Day Twelve on the Bikes – Flagstaff, Arizona to Kingman, Arizona (5 July)

Another hot day lay ahead, although thankfully one of the shorter riding days. We would be passing through some of the most iconic towns on Route 66 and, somewhere along the way, we'd tick over another milestone.

More than 2,000 miles on the Mother Road.

Chuck Berry wasn't wrong after all.

262 km (163 miles) today 3,323 km (2,063 miles) so far

Breakfast brought the first surprise of the day. We'd all been told it was at 7:30, only to discover it was actually being served from 7:00. EagleRider had set up a private buffet for all of the tour groups and, although we regularly bumped into the other riders, by now we had very much settled into our own little travelling family.

Before we set off, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to introduce everyone who had shared this adventure.

Steve and Chantelle – our guardian angels. Steve leading us across America while Chantelle somehow managed to keep everyone watered, organised and smiling, no matter what the day threw at us.

The Road Ahead crew – Andy, Wendy, Campbell, Jacqui, Sandie and John.

The Wild SOGs – Rob, Brenda and Pete from New Zealand, with Pete continuing to torment his Scottish friends at every available opportunity.

Greg and Pam from Florida.

Kevin from England.

Carl and Steven from Wales.

Graeme and Craig from New Zealand.

Rob and Jason from New Zealand.

It was a brilliant mix of personalities and, over the last twelve days, we had become far more than a group on the same tour. We had shared the miles, the laughs, the occasional challenge and created friendships that I'm sure will continue long after we all get home.

We rolled away just before 8:30, stopping almost immediately to fuel the bikes. By now, even filling a dozen Harleys had become a well-practised routine.

Our first stop was Williams, Arizona, around thirty minutes down the road.

Williams proudly claims to be the last town on Route 66 to be bypassed by Interstate 40, and it has embraced that history brilliantly. Neon signs, classic diners, souvenir shops and beautifully restored buildings lined the main street.

What we expected to be a quick stop somehow turned into well over an hour.

The discovery of a T-shirt shop selling everything around ten dollars cheaper than anywhere else we had visited certainly helped.

Needless to say, a few more Route 66 souvenirs found their way into our luggage.

From Williams, we continued west to Seligman.

If you have ever wondered why Route 66 still exists as more than just an old road on a map, you largely have one man to thank.

Angel Delgadillo.

When Interstate 40 bypassed Seligman, the town was left struggling. Rather than watch it disappear, Angel founded the Historic Route 66 Association of Arizona and became one of the driving forces behind preserving both the town and the Mother Road itself.

Without people like Angel, this journey simply would not be the experience it is today.

Pete even managed to squeeze into Angel's famous barber chair for a haircut from the man himself.

Only Pete could turn a photo stop into a visit to the barber.

Seligman was everything we had imagined Route 66 should be.

Classic cars, quirky gift shops, colourful buildings, vintage signs and enough Americana to keep every camera busy.

As we left town, I found myself thinking about something I had expected to see more of.

Motorbikes.

There had certainly been plenty, especially the other EagleRider groups, but perhaps not as many independent riders as I had imagined.

One thing that never disappoints is the biker wave.

It is not really a wave at all.

Just a relaxed flick of the left hand that somehow says everything.

"I see you."

"You're one of us."

"Enjoy the ride."

Back home, it is slightly more complicated because we ride on the proper side of the road.

Take your right hand off the throttle?

Not cool.

Wave enthusiastically with your left hand like royalty?

Definitely not cool.

There is a very precise level of effortless nonchalance required.

Motorcycling has standards.

Our next stop was Hackberry.

Calling it a town is probably stretching things a little.

It is really an old Route 66 store sitting in the middle of the Arizona desert, surrounded by vintage cars, rusting petrol pumps and decades of history.

Every direction seemed to offer another fantastic photograph.

The scenery had changed dramatically since Flagstaff.

The pine forests had disappeared, replaced by open desert, rocky hills and endless blue skies.

The temperature climbed steadily until it reached around 39°C.

Managing the heat had become almost as important as riding the bike itself.

Cooling vests, constant water stops and Chantelle appearing with icy spray bottles had become part of the daily routine.

Those little things made a huge difference.

Lunch was at the famous Mr D'z Route 66 Diner in Kingman.

Exactly what you would hope an American diner would be.

Busy, full of Route 66 memorabilia and serving generous portions of classic American food.

With the afternoon temperature becoming relentless, Steve gave us a choice.

Ride on to Oatman or head straight to the hotel.

Almost unanimously, we decided to give Oatman a miss and head straight to the hotel. The combination of another scorching day and a relatively early finish made it an easy decision.

After checking in and freshening up, we headed over to the Grand Canyon Brewery.

There was an important reason for the choice of venue. Jacqui wanted to watch the England game, so finding somewhere showing the football quickly became the evening's priority.

Fortunately, the brewery ticked every box. The match was on, the beer was cold and the food was excellent.

While Jacqui kept one eye firmly fixed on the football, the rest of us settled into another evening of good food, a few beers and the usual steady stream of banter.

We had reached that stage of the trip where every conversation seemed to end in laughter, usually at somebody else's expense.

It was another one of those evenings that had not really been planned, but somehow turned into one of the most enjoyable of the whole tour.

Once the match finished, we wandered back to the hotel, ready for an early night.

Tomorrow promised to be the toughest day of the trip.

The longest ride.

The hottest temperatures.

The cooling vests went straight into the fridge overnight, ready for one final battle with the Arizona and California desert.

Los Angeles was getting closer.

But there were still plenty more memories to make before we reached the end of Route 66.