Category: Distance Riding

January 2007

At 7:34am Saturday, 7 October 2006, I pulled an ATM slip at WAMU South Beach to mark the end of a round-trip ride from Miami Beach FL to Raleigh NC and back, logging 1,555 miles in 22 hours 36 minutes. My route was I-95 north through Florida, Georgia, South Carolina and North Carolina, then I-40 west to the Raleigh suburb of Garner, and back the same way.

Upon certification by the Iron Butt Association, this should be my third Bun Burner Gold. Of the 24,000+ members of the IBA, less than 50 had completed three or more BBG 1500’s as of 31 March 2006. I’d like to say my performance–as measured in miles traveled per hour (MTH)–as improved with each successive run, but that has not been the case: On my first BBG, I covered 1,529 miles in 22 hours 7 minutes, yielding MTH of 69.13. On my second, I covered 1,546 miles in 22 hours 28 minutes, for a lesser MTH of 68.81. And for this run, my MTH was 68.80, the lowest of the three.

Some IBA sport-touring crotch-rocketeers have covered 2,000 miles in 24 hours, and unless I change horses or add a five-gallon fuel cell, I have no chance of challenging their MTH of 83.33+. There is nothing wrong with trying to up your personal best, however, and comparative analysis of previous rides can be as beneficial to distance riders as watching game films is to football players. My first run was my best, so an MTH of 69.13 becomes my baseline:

BBG-1 vs. BBG-2: My second MTH of 68.81 was off by 0.32, which translates into a performance detriment of 6.25 minutes. In other words, if I had completed my second BBG in 22 hours 21.75 minutes instead of 22 hours 28 minutes, that would have been just enough to match my personal best of 69.13 MTH. The performance decrement was small, and I am satisfied that it was easily attributable to traffic congestion and rainstorms on the second run that I did not have to contend with on the first.

BBG-1 vs. BBG-3: My third MTH of 68.80 was off by 0.33, which translates into a performance detriment of 6.43 minutes. In other words, if I had completed my second BBG in 22 hours 29.57 minutes instead of 22 hours 36 minutes, that would have been just enough to match my personal best of 69.13 MTH.

The difference between my performance detriments on BBG-2 and BBG-3 was only 0.18 minutes, but the trend was negative and cause for further evaluation. What was the problem? Was it my ride? Nope. My Harley-Davidson FXDS has never let me down on an Iron Butt run. Was it the roads? Nope. All of my BBGs have been on mostly well-maintained interstate highways. Was it traffic congestion? Nope. I had normal traffic conditions for all of BBG-3. Was it the weather? Not really. I did ride through 30 miles of rain approaching and leaving Raleigh, but nothing that compared to the 300+ miles of blowing rain and mist I encountered on BBG-2. Then what was the problem?

Actually, there was no problem … other than a slip in discipline. In my first two BBG runs, I had avoided all unnecessary stops. But on my round trip to Raleigh, I made six stops for photo opps. I estimate that for each such stop, I lost at least one minute slowing down and pulling over, one minute retrieving/aiming/shooting/pocketing my camera, and one more getting back on the road and up to my targeted speed. That would yield 18 minutes lost altogether. Had I avoided those stops, I would’ve covered those 1,555 miles in 22 hours 18 minutes, and achieved a new personal best MTH of 69.73.

Many people consider motorcycle distance riding and endurance riding to be one and the same, but this exercise illustrates a difference: Using IBA lexicon, I consider the 1,000 mile-per-day pace of the SaddleSore 1000 to be distance riding, and the 1,500 mile-per-day pace of the Bun Burner Gold to be endurance riding. To me, the former is relatively fun and gives you some leeway for sightseeing and other stops. The latter is more like work, with little margin for errors or diversion. They can both be sources of great pleasure and pride. But like so many things in life, it’s hard to get more of one without sacrificing some of the other.

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

December 2006

At 11:58pm Saturday, 10 September 2006, I pulled an ATM receipt at WAMU South Beach to mark the end of a long day’s ride around the Sunshine State. I logged 1,095 miles in 16 hours and 7 minutes, earning upon certification another Iron Butt SaddleSore 1000 certificate. The entire route was within Florida borders and never intersected or crossed over itself, so it should qualify for the in-state FL-1000 designation. Here’s the route, leg by leg:

Beginning in Miami Beach, I rode west on IH-395 to SR-836 to SR-826, then north to IH-75 and west across Alligator Alley to Naples. From there, I headed north to Alachua to US-441 northwest to US-41, back to IH-75 north and then west on SR-47 to Fort White. There, I took US-27 to Perry to US-98 west to US-319 north to Crawfordsville, continuing on to Tallahassee to US-90 and IH-10 east to Jacksonville to IH-95 south to Miami to IH-195 and finally east back to Miami Beach.

Thanks to a couple of careless cagers, my ride got off to a very slow start. An accident on SR836 had traffic backed up forever, and by the time I weaved through the cars and down side street detours to SR826, IH-75 and finally the Alligator Alley toll booth, the first 47 miles of my ride had eaten almost an hour of time. Fortunately, for the next 109 miles across the Alley then north to Fort Myers, I had clear roads and a good opportunity to twist the throttle and make up lost time.

From Fort Myers north to Alachua, I rode through 259 miles of IH-75 freeway congested by eighteen wheelers, Gator fans and other cagers, many of whom were apparently too busy or too distracted to pay attention to their driving. I tried to stay in the left-hand lane, so I could make time while only having to defend on the right. Even so, on several occasions I had to hit my horn or otherwise awaken inattentive weavers. And three different times, cagers with cell phones glued to their ears–wheeling and dealing, or simply running their mouths–came right on over into my lane. It was as if I didn’t exist, or more likely, as if they didn’t care. I swerved out of harm’s way each time, but only barely so.

From Alachua to Fort White, then westbound on US-27 to Perry and US-98 to Medart, I left the frantic freeways for awhile to enjoy a scenic ride down two-lane byways built for simpler times. The motorists along these roads seemed to be from a totally different tribe than the communication-crazed cell phone addicts whose indifference had nearly done me in. Yes, these country folks were courteous and considerate cagers indeed! Or so I thought, until…

I was riding north on US-319 through Crawfordville, making only about 45 mph due to slow traffic and a wet road. Suddenly the black-trimmed, bright yellow Asian Hummer knock-off in front of me braked hard and made a quick right turn. He gave no signal to warn me, but I was able to avoid ramming his rear end by veering right to the shoulder and stopping just short of his turning point.

I felt an urge to express my dissatisfaction with this cager’s negligence, so I rolled into the strip center behind him. He must have suspected the purpose of my proximity, because rather than continuing left into a parking space, he quickly wheeled right, jumped a concrete curb, and then plowed through a ditch to get away! He didn’t go far, though, because the small lot he escaped to had no exit. I came up on his left and stopped with my front wheel perpendicular to the driver’s door, close enough to ram, but far enough away to maneuver. I stood up from my saddle, crossed my arms, and waited for the creep to get out of his cage. He didn’t. I motioned for him to exit his vehicle. He declined. So I gestured for him to roll down his window. He did.

What peeked out over the tinted glass was the pale face of a kid half my age, maybe half my size, and so wide-eyed that he must have been stoned, scared, terminally stupid, or all of the above. Realizing there could be no honor in carving this punk a new asshole, my anger morphed into disgust. I asked him if his turn signals worked, and he replied with a slobbering blah-blah-blah. I then conveyed in no uncertain terms the importance of respectfully sharing the road with bikers, gunned my engine for emphasis, and headed back to the highway.

A few minutes more and I hit the Capitol Circle in Tallahassee, which took me to US-90 and IH-10 eastward to link with IH-95 near downtown Jacksonville. From there it was a straight shot south to Miami and the Beach. With luck, I had survived another long day in the saddle … and avoided becoming another human sacrifice to the cellular gods.

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

November 2006

Part 2 of 2: The Rides

I began and ended my weeklong Independence Day 2006 holiday break with successful Iron Butt Association (“IBA”) Bun Burner Gold rides, covering over 1,500 miles in under 24 hours each time.

On June 30, I rode north on I-95 from Miami Beach to Jacksonville, then west on I-10 to Junction, Texas, logging 1,529 miles in 22 hours 7 minutes. I returned by a similar route on July 7, logging 1,546 miles in 22 hours 28 minutes.

The Ride West

You couldn’t ask for a more inviting forecast than what the National Weather Service predicted for my ride from Miami Beach to Junction Texas: I would be out of South Florida before summer’s daily afternoon showers began, and from Jacksonville westward I could expect clear skies all the way to San Antonio.

And right they were. The sky was blue and the winds were calm as I gathered my start-of-run witness signatures and logged an ATM receipt to start my run clock at 8:59am ET on Friday, June 30. They stayed that way all day as I rode north on I-95 then west on I-10 across the Florida panhandle, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana and on into the Lone Star State. Even the slight chance of showers predicted for Central Texas that evening failed to materialize. I rolled into Junction at dawn the next day, logging a gas receipt at Rowe’s Chevron to mark the end of my run at 6:06am CT on Saturday, July 1, having benefited from perfect riding conditions for the entire 1,529 mile length of my run. No rain, no headwinds or crosswinds, not even any significant delays from road construction, accidents or traffic congestion. What luck! I guess every dog does have his day…

I gathered my end-of-run witness signatures from the Chevron c-store employees and patrons … explaining to each that I needed them to witness the fact that I had just ridden my motorcycle over 1,500 miles in under 24 hours … and getting the usual “What the hell is wrong with you?” looks. Mission accomplished, I cruised south on Junction’s main drag to Isaac’s Restaurant for a Texas-sized breakfast of steak and eggs. Then it was back up to the Lazy-T Motel, where a friendly Miss Sonya checked me into Room 20, and all I had to do to fall asleep was close my eyes.

The Ride East

You couldn’t ask for a less inviting forecast than what The Weather Channel was predicting for my ride back to Miami Beach from Junction Texas: All week long, their national weather map predicted a blanket of scattered showers and thunderstorms covering most of Texas, the lower Southeast and all of Florida. In short, I was looking at riding through rain for the entire 1,500-plus miles of my route!

I awoke early on Friday, July 7, and prepared for the worst. I made sure my saddlebags and travel bag were as watertight as possible, and donned my waterproof H-D hard weather jacket, Bass Pro Shops Gore-Tex pants, and Georgia Mud Dog boots (which did their job on this ride, but fell apart on my next). Then it was off to Isaac’s for breakfast tacos, coffee and start-of-run witness signatures.

I logged a gas receipt at Rowe’s Chevron to start my run clock at 7:21am CT and headed east on I-10 under gray skies, insulated by my rain gear and waiting for the deluge to begin. One hundred miles later I reached San Antonio, and no rain fell. Another hundred miles to Flatonia, and no rain fell. One hundred more to Houston, still no rain, and with my rain gear on, I was baking in the midday heat and humidity. I considered taking it off, but was convinced the downpour would start as soon as I did, so I didn’t. I cross the Louisiana border and hit traffic congestion around Lake Charles, then finally encountered my first brief shower just west of Rayne (no kidding). The road soon dried, and I opened the throttle to make up lost time.

A major traffic jam awaited me at the west side of the Mississippi River Bridge in Baton Rouge. Cars were backed up in all lanes leading to the bridge, all the way across the bridge, and beyond. I knew that waiting for the traffic to clear would cost me my BBG, so I pretended I was in California and applied a little lane-splitting and, ah, shoulder-expedition to weave my way through the mess. Once more, I had to twist the throttle hard to make up lost time as I rode on through the rest of the Bayou State, across Mississippi and Alabama, and on into Florida.

Somewhere west of Tallahassee, I finally rode into the serious kind of rainstorm I’d been expecting all day. From there, it was intermittent showers for the rest of the night’s ride all the way through Jacksonville and south to Miami. Fortunately though, my rain gear did its job, the showers were mostly mists, and the winds were not adverse. Consequently, I was able to maintain the pace needed to finish the run in under 24 hours. As dawn arose over Miami Beach, I logged an ATM receipt to mark the end of my second Bun Burner Gold run at 6:49am ET on Saturday, July 8.

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

October 2006

Part 1 of 2: The Rules

I began and ended my weeklong Independence Day 2006 holiday break with successful Iron Butt Association (“IBA”) Bun Burner Gold rides, covering over 1,500 miles in under 24 hours each time.

On June 30, I rode north on I-95 from Miami Beach to Jacksonville, then west on I-10 to Junction, Texas, logging 1,529 miles in 22 hours 7 minutes. I returned by a similar route on July 7, logging 1,546 miles in 22 hours 28 minutes.

Of the more than 10 million motorcyclists in North America, less than 25,000 are members of the IBA. The majority of these complete only one certified ride: the SaddleSore 1000, which requires logging at least 1,000 miles in 24 hours or less. And since 1988, less than 150 of those who sought greater challenges have completed more than one Bun Burner Gold.

Why so few? The answer is the pace. Consider this: If on average you maintain a speed of 70 miles an hour, cover 100 miles between each stop, and spend 15 minutes at each stop, you will be traveling an average of 1 mile per minute, or 60 miles per hour. Maintain this pace for 24 hours (with no meal or rest breaks), and you will cover 1,440 miles … 60 miles less than the 1,500 miles required. In other words, the 1 MINUTE = 1 MILE rule I once gave you will not get you a Bun Burner Gold certificate. To get a BBG, you have to change the equation to pick up the pace, which means (a) riding faster, (b) riding farther between stops, and/or (c) making shorter stops. Here are some tips on each:

Riding Faster

You will find it extremely difficult to map a 1,500 mile course that does not take you through any intersections, stop signs, red lights or traffic congestion. You can also consider yourself blessed if you’re able to ride that far without encountering rain. To compensate for these delays, understand that you must target a speed that is higher than the speed you must average. Even on open interstates, for example, you may need to target 80mph to average 70mph. And to raise that average speed, you must increase your targeted speed as well.

There are some speed “limits” you need to consider: One is the maximum speed of your motorcycle. Another is the maximum safe speed with respect to both road and traffic conditions and rider skill, experience and fatigue levels. And last but not least, of course, are the posted legal speed limits.

Riding Farther Between Stops

No matter how fuel efficient your bike may be, no matter how large your gas tank is, and regardless of whether you have an auxiliary fuel cell, IBA rules for the Bun Burner Gold require that you log a stop at least once every 350 miles (or 5 times over 1,500 miles). For most riders, however, riding 350 miles between stops is more of a theoretical ideal than it is a practical limit.

The practical limits of how far one can ride between stops are usually (a) how far your bike can go before you must refill your tank, and (b) how long you can ride before you must empty your bladder. As to the former, lower speeds may give you better gas mileage, but you have to carefully weigh what you are gaining in MPG and fewer stops versus what you are losing in maintained average MPH. As to the latter, with conditioning and practice most healthy riders should be able to coordinate their potty breaks with their pit stops.

Making Shorter Stops

Most stops on Iron Butt rides have to do with accomplishing one or more of the following: buying gas, cleaning shields and visors, checking oil and tires, drinking liquids, eating food, restroom breaks or rest stops. Any of these tasks that can be omitted or done more efficiently gets you back on the road quicker, and every improvement in your stop “routine” will benefit you at every stop. There is probably no single best way to achieve this, but here is what worked for me on my two Bun Burner Gold runs:

First, I decided to forego any rest stops or meal breaks. Going 24 hours without sleep is not that great of a challenge, and a vest pocket full of jerky combined with a c-store snack and something to drink (mostly water) every two to four hours kept me nourished and hydrated. Second, I checked my tires and topped off my oil before each run, so I didn’t have to do so along the way. Third, my glasses, helmet visor and windshield were spotless at the start of each run, maximizing the time I could ride before they needed cleaning again. Fourth, I used SVM Gas Cards–which do not get cut off for frequent use like most credit cards do–and paid at the pump whenever possible.

Altogether, I was able reduce my average time per stop to under 8 minutes, which compared to 15 minutes saved me about an hour and a half on each run. That savings, more than any other, is what brought me in under the 24-hour wire.

So much for the rules … next month, I’ll tell you about the rides!

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

September 2006

I rode 5,315 miles over 11 days in August, joining more than half a million other motorcyclists and trailerists for the 2006 Black Hills Trailer Classic, an event still appreciated and referred to by some as the 66th Annual Sturgis Motorcycle Rally.

Compared to last year, Sturgis–a small town of 6,500 quaintly nestled in the scenic Black Hills of western South Dakota–did not seem to have changed much. But STURGIS–the world’s largest motorcycle rally and biker event–was not the same. Yes, upon arrival I parked at the same Sturgis H-D to buy and ship the same expensive souvenir shirts, and had the same lady at the same vendor booth on Main Street sew on my “I RODE MINE” patch. And yes, I then walked the same two blocks to the Broken Spoke Saloon to enjoy the first of many hot bands and cold brews, just as I did in 2005. In fact, about the only big difference between my first day in Sturgis this year versus last is that last year’s ended with one too many beers in my belly, while this year’s ended with one too many nails in my rear tire. But a quick shot of ThreeBond Seal’n’Air and a quick stop at Moon’s Cycle Repair took care of that.

No, the difference I allude to was not so notable in Sturgis itself as it was on the way there and back. The difference was in the number of bikes being rode versus the number of bikes being towed: Last year, I remember the I-90 stretch from Sioux Falls to Rapid City as a thundering stampede of Sturgis-bound cyclists. This year, I’d almost swear I saw as many trailers as I did two-wheelers.

Motorcycle riding is more about the journey than the destination, and that goes double for Sturgis. Sharing the ride, the risks and the waves with thousands of fellow bikers over hundreds of miles of highway, swapping stories and smiles at stops along the way, is an integral part of the “Sturgis experience” for me. I do not understand why any true rider would want to pass that up.

Sure, the professional racing and commercial show bikes have to be trailered. And it would not make much sense to try to ride one of those 60K+ chrome penis extensions cobbled together by Billy [poor guy], Paulie or Russell across country to Sturgis, when you can barely wobble it across town to Hooter’s. But if you have a well-maintained bike, a good back, a comfortable seat, riding gear, and saddlebags or luggage, why have it towed when you could’ve rode?!?

You are not doing it to save money. What you paid for your trailer is probably more than what it would cost to make a touring-capable motorcycle road-ready. And mile-for-mile, it almost certainly takes less gas, oil and maintenance to keep two wheels rolling than to have four or more towing. And you’re not doing it to save time, either. I’ve ridden over 1,500 miles in under 24 hours more than once, and I seriously doubt you’ll make better time pulling a trailered bike. And no, you don’t have to ride anywhere near that far or that fast to get to Sturgis…

From anywhere in the lower 48 United States, the distance to Sturgis is no more than 2,412 miles. For most riders, the actual distance will of course be much less. Compute what the distance is for you, and then divide that number by four. You’ll probably end up with a mileage figure that is within your daily riding range. Ride that many miles for four days … and you’re in Sturgis! Party hardy, cruise the Blacks Hills of South Dakota and Wyoming and sightsee for six days, then enjoy your four-day ride back home. Four plus six plus four equals fourteen days … and one Hell of a great two-week vacation for any motorcyclist who truly lives to ride.

One final tip: If you’re not a camper and willing to ride a few extra miles, you can save big bucks by booking your motel room in Gillette Wyoming. Consider the National 9 Inn, which offers clean rooms, free 24-hour coffee, on-site cafe and lounge, free cafe breakfasts, room service, Internet access and terminal, and next-door laundry service … all for a rate that is 75% less than what I’ve paid for inferior accommodations in Rapid City. You can reserve online, or call 307-682-5111 and tell the manager Deb that Bruce sent you. And after you check in, cruise over to Jakes Tavern for a cold one!

Live to TOW? I say NO!

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

August 2006

Part 2 of 2: SDO to JAX

Tuesday May 30, 2006 marked the end of seven days and almost 5,500 miles on two wheels for me. The lion’s share of this saddletime was devoted to my successful completion of what the Iron Butt Association calls the CCC Gold or 100CCC Insanity. The 100CCC requires that you ride from coast to coast to coast in 100 hours or less and that each of the back-to-back, coast-to-coast runs be completed in 50 hours or less. In this case, I rode from Jacksonville Beach, FL to San Diego (Ocean Beach), CA and back again, covering 4,728 miles in 95 hours 49 minutes.

Leg 4: San Diego to Ocotillo (Miles: 94… Ride: Awesome)

According to the IBA rules for the 100CCC, the run clock for my ride back to Jax Beach started automatically at 5:59am PT, Saturday May 27, exactly 50 hours after the start of my westbound ride. I slept right through that event, however, having elected to get in a couple more hours of rest and a bit of sightseeing before I headed back east.

I awoke to overcast skies, and began mentally preparing myself to face the same “tempest on the mountaintop” that had almost bested me a few hours before. Soon after I was eastbound on I-8, however, things changed rapidly for the better. As I began weaving my way up and through the Laguna Mountains, I broke through the low-lying clouds and into sunny skies. Mother Nature’s fury was spent, and my reward for enduring it was some of the most breathtakingly beautiful mountaintop views you can imagine. And just to make things absolutely perfect, the wind I fought so hard for so long riding west, was now at my back riding east. I didn’t just ride across the Lagunas to Ocotillo … I’d say it was more of a glide.

Leg 5: Ocotillo to Sonora (Miles: 1012… Ride: Pleasurable)

Ocotillo CA had the same strange isolated winds as it had the night before, but in daylight they were not nearly so intimidating. A quick fuel stop and then it was east across the Imperial Valley, which can aptly be described with one word: Sand. Flat empty stretches of sand … irrigated crops growing in sand … Sahara dunes-looking mountains of sand … all the way to Arizona.

Eighty-five miles east of Yuma, I pulled over in the one-horse town of Sentinel AZ. It looked like one of those “last chance” ghost towns from Route 66 or Death Valley. For a moment I thought it might be deserted, but then I heard the sound of a compressor running, and headed for the door. Inside was a general store from yesteryear: an ancient soft drink cooler, a few sparsely stocked shelves of basics, a dusty rack of cheap plastic kids’ toys, and everywhere that smell, that corner store laundry soap and bubble gum smell. I felt like I was back in my boyhood days and I wanted to stay, but the venerable proprietor was looking at me like I was from another world. I sadly remembered that I was, and returned to my eastward trek.

Long distance riding gives you a lot of time to think, and I find that to be downright therapeutic. It’s not healthy, though, to turn too much attention inward, get lost in thought and “zone out”. That happened to me somewhere between Tucson and Benson AZ. I came to from a daydream in the middle of empty desert, looked down at my fuel gauge, and realized I was running low on gas, did not know where I was, and had no idea how far it was to the next pump. Ughh! I can’t honestly say if this was a fatigue-induced event or simply a brain fart, but for a moment I simply did not know what to do. Then a quick mental coin toss, and I decided to keep rolling eastward and hope for the best. I slowed to save gas, and agonized as mile after mile after mile yielded no signs of civilization or reasons for hope. Then at last, I top a rise and see a billboard inviting me to take the next exit to see “The Thing”, a tourist attraction complete with 24-hour gas services. Well, I never did see “The Thing” … but you better believe I was happy to see those gas pumps!

Those wicked crosswinds were still blowing as I once again rode through Road Forks NM, but this time I was prepared and nothing was lost. From there, a steady tailwind made for easy riding, and I made Deming around dusk. Two hours more took me through El Paso, and by midnight I was near Van Horn and into the Central Time Zone.

Remembering that 24-7 gas stops in West Texas are few and far between, I was watching for my next opportunity to fill up. According to the exit signs, Balmorhea was it. Sure enough, the lights were on outside the Fina c-store, but the gas pumps wouldn’t take any of my cards, and as it was 1:49 am the store was closed. I thought my luck had run out, but then a light came on, and then another, and then a kind but sleepy old cowboy in his undershirt stepped out of the store to tell me his credit card rig was busted, but I could pay cash if I needed gas. I did, and I thanked him. I pumped my gas, and headed back into the starry Texas night. Three hours more and no deer had crossed by path, so I rolled safely into the parking lot of the Best Western Sonora at 4:48am, Sunday May 28.

Leg 6: Sonora to Jax Beach (Miles: 1,259… Ride: Punishing)

As was the case on my westbound ride two days before, I checked out of the Best Western Sonora roughly four hours after I had checked in. Before, I felt fully rested, but this time was not the same. Perhaps I’d slept as long, but not as deeply. Or perhaps fatigue was catching up with me. Either way, I began this last leg of my ride feeling more groggy than refreshed. I must have still been in a mental haze when I stopped for gas 55 miles later, as I paid and then pulled out without pumping, and had to loop back for an embarrassing do-over.

Except for gusty winds and hard rain from Flatonia to Houston, the remainder of my ride eastward across Texas was uneventful. Mostly sunny skies prevailed as I crossed into Louisiana, but heading east on I-12 out of Hammond that suddenly changed. In less than three minutes, the skies went from blue to black, and then rain started coming down in sheets. I stopped under an overpass, donned my hard weather gear, and rolled back out into the torrent. Thanks to Zooke Anti-Fog my visor didn’t fog over, but the rain was coming down so hard that all I could see in front of me was a wall of water. Then once again, when I needed a break, Providence gave it to me: A cager in a small red car saw my distress, eased in front of me, turned on his emergency flashers, and guided me through the downpour until the rain subsided. What a nice guy!

Once I reached Covington LA, what lay before me was a straightforward night ride of 560 miles. Normally, this would’ve been water off a duck’s back, even with the intermittent mist that fell all along the way. But by this point in the run, things were no longer “normal”. I was wet … I was tired … and I was sick of being wet and tired. Still, I knew that most of the challenges were behind me now, and all I needed to do was hang on to finish the run.

I made it to Bonifay FL by 12:45am, where I loaded up on Red Bull and peanuts to recharge myself for the last 273 miles. Still, those final few miles proved far more grueling than the thousand that came before them. There’s just something about riding through the wee hours of the morning that drains you (well, me anyway), and when you’re doing it for the fourth consecutive night, the effect is really amplified. So, I have to give credit where credit is due:

If I had not read and internalized Don Arthur’s classic article on “Fatigue and Motorcycle Touring”, I might not have finished the 100CCC, and it is quite possible that my ride might have ended in injury or death. Thanks to Don, however, I had done just about everything I could to be physically ready for the ride … to mitigate fatigue along the way … and to recognize and cope with its effects towards the end. If ever there was an article that should be on every distance rider’s required reading list, Don Arthur’s Fatigue and Motorcycle Touring is it.

Dawn’s early light appeared in the east as I entered Jacksonville from the west. And as the sun rose, so did my spirits. I-10 terminated at I-95 south, then it was a quick sprint across 202 to A1A and Jacksonville Beach. The seemingly unbearable fatigue of just two hours before was completely gone, replaced in its entirety by the elation of imminent victory. A c-store gas receipt timestamped my end-of-run at 6:48am, Monday May 29. I had ridden from coast to coast to coast, and done it in less than 100 hours. One final round of witness signatures and sand scooping with biker buddies Kevin and Debbie Dineen (Jacksonville FL) and Axel and Vicky Wojnar (Davie FL), and the 100CCC prize was mine.

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

July 2006

Part 1 of 2: JAX to SDO

Tuesday May 30, 2006 marked the end of seven days and almost 5,500 miles on two wheels for me. The lion’s share of this saddletime was devoted to my successful completion of what the Iron Butt Association calls the CCC Gold or 100CCC Insanity. The 100CCC requires that you ride from coast to coast to coast in 100 hours or less and that each of the back-to-back, coast-to-coast runs be completed in 50 hours or less. In this case, I rode from Jacksonville Beach, FL to San Diego (Ocean Beach), CA and back again, covering 4,728 miles in 95 hours 49 minutes.

Leg 1: Jax Beach to Sonora (Miles: 1,254 … Ride: Mundane)

On Wednesday May 24, I rode a leisurely 351 miles from Miami Beach to Jacksonville Beach FL, where I checked into the Best Western Oceanfront. After securing my bike and gear, I walked the few steps down to Bukkets for their happy hour seafood specials and the last few ounces of distilled spirits I’d be imbibing for several days.

I was up well before dawn the next morning, packing my bike, sucking down some hot coffee and a cold continental breakfast, and preparing for my start-of-run witnesses to arrive. Jacksonville riding buddies Kevin and Debbie Dineen rolled in as promised just after 6:45am. We dashed to the ocean’s edge, where they photographed me collecting a traditional vial of sand and sea water. Then we quickly filled out some IBA witness forms, saddled up, and rode a couple of blocks to the Texaco c-store located where US-90 terminates at A1A. There, I logged a gas receipt timestamp to start my run clock at 6:59am ET, Thursday May 25. Kevin and Debbie then escorted me down A1A to 202 and west to I-95, where we waved good-bye as I turned north to connect with I-10 and head west.

The air was warm, the skies were clear, and for the rest of the day and on into the evening, the ride across the Florida panhandle into Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and halfway across Texas to Sonora was pretty much mundane mile-eating. Not that it wasn’t enjoyable, but I’ve ridden that stretch of I-10 far too many times for it to stir any wonder or excitement.

Leg 2: Sonora to Ocotillo (Miles: 1,019 … Ride: Challenging)

I checked out of the Best Western Sonora at 7:09am CT, Friday May 26, barely four hours after I had checked in. I felt fully rested, perhaps exhilarated, and powerfully hungry. I put a few miles on the bike and then pulled into Calib’s Country Kitchen in Ozona for a hot breakfast. This stop proved to be a diner’s delight, but a distance rider’s disaster: The steak that came with my fried eggs and flake biscuits was mouth-wateringly delicious, but it took them nearly 30 minutes to serve it up, leaving me no choice but to choke it down as quickly as possible. Lesson learned … next time, back to Waffle House … rarely fantastic, but almost always fast.

Refreshed and refueled, it was now time to cross the miles and miles of distant hills and brushy desert plains that is West Texas. Wide open expanses and empty roads made riding a pleasure and high speeds a temptation, but a steady wind from the west-southwest was taking an unexpected toll on my gas mileage and fuel tank range. The hop from Ozona to Fort Stockton was no problem, but making it from there to Van Horn with an open throttle, 4.9 gallon stock tank and thirsty Mikuni carburetor was nothing short of a miracle. Realizing I was in trouble, I slowed down to 60 when I hit reserve so as to optimize my remaining miles per gallon. But even doing that, I basically coasted into the first station on the east side of town, my gas needle having been on flat dead empty for a couple of the longest minutes of my life.

From El Paso westward, an ever-increasing headwind served as a constant reminder to keep my eye on the fuel gauge, and I willingly traded the efficiency of maximizing miles between stops for the security of knowing I would make it to the next one. On across the high desert of New Mexico I rode, dodging dust devils, crossing the Continental Divide near Separ, and continuing westward to an eerie Stephen King truckstop of a place called Road Forks. Here, the wind suddenly shifted and increased in intensity. In less than a second, my favorite midnight blue bandanna was sucked right out of my vest pocket. Two seconds more, and the long, heavy string that fastens the left side of my riding vest to the back was literally untied, unlaced and carried away as if by some evil, unseen hands. I fought to keep my bike in one lane and hang on to the pieces of my vest until, just as Road Forks appeared in my rear view mirror, the wicked crosswind subsided as quickly as it had arisen. I pulled over, packed away what was left of my vest, looked back to say goodbye to my bandanna, and headed on into Arizona.

In Casa Grande, I forked off I-10 to I-8, continuing westward towards Yuma through the Sonoran National Desert Monument. This route took me through a couple of hundred miles of some of the most beautiful desert I’ve ever seen, complete with awe-inspiring stands of hundreds of giant saguaro cactus (or is it cacti?). Then somewhere west of Gila Bend the sun finally set. In a few hours more I crossed the California state line and Imperial Valley, making my last gas stop before San Diego near its western edge in Ocotillo.

Leg 3: Ocotillo to San Diego (Miles: 90 … Ride: Awful)

As I approached Ocotillo CA, the winds I’d been fighting all day and night picked up with a suddenness and fury similar to what I’d experienced at Road Forks NM. Little did I know then, but from this point westward–until I rolled out of the Laguna Mountains and into San Diego–I’d be fighting every minute to keep my bike upright and on the road.

Refueled once more, I donned my leather jacket and rolled out into the dark blustery night, continuing westward and upward into the mountain passes. With each one thousand foot increase in elevation, a road sign informed me of my progress, and the winds seemed to grow more determined to halt it. 1,000 feet above sea level … then 2 … then 3 … then 4,000 feet and higher. There, Mother Nature decided to throw what I can best describe as a blowing white fog with fast-melting snow into the mix. I think I was riding through clouds. The temperature plummeted, visibility dropped to a few feet, and my forward progress slowed to a crawl.

At this point, I no longer harbored any concerns about making San Diego on time. My only objective was to make it through the mountains alive. I kept going. Over one summit, then down, then up over another summit, then down, then again and perhaps again. I remember seeing signs for Tecate Divide and Crestwood Summit, but I was too busy or blind to see the names of the others. Then finally, after two hours of riding through winds and weather that should only appear in nightmares, I rounded a bend and the lights of San Diego spread out before me.

San Diego normally has only two rainy days in May, and of course this was one of them. But after what I’d just ridden through, I barely noticed. I-8 carried me right on into Sunset Cliffs Boulevard, which led me to Sam’s Shell Service, where a timestamped gas receipt marked the end of my westbound coast-to-coast ride at 1:12am PT, Saturday May 27. I had covered 2,363 miles in 45 hours 13 minutes. Then, one short mile more to the Ocean Beach Hotel for witness signatures, a ceremonial scoop of Pacific sand and seawater, and finally some much needed rest.

Next month: My 100CCC Insanity Part 2, SDO to JAX!

June 2006

Long distance motorcycle riders have four basic means of routing and navigating their tours and timed runs: printed maps, online maps, GPS (Global Positioning System) devices, and if all else fails, asking for directions. Our focus this month is the second of these, online maps.

99% of all Internet users reference search engines to find what they are looking for on the World Wide Web, and the three most frequently accessed are

• Google.com
• Bing.com
• Yahoo.com

Type “online maps” into the search box of any of these, and hit the “Search” button. Within seconds you’ll be one click away from hundreds of web-based mapping and navigation resources. But as you may surmise after a little browsing, all major online map services generally rely on one of two companies to provide much of their digital mapping and road data content: Navteq or Tele Atlas. Here are five of their most prominent customers:

AOL Mapquest ( https://www.mapquest.com/ )

Mapquest was one of the first online map services, and is now a subsidiary of AOL. Like its parent company, Mapquest is not exactly keeping up with the Joneses technology-wise. As of this writing, for example, they are the only major online map service that has not incorporated satellite imagery or aerial photographs to augment their graphical maps.

Ask.com Maps & Directions ( https://maps.ask.com/maps )

Ask.com’s new online map technology trumps the competition by being first to offer a topical relief view as well as street (graphical) or aerial. Unfortunately, however, leading edge is often only a step away from bleeding edge. As The Map Room blogger Jonathan Crowe points out: “Ask.com relief maps have a significant flaw–one that the Dutch would certainly notice: any land below sea level is shown as being under water.”

Google Maps ( https://maps.google.com/ )

With the new Google Maps, and its related Google Earth “3D planet interface”, there can be no question that Google plans to use superior technology to come from behind and ultimately dominate the online map web segment just as they did with search engines. Google Maps views include Map, Satellite and Hybrid, and Google Earth’s imagery and interface are dazzling. But if you want to quickly and reliably locate convenient motels or 24-hour gas stations, you’d best look elsewhere … for now.

Windows Local Live (now Bing Maps) ( https://maps.bing.com/ )

Microsoft’s Windows Local Live beta version sports road and aerial views along with a user interface that includes a scratch pad. The scratch pad I understood, but the rest of the interface had me scratching my head. You can use it to locate businesses and business categories, but it doesn’t find anywhere near as many as Yahoo! does. And I’m still trying to figure out how the hell to make it print. I think the Gates gang needs to trailer this puppy back to the garage and break out the tools.

Yahoo! Maps ( https://maps.yahoo.com/ )

Yahoo! Maps offers logically ordered Map, Hybrid and Satellite views combined with an interface as intuitive and easy to use as its Classic Maps predecessor, which for now is just a reassuring click away. Getting directions from A to B is as simple as before, and their database of motels, restaurants, gas stations and other businesses along the way eclipses those offered by Google or MSN. And printing is a no-brainer.

Each of these online maps offers unique features with different twists, and I recommend you check out all five. But for me and for now, if I could use only one, it would be Google.

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

May 2006

Part 2 of 2: A Hard Ride East

For me, Monday March 13 marked the end of five days and almost four thousand miles in the saddle. My trip began with a 1,610 mile Iron Butt BunBurner 1500 ride from Miami Beach FL to Round Rock TX via Atlanta, Birmingham, Jackson, Shreveport, Dallas and Bruceville. I completed this BB1500 in 29 hours 5 minutes road time, 33 hours 27 minutes total time. My trip ended with a 2,083 mile Iron Butt SaddleSore 2000 ride from San Antonio TX to Miami Beach FL via Dallas, Texarkana, Little Rock, Memphis, Nashville, Knoxville, Asheville, Charlotte, Columbia, Savannah and Jacksonville. I completed this SS2000 in 36 hours 30 minutes road and total time, as I did not stop for a motel sleep break. Last month I told you about my Wet Ride West. This month, let me tell you about my Hard Ride East:

As I headed north on I-35, the gray clouds over San Antonio quickly gave way to a warm and sunny Texas spring morning. An incessantly powerful March wind was at my back, noticeably improving my fuel efficiency, and making it difficult to keep the needle under 90. In no time flat, the tailwind whisked me all the way to Dallas, where I connected with I-30 and headed towards Texarkana.

East of the DFW metroplex I rode into the rolling, open plains of northeast Texas. There, my much appreciated tailwind became an unceasingly annoying crosswind that had me riding at a lean all day and well into the night. But for the moment, the sun was bright, the sky was blue, and I was warm and dry. That was good enough for me.

I made it almost all the way across Arkansas before stopping in Palestine at sundown to don my lid and leathers. From there, it was a short hop to the Mississippi River and across into Memphis, a city with a dazzling nighttime riverfront and downtown skyline. Continuing east towards Nashville, I took a break to grab some grub in Jackson Tennessee, the hometown of that famous railroader Casey Jones. His museum was right next to the Waffle House where I ate, but it was too late for me to do much more than take a look at his restored and retired engine. Then it was on through Nashville and eastward to Knoxville, where I entered the Appalachians and the Eastern Time Zone around 3:00am.

In retrospect, I should’ve pulled into a motel and got some shut-eye at this point. I could have done so and still completed my SS2000 within the required 48 hours. And had I done so, I would have experienced the most beautiful and challenging segment of my ride fully rested and with the increased safety and scenery of daylight. I should have … but I didn’t. I kept going.

To get from Knoxville to Asheville on I-40, you have to go through Hartford, Tennessee and Iron Duff, North Carolina. And between Hartford and Iron Duff are 28.5 miles of nothing but uphill and downhill twists and turns as the road winds its way through a mountainous area where the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Cherokee National Forest and Pisgah National Forest converge at the Tennessee/North Carolina border, just east of the 6,621 foot peak of Mount Guyot. It reminded me of the Iron Mountain Road (US-16A) near Mount Rushmore, but on a much grander scale. Fatigued by more than 22 hours in the saddle, this proved to be one of the most daunting stretches of interstate I have ever ridden. I hope to ride it again someday … when I am rested and alert enough to enjoy it … and in daylight, so I can appreciate more than just the shadows of what must be an abundance of natural beauty.

The sun arose and lifted my spirits as I finished breakfast and a third cup of coffee at the Huddle House in Asheville. From there, I rode a scenic 80 miles to Hickory as I-40 wound its way through peaceful valleys bounded by majestic mountains. Then it was time to turn south on US-321 to Gastonia, east on I-85 to Charlotte, and on down through South Carolina via I-77 to I-26 to I-95 near St George. I then rode uneventfully through the lowlands of Carolina and Georgia, which merged seamlessly into the familiar flatlands of the Sunshine State. Six hours more and I reached the end of my 2,083 mile run. I was back on the Beach, sleeping soundly and no doubt snoring loudly, dreaming about my next ride…

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!

April 2006

Part 1 of 2: A Wet Ride West

For me, Monday March 13 marked the end of five days and almost four thousand miles in the saddle. My trip began with a 1,610 mile Iron Butt BunBurner 1500 ride from Miami Beach FL to Round Rock TX via Atlanta, Birmingham, Jackson, Shreveport, Dallas and Bruceville. I completed this BB1500 in 29 hours 5 minutes road time, 33 hours 27 minutes total time. My trip ended with a 2,083 mile Iron Butt SaddleSore 2000 ride from San Antonio TX to Miami Beach FL via Dallas, Texarkana, Little Rock, Memphis, Nashville, Knoxville, Asheville, Charlotte, Columbia, Savannah and Jacksonville. I completed this SS2000 in 36 hours 30 minutes road and total time, as I did not stop for a motel sleep break. Next month, I’ll tell you about my Hard Ride East. But first, let me tell you about my Wet Ride West:

The ride from I-95 to the Florida Turnpike to I-75 and on into Georgia was sunny, warm and uneventful all the way to Atlanta, where I looped I-285 to hit I-20 east. This gave me plenty of time to get accustomed to my new Icon Mainframe full coverage helmet, which I ordered online from RideGear.com. Above 70 degrees, wearing a full coverage lid standing still is somewhat like holding your head in a warm oven. Once you get rolling, though, the ram-air ventilation system kicks in and it’s not so bad. And the faster you go, the more air you get. (Maybe this contributes to the crotch rocketeers’ need for speed.)

I had logged onto the National Weather Service before leaving, so I knew I’d be passing through a severe weather front somewhere west of Atlanta. Sure enough, cold winds and dark clouds were waiting for me at the Alabama state line. By the time I hit Birmingham, the black skies were streaked with lightening and cold rain was coming down in sheets. In Bessemer, I pulled into a ghetto c-store, donned my wet weather gear, and then eased up onto the interstate and back into the torrent. Strong northerly gusts were now blowing freezing rain and sleet–and frequently me and my bike–from one side of the road to the other. At times, the wind slowed me down to a 30mph crawl, but I was fully armored and determined to keep going. After all, this was the perfect opportunity to test my hard weather gear in truly adverse conditions.

I may have cursed the suffocating heat of my full coverage helmet earlier in the day, but I was sure thankful to have that insulating warmth and protective shield now! My H-D hard weather jacket and pain-in-the-ass-to-put-on “waders” did their job as well, as (for the most part) did my waterproof H-D Gore-Tex leather gloves. But like a chain, a suit of weather armor is only as strong as its weakest part, and that proved to be my (not) “water resistant” boots. As I fought the winds riding west through Tuscaloosa, the cold rain kept falling … and my boots began filling. My feet were awash with ice cold water, and I truly began to appreciate the age-old axiom that you can’t stay warm unless your feet stay warm.

East of Meridian Mississippi, I finally broke through the front into clear night skies and dry road conditions. The ride would actually have become quite enjoyable at that point, had it not been for my cold, wet feet. So when I stopped for gas in Newton, I drained my boots and put on dry socks. This helped some, but within minutes the remaining moisture in the boots once again soaked through my socks to ice my numbing feet.

I kept riding westward on I-20, across the Mississippi River at Vicksburg and on into Louisiana. But with each passing mile, I could feel more and more of my precious body heat leaking out around my toes. I stopped for gas in Minden, and began to shiver as I pumped. The water in my boots got the best of me, so I crossed the street and checked into the Exacta Inn around 2:00am. With the room heater running full blast, by 6:20am all my gear was dry and I was warm, rested and back on the road to the Lone Star State.

Sweet Mother Texas welcomed her wayward son home with clear blue sunny skies. By the time I turned south on I-35 and made it through Waco, it was too warm for lid and leathers, so I stopped to shed them both in Bruceville. From there it was an easy ride on into Round Rock and the end of my run. The next day, I made a beeline to Cavender’s Boot City and bought a pair of waterproof Georgia Mud Dogs, available online at GeorgiaBoot.com.

I’ve put over two thousand miles on those boots since then, and I can assure you that for the money they are the warmest, driest and ugliest boots you’ll find anywhere.

Until Next Time … Ride Long, Ride Free!