We’re all fine, I suck at pool, our B&B is the best, and that’s all to report. More tomorrow!

Day 5 had some fun parts and some less fun parts. I think my dad’s grumpiness rubbed off on me a little.

Highlights: 

• Working out in the Comfort Inn. I have very little self control when it comes to salty snacks (I have been known to finish a large bag of tour-till-ah chips by myself in one sitting) and need to offset all the chips, Triscuits, and beer. Even though we’ve stayed at brand name places throughout L2, this was the first place to have a gym.
• Lunch at Tre Rosat Cafe. Great pizza and good moods all around. On the bottles of the Mirror Pond Pale Ale some of us had, it said, “If you could only listen to one album for the rest of your life, what would it be?” Mark said Revolver. I said Third/Sister Lovers. But on reflection it would probably make me feel crazy after a while. I guess anything would, though, so maybe an album that’s already a little crazy is the best choice. I also tried to tell Mark to give Sinatra a chance by listening to In the Wee Small Hours but I know you won’t, Mark. That’s okay.
• Doing laundry. I got to feel domestic, and everybody likes having clean clothes.

Mimicking Mark’s bathroom self-portrait in Tre Rosat — I think I did pretty well copying his wide-eyed expression

Whiny lowlights: 

• Another minivan on Midnight Rider’s tail for most of the drive. (It was white; maybe it was the Betrayed Ghost of Great White.) It’d be cool if cars had the ability to post messages in their rear window for the car behind them. It would be in the form of a voice-controlled LED sign. My sign would have said, “DUDE, JUST PASS ME.” This is a great invention but I’m sure it would result in more road rage deaths so maybe it’s not actually that great.
• A cold interaction at the Holiday Inn check-in. The woman was professional but impersonal. I asked her for a dinner recommendation and she told me where I could find a list — which is fine, and yes, I could have pressed and said, “But what restaurants do you like?” I just didn’t like her fake-friendly tone. She made me feel fake welcome. She also put me in Room 223, and I hate numbers that are one off from being all the same digit. Also the handle on my room’s door was attached upside down. I forget that the backwardness only applies to the door and keep trying to flush the toilet by pushing the handle up.
• Dinner at Wendy’s. It’s more important for the guys to get rest than to experience the city, and the Wendy’s was near the hotel. As SAG driver you sometimes need to take one for the team.
• Mild anxiety about not getting any work done. I told someone I would finish their project this week and don’t think it’s going to happen. Sorry, NR!

The sun rises over Lordsburg

No time for posing today

Rural route mailboxes where I stopped to refuel the guys

Testing out the new bike seat

Hotel Art of the Day

Shapes and hatch marks on rustic blocks of color
~48″x28″
Holiday Inn Express, Silver City, NM

Hotel Art Score

5/10. This is similar in tone to yesterday’s piece. I did a little research, and of course art specifically for hotels is a real thing. There are a bunch of sources, but this place has the best website. You can search for art by what colors it has so that you can best match it to the room. This particular piece would be categorized as Abstract (don’t bother looking for it, though — I just did and it isn’t there, though similar pieces are).

Art Art Score

3/10. If the artist told me this represents how he feels inside or some other concept he feels is important, I’d be like, “Okay, this is kind of a lame and ineffective expression of that, but who I am to judge.” It’s the cynical “I’m going to make money with some hotel art” thing done with just a touch more gusto. But let’s be clear: it’s still bad.

The requisite “Bye, Mom” shot, Safford, AZ

Day 4: Safford, Arizona to Lordsburg, New Mexico. I got to cross a new state off my list today!

This was a wonderful drive. No one else was on the road, the mountains were romantically misty in the distance, and the weather was just beautiful. I truly felt that I owned the road, the land, the sky, everything — it seemed to be there just for me. It was a little like being in a car commercial.

Taken while driving 65 mph because I could see for miles and no one was around

We planned to stop in Duncan, the only town “with services” between Safford and Lordsburg, for lunch. I beat the guys there, so I drove around a little bit to get a feel for it. I felt like an intruder, though. A guy on a motorcycle gave me a curious look, and I kept passing by the same two men in cowboy hats, feeling conspicuous and out of place. At least Midnight Rider has Arizona plates.

I would like to believe that it’s still 1908 inside this bank

I saw a sign that read VETERANS MEMORIAL (JET PLANE), so I followed the arrow and drove up a big hill to check it out. Here is the memorial:

VETERANS MEMORIAL (JET PLANE)

Pretty cool, isn’t it? Something you might like to see close up and read about, right? Me, too. Except, see that wooden fence in the background? There’s a Doberman behind that fence.

As I walked toward the plane, the Doberman popped out from behind the fence, hopped excitedly like in a Warner Bros. cartoon (in my memory he licks his lips), and began giving chase. I didn’t even have time to think “holy shit” — I just turned around and ran girlishly in my dumb sandals all the way back to MR. Luckily (seriously, luckily) I had a good head start. I turned around when I got back to the van and saw that he’d paused, apparently deciding I was no longer worth his time. But no way was I going to attempt to read about that memorial again. I should have taken a picture of the dog, but I was too spooked.

Not willing to attempt to do anything else in Duncan without backup, I parked MR in a playground and waited. The boys showed up soon after, and we had a surprisingly tasty lunch at Ol’ Jo’s Cafe. You think you can only get good food in New York and then the rest of America surprises you. All of our meals were made by a single wiry. hard-working woman in the kitchen, and Ol’ Jo’s was packed by the time we left. I hope you left a good tip, Dad.

Tim and Mark compare notes on Google’s distance projections. All of our phones said slightly different things.

The drive from Duncan to Lordsburg was equally empty of other cars and just as fun as the morning. It was marvelous in the true meaning of the word.

In the Land of Enchantment at last

Hotel Art of the Day

Enigmatic illustrations against rustic colored blocks
~ 30″x30″
Comfort Inn and Suites, Lordsburg, NM

Hotel Art Score

5/10. If you don’t look too closely, the colors add some warmth and “interest” to the room. Maybe it’s supposed to represent the exoticism of exploring new vistas? I have no idea.

Art Art Score

2/10.  What is going on here? You can’t see it, but there are blurry bits of Latin text in spots. It’s like someone tried to imagine what a bad scrapbook by Leonardo da Vinci would look like if he had lived in the 2000s. It seems like it was a not-unpleasant design assignment, and it certainly required some skill to execute, but if even if the artist told me that s/he was really inspired to make this, I would have a hard time believing it. I think cynical forces are at play again.

Thanks to everyone who participated in Name That Minivan! The majority chose correctly, and Midnight Rider is happy to have an official name at last. “Boy Blue” and “Midnight Blue” were tied in second place with four votes, and “Queensrÿche” ended up in third place with three.

About to head out of Globe and looking good

Since I already knew that Midnight Rider would be the winning name (it was obviously the best and I’m glad many of you agreed), I started off my day’s drive listening to the song in the car. Just before the trip I reread my entries from last year, and in one of them I give my future self the advice to bring music so that I wouldn’t have to listen to country, Mexican, or Don Henley all the time. So I invested in a Spotify Premium account and a Bluetooth FM transmitter. I do like listening to the radio sometimes, just to get a sense of the town, but this new setup is fantastic. There’s nothing like driving in the middle of nowhere and singing with abandon.

Route 70 is two lanes, one lane in each direction, so cars pass while other cars are heading straight for them. I hate this — I hate doing it and I hate seeing other people do it. But I did it yesterday anyway because I guess I hate being behind really slow cars more than risking death.

Anyway, I survived, and the scenery was lovely.

One of the last saguaro cactus plants I saw

Stray notes from the drive:

• Don’t put a styrofoam cooler with bags on top of it right at the edge of the trunk because everything will spill out of it when you open the trunk.
• I wish I could take pictures of people without them seeing me. I saw a Native American police officer washing his squad car while in uniform under a run-down carport next to his run-down home in Bylas — a striking image. And I’ve seen lots of other moments and tableaux that call out for a photo, but I’ve been too embarrassed to reach for my camera. I don’t want to treat the people who live in these places like they’re only anthropological curiosities (even if, because of the nature of this trip, they are such to me in the moment).  
• Sometimes mountains look as fake in real life as they do in old movie backdrops.
• A lot of thought has to go into highway planning and implementation. It’s remarkable that this country has so many roads, and that they’re basically consistent and reliable. Go federal works projects!

I checked in to our very nice Best Western at 12:30, had a beer, ate Triscuits, and wrote. The guys arrived around 3:30. No one seemed to want to hang out so I started watching The Apartment on TCM. Then Dad came over for tech support and we had a beer and watched the movie together. Then he and Tim went to church and Mark texted to see if I wanted to have a beer before dinner. Naturally I did.

We ate dinner at The Copper Steer, a steakhouse recommended by the woman at the check-in desk. It was really pretty good, despite having ill-considered banquet hall-style chairs. And I never thought I would say this, but it was nice to have a break from Mexican food. (Still, if I had to eat the same type of food every day for the rest of my life, that type of food would be Mexican.)

After dinner we all retired to my room for Tim’s nightly reading. Now you too can experience Tim reading! This is just a random snippet, and he didn’t know that I was recording. Unfortunately I didn’t capture the part where he mispronounced “tortilla” three times. Enjoy!

Hotel Art of the Day

Satisfied cowboy with rainbow
Probably 18″x24″
Best Western, Safford, AZ

Hotel Art Score
8/10. This and its companion piece (of a rancher feeding his horse) were colorful (my photo doesn’t do it justice), location-appropriate, and schmaltzy in the best possible way. I find this delightful. And there is real sentiment here; I think the painter shares this cowboy’s love of the earth. While he’s not making me feel it, at least I feel him feeling it. And that makes me smile. And as a weary traveler I like to smile.

Art Art Score
4/10. Aside from the schmaltz factor, the technique is strangely unbalanced. The animals are pretty carefully rendered, but the background — especially the rainbow — is half-assed. I have suffered from a similar lack of balance in my own paintings, so I have sympathy.

The riders have resolved to start their days earlier this year; it’ll give them more time for snacks, relaxation, and sleep. Besides, we’re all still on east coast time, anyway. On Day 2 we ate breakfast at 7 a.m.; they departed at 7:40. I hung out under the harsh fluorescent lights of my room till 10, then headed out to meet the guys for lunch in Superior before the scary tunnel ride.

Oops, this isn’t the best photo — sorry, Tim!

The drive was spectacular, with beautiful vegetation for miles. I wish I’d had time to stop and take it in better, but the guys were speedier than expected and ended up waiting for me for half an hour at a rest area.

Lunch at a cute Mexican diner in Superior, AZ

After chicken tacos for me, a burger for Mark, and grilled cheese sandwiches probably fried in lard for the Lent observers, we went back to the car to put the video camera on Dad’s helmet. I gave them a head start to the tunnel, which was a few miles away, and headed to the rest stop’s ladies’ room for some “rest.”

This was the grossest restroom I’ve ever encountered. I’ve seen a lot of public bathrooms in my time (hundreds, surely), but things were happening here (or rather, had happened) that no one should ever have to face. I will spare you the details, but I am mystified by the aspect of human nature that inspires people to make a bad situation worse. I suppose it’s resentment at having been made to experience the bad situation in the first place. Anyway, ugh.

The bathroom looks clean, yes, but this unflattering self-portrait illustrates my disgust and hides the awfulness directly behind me

I shook it off, though, to focus on Project Get the Guys Through the Tunnel Safely. I passed them on the highway, then pulled off the road just before the tunnel entrance.

A few minutes later, the riders showed up in my rear view mirror. But gravel, Dad’s nemesis, felled him just as they reached the long pull-off. The guys were about a football field away from me, tiny yellow specks, and it seemed like the fall happened in slow motion, or like I was watching it on a screen — maybe because I saw it in the mirror. I was slow to react, eventually realizing I should get out of the car to see if they needed my help. I yelled, “Are you all right?” and it echoed off the mountain satisfyingly. Tim answered yes. Dad, though his knee was bleeding and his hip was/is probably bruised, soldiered on.

I’d like to pause here to say that if I’d been in Dad’s position, I would a) have felt light-headed just knowing my knee was bleeding; b) be terrified that I had to do something dangerous just after a painful, distracting fall; c) not go through with it, obviously; and d) not have done any of this in the first place, so this speculation is pointless.

Dad walking off the fall

As the SAG driver, I’d been dreading this part of the trip, expecting angry cars to pile up behind me, unable to see that I was saving them from charges of unintentional manslaughter. I’d also had additional anxious thoughts about my anxiety causing me to do something rash, like speed up and/or swerve, causing a disastrous chain of events resulting in the death of us all. But the tunnel was short, and traffic was pretty light, and for the most part other drivers were cool. As Tim mentioned, only one person honked angrily, but he gave an “I take it back” honk once he saw what was going on. Thanks, dude.

After we made it through, I realized I’d been holding my breath. Everyone was okay, so I headed off to the Quality Inn in Globe.

Though my room smelled vaguely of farts, it was otherwise very nice. I settled in. The guys arrived two hours earlier than expected, around 2:30. We took our daily bread (beer, chips, crackers — oh, plus delicious artisanal chocolate courtesy Holly [thank you!!]) in Dad’s room and listened to Tim read another chapter of Conquering the Borderlands.

We chased down the snacks with an early Mexican dinner, probably the most authentic Mexican food (as well as the best restaurant sign) we’ve experienced in both legs so far. Dad already wrote about this, but here it is again:

The man is dreaming of a beautiful lady bringing him food, and his wife is about to hit him with a rolling pin

Then we went back to Safeway for supplies, and I’m only mentioning this because there was an amusement park in the parking lot:

Rides in this setting were otherworldly, both ugly and beautiful

And that’s that for Day 2. But it’s time to introduce a new daily feature! Last year had salsa. This year has ART.

Hotel Artwork of the Day

Contemporary hospitality interior design theory seems to believe that paintings should not invite contemplation; that they should instead underscore the room’s sense of comfort, relaxation, and luxury by blending in with the decor. In other words (because I know Dad is lost after the last sentence), most hotel rooms don’t want you to really look at their art, at least not more than you look at the bedspread. If you’re going to think about the artwork at all, they want you to think, “Oh, that’s a nice painting,” and nothing more.

But maybe there’s nothing wrong with that! While I generally think art should be more than a bit player in an interior design concept, it kind of makes sense in hotels. Being forced by the wall to think about something on it is not necessarily what the average weary traveler wants.

Uh oh, I could go on about this for paragraphs. Don’t worry, I won’t.

Anyway, I’m going to grade the art we encounter on how good it is as hotel art and how good it is as art that might purport to something greater. Obviously, please disagree with my opinions in the comments.

Let’s take a look at our first specimen:

Scribbled lines on soft blocks of color
Approx. 16″x16″ print
Quality Inn, Globe, Arizona

To me this feels like art at its most cynical. There is no discernible soul; it is actually noticeable for not being nice. Also it is boring. It’s hard for me to believe that the artist had any idea in mind other than to make money by churning out some hotel room art. Perhaps the scribbles suggest frustration at only being able to earn a living through crappy stuff like this. The background is painterly, at least. Still.

Hotel Art Score: 4/10
It basically blended in with the decor, but the angry lines work against my sense of relaxation. If they’re supposed to be whimsical they’re failing me. Also the square size was awkward for this particular room. Subpar all around.

Art Art Score: 2/10
Come on, it’s terrible.

Like Led Zeppelin in 1991, SAG LADY IS BACK. I know how much you have missed me.

Last year’s journey was unexpectedly wonderful, so I have high hopes for Leg Two (L2). My dad thinks I need to keep my expectations in check, but my feeling is, more than anything that actually happens here, it’s my attitude that affects the experience. So I’ll just expect all the wonder I want.

Besides, if my flight to Phoenix was presageful (thanks, Merriam-Webster; it’s hard to find a word that means “portentous” but with a positive connotation), L2 is bound to be interesting. Shortly after I got on the plane, two guys my age introduced themselves, apologized, and took their seats next to me. I soon learned that they were apologizing for being total goofballs. They were on their way to Arizona to “watch Spring Training baseball and drink beer.” Like me, they’d each enjoyed two tall Goose Island IPAs at Sammy Hagar’s Beach Bar and Grill while our flight was delayed, so we had an immediate, mildly inebriated bond. We started playing a game of War with cards shaped like boogie boards that one of the guys had. They joked around with each other like twelve year olds. Then a 70ish British woman in the row ahead of us turned around and started talking to us. Soon a middle-aged, recently divorced guy in the row behind us joined in. The plane ride officially became a cocktail party, and kept on, likely to the chagrin of everyone around us, for the rest of the five-hour journey. Stories were told, secrets were shared. It was fun, a little exhausting, and unforgettable.

A few hours later, after a surreal dinner with Tim at a hipster pub that was playing heavy metal and a gory sci-fi movie, I went to bed at 1 a.m., or 3 to me.

I woke up after four short hours, still exhausted from the airplane party.

Dad and Mark arrived early, then got to work building their bikes. They hadn’t slept much, either, which probably contributed to this situation:

Dad had messed something up and no one could figure it out

Chris tried to provide remote assistance but it was too hard for him to see what was going on; I’m sure this won’t be an issue by 2015 (L5), when all the technology from Back to the Future 2 becomes reality

Fortuitously, God had built a bike shop across the street from the hotel to solve this problem. Mark and Tim walked the bike over there and we all went to lunch. By the time we were done, so was Dad’s bike.

Thanks, God, and thanks, Ehrhardt!

Let’s get this party started, right?

And once again, they’re off!

And I was left to my extremely easy half-hour drive to Apache Junction.

Apache Junction is depressing. You are glad you don’t live there. I asked the woman at the Best Western desk if she could recommend a good restaurant, and she said, “Ugh…. There really aren’t any good restaurants in this town.”

ME: “Okay, could you recommend a restaurant in a town nearby?”

WOMAN: (long pause) “Well, there’s a place that’s not too bad here called Los Gringos Locos.”

ME (distrustfully): “Okay…”

It’s clear that Apache Junction needs all the dollars it can get.

The guys arrived not long after I did. Dad and I went to a weirdly curated supermarket called FOOD CITY and bought some supplies, then we all sat on my balcony, relaxed with some snacks, and listened to Tim read from Conquering the Borderlands, about a group of women cyclists who followed the same route as the brothers.

Mark loves it when Tim reads to us

Afterward, we went out to an early dinner at Los Gringos Locos, the not-too-bad Mexican place with great margaritas (but mediocre food, but whatever).

Oh, but what about the minivan? Great White will always hold a special place in my heart, but I am now driving a brand new, midnight blue Dodge Grand Caravan. I am the first and only driver of this guy. The transmission is a little overactive on hills, but overall it’s a sweet ride.

“What about me?”

However! I need your help with a name. Here are the contenders:

Boy Blue – One of my favorite ELO songs. It fits because the car is young, get it?

Blue Shark – In keeping with the shark theme (but not the glam metal theme, unfortunately).

Midnight Rider – Inspired by the classic Allman Brothers road trip song.

Queensrÿche – Don’t pick this.

Other – Who knows, maybe your ideas are better than mine.

Thanks in advance for your vote!

Note: Voting closes Sunday 3/03 at 1 p.m. You can vote as many times as you want, but please be reasonable.

I’ve been trying to work as little as possible on this trip — it’s hard to care about a broken image on a website visited by eight people a month (hi, I’m a web designer) when there are new landscapes to explore and new beers to drink — but work has caught up with me these past couple of days. So I’m a little behind with the posts.

While the wind pushed the bikers into Arizona on Tuesday, I ventured back to the Courtesy Cafe for the burger they all said was so good the night before. But my real objective was to experience the decor on the diner side. It did not disappoint.

I won't bore you with detail shots, but all the signage was great, too

The bathroom was also delightful

Names I was called by the waitress over four brief interactions: babe, babes, baby, hon, honey, sugar, sweetheart. Naturally. She asked me where I was driving to, I guess because I was alone, and told me she hoped the wind calmed down out there. Dad called just as I was leaving and said they were already in Salome, one hour ahead of Google’s bike directions estimate. I climbed into Great White and switched on the radio, pumped for a quick and easy ride.

The toughest thing about these drives has been finding suitable music to jam to. Throughout the barely populated stretches of California and Arizona, radio stations come in strong for a few songs, then quickly fade to fuzz. I always seek out classic rock, hoping to land on an Allman Brothers tune, because, as evidenced in Field of Dreams, you can’t go wrong with the Allman Brothers on a long drive. Unfortunately for me, California classic rock channels have a Don Henley problem, in that they play Don Henley. Does anyone actually like “Dirty Laundry?” Well, I heard it. And yeah, I sang along, because that’s what you do when you’re on the road. Kick ’em when they’re up, kick ’em when they’re down. I know I quoted the Eagles earlier, too, but that was an in-joke between me and Great White. I hate the Eagles. And they’re the only band I’ve heard on three different drives during this trip.

The radio’s been so bad that my best sing-along of this sojourn has been to Crosby, Stills, & Nash’s “Southern Cross.” Somehow I know pretty much all the words to this song, and the whole thing came in loud and clear. THINK ABOUT HOW MANY TIMES, I HAVE, FALL-HALLEN! Great White was totally cool with me messing up all the tricky harmonies, too.

Second best sing-along was to Tom Jones’ “It’s Not Unusual,” a song that makes no sense.

Wait, you have to watch his crazy hip moves in this video (it’s short, I promise).

Anyway, advice to my SAG Wagon successor: Bring CDs. Or one of those iPod radio connector thingies.

It took me less than an hour to make it to Salome. I was glad that the guys had beat me to the motel, because we were worried about what it would be like. There were four rooms total and you had to pay in cash. There was no website. You had to call the owner an hour before you got there. It just sounded like it might be scary.

Turns out the Westward Motel was by far the coolest place we stayed. Magical is the best word for it; it instantly felt like home, though it looked nothing like our actual homes. If you are traveling through this area of the country, call Rande Wolters, owner of The Westward Motel, at 208-610-3516 and make a reservation. You will not regret it.

When I got there, beer and snacks were waiting. I sat in a wooden rocking chair and ate Triscuits and contemplated the fact that I was in Salome, Arizona. Dad looked through a book from 1915 about Arizona’s history and showed me pictures of things that struck his fancy. Then Mark and I went shopping for ingredients that were to become an awesome pasta and salad dinner.

You wish you could have eaten this meal

After we ate, Tim read to us from Conquering the Borderlands, which inspired the trip.

Tim likes reading aloud

Then we talked politics for a while — in this group, the Democratic, Republican, and Independent parties are all represented — and, after polishing off two bottles of wine and plenty of Milanos, we retired to our rooms for a fantastic sleep. Want to see more shots of The Westward Motel? Sure, here you go:

Rande used to be a roadie — he worked on shows for the Stones, Dolly Parton, Heart, David Bowie, the Police, and many others in the '70s and '80s

If it'd been warmer, we could have eaten outside

If I can ever come up with the slightest reason to go back to Salome, I’m staying at The Westward Motel again. And I’m taking seven people with me.

Well, the boys from Blythe Avenue made it safely to Blythe, CA, as did the girl from Prospect Heights. When I checked in at (the brand new, utterly lovely, why don’t we just stay here the rest of the trip) Comfort Suites, the guy behind the desk (who’s around my age) looked at my ID and said, “Brooklyn? Seriously?” Favorite line of the trip so far. He then went on to say he could never live in Brooklyn because there were too many people, by which of course he meant hipsters. Hey, don’t hate me just because I eat artisanal everything.

But let’s go back in time to yesterday morning. The guys left me cowering alone in the room, as you remember.

The requisite pre-ride shot

From the door of our terrible motel — now whenever I turn off a light I tell myself that I’m doing it for the children

I couldn’t hold out till the 11 check-out time. At 10:45 I packed up and drove off, telling myself I’d go slowly to give the riders some extra time.  Since there was no place for them to stop and refuel along the way, I was going to drive until I saw them on the road and then pull over and let them unload their jackets and refill their water bottles.

This was one of the best drives I’ve ever taken, and it was an honor to share it with Great White. The roads were nearly empty except for an occasional other vehicle.

It was impossible not to think of Steven Spielberg’s DUEL a few times

Also, the landscape was incredibly diverse, shifting from flat green farmland to desert to short, roller-coastery hills to mountains to farmland again. The transition from irrigated land to desert was especially stunning, in part because it was so abrupt. There I was, bopping along to Mexican radio, trying not to think about Duel, when all of a sudden everything looked like this:

I stopped at a conveniently placed overlook to take it all in. The world was silent, no one else was around, and I had a few moments to experience a wonderful, incredibly powerful sense of tranquility and solitude. Great White looked at me and said, “This is a gift,” and I said, “I know.”

A photo can’t convey how awesome this is

I may look a little squinty and pained, but inside my heart is glowing

Soon after my respite, I came upon a very friendly group of border patrol agents. I asked them if they’d seen three old guys on bikes (kidding, I didn’t say old! or did I?) and they said they had. I found out later that Tim had instructed them to give me a hard time, but they totally didn’t.

I caught sight of the old bikers at a little pull-off on the side of a hill and somehow managed to stop without causing the car on my tail to hit me.

Reapplying sunscreen — don’t worry, Chris, Dad learned his lesson

You can’t see it, but the sign says “28TH AVE” — it seemed like it might be a joke, as it was the first intersection I’d encountered for miles

I got to Blythe around 1:30, then went to a grocery store for more beer, snacks, water, and Gatorade. The guys got in around 4 and we snacked it up, napped for a bit, then went out to dinner at the Courtsey Coffee Shop, the likes of which I wish still existed in every town, everywhere:

The sort of restaurant decor I usually only dream about encountering

The light fixture in close-up (thank you for indulging me)

I might be going back here for lunch today, in fact. Or just to sit. Apparently there’s a whole other section.

I unfortunately went 0 for 3 in salsa, bringing my average down to a still-respectable .462. I’m not sweating it; everything else about the day more than made up for my salsa slackitude.

I’m gonna level with you guys: our latest motel creeps me out. Yesterday was fun, everybody got to take it easy, but now the dudes are gone and I’m here alone, hoping not to get murdered.

View from the room — somehow it doesn't look as desolate and threatening in a picture as it does in person

I know it doesn't seem all that bad, but trust me

Here’s a little play I wrote while showering this morning:

But anyway, like I said, yesterday we were all alive, and it was a good time.

Just before their light 15-miler

A drive-thru carne asada taco, soon to be expertly dipped in salsa

This does not technically count as pic-ing and driving because I'm at a light

Great White and Mark, enjoying some beers

Tortilla chips and cheese, a good combo in any form

Recommended if you're ever in Brawley, CA

My salsa average is now a solid .667

Forty more minutes before I split this joint. Till tomorrow, hopefully —

SAG Lady

So as not to be outdone by the impressive feat of my dad and uncles, I’ve given myself a physical challenge of my own: to incorporate salsa into as many meals as possible. I went two for three on Day 2, with a taco salad for lunch and fish tacos for dinner. Day 3 started promisingly at the delightful Major’s Diner, with tasty potato pancakes topped with sour cream and, yes, salsa. I might have to become “that guy” and start taking pictures of my food. Sorry, fellow diners.

"This pineapple juice is great!" – Dad, about grapefruit juice

Shelly, Mark asked me to tell you that your bike is ready and waiting for next year's ride

But the SAG Lady’s real challenge is not to gain (much) weight after ten days of diner and chain restaurant meals. I’m eating nearly as much as men who are biking 50-90 miles a day (and drinking at least as much as they are, of course). My sole daily exertion entails carrying suitcases in and out of Great White. If I’m still able to zip up my skinny jeans on the last day of this trip, I will consider myself a winner.

After breakfast it was time for the boys to bid adieu to the lovely Pine Valley Inn:

Yeah, we get it, you're strong

Great White (at right) wished them well

I chillaxed and got a little work done in the room, then headed out around noon to our predetermined lunch destination in Ocotillo, California, population 266. The drive was great. There are all kinds of crazy rocky hills in this part of California — it looked like a giant dump truck had come and unloaded huge piles of stones and boulders everywhere. I kept wanting to pull off to the side of the freeway and take pictures but was too much of a wimp. And I don’t pic and drive, so see Mark’s last entry for a shot.

As far as I can tell, there is only one restaurant in Ocotillo, so it was easy to pick a spot to eat:

I love that this sign uses five fonts

Places like this make me love America (not being sarcastic; I mean it)

The guys originally thought they’d arrive around 1:30-1:45, so I timed my drive accordingly. Just after I pulled up to the restaurant, Dad called and said that they had eight miles to go and that the last two miles had taken half an hour. Yikes. So I went inside and had an ice cold beer (along with being the only restaurant in town, this place is apparently known for its ice cold beers), killed time on my phone, and hoped no one would try to talk to me. Sometimes I enjoy talking to strangers, but for no good reason I was feeling a little wary of this place. Fortunately everyone was similarly wary of me and my non-Californian outfit.

The dining room

They got there just before 3 p.m., ordered hearty lunches, and ate quickly. I had chicken tacos (I really like tacos, okay?) and scored another salsa point.

Yesterday Tim was demoralized by how tough it was; today it was Dad’s turn. He was angry at the relentless terrain and wind, and he wasn’t having fun. But he and everyone powered on.

Oops, wrong way! Luckily they figured it out pretty fast

I drove on to El Centro with a couple of assignments: 1) pick up a battery charger for Mark’s camera and 2) find bright yellow windbreakers for Mark and Tim. Mark’s zipper had broken and Tim just wanted a new jacket.

Our hotel is right by a mall, so I hit up Best Buy and picked up the charger. Assignment 1 complete. But before Assignment 2 I had to take a little detour:

When did their logo start looking like a news network?

Ladies, if you haven’t been following, Old Navy has stepped up its game lately. About 40% of stuff in the store is actually stylish and is at least somewhat well made — a major improvement over how it’s been for its entire existence. They’ve got some especially nice accessories right now, so I encourage you to check it out. Anyway, four shirts and a dress later, I’m ready to look for some windbreakers. But then Dad calls and says the gang is in the hotel lobby. Whoops.

Good thing, though, because it was pretty much dark by that point and I was thinking Great White might have to make its first rescue.

We had a decent dinner at Famous Dave’s BBQ (salsa score: 0), then headed over to the mall to look for those jackets. Turns out none of the stores had what they were looking for, so I didn’t have to feel guilty about neglecting my assignment. Then Dad and Mark got vanilla cones from Dairy Queen and told me about how they used to go to the airport to watch planes with Gampi when they were kids and get DQ on the way home. Any day that ends with ice cream and a Gampi memory is a good day, and this was no exception.

Bonus note to my brother: One of the sporting goods stores we went to was playing our song!

I danced, because how can you not.