The Further Adventures of This Old Shovel
For my Dad.
He taught me much, I miss him more.
Author’s note: If you are expecting to read about some heroic, monster ride, sprinkled with tales of overcoming extreme adversity by a rookie, who finishes in the top twenty….this ain’t it. This story is mostly about my thoughts, an old motorcycle and one hell of a good time.
As I left Drummond, Montana and eased back onto I-90 West, I’m happy. I have a full tank of gas in the bike and cool water in my belly. I’m now eight days into the IronButt Rally and I’m feeling good. How cool is that?
As I settle back into one of my riding positions, (I change my posture many times), I begin to notice that a stiff crosswind is wobbling the bike all over the road. However, I make note that the tree tops and tall grasses are not moving. There is no crosswind. I’m the only thing doing the wobbling around here. Suddenly my speed reduces drastically. No, NO, NO… oh Shit! The rear tire is flat. Well isn’t this just great ! ! ! !
Normally, as many of you know, a flat tire is no big deal. Find leak, plug hole, re-inflate tire, and be gone. Well now, as you can imagine, that’s not quite how this story is going to play out. It all seemed so doable, just over a week ago.
Psalm 118:24
August 17 Friday afternoon
I was more than excited to have arrived at the DoubleTree Hotel in Chesterfield, Missouri. Headquarters for the 2007 IronButt Rally. It was a “motorcycle encampment.” The parking lot was already full of various types of 2 wheel machinery. All makes and models. Most have some sort of added electronics, be it for navigation, communication or music. Many with added fuel capacity, but all are designed and outfitted with a single purpose: To carry its’ rider to a Podium Finish 14 days from now.
It was hot. I parked my Sopwith Camel amongst the “star fighters” and shut off the engine. The heat now rising from the V-twin was turning the 50w oil to water. I was fearful of the heat damaging my new electronic ignition. It was new this year and was told that too much heat was not good. This would in fact be the least of my worries. There was much ahead.
It was hot. But I wanted to absorb this moment for as long as possible. I doubt I would ever be here again, I didn’t want the time to rush by….I whispered a soft prayer for myself and all the riders. I stood silent and just listened.
I then unpacked the bike slowly and checked into my room. The air conditioning felt good. I called home.
On one of my many trips back and forth from the hotel to the bike, I noticed lots of folks taking pictures. There was even a video crew documenting everything. It didn’t take long to realize I was driving the oldest bike in the rally. Dean Tanji and crew allowed me my 15 seconds of fame. I answered a few questions on camera and they recorded some images for posterity. Thanks Dean. It seemed almost surreal. I’d hoped I wasn’t dreaming.
August 18 Saturday morning
We had been warned that rally check-in was a lengthy process. That was a true statement. There was technical inspection for the bike; photos, video interviews for the rider. The odometer check revealed that my speedometer is drastically inaccurate. (This is going to become a major disadvantage as the rally wears on.) Lots of waiting in line and then proceed to the next room. Lots of info verified and legal documents to sign. Finally I make the Inner Chamber. I have successfully passed through the gauntlet and I am now fully vested in this madness known as the IronButt Rally. Old hat stuff for veterans…but a major benchmark in the riding career of this newbie.
The Ready Room
August 19 Sunday afternoon
Rider’s Meeting - 2:30pm. Words of Wisdom from Rallymaster Lisa and the staff: Ride safe – Don’t Get Stupid !!!!
There were lots of instructions and many questions and answers discussed. I listened and made a few notes. I was becoming increasingly aware of how extremely outgunned I was in this room. It was amazing. My only relief was knowing that I was only competing against myself. My challenge was to finish safely. This alone would ultimately prove to be enough for me.
After the meeting, there was plenty of tire kicking out in the parking lot. I was honored to meet many riders who’s names I had seen in print many times. Some riders I had meet before at other rallies. Everyone was very helpful and supportive. It was just a fabulous atmosphere and I was very impressed with the IBA / LD community at large. I was having a great experience and the rally hadn’t even started yet.
The Not So Ready Room
August 19 Sunday evening
I had been following the IBR for the last 8 years. Reading all I could and imagining what it would be like. Well, now I was sitting at the Opening Banquet for the IronButt Rally and laughing to myself. A nervous laugh at that. It was like I was finally allowed behind the walls of the Forbidden City. I was here. I was on the list. I was thinking too much. My brain actually hurt. Images: past, present and future where exploding in my head like a runaway slideshow. Good Lord, I’ve got to calm down!! “Excuse me, can I get some decaf here?”
Lisa started to read the names and issue the Rider Packs with our rider numbers. Number 1 went to George Barnes. A venerable veteran. I knew it would be awhile before I heard my name. Plenty of veterans and big dogs to claim their rightful place. With almost 100 numbers to issue, I had time to relax. Lots of cheers and remarks as rider after rider claimed their envelopes and flags. Lisa was well down the list when I suddenly heard my name. It surprised me. “Rider number 72 is…” Now, I don’t know if it was fate, coincidence or purposeful planning, but my number matched the year of my bike. I took it as a good sign. Thanks.
With Rick Miller receiving the last number issued, # 97 (I think it was actually a symbol of endearment?) We were allowed to open the bonus sheets. Holy Crimson Tide Batman !!!! The bonus locations are printed on red paper. And there are 38 pages of them ! ! ! ! It was overwhelming…. How does one route all this?
I guess that was the point. As Mike proclaimed, “Have you ever tried to FAX red paper?” This was designed to reduce the “outside help” scenario. I had always planned to do my own routing, but this was going to take some time.
Quo vadimus
Still Sunday evening
Leg One of this IronButt was clearly defined as being east of the Mississippi River. Not what I had expected, well maybe, because I didn’t know what to expect. Even before the meeting was officially adjourned, riders were already grouping together, caucusing for the approval of their strategies. The atmosphere in the room was as charged as any political convention I’ve ever witnessed. Most veteran riders had already burned through the chaff and were into the beginnings of there proposed routes. Me, I just gathered up my stuff and retired to my room.
What was my plan? I would never really resolve that, but I tried. I plotted all the bonus locations on a big wall map. There was no pattern, not even the hint of a pattern. Just points all over the Eastern U.S. including some big stuff way up in the Maritimes. I knew the big dogs would go there…I would go South.
Since I had never been to Key West, I would build my route around that. I plotted as many bonus locations to and from Florida as I knew I could reasonably get. Since my mother lives in Florida, north of Tampa, I routed myself to share my rest bonus with her. I roughly totaled about 70,000 points. If I didn’t screw up TOO much, this would set me on track for a ‘Finish” position. Oh….if it were only that simple. Time for some sleep….not.
Summit Day
August 20 Monday morning
The “channel fever” was brutal. I think I got some rest, I don’t remember. My first steps out of bed were to look out the window. It’s raining. Good start. At least maybe it was cooler, that’s a big NO. Get packed and get going. Odo readings are at 8:30 sharp. It is best not to miss that.
Waiting patiently
Riders were completing their final pre-flight checks. It was raining during the final rider’s meeting. I was so excited to get going, I don’t think I heard a word that was said. The rain only dampened the pavement, not anyone’s spirit. We all wanted to get this thing started.
“T-minus…”
August 20 10:00 am
Like a well seasoned Air Boss, Dale would walk the length of this flight deck, inspecting and instructing pilots as he marched by. His orders were to clear the parking lot in less than 10 minutes. When he pointed to you, it was time to go. The ground was vibrating from all the internal combustion. It was like being in a WW II movie and the sky was about to be filled with bombers. We were all staged for some pre-dawn raid on some unsuspecting hamlet in the hinterlands. When Dale pointed at me, my fear was stalling the engine. I had done that before at other rallies. This time I was OK. Out of the parking lot and on my way. “ Quick Watson, there is no time to lose. The game’s afoot.” I was laughing like an idiot. This was going to be great.
Leg One
Later that morning
The first stop for most everyone was the Arch. Easy points, but a bit of a goat roping. Hot, humid, hideous long wait to pass through security. Place flag, snap photo, document info. This was to be our routine for the next 11 days. To be repeated many, many times…time to go.
East into Illinois, south to Metropolis. I had read about the Superman statue in many rally reports. It was kind of nostalgic for me to finally see it as oppose to treating it like a working bonus sight. I did notice the sky had cleared to a beautiful summer day. This would amazingly stay with me for the next 11 days. I’m not kidding. The only rain I encountered on my entire IronButt ride was at the very start. But I would have gladly traded a few sunny days for a few less mechanical problems.
Uh, oh….where’s my flag?
Cross the river and bag the Paducah Mural. I continue south to Nashville. It is very hot. The bike is running well. So far, so good. At the Opryland Hotel, the doorman lets me park right under the canopy, so I can dash inside for my “Cascade” photo. They were very motorcycle friendly. That’s why I mention it.
South to Birmingham and the beginnings of my many rookie mistakes. My first realization of trouble was that I had to stop for fuel every 130 miles or so. This practice really eats up the time with no mileage added. It made for long days with too few miles. Now, add the fact that my speedo is so inaccurate, I really think I’m making good time, when in fact I’m falling behind at an almost exponential rate. It’s not an excuse, I should have corrected for it. Man, was it hot.
For reasons only other riders can begin to understand, I rode right past two decent bonuses in Birmingham in hopes of making the Barber Museum before dark. It was way later than I realized when I arrived in Leeds after dark. So now I had no points for anything. This ugly procedure would haunt me throughout the rally. I shamefully developed a pattern of arriving way too late ( or too early ) for daylight only bonuses. But could hit many 24 hour bonuses mid-day….my bombardier was not happy.
I did take advantage of the Talladega Speedway 24 hour bonus. Soon after that, I decided to call it a day. I had some recalculating to do. It was only day one. I knew I was not doing well. The next day didn’t get any better. But oddly enough, I was still enjoying myself. It was stupid HOT, but the bike was running OK.
Next day
I did get to document at least one non-rally related moment on my ride. Shortly after crossing into Georgia, my odometer rolled over 200,000 miles. I know this is quite common in the greater LD community, but it was a big deal to me. It wasn’t until June 1999 when I hit 100,000, so I’m getting better.
August 21, 2007 Alabama / Georgia state line.
Day break and I join the commuters into Atlanta. I still don’t understand why I rode past yet again another juicy bonus in Marietta in favor of making tracks to Florida. I can only blame the heat. The heat was brutal. I was drinking more water all the time, maybe too much. I should have paid more attention to my caloric intake as well. Lesson to note.
I arrive in Gainesville only to join in some nice traffic jams. Mmmmm, lots of fun in the heat. I finally find the sink hole and guess what? It’s closed Monday and Tuesday. So I document all the closed gates and continue south. Way too much time has passed. I have lots of work to do on improving my bonus hunting and bagging skills. It’s that pesky reading comprehension thing. Kissimmee is next.
Without a SunPass, the Florida Turnpike sucks. And that’s all I got to say about that !
I bag the Orange World photo, no sweat ( well maybe a little ). But trying to get back on the Turnpike was not so easy. Somehow I ended up in Mickey’s driveway. How the hell did I do that? More stupid tolls and I finally get my wheels headed toward Miami and the Keys.
I’m burning a lot of gas, but so far the credit cards have worked flawlessly and all the receipts are good. There is no rain in sight anywhere, but I am soaking wet inside this Darien. I am proud to say I kept all my gear on all the time. But at gas stops, I discovered that just pouring water over my head was not a good idea. Too much moisture down there was not a good thing. Lesson learned.
I was falling further and further behind schedule. I can’t explain why, ( too slow? ), but it was way after midnight by the time I hit the causeway. Long day in the heat, I was getting tired. It drained me more than expected. I stopped at a parking area and got some zzzzz’s. It actually was too bad. My first ride on US 1 in the Keys, and I can’t see a bloody thing !!! Oh well.
Feeling a little better, I make tracks for Key West. I found the marker with the assistance of the “Southern Most Hotel”. I figured the marker had to be close by. The time was 04:30 am Wednesday. I should have been here earlier in the day. I bag the photo bonus and go looking for gas.
There were actually a lot more gas stations open 24 hours than I expected. But the $3.27 a gallon was not very nice. If you add the weirdo, skuzzy street people hanging around the gas station, throwing trash to passing cars and trucks and then trying to kick me and my bike as I pull away from the pumps….well, lets just say, I ain’t in no hurry to get back to Key West. Hopefully it will be daylight enough to grab the sizeable photo bonus at Grassy Key.
04:30 Wednesday
Bon dia
August 22 Very early morning.
It was still dark when I rolled across the crunchy sea shells that made up the driveway to the Dolphin Research Center. The sound reminded me of visiting my Grandparents when I was little. Gramp’s driveway had sea shells in it. I always connect that sound with those visits. It should be clearly evident by now, that riders on long distance rallies, have WAAAAAY too much time to think….
There was another rider there, also waiting for the sun. We both just relaxed and waited quietly for enough sunlight to bag the dolphin photo. As it has for millennia, the sun slowly climbed above the horizon, bathing everything in a warm glow, especially the statue of the dolphins in question. Position flag, click photo…..there is daylight in the print. Good enough. Pack up our shit, hit the road.
Sunrise on the Keys
Who would have thought that opening day of school would cause such a traffic back up. Clearly not me. But that is what I came to. I crawled along US 1 through Islamorada Key. It seemed like I was never going to get off the Keys. Finally, I make my way to Homestead. Buy gas. Bag Coral Castle.
Guess what? It was HOT again.
Lost in the Ozone
Later that morning
From Homestead I decided to traverse Florida by way of the Tamiami Trail (US 41). It looked easy enough to get to on the map. I can’t really explain what, or how it happened, but I ended up so seriously lost that it was almost noon before I got comfortably down that road, on my way to Naples. From the Coral Castle I tried to take a short cut across county roads over to the start of US 41. Without GPS or even any detailed maps of the area, I made one wrong turn after another. I mean, many wrong turns. I would travel for several miles and hit dead ends time after time. It was incredibly stupid. I finally back tracked all the way to US 1. I got straightened out eventually. What a nightmare. What a time waster. At least I didn’t run out of gas…
The afternoon ride north to Tampa was uneventful but hot. Traffic around Tampa was nothing, so that was good. I had secured my call-in bonus earlier, so that was done. I was looking forward to my Rest Bonus. I called ahead to let my mother know I was coming.
Over the meadow and through the woods….
August 22 5:30 pm
From I-75, it was a short drive to Brookesville. I secured a good receipt from the gas station across the street to start my rest bonus. Mom was very excited to see me. I was glad to be there. Since my Dad passed away last year, she relishes family visits. It seemed a little odd to suddenly be in her driveway with the bike. The usual visit with my family and her great-grandchildren involves daylong travel with some airline/airport hassle involved. Right now, I just popped in while on a bike ride…..cool.
I had a chance to launder the sweaty underclothes I was wearing. Mom had a nice roast beef dinner made, after which I grabbed some solid sleep in a comfy bed with air conditioning. Not a bad rest bonus at all. I was living large. I would remember this, days from now at o’dark thirty, on a cold picnic table in Montana, with signs that proclaimed, “Rattlesnakes observed – stay on walkways.”
Just after midnight, and Mom is sad I have to leave. “I have to get going, thank you so much for everything, Love you”
I try and leave the park as quietly as possible. Grab my ending receipt. Make my way back to I-75. North into the panhandle, then daybreak and into Mobile.
Southern (dis)Comfort
August 23 Morning
A beautiful sunrise, but already pretty warm. It would only get worse. I followed the signs to the Veterans Park and make my way to the T-55 tank. Two other riders were already there. One was Kendall, whom I met during the pre-rally days. He was doing well, but said he should be doing better. He wished me well and was ready to leave just as I was getting my photo. Next was Biloxi. I knew I would see these guys again. The Biloxi – Katrina bonus was big points, it was not to be missed.
I bagged the Katrina Memorial and saw Kendall again. Next was New Orleans. I don’t know why, but I was a little anxious about going into the French Quarter. But I found it no problem. Got the required photo. Onto the Superdome. I found a safe place to park and clicked off a photo. The quickest way out of New Orleans and points north was the causeway across Lake Pontchartrain.
I was so hot and uncomfortable in my riding gear, it seemed like I couldn’t open enough vents. My outer gear was now in a constant state of funk. Damp, dirty and quite smelly I’m sure. I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I decided when I crossed into Mississippi, I would stop and get a good sit down meal.
This was a good thing. I felt much better. While reviving myself with air conditioning and real food, I tried to re-evaluate just what the hell I was doing. I was way behind the point to mileage curve. I was coming up short. I needed to get going and get busy with a better plan. Time was passing by me, like most of the cars on the interstate. I needed Greenville and Memphis. I headed north. The day was wearing on. By the time I reached the exit for
Lake Pontchartrain Causeway
Greenville, the sun was getting lower. Greenville was a daylight only bonus. I would have to find this place without hesitation and bag the photo with no time to spare. Destinations are always further away in reality than they appear on a map. It was dark by the time I reached the start of the route sheet directions. I was having trouble reading street signs and naturally I was lost. I did ask a local for directions, but this proved useless. I wandered around the neighborhood but never did find the bonus. It just wasn’t working for me. I got fuel and headed north.
I needed daylight for the Memphis bonuses. I stopped at a rest area to grab some zzzzz’s. I was very comfy on a nice picnic table. I guess I was sleeping deeper than I should have. Next thing I know I’m being rousted from my crib by some over zealous security guard. He tells me I can’t sleep here cuz he’s afraid something will bite me. ?????
I’m in full riding gear, helmet and gloves. What the hell is going to bite me? Maybe he just didn’t like the way I was dressed. I had never been bothered like that in a rest area before. I sat for awhile and then decided to move on.
Next stop: Graceland. I once again discovered just how stupid the fog of rallying had made me. I find my way to Graceland while it is still dark and asked a security guard if I can park by the gate. “Sure” he says. "No problem”. Cool. So now, like an idiot, I wait for daylight…thinking. The last time I stood in front of these gates was in April 1972. Elvis was still alive, but not home at the time. I was in the Navy and stationed just up the road at the Millington Naval Air Station. Wow, seems like a lifetime ago. Suddenly it dawns on me to check the route sheet. Wait a minute, this bonus is 24 hour….more time wasted. READING COMPREHENSION, READING COMPREHENSION....
It is still too dark for a daylight photo of the Pyramid. So I wait. What I gained at Graceland, I still loose waiting at the Pyramid. Someday I’ll get this straight. At first decent light, I click a couple of photos of the Pyramid. Complete the paperwork and leave. I think I’m done.
“Elvis has left the building”
As I motor north on my return to St. Louis, I realize I am about 4,000 points short of the minimum. I have screwed up so badly, I try not to think about it. I am actually looking forward to Leg Two….stay tuned.
End of Leg One
August 24 Friday
The Good news: I left no points at the Scorer’s Table.
The Bad news: I left no points at the Scorer’s Table.
What this translates to, is the fact that I fell 4,000 plus points short of my goal, not due to scoring errors, but just bad routing and not enough riding. It wasn’t the bike, it wasn’t the weather, it was all me. I knew I needed help. I was just too stupid to ask. It was a short night for most, it was too long for me.
Leg Two: A Shot at Redemption
August 25 Saturday 04:00 am
New day, new bonus sheets, new beginning. Another 38 pages, this time all West of the Mississippi, (well almost). Back to the wall map and plot, plot, plot. Where to go? What to do? Hmmmmm
Again, I let geography dictate my choices. Since I had never ridden in the Northwest, that would be my destination. Anything in Alaska was out of the question. Although I would have loved to have gone to Hyder, just to say I did it. I proceeded to plot bonuses from St. Louis through Nebraska, South Dakota, Wyoming. Up into Montana across Idaho and into Washington. My target was Mt. St. Helen’s. This would be my turn around point. I would plan to be there by Tuesday morning and see what else I could bag and then return through Oregon, Idaho, south to Salt Lake City, east to Colorado and back to the finish. Looking at it now, it is easy to see I should have gone the Mt. Hamilton route. But you can drive yourself crazy with coulda, shoulda, woulda. So I don’t. I truly wanted to go to Washington as opposed to California. I still do. If given another chance, I would do the same plan. (boy, am I yankee stubborn or what).
I finally leave the DoubleTree at about 10:30 am. I have a plan. I’m feeling good. I go for it. Columbia, Kansas City, but I don’t go to Garmin. First mistake. It was a 24 hour. I figure I’ll bag it on the way home, regardless of the time. On into Nebraska, and realize I won’t make Chimney Rock before dark. I’m enjoying the ride. I feel good. I’m not even thinking of the previous five days.
Sunrise the next day and it is much cooler. I roll on up US 26 and reach Chimney Rock at daybreak. There is a bit of fog, but it burns off the closer I get to the bonus. Next stop was Scott’s Bluff. A short ride up the hill yielded some spectacular views. Photo the bench and get going. I was looking forward to Carhenge. I like silly roadside stuff. It is what makes a rally all worth while. “See the world, that’s what it’s for” – Moody Blues.
Carhenge
Black Hills
August 26 Sunday afternoon
I had been through this area before during Bike Week 1994 ( In my previous Harley life.) I wasn't concerned with stopping to smell the roses. It was getting hot again. I was hoping it would be cooler in the mountains. At the gate to Mount Rushmore, it was 96°. This bonus seemed like easy points, maybe I was missing something. After a nice ride through Keystone, I was on my way to the Devil's Tower. Another easy photo bonus. It seemed to be getting hotter outside as the day wore on. While writing this, I just realized I totally ignored the Wall Drug bonus...what an idiot.
By the time I reached Gillette, I was exhausted. It didn't seem possible. Why was I so tired? (plenty of water....not enough food.) I didn't argue with myself. I stopped. I was not going to reach the Little Bighorn before nightfall anyway. I would stop here for the night and have breakfast with Custer in the morning.
Close Encounters....indeed.
The Making of a DNF 1....2....3
August 27 Monday morning
When I passed through some road construction, just south of Sheridan, my bike took a very hard hit on a concrete bridge deck. It jolted the bike so violently, that my tank bag leaped up and hit me on the chest. I remained stable on the road, but thought for sure my rear tire would go flat. It didn't, I continued on. I was relieved. But this little episode would return. Big time.
I arrived at the Little Bighorn Battlefield early. Too early. So, I went for breakfast up the road. When I returned at 08:00, I proceeded to Last Stand Hill. I bagged my required photo, but had to hang around and read the history markers. Very moving. So much sacrifice. It was again a beautiful day in the making, at least weatherwise.
Too early
Next stop was Pompeys Pillar.
Cool place. I find the “Signature Rock” and wish I could hang around and sight see. Not this time . I now have a long way to go.
The plan was to make a serious attempt to get across Montana and bag the Kellogg, Idaho bonus during the night. I needed to get as deep into Washington as possible to allow my approach to Mt. St. Helens. Compared to the real estate I had normally been covering, this was going to be a challenge.
Untill now, I had cruised along at an rpm / engine vibration, that was tolerable for me for long distance. My speedo would indicate between 75-80 mph. In reality, my true speed was more like 65 mph. No wonder I was falling behind. When I tried to kick it up a notch, the vibration was hand and butt numbing. This is the main handicap of driving an older machine. I pushed on, the best I could.
Montana was (is) beautiful. The weather was prefect. I was really enjoying this ride. I was gaining ground. Billings, Bozeman and Butte all disappeared in my mirrors. I was actually getting excited about making my plan to reach Mt St. Helens on Tuesday morning. It was all coming together finally, I felt revived. I should have known it wouldn’t last.
I needed fuel. My map shows the town of Drummond just ahead. I exit the highway. My next stop….The Twilight Zone.
Shovelhead Blues
August 27 Late afternoon
So there I am, on the shoulder of I-90, with a very flat tire. But it was so much more than that. I try a can of Fix-A-Flat, (laughing.) It filled the tire, just long enough for me to observe the leak. This was weird, it wasn’t leaking out through the tire tread or even the sidewall. Air was spewing out through the steel rim, but not from a spoke hole but from a 10 inch crack in the steel !! You can’t be serious ! ! ! ! !
My anger escalates, when I realize the damage to my rear wheel most likely occurred earlier, during that hard hit at the construction site in Sheridan. Stupid thoughts of lawyers and the Wyoming DOT fogged my head. Just calm down and dig out the AMA Motow card. Thank God (thank you God) I at least had a cell phone. I can happily end this paragraph with praising the fabulous people at Motow. Within 45 minutes, I’m safely in a tow truck, with my bike even more safely locked down behind me, on my way to Missoula and a hotel room. Not bad, considering…..
That’s Bill
It’s a 35 mile drive to Missoula and the H-D dealer. I’m sure they can replace the broken rim. But it will have to wait until they reopen tomorrow morning. My ride was going so well. Why this? Why now? There must be a reason for this delay. God will always test us. I try not to dwell on such things.
The tow truck driver was a very pleasant fellow named Bill. As he drove along I-90, he tells me local history and we have a good time discussing the difference between Montana and Massachusetts. The political discussion was great. I’ll leave it at that. I was thanking Bill profusely, but he would only quip that he was use to rescuing about 5 of “you guys” each day during bike week. I took that as a jab at Harley riders. That’s OK, we mostly deserve it.
Bill unloaded the bike at a very nice hotel right across the street from the Harley dealer. I checked in and started the dreaded process of re-evaluating my plans. Obviously, this changes everything. The dealer opens at 09:00, I want to be ready. I remove the broken wheel and clean it up a bit. Tomorrow will be a busy day.
Happy Freakin’ Birthday ! !
August 28 Tuesday morning
It was 55 years ago today. So I guess by government standards, I’m a senior citizen. Hey, can I get a discount on gas on Wednesday? I actually had way different plans for today than what has transpired. Oh well…Life.
Happy Birthday to me…..
At 08:30 I place a call to Lisa. I explain my situation and she advised me to keep her informed. I will do that.
This is not what you want to being doing in the middle of a rally, or your Birthday. Just after 09:00 I’m at Montana Harley-Davidson with my broken wheel. Adam, at the Service Desk, takes good care of me and promises to start on repairs right away. I think Lisa called the owner or someone. They seemed to be expecting me, so that was good. Adam said he would call my cell phone when the wheel was done. I went back to the hotel and waited.
It didn’t take long to realize just how bad daytime TV is. Just how much crap about Britney Spears and Paris Hilton are we suppose to take? I quickly retreat to the parking lot to see what bits I can do to the rest of the bike. As noon approaches, I begin to worry that this repair is indeed going to take all day. I break out the bonus sheets and maps and begin to formulate a Plan B.
My Mt St. Helens plan begins to fade as each hour passes. It is early afternoon on Tuesday. I should have already been there. I will never make it there now and get back to Chesterfield on time. Plan B is now in affect. I promise myself not to bug the shop every half hour with “are you done yet?” I don’t want anyone to remember that an IronButt rider was a pain in the ass. So I wait…..
As it approaches 3:00 pm, still no call from Adam, I decide to check on my wheel. When I enter the Service Dept. there is no one around, but there, leaning against the counter, is my wheel. New, complete and ready to go. I have no idea how much earlier I could have picked up my wheel. I paid my bill and thanked them very much. I beat feet back to the hotel and began reassembly.
It was 4:30 pm by the time I finished everything. I had lost a full 24 hours. Not a Happy Birthday. The IBR rules state that I must return to the point where I was first towed to resume my rally. No problem. I returned to Drummond. As I entered the highway, I thought I saw Rod Serling laughing in the shadows.
The Longest Road Out is the Shortest Road Home – Irish Proverb
August 28 Tuesday evening
Plan B now consist of traveling east across North Dakota (Salem Sue) into Minnesota (Bena and Two Harbors) then south into Iowa, grab Olathe, Kansas and across Missouri and finish. This would be the best I could salvage. I knew I would not have enough points to be declared a “Finisher”. Despite this fact, I was still in “rally mode”. I was determined to complete what little plan I had and return to Chesterfield on time. I was still enjoying this whole thing. As testimony to how great this rally truly is, I was still having fun knowing I was losing. How cool is that.
Eastward I continue, into the night. Across Montana, pretty much uneventful. Oh, there was that rest area “ironbutt motel” with the rattlesnake warning. (I wish I had a pix of that.) The next day, I bagged Salem Sue, one big ass cow !!!
Salem Sue
Finally I make it into Minnesota. I actually knew where the Big Fish Supper Club was. I had been there before during the Minnesota 1000 back in 2003. Now there is a fun rally. If there are any new people reading this and you don’t know about TeamStrange…you should. http://www.teamstrange.com/
US 2 takes me to Duluth. It’s getting late and I clearly won’t make Two Harbors in the daylight. I’m a little cold and tired. Plus the bike is making a new and increasingly louder noise. Sounds like a lifter hangin’ up. Super 8 to the rescue. Next morning I check out the bike the best I can. Seems OK. Starts up fine, but the angry noise is still there. Split Rock Lighthouse SP here I come. It is a beautiful ride up the coast. I locate the lighthouse easy enough. Bag my photos and retreat to the south. The engine noise is getting worse. Something banging, something internal. I was starting to worry.
August 30 Thursday
The weather is way more than nice, it’s fabulous. I go around Minneapolis and south into Iowa. The bad noise is steady now, but doesn’t seem to slow me down any. I continue on. I bag both the “Patriot Rock” and the “Windmill” while in Iowa. My final bonus will be the Garmin sign photo bonus. It’s a good thing this was 24 hour. It was late evening when I arrived. There were other riders there. We were all getting ready to finish this adventure. All that remained was a final dash across Missouri to arrive before 08:00 Friday.
It had been a long day and the nods were getting to me. I think I stopped at every rest area and leaped frog’d my way across Missouri. Ride….rest….Ride….rest. I saw many other riders as they passed me. My engine was definitely hurting now. The noise was louder and sounded awfully similar to a leaking head gasket. The engine was straining to maintain highway speeds. I just continued. As the faint sunlight of a new day, slowly turned the darkness into a soft blue, I was getting revived, but not so much for my engine. I’d hoped I wasn’t doing too much permanent damage as I still had a long ride home to Massachusetts when this was all completed. I just kept going.
Fim
August 31 07:30 am
I was very glad to finally see the signs for US 40 that would lead me back to the DoubleTree Hotel. As I entered the parking lot, there was a crowd gathered to greet the returning riders. They were cheering. I had made it back, but was feeling guilty about receiving such a welcome. I knew I had failed to finish the rally. I was impressed and grateful none the less. It was very cool. Thanks Brett, your welcome made it all worth while.
Dale made a comment that my engine was hurting but at least my final drive was intact. And I thought dingers about Harleys were bad…..you Beemer folks have it rough. After some further instructions from Dale, I parked the Shovel, and was oddly sad to shut of the engine for the last time (for this rally anyway). I was glad to be “home”.
I was more surprised and grateful that my friends Grayson and Joe and others had traveled out to St. Louis, just to witness the finish. I knew Grayson had brought some good cigars to celebrate later. I was looking forward to that.
The old shovel was hurting, but it had returned me safely. It was an incredible journey. On any other machine, it just wouldn’t be the same. I knew I had some work to do, before I could ride her home to New England. It would wait until tomorrow. Right now I needed to get checked in and get scored. Then a nice shower and some rest. First I call home.
I was really missing Carol and our girls. They are all so loving and Carol is very tolerant of my LD adventures. Our daughter Amber and her two girls were having fun tracking Grampy each day on a wall map. I thought of them all, many, many times for many, many miles. I love you.
Again I left no points on the scorer’s table. I just didn’t have enough. Could the turnout have been better without the mechanical problems? Perhaps, but it doesn’t matter now. I did what I did. I’m happy with that. IT WAS A GREAT RIDE. I got to participate in the “Big Show.” That is what I get to take with me. Thank you all very, very much. Lisa, Mike and all the staff and volunteers. You folks are incredible. Thank you.
Congratulations to Marty, Jim, and Brett.
Congrats to all the finishers. I am very impressed with all of you.
Ride well – Be safe.
Post mortem
September 1 Saturday morning
It's always somethin'
The rear cylinder head gasket was indeed burned through. I did carry spare gaskets with me so it was just a matter of some parking lot dirt wrenching and make it new.
Sorry about the focus
This is not good.
Almost the last to leave. Later that day, my battery died so I was restricted to daytime riding. The ride home was actually tougher than some of the rally. Go figure.
Thanks for the cigar Doc. See you at the MinuteMan. I hope to see many of you on the road.
I also want to thank my friend and riding partner Rick who procured the tour pack I needed for the rally and who also recommended and obtained the electronic ignition that work so flawlessly the entire ride. Rick helped me prepare many items on the bike that made my ride much more enjoyable and safe. Thanks Rick.
Major lesson learned: The slightest weakness, in body or machine, will only worsen during the IBR.
Major observation: No one, I mean NO ONE, is driving their cars anymore. The automobile is now just another place where you can carry on your meaningless task to further complicate your worthless existence. (did I say that out loud?)
Major confession: I love the routing, bonus hunting and camaraderie. But I don’t think I’ll ever get use to the endless hours on the Interstate. Maybe that is where some music might help…..?
Something in Latin would be very profound right here, but I’ll just say Good-bye instead.
Mark W. Collins
Massachusetts
1972 ElectraGlide………..because I just don’t know any better.
