Roustabout the World : I've been there and it is now OK to forget Winona.

We completed our last leg of the Pacific Coast Highway-- Malibu was extremely hilly then everything flattened out as we rode down the bike paths on the beaches of Santa Monica. We were tempted to lock our bikes up and explore the pier but knowing what happened to Pee-Wee in his Big Adventure we declined.

Ok, so we cheated a bit. The Mojave Desert is 93 degrees at night right now, over 100 during the day. With such temperature and at our rate of travel it isn't possible to carry enough water. So we did what everyone does in Los Angeles: we got in a car and waited in traffic for a few hours. Our trip resumed the next day in Arizona.

Flagstaff is such an immaculate little town. Our room for the evening was in the Dubeau Motel Hostel. Open since the 1920's it was a mix of friendly hostel and Route 66 relic. We did not know Flagstaff was the calm before the storm.

I am writing from the breezy porch of the Route 66 Hostel in Albuquerque, NM. However, things have turned for the worst. Our spirits have darkened after several days of grueling 90 mile days which begin at dawn and end after the sun has set. Yesterday was supposed to be a ‘rest day’ according to our schedule, 96 miles later it wasn't.

Our route is based on the wisdom of one Tom Aldrick. See Uldrick.com. Tom, his dear wife Lucille and his doting son Eric are the Lewis and Clark of our trip. They have bestowed upon us (via the internet) a pathway through the very soul of America, the mother road Route 66. For us, Tom is its patron saint. He is our lord, our guide, the key to our salvation. He is our shepherd, and we are his sheep. Get the point? When he promises us a great ride, we believe him. We now consider ourselves Doubting Toms. Our faith in him has been subjected to many and various obstacles. Whilst Tom promises us free and easy downhill passes, we have met arduous climbs. Whilst Tom promises us wonderful vistas of wild horses roaming in green pastures, we have met gnarling dogs snapping at our heels. Whilst Tom has promised us the beauty of small town America, we have met Denny’s, Taco Bell and boarded up Main Streets. America homogeneity is not what we seek. Difficult rides are fine, but when perched atop a saddle consumes every moment, interspersed only by the Grants, NM Motel 6, this defines Chinese water torture. In all likelihood we are going to set a new course forgoing the Denny's of the Texas panhandle, Oklahoma and Arkansas.