Disclaimer: The following ButtLite II Rally ride report is based on a true story although the names, dates, times, and places have been changed to protect the innocent.
Finishing in the Black
The main reason I entered the ButtLite II rally was to meet women.
I had two fears of riding my first multi-day rally. One was sleeping on the side of the road, waking up with a stripped down motorcycle or a curious rip in the back of my riding pants, and the second was being able to ride seven 1,000 mile days in a row. I knew one thing for certain: my Siberian Speed Team-sponsored BMW K-bike would not give me any trouble. I had spent the better part of a year preparing her for this ride. She was ready and able. GPS, radar, auxiliary fuel cell, Givi top case, electric heated handgrips, Russell custom seat, stereo, CB, extra lights, voltmeter, she was the perfect tool for the job.
You know, K-bikes are bullet proof!
About a half hour before the rally started Monday morning, I had the pleasure of sitting down to breakfast with Paula and Richard. We discussed the rally and the dangers associated with it. At five minutes to seven, our food had not yet arrived and I was anxious to be at the start. Paula told me to relax, there would be a great rush of people to get their rally packs, then everyone will go scurrying off to plan their routes. “Take your time, relax, this is not a race, you will have plenty of time to plan your route.” So as the first rally packs were being dispersed, I was eating ham and eggs, sunny side up. I remembered Paula’s advice throughout the rally.
After looking at the packet, I decided to go with my original plan of taking my sleep bonus first, then heading over to the AMA Museum. I drove 1/10th of a mile to Wal-Mart to get my first layover receipt. As I was carefully stowing the receipt away, I re-read the instructions for the bonus, and it clearly stated to have a credit card receipt. I paid cash! I quickly went back and bought a TV Guide. (I figured this would come in real handy this week). By then it was 7:30, so I had to wait ‘til 10:30 to leave Pinkerington.
I rode to the museum and waited in the parking lot. A lot of riders came and went, a few before 9:00am (Hmmmm). At 10:00 I started to worry. Every single person in the rally had gone, was somewhere far away getting all kinds of points, and I hadn’t even driven one mile. Boy was I stupid! About 10:20, a lone BMW rider pulled up to the AMA. It was Ron Ayers! I figured if Ron had done the same with the sleep bonus, I couldn’t be doing all that bad! When I went to the museum to get my closing receipt, I realized the museum receipt didn’t have a time on it. DAMN YOU, EDDIE! I wouldn’t give up. I had the clerk type out a receipt, put the time where my address should be, then had the museum manager sign it. It worked!
Now that I had missed the traffic and the fog, I diced my way through Ohio. At one point I got all choked up. I was riding through Cincinnati, with my flip helmet in the receive food mode, popping my favorite LD riding snack, sunflower seeds, into my mouth. As I was leaning in a turn my face caught a gust of wind off the windshield and lodged a bunch of seeds in my throat. I began choking. I tried punching my chest, but to no avail. Finally, I banged my back against the fuel cell behind me, dislodging the seeds, but at the same time closing my helmet over my eyes! I freaked for that long second! I thought, “You stupid fool, you will never last!”
My plan for the first leg was to learn the ropes, get the sleep bonus, AMA, gas log, Hot Coffee, Mississippi, then on to Baton Rouge. Somewhere in Tennessee I met up with Yankee Beemer President Rob Nye. I contacted him on the CB, and he told me he was headed for Quito. I decided to follow, but I ran low on fuel and bid farewell. I ended up getting to Quito, thanks to the GPS, because I never would have found it without it. I met up with another rider and we had to drive through someone’s back yard then a cornfield to get to the cemetery. About two hours from Quito, I decided to get a room for three hours. As I was signing in, a rider in an Aerostitch suit showed up and I asked him first if he wanted to share a room, then I asked him, “You are in the Rally, right?” We slept a few, and then headed out for Hot Coffee (again with the GPS because my atlas and AAA maps sucked, the only way I found any of the small towns was the GPS).
There were state police cars everywhere, and a lot of rally bikes. Had to be the place. I pulled in and immediately began giving excuses: “It wasn’t me” “I don’t know these guys” “Do you know Eddie James?” “Those are nice boots” etc.
Turns out a rider had fallen and was taken to the hospital. I got my mug, and headed for Baton Rouge. I arrived in plenty of time and placed 44th out of 65. Not too bad, had ridden 1,200 miles in 29 hours. I knew I could do better.
We got our rally packets, and I got confused. Way too many choices. I made a bold statement to the riders sitting at my table. “Screw all these little bonuses; I’m going to South Padre Island, Texas, and then Salt Lake City. With a sleep bonus, coffee mug bonus and the fuel log, I can get 3,204 points, and only head for two places, Mexico and Salt Lake.” I did my little finger equals 100 miles trick and figured about 2,800 miles. I had 54 hours left; I thought I could do it. The others at the table shook their heads. “Have you ever been through Houston?” “No, why?” “Good luck!” And I was off.
Ok, so TEXAS IS HUGE, and TEXAS IS HOT! I rode to somewhere near Corpus Christi, and had to sleep. I found a room, went in and tried to sleep. A half hour or so and I realized I was being watched. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were glowing bright green all over the room! I freaked! They were some kind of bugs. I grabbed my jacket and pants, shaking them vigorously all the way out of the room. I dressed in the parking lot. I was about two hours from South Padre and I wanted to get there so I could start back to Salt Lake City. It was a lot further than I had anticipated. I started to question my judgment, my decision to go ‘big’ on this leg. Just as I was thinking of turning around, I saw a triangle of light approaching from the South. It was a LD rider on a BMW. I don’t know who you are, but if you went to South Padre Island about 1:00am, you gave me the inspiration to continue. Thank you. I regret not stopping in South Padre for some photos. I felt I was so behind schedule; I didn’t want to risk it.
I drove from South Padre through San Antonio, Dallas, Oklahoma City, Wichita, all the way to Limon, Colorado, before sleeping. This was my longest day ever on a motorcycle, and the hottest. Temperatures reached 106° on my thermometer, so hot that my Stadium Pal catheter melted off, and I actually found urinating on myself was a good way to cool off!
After 25 hours and about 1,600 miles, I had to get a bed, and a shower. I stopped at three motels, and the only thing available was a honeymoon suite for $155. I laughed. I slept in front of the motel, under my saddlebag for protection from the cars pulling in beside me. It’s funny how when you are tired, you can sleep just about anywhere. In the seven days of the rally, I had only 3 motel rooms. Most sleeps were 1 to 3 hours, on the bike, usually still helmeted.
I awoke refreshed, and realized I had more time than I thought and decided to pick up the bonus in Colorado Springs. By this time my bike had started making weird noises, sort of a whirring noise. I chalked it up to the hard push in the heat of Texas the day before. Driving through Wyoming my bike started running very poorly. It would barely run at idle, and I had a hard time pushing over 60mph! I prayed it was the altitude. On Route 80, just before the state line, there is a small town I stopped in because I was very low on fuel. I pulled up to the filling station and saw a sign in the window that said, ‘If you want gas go to the store.’ Down the street was a bar/store/restaurant. I pushed open the door to step back in time 50 years. Black and white postcards covered in two inches of dust were on display for sale. Greeting cards from the ’40’s, with layers of price tags on them (marked up once for each decade) lined the walls.
“I need some gas and a bathroom,” I said. The man in his late ’70’s slowly looked up, looked me over, then asked, “Well which do you need first?”
“Men’s room.”
I rushed to the restroom to relive myself of the Power Bar diet I had consumed. Instead of a roll of paper, this man had, literally, cut in half two sheets of one-ply toilet paper, leaving me four 2″x4″ scraps to clean up with. Let’s just say I won’t miss the undershorts I left in that stall that morning.
The man said he would meet me at the gas station. As I suited back up, he appeared from the rear of the building riding a ’40’s bicycle. We got to the pump and I remembered the fuel log.
“Do you take credit cards?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Can you give me a receipt?” I explained I needed a slip with the time, date, place, and gallons.
“I got me an adding machine.”
“Fine!”
I let him pump my gas, and I took his picture. A minute or two later he came out of the store with the slip from the adding machine. It read 17.64. That was all! I asked him to write in the other stuff and sign it, and he did. I briefly explained what I was doing, and he said, “Heh?” I bid farewell to yesteryear and got to Salt Lake City before the window opened. By this time the noise from the transmission was getting louder. I had the guys at Salt Lake look it over, and refill my forks (they were bottoming out, somehow they had lost oil, but there was no sign of a leak). They changed my oil and had no clue as to the whirring noise, “Take it easy, it doesn’t sound good” was his best advice. I moved from 44th place to 22nd place, I was thrilled. I was extremely saddened to hear of Paula’s accident, and it drove home my goal to drive safe and make it home alive.
My plan was to head for Twin Falls, then to I think Route 12 across Idaho. Just before Twin Falls, the nods got to me and I pulled into a gas station, and put down my helmeted head on my tank bag. When I awoke, I saw Skirt and Bubba at the pumps. I tried to start my bike, and then realized my electric jacket had been plugged in the entire time I had slept!
On a K bike with a low battery, the starter relay sometimes sticks. This was one of those times. Err, Err, Err, Err, Err, Err. The starter would not disconnect. I turned off the key, and removed it and it still wouldn’t stop. Err, Err, Err, Err, Err.
At this time I realized while I was asleep, my helmet must have hit the kill switch. DUH!!!!!!!!!! I turned the switch to RUN and put the key back in and turned to ON and she fired! But the voltmeter wouldn’t rise above 9 volts. I shut all the extras and with dim lights, I turned back. Between this problem, and the bad bearing, I knew I just had to get to Fargo. No bonuses just get to Fargo. It was cold and damp. Miraculously, about a half hour later, there was a ‘pop,’ and my voltmeter jumped back to normal and all my lights brightened up. Great, grips and jacket, full heat!
I was still worried about the bearing noise so I proceeded cautiously to Fargo. Somewhere in Yellowstone, I stopped to take a picture of my bike under a double rainbow. A short while later, I came across a flock of sheep crossing the road and overwhelming a gas station. It was quite the sight! There had to have been a thousand of them, with the shepherd trying to guide them back to wherever they had escaped from.
About ten miles from Miles City, Montana, I slowed down to pull into a rest area. As I slowed down to about 40mph, I felt a weird vibration and a clanging noise. Oh boy! As I slowed to about 20mph, the bike was vigorously shaking about and the banging was getting louder. It was a haphazard clanking not like a steady knock. There were definitely things jumping and wiggling about in the transmission. I turned off the engine, pulled in the clutch, and coasted into the parking area. I was done. Rally over. LOSER.
The lady cleaning the restrooms offered to toss my scooter into the back of her truck and drive me into Miles City where there was a motorcycle shop. I explained it weighed about 700 lbs. and thanked her anyway. I tried to call my BMW guy, but he had already left for the weekend. Oh yeah, time zones! I called a tow truck to bring me to Riverside Marine and Cycle in Miles City, Montana. I decided whatever it took, I was riding something with two wheels to Fargo. In the tow truck I silently bid farewell to my BMW. The driver was making calls to friends of his on my behalf. “Hey Joe, you still got that old Goldwing for sale?”
We arrived at the shop about 3:45pm on Friday, and it was the beginning of Labor Day weekend. Garve Gierke and his employees dropped everything to help me get going. I had my choice between a Kawasaki Drifter and a Honda CBR 1000 Hurricane. I knew I was not thinking clearly, so I decided to use my phone-a-friend lifeline. I called my friend Scott, and told him my options. “Sell the bike, fly home and we will go out for a beer.” Was his opinion. “No, Scott. I mean, which bike should I buy?” He told me I was crazy. That was all I needed to hear, it meant I was thinking normally! The Hurricane was definitely the lesser of two evils, so I took it for a test ride. Well, I certainly was not going to be late for Fargo!
I asked the guys to make me some sort of wind deflector for it. We ended up duct taping a Windjammer type windshield to the front and strapping my Givi hard case to the rear seat. The shield was a bit high, so Garve lowered it with pruning shears! I stuck my ‘Never Say Die’ pin to the dash and my new LDR bike was ready!
Adapt, adjust, improvise, I say do whatever it takes. Like the time I was in a truck stop and I had no cash for the soda machine, and a nice trucker explained how I could make ten bucks real easy. Well by the time I left that rest area I had over a hundred dollars in my pocket…
…uh, where was I?
Oh yeah, so I left all my tools, spare parts, most of my clothes, food, etc. with the promise they would be shipped to my house, and I was off. No radio, no fuel cell, no CB, no GPS, no throttle lock, no electric grips, no snacks, BUT I WAS ON THE ROAD TO FARGO!!!! The Boys at Riverside Marine and Cycle stayed three hours past closing to see me back on track, I will be forever grateful.
The CBR fuel tank hit reserve at 100 miles. As I was refueling, I looked the bike over. It was black. I hadn’t even walked around the bike when I bought it. I took Garve’s word that it was capable of riding the 3,000 miles to the finish.
Upon arriving at the checkpoint in Fargo, I immediately pulled into the service bay. “The headlight is horrible. It points up to high, and the high beam shines under the tank. Can you guys hook me up a cigarette lighter to power up my GPS?” No problem! New headlight bulb 55/100 watts and now I had GPS! Thanks guys.
At Fargo, Joan Oswald grabbed me physically and forced me to accept a nap in her hotel room. I must have looked like I hadn’t slept in 36 hours. I hadn’t. What seemed like an instant later, I was awakened to the news it was time to go. I had gotten just enough sleep to hold me over. Thanks Joan! Out of Fargo I had decided to go for a big bonus again. I was going to try to make the BMW breakfast off of Route 71 in Ohio. I had to get there before 11:00am. I drove through Minnesota, Wisconsin, Illinois, and Indiana, all the while fighting my body’s request for sleep. I was driving for about an hour, and then stopping for 10 minutes of rest. I was making horrible time.
Finally, somewhere in Chicago, I realized I could not make the bonus in time. At my present pace, I would get there about noon. Too late! I had made a big mistake. This was probably the lowest point in the rally for me; I had bitten off more then I could chew. I pulled into a deserted dark parking lot, put the kickstand down and fell off the race bike. I fell fast asleep in some form of fetal position, with my helmet still on of course! I awoke Sunday morning to 50 or 60 cars parked all around me. I had fallen asleep in the parking lot of a popular Sunday morning breakfast place. I laughed! I looked over my bonus location choices and decided to go to Marysville, for 995 points, then to Newark and Athens for another 372. At least I would break zero for my score. And I knew I would have traveled over 7,000 miles in seven days.
I slept in a motel for eight hours on Sunday night, and it was a casual pace back to the finish. Crossing the finish line was a feeling that I can only describe this way: Had I a clock in my pants, it would have been high noon. My ass had welts on it, my wrists were numb, my testicles were swollen, but I had a fabulous time! I had the pleasure of meeting a lot of people, and enjoyed my first experience riding a long distance rally. Eddie and Adam put on a flawless event and bet your bumper stickers I will be back.
I cannot wait for the 2001 Iron Butt Rally. The only change I will make is I will not be riding a CBR1000 or a BMW. As some of you have heard, I will be choosing a more reliable ride for the 2001 IBR. That’s right, I’m riding an IMZ Ural. See you all in 2001!
