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July 2008

At 5:12am ET on Tuesday, 3 July 2007, I pulled an ATM slip at the South Beach WAMU to mark the successful completion of what will hopefully be certified as my 24th Iron Butt ride and 11th Bun Burner Gold. On this BBG, I covered 1,536 miles in 20 hours 42 minutes, giving me an MTH (miles traveled per hour) of 74.20. My route was from San Antonio TX east on I-10/I-12/I-10 to Mobile AL, then north on I-65 to Montgomery AL, south on US231 through Dothan AL to Florida, east on I-10 to Jacksonville, and then south on I-95 to Miami Beach.

After collecting start-of-run witness signatures from the biker-friendly breakfast patrons seated around the counter at the San Antonio TA TravelCenter’s Country Pride Restaurant (TATravelCenters.com), I logged an ATM slip there to mark the start of my ride at 7:30am CT on Monday. Once again, scattered thunderstorms dominated the weather forecast over most of my route, and once again (surprisingly) The Weather Channel’s predictions were on target. Riding eastbound on I-10, I felt the first raindrops near Schulenburg TX. And by the time I reached the outskirts of Houston TX, the downpour was so intense that I had to follow truckers’ taillights to keep moving forward. The going was slow and agonizing all the way to Baytown TX, where I stopped for gas and realized that, just like on my ride west from Miami Beach to San Antonio a few days earlier, my Harley-Davidson Gore-Tex FXRG-2 waterproof riding boots had filled with water.

Note that the key word here is filled with water: I don’t think my FXRG-2 boots leaked. Instead, I suspect that the rain penetrated my Bass-Pro Gore-Tex rain pants, soaked through to my jeans, and then found its way into my boots by seeping down through my socks. I say that because my jeans were soaked from the knees down, and how could that happen if my rain pants were “waterproof”?

Easily. One would think that if something is labeled and sold as “waterproof”, then it must be absolutely impervious to water. But nothing could be further from the truth. Products like SealSkinz gloves and socks, for example, are labeled and sold as “waterproof” because a test laboratory found no leakage at 4.5 psi after 60 seconds, which meets the requirements of the International Standards Organization’s ISO 811. In other words they are called “waterproof” because they were proven to be waterproof for only 60 seconds … and at a pressure of only 4.5 psi. Atmospheric pressure at sea level, for comparison, is 14.7 psi. So in real world conditions–like riding a motorcycle at high speeds through hundreds of miles of rain–being waterproof for 60 seconds at 4.5 psi just doesn’t mean much.

There are many solutions to this problem, of course. One is my old pair of Harley-Davidson “waders”, which do seem to be absolutely waterproof, but are also hot as hell and a bitch to get on and off. Another is the $747.00 Roadcrafter one-piece motorcycle riding suit available at Aerostitch.com. The cost is four times what I paid for my H-D waders and ten times what I paid for my Bass-Pro Gore-Tex rain pants … but the value of never having to worry about wet legs or waterlogged feet again might make it a worthwhile investment … assuming, of course, that you have eight hundred bucks to put into a riding suit!

Now back to the ride… East of Baytown the rain subsided, and for the next several hundred miles I had clear skies, dry roads, and plenty of opportunities to twist the throttle and make up lost time. Even Baton Rouge LA, where I almost always encounter traffic jams and congestion, had open lanes all the way from the Mississippi River Bridge to the start of I-12. Warm, sunny skies prevailed from there across the rest of Louisiana on I-12 and back to I-10, through Mississippi, and on into Alabama, so everything dried out except my feet.

In Mobile AL, I exited I-10 heading northeast to Montgomery, where I turned back south on US231, riding through Troy and Dothan, and then hit I-10 again south of Cottondale FL. The reason for this seemingly out-of-the-way detour is that the ride from San Antonio to Miami Beach can be made in less than 1,400 miles, and the loop up through Montgomery and back added enough distance to meet the 1,500 mile minimum required for a Bun Burner Gold.

I stopped for gas in Tallahassee around 10:30pm ET. From there, for the remaining 521 miles of my ride east on I-10 to Jacksonville and then south on I-95 to Miami, the late night traffic was light and I had little to impede my speed other than intermittent showers. But the winds were mild and the rains were warm, so I was able to complete the ride in relative comfort.

Except, of course, for my waterlogged feet…

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

June 2008

At 3:08am CT on Saturday, 30 June 2007, I pulled a gas receipt at the TA TravelCenter in San Antonio TX to mark the successful completion of what was certified as my 23rd Iron Butt ride and 10th Bun Burner Gold. On this BBG, I covered 1,528 miles in 22 hours 10 minutes, giving me an MTH (miles traveled per hour) of 68.92. My route was from Miami Beach FL north on I-95 to Jacksonville FL, then west on I-10 to US231, north through Dothan AL to Montgomery AL, south on I-65 to Mobile AL, and west on I-10/I-12/I-10 to San Antonio TX.

My ride began at 5:58am ET the previous morning. As usual, I was up two hours beforehand to get my fill of coffee and eggs while I checked the NOAA weather forecasts at http://www.nws.noaa.gov. Sure enough, I had a 50% chance of thunderstorms along most of my route, and the steady rainfall outside my kitchen window hinted that this time the predictions just might be accurate. But at least with expected nighttime lows above 70, staying warm would be no problem. And given that my rain gear did its job well through two God-awful gusty hailstorms in New Mexico just a few weeks earlier, I’d figured I’d be dry as well.

I figured wrong. The rain was still falling as I loaded up the bike, logged the start of my run, and headed off the Beach. It continued to rain all the way north up I-95 through Dade, Broward and Palm Beach counties. And as I was passing the exit for Jupiter, I felt something moist and cool around my heels and toes, and realized that my waterproof H-D FXRG-2’s were–for the first time since I bought them six months earlier–filling up with water. The boots weren’t actually leaking, but somewhere above them my rain gear was, and the water was making its way down my leg and into my socks. I would be hearing the telltale squishy sound of soggy boots with every step at every stop for the rest of the ride. And when those boots finally came off at the end, it would be several hours before the pale, mushy, wrinkled bottoms of my waterlogged feet dried out enough to where I could walk without wincing.

The rain finally subsided by the time I reached Jacksonville. And wet feet aside, I had sunshine and smooth riding all the way west along I-10 to the Cottondale FL exit. Then a few miles north of there, on a shoulderless four-lane stretch of US231 between Campbellton FL and Dothan AL, I came very close to meeting my Maker: I was in the right-hand lane passing an eighteen-wheeler in the left. When I was about even with the middle of the trailer, the rig started a hard right turn, quickly closing off the lane in front of me. I opened up my throttle to try to get past him, at the same time moving as close to the edge of the pavement as I could. The gap I shot through to safety was so narrow that I literally saw nothing to the right of my front wheel but the ditch, while to my left I could’ve reached out and touched the truck’s right headlight. One second more would’ve probably been one second too late…

This near-miss illustrates one of the reasons why I route my distance and endurance rides along interstate highways as much as I can. Not only do interstates generally make it impossible for clueless cagers to turn left in front of you, but they usually have a paved shoulder or emergency lane you can escape to if cagers veer into your lane or cut you off. Another advantage of interstates on timed runs is that you don’t have to stop for red lights. On this run, for example, I lost twenty precious minutes baking in the hot summer sun as I inched through a seemingly never-ending series of cage-congested stoplights along the US231 Bypass in Dothan AL–which, by the way, doesn’t really “bypass” anything!

Despite Dothan’s delays, I managed to make it to Montgomery AL and cut across South Boulevard and over Rosa L. Parks Avenue to I-65 well ahead of Friday evening’s rush hour traffic. I rode I-65 south to its terminus in Mobile AL, then continued west on I-10 through Mississippi and into Louisiana. There, I bypassed the Big Easy by taking I-12 towards Baton Rouge LA. Somewhere along I-12 near Hammond LA, I shot past a crotch rocketeer who apparently took a great interest in me. Less than a minute later he was right behind me, and shortly thereafter right beside me. I don’t like riding two abreast in one lane at high speeds through heavy traffic, so I pulled away from him. He mimicked every move I made, apparently thinking I had challenged him to some silly cat and mouse game. Using a universal hand signal, however, I was finally able to persuade him to maintain a safe distance behind me.

I-12 merged back into I-10 in Baton Rouge LA. I continued riding west, reaching Houston TX by midnight, and approaching the outskirts of San Antonio TX near 3:00am CT. I took the Foster Road exit off I-10, planning to pull a computer-stamped receipt to log the end of my BBG run at the Flying J Travel Plaza (FlyingJ.com) there. Looking down at my bike clock, I realized I could break the 22-hour mark if I pulled my receipt quickly enough. So I stuck a credit card in the pump, squeezed a quick shot of gas, replaced the fuel nozzle, and waited for the receipt to print. Out it came … but with no time stamp! So I hurried inside–as fast as my waterlogged feet would take me–to pull an ATM slip … but the ATM was out of order!

So much for breaking the 22-hour mark on this ride … and so much for me singing the praises of Flying Js. I fired up the bike, and rolled across the overpass to a competing TA TravelCenter (TATravelCenters.com). Fortunately, their gas receipts had timestamps, their ATM worked, and I had no problems collecting my end-of-ride witness signatures from their biker-friendly patrons.

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

May 2008

Part 5 of 5: BBG3000 Leg 2

Wednesday, 30 May 2007 marked the end of eight days and 6,603 miles in the saddle for me. My two-wheeled trek began when I logged the start of what should be certified as my 21st Iron Butt ride–a SaddleSore 3000 run covering 3,069 miles in 65 hours 26 minutes. It ended three hours and 130 miles after I logged the last stop of what should be certified as my 22nd Iron Butt ride–a BunBurner Gold 3000 run covering 3,055 miles in 47 hours 7 minutes. In the first three parts of this series, I told you about the three legs of my SaddleSore 3000 run from Florida to Arizona last May. In these last two parts, I’ll tell you about my BunBurner Gold 3000 run back the other way:

BBG3000 Leg 2: Lonoke AR to Fort Pierce FL
(1,540 miles in 23 hours 7 minutes)

To earn a Bun Burner Gold 3000 certification from the Iron Butt Association, you must complete two back-to-back Bun Burner Gold 1500 rides. In other words, you must document a ride of over 1,500 miles in under 24 hours for two consecutive 24-hour periods or “legs”. Returning from a Memorial Day 2007 visit with relatives in Arizona, the route for my second leg was as follows: Beginning in Lonoke AR, I rode east on I-40 to Knoxville TN, continuing on I-40 through the Blue Ridge/Great Smoky Mountains to Asheville NC, then further east on I-40 to Benson NC, then south on I-95 to Fort Pierce FL.

At 10:00am CT on Tuesday, 29 June 2007, my cell phone alarm reverberating from the top of the cheap veneer night stand 18 inches from my head brought me out of a short but restful sleep. And by 10:06, I had checked out of Perry’s Motel, strapped my gear on my bike, plugged my ears, donned my lid, and pulled a gas receipt at the nearby Lonoke Shell to mark the start of the second and final leg of this ride. I missed breakfast, though, so I grabbed a couple of corn dogs and a cup of coffee at my next stop in West Memphis AR before I crossed the Mississippi River bridge heading east into Tennessee.

Light traffic on I-40 westbound made my ride across the Volunteer State the previous Thursday a breeze, but that was not to be the case heading back the other way. The interstate traffic in Memphis TN was congested, and just east of town I hit the ever-dreaded sea of brakelights and stalled cages. It took me well over an hour to whiteline and sideline my way through that mess. When I finally broke through, there was no hint as to what had caused the queue. And by “broke through”, I don’t mean to clear lanes. I can’t prove it, but it sure looked to me like (a) just about every family in the western half of Tennessee had chosen that specific day to load up a U-Haul and move to the east, and that (b) every damned one of them was towing a trailer for the first time in their lives. Oh well… I guess a migration of some sort occurs at the close of every school year, so I should not have been surprised.

By early evening, I had finally dashed and dodged my way through the endless convoys of weaving, road-hogging rentals to the eastern edge of the state at Newport TN. And for the next 60 miles of I-40 from there to Asheville NC, I rode along the edges of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and over some of the curviest (yes, it’s a word) lanes in the federal interstate highway system. I had ridden this same stretch about 15 months earlier, but I wasn’t able to see anything then because it was the middle of the night. This time I was lucky enough to see all the natural beauty that was surrounding me, as night did not fall until I made my next stop in Old Fort NC.

From this point forward, the fatigue from several days of hard riding was beginning to overcome the exhilaration of possibly becoming one of less than 80 riders ever to complete an IBA BunBurner Gold 3000. Tossing back a Red Bull in Old Fort helped, but by the time I reached the outskirts of Winston-Salem NC at Clemmons around 10:30pm ET, it was time for another boost. I couldn’t stomach another Red Bull yet, and what I was really craving was just a good ole cup of coffee. I went into the c-store and bought one, then realized I didn’t have time for it to cool. But a quick shot of ice from the soda dispenser assured that my pause to refresh would be a short pause indeed.

I made good time from there eastward across North Carolina, as the hour was late so the traffic was light, the skies were clear and the roads were dry. The favorable conditions persisted as I hit I-95 and headed into South Carolina. About half-way to Savannah GA, though, I hit drizzle … that became mist … that became a blanket of fog so thick I could see nothing in front of me except the fading taillights of eighteen-wheelers flying by me as if they had radar. I knew that my slow speeds were taking time I didn’t have to spare, but I could think of no safe way to make better time through the fog.

I was exasperated as well as exhausted when I stopped in Hardeeville SC for gas and to choke down another Red Bull. I pulled out my log book to check time and miles remaining, and realized that I had to either pick up the pace, or give up the race. With all the resolve I could muster, I decided to go for it: I rolled back out to the freeway and into the fog, and watched my rearview mirror for the headlights of the next big rig coming up behind me. I accelerated as it approached. And as soon as it passed me, I pulled in behind it, determined to keep up and stay within sight of its taillights. I did. And thanks to Providence, I didn’t have to do so for very long. In a few short minutes I finally rode out of the fog, and my weather worries were over.

At my next stop near the Florida line in Brunswick GA, I guestimated I had a little under 300 miles to go and a little under 5 hours left. Averaging 60mph on open roads was no challenge, but getting to and through the Jacksonville metroplex before rush hour was. One final round of, ah, aggressive acceleration did the trick, though, and by 7:30am ET I was south of St. Augustine. Beyond that, all I had to do was keep my eyes open for another 180 easy miles, and the prize was mine. One more “iced coffee” carried me through, and I logged the end of this leg and the BBG3000 at 10:10am ET on Wednesday, 30 May 2007, by pulling an ATM slip and collecting my witness signatures at the Flying J Travel Plaza in Fort Pierce FL.

Then, all I had to do was ride 130 more weary, wobbly miles to get home and to bed.

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

April 2008

Part 4 of 5: BBG3000 Leg 1

Wednesday, 30 May 2007 marked the end of eight days and 6,603 miles in the saddle for me. My two-wheeled trek began when I logged the start of what should be certified as my 21st Iron Butt ride–a SaddleSore 3000 run covering 3,069 miles in 65 hours 26 minutes. It ended three hours and 130 miles after I logged the last stop of what should be certified as my 22nd Iron Butt ride–a BunBurner Gold 3000 run covering 3,055 miles in 47 hours 7 minutes. In the first three parts of this series, I told you about the three legs of my SaddleSore 3000 run from Florida to Arizona last May. In these last two parts, I’ll tell you about my BunBurner Gold 3000 run back the other way:

BBG3000 Leg 1: Eloy AZ to Lonoke AR
(1,515 miles in 20 hours 18 minutes)

To earn a Bun Burner Gold 3000 certification from the Iron Butt Association, you must complete two back-to-back Bun Burner Gold 1500 rides. In other words, you must document a ride of over 1,500 miles in under 24 hours for two consecutive 24-hour periods or “legs”. Returning from a Memorial Day 2007 visit with relatives in Arizona, the route for my first leg was as follows: Beginning in Eloy AZ, I rode east on I-10 to Las Cruces NM, then north on I-25 to Glorieta, where I took Highway 50 to Pecos NM then Highway 63 back to I-25, continuing north to Romeroville, then south on Pre-1937 Route 66 to Santa Rosa, then east on I-40 to Lonoke AR.

From an endurance standpoint, the BunBurner Gold 3000 is one of the most challenging of all the certifiable Iron Butt rides. That is why less than 80 riders hold BBG3000 certifications. I didn’t make this one any easier by riding 50 miles to get to the start of it. But I was staying in Tucson AZ and needed to meet with a friend and fellow bikers’ rights activist from Mesa AZ before I left, so we chose the Flying J Travel Plaza (FlyingJ.com) in Eloy AZ as the most convenient midpoint. And after a hearty buffet breakfast and gathering the requisite witness signatures from friendly truckers, I pulled an ATM slip to log the start of my run at 9:03am MT on Memorial Day, 28 May 2007.

I should mention that I chose to start–and ultimately end–this BBG3000 ride at a Flying J Travel Plaza for more reasons than just location. Flying Js offer what their website calls “highway hospitality” … which I’ve found means just about everything a traveler might need except a bed … and a few of them have those too! At just about any Flying J, though, you can expect to find not only 24/7 gas and grub but also ATMs, Internet terminals, Wi-Fi access, TV lounges, private showers, laundry services, and of course plenty of quick-fix essentials like superglue, duct tape and bungee cords. These new-age truck stops are also great places to find biker-friendly truckers and others more than willing to help you out with an Iron Butt Witness Form signature.

Now back to this ride… The warm Arizona sun and cloudless blue sky made for perfect riding weather. But I still had my Gore-Tex rain pants on, as I have come to believe they are in fact a good weather charm. The miles eastward on I-10 through the deserts of Arizona and New Mexico flew by quickly, and in less than four hours I made my turn north on I-25 in Las Cruces. And from there all the way to Santa Fe, a powerful Mexican tailwind pushed the velocity and cruising range of my bike to levels unachieved before or since.

North of there, at the I-25 exit to Glorieta NM in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains–the southernmost subrange of the Rocky Mountains–I lost some of that advantage when what I thought would be a quick gas stop turned into a scenic but extremely slow detour through Pecos NM. But when I finally wound my way back to I-25 near Rowe NM, I was still ahead of the game. From there, it was a short ride to Romeroville NM, where I exited to head south down a nostalgic 40-mile stretch of Pre-1937 Route 66 to connect with I-40 near Santa Rosa NM.

Thirty miles further east, I again exited I-40 onto Route 66 briefly to gas up at Newkirk NM, a one-store town at the intersection of the Mother Road and Highway 129. Standing next to the rusty gas pump there, and looking down those endless stretches of two-lane blacktop running north, east and west to the horizon, truly gave me a deep sense of isolation … of being as they say “in the middle of nowhere”. And Lord knows that is one sensation I truly love…

Two more hours of steady riding put me in the High Plains of the Texas Panhandle, where the sun was setting just as I rode past Route 66’s Midpoint Cafe in Adrian TX. Nightfall brought rainfall, and I was not to see a dry road again for more than 500 miles. My night ride across the rest of Texas and all of Oklahoma was pretty much one shower after another. The rain finally let up after I crossed into Arkansas. That was fortunate, as the dry roads made it easy for me to slip through the Little Rock AR metroplex just in time to avoid Tuesday morning’s rush-hour traffic.

I’d covered my 1,500+ miles by now, and just east of Little Rock I spied what looked to be the perfect spot to end the first leg of my BBG3000 and get ready for the second: Just off I-40 at the Highway 31 exit, Perry’s Motel & Restaurant sat right next to the Lonoke Shell. With just one stop I had an ATM, gas, witnesses, food and a place to sleep … and I went after them in that order: First I pulled an ATM slip to log the end of this leg at 6:21am CT, then a quick gas receipt to support that. Next, I collared some people filling up on their way to work for my witnesses. Then I grabbed a quick bite, got a cheap room, set my alarm for 10:00am CT, and fell fast sleep. Boots and all.

Next month …BBG3000 Leg 2: Lenoke AR to Fort Pierce FL.

March 2008

Part 3 of 5: SS3000 Leg 3

Wednesday, 30 May 2007 marked the end of eight days and 6,603 miles in the saddle for me. My two-wheeled trek began when I logged the start of what should be certified as my 21st Iron Butt ride–a SaddleSore 3000 run covering 3,069 miles in 65 hours 26 minutes. It ended three hours and 130 miles after I logged the last stop of what should be certified as my 22nd Iron Butt ride–a BunBurner Gold 3000 run covering 3,055 miles in 47 hours 7 minutes.

Last spring, some relatives invited me to visit their small ranch near Sierra Vista AZ. Memorial Day weekend seemed like a good time to take them up on the offer, so I logged onto Maps.yahoo.com to route my trip. The shortest route from Miami Beach to Sierra Vista computed as 2,232 miles. But as is often case, the shortest route was not what I was looking for. At that time, earning a SaddleSore 3000 patch and cruising some of “The Mother Road” (a.k.a. Route 66) were high on my wish list, so I charted a 3,069-mile course that would allow me to do both: From Miami Beach, my route was north on I-95 to Benson NC, then west on I-40 to Winston-Salem NC, then northwest on US52/I-74 to I-77 into Virginia, then southwest on I-81 to Knoxville TN, then west on I-40 (and parts of Historic Route 66) to Santa Rosa NM, north on Pre-1937 Route 66 to Romeroville NM, then south on I-25 to Las Cruces NM, and west on I-10 to Willcox AZ. This month, let me tell you about the third leg of this ride:

SS3000 Leg 3: Amarillo TX to Willcox AZ
(774 miles in 13 hours 46 minutes)

I normally fare pretty well staying at Best Western motels, but the Best Western Santa Fe Inn in Amarillo TX proved to be a disappointing exception. The curtains wouldn’t close, my wake-up call was late, the shower didn’t work, and their “hot breakfast buffet” consisted of stale bagels and a broken toaster. For thirty bucks a night, I might not complain. But for ninety bucks plus tax, it was a total rip-off.

Belatedly, I pulled a gas receipt to log the start of this day’s ride at 8:43am CT on Friday, 25 May 2007. And for much of the next 250 miles, I would either be riding on or paralleling Historic Route 66. My first stop was at the “Midpoint of the Mother Road” in Adrian TX. There you will find official markers indicating that Chicago IL and Los Angeles CA–the two endpoints of Route 66–are equidistant at 1,139 miles away. And right across the two-lane blacktop from those markers is the Midpoint Cafe, wherein you’ll find good food, friendly folks, a must-sign guest registry, and a must-see Route 66 souvenir and gift shop. From there, it is a short ride west on I-40 to the New Mexico border, where the terrain change is almost as sudden as that of the time zone. The High Plains of the Texas Panhandle rapidly gave way to the rocky buttes and desert mesas that dominate this part of the New Mexico landscape. And while you may only need to set your watch back one hour here, setting it back one hundred years or more might seem equally appropriate.

I exited I-40 once again to follow Route 66 through Tucumcari NM, where the Mother Road serves as both Main Drag and Motel/Restaurant Central. And if all of those campy motels and quaint cafes weren’t built in the 40’s, 50’s or 60’s, they were certainly designed to look that way. I didn’t have time to spend a couple of days immersed in the nostalgia that is Tucumcari, but I’ve definitely added that to my list of things to do someday!

Just west of Santa Rosa NM at exit 256, I left I-40 to follow the anachronistic 40-mile stretch of Pre-1937 Route 66 (Route 66 did not always follow the same route) that runs north to meet I-25 near Romeroville NM. For the next sixty miles or so from there to Santa Fe NM, I rode along the edges of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains– the southernmost subrange of the Rockies. And the higher I rode, the more spectacular the vistas to the northwest became, the visual climax being a succession of massive mountain ridges–each rising higher than the one in front of it–culminating in the far away yet clearly visible snow-capped 12,622 ft. summit called Santa Fe Baldy.

From there, it felt like a downhill race to the desert floor and the thriving metropolis of Albuquerque NM, where I stopped to strap down some loose chrome and choke down a quick cheeseburger. Shortly thereafter, just as I reached the southern edge of the city, a huge black–and I mean BLACK–cloud blew up out of nowhere and started pummeling me and the bike with marble-sized hail. I had my rain pants on already, but I still had to pull over quickly and put on my hard weather jacket and brain bucket. I pulled back onto the interstate continuing south, but with wicked crosswinds blowing sideways rain and hail, it took me an hour or more to make the next 30 miles. The next 100 miles after that were no picnic either. But as I neared Las Cruces NM, I finally broke out from under the storm clouds and had blue skies above me.

But not for long… In Las Cruces, I-25 merged into I-10 and I headed west towards Deming NM. But before I could make that next 60 miles, another hailstorm blew up from South of the Border. The hailstones were not as large and the raindrops not as cold as those of the tempest earlier, but the volume and intensity of the downpour was much greater. It was a real challenge seeing ahead and staying upright, but I soon found a “sweet spot” behind the trailer of an 18-wheeler, and followed his taillights all the way across the Continental Divide and into Lordsburg NM. That was just enough distance to finally put the gusty winds and hailstorms behind me.

Night fell as I rode past the eerie truck stop at Road Forks NM and on across the border into Arizona. From there, I had dry roads and starry skies for the few remaining miles to my final destination of Willcox AZ, best known as the home of the Willcox Cowboy Hall of Fame and Rex Allen, last of the Silver Screen Cowboys. I pulled a gas receipt at the Willcox TA TravelCenter (TaTravelCenters.com) to mark the end this leg and my SaddleSore 3000 ride at 9:29pm MT on Friday, 25 May 2007.

Next month …BBG3000 Leg 1: Eloy AZ to Lenoke AR.

February 2008

Part 2 of 5: SS3000 Leg 2

Wednesday, 30 May 2007 marked the end of eight days and 6,603 miles in the saddle for me. My two-wheeled trek began when I logged the start of what should be certified as my 21st Iron Butt ride–a SaddleSore 3000 run covering 3,069 miles in 65 hours 26 minutes. It ended three hours and 130 miles after I logged the last stop of what should be certified as my 22nd Iron Butt ride–a BunBurner Gold 3000 run covering 3,055 miles in 47 hours 7 minutes.

Last spring, some relatives invited me to visit their small ranch near Sierra Vista AZ. Memorial Day weekend seemed like a good time to take them up on the offer, so I logged onto Maps.yahoo.com to route my trip. The shortest route from Miami Beach to Sierra Vista computed as 2,232 miles. But as is often case, the shortest route was not what I was looking for. At that time, earning a SaddleSore 3000 patch and cruising some of “The Mother Road” (a.k.a. Route 66) were high on my wish list, so I charted a 3,069-mile course that would allow me to do both: From Miami Beach, my route was north on I-95 to Benson NC, then west on I-40 to Winston-Salem NC, then northwest on US52/I-74 to I-77 into Virginia, then southwest on I-81 to Knoxville TN, then west on I-40 (and parts of Historic Route 66) to Santa Rosa NM, north on Pre-1937 Route 66 to Romeroville NM, then south on I-25 to Las Cruces NM, and west on I-10 to Willcox AZ. This month, let me tell you about the second leg of this ride:

SS3000 Leg 2: Knoxville TN to Amarillo TX
(1,122 miles in 18 hours 37 minutes)

After a six-egg breakfast and a gallon of really tasty coffee in the company of a Rolling Thunder group from Oklahoma staying there at the Best Western, I pulled a gas receipt to log the start of Leg 2 of my SS3000 at 7:26am ET on Thursday, 24 May 2007. I then roared off down I-40 heading west … without my gas cap. Fortunately, I was able to loop back quickly, and found the cap right where I left it on top of the pump. Good thing, too, because otherwise I would’ve had to wait 30 minutes for the Harley-Davidson shop just across the street to open up so I could buy a replacement.

Less than an hour later, I took the Rockwood TN exit and stopped at the Rocky Top c-store next to the now defunct East-West Truck Stop. I didn’t need gas, but that gallon of coffee from breakfast was ready for release. The front of the store looked familiar, and when I walked inside I definitely got a sense of deja vu. Sure enough, in speaking to Tanya–the cashier–I figured out that I had in fact stopped there before–at around 3:00am during a SaddleSore 2000 run in March of 2006–and that she had been the clerk on duty then, as well.

With coincidence noted and bladder drained, I continued my ride westward through the emerald green Tennessee countryside. I had my rain pants on, so blue skies and warm sunshine was in abundance. I was enjoying the scenery and making good time. I breezed through Music City USA and on into Jackson TN, where I stopped for lunch in that friendly little town called home by rockabilly Carl “Blue Suede Shoes” Perkins and the famous railroader Casey Jones.

Riding westward from Jackson, the skies remained clear and the traffic light all the way through Memphis and across the Mississippi River into Arkansas, where I stopped for gas in Marion. At almost every stop I made on this trip, I overheard cagers complaining about gas prices approaching four bucks a gallon, but what I experienced here was a bit different: A guy came up to me begging for cash to buy some gas, and I refused him. Neither the begging nor my refusal were “different”, but the fact that this guy was driving a late model Cadillac Escalade SUV monster gas guzzler was! Sadly ironic, to say the least. Oh well, in the end I guess we all make our own beds…

Two hours more and I was through Little Rock and into the western half of Arkansas, where scattered stands of green trees and gently rolling ranch country offered far more enjoyable scenery than the flat and mundane farmlands to the east. The gray clouds I’d been expecting for two days finally appeared as I approached Fort Smith and the Oklahoma border. But still no rain fell and I had the interstate all to myself (or so I thought), so I continued making good time. A bit too good, it turned out, in the estimation of the Arkansas state trooper whose cruiser leaped out from under an overpass I had just rolled through. He turned out to be a good-ole boy, though, and I knew almost from the moment he asked “Whar ya headed?” that he wasn’t going to ticket me. I told him I was riding to Amarillo. He grinned and replied “Shoot! That’s almost 500 miles from here. And it’s rainin’ hard in Oklahoma, so you take it easy, ya hear?” I just smiled back, said thanks, and pocketed my wallet.

Soon after that, I crossed the state line into Oklahoma and made a gas stop “where 69 meets 40” in Checotah. This “single stoplight town” is best known perhaps as the childhood home of American Idol winner and country music singer Carrie Underwood, who recorded a song entitled “I Ain’t In Checotah Anymore”. And having been there now, I can understand why… Anyway, the sun was setting as I continued west from Checotah, and with the darkness came an intermittent drizzle that persisted for the remaining 370 miles of this day’s ride.

I first encountered remnants of historic Route 66 in Oklahoma City. I passed the exit signs for the Oklahoma Route 66 Museum in Clinton, and the National Route 66 Museum in Elk City, but it was too late to stop by and too dark and rainy to see much. So I just rode on to my destination in Amarillo TX and checked into the Best Western Santa Fe Inn at 1:03am CT.

Next month …SS3000 Leg 3: Amarillo TX to Willcox AZ.

January 2008

Part 1 of 5: SS3000 Leg 1

Wednesday, 30 May 2007 marked the end of eight days and 6,603 miles in the saddle for me. My two-wheeled trek began when I logged the start of what should be certified as my 21st Iron Butt ride–a SaddleSore 3000 run covering 3,069 miles in 65 hours 26 minutes. It ended three hours and 130 miles after I logged the last stop of what should be certified as my 22nd Iron Butt ride–a BunBurner Gold 3000 run covering 3,055 miles in 47 hours 7 minutes.

Last spring, some relatives invited me to visit their small ranch near Sierra Vista AZ. Memorial Day weekend seemed like a good time to take them up on the offer, so I logged onto Maps.yahoo.com to route my trip. The shortest route from Miami Beach to Sierra Vista computed as 2,232 miles. But as is often case, the shortest route was not what I was looking for. At that time, earning a SaddleSore 3000 patch and cruising some of “The Mother Road” (a.k.a. Route 66) were high on my wish list, so I charted a 3,069-mile course that would allow me to do both: From Miami Beach, my route was north on I-95 to Benson NC, then west on I-40 to Winston-Salem NC, then northwest on US52/I-74 to I-77 into Virginia, then southwest on I-81 to Knoxville TN, then west on I-40 (and parts of Historic Route 66) to Santa Rosa NM, north on Pre-1937 Route 66 to Romeroville NM, then south on I-25 to Las Cruces NM, and west on I-10 to Willcox AZ. This month, let me tell you about the first leg of this ride:

SS3000 Leg 1: Miami Beach FL to Knoxville TN
(1,198 miles in 17 hours 59 minutes)

I logged the start of this SS3000 at 6:09am ET Wednesday, 23 May 2007, but my day had begun two hours before that. The alarm was set for 4:00am, but as is often the case on a “ride day,” anxious anticipation had me awake before it sounded. Coffee and emails first, a shower, and then breakfast with a last look at The Weather Channel. Unsurprisingly, the forecast was for scattered showers all along my route, so I pulled my waterproof Gore-Tex. rain pants out of my bag and over my waterproof H-D FXRG-2. boots before I headed out the door. Note, however, that I did not do this because I actually expected rain “all along my route”. I did it because I have learned that (a) when weathermen forecast “scattered showers” over a wide area, what that means is that it might rain somewhere, but they have no clue where; and (b) wearing rain gear minimizes the chances of you getting soaked by precipitation, by maximizing the probability of you getting soaked by perspiration.

Sure enough, for the first two hundred miles or so, nothing poured from the sky but sunshine. A wickedly constant crosswind, however, finally got the best of my riding vest by literally unlacing the left side–much like what happened near Road Forks NM on my 100CCC run in 2006. I held onto the leather, though, and pulled off to make repairs at the Mims FL exit. Unfortunately, the c-store there had nothing I could use as a replacement lace. So I made do by looping three metal key rings through the top, middle and bottom eyelets of the vest halves.

A few hundred sunny, uneventful miles more took me the rest of the way north through Florida, Georgia and into South Carolina. There, just north of the I-95 exits to Hilton Head, I was twisting the throttle pretty hard when I came up behind what looked at first to be a police cruiser. As I drew closer, though, I could see that the Crown Victoria was solid black. Closer still, and I saw a US GOVT plate between its dual chrome exhausts. “This isn’t a cop car, is it?” I thought. I mean after all, his plates were federal, and he wasn’t exactly observing the speed limit himself. So I decided to see if I could just ease on by him: 82 … no problem … 85 … no problem … 90 … BIG PROBLEM:

My rearview mirrors were suddenly filled with a red and blue laser light show emanating from the darkly tinted windshield of the federal Ford. I pulled over, mentally kicking myself in the ass for my brashness. And by the time I had the sidestand down, the driver of the mystery machine was at my side and in my face. He looked like a pint-sized Barack Obama on his way home from a round of golf, but his voice clearly conveyed the authority of a no-bullshit lawman. DEA? FBI? US Marshall? He showed me no badge, so I still don’t know. What he made sure I did know, however, was that I “…damned well better not pass” his car again. No ticket, but I took his threat to heart, and kept his taillights well in front of me until he finally exited the interstate about half an hour later.

Keeping my rain pants on kept the sun shining brightly as I made my turn west onto I-40 in Benson NC. And even though it was well into the evening hours when I turned north on US-52 in Winston-Salem NC, there was still enough sunlight to see the knobby silhouette of Pilot Mountain just a few miles northwest of there. If that name sounds vaguely familiar to you, perhaps it’s because the nearby town of Pilot Mountain NC is the likely inspiration for the fictional town of “Mount Pilot” on The Andy Griffith Show and Mayberry RFD. I stopped for gas there at dusk (about 8:30pm ET), just before veering off the Andy Griffith Parkway onto I-74/I-77 and crossing the state line into southwestern Virginia.

I didn’t need to see the Blue Ridge Parkway sign to know I was definitely high in the mountains now. Because somewhere near Fancy Gap VA, as I was crossing the spine of the Appalachian Mountains (I didn’t take this photo, but I wish I had!), I glanced off to the east and in the waning twilight saw one endless smoky ridge after another, all rolling gently to the horizon. I should have taken a photo, because other than “breathtaking beauty” I cannot find words to adequately describe my mental image of that moment. A few minutes after that, stars filled a cool, black night sky as I-77 merged into I-81 and turned southwest, taking me through Wytheville VA, Bristol VA/TN, and on into Knoxville TN, where I checked into the Best Western on I-40 at Lovell Road at 12:08am ET.

Next month … SS3000 Leg 2: Knoxville TN to Amarillo TX.

December 2007

At 7:58am on Saturday, 12 May 2007, I logged the end of what should be my 20th certified IBA ride and 9th Bun Burner Gold. I had covered 1,708 miles in 23 hours 3 minutes for an MTH (miles traveled per hour) of 74.09. This trumped my previous personal best from three weeks earlier of 1,614 miles in 22 hours 47 minutes and 70.84 MTH. It also exceeded what I had previously computed to be the maximum number of miles I could reasonably expect to cover in a 24-hour period without adding a fuel cell to my FXDS. Consequently, this BBG run represents a personal best that I am not likely to even attempt to outdo.

Based on the previous Friday morning’s news and weather reports, a new personal best was the last thing I was expecting from this ride. My planned route was north up I-95 through Florida, Georgia, and on up to Florence, South Carolina, where I was going to take I-20 back southwest through Columbia to a turnaround point in Augusta, Georgia. Just to the east of this route, the Weather Channel was predicting scattered thunder showers from the remnants of Tropical Storm Andrea. And just to the west, CNN was reporting that smoke from wildfires that were scorching over 200,000 acres of southern Georgia and northern Florida was already causing road closures. But it had not been easy to juggle my workload around to clear that day for riding, so I decided to ride regardless of the hazards. I donned my waterproof Gore-Tex boots and rain pants, packed the rest of my hard weather gear in my riding bag, loaded up, fired up, and headed out…

The morning showers forecasted for the Beach did not materialize, so I had clear skies and dry roads as I headed west across the I-195 causeway then north on I-95. And for the first time in memory, I made it all the way up through Miami-Dade, Broward and Palm Beach counties without encountering a single accident or road construction queue. Cloud cover appeared and increased as I headed further north. But no rain fell and the traffic was light, so I continued making good time all the way to Jacksonville. The forecasters had me expecting smoke or fog at that point, but the cloud cover remained high and visibility was clear. And once again, for the first time in memory, the perpetual bottleneck at the I-10/I-95 junction near Jax downtown simply wasn’t there. I breezed on up the freeway into Georgia. And by the time I made it to South Carolina, I had covered over 500 miles without encountering a drop of rain, a puff of smoke, or a single traffic jam. It was nothing like what the TV’s talking heads predicted, but I sure wasn’t complaining!

As I approached my planned turning point west onto I-20 in Florence, I knew that I was making better time than I ever had before. It also came to me that if I just kept heading north on I-95 instead of making the turn west, I could save the two stops that would otherwise be required to document my turn from north to west, and on the return, from east to south. So that’s what I did. My run up I-95 had thus far been “perfect”, I thought–good weather, light traffic, no problems, and no big mistakes–so why not just keep on truckin’? After all, the main reason I had planned the turn was to avoid what I thought would be a lot of lane-clogging trailer traffic as the Rolex Riders and Wild Hog Wannabes towed their toys to Myrtle Beach Bike Week. But like so many problems I’d anticipated for this run, the trailer traffic simply wasn’t there!

By the time I reach the outskirts of Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina, I had stretched my fuel reserve, miles, mileage and luck about as far as I could. I was barely 20 miles from the Virginia line I’d hoped to reach, but getting there without adding another time-consuming gas stop before making my turnaround simply wasn’t in the cards. So I logged my turnaround in Enfield, and began my 854-mile race back to Miami.

All this time I’d kept my rain pants on, but still no rain came down. I thought about taking them off, but I figured that would not only cost me time but also guarantee a torrential downpour. The skies and roads stayed dry and clear all the way back southward through the Carolinas and Georgia, so I continued making what for me was “perfect” time and then some. I did at long last encounter patches of smoky fog (or foggy smoke?) and light mists from Jacksonville south to Melbourne, but not enough to be any problem.

The sun rose as I was coming into West Palm Beach. And looking down at my clock and odometer, I realized that not only was completing my ride within 24 hours virtually assured, but I might even be able to bring it in under 23! I twisted the grip and gave it my best, but I missed that mark by 4 minutes. Still, I had ridden further and faster in under 24 hours than I ever expected to–or will probably ever do again–and I was happy with that.

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

November 2007

At 7:44am Saturday morning, 21 April 2007, I logged the end of what should be certified by the Iron Butt Association as my 19th IBA ride and 8th Bun Burner Gold. On this run I covered 1,614 miles in 22 hours 47 minutes for an MTH (miles traveled per hour) of 70.84. This is far from being an IBA record, but it did top my previous personal best of 1,602 miles in 22 hours 40 minutes and 70.67 MTH, and marked the second time I rode “over 1600 in under 23”. My targeted route was from Miami Beach north on I-95 through Jacksonville FL and Savannah GA, turning west on I-26 in SC through Columbia and Spartanburg to Asheville NC, then back the same way.

My ride began at 8:57am the previous Friday morning. The 24-hour forecast on Nws.Noaa.gov was “clear and mild” all along my planned route, so I was looking forward to a dry and enjoyable run. There were no cager collisions along the I-95 Killing Corridor that morning, so it was pretty much smooth sailing off the Beach and up through Dade and Broward County. That changed quickly just south of West Palm Beach, where I ran into the tail end of a miles-long traffic jam. I immediately put my weaving skills to work, whitelining and sidelining my way forward through one narrow mirrored passageway after another. I soon made it to the head of the three-lane queue, where the culprits turned out to be three caution-lighted road construction pickups intentionally holding traffic back for some unseen equipment that their tailgate signs said was crossing the highway. Fortunately though, just as I pulled in behind the truck on the left, one of the other two blew its horn and all three pulled over. This delay turned out to be sort of a blessing in disguise, as what I had before me now was open lanes all the way through West Palm and on into Martin County. I did not forego the obvious opportunity to open my throttle.

The weather wizards blew it on the “clear” part of the forecast, as gray cloud cover blocked the sun for most of my way north to Jacksonville and then on up I-95 through Georgia. But no rain fell and the temperature was “mild”, so I was content with that. Then about 80 miles into South Carolina, the clouds dissipated and a warm sun was shining down as I exited onto I-26 and headed across the Palmetto State.

What you can see of South Carolina from I-95 is fairly mundane. But the further northwest I rode on I-26, the more scenic the view became. The sprawling capital city of Columbia looked a little bit like Austin, and the rolling verdant foothills around Spartanburg had a down home country appeal that reminded me of central Missouri. As I crested one of them, the smokey silhouette of the Blue Ridge Mountains loomed on the late afternoon horizon, and I knew I was getting close to North Carolina. I crossed the state line with just enough daylight left to take in the view and fully enjoy all the twists and curves and climbs and descents that go along with riding a motorcycle through the mountains. I was a surprised that the green of spring was not fully in the trees yet, but rolling over the peaks and riding down through the valleys was nonetheless a welcome reprieve from the straight, flat roads of South Florida.

It was right around sunset when I rolled into Asheville. This city of 75,000 or so is best known as the site of the Vanderbilt family’s Biltmore Estate … upon which sits the 175,000 square foot Biltmore House … which with 250 rooms, 65 fireplaces, an indoor pool and a bowling alley, ranks as the largest private home in America. Asheville is a beautiful place, and a popular tourist attraction for many. In my case, however, it was simply the targeted turnaround point for this Iron Butt run. My bike’s clock (from Clocks4Bikes.com) and odometer told me I could add a few more miles, though, so I continued north out of town on US 19/23.

About 20 miles shy of the Tennessee state line, I stopped for gas and an ATM slip to mark to my turnaround at the BP Payless Food Mart & Liquor Store in the small mountain town of Weaverville. Judging from the inbred look some of the clientele, I speculated as to the depth of the local gene pool, and wondered whether the makers of Deliverance might have done their casting calls there. But what the heck, the narrow-eyed gal at the register using a 12-gauge slug as a lip stud had a “Harley” tattoo covering half her left arm, so I figured they were biker-friendly. But then again, maybe “Harley” was her boyfriend … or brother … or both. Anyway, I logged the stop and began my 807-mile ride back to the Beach.

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

October 2007

At 8:03am on Saturday, 31 March 2007, I logged the end of 23 hours and 6 minutes of some of the most frustrating distance riding I have ever had to endure. My route of 1,544 miles was good enough to meet the “over 1500 in under 24” requirement for certification as my 18th IBA ride and 7th Bun Burner Gold, but the only thing really good about this run was that it was finally over!

At 8:57am the previous day, I logged my start-of-run ATM receipt at the South Beach Wachovia on Alton Road, then crossed the causeway and headed north on I-95. The sun was shining, the Friday morning traffic was moderate, and in no time I was in the HOV lane and up to my normal cruising speed. But not for long… Midway through Broward County, I encountered what was to be the first of many time-consuming traffic jams. Traffic in all four lanes quickly slowed to a crawl and then halted. But being on a timed run, stopping was not an option, so I weaved the white lines for a few miles, finally passing the point of the cager collision that caused the clog. The road opened up, and so did my throttle.

I soon made up the delay deficit, and by the time I passed through Daytona Beach, it looked like I was on my way to a personal best in terms of MTH (miles traveled per hour). Then somewhere south of Jacksonville, I sailed into another sea of brake lights. Once again I was forced to weave my way through the cager congestion, cautiously maneuvering my ride through the mirrored gauntlets until open lanes availed. More time was lost. But I had clear roads riding west from Jacksonville on I-10, and I made good use of them. By the time I turned north on I-75 towards Georgia, a new personal best MTH was again within the realm of possibility. But not for long… From Valdosta north to Macon, extensive road construction along I-75 had traffic slowing down and speeding up, then slowing down and speeding up, lurching forward like some giant Slinky. My hopes for any personal best faded, but I still figured I could make “over 1500 in under 24”, so I continued as best I could.

The road construction subsided at the I-475 Macon bypass, leaving me with wide lanes and light traffic all the way to my gas stop in High Falls. My frustration subsided as well. But not for long… I crested a high hill just north of there, and before me a three-lane parking lot ran literally for miles, all the way across the valley and over the next rise. “Jesus F**king Christ!” I thought, “Is this sh*t ever going to end?!?” Well, I was almost 700 miles into the run, and I wasn’t about to quit now, so yet again I resorted to whitelining the mirrored gauntlets. But not for long… Clearances were minimal and I was getting nowhere fast, so I exercised my last option: riding down the shoulder, a.k.a. sidelining.

I try to avoid sidelining, because experience has taught me that it greatly increases the likelihood you’ll end up with a flat tire from roadside debris … or a fat fine from the LEOs. But it was either shoot down the shoulder or write off the run, so I took the risk. And luckily, in a few minutes more, I rolled out of the nightmare and into the south side of Atlanta.

Traffic was flowing freely on I-75 inside Atlanta’s 285 Loop, allowing me to make good time until I crossed outside the Loop on the north, heading toward Marietta. Then sure enough, I ran right into the ass end of another traffic jam. I was so fed up that I screamed inside my brain bucket! But then I steeled my resolve, and whitelined my way to Acworth. From there, my targeted turnaround in Chattanooga was barely 80 miles away. I’d planned to run 810 miles there and back–giving me 1,620 miles total–which would’ve been a new personal best in terms of distance covered on a BBG. But I was rapidly approaching the halfway point on my 24-hour run clock. So when I stopped for gas in Dalton, I conceded that 772 miles–1,544 in total–would have to do.

Perhaps because the Friday evening rush was over, traffic from Dalton back down I-75 South through Atlanta was light, and it seemed like no time at all before I made it to my next fuel stop in Locust Grove. Then a few miles south of there, I topped a rise and saw yet another sea of red lights running all the way to the horizon. Even with the moonlight, it was too dark to safely whiteline, so once again I took to the shoulder and hoped for the best. That traffic jam must have been at least ten miles long, and when I got to the end of it, I was outraged to see the cause: Three lanes of traffic had been forced to merge into one, while half a dozen road “workers” stood casually under floodlights in the other two, doing nothing. My tax dollars at work, I guess…

Anyway, the rest of the ride south and home was uneventful. I successfully completed another BBG ride, but I failed to achieve a new personal best in terms of either distance or MTH. And for the third time on a run targeted for Chattanooga, I ended up making my turnaround somewhere else: Once because I missed a fork and ended up in Clemson … once because mechanical problems forced me to shorten and reroute my run … and this time, because of an improbably incessant succession of traffic jams. I guess Somebody was trying to tell me something.

OK, I got it. That was my last try for Chattanooga!

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!