First, the numbers for Stage 3:
Distance: 234.3 miles
Time: 19:50 (hh:mm) over 5 days
Average speed: 11.8 mph
Ascent/Descent: + 11,377ft / -9,561ft (+1,816 net)
Longest day: 61.5 miles, Elk City to Shamrock (Sunday)
Shortest day: 31.1 miles, OK City to El Reno (Thursday)
Worst day: Shamrock to an I-40 rest area 20 miles east of Groom, 33.4 miles. Thanks to brutal headwinds and a steady uphill climb (+800), we averaged an abysmal 9.2 mph
Second, the running tally:
Total distance: 972.2 miles
Total time: 77:31 (or 03:05:31) over 18 days
Average speed: 12.5 mph
Ascent/Descent: +37,200 / -35,194 (+2,006 net)
We knew that this was going to be a short, boring ride. In retrospect, I jinxed the trip by declaring at the outset that I wasn’t looking forward to seeing anything particular on this leg; it was simply a matter of getting it over with so that we could move to the next stage.
I mean, it wasn’t all bad. Although the wind KO’ed the final 60 miles, we were actually pretty lucky with the wind for the 200 miles before that. It could just have easily been in our faces the whole time. And I got to see a part of the country that I’d never seen before (except through the windows of a bus*) and ride through decent-sized towns that I didn’t even know existed, like Elk City.
[* In the summer of ’77, I went to Philmont Scout Camp in NE New Mexico, and the bus to-and-from St. Louis would have traveled this exact route.]
I did learn a few things along the way:
- I have a problem with overpacking. It starts out with the knowledge that I have plenty of room in my pannier bags, but then–befitting Oklahoma, I suppose–I “just cain’t say no” to cramming in way more clothes than I’ll need… especially given the fact that I knew we’d be stopping at a laundromat along the way.
- Hoods are good. A couple of years ago, Caroline (daughter-princess) gifted me with a really nice, lightweight cycling windbreaker. It even folds in on itself and stuffs into its own pocket. It has a hood, though, and–until this trip–I would tuck the hood down the back of the jacket to keep it from acting as a drag chute. This trip, between the morning chill and the north wind, the hood wasn’t a drag chute; it was a godsend.
- “Nothing here worth dieing for.” (sic) On the final day of the ride, before the wind got horrible, we passed a ramshackle house whose owner had spray-painted this warning across the front porch. Both Jon and I posted photos of it. That message ended up being a motto for the ride. The wind that day wasn’t just physically wearing us down, it was also unsafe. If we had continued to ride on I-40 into Groom, the wind would have been pushing traffic onto the shoulder where we were riding. As Jon succinctly put it, we didn’t want the last sound we heard on Earth to be an 18-wheeler crossing the rumble strips behind us. We have a destination and a plan to reach it, but “Riding Route 66” is not some kind of crusade; it’s recreation. If it’s not enjoyable, or if it’s unreasonably risky, we just don’t do it… and we don’t feel guilty or defeated for having to bail out. It’s that simple.
This will probably be our one-and-only Route 66 ride this year; I don’t think that our respective calendars will give me or Jon the time that we’ll need for the next stage beyond Amarillo. Instead, we’re looking to 2025, and we’ll probably do a two-fer: take a couple of weeks and crank out the 600+ miles between Amarillo and Flagstaff. I’ve already started mapping the route in Ride With GPS.
In the meantime, I gotta figure out where I’m going to get the 2400 miles that I still need to reach 3000 again this year. That’s my next post…
Rideworthy 