Category: Distance Riding

September 2014

Iron Butt Rides #54, #55 and #56

• On 09/02/2014 motorcycle rider Bruce Arnold aka IronBoltBruce completed his 56th Iron Butt ride and 18th SaddleSore 1000 (SS1000) by riding 1117 miles in 16 hours 42 minutes.
• In August 2014, Long Distance Motorcyclist IronBoltBruce Rides Through 1,534 Miles of Fracking Ecocide in 22 Hours, his 55th Iron Butt ride and 22nd Bun Burner Gold (BBG1500).
• On 09/13/2012 endurance rider IronBoltBruce completed his 54th Iron Butt ride and 17th SaddleSore 1000 (SS1000) by riding 1349 miles in 19 hours 37 minutes.

July 2011

Iron Butt Ride #53

At 1:28am ET on Tuesday, 1 June 2011, I logged an ATM slip in SoBe marking the successful completion of what should be certified as my 6th SaddleSore 2000 and 53rd Iron Butt Ride on which I covered a distance of 2,144 miles in 32 hours 12 minutes road time and 43 hours 7 minutes total time. My route for Day 1 was from San Antonio TX west on IH-10 to Fort Stockton TX, then north on FM-1053 through Imperial TX to IH-20, then back east to Shreveport LA and finally south on IH-49 to Alexandria LA for a total of 1,053 miles. My route for Day 2 was from Alexandria south on IH-49 to Lafayette LA, then east on IH-10/IH-12/IH-10 to Jacksonville FL, then finally south on IH-95 to Miami Beach FL for a total of 1,091 miles.

Day 1: San Antonio TX to Alexandria LA, the Long Way (1,053 miles)

A cool and gentle Hill Country breeze was blowing as I logged the pre-dawn start of my Memorial Day ride by pulling a gas receipt at the pumps of a 24-hour Alamo City c-store. Soon after a stop for bad coffee but good jerky in Junction, however, that gentle breeze from the south turned into a wild West Texas wind that was literally howling by the time I exited for gas at a dying truck stop in Ozona. Shortly after I pulled out of there, the incessant buffeting from that wicked chiflon ripped the left-side lacing out of my riding vest and forced me to pull over and make a quick roadside repair with the white string out of a packed tennis shoe. This was much like what happened to me near Road Forks NM on my 100 CCC Insanity ride a few years ago, but at least this time I didn’t lose my favorite bandanna…

An hour or so later I reached Fort Stockton and turned north on FM-1053 towards Imperial, where I planned to stop for a brief inspection of a small patch of mesquite and sage I bought there in better times. Landmarks made it easy to find the turn right onto the unpaved road, but from there I had to rely on a printed Google map, my odometer and a cheap handheld GPS to guide me the 3 miles or so to the tract:

The first two and a half miles of bladed caliche was no picnic but passable, and brought me to an expected fork in the road. I stopped there for water and to get my bearings. The surrounding terrain was pancake flat, so all I could see was an endless span of six-foot tall emerald green mesquite sprouting out of a sea of soft Imperial sand. The GPS readings clearly mandated I take the right fork, however, so I pushed off in that direction. After going a few yards, I noticed that the road’s hard caliche surface was rapidly giving way to the almost down pillow soft sand. A few yards more and I stopped, realizing with chagrin that I had passed the point where there was still enough contiguous caliche to turn Hidalgo around.

Damn! I had no choice then but to put my fully loaded Harley in neutral, grab hold of the grips, plant my boots in the sand, and start pulling her back. Each exertion bought me a foot or two, so long as I kept the rear wheel in its tracks. And with each error in targeting, I had to gently power forward and start again. Aim, plant and pull. Aim, plant and pull. Over and over and over. With a scorching West Texas midday summer sun bearing down on me the whole time…

Finally–after a few minutes that felt like a few hours–I managed to pull Hidalgo back the hundred feet or so necessary to reach a patch of caliche wide enough to turn her around. Then with quivering legs and shaking hands, I brought down the sidestand, eased off the bike, guzzled some water, waited a few minutes for my chest to stop pounding, and openly thanked a merciful God for once again saving me from my own stupidity.

Eight minutes more got me back to asphalt. Eight hours more got me all the way east across the Lone Star State to Louisiana, and safely south to my scheduled stop for the night in Alexandria.

Day 2: Alexandria LA to Miami Beach FL, the Hard Way (1,091 miles)

Despite a good night’s rest in a comfortable but costly room at the Alexandria Best Western, the beginnings of a summer cold had me moving a little slowly on Tuesday morning. Nevertheless, I was in the saddle by 8:25am CT and had made it across a flooded Atchafalaya Basin and muddy Mississippi River into Baton Rouge barely two hours after that. From there east on IH-12 then IH-10, I had several hours of summer heat and monotonous mile-eating to endure, but the many holiday weekend speed traps along the way gave me plenty of incentive to stay alert despite my feeling a bit under the weather. And on this day, that proved to be a lifesaver:

I was just west of Tallahassee on IH-10 when I topped a rise to see both lanes filled with cages and moving slowly because of a blue-light wolf-pack sitting ready to pounce from their perch on the crest of the next hill. I slowed to about 65mph as well, and eased into the right lane just as an eighteen wheeler came up in the left. And as soon as we cleared the revenue raising gauntlet, the trucker began to accelerate. That was no surprise, as I was about to do the same thing. What WAS a surprise, though, was when I saw the right blinker of his tractor come on as he started turning fast and hard into my lane.

Damn! I quickly calculated that wide open I couldn’t shoot the gap and clear his tractor, and hitting the brakes wouldn’t guarantee I’d miss a swat from his trailer. I had nowhere to go, except off the road. So I did…

Standing on the pegs, I swerved hard to the right, took about a two-inch drop from the road to the shoulder, then leaned back left to straighten her up and keep my front wheel aimed at the middle of the narrow strip of pavement I had to work with. Fortunately, there were no debris or obstructions along that stretch, so despite being run off the road I was still safe and in full control of the bike. I must have recognized that–or been temporarily insane–because my next move was not to hit the brakes but open the throttle. And as soon as I caught up with and passed the negligent bastard who’d almost killed me, I stood on the pegs again, jumped back up on the road right in front of him, and commenced “communicating” my displeasure…

I should have done more. Much more. But as the adrenalin of the moment dissipated, so did my rage and cold-reduced energy level. And as reason returned, so did my focus on completing this SaddleSore 2000 within the time allotted.

Until next time, Ride Long, Ride Free!

Bruce Arnold aka IronBoltBruce

IronBoltBruce … record-holding long distance motorcycle rider … disappointed bikers’ rights activist but proud member of The 100 … disillusioned political agitator targeting social injustice and piercing the veil of our two-puppet system to expose the institutionalized greed of the Kleptocracy pulling all strings Left and Right … like Thomas Jefferson, an aficionado of ethnic aesthetic and a philosophical anarchist who accepts the State as a necessary evil under which the best government is less government.

June 2011

Iron Butt Ride #52

In Schertz TX at 2:26pm CT on 27 May 2011, I logged a Frost Bank ATM slip marking the successful completion of what should be certified as my 5th Bun Burner 1500 and 52nd Iron Butt Ride on which I covered a distance of 1,555 miles in 24 hours 28 minutes road time and 35 hours 50 minutes total time. My route for Day 1 was from Miami Beach north on the Florida Turnpike to IH-75 then east on IH-10/IH-12/IH-10 to Beaumont TX for a total of 1,111 miles. My route for Day 2 was from Beaumont north on US-69 to Rusk TX, then west on US-84 to Waco TX and south on IH-35 to Schertz for a total of 444 miles.

At 3:00am ET on Thursday, 26 May 2011, I awoke with the intention of attempting my 6th SaddleSore 2000 by riding from Miami Beach north through Georgia and Tennessee to Jackson TN on Day 1, then continuing west to Oklahoma City OK and south to San Antonio TX on Day 2. A last minute look at the Weather Channel, however, compelled me to reconsider: My planned route would have taken me through the widest and assumingly worst part of the massive T-bone shaped tornado-packing storm front that had just devastated Joplin MO, so I plotted a safer and southernmost course that I guesstimated would allow me to punch through the front near its narrowest point somewhere between Mobile AL and Baton Rouge LA.

For the first 700 miles or so, I enjoyed warm but not scorching temperatures and partly cloudy to sunny skies as I rode north to Lake City FL and then west to Mobile AL. There the early afternoon weather quickly changed from sunshine to showers, and I was glad I’d stopped to strap on my brain bucket back at the state line. And with each passing mile from there on into Mississippi, the skies grew grayer and darker as the rain fell harder and more slanted. I had expected this and experience told me to just keep on riding straight into the storm, because the worse it got the sooner I’d see clear skies on the other side.

Somewhere west of Moss Point MS, above the intermittent sheets of rain and ahead of me, I saw what appeared to be a clearing in the now almost black cloud bank that otherwise filled the skies. I took heart in that, thinking that I’d soon see the sun again. But as I rode under “the clearing”, I realized the light I was seeing at the end of the tunnel was actually the proverbial oncoming train: Filling a third of the sky above and to the right of me was a surrealistically circular and ominously churning funnel cloud with a narrow band of blue sky separating it from the dark clouds that surrounded it. This allowed just enough sunlight to make the outermost cloud ring look like a glistening circle of cotton balls, while the inner rings grew progressively darker until they converged as the not quite fully formed funnel at the center.

I was thankful for that, and for the fact that due to the heavy rain I was not going very fast when I hit a wall of wind blowing from the left as I came directly under “the cloud”. Penetrating that wall took only a second or two. Then as quickly as the wind stopped, the temperature around me plummeted: Seconds before I was soaked in rain but quite warm, but now suddenly chill bumps formed on my sleeveless arms as I felt a shiver building up inside me. And the air was not only cold and calm but somehow felt “thick”, if that makes any sense.

Cruising at a cautious 45mph, it took me a couple of minutes to reach the other side of whatever you call what I was riding through. And I didn’t see the second wall of wind coming, but I sure as Hell knew when I hit it: The temperature rose so much and so fast that my windshield, mirrors and visor fogged over in an instant. At the same time, a crosswind much stronger than the first hit me from the right and wrestled me for control of the handlebars. I immediately closed my throttle hoping to stabilize as I slowed, but through my foggy visor I could see I was still being blown steadily left towards the median … and perhaps oblivion.

It was a photo finish, but thanks to Divine Providence as my velocity decreased my stability increased. And just as my front wheel touched the last stripe of white (or was it yellow?) paint inches from the edge of the pavement, I regained enough control to start easing Hidalgo back towards the center of the lane. I was only going about 15mph at that point, but at least I was still heading for Texas … and not for Hell.

With the storm front and funnel cloud behind me, the winds and rain quickly subsided. Warm and welcome sunshine had me almost dry by the time I stopped for gas in Slidell LA, and from there on into Beaumont there was not so such as a puff of wind or a feather of a cloud. Day 2 was much the same.

Until next time, Ride Long, Ride Free!

Bruce Arnold aka IronBoltBruce

IronBoltBruce … record-holding long distance motorcycle rider … disappointed bikers’ rights activist but proud member of The 100 … disillusioned political agitator targeting social injustice and piercing the veil of our two-puppet system to expose the institutionalized greed of the Kleptocracy pulling all strings Left and Right … like Thomas Jefferson, an aficionado of ethnic aesthetic and a philosophical anarchist who accepts the State as a necessary evil under which the best government is less government.

December 2010

Or, X-Raying Your Junk vs. X-Treme Riding Pleasure

I was in Aylesbury–a quaint little duck-loving town in Buckinghamshire chock-full of disarmingly friendly people and Anglo-Saxon history, but a wee bit lacking in memorable pubs–when the three World Trade Center buildings were brought down on 11 September 2001. My last name wasn’t Bush or Bin Laden, so my stay in Merry Olde England was extended several days as I waited anxiously along with thousands of other American expatriates for an opening on any flight back to Sweet Mother Texas and my loved ones. And with the sad August 2008 exception of one flight home to my current digs in Miami after blowing Hidalgo’s engine in the Chihuahuan Desert attempting another BBG 3000, “9/11” marked the end of commercial air travel for me.

Nowadays if I need to get from anywhere to anywhere on the continent, a motorcycle is my primary–nay, exclusive–means of motorized transportation. Rain or shine, it’s worth the extra time. And compared to the headaches, humiliations and horrors of post-9/11 TSA goodie grabs … chronic departure delays … tarmac torture sessions … and peanut-free (Hell, nothing’s free) no-frills airline flights, that “extra time” can be a small price to pay. Allow me to explain:

According to the Bureau of Transportation Statistics (BTS.gov), in 2009 the average non-stop distance flown per departure for U.S. domestic commercial flights was 618.6 miles, or roughly the bee-line distance from Miami, Florida to Atlanta, Georgia. According to Orbitz.com, flying American Airlines coach class direct non-stop from Miami to Atlanta will cost you $79.00 with a “flight time” of 2 hours. Your door-to-door trip time, of course, will entail a lot more than just the stated flight time. First you must travel to the airport, which can easily take 30 minutes. Next comes “airport processing” and, believe it or not, according to SpiritAir.com, “The average time it takes to enter an airport terminal, check in, clear TSA security and board [an] aircraft within the U.S. is approximately three (3) hours.” Then, after spending all that time being handled and herded like beef on the hoof, and quite possibly felt up like a teen queen on a second date, Time Magazine (Time.com) says to be prepared for an average flight delay of 57 minutes somewhere between actually boarding, finally taking off, flying the distance and then actually touching down. Add to that an hour or more to deplane, grab your bag, and rent a car or catch a cab to take you to your final destination, and your total door-to-door time flying from Miami to Atlanta could easily exceed 8 hours.

EIGHT FRIGGING HOURS TO “FLY” SIX HUNDRED MILES.

But what if–instead of having to endure 8 hours of degradation and discomfort with your fate and maybe even your junk in somebody else’s hands–you twisted your own throttle and RODE from Miami to Atlanta? According to Google Maps (Maps.Google.com), you’d be looking at a ride of 661 miles that should take you 10 hours and 44 minutes. Gas and out-of-pocket expenses for the ride should be less than what you’d pay to fly. So in this example, riding instead of flying would cost you a little under 3 hours but maybe save you a little cash.

The trade-offs to consider, however, go beyond time and money. Given the choice, for instance, how would you rather spend an entire day: Subjecting yourself to the pains of being processed, inspected, stamped and transported like so much meat? Or enjoying the pleasures of the wind in your face, a thundering engine beneath you, and the open road ahead of you? And what about privacy and practicality? Would you rather pack what you really wanted and needed to take with you, or worry about whether your shaving cream, pocket knife or party favors will make it through security? And last but not least, just how much individual freedom and personal dignity are you willing to sacrifice in return for a questionable promise of protection from some ethereal “terrorist threat” that may or may not exist? Would you rather spend 8 hours being confined, controlled and at the mercy of an inept and unaccountable bureaucracy, or 11 hours with the controls of your bike and your fate in your hands?

Yes, I freely concede that for many of your trips the distance will be too far, the travel time too long, or the weather and road conditions too poor for riding to be a practical alternative to flying. But I’ll wager that for most of you there will be just as many trips where freedom of the road would be a better choice than flying the fascist skies.

Until next time, Ride Long, Ride Free!

Bruce Arnold aka IronBoltBruce

IronBoltBruce … record-holding long distance motorcycle rider … disappointed bikers’ rights activist but proud member of The 100 … disillusioned political agitator targeting social injustice and piercing the veil of our two-puppet system to expose the institutionalized greed of the Kleptocracy pulling all strings Left and Right … like Thomas Jefferson, an aficionado of ethnic aesthetic and a philosophical anarchist who accepts the State as a necessary evil under which the best government is less government.

November 2010

Or, The Numbers Behind A Legit ‘I Rode Mine’

Here are the four official checkpoints in the AMA-sanctioned and SCMA-sponsored USA FOUR CORNERS MOTORCYCLE TOUR that’s on my bucket list, along with the approximate distance from each checkpoint to Sturgis, South Dakota:

NW: Blaine, Washington: 1,211 miles
NE: Madawaska, Maine: 2,142 miles
SW: San Ysidro, California: 1,380 miles
SE: Key West, Florida: 2,352 miles

Based on these statistics, we can reasonably assert that no motorcyclist in the Lower 48 states should have to ride more than 2,400 miles to attend the annual Black Hills Motor Classic, and that for most of those riders the distance would be significantly less. If you were coming from Altoona PA, for example, you’d only need to ride about 1,500 miles to earn the right to have Main Street vendors Mary or Gloria sew an “I Rode Mine” patch on your riding vest at the next Sturgis Motorcycle Rally.

And why do I mention Altoona? Because that’s where a young rider we’ll call Andy said he was from when he introduced himself to me while waiting to buy a beer at the Gold Pan Saloon in Custer SD last August. Andy asked me where I was from, and I told him Miami (actually I’m from Texas and presently exiled in South Florida, but I kept it short). He immediately replied with “So, did you trailer your bike here, or have it shipped in?” My reaction gave him my answer, but I was civil enough to ask, “Didn’t you ride here?” His reply was “Naw, I trailered mine. I didn’t have time to ride.”

That concluded my exchange with Andy, but what he said stuck with me… “I trailered mine. I didn’t have time to ride.” What the hell did that mean? I may never know exactly, but perhaps I can shed some light on the having “time to ride” part:

Unless your motorcycle is extremely slow and/or your tow vehicle is extremely fast, trailering your bike from A to B will not get you there any faster than riding it. And if you live anywhere in the Lower 48, have (at least) 2 grand to blow and 2 weeks of vacation time coming, a Sturgis Bikation might be well within your reach and could be a memorable experience.

Any proficient and healthy motorcyclist on a properly equipped and maintained motorcycle should be able to safely ride 600 miles a day. At that rate, Andy from Altoona would easily make South Dakota IH-90 Exit 32 in 3 days, as would even a Key Wester in 4. And assuming two weeks of vacation equals 16 calendar days, even if you take 5 days to ride there and 5 days to ride back–which for Andy from Altoona would require only 300 miles a day–you can still enjoy 4 days in the Black Hills and have 2 days left over to chillax after you return home.

So if you haven’t done so before, think about keeping it real and actually RIDING your bike to Sturgis next year. That way when you get there, you won’t be tempted to be *this* guy:

“I remember i was sitting at the little harley shop in keystone SD and this guy who was just talking about unloading his bike from the RV saying he wants an I rode mine harley hat and i looked at him and was like really how far did you ride and hes like the whole way and i told him i just heard you say he just unloaded from the rv and hes like well riding in my RV still counts as me riding my bike to sturgis and then he goes and hops onto a scooter. A GOD DAM 200 CC scooter with his i rode mine harley hat.”–Source: http://bit.ly/aCetk9

Until next time, Ride Long, Ride Free!

Bruce Arnold aka IronBoltBruce

IronBoltBruce is … a record-holding long distance motorcycle rider … bikers’ rights activist, grateful partner of RC and proud member of The 100 … political agitator targeting social injustice and piercing the veil of our two-puppet system to expose the institutionalized greed of the Kleptocracy pulling all strings Left and Right … like Thomas Jefferson, an aficionado of ethnic aesthetic and a philosophical anarchist who accepts the State as a necessary evil under which the best government is less government.

October 2010

As some of the Last of the Motohicans, every year we try to plot a different course for our annual two-wheeled pilgrimage to “Sturgis“. Our motorcycle touring itinerary for 2010 was to cover a distance of 3,055 miles over 7 days. We covered the first 1,515 miles–from Miami Beach Florida to Wichita Falls Texas–in under 36 hours. That should earn me my 51st Iron Butt cert, and bought us the time we needed to relax the pace and take in the scenery over the remaining 5 days. Those last 1,540 miles took us west across stretches of old Route 66 in Texas and New Mexico, then north through the high peaks and narrow valleys of the southwestern Colorado Rockies, and finally northeast across Wyoming to Sundance, our base for this year’s “Black Hills Trailer Classic”:

http://tinyurl.com/wichitafalls2sundance

After a sunny Monday morning’s coffee and cold egg breakfast at the Wichita Falls La Quinta, we headed northwest through the Red River Valley on US 287 where it parallels the famous river’s course and Texas-Oklahoma border. We made our first stop just shy of the Panhandle at a crossroads named for Quanah Parker, the “half-breed” Indian and last Comanche chief who–given he sired 25 children with his 5 wives–might very well have been its founding father. We then followed 287 on across the High Plains of the Panhandle through small towns lost in time that reminded me of “The Last Picture Show” until we reached Amarillo. From there we headed west past the Big Texan Steakhouse on I-40 and old Route 66, stopping for lunch and lots of iced tea at the Route 66 Midpoint Cafe in Adrian, where the food is just as good and the people are just as friendly as their website suggests:

http://www.midpointroute66cafe.com

A short ride west from Adrian took us across the state line into the Mountain Time Zone and the Mesalands of New Mexico. The landscape transition there from the endless flat grasslands of the High Plains to the flat-topped buttes and mesas of the High Desert is sudden, dramatic, and another one of those experiences I don’t have words to adequately describe. Let’s just call it a “must see”, as is Tucumcari, the slowly fading old Route 66 motoring mecca where we stopped to spend the night with Gail at her back-to-the-fifties Motel Safari.

Waking on Eastern time, we were up and rolling west on I-40 by 5:00am the next morning. The desert was vast and the highway was straight, so twisting the throttle got us to Albuquerque just in time to enjoy their Tuesday morning rush hour. Despite that, it was a short hop up I-25 to Bernalillo, where we gassed up to ride northwest on US 550 through the San Juan Basin Badlands “reserved” for the Zia and Jicarilla Apache Indians. There, around mid-morning, we crossed the Continental Divide for what would be the first of several times.

By noon, we had crossed the border into Colorado and ridden through the southernmost portion of the postcard-picturesque San Juan Mountains to our destination of Durango. Durango is a High Country haven of 16,000 comfortable with adjectives like eclectic and eccentric, and one end of the 45.4 mile D&SNGRR (Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad). It is well worth the ride to see, but expect to pay for the privilege. We stayed at the Best Western Durango Inn … and truly enjoyed our liquid lunch with some “loaded” riders there at Christina’s Grill & Bar.

Wednesday morning we were again packed and rolling early, excited to be on our way to what was supposed to be the high point (double meaning) of our trip, i.e. a night’s stay at the New Sheridan Hotel in Telluride. The distance we had to cover from Durango west on US 160 to Cortez then north on CO 145 to Telluride was less than 120 miles. But with all the stops for Kodak moments along the way, it took us half the day to get there. And I’m embarrassed to report that after one of those stops, we were lucky to get there at all:

For most of the way, two-lane CO 145 runs alongside the rushing waters of the Dolores River (imagine the old “Taste the High Country” Coors commercials, but set in the green of summer). And for most of the way, the shoulder is narrow and the drop-off is steep. At one particularly panoramic point, however, I was persuaded to pull over where it looked like the shoulder was both wider and paved. Wider it was … but paved it was not. What I had coasted onto was some moist gray clay. And when I put my right boot down, it just kept right on going. Fully loaded, Hidalgo started listing to the right. I was startled for a moment, but then somehow managed to jerk left and get the bike back upright before it reached that dreaded point of no return. And after giving thanks to Divine Providence, we were soon easing back onto asphalt instead of sliding thirty feet down a steep slope into icy rapids.

An hour or so later, after stopping for gas at Mountain Top Fuel in Rico and crossing over Lizard Head Pass, we rode by the entrance to uber-exclusive Mountain Village (elevation 9,545 ft) then on down and right on the only road leading in or out of the fabled snow-skiing resort town of Telluride (base 8,750 ft, slope 12,570 ft, peak 13,150 ft). A few minutes more and we were parked on Colorado Avenue and checking into the New Sheridan Hotel, where a biker-friendly concierge named Elaine welcomed us like we were old friends.

This was not my first visit to Telluride or the New Sheridan … but it was my first visit since 1984. Back in the day, Telluride was renowned for more than one kind of snow, and it would not be surprising to walk into the historic New Sheridan Bar and see bowls of peyote passed around as party favors. But like I say, that was back in the day… Much tamer now, Telluride remains a storybook town as rich in modern culture and “Old West” history as most of its trust-fund residents are in net worth. It is in many ways more enchanting and exclusive than Durango. So like the elevation, the prices in Telluride are even higher. Nevertheless, washing down a Chop House steak with a cold beer at the New Sheridan Bar should be on every biker’s bucket list.

One night in Telluride was all our budget would allow, so Thursday morning we were packed to leave long before the sun crested any of the towering peaks surrounding us. And at daybreak, we resumed our trek north along the narrow, winding San Juan Skyway. Contending with a combination of early morning fog and icy drizzle, it took us the better part of an hour to ride the 16 twisting miles to Placerville and turn west on CO 62. We soon rode out of the rain after that, though, and the skies cleared enough for us to see that impossible-to-photograph horizon-spanning series of sky touching peaks–anchored by Mount Sneffels (14,150 ft) and popularly called the “Sneffels Range”–that I long and wrongly thought gave Ridgway (correct spelling) its name. There we turned left at the only stoplight in Ouray County, and headed on up US 550.

We were north of the imposing San Juan peaks now, and the landscape opened up more and more as we got closer to Montrose. Being a bit claustrophobic, DP and I felt relieved to have all those narrow valleys and confining slopes behind us. And the distant rounded buttes, vast open valleys and arid terrain from Delta to Grand Junction looked so much like the Davis Mountains and Big Bend that I felt right at home. From there we turned east on I-70 to Rifle, then followed CO 13 to the Wyoming border. CO 13 is not designated as scenic on the HOG manual maps, but it certainly should be: Rugged hills … unusual rock formations … rustic relics … unmarred natural beauty … CO 13 has it all.

At the Wyoming border CO 13 becomes WY 789, and just north of there we stopped for gas in Baggs (as should anyone riding through). At an elevation of 6,245 feet, we were still “riding high” by Florida standards, but the terrain was now far from mountainous. We were approaching the crest of the Wyoming High Plains and would roll over the Continental Divide two more times as we made our turns east on I-80 and into Rawlins. There we checked into the clean and extremely affordable La Belle Motel. And as the sun was sinking in the west, a storm was rising to our east, producing a light show in the sky no photo could capture.

Our internal clocks still running two hours ahead, on Friday morning we were once again up long before the sun. Not wanting to miss any vistas, though, we waited ’til daylight before heading north on US 287 then east on WY 220 to the heart of Cowboy Country and Casper. It was then a short ride up I-25 to the Edgerton exit, a turn east on WY 387 to Wright, a quick jut south on WY 59 to WY 450, then east again to Newcastle along a stretch the HOG manual map says is scenic but isn’t. From there on up US 85 to WY 585 and into Sundance, however, we were in the Black Hills … and it doesn’t get much more scenic than that.

Until next time, Ride Long, Ride Free!

Bruce Arnold aka IronBoltBruce

Record-holding long distance motorcycle rider … bikers’ rights activist, proud member of The 100 … political agitator targeting social injustice and piercing the veil of our two-puppet system to expose the institutionalized greed of the Kleptocracy pulling all strings Left and Right … like Thomas Jefferson, an aficionado of ethnic aesthetic and a philosophical anarchist who accepts the State as a necessary evil under which the best government is less government.

September 2010

Iron Butt Ride #51

At 4:53pm CT on Sunday, 1 August 2010, I pulled an ATM slip at a 7-11 in Wichita Falls to log the end of what should be certified as my 51st Iron Butt ride and my 4th Bun Burner 1500, covering a distance of 1,515 miles in 35 hours 35 minutes. My route was from Miami Beach FL to Wichita Falls TX via Gulfport MS, Alexandria LA and Dallas/Fort Worth.

My certification submission reflected nothing remarkable about this ride. After all, given a generous 36 hours to cover 1,500 miles, the Bun Burner (or BunBurner) is perhaps the least challenging of all IBA rides and a walk in the park compared to the Bun Burner GOLD series. Nevertheless, by taking a passenger through a sweltering two-day gauntlet of near-record high temperatures and heat indexes, the price paid to complete this ride was far more than we bargained for…

I consider anything over 500 miles a day “motorcycle touring”, anything over 1,000 miles a day “distance riding”, and anything over 1,500 miles a day “endurance riding”. Each is a different dynamic with a divergent set of demands for bike and rider, and that is reason enough to avoid mixing one with the other. In this case, however, I made what was intended to be an expedient exception. Here’s how it went:

Every year DP, Hidalgo and I try to take a different route on our annual pilgrimage to taunt all the “Live to Ride” trailerists buying “I Rode Mine” pins and patches in Sturgis. Last year, we looped down to Terlingua TX and followed US-385 from its southern terminus at the entrance of Big Bend National Park to its northern end coming into Deadwood SD. This year, our plan was to take parts of old Route 66 through Tucumcari NM, then ride further west and north through the Rockies with stops in Durango and Telluride CO before continuing on to Wyoming and cutting back east to Sundance, our base for the 2010 Black Hills Trailer Classic. In order to cover all those miles in the seven days allotted and still have time to enjoy the spectacular vistas of a winding two-lane tour along the Continental Divide through the high peaks and deep valleys of Southwestern Colorado’s San Juan Mountains and beyond, logistics dictated we ride hard for the first two days so we could enjoy the remaining five. I knew from experience that over two days the most I’d be able to coax out of DP was about 1,500 miles, so that was the course plotted.

Our ride began at 6:18am ET on Saturday, 31 July 2010, when I logged my initial gas receipt in Miami Beach FL. It was a typical warm and muggy South Florida morning, but once we got rolling the wind cooled us down and blue skies above made for good riding. The temperature stayed in the 80s coming up through Central Florida, reaching 88 degrees by the time we stopped for gas and water in Ocala at 10:38am. Over the next two hours it jumped another 10 degrees, reaching 98 at our stop just east of Tallahassee. And for the remainder of this day’s ride, the weather history database at Weather.org will attest that the temperature along our route hovered just under a withering 100 degrees.

Being from Texas and accustomed to riding long hours under a hot sun, I was fine so long as I drank water at every gas stop. It was tough on DP, though. I had to give her a 20-minute break to cool down with some Gatorade in Defuniak Springs FL. That got us to our next stop in Wilcox AL, where we took even longer to re-hydrate her with water, iced tea and a Pepsi in the air-conditioned comfort of the we-sell-everything Oasis Travel Center located there. With that, plus a large cup filled with ice to go, she hung on like a real trooper ’til we stopped for the night in Gulfport MS … where thanks to swarms of federal bureaucrats drawn there to boondoggle by the BP Oil Spill, I was forced to pay the Best Value Inn $145.54 for a thirty-dollar room.

After a good night’s sleep and a decent breakfast at a nearby Waffle House packed with red-eyed blinged-out Saturday nighters, I logged a gas receipt and began the second leg of this ride at 5:27am CT. Much like the day before, the morning started out warm and muggy but soon blue skies and ideal riding conditions prevailed. It was a tolerable 84 degrees as we crossed the Mississippi River at Baton Rouge LA around 7:30am, and climbed to 90 by the time we reached the Relay Station at Frierson LA. DP’s resilience was falling faster than the temperature was rising, so we took a break there to recharge her batteries with some soup and sweet tea. Over the next two hours the temperature again made a 10 degree jump, topping the century mark by the time we stopped in Canton TX at 1:46pm. And from there it only got worse. Riding through the DFW freeway maze, the heat from the surrounding cars combined with the broiling rays from above to make “riding the open road” feel like being baked in an oven. It was no picnic for me, and I knew the only thing holding DP in the saddle was a little bit of melted ice and a whole lot of intestinal fortitude.

As we continued riding, the mercury continued rising. By the time we made our final stop for gas and ice in Decatur TX at 3:51pm, we were both wishing we were somewhere else. But our destination was only 75 miles away, and we had just enough time left to reach it. So we damned the 105 degree heat and twisted the throttle ’til we reached Wichita Falls and our LDR goal.

We did it! But I’ve been assured that “we” won’t be doing anything like this again…

Bruce Arnold aka IronBoltBruce 😉

Record-holding long distance motorcycle rider … bikers’ rights activist, forum partner to RC and proud member of The 100 … political agitator targeting social injustice and piercing the veil of our two-puppet system to expose the institutionalized greed of the Kleptocracy pulling all strings Left and Right … like Thomas Jefferson, an aficionado of ethnic aesthetic and a philosophical anarchist who accepts the State as a necessary evil under which the best government is less government.