RT66 Day 17: Mojave Crossing
Today was the BIG day. Mojave Crossing Day. A lot of Fun #2.
Day 17: Needles, CA to Ludlow, CA; 108 miles, 4,613 feet elevation gain
6.4 miles on I-40
Day 17: Planned on Ride with GPS
Intraday Stops: Najah’s Oasis (30 miles), Roy’s Cafe (42 miles), Ludlow Motel (28 miles)
We thought we’d smash out the first 10 miles in 30 minutes, but Nature had other ideas. A brutal headwind paired with a not-so-subtle climb dropped us to 8 mph—demoralizing and, frankly, embarrassing.
For the next 20 miles we averaged 9–10 mph, nowhere near the 15–18 mph we’d hoped for. Speed wouldn’t have mattered much, except for one thing: there’s only one café in Ludlow, our destination, and it closes at 5 p.m. Miss it and you’re eating gas-station food—not my first choice. Also, less time under the desert sun felt… advisable.
By Najah’s Oasis, our first water stop, we had finished everything we were carrying and arrived tired and hungry. The previous stretch, we hadn’t filled our CamelBak pouches (stored in our frame bags), so this time we filled all 6 liters between the two of us. We took a longer break to dial in our setup, rehydrate, and eat.
The night before, we’d bought breakfast burritos as emergency food. Sara ate ¼ of hers; I ate ½ of mine. Sara prefers gels (Huma). I prefer food that would’ve gotten you banned from swimming for two hours back in the ’80s.
After 30 minutes, we rolled out again—now averaging 11 mph. It was 11 a.m.
As we exited the parking lot, a semi rolled toward us. I pivoted, but gravel had other plans, and I went down hard on the derailleur side. No mechanical damage—just a bruised ego.
We reached National Trails Highway and saw the sign: Closed to All Traffic.
Sara declared, “We are not traffic.”
So we went.
Over the next 35 miles, we passed more than 20 road-closure signs—at least five paired with actual collapsed roads. In those spots, we walked our bikes through the unforgiving desert. Jumping barricades, dodging sandbags, trudging through sand—the miles somehow slipped by.
By 1 p.m., the heat was brutal and the wind had turned directly into our faces. My watch read 104°F. Because the road was closed, we worried our second water stop—Roy’s Café—might be shut too. When I got cell service, I called. Relief: they were open.
We rolled into Roy’s at 3 p.m., nearly out of water. We bought a gallon and split it, plus two ice creams. I finished mine, ⅓ of Sara’s (she didn’t want it), and ⅓ of her burrito. I’m fairly sure onlookers were horrified, but my system demanded fuel.
Sara said this was one of her low moments. Her crotch was chafed, she had bonked, and it was peak heat.
We didn’t linger—it was already 4 p.m. We had two hours before sunset and still 28 miles to go. The fear wasn’t just gas-station food anymore; it was finishing in the dark.
The road was mostly flat with gentle rollers and short, steep pitches. Sara hit her second low moment—and considering her longest training ride was 20 miles, she was doing incredibly well. She powered through.
Eventually, the reward came: beautiful descents into Ludlow. We arrived at 6:03 p.m.
We checked into the motel at the Chevron—easy, basic, dated but perfectly serviceable. No mold colonies plotting expansion. The gas station was open 24 hours, which felt comforting.
We dropped our bags, crossed the highway to the 76 station, and discovered a Dairy Queen inside. We devoured half our food and promptly passed out.
My Low Moment
For me, it was the headwinds and our painfully slow pace on I-40. Knowing the day would be harder, hotter, and longer than expected hung over me like a cloud.
My body never really hit a low—mostly because I kept feeding it. But mentally, what saved me wasn’t toughness. It was Sara.
The Theme of This Ride
When things are pleasant, you can do them alone. Chicago to Amarillo was fast and easy because it wasn’t that hard.
Yesterday showed me something else: I tend to get lost in the woods during the montage scenes. Left to my own devices, that’s where I’d fail.
Having the right companion—especially someone fresh and optimistic—turns difficulty into something manageable, even joyful. Could I have done this without Sara? Maybe. But it would’ve been stressful and joyless. I’d have second-guessed every decision. Every road-closure sign would’ve felt ominous. That 35-mile stretch would’ve been lonely, scary, and endless.
Poster children for mineral sunscreen?
With Sara, it was just a long joy ride.
Doing hard things with people you love—going through life with your favorite companions—that’s what makes life pleasurable, even in the shitty situations you voluntarily put yourself in. Maybe that’s the extrovert in me talking.
Faith
No, I didn’t find God. One thing cannot go unsaid: in moments of despair, you must believe in yourself. Self-doubt is as useless as it is seductive. When you’re up Shit’s Creek, your only real option is faith.
This is my second takeaway: questioning your abilities wastes time and steals focus. You have to believe—fully—that you can do the thing.
Maybe that’s what training is for — gives you a reason to believe. I don’t usually train, so this is all new to me.
Faith and friends.
I’m glad these are the lessons.