Bart Bakker's Ride ReportI had planned to ride alone this time. Having ridden with Mark Kiecker the previous two MN1K, it was time for a solo run. So I took my route sheets home and planned a heroic ride west in pursuit of some Colossal Creatures. If I rode my ass off, at least 28,000 points would be mine. Not bad, I thought. I arrived at Bob’s and was immediately shown a route to the Beast in the East yielding an alleged 37,000 points with less miles than my route, or so Mr. Kiecker claimed. He asked and I accepted an offer to ride together. Why argue with Map ‘n’ Go? The first decision would prove costly for Mark later, as we went to Iowa City via Des Moines. Those extra miles…I didn’t realize it until we were past IA 3, so we just wicked it up a bit, arriving at the Harley dealer right behind Kevin Kocur. Next up was Snake Alley in Burlington, IA. I love old river towns like Burlington, so old, mysterious and funky. At the top of the hill we met Nels Gebben and Ken Lefler. Ken grew up in Burlington, raced Snake Alley many times, and knew a quicker route out of town, so we followed. Thus began an impromptu quartet that would endure to the end. Hannibal, MO was the next stop, where we met Bubba Kolb. Seemed harmless enough…though he’d scared the Harley rider he’d been riding with, as we discovered shortly. We visited Louisiana, MO for a gas receipt (and an IBET bonus). Saw Bubba again, eating a sandwich. Rode to Kampsville, IL for a ferry ride, following pleasant two lane back roads towards our next destination, St. Louis. Take a picture of the Arch. Sounds simple enough, except when there’s some damn festival going on at Laclede’s Landing, causing the police to cordon it off. Well, Nels decided that just because the cops had set up some orange cones across the road didn’t mean that MN2K riders couldn’t enter. Police pursuit ensued and Nels’ license was nabbed briefly, only to be returned with no consequence. A questionable turn and a sidewalk later, we escaped downtown St. Louis. Sunset, and the long night begins. I’m getting better at riding all night, but still it worries me. We crossed southern Illinois to a toll bridge at St. Francesville, which consisted of an elevated wooden bridge with two tracks for car tires and a drop-off in the middle. It might have been a bit scary on a Wing, but our main concern was for a poor cat that was attempting to stay ahead of us. Last I saw it was ready to jump for it rather than face the terror of the four horsemen. The next part sucked. You’re tired, it’s 2:00 a.m. Hey, let’s cross southern Indiana on US 50, with lots of 40 mph speed limit, woods filled with mammals, just so we can reach Nebraska, IN. (Well, it was an IBET bonus, too).We stopped, had our first disagreement about the Plan, deciding to bag Indianapolis, agreed to slow down and soldiered on. Outside Cincinnati near dawn, Sunday, we had our first real rest. I put my ThermaRest on top of a picnic table and enjoyed IB motel at its finest. There must be at least one cop for every 100 drivers in Ohio. (I’ve never forgiven them for giving me a ticket for crashing my BMW in the 1999 ButtLite. Talk about insult to injury!) Law enforcement was having a feeding frenzy, ticketing all who dared to exceed the limit. We didn’t bother trying. At the AMA Headquarters in Pickerington, we again found Kevin Kocur, asleep behind the PortaPotty. We made sure to wake him up before we left. Breakfast with the Buckeye Beemers ate up 40 minutes, as we consumed our first “real” meal. The plan was to go to Cleveland, but a promised go-kart race downtown worried us. We decided to bag it and head for the Marblehead Lighthouse. Some may have found this a tedious ride, but it wasn’t bad around noon Sunday. Michigan returned us to a proper travel mode, as US 23 and I 94 resembled the Autobahn we’ve come to expect. Reinvigorated by the accelerated pace, we went to Hell. It takes some dough to live in Hell, MI.. Nice place, nice roads, the affluent outer reaches of Ann Arbor. Our next stop, Chicago, might more properly earn the name. Before we got there, though, an Incident occurred. Some idiot tried to run Nels over, in the left lane. We all saw it happen and immediately took measures. Let’s just say that the driver ended up on the right shoulder and was quite sure of what would happen to him if he tried that again. I do love Chicago, having performed there as a musician many times. I just do not love to ride motorcycle there, at night, with severe thunderstorms lurking. We had burritos at El Famous (the chorizo was unimpressive) and plotted our ride to Alaska, WI. Oh boy, let’s go to Green Bay! It got better, as we realized that the sky wasn’t being lit up by fireworks alone. The storm that hit us was perfectly awful. Power went out along the freeway, my Shoei RF800 was soaked, the Darien gave up, a disaster! All I could see as I drove along at 70 mph was the reflective tape marking the lanes. At one point we were huddled under a bridge when up pulled another bike. It was Otto Ellars, another lunatic on VFR800. We gave up on waiting it out, took off and were immediately split into two groups. I managed to hang with Ken, but we assumed that Mark and Nels had gotten ahead of us. Fine, we can make it to Alaska without them. Stopping north of downtown Milwaukee, I changed out of my wet clothes and put on the fleece, the electric vest and everything else. I still froze. The wind off Lake Michigan was unbelievably chilly. Pushing a strong headwind, spirits began to flag quickly. We stopped for coffee, only to be joined by the same Harley rider we had met in Louisiana, MO, way back when. I can’t be suffering as much as this guy, I thought. We finally made it to Alaska, and were still trying to get a decent photo when headlights approached – Mark and Nels! After good-natured recriminations, clearly relieved at our reunion, we headed for home. I kept it real through Wisconsin, home of the Big Speeding Ticket. Plenty of time, so no need for that, especially after I spotted a certain ZX-12 rider busted outside of Wausau. Mark, Nels and Ken were headed for the rest bonus, while I needed extra miles to qualify for the prestigious Ray Bentdahl Award. I decided to visit the good people at Moon Motors. Those final miles over familiar roads were notable for the incredible oneness which I felt with my bike. I was part of the machine, miles passed in the blink of an eye. Ah, sleep deprivation. I stopped at home, showered and put on clean clothes before heading to Trackstar, arriving 18 minutes before the check point opened. I’d slept less than 30 minutes since the rally started, but was filled with excitement. Check in confirmed it, as rumors began of “four guys”… We had dedicated our ride early on to getting Ken a first place trophy. It was a somewhat lighthearted goal, but it became (for me) as important as my own final result. Ken was riding an Airhead (1978 R80/7), as was I (R100S), except that I had a fuel cell and his bike needed to be bump started after Hannibal. To see him win his Touring Class by over 11,000 points made this usually selfish person happier than he’s been in awhile. Mark was 1st Place Expert, on his Honda VFR800, while Nels took Overall on his BMW K100LT. As Nels attempted to point out at the awards ceremony, it was indeed a team effort. Main credit must go to Mark for planning the route, the key to the outcome, of course. He may have deserved first overall, but that damn ride to Iowa City via Des Moines gave him more miles than Nels. I got what I wanted, a gentleman’s second on the gentleman’s sport tourer, the R100S. Most of all, I had an extraordinary time with these three men who I call friends. Thanks, Eddie and Adam, for creating an event which can be more than just a rally. |
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