Michael Sheridan rides the Mother Road, capturing some of the poetic sadness about a road littered with landmarks but lacking in real life 66 bikers ride America's famous Route 66 to help a Dublin children's hospital.
Last month, 66 bikers left Dublin airport for Chicago to ride Harleys on the road trip of a lifetime. The plan was to cross eight states in eight days, covering the 2,448 miles from Chicago to Santa Monica, California, to raise funds for Temple Street Children's University Hospital in Dublin. Each rider has raised over €8,000.
The Route 66 Challenge would cross three time zones at altitudes from sea level to over 7,000 feet, ranging from the snow-capped freezing mountains to the sweltering Mojave Desert.
Known as "Main Street America" or "the Will Rogers highway", the route was completed in 1926 and for many years was the quickest way across the US. Nowadays the modern high-speed "interstates" have replaced the route.
Truckers whom we meet on the route talk of regularly doing 500-mile days. Few seem to have speed limiters - we have our wits about us when an 18-wheel behemoth passes at 95mph.
The interstate highways run parallel to the old road but, like all reflections, they lack the soul of the original.
My machine of choice is a 1450cc Harley-Davidson Road Glide, a meaty hog that could pull a caravan. Unlike modern Japanese bikes, it has a gentle-giant riding characteristic - that's a polite way of saying it isn't quick and doesn't stop particularly well. But in America one simply must ride Milwaukee metal.
DAY ONE: We leave Fitzpatrick's Hotel, under Chicago PD motorcycle escort, arranged by the Emerald Society, a group of Irish-Americans from the law enforcement community. The night before we got the full St Patick's Day treatment - marching band, barbecue, renditions of The Soldier's Song and the odd officer on bagpipes.
We plan to cover 378 miles from Chicago to St Louis today following Route 66 through more ghost towns than you could shake a stick at.
We hit places like Funks Grove, Dixie's Truck Stop in McLean (a famous 66 landmark) and, of course, one of many Springfields that litter the US (this one was once home to Abraham Lincoln).
Fuel stops are determined by the thirstiest bikes, so we stop about every 100 miles. Fuel is a meagre $1.85 (€1.45) per US gallon.
If we need directions all we have to do is sing a quick rendition of Get Your Kicks On Route 66 by Bobby Troup.
DAY TWO: St Louis to Claremore, Oklahoma - another long day with over 415 miles to be clocked up. We break in to smaller groups to speed up fuel stops - and to appear less intimidating to the locals.
Rolla, another Springfield, Joplin all provide photo opportunities but we must press on if we are to average 40mph. Even at that, we'll be over 10 hours in the saddle.
Car fanatics among us play a game called spot the small car. So far a singular Ford Focus leads. It's dark and we're very tired when we eventually reach Claremore.
DAY THREE: Destination Shamrock, Texas, 320 miles away. At Bristow we meet the chairperson of the chamber of commerce. Like everybody else we meet, she is warm, welcoming, divorced and amazed at the size of our group.
Along the way we meet other bikers but never more than four or five at a time. As we approach Oklahoma the rain which has been threatening for some time hits us. Like US fast food, the rain is super-sized. We stop when we can and shelter in an establishment called the Waffle House.
Having loaded up on carbs, it's off again. Soon we pass through Yukon, the birthplace of Garth Brookes, a town with a lot to answer for.
Clinton houses a decent Route 66 museum and, having dallied too long at a Cherokee trading post, we make it just as it's closing. The smell of our dollars re-opens the doors.
The sun sets and we ride in darkness towards our Texas target. Karaoke rules in the town of Shamrock and, despite the best efforts of local "bad hair day" gals and stetson-hatted guys, our Oliver wins the day for Ireland.
DAY FOUR: Destination Grants, New Mexico, 422 miles away. Today we get to ask Is This the Way to Amarillo?
At Albuquerque we are a day early for an annual hot air balloon festival but still there's plenty to see including a police chase and a raging department store fire.
We're half way across the US and weary but in Grants the melting-pot Outlaws biker bar is calling. It's rough and ready but the owner knows us and even provides free transport from our hotel. The soundtrack is . . . line dancing meets rap. A late night.
DAY FIVE: Heads are sore and rumps are tender as we thread through Navajo country to Williams, Arizona. At the continental divide in New Mexico, we spot a front page picture in USA Today of what looks like a couple of baseballs - on closer examination it turns out to be a baseball and a hailstone. Luckily we weren't hit by these monsters which caused millions of dollars worth of damage to property the day before.
At Gallup we stop for essential repairs to our TV-camera bike. It's dropping gearbox oil under the back wheel. Mechanic Matty, who has been in demand repairing punctures, sets about a temporary repair.
After the Yellow Horse Trading Post, another tourist trap, it's onward to the Petrified Forest and the Painted Desert. These must-sees are appetisers for the Grand Canyon.
A meteor crater tempts some or our 66ers to make a slight detour. Fantastic sounding places such as Two Guns and Twin Arrows lead us to Flagstaff as the temperature begins to drop.
Williams is reached in darkness. Thankfully no biker had to do a real life "elk test". In God's own country, we designate Sunday as a day of rest.
DAY SIX: Well rested, we depart for Needles - it's our shortest run so far, with only 177 miles on the cards.
But there is lots to see and the Mojave Desert to cross. Route 66 gets much more interesting as we head west. Seligman is home to "the Route 66 Barber" where a few brave souls opt for the cut-throat shave.
We dine at the famous Road Kill Café - its motto "You kill it, we grill it". Later we pass another native American reservation, this time of the Hualapi.
Hackberry stores is a great memorabilia shop on the side of the road where John and Kerry Pritchard have a massive collection of priceless junk. There is also a must-see gents, covered from ceiling to floor in Playboy pin-ups.
Kingman, in the foothills of the Black Mountains, has a massive Harley store and more dollars are left behind as we buy yet more branded merchandise. No wonder Harley make more money on this stuff than on the bikes. Still, prices are roughly half the Irish norm.
Stigreaves Pass is a wonderful twisty mountain section of Route 66 that isn't really Harley country - in other words, its got corners. It is, however, exhilarating as there's not a bit of Armco barrier of any sort to be seen. Get it wrong here and you better have a parachute.
Once back down the mountains its through the desert on a gloriously twisty stretch of 66. The original London Bridge is a detour away at Lake Havasu City but it's getting dark as we cross the Colorado River into California. We overnight at Needles.
DAY SEVEN: Just 178 miles today but there's plenty of desert to cross so we leave early with full fuel tanks en route to Victorville.
Amboy is a typical Route 66 ghost town. It's largely lifeless, with a closed filling station, a volcanic crater and lots of tumbleweed. It's home to Roy's Cafe, another Route 66 landmark. But the town itself is the ultimate symbol of the Route's demise - littered with landmarks but lacking in real life.
A detour could take us to the Joshua Tree National Park but we resist and head to Barstow and yet another Route 66 visitor centre. At Victorville we park up and clean our bikes for the morning.
DAY EIGHT: The shortest day in distance - but the 115 miles prove to be tough. At breakfast group leader Tony Toner reminds us why we are doing this challenge, the children of Temple Street. Then, it's time to live those childhood dreams and ride with CHIPs, the California Highway Patrol. Everyone's humming the theme tune as we depart two by two with our CHIPs motorcycle escort.
The temperature is scorching and the miles slow as we meet LA traffic. Eventually we ride down Sunset Boulevard, onto Hollywood Boulevard, along Ocean Boulevard and, finally, onto Santa Monica pier.
The sight of the Pacific signals the end of our journey. For some of the pillion passengers, it's been the first time they've been on a bike. They've found a new passion and in the silence of the ride and amid the daunting scenery have completed their own personal journeys, leaving as husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, but arriving as men and women again.
Gail Smith, a Garda motorcyclist in Dublin, has become the first Irish woman to ride Route 66 in eight days. Clive Woods produces an engagement ring to his pillion passenger, Mary O'Hora, who says yes - I guess she thinks if they can survive this trip together they might just make it through life.
Others cast their minds back to loved ones, for whom they took this voyage. Aisling Ní Dhoighilín says a prayer for her sister, Niamh, a long-term patient in Temple Street. She was just 14, today is her first anniversary.
For more information on the trip go to www.route66.ie