For the last 75 years, while most of the country transitions into Spring by swapping out the snow shovels for garden hoes, a bazillion bikers from all over the country migrate to Daytona Beach for Bike Week.

For some, it’s a ritual that starts by giving up shaving for a week or two, dusting off the leather patched vests and polishing up the bikes before loading them onto trailers for the pilgrimage; even if it’s just an hour away.

 

I understand not everyone rides their motorcycle like I do, I honestly do, but there was a time when out of state folks would at least pretend to ride to Daytona by parking their trailers in an empty lot a couple hundred miles north and try to hit every puddle on the ride into town to at least appear that they were riders. As I sit here in the hotel lobby typing this, I count forty trailers in the lot, twice the number of bikes! While wondering if the 18” of snow that fell at my house yesterday would be cleared by the time I rolled back into my driveway, I get to listen to three men discussing the tricks and techniques for backing up a trailer.

For the past 6 years, I have made the March trip from New Hampshire to Daytona oddly on two wheels, and planned to do so again this year, leaving directly following a patient speaker conference I was attending in Boston. Once again, I was invited by Yamaha to display my motorcycle and share my story under their tent.

My good friend Scott was driving down to Daytona Beach and had agreed to take some of my stuff down in his car. I now sell T-shirts to help with my travel expenses and I wanted a few dozen available in Daytona so I dropped them and some extra clothes off at his house a few days before I left.

The conference was put on by a pharmaceutical company and although it involved compliance and skills training, it was a opportunity for the company to acknowledge and celebrate the important part patient speakers play in helping others cope with their Multiple Sclerosis Diagnosis and symptoms. For us peer speakers, it’s a chance to visit and hear each other’s story.

Between training and eating fabulous meals, I watched with increased intensity the snow and frigid temperatures that crept over New England. The conference ended Saturday afternoon, and as I was preparing my winter gear for the ride to Daytona, I realized my special and very favorite extreme cold weather long-johns were missing from my luggage. Clearly a brilliant move of mine to pack my thermal underwear in with the clothes I left at my friends house, now in the trunk of his car and 8 hours into his trip to Florida.

As I emerged from the $50 a night underground parking garage and crossed the iced cobblestone sidewalk onto the street, my bike’s thermometer read 11 degrees. I cranked up my heated jacket and gloves, pointed my head into the 40 mph wind and found my way to the highway. Despite wearing all three pairs of dress pants I had packed for the conference, my legs were still cold. The thought of trailering my bike certainly danced in my head.

 

 

I rode for eight toe numbing, nose dripping hours before reaching my brother’s house just outside Washington DC and calling it a day. It was 24 degrees when I left early the next day but I expected by mid-morning to catch up with Scott, and more importantly my long underwear. When I found my friend and his Toyota in the middle of North Carolina it was 32 degrees and snowing pretty hard. We had been communicating by phone and he took some photos of me as I passed him on the highway.

 

 

I took the next exit to get gas and somehow he didn’t. Getting gas was when I realized how cold and windy it really was, and I struggled to get my wet gloves back on my cold shaking hands. I returned to the highway and vowed I would catch up to him again and get my special thermals once and for all. After about an hour I called him again, wondering why I had not spotted him yet and was informed he had gotten sidetracked in search of a Starbucks. Unfortunately his app routed him to a coffee kiosk in a hospital. He wasn’t happy, but I had no sympathy, I was now almost 30 miles ahead of my underwear and was not about to stop or slow down for him to catch up. Besides, as I was almost into South Carolina and midday, I figured it would start to warm up soon.

 

I was wrong again! Passing through the famous South of the Border tourist trap, I could not help myself but to grab a couple of photos of the sign because it was plastered with snow!

 

I longed for my warm and cozy underwear for the next hundred miles, envying the growing number of bike hauling trailers I passed as the miles to my destination clicked away. It wasn’t until Georgia that the snow had stopped; transitioning into a beautiful freezing rain. My electric heated jacket was on high, and the slush that had built up on my windshield began to slide off and plop me square in the face shield. It was now 36 degrees, the wind had died down a bit and I was relieved. Half way through Georgia the sun came out and the temperature reached 50. I got gas, changed to my warm weather gloves and got myself a coffee, without using an app.

I wasted an hour before heading out once again, letting Scott get within a few miles of me.
For the first time since leaving Boston, I began to enjoy the trip. It didn’t last long. 30 miles from Daytona the sky turned gun metal grey and the loud ticks of rain drops began pelting my helmet shell. By the time I was corralled into the bike week traffic, I was riding in a full fledged typhoon.

Soaked to the bone, I dismounted the bike and tried to shake off the excess water before entering the lobby of my destination hotel. As I let out a long sigh of relief, a group of leathered bikers who were intensely watching the weather channel took notice. When the guy with snakeskin boots asked me where I had come from, I cracked a water wrinkled grin.

“New Hampshire.”
“No,” He added, “I mean where did you leave your trailer?”

I instantly became damn proud of my puddle and my 1300 mile adventure getting to Daytona Bike Week.
“Real bikers don’t trailer their motorcycles to bike week, we ride ‘em here, even from New Hampshire.”

My biker badge of badass was quickly revoked when my friend bursted through the front door loudly proclaiming, “Excuse me sir, are these your undies?”

 

-Longhaulpaul

 

Don’t forget the MS 5000 starts April 1st. Register or support a rider today!

Adventure junkies are always seeking bigger and riskier adventures. Adventure for most of us comes with reading, planning or visiting a new place or trying new things.

 

 

I write a lot about adventure, and I do seem to have my share of them as I criss-cross the country chasing the cure for Multiple Sclerosis.

I have experienced adventure in places like the solitude of the Arctic Circle, The scorching Nevada deserts and the lush mountains of North Carolina, even in January.

 

Sometimes however, adventure finds me even when I am not looking for it. In December, I was presenting at a patient program in Maine. Now, riding a motorcycle in Maine in December might seem a bit unusual to most, but by now you know two wheels is the only way I travel. The event was only 150 miles from my house, and I certainly did not entertain the thought that it would be anything more than routine.

On this particular trip, the roads were clear and despite a stiff easterly breeze, it was a toasty 39 degrees when I left my house. it was just after a snowstorm, and all the vehicles looked related, covered in a fine powdery salt. I was driving at the speed of traffic, only accelerating to get by trucks that were shedding bits of trailer ice and slush. At one point, a chunk of ice frisbee’d off the top of the tractor trailer ahead of me and I caught it miraculously across my face shield. Oh the joy. Startled and after recently watching a movie about avalanches, I throttled up and past the cab of the truck and then again to clear a few additional big rigs ahead of him. The ice that hit me was not fatal, but a bigger glob could certainly ruin a motorcyclists’ afternoon. I slowed back down and even ventured over to lane one, and continued at the posted speed limit. I was not in a hurry, and I was a bit chilled by the wind.

I saw the State Trooper sitting on the off ramp peninsula and nodded my helmet as I drove by. This time of year I often get a wave or tip of the hat, possible the only rider they see on the road in weeks. Oddly enough, he threw on his lights and pulled out behind me. I moved over to let him pass, but he got right behind me and closed in on me. It took half a mile to realize he was pulling me over. I though maybe he saw something wrong with my bike or it was a mistake. When I asked him why he pulled me over he said, “I’ll let you know after you provide me with your license and registration.”

“Ok”, I said and it took me a minute to get at my wallet as I was all bundled up and my fingers were cold. After looking them over he said, “Aircraft spotted you back a ways and estimated you were traveling 85 mph in a 70 mph zone.

Aircraft?

I decided not to say anything else, it would not have helped anyway, this officer was not a witness to my alleged infraction. After 20 minutes of dangerously standing on the side of the highway with trucks whizzing by and freezing my butt off, he delivered my speeding ticket. As I rode off, I spotted a second vehicle pulled over by a second Trooper, a bright red unsalted car. It then occurred to me we were signaled out, not because we were faster than everyone else, but we were the only vehicles the plane could identify from the air because of all the salt! I also realized if I had indeed been doing 85 mph, it could have only been as I was passing the trucks. I would have done the same exact thing if the officer was behind me, as it was a safety measure to avoid the flying objects. As an experienced rider who puts safety first on a daily basis, speed traps like these do not make the roads any safer in my opinion, but the $185 fine will fill the state coffers. Not very happy with the first hour of my ride, I decided to put it out of my mind.

 

 

The patient event went well, it was the regular crowd and entertainment was provided by Dr. Mitchell Ross, one of the more enthusiastic Multiple Sclerosis specialists. He and I have a great rapport and he was excited to tell me he bought another Harley. “Did you ride it here, as well?” I teased.

The next day I waited for the black ice in the parking lot to melt before leaving the hotel to head home. I decided I was going to boycott the Maine Turnpike and ride west through New Hampshire before heading south. I stopped to visit the staff at a motorcycle supply store called Whitehorse Gear.

 

 

I asked them about the conditions of the famous Kancamagus Highway. The 35 mile scenic road is one of America’s Scenic Byways and leads you through a path in the White Mountain National Forrest with breath taking views and an elevation of about 3000 feet. There are no comforts of the modern day world; no gas stations, no restaurants, hotels or other businesses, and there is also no cell service. It remains open through the winter, but often closed for days because of treacherous mountain weather conditions. I was told there had not been snow for a few days and that the road should be passable.

 

It was 22 degrees, cloudy and windy when I turned onto infamous Route 112, but I did not expect the adventure I was heading into.

 

It took me almost 3 hours to go 35 miles, and I should have known something was up after I passed the first two snow plows!

 

 

Maybe I should have turned around when the snow and ice covered the road, when the temperature dipped below 11 degrees or when I crapped my pants sliding around the hairpin turn at the speed of molasses, but, well, I didn’t.

I was able to get some hairy video from my helmet camera and it’s been uploaded to my YouTube channel, where I am starting to share some of the the lighter side of my adventures with video.

 

 

I eventually made it to the other end of the road, exhilarated and exhausted. I changed my underwear in a gas station and headed home. I’ll admit it was a bit of a risky ride, but the pay off was huge!

MS is a progressive disease that can strike at any moment, so when adventure finds it’s way into my portfolio, I invest in every share I can get my hands on! 

Cheers!

Longhaulpaul

Please note: I have migrated my personal Facebook page over to a Fan or Business page at the advice of a PR company that has been helping me with corporate exposure and sponsorships. I need to get lots of LIKES on the new page. If you Facebook, or have friends and family that do, please LIKE my new page. I need 10,000 likes before Daytona Bike Week or I will turn into a pumpkin!

 

Challenges, Choices and Chances

November 7, 2016

As I sit here in the Salt Lake City airport waiting for a impromptu flight home, I cannot scrape together a single bad thought about the motorcycle I am leaving behind; quite possibly for good. Well, OK, maybe just one bad thought; I still have 18 payments to make on it!

 

 

The bike and I met three and a half years ago, and we soon became fast friends. Over this time, we rode 172,000 miles together through sun, wind, fog, rain, snow, sleet, and hail. We have ridden from sunrise, through day and night, to see the sun rise again. We have ridden through every month of the year, in temperatures from -10 to 120 degrees. We rode through all the lower 48 states, across all of Canada and even Alaska. We rode every single mile as a team on a mission to raise money and awareness for Multiple Sclerosis.

 

Although I always ride alone, our adventure would have gone nowhere without the support of my sponsors. Twisted Throttle, Aerostich, Yamaha, Bridgestone, National Powersports Distributors, BMS Saddles, Spectro Oil, SPOT and EAZCycle all contributed gear and accessories to help make my journey continue to be a success.

 

As I sit here in the terminal, with a 4-year old having a tantrum behind me and his older sister looking over my shoulder as I type every word, YES, I’M WRITING ABOUT YOU, I can’t help but grin, feeling thankful and proud. How could I feel anything else?

 

 

 

Yesterday was November 6th, and my trusty two wheeled companion and I set a world record while raising almost $6,000 for the National MS Society. The Yamaha never complained as I abused and pushed it way beyond the imaginable; logging 2000 miles in a single calendar day. Believe it or not, that wasn’t the world record! The record I set was for riding the most hours in one day. Pending IBA certification, I will be the first person to document riding a motorcycle 28 hours in a single calendar day.

 

 

By riding from Indiana to Nevada, across 4 time zones on the day we set our clocks back, I was able to gain 4 extra hours before midnight which allowed me to ride the 2000 mile route all on the same day. I called this extreme and original challenge the BIG TIME fundraiser, and as far as I am concerned, it was a success.

 

 

 

I did have serious hesitations heading out on such a difficult ride attempt on my old friend. The bike had been showing signs of wear and developing some odd behaviors and deficiencies over the past year. Fourth gear had worn away some time ago; accidentally engaging it would bring quite a loud clacking complaint. The piston rings had long stopped being efficient; I was adding a quart of oil every 1000 miles. Sometimes the bike would be hard to start and the corrosion in the wiring harness would often leave me with a weak or dead battery. The fork tubes were scarred from road debris and the seals would leak oil intermittently. The epoxy repair I made to the crankcase 80,000 miles ago was seeping a bit of oil as well. Seals were wearing out and the timing chain had long since stretched past it’s ability to self-adjust. The wood screw I forced in to hold the tensioner tight was not listed as the proper proceedure in the service manual. Actually, I’m not sure what is in the service manual, as this bike has never had any formal service. I changed the oil once in a while and it just kept ticking.

On paper, my bike was probably not worth much even as parts, as almost every bit of it was worn out. The high mileage and excessive wear and tear equal to 35 years of normal riding had reached every nook and cranny of the machine. To anyone else, taking this bike on such an extreme ride would bring fears of tears and failure. Looking past the wear and tear, leaking oil, rough running and starting issues, I believed my trusty companion had just enough life for one more huge adventure. Because of it’s devoted service to the cause, I also felt #1 had earned the chance to share in my historic world record ride.

I shared a lot with this machine. Just because I have some symptoms and problems caused by Multiple Sclerosis doesn’t mean I should stay home, take the easy road or stop taking risks. My disease and it’s effects on my brain and body will never define who I am. Some people tried to talk me out of this extreme attempt for fear it may exacerbate my MS, but having a progressive disease only made me more determined to attempt this ride. I never doubted my ability, so why would I doubt the bike’s?

I do have the second Super Tenere thanks to Yamaha that was completely set up by Twisted Throttle, BMS, and EAZcycle with all the accessories and luggage, and this #2 bike would have been a safer choice for this record attempt. After all, if I were to encounter a problem with the bike for even a half hour, I would have risked losing the challenge. Finishing meant a lot. I had quite a few people who had donated their hard earned money in my name who believed I could make it. Dale Walksler from The Wheels Through Time Museum offered to pay all my fuel costs. A few thousand people would be following me live on my SPOT tracking page. A failed attempt might make it hard to raise money the next time. A lot was at stake and I seriously considered taking the safer bet; the white bike.

 

My followers weighed in on Facebook about which bike to ride as well, most not knowing the extent of the abuse and wear on the first bike, yet still urging me to be safe and ride the newer bike. It was my record attempt and my decision, so I put all my money on horse #1. After all we had been through together, I surely owed it a shot at completing this ride. We were a team, and I was not going to make my friend sit this one out. Just because a machine may not be as perfect or powerful as a new one, doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be given a chance.

 

 

The morning of the attempt and a thousand miles from home, the bike failed to start on its own and needed to be jumped. Three more times during the day, I had to jump it. I had to add two quarts of oil. By the afternoon I had pounded out 1500 miles but the bike was having trouble idling and had lost power. Fuel mileage was way down and the motor clacking was getting louder. I knew I was pushing the machine way beyond anything it had been built to do, but I never doubted we would finish, it was a Yamaha!

 

The last few hours were the hardest. My body began to show signs of fatigue; but I pressed on.
To document the end of the ride, I needed a witness. My friend Kerri Brooks had agreed to meet me at the Pacific Time Zone sign on the highway near Wells Nevada. As I spotted her bike and pulled off the road, the extreme toll on my body became apparent. Reaching the fourth and final time zone and the finish of my world record attempt was proudly celebrated and documented on social media by promptly dropping my motorcycle on it’s side!

 

I had to lay it down to set a world record!

It was only after the finish, when the witness form had been signed and I safely asleep in a motel room did my trusty horse finally cry, UNCLE. Despite repeated attempts to revive it the next morning, the machine has begun a well deserved retirement in a lovely garage in Salt Lake City. With all it’s wear and tear and extreme mileage the bike was still able to do it’s job and deliver me over the finish line. What an amazing way to finish it’s career! I will never regret giving it the chance to be part of this historic fundraiser. Well done my friend, well done.

As I bid farewell to the nameless black bike I smile at the memories of adventures and acomplishments we shared together. I smile proudly because I know this machine will some day be on display as a motorcycle that helped cure Multiple Sclerosis!

I also smile with excitement because I know bike #2, the white Yamaha Super Tenere is ready for it’s tour of duty, equipped and eager to begin it’s part of my million mile journey, Chasing the Cure.

Thanks to all who supported my second world record attempt by donating in my name. If you were waiting to see if I actually set the record before donating, here’s the link to donate

A special thanks to the following people who made this attempt possible.

Thomas Southwood my starting witness who met me at midnight and bought me breakfast.

Dale Walksler from the Wheels Through Time Museum for paying all my fuel costs.

Kerri Brooks for meeting me in Nevada as my finishing witness, filming my oops, providing me with a warm and cozy hotel room and garaging Bike #1 until I can figure out what to do with it next.

Mike Kneebone and the Iron Butt Association for agreeing to certify this ride, behind the scenes support of my overall mission and the concerning phone call informing me I was heading in the wrong direction!

Dr. Hammy Tan for sending me a time traveling Tardis from Dr. Who which I glued to the bike for good luck.

And last but certainly not least, my best friend Elin for putting up with these crazy stunts, staying up late watching my SPOT blips and her never-ending support. Love ya, Babe.

Longhaulpaul