The Great American Road Trip

Part 3: California Dreamin'

Marisa McInturff

17 min read

The expansive watercolor-like landscape of the Painted Desert in the Petrified Forest National Park stretched as far as we could see.

“I’ve got five miles of range left on reserve,” I muttered nervously through the helmet comms to Florian and Caleb as we passed a sign that said the next fuel stop was 24 miles away.

“Crap, I’ve got seven,” Caleb chimed in.

I still don’t know how it happened. Maybe we got some bad fuel, or maybe the desert heat interfered with filling the tanks completely at our last stop. Either way, my fuel light had been flashing for the past 30 miles—and I hadn’t even noticed. Running out of gas in the middle of the desert was definitely not on my Route 66 bucket list. Without another word, our three Harley-Davidsons slipped into a narrow flying formation. We eased into a more fuel-efficient pace and lined up behind Florian, who somehow still had plenty of go juice.

On more than one occasion, we found ourselves chasing trains as the tracks paralleled the highway.

I tucked in behind my fairing, fingers hovering over the brakes as I used Florian’s bike to shield mine from the wind and conserve energy. Caleb did the same behind me, riding two layers deep in the slipstream. We became a single moving unit; smoother, faster, and more efficient than if we’d been riding solo. In moments like that, communication and trust are everything. The spacing has to be tight enough for you to stay in the aerodynamic sweet spot. It’s a calculated dance of three machines slicing through the desert air as one.

I watched the numbers on my odometer tick down until they hit zero. If I hadn’t already been sweating buckets from the heat, that would’ve done it. We were locked in, calling out every move before making it. And then, with a collective sigh of relief, we sputtered into a gas station in Santa Rosa, NM.

Motorcycles & Gear

2024 Harley-Davidson Road Glides and Street Glide

Helmet: HJC RPHA 11 Pro, Arai Signet Q
Pants: Klim Outrider Pants, Klim K Forty 3 Riding Jeans
Jacket: Klim Induction, Klim Marrakesh, REV’IT! Overshirt Tracer Air 2
Boots: Klim Black Jak, Danner Logger, TCX Hero 2 WP
Gloves: Klim Dakar, Alpinestars
Luggage: Peak Design 45L Travel Backpack, Peak Design 30L Travel Backpack
Comm System: Cardo Packtalk Edge (seven of them)
Camera: Nikon Z6II, 24-70mm F2.8, 28-300 F3.5

When was the last time you jotted a note on the back of a postcard to send home from a ride?

Pressing Pause

This gas station not only had cold drinks and fuel, but also an attached post office. We grabbed a spot at the picnic table and took a few minutes to scribe messages on the backs of postcards we’d picked up a few days earlier. There was something timeless about pausing to put pen to paper. In the golden age of Route 66, a handwritten postcard was the heartbeat of roadside communication. I can only imagine how many of those little cards were sent from the Mother Road during its prime. The number must be staggering—millions of tiny stories sent off to faraway mailboxes.

After licking the stamps and sliding our cards into a faded blue mailbox, we saddled up again, engines rumbling to life. With our tanks topped off and a few messages bound for home, we rolled back onto the Mother Road, enriched by a quiet moment that felt like it could have happened 70 years ago.

As we crested this hill, we all saw it at the same time. This was the spot where Christian had stopped.

Old Route to Santa Fe

The original Route 66 once curved north to Santa Fe, but it was realigned in 1937 to bypass the city, shaving 107 miles off the route. Determined to follow as much of the original alignment as possible, we split off and headed north on SR 85, tracing the pre-1937 path toward the capital of New Mexico.