote, “I was surprised to find, was very much bigger than I had expected. It is now a good-sized town and its main street a bustle of activity. After disposing of a steak at a Chinese restaurant, I bought a book and retired to the square. There I took off my tunic, rolled up my shirt sleeves and lay on the grass beneath the tall, thick palm trees and whiled away the hot afternoon hours.”

About one mile before we reached the first exit to Needles, we passed through a California Agriculture Inspection Station. Glen told the agent that there were three vehicles in our party. The woman waved Glen and I through, but asked Willie what was in the trailer (“motorcycle parts” was his answer) and they waved him through as well.

Much like the Trails Arch Bridge, the building housing the old El Garces Hotel remains standing today. Likewise, Needles has preserved the square near where C.K. retired after his steak dinner before heading out to camp in the desert. We did not stop in Needles for much more than a photo on the square.

Pretending that my belly was full of steak from a Chinese restaurant (I never did locate the establishment where C.K. could have enjoyed a steak dinner in 1919) and pretending we had taken a siesta on that square, I weaved my way right, left, right, and left again through and north of Needles until there was no other option to get back on I-40 westbound for another eight and a half miles.

We got off I-40 at Exit 133 where US 95 (also County Road 66) departs to the north. We rode US 95 north to the beginning of Goffs Road. There, we turned left on Goffs Road to stay on old Route 66 while US 95 continued north toward Las Vegas, Nevada.

Back in 1916, the Auto Club of Southern California had documented the route of the National Old Trails Road across the nation, including across the Mojave Desert. That Club’s map number 7 and 6 illustrate the old roads that C.K. would have ridden. Many of the roads shown are still there, but Interstate 40 makes a more direct route and only Fenner and Ludlow are “on” I-40 with an exit.

I cannot be sure, but I believe Goffs is where C.K. had breakfast after bedding down in the Mojave Desert northwest of Needles. The map key shows that Goffs had lodging, meals, and fuel. Today, Goffs is a sparsely-inhabited community with a few buildings, all well off the old Route 66. After Goffs, the 1916 map shows the National Old Trails Road continuing southwest to Fenner and then Danby, generally paralleling the railroad tracks.

In 2022, while riding from Needles to Fenner, we were kept company by numerous freight trains going each way on tracks that paralleled the road. If they happened to see us on the road, they often leaned on their air horn, no doubt reacting to their unexpected encounter with a hundred-year-old motorcycle like the Red One chugging along out in the middle of the desolate Mojave Desert.

We pulled into the gas station at “Najah’s Desert Oasis” in Fenner. C.K. Shepherd would have traveled through Fenner, and may have stopped for fuel, but would have continued southwest across the Mojave Desert past the rail stations at Danby, Cadiz, Amboy, and Bagdad before reaching Ludlow. C.K. claimed he arrived in Ludlow at 4 PM after riding 200 miles that day. However, it was only 100 miles from outskirts of Needles to Ludlow. But considering the desert road we rode in 2022, as well as how much more barren and harsh it must have been in 1919, it may well have seemed like 200 miles to C.K. Shepherd.

You Can’t Get There From Here: Shortly after I arrived at Najah’s, I felt like I was a character in the classic humorous “Bert and I” story, “Which Way to Millinocket?,” recorded in 1958 by Robert Bryan & Marshall Dodge. I was playing the role of the hapless motorist who pulled over to obtain directions from a helpful “local.”

After refueling, I had hoped to continue riding past Fenner on the old National Old Trails Road through Danby, Amboy, and on to Ludlow. I will forever remember the Najah Desert Oasis clerk’s quizzical expression when I inquired, “how’s the road to Ludlow was if I continue down 66 on the National Old Trails Road?” Her facial expression betrayed what she seemed to want to say: “You ain’t all there boy, are you?”

But she was patient with me, speaking slowly using small words in a contrived artificially polite tone, much like one might address a second-grader. I reflect on the ironic humor of this encounter. She probably felt like she was communicating with the most ignorant visitor she had ever met. She informed me about what apparently everyone else within a hundred miles knew except me: The Mojave Desert south of Fenner had, just a few weeks earlier, been deluged by four inches of rainfall in just three days and the road was not only closed, but completely missing in some places!

Now that might not seem like enough rain to cause catastrophe where you live, but I later learned that this area typically sees temperatures upwards of 117 degrees in August and gets very little rainfall – ever – so the dry ground cannot absorb downpours like that. All that water quickly gathers steam and then races over the surface of the arid desert, washing away nearly everything in its path... pavement, bridge pilings, and signposts... just gone. So, I’m sure our good clerk was thinking: “What kind of lunatic – especially one riding this very old motorcycle contraption thing – is asking if the road is passable? Does he not realize all that rain just a few weeks ago caused flash flooding that washed out roads and even many bridges that had been built low across normally-dry washes?” She was probably thinking worse, but you get the picture… and I’m far enough down this memory lane rabbit hole as it is.

Flashback to 2018: At some point while unwittingly making a fool of myself to the Najah clerk, I had a flashback to my scouting trip in 2018. When I reached Najah’s on my scouting trip in 2018, I experienced the “technical rejection” of my planned route. My Garmin GPS simply did not want to guide me on any route southwest of Fenner toward Cadiz and on to Ludlow. When planning my route in Google Maps weeks before, I had not seen any problems. Besides, the road ahead looked clear! With blissful ignorance and perhaps just a bit of insolence, I took my Garmin’s denial as a personal challenge and continued down this allegedly impassable road. Less than five miles south of Fenner, I saw some structures near the side and then across the road. At first, I thought the signs were there to welcome me to this section of old Route 66, the National Old Trails Road. But as I got closer, these were definitely “keep out” signs. I had come upon a series of well-marked barricades at an intersection that emphatically declared and physically prevented any forward progress. I was forced to turn around and go back. Imagine that! The road really was closed! When I reached the same area of the highway in 2022, things were even worse, hence the clerk’s award-winning theatrical performance.

There Was Nothing For It: The information I received from the clerk at Najah’s in 2022 and my recollection of my misadventures in 2018 led me to the inescapable (and firm) conclusion that I really could not get to Ludlow via the National Old Trails Road. I also learned that there was nothing ridable but Interstate in the hundred miles or so from Fenner to Barstow, so we loaded the Red One into the trailer and headed west... deeper into the hot desert for our overnight in Barstow where we would rest up for the next big day.

Rest for all in Barstow was the plan, but Willie had observed the trailer was always pulling on one side when he applied the electric brakes, and he decided to get to the bottom of it right then and there. I was unsure of the wisdom of setting up “pop-up” trailer repair center in the parking lot at the Best Western Desert Inn, but Willie was undaunted. He got his tools out, found a good “pull-through” parking spot with no cars nearby, jacked the right side of the trailer up, removed the wheels, and quickly located and re-attached the loose wire that had interrupted the electrical circuit to the brakes on the right side.

After confirming the repair, we headed out for dinner and refreshments, looking forward for the next day’s ride, into Los Angeles!

Stay tuned!

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