Tim Conway's Ride Report

  Well, I’m not going to rehash Marty’s report.  It’s good and accurate and needs no help from me.  Instead, I am going to elaborate on a few points of his and make a few of my own observations.

 I would like to take a moment to thank Jay Golden, the man who allowed us to win.  Without Jay, this fabulous ride was possible.  J  Or, more accurately, his absence from the TWTN event was the catalyst for the joint ride Marty and I ran.  I’ll explain this a bit more shortly but first, let me reiterate what Marty said about a cooperative ride. 

If you were taking bets from long time MN1Kers on whether or not the two of us would ever ride together, you woulda made a killing at Two Wheels to Niobrara.  In the first place, Jay and I tried a team ride in ’98 and all I got for my trouble was the only DNF I have ever had in a Team Strange event.  Secondly, since the three of us started riding these things, we have done nothing but taunt, tease, and torture each other about how badly each of us was going to kick the other’s ass.  And finally, our friendships are based on mutual abuse, not silly, wussy things like camaraderie, trust, and support.  Nah, we’re all about insults and embarrassment.

Historically, we make a bet each year that the riders with the two lower scores each owe the guy with the highest score dinner at Manny’s steakhouse in Minneapolis.  (Double porterhouse, please.)  And I’d like to take this opportunity to state clearly that, except for my DNF in ’98, I have never had to buy either of those bastards dinner.  But I digress…

You see, if Jay had been in Nebraska with us rather than on a long-planned family trip, Marty and I would certainly not have ridden together.  The three of us would have been up to our old tricks of talking shit to and about each other and then trying our damndest not to let either of the others beat us.  Frankly, our strategy in these events has been the same for years.  It goes something like this: “I don’t care about winning this damned thing, I just need to beat (insert name here) and (insert other name here).” 

So, Jay’s absence allowed Marty and I to behave in a slightly less contentious manner than normal.  We actually had a conversation.  That conversation revealed certain elements about each other’s rides that seemed well thought out.  The realization that we had both planned very similar routes gave way to another revelation: since we now knew that we were both going to run the same route, (each of us having stolen pointers from the other), why not run it together?  I mean what the hell?  Jay wasn’t there so the regular bet wasn’t going to apply anyway.  And since Marty is in Expert and I am in Touring, even if we did run together we could still get our competitive yah-yahs out by running against the other guys in our classes. 

So endeth the story of how Jay Golden won us the 2002 MN1K.  Almost.  Jay just informed me that, due to his crucial role in our win, he feels that it is only fair that Marty and I both buy him dinner.  I told him to fuck off.

Bastard. 

Now, onto the ride.  Marty understates the case a bit when he said that he couldn’t sit still during Arlene’s speech.  He was in agony and it was hilarious.  Part of him was truly interested and entertained by her stories and wanted to hear them all.  And he certainly didn’t want to offend her.  But another part was nearly jumping out of his skin to get on his bike and GOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!  Watching him squirm in his seat was like watching a schizophrenic.  One minute he would be chuckling at one of Arlene’s tales, the next he would be audibly grinding his teeth in impatience.  It was great.  Well, it was for me anyway, and that’s all that matters.

Carhenge.  This bonus is worthy of mention because I discovered something that I can now identify as a new and emergent personality trait in Marty.  I will explain.  Earlier this year, I appropriated a new motto from one of the Promisebreakers.  I think it was Gus Breiland who said, “Ride harder, not smarter”, although it certainly could have been Will Outlaw because, God knows, he does.  In any event, I heard it and had to have it.  I declared that although I hadn’t made it up, I was keeping it.  I recited it to Marty and he, too, felt that it was worthy of our style.  I know now that he was lying, that he was merely trying to lull me into a false sense of security.  But at the time, he seemed to take it to heart.

My first inkling of treachery came during the Great Lakes Challenge.  During this non-competitive event, Marty and I had decided to ride together for safety’s sake.  As Ed pointed out to us at the rider’s meeting, “Moose just don’t care” and Marty and I decided that, be that as it may, we would see how tough they were with 400 watts of headlight pinning ‘em to the asphalt.  Heh.  Stupid, overgrown deer with an attitude.  But I digress…

There we were, riding along on day two of the GLC in NY or Ohio or some damn place, just as miserable as you please (read the GLC posts for a history of that ride from hell if you are unaware of the nightmare we all underwent) when, all of the sudden, Marty pulls into a rest area and declares that he must sleep. 

“Sleep”, I think.  “Hmmm.”

I think, “If I sleep, I ain’t ever gonna get a-movin’ agin.  The hell with it, we’re outta moose country now.  He can eat my dust.  I’m outta here.”

            And with that, I told him to take his little nap, and off I went.  Now fast forward, oh, 12 or 18 hours.  There I am on the last 140 miles or so of the event, having to pull off every 5 or 10 miles to bang my head against something hard or sharp or both to stay awake.  I even had pressed Larry Cooper into service.  I somehow convinced him that riding with me and throwing hard candy at me at 70 mph to keep me on my toes was a good idea.  Or maybe he demanded that he accompany me because he thought I was a hazard.  Hmmm.  Whatever.  Anyway, I pulled in to the start/finish line only to discover that Mart had beaten me by 4 minutes and 29 seconds.  After taking a 2 hour nap!!!  The son of a bitch had suckered me.  Damned if he hadn’t ridden smarter, not harder. 

Bastard.  But I digress…

            So there we were at Carhenge in the middle of the night.  Can’t see a damn thing out in the field so I immediately start reading all of the info in the large case there, looking for info on how many cars make up the damn thing.  Marty grabs a flashlight and marches off into the middle of the damn field to count ’em himself.  “Heh”, I think.  “Fool is out there stumblin’ around in the dark while the answer is sure to be right here.”  I keep reading the board and eventually come across the number of cars listed as 32.  Marty walks back and I ask him how many he counted, all prepared to laugh at him for marching around in the middle of the night in a dark field in an Aerostitch.

“36”, he said. 

“Goddamn it!’ I thought, “There goes that son of a bitch being all smart again.”

I held my tongue and wrote 36 on my route sheet.

Thus endeth the story of Marty and his increased riding I.Q.

Bastard.

 Lusk.  I think I’ll start this little vignette with a “Fuck you, Eddie”.  Well, I feel better. 

So as we head down this dirt rode from hell, Marty scares up a deer that bolts away.  Bolts away until HE passes it and then it turns around and runs right along side of me.  Looking up at me with those big, stupid deer eyes like, “Holy shit!  This guy is right next to me!  He’s fast!  I better step on it”.  So the thing speeds up and ends up in front of me.  Right in front of me.  I mean, my fucking fender was literally pushing his tail.  His hind legs were on either side of my front tire.  And the poor, brainless thing keeps throwing terrified glances over his shoulder like “Shit!  I can’t shake this guy!  He’s right on my ass.  Actually, he’s almost up my ass.  Shit!”.   Now, I am in some very soft dirt on a big GS with cranked up suspension, Touratech hard bags, a top box, and a duffel bag strapped across the passenger seat.  I am loaded down and none too steady and I am NOT about to grab a handful of brake just to ease this short-bus-ridin-cousin-of-Bambi’s mind.  Finally, it decides to try evasive maneuvers and it makes a break for the open fields.  Of course, it forgot about the wire strung between the fence posts and so it nearly turned itself into a venison guitar.  It eventually realized it could go under the wire and did, disappearing just about the time I was finally able to stop.  As soon as I could break off from the litany of curses I was bellowing into my helmet, I headed out to catch up to Marty, who was blissfully ignorant of the entire event until we finally reached Mother Featherlegs marker.

Bastard.

The sleep bonus.  Iron Butt Motel all the way, baby.  After we got our gas receipts from the credit card pumps, we pull around to the back of this closed gas station, lie down on the asphalt, and try and sleep for a few hours.  While we doze, the place opens up.  Marty wakes up and goes in to get the breakfast of champions, Teamsters, and cops while I start seriously looking over the rest of our return leg.  At this point, Pierre, SD still looks like a viable target and I am starting to think about how many times we will have to stop before we get back to Niobrara.  As the 3 hour mark in our sleep stop approaches we pull the bikes around front, load ‘em up, get our gear on, and get ready to roll.  We have the store clerk check the time on her register every 10 seconds.   As soon as the appointed minute arrives, we get our receipt and bail.  Marty had completed his first receipt 3 minutes before I did so he was waiting on his bike, motioning me to hurry up while I was waiting for the clock to change.

Bastard.

The Flag Lady.  Good God!  When that woman started roaring and waving that 8 ft. Stop sign and big orange flag around at me, I thought I was a goner!  It looked like she was a matador luring me in with the flag and that she was gonna use the sign like a spear to administer the killing blow.  I screamed at her to shut the fuck up partially out of self defense.  Marty just laughed and laughed.

Bastard.

             After blowing off Pierre, I started to get a bit nervous about time.  I realized it was going to be a bit closer than I had planned.  As we headed for the bridge to Niobrara, we ran into a big orange Road Closed barricade.  Nerves gave way to fear.  As we followed this detour that seemed to gone on forever, even if it was in the right general direction, I began to get that hollow feeling you get when things spin beyond your control.  An awful feeling of certainty began to take hold of me.  I was sure that we were going to be time-barred.  Marty said we got in with 45 minutes to spare.  I don’t actually remember but it seemed more like 15 minutes to me.  It sure felt like not a whole hell of a lot.

             When Adam looked shocked after asking for my preliminary score and then told me that we were in first place, I thought cool!  It’s fun to be out front even if it will only last a little while.  Marty and I took off to find a motel and that was about the last I thought about it until Eddie announced Robert Johnson’s score and name as the winner of my class.  That is when I got really scared.  I was sure that I had screwed up my sheet somewhere and that Adam had uttered those profane words while cackling over my route sheet, “YOU’RE OUTTA THE RALLY!!!”  When Eddie actually announced our names, I really didn’t know what to do.  I took third place once a looooong time ago.  And I am the proud owner of a Tell It To The Judge award.  But I hadn’t had a “podium” finish since ’97.  I had forgotten what an amazing thing it is to get recognized for an accomplishment in front of a group of people who know EXACTLY what an effort it took. 

 So, I will begin my thank you’s right here.

 To all the riders in Team Strange and similar events – Thank you all.  There are only a small group of us aberrant people who participate in these things and we are the only ones who fully understand the mental and physical tolls these events extract.  We are the only ones who appreciate the incredible feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction one gets by merely finishing an endurance ride.  We are the only ones who really grasp the fact that the real competition isn’t against the other riders; it is a test of self.  It’s one of those situations where the old saying is true:  “If you have to ask, you’ll never know”.

 To Eddie and Adam - Thank you.  Truly.  As long as you two stupid bastards keep organizing these ludicrous events, I’ll keep paying to let you hurt me.  Nobody can make a bunch of otherwise rational adults do as many ridiculous things for no good reason at all like you guys can.

 To the TS Crew – Thank you.  I have no idea what horrible facts those two twisted rallymasters have on you all to force you to work these events, but I sure am glad they are blackmailing the hell outta y’all.  You guys kick ass.  I mean, where else can you watch some gibbering, sleep-deprived idiot jabber incoherently at some guy with a stopwatch and a clip board and not only not get maced, but actually get a pat on the back and be told “Good job”?

 To the Two Rivers Saloon – You folks are nuts.  First off, not only do you admit to knowing Eddie and Adam, it sure as hell looked to us as if you LIKE them.  I mean, you invited the two of them and a hundred of their weirdest buddies down for a long weekend.  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!?!?  For all of your hard work and unflappable good humor, I say thank you very, very much.

 To the people of Niobrara, NE – What a fantastic host your town played to us!  Thank you so much for your kindness and hospitality.  Thank you for your tolerance.  And thanks for not calling the cop on us  J

 To Arlene Liska – Madame, thank you for taking the time and effort to regale a bunch of masochistic bikers of dubious sanity with tales of your astonishing adventures around the world.  Your have lived in conditions that make the situations we face on our little rides look quite sterile.  You have reached destinations that most of us wouldn’t dream of visiting by any means other than an airplane and a Land Rover.  You have eaten things that I will have nightmares about for years to come.  You traveled more miles in a few years than many travel in a lifetime.  And you have certainly proven one thing if nothing else:  no matter how crazy my friends, family, and even complete strangers may think I am, compared to you, lady, I look like the Paragon of Reason.  J

Joking aside, Arlene, you have inspired me and I don’t have the words to thank you for that.

 To Jay Golden, the first of the three of us to ride in one of these things, I say – Ahh so….the students become the masters.  ;)

 To Marty Leir – who the hell woulda thought it?  Nice ride beeyatch.  And no, I am not riding the Iron Butt with you    ROFL