Las Vegas to Santa Monica

Rusty car on the roadside
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Las Vegas - sin city - a place for gambling, hot night life, haute cuisine and haute couture shopping. Scarily, it is the fastest growing city in the US and you either love it or hate it.  Far from being tacky, we were surprised by its cleanliness and the quality of the hotels, although underneath the thin veneer of glamour, one could sense that there was a seedier side of life in this vast metropolis.

Slot machines are everywhere, although the atmosphere in the casino is somewhat quieter than I remember.  The little old ladies no longer sit feeding the hungry one armed bandits with pots of quarters and you no longer hear the chang-chang-chang when one of the lucky souls hits the jackpot.  Instead you just insert a computerised ticket into the machine and receive the same computerised ticket back on winning - I guess its all money, but somehow it seems less exciting.

The journey's end

Waterworks at the Bellagio, Las Vegas
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The assault on the senses was quite something after having spent a couple of nights at the ranch.  You could not have found two more extreme places,  nonetheless, we managed to up our tempo and fit in two shows and two exhibitions whilst there.

We then tracked back on ourselves to rejoin Route 66 in Arizona just past Kingman, which we had passed through four days earlier.  Now seeing signs to Los Angeles and passing into California, we are on the last stretch of our journey.

The Strip, Las vegas
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There is a stange custom in the US of waving to other Harley riders.  This is much, much more than the knowing nod that the bikers give each other in the UK. This is a full left-handed salute with the arm stretched out at waist level and the index and middle fingers making a downward V-sign.  Drivers of sports bikes and other such two wheeled transport are not afforded such courtesy.  At first, it seemed a little daunting taking one hand off the handle bars whilst cruising along. All that I could muster was a nod of the head and a pathetic lifting of the fingers on my left hand, with my thumb still gripping tightly onto the handlebars.  As the days went on, I was able to find the courage to lift my hand fully from the bars, rendering a short but rather girly wave. Finally, over the course of the three weeks, I am pleased to say that I have perfected the "Harley Wave" and can now salute the best of them whilst speeding down the highway. Not sure that it will work in the UK, since the passing traffic is on the throttle side, and a wave would only seek to slow you with the car behind rapidly approaching  your "bumper".

Roy's cafe and Motel, Amboy, California
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We had visions of California being a lush and pleasant land and were therefore somewhat surprised to find that it was the state in which we saw the least whilst on the road. The reason being is that you have to traverse the Mojave desert.  It is a truly vast and empty space, with a number of small deserted towns that died once the Interstate bypassed Route 66.  We are running short on petrol and stop at Roy's Cafe and Motel, a smart looking motel and gas station with cars parked up at the pumps.  It turns out that it is in fact a ghost town that has been bought outright by two guys who now rent it out for photo shots and movie shoots. No petrol here, but three very strange characters, one of whom is a caretaker there, to whom we chat to for a while. They warned us about the amount of traffic in Los Angeles, a warning that we we shrugged off lightly since we are used to London traffic and judged that anything would seem extreme to someone who sees only a dozen passing cars per day.

Crossing the Mojave desert
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Boy, how we were wrong.  The drive into Los Angeles the following day was a nightmare.  The old Route 66 takes you through all the major towns in suburban LA, and we must have passed through a couple of hundred of sets of traffic lights before we saw the welcome sight of the ocean of Santa Monica. With thumbs aching from the braking and gear changing, we book into our last hotel - the 16th of our trip.  I am fed up with living out of a bag and am looking forward to wearing clean clothes and high heels.

Santa Monica pier
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Disappointingly, there is no sign saying "The End" in Santa Monica, in fact, there is no recognition that Route 66 even finishes in the town, instead there is a very sober plaque commemorating the life of Will Rogers - a Oklahoma-born movie star, traveller and writer.

We have a celebratory meal and some drinks (although not too many since we still have to return the bikes early the next morning).  At the hire shop, I keep my fingers crossed. We had spent the previous night cleaning and polishing the bikes, not only to make them look good but, in my case, trying to polish out the  dents and scratches that had somehow appeared on the bike during its journey. I was in luck and despite the scratched windshield, two dented front head lamps, damaged engine bars and gouged exhaust pipe, I was only charged $300.  The polishing had paid off.

Bert, Kim and Chris in Santa Monica
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We have covered 2,947 miles, visited 9 states and seen a great deal of the US. We are ready to come home and are missing the kiddies and loved ones.  I have vowed to hang up my helmet and never go on a bike again, Chiris is already thinking about his next adventure and Bert is talking about upgrading his 8-year old Harley to a bigger and better one.

Thanks to Chris for his excellent navigtion and map reading skills, to Bert, whose brilliant idea it was in the first place, my mother, Jean and Becci for looking after the children whilst we were away...and thanks to all of you for your comments and taking the time to read our blog.