Martin Sovik’s Ride Report

 

So," I'm asked, "how was the rally?"

 

            Let's see...

 

            Well, seven quarts of oil in the first 700 miles means the motor was well

lubricated. Enough blew out the back of the motor so I didn't have to worry

about lubricating the chain, either. 'Course it also lubricated the tire

and the rear brake, which, I'm told, isn't such a good idea.

 

            And the front wheel either lost a balance weight or is fitted slightly

skewed in the fork, because it was pretty wobbly most of the time. I'm

thinking it's a balance weight that fell off, but it could be that I didn't

get it right when I took the wheel off to replace the speedometer gear in

preparation for the MN1K. For you non-riders, by wobbly think a shimmy in

your car, except put it in the handlebars. It was worst at very low speeds,

or at any speed between 60 and 75. It didn't cause any real "pucker"

moments, but on the other hand, it required a sort of constant semi-pucker.

And I'll be dreaming about it for a decade or so.

 

            It didn't rain (damn!), but we did have some great headwinds to work

against, and I don't have a windshield, much less a faring. The headwind

was only if you were going southbound up north, though. Which is where I

was.

 

            I didn't have to be there, of course. Part of this year's rally was an

attempt to set a world record--the most people riding a specified 1000 mile

course in the same 24 hour period. If you carefully documented it, you

could leave the specified course to pick up bonus points at locations off

the route and then return to the course at the same point and continue on.

Or you could blast around the route and then go out a collect bonuses (not

boni). And just completing the course was worth more points than any other

conceivable collection of bonus points offered, so it looked to me like you

had to ride this "Group Saddle Sore" route to do anything serious in the

points. But you know me. If I see 240 people go one direction, I'm going

the other. It's a law of nature. The Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may

tumble, etc., etc., but I'm going the other way.

 

            So I'd figured out a way to get maybe 7500 geographic bonus points if I

was lucky (those whose saddles were sore would get around 8500), and would

take me through northern Minnesota and Wisconsin and, for gas, the UP (good

points for gas in a state with an "m" in it not counting Minnesota). First

stop was Lindstrom to document that their city water tower is shaped like a

*.  Then gas up in Cloquet at the station designed by Frank Lloyd Wright.

On the way up I learned how to handle the wobble--it was always worse if I

was decelerating, in the wake of even an SUV, or going around a curve. But

I made fairly good time, nonetheless. In Cloquet the wind blew away my

packet of maps (the cut apart pages of a Rand McNally Road Atlas). I

recovered all of them except Northern Sconny.

 

            But I knew the way up to the first big payoff, 1800 points for Kabetogama,

or really confirmation that the fish used for the statue there was a *. So

I'm up here where the folks live cheek to cheek with the border of a

sometimes hostile foreign power when I figure it was just stupid not to get

sore at my saddle, because now I wouldn't have any way to compare my effort

with everyone else's when I remembered another idea I'd had. Hell, I'd lost

the map anyway. Why not see how many points I could get without leaving the

state? A Minnesotan Minnesota 1000. That meant a mad dash southbound to try

to get to a Mexican joint in Mankato before 11 PM when it closed.

 

            I knew it would be close, and you can imagine what the headwind was doing

to the wobble. The stretch from Hibbing to Aitkin (points for gas in

Aitkin) on 169 was the toughest. I was feeling as beaten on as I remembered

feeling at the end of the full 24 hours in '97 or '99. My legs wanted to

straighten out, my fingers wanted to unwrap and stop vibrating. And I

wanted a cigarette. Then the chance to make it to Mankato went out the

window with a detour on 169 south of Grand Rapids.

 

            Regroup at Aitkin. Four cigarettes, large coffee, 20 minutes of sitting

against the wall with my legs straight. I plan. In my mind I give myself

the Mankato points, because if I'd set off to do the MNMN1K I would've

gotten them before heading north to Kabetogama. I can still get some decent

points at Annandale, Silver Lake (almost 500 there...wonder why?) and

Bongard. Then almost 500 more at Stewartville (south of Rochester) and some

pretty decent bonuses at Zumbrota and Marine-on-St.Croix or even Lake of

the Isles. So I'm okay. Oh, I got the gas, and 2 quarts of oil (for the

second time). And my mileage for the day was 505--halfway!

 

            As tough as the Hibbing-Aitkin leg was, and clearly I hit a wall there,

the Aitkin to Annandale leg was easy. At times almost euphoric, which was a

sensation I'd also expected from previous rides. At Annandale I was to

verify that the Thayer Hotel was built in * (I also got gas and only 100

miles later, 2 more quarts of oil).  And the phone number of the pay phone

if front of the community center in Silver Lake is *. These three payoffs,

Annandale, Silver Lake, and Bongard are basically the only stretches of

two-lane road I'll have to ride at night. So here I'm taking it real easy

'cause it's mostly county roads, laid out when curve radius wasn't a big

deal. Lot's of'em are sharper than they look, and I've still got oil

spattering my rear tire, I remind myself. Finally I identify the subject of

the mosaic on the building next to the big cow in Bongard (*) and it'll be

inbound on 212 and down 52 and 63 to Stewartville, 4-lane virtually all the

way. I can make some time.

 

            But wait a minute. Damn, that headlight was dim when you were shining it

on the building with the engine off.

 

            "So, how was the rally?"

 

            Leaking oil, 26 year-old shock absorbers, oil on the rear tire and rear

disc, so no brake either, a pane-in-the-ass wobble in the front, no

windshield, detours and road construction--all in all, pretty damn good.

 

            Then, at a stop light in Shakopee, I confirm the worst. At idle, I'm not

producing enough power to blink the turn signal. It's about 12:30, I've

ridden over 700 miles. But this is the third motor I've had in this frame

(a different one in each MN1K) and it's just been in the shop for

congestive electrical failure. If I wind up on the side of the road with

electrical problems it won't be my younger brother (the one who claims he's

too old to ride a 1K) who I call. He's busy. It'll be his fiance.

 

            She wouldn't mind at all, but it's still not a tough call. I've already

got at least one-and-a-half reasons why I shouldn't be riding the bike in

the first place. I run home, accepting a DNF.

 

            The rally was great. It's the ending that sucked.

 

            * The answers to these questions are the sole property of Teamstrange, the

MN1K organizers. If I told you they'd have to shoot me. And they would.