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"I can't read that; it's way too friggin' faint. How the Hell is anyone supposed to read that?" "Lemme take a crack at it" Paul responded. It's in the wee hours of Leg 3, I have a long way yet to ride and this is my last real bonus on the way to Hollister. I've known Paul Pelland for a few years now. He enjoys a good practical joke; I have fallen victim to some of his antics in the past and will probably be the brunt of a joke or two in the future. Pelland is an "odd bird". There are a fair number of riders who don't give him the credit he deserves and underestimate his ability to compete. They confuse his perverse sense of humor with a lack of desire. This is the man who completed the 01 IBR on a Ural on shear guts and determination rather than technology. Many other riders would have packed it in under lesser challenges; some have done so for far more lame reasons. Paul just grits his teeth, smiles, and goes on.
"Shit, I can't read this either. What, are the f@@king nuts trying to get people to read this in the middle of the night?" So we recorded several variations on what the phone number might be, logged time and odometer and went on. Paul was in fourth place coming out of Post Falls and had a big leg planned. I was in 16th, falling off the pace due to a dead battery and a poor first Leg; I was hoping to finish strong, but figured the top positions were out of my reach with the hole I was in.
"Later", I shout as I mount up and head back to Klamath Falls, Oregon and US-97; the road had been my friend since leaving the jigging Eddie James and Spinal Tap at "11" back at Stonehenge.
It's funny how timing and luck can play out in life. I've been psyching myself up for the Buttlite for nearly 4 months now. Every little thing I did was prep for this ride. It will be the biggest ride of my LD riding career. I'd go out for long weekends, just making sure something small I had done didn't effect the bike adversly. I arrange for a fresh set of D205's to be waiting for me in Navasota as well as an oil change. I planned to change the oil the weekend before I left, at the start and when I got home.
On the mostly uneventful trip to the Start, I picked up a flat on I-20, in western Alabama. No worry, this tire was due to be replaced before the rally, so all I had to do was limp it into Navasota. A plug should do the job, so I plug the hole, inflate the tire and get back on the road. About 40 miles later, I can feel the rear end wobbling around; the tire's going flat again. It's now late at night, and I've got a tire that won't hold a plug. I'm not real sure where I am and trucks are whizzing by me at 75+ in the dark. I'm tired and slightly scared; no one stops and I've got the helmet behind the rear tire. On the phone, Jean assures me that everything will be OK. Plug the tire and limp to a hotel for the night; find a tire in the morning, you've got a extra time to get to Navasota so use it. I pop two plugs in the hole; my eMap lets me know there are motels about 20 miles along the road. I take the first exit with them visible from the Interstate, a Best Western, check-in inquiring where the closest moto dealer might be. The clerk helpfully points me to "Mikes" about 2 miles away; he deals in most of the Japaneses bikes, including Honda. Honda you ask, but you ride a Concours, which is a Kawasaki. Ahh, I have learned that most Big-K dealers stock zero-to-no parts for the Concours, but Honda dealers always have parts for Goldwings, including tires, and the Connie takes the same sized tires as the early Goldwings. Fortunately, they have exactly one tire that fits Mr Freeze, and for the very reasonable sum of $180, including balancing, I am on the road again. I take the liberty of calling the motel to let them know my roomie, Verne Hauck, will probably beat me there and to let him check in on my confirmation number.
Under way, I wonder if this new tire will last the entire rally; afterall, it's not a racing or sport tire, so it should last at least 7000 miles without too much problem. Once I get make to Navasota, I'll have a new D205 waiting for me, in case it's totally toast. The mind does odd things whilst in the vast nothingness of the Interstate system; better concentrate on getting to the Best Western Inn, afterall first things first- get there. Turns out Verne beat me to the motel about 30 minutes and was ready for dinner. I was too but needed a quick shower. So Jim Owen and Verne wander over to the local Pizza Hut whilst I clean up. The next few days were spent relaxing and getting in the proper mindset for the Buttlite. Pelland thoughtfully placed an "abandoned vehicle warning" sticker on the rally box; it's good to see a smile in this crowd of way too many serious faces. Lighten up folks, it's just another rally. Todd "formerly known as Harley Trash" Witte shows up with a new FJR, 600 clicks on the odo, how's that for new. It's a sweet looking ride; even better in person. If this thing holds together, he will be a bigger force to reckon with; he's been wrestling that Road Pig to several respectable finishes and is due once he gets a more versital ride under his rump.
Sunday brings us the mandatory meeting and the riders' banquet; general abuse from Adam and Eddie. The rallypacks are finally ready, I've got my flag #31. Route Sheet "B" is in the envelop along with a sundry of other documents- don't lose any, otherwise you won't get any points for your effort. On the downside, they don't tell you how many pages you're supposed to have, so I just look to make sure the locations are in sequential order. Eddie and Adam have introduced the idea of a separate score sheet; the intention is to speed up scoring. It looks promising and I plan to steal, err borrow, the idea for the MD2020 if it works half as well as promised. Back at our room, Verne and I plot out Route B; there are no surprises, go count some steer, then our paths diverge; he's heading north- I'm going east for some BBQ before heading north. Get to bed fairly early with the knowledge that at least Route A will be handed out in the morning.
There is also comfort in the fact that I have realized I don't ride nearly as fast or take risks that some other riders are willing; I spit out most suckers bets and will try to grab every bonus in my path, if time permits. I've heard several riders state they "won't put their kickstand down for xxx points"; I put my kickstand down for every point I can.
Aha, routes A, C and D are distributed. I quickly look through them and decide there is nothing that jumps out. Verne is anxious get to rolling, but I've got it figured if we leave now, we wind up in the heart of Dallas-Fort Worth rush hour; I'll take the extra time to check out the other options just in case I missed something. Once I decide that there are no real surprises, I suit up and head out to a nearly empty parking lot; just 45 minutes prior, the lot was a buzz with all kinds of activity. Heading northeast on 90, versus northwest on 6, we roll out for our first boni of the rally. Here I hook up with IBR vet Jerry McCumby and we peal off to the east for some BBQ in Hot Springs Arkansas. From there it's north to the first of four Stonehenges of the rally. I lose Jerry in the Mountains- I think he's still used to riding in straight lines from the Butt and arrive at the next bonus for a short discussion with a curious, local peace officer "what are you doing" etc. "Need a picture of your Stonehenge" to which he laughs. From here it's Hannibal Mo and Lovers Leap. I forgot to pick up Alton, IL on the way; I hope this is the most minor mistake I make of the entire rally.
Hannibal Mo brings me a lost stapler (fall back to my oafishel 01 IBR stapler) and my first rest bonus of the rally. Eddie had said it's difficult to out ride the rest bonus; so I'll take the free points as I was gonna sleep anyway. Shortly after a restless nap, I head towards Iowa City then Des Moines for some BBQ sauce for Eddie. Man this shit is expensive; hope he chokes on it. Tired, hot and grumpy, I head north to the checkpoint grabbing Eddie some genuine BMW oil (5 weight, thank you very much) and more points. I call home and chat with Jean- let her know I'm OK and in; hot tired and ready just to go to the next checkpoint. At this point, I'm not having fun.
I do my prescoring and discover the answer sheet is potentially confusing [a tad too crowded for my liking] so I resort to drawing boxes around the boni that I have collected. Turns out this was a prudent move as several riders were denied their points because they put the info on the closest line, not the correct line. Note to self: add an extra line between entries on the answer sheet when you use this next year. I spend the next couple of hours goofing off and taking a nap. The scores are posted and I find myself mid-pack, but not that far off the leading group's pace. I knew from reading about prior Buttlites and IBR's this was a game of attrition and most riders that go out hard and fast at the start fade as the rally progressses. The next set of boni are out, and Bob's Java Hut appears for 333 points per remaining leg if you have the coffee mug. As a rule, I don't go backwards unless it's worth a ton of points. Considering it's worth 1000 points max, and roughly 2 hours to get back to this point, I opt for the more direct route southwest to South Dakota for a fuel receipt bonus and the rest bonus. Go to hit the starter and click click click. I got Jean on the phone and wind up swearing a bit, then stating the bike won't start and hanging up. She'll eventually forgive me for not calling right back after getting push started, but it is evident my battery's probably toast; only time will tell.
I stop in Watertown, SD to discover the bike is dead again. Damn, so I park it on a "hill" nearby and resolve myself to revise my agressive plans for a more conservative leg towards the checkpoint. Originally, I had planned to head over the Beartooth for the bonus at each end after hitting Mother Featherlegs, then on to Yellowstone (Jackson actually had a big bonus for the elk horn arch) then to Butte for a pic of the Madonna at daybreak, finishing off at the checkpoint just before they opened. The dead battery altered those plans, and I took the more straight-lined route through Baker, MT (world's largest steer) and then Butte before heading to the checkpoint. I don't consider this a bad thing; I got the opportunity to ride US-12 from I-29 to I-94 through South and North Dakota as well as eastern Montana. This is the way America used to be, before the "Generica" of the big box stores polluted our countryside. Don't get me wrong, I love my Wallyworlds, but they are ugly. That whole trip, I saw only one McDonalds (Aberdeen, SD), narry a Wal-Mart, Target, Best Buys, or any other major chain. Local hardware stores and lumber yards, a few A&W Rootbeer stands, damn few traffic lights and the Missouri River- the way it was. I enjoyed every mile of it.
In Baker, I catch up with a few other riders- the first I've seen since leaving Monitcello (I don't care how the locals pronounce it, it's "mont-e- chello"). Leaving the bike running everywhere I go, usually brings out the questions, but I slough it off with "dead battery" and that is usually enough. I call ahead to Beaudry Motosports for a replacement battery in the morning, call Jean to let her know I'm on the road in eastern Montana with only one more planned bonus stop on the way. I high tail to to Butte for really bad picture of the Madonna on the Mountain; after several really crappy photos, I call Adam and ask what am I supposed to do- the Madonna is white and they're are clouds around her- she isn't gonna show up on a Polaroid period. He asked "what am I supposed to do about it?" Well, nothing really but you've got the Mt Rushmore example right here [at the riders' meeting the Mt Rushmore example was if you were to get a picture of Rushmore and there was fog, take the best picture you could, get a receipt ant go]; except, this bonus required a receipt. Here I run into Brian on his VFR (again); he too is getting the shits of the Madonna. However, he can turn his bike off, whilst I must leave Mr Freeze running. I've had it, figure the points are gone and start heading west (Note to self: if a photo is gonna be hard to get in the MD2020, let the riders know). The next location is the famous smoke stack from the Anaconda smelting works- visible for miles. The description even says so. At the closed Anaconda exit, I shoot my pic- it's dark and raining over there; figure never hurts to ask. All the sudden I feel perkier, so I decide to try for the town limit sign of Blossburg, MT. Why I did this is beyond me. After parking the bike near the sign I realized if the bikes dies here, it will take days to find me. There is no town here, just a sign, the road is not much better than a glorified goat trail. Several tries later, I get my shot and get the Hell out of Dodge, stopping in Billings for a motel, my second of the rally. I exchange some motorcycle pleasantries with the night clerk, set an early wakeup call, and push Mr Freeze to the highest spot on the parking lot.
When I arise, I note there are a few other rally bikes on the lot; I bump start Mr Freeze for hopefully the last time and head towards Post Falls. At my last fuel stop, I bump into Steve "the porcupine killer" Eversfield. Turns out he nailed a porkypine while letting his feet hang; there are a ton of quills jammed into his boot. It looks painful. I arrive at the checkpoint early, a big hug from Airyn Darling, get the battery replacement underway and do some prescoring; turns out the Madonna was accepted, but I had to get closer to Anaconda for credit despite it being "visible for several miles" and the Interstate exit closed. I realize this leg was not a stand out that I had hoped, but I find myself climbing the ladder as a bunch of folks got time barred. Todd had to abandon his 8 capital bonus, and salvaged a few points from the wreckage. A new battery is delivered, plopped in the tray and Mr Freeze starts for the first time in 2 days on his own- life is good. The sheets are out- it's time to put up or shut up; I'm now in 16th place, over 3100 points off the lead.
There are two basic routes to Bakersfield, with the Sierra's dividing the groups. I opt for the agressive coastal swing, knowing that it could be a trap with Labor Day traffic. I plan to arrive in Hollister mid morning at get out of the Monterrey Peninsula as close to noon as possible. Enroute to my first stop Stonehenge, I run across another Connie pilot, a 2000 I recall; I thought it was Fergus, but the Oregon plates tell otherwise. Never found out who it was, as I exit for the Stonehenge. This is where Spinal Tap is blaring away on the Rally van's speaker. Eddie is jigging on the gravel and Scott Davis is just shaking his head in amusement. Eddie thoughtfully snaps the photo and I start the long trek southward. Scott is in 6th place, 2500 points ahead of me. Fuel in Bend for points, and off to Crater Lake. At the Bend stop, not only did I put my jacket back on (riding in the high desert is hot), I took the liberty of slipping into my Widder. I've been to Crater Lake before (last summer's 2001 COG national in fact) and it was cold up there in broad daylight. It was even colder at night; figuring there might even be a little ice on some of the puddles, I choose to ride slow and steady once off 97 and it's heavier traffic. As I descend the mountain I catch a glimpse of something in the drainage ditch; not sure what it was, not really sure I wanted to know what it was, but it was awful freeking big. I stop at a Klamath Falls convenience store for a quick nap, as some local kids are generally screwing around on the far end of the lot. This is when my screaming meanie clone finally fails me- brand new battery and all, but it still won't let the clock run. Next truck stop I'm at, a new Meanie is in order. I awake from about an hour of rest, and head to Olene, where I see a headlamp closing in behind me; it's Paul Pelland, 4th at Post Falls. We exchange our misery on this bastard of a bonus and I lose him in the mountains of southern Oregon. At the border crossing with California, I ask the fruit and vegetable agent if he'd like to play a joke on the bike that's about 5 minutes behind me. He sadly informs me that Sept 11 changed everything, but a few years ago stopping Paul and inquiring about Canadian poultry would be a hoot. Too bad for Paul.
As head south into northern California, I can't help but feel the presence of a very large object on the horizon; it's not visible in the common sense of the words, even under the 1/4 waning Moon. It's the lack of stars on the horizon; Mount Shasta looms in the distance. See, up here in the high desert, the stars go all the way to the horizon- even at sea there is a muddiness along the water's edge, but Shasta is blotting out the stars. I can feel it, but I can't see it- very ominous power. The TA in Redding is out of meanies- oh well. I opt for another nap in a rest area right around daybreak- I had hoped to be ahead of schedule enough for a stop to grab the downtown San Francisco boni before their morning rush hour, but my timing would put me in the heart of it- so it's on to Hollister, the home of Corbin and those neat little moto-cars thingies. I plop down at a table, place my order, whip out the laptop, and the phone. While talking to Jean, I hear "Hi Honey, I'm home". Now there are only two people who do that: Todd, who went inland I believe, and Pelland. As the New Englander sits down across the booth from me, I ask where's heading from here, since I've seen him twice now in the last 8 hours-Monterrey; son of a gun, so am I. However, he plans to go to Mexico to finish off the leg. I have no Mexican intentions and have openly claimed I will not got there even if if means not winning the rally. I point out there are three stops on the Peninsula and the stop in Big Sur on the way to Morro Bay for the last bonus of the leg, for me. He decides to tag along as we grab the two downtown on Cannery Row, then directions from a cop get us to Pacific Grove in record time. Big Sur is next and I drop few more postcards in the mail here.
Finally I get to see what all the fuss is about- the Pacific Coast Highway. As Paul put it, "Why they'd name this after a piece-of-shit Honda is beyond me." I reminded me a lot of the PA mountain twisties without the ocean and the 300 foot drop offs. My general impression is favorable, but I think for pure enjoyment, there are better roads around our great country, just not next to the Pacific. Morro Rock, on the other hand, was quite impressive. Blocked in partially by fog/ low clouds, the large outcropping is plainly visible from Cal-1. Now it's decision time, Paul has big plans for Tijuana; I'm gonna grab the two on the way to Bakersfield, get a good nights sleep in preparation for the final assault on Live Oak Resort, our finish line. We accidently blow by the James Dean memorial, and opt for the Parkfield bonus first. Well off the main drag, it makes you wonder what the hell a community is doing out here- it's hot and dry, looks like a ranch town; betcha land is cheap. Back to the main roads, we find the James Dean memorial, snap our pics and head our separate directions, with the understanding if Paul gets back to Bakersfield at a reasonable hour, he can use the motel room. I wave him off and I set off for my first major blunder of the rally.
When I get to Cal-99, the motel is about 20 minutes to the south and there is a large bonus about 90 minutes to my north- the General Sherman Redwood. The bed calls my name and in retrospect, I should have ignored it; grabbed the redwood bonus, then hit the room. It would have been simpler and more effective to do it then, over trying to get it in the morning. I have to plan my end-games better, as the last leg will show. I find the Best Western and roll by the checkpoint to figure out where it is. After checking in, I run across a younger couple on Harleys; they are inquisitve about the whole Buttlite thing and hope to swing by the checkpoint in the morning. I hit the motel's hottub for a much needed soaking. All it needed was a gin and tonic to make it better. Paul stumbles into the room around 3am- he had quite an adventure in Mexico it turns out, 2 hours to get the bonus all said and done. More sleep, up early and over to the checkpoint. I had totalled my points up the night before, so all I had to do was update my fuel log. The scores are posted and I have slowly crept into the top 10, still 5000 points behind the leaders Grady and Paul (who both went to Mexico). At this point, I just want to hold my position; a top 10 finish in my first multi-day rally is a very good showing in my book. The route sheets are out and they are very similar; again, Adam and Eddie have thrown out a Mexican bonus- sorry, not gonna do it. Kansas, which I write off as too many miles for not enough points. I elect for an agressive run for the first day, plan on about an hour or two of sleep, then press onto Corpus Christi for the Bob Hall bonus on Monday morning, glomming up everything I can on the way.
From Bakerfield, I head south to the Carl Wilson bonus; here, I learn to lane split. Let's just say lane splitting on a fully loaded Connie is not the way to do it. Now I have two choices, west on 10 to Palm Springs for the Sonny Bono bonus (route sheet says it's always crowded- how's that for a hint) or south to I-8 for the bonus near Yuma before heading to the Dassonvilles. My plan has me rolling in around 9pm if I go big on the Yuma bonus, so southward on I-5 I head, lane splitting nearly all the way to San Diego. The cool part is most cars move away from the line you're splitting; two idiots turned into the gap and clipped my mirror, the second breaking the glass. If this is the only thing I lose on the entire trip, it's worth it. I stop at the spiral stair case from the Eifel Tower near Yuma- musta missed this in the dark last summer during my 50cc. Then it's the press onto the Dassonville's for some power planning and comraderie. There are several riders already here and many are opting for their rest bonuses now. My plan for the motel the previous night looks like a stroke of genious, as I am ready to keep pressing on with the next phase in hand. Get to Gila Bend cliff dwellings as close to 8am as possible, nabbing the two "lesser" bonuses on the way, and catch about an hour nap. I stop in Silver City, NM for another planning session, the next phase of the leg, and a nap. I set my new Meanie to 45 minutes, and after checking with the store clerk first, I curl up against the ice machine. A police officer awakens me about 20 minutes later and inquires as to what's going on- I'm the second rider he's rousted in the last half hour. I explain the concept of the rally, he seems intrigued as I show him my rally flag and some of the pictures I've taken on this leg. I ask him about the hike at Gila Bend, and he gives me the news that it's about a 10 minutes hike to see the dwellings- that's all I need is to see them for my photo. The clerk offers me a free coffee in apology for the cops rousting me- she didn't call them. I gladly accept my first caffiene since Day 1- it's watered down, luke warm and looks like someone dipped a brown crayon in water, but is exactly what the doctor ordered. It's starting to get daylight, so I decide to head to the park a little early.
Near the park entrance I see Scott Davis waiting at a general store. We exchange notes on the hike in, and decide to try to get to the gates at exactly 8am; we did, hike the 1/2 mile to the photo view point, snap our pics and get out of there. 16 minutes total on the roundtrip. Although I'll see Scott on the road at least twice more, it will be the last time I get to talk with him until Live Oak. I plan a dead run to Coopers BBQ and the Texas Stonehenge before dark; this is the only real big mistake I make the whole rally. After missing the daylight on the Stonehenge by 20 minutes, I settle in for a Subway sandwich and a quick re-strategy session in Fredericksburg; I've got 8 hours to get to Corpus Christi and Bob Hall- it's a three hour trip tops, so what do I do with the time after I see Bob and the finish line, some 10 hours after that. Then it hits me- I should have left Coopers, Stonehenge and Luckenbach for the ride back to the finish and grabbed Odessa, Lajitas, and the middle-of-nowhere for 2300 points more, then see what I could collect on my way to Bob Hall. Semi-dejected for realizing my stupidity, I head to Corpus Christi and some sleep, right next to my bike, right next to the Bob Hall pier. Charlie "the Amish Biker" Huber is also there on the pavement. The Gulf is lapping against the sand, as I quickly doze off.
The ever smiling Bob Hall states "Let's get this show on the road", as I awaken to Todd and his FJR just pulling onto the lot. It's 6:01 am. I get my photo of Bob, my Bob Hall Pier receipt and off I go, back to Stonehenge, and the required 6-pack of beer (otherwise you loose 1000 points). I've given up on kicking myself; the damage is done and all I can hope for is my ride was good enough to hold position in the top riders.
The ride back to Live Oak is uneventful, but hot. I call Jean one last time to let her know to meet me at the Resort. I arrive around 1pm, sign in and get a big hug and a smooch from Jean- it's hard to believe I left her over 10 days ago in Baltimore and here she is in Texas. It was good to see her, but I've got a little work to do to finish up the rally. I start adding up my score- nearly 9000 points. I sit with Jim Fousek for scoring- he congratulates me on a big run, the biggest he's seen so far. Eddie and Adam restate that and note there are tremors in the Top 10, so don't discuss my score- hmmm, maybe I did better than I thought. I thank them again for a great time; and rehash the battery failure was probably a blessing in disguise since it forced me to be conservative on Leg 2- maybe a tad too conservative, but I really couldn't afford to gamble too much. I missed the 5/5ths on the first five days of the rally (those were the official dates) but qualified for it on the last four, logging about 2700 miles on the last leg alone.
Another hug from Jean and I head back to the motel for a much needed shower and change of clothes. I catch a ride back to Live Oak with Chris Sakala and his girlfriend Nancy. Here, I turn over George's Sandals to Tom Mellown; he promises to take good care of them. It's banquet time, and we head to Larry's Place at the Live Oak for real food- the first I've had since leaving the Resort over a week ago. Eddie and Adam start with their stories and reading off the finishers in reverse order. I know I've got right around 23000 total points, so when Will Outlaw comes in 10th with 20000, I realize Eddie and Adam weren't lying for a change. Slowly and painfully we get through the next few riders- I realize there are 5 of the top 10 finishers sitting at our table, with Grady and Todd at the tables next door. Finally, Adam says something like being the most efficient rider, blah blah, be thankful this rally didn't go another day, because he was moving up on every leg, ME. Fifth place in my first multi-day event and suddenly all the prep and effort was worth it; in hindsight it was worth it anyway, this just made it more rewarding. In a heartbreaking finish, Todd on the untested FJR beats Grady by less than 300 points. Todd rode 8300 miles compared to my 7000 and logged 11000 points on the final leg to leap from 4th to first. Bubba, I be proud of ya- you rode the ride and had a great run.
Watch out world, Harley Trash got a real motorcycle now and the only thing that can stop him is navigation skills (a long story- ask Bob Higdon about the 01 Butt).
Afterthoughts:
Thanks Guys! Is it 2004 yet?