Dave Long's Ride ReportBefore
the Beginning The
following describes my experiences during the Minnesota 2000 Motorcycle Rally.
I've left out a lot of stuff, most of which consisted of driving along
mindlessly on some freeway somewhere. Of
course it goes without saying that all events described herein are completely
true and have not been embellished in any way.
Names, when known, have not been changed, in order to expose those
who need exposing. Any reference to
actual persons living or deceased is purely intentional. The
Bike I
rode a 1983 Honda CB1100F in Standard Class, the same bike I rode in the
previous two rallies. The
air-cooled, in-line four cylinder bike is a Canadian version that's quite a bit
different than its American counterpart. It
has CBX style factory clip-on bars, and a factory gauge cluster that is very
similar to the CBX layout as well. The
speedometer reads in kilometers per hour, with teeny, tiny little numbers for
MPH, which you can't read at night. Mostly,
I use the tachometer. It's got a
five gallon gas tank and it gets 30-32 MPG.
The bike has no fairing, no windshield, no radar detector, no GPS, and no
radio. A truly "naked"
bike. The
Plan The
Plan was built entirely around bonus stops in "The Beast of the East"
listing handed out the night before the rally.
The key stops would be Alaska, WI (east of Green Bay), El Famous (near
Chicago Midway area), Windsor Ontario, Hell, MI (near Ann Arbor), gas stops in
capitals of three states not bordering bordering states of Minnesota (Ohio,
Indiana, Kentucky), the AMA Museum in Pickerington, OH (east of Columbus),
Indianapolis Motor Speedway, and a half dozen other stops thrown in for good
measure. The nice thing about The
Plan was that there was a very definite time schedule for all the stops based on
an overall average speed of 60 MPH multiplied by the approximate mileage between
each stop. A whole lot like a giant
enduro, for you off-road types. If
I got behind schedule, The Plan had a couple of built-in "throw-away"
checkpoints that could be aborted without ruining the rest of the ride.
By far the coolest thing about The Plan was that if all went well, I
could take a 4 hour break at my own home in Albert Lea, MN just before returning
to the end of the rally. Let
the Games Begin My
first job was to top off my fuel tank before heading to Bob's Java Hut, the
starting point of the rally. Just
north of Bob's is a Super America convenience store, and as I pulled in it was
evident by the number of bikes that everyone there was doing the same thing as
me. To add to the confusion at the
gas station, there was a big gas truck there filling the underground tanks and
several cars trying to get in as well. A
nice little neighborhood traffic jam. The
pump I pulled up to said "Pre-Pay Only" on the display, and taped to
the pump was a sign that said "Wet Paint".
I decided this was a bad place to be, so I backed up two places to the
first pump on the island, just beating this young gal in a little Toyota to the
spot. She was absolutely pissed,
and she rolled down her window and started yelling at me as she drove around me
to the "middle" pump right in front of me.
Thank God I had my ear plugs in so I could mostly ignore her.
Eventually she got out of her car and continued hissing at me, working
herself up into an absolute rage as she tried unsuccessfully to get the fuel
filler nozzle into her car. Now I
could hear her pretty well. "I
don't know why you just can't use either of these two pumps, for chrissakes,"
she fumed, still comically fumbling with the filler nozzle while going off on
me. I
sensed it was time for me to speak up.
"Maybe it won't fit because that pump you're at is for diesel
fuel, you idiot, that's why it's green."
She looked at the pump and got even more pissed because now she was
embarrassed, too. Then she got in
her car and pulled ahead to the next pump.
After that she got out and tried to pump some
gasoline, but then she discovered the "Pre-Pay Only" notice.
She never saw the "wet Paint" sign.
So off she stomped into the store, glaring at me as she went by.
She came back out and finally started filling her tank.
When she was done, she slammed the nozzle back in place, turned to me and
gave me the finger saying, "Have a nice day, asshole!"
All I could do was laugh as I watched her get into her car with a big
black paint smudge on her left arm. You
too, honey bun. Meanwhile,
I was having my own fuel problems. Just
when I was going to pump gas, the pump quit working.
"See Attendant" the display read.
So I went inside and asked the busy guy behind the counter to reset my
pump. After a couple of minutes he
did, but I went back outside I found that a
fellow rally rider on a shiny new Honda RC51 had pulled up to my pump and
was filling his tank! The
nerve of this guy, whose name, by the way, is TONY
MARX. Thanks,
TONY MARX, and
have a nice 2000 mile ride sitting on that naugahyde-covered hunk of plywood
Honda calls a seat. Well,
after all that I finally got my gas. I
was getting a little worried though, because it was getting very close to 8:00
AM and I knew the rally would start right on time.
I hope the rest of my weekend goes
better than this. And........They're
Off! At
8:14 AM Saturday morning (right on time), the rally's Modified LeMans Start went
off without a hitch. All of the
riders assumed their starting positions, tightly crammed in a semi-circle around
the two rallymasters, Eddie James and Adam Wolkoff.
Eddie and Adam, who after the previous night's Liar's Banquet were now
drunk with power, stood above us and toyed with us one last time before handing
out the critical, last-minute information sheets.
Then we all ran to our bikes and took off, thankful to be rid of them.
But we weren't really rid of them,
were we? I
immediately headed for I-94 east, and fell in behind two Ironbutt riders on
Harleys. These guys were really
hauling, and they should have been kicked out of the rally for excessive
speed. I
followed them closely in case Adam needed a witness. Toe-to-Toe
with a Doe I
gave up my draft on the two Harleys when I had to stop for gas.
No matter, I was jumping off I-94 anyway, for my blast.....er.....leisurely
ride across central Wisconsin, headed toward Green Bay.
There are three east/west highways across central Wisconsin.
I chose the southernmost of the three, since there appeared to be fewer
small towns to go through. Pretty
smart, huh? So I gassed up near
Black River Falls and headed due east on Highway 54. Ten
minutes later I was riding through the middle of Jackson County, which is famous
for its cranberry bogs and infamous for its large deer population.
I glanced down to check my map and my speed (I won't tell you how fast I
was going because I don't have to testify against myself).
As I looked back up, I remember thinking that it's 10:30 AM and probably
late enough in the morning for the deer to already have bedded down for the day.
No sooner had that thought crossed my mind when a doe jumped up out of
the left ditch and started to run straight across the road in front of me!
It happened so fast and the deer was so close that I had no time to do
anything except pull in the clutch, get off the gas, slam on the front brake,
duck my head, and brace for impact. I
had already accepted the fact that I was going to T-bone the deer just behind
center and that I'd probably endo since I was on the front brakes so hard.
At the last instant the doe, now taking up my entire field of view,
shifted into another gear I didn't know she had and accelerated hard,
miraculously missing the bike. As
she went by, I felt a really hard WHACK on
the toe of my right boot! How that
deer ran from left to right in front of me, missing my front wheel and hitting
my right foot, I will never know.
What I do know is that the whole thing happened so fast and was over so
quickly that I thought, "Did that really just happen?" Although
I didn't need to pull over and change into my emergency pair of underwear, the
pucker factor was still pretty darn high. High
enough, in fact, to pop a few veins. Hemorrhoids
was something I was hoping not to experience on this ride, but it wasn't long
before it felt like I was sitting on a golf ball.
Oh, well. Who has more fun
than people? They
Say Alaska is Nice This Time of Year Alaska
was cold. Alaska, Wisconsin, that
is. Located on the shore of Lake
Michigan east of Green Bay, I visited Alaska to take a photo of the city limits
sign, then it was south through Manitowok, then Sheboygan, then my third stop
for fuel in Port Washington, and on toward Milwaukee, headed toward my first
brush with The Law. As
my golf ball and I were riding south through central Milwaukee, traffic was
heavy. I was zipping along,
changing lanes often, passing every vehicle on the road.
I was being careful to watch the four lanes in front of me for law
enforcement vehicles because I didn't want to interrupt their busy day full of
catching murderers and rapists. I
was so busy watching for unmarked highway patrol cars that I drove right up on
and passed a city police car with big red and blue lights on top!
To my horror, I didn't even notice the car until I was right beside the
driver's side window, and I didn't get slowed down until I was past him.
I thought I was busted for sure when he flashed his lights at me, and I
got off the gas and slowed down. The
police car accelerated and pulled up on my right.
I looked over at the officer and gave him a little wave, and he pointed
his index finger at me and wagged it as if to say "you've been a bad, baaad,
boy". Then I looked in the
back of his car and he had two guys in handcuffs sitting in there.
Whether they were murderers or rapists I couldn't tell, but since this
was Jeffrey Dahmer's home town, they were probably both.
The squad car peeled off to the right, took the next downtown exit and
disappeared. Thanks
for being dumber than me, bad guys! Hey,
You Gonna Eat That? If
you think the Alaska, Wisconsin area is beautiful, you should check out Chicago,
just west of Midway airport. "Breathtaking"
isn't quite the word I'm looking for here.
"Wallet-taking" is closer. When
you exit I-55 onto Highway 171 in Summit, Illinois and make the proper
right turn onto South Archer Avenue, you end up at the El Famous Mexican
Restaurant. If you don't make the
right turn at the first set of lights (like me), you drive straight into Chicago
proper on West Archer Road and promptly get lost.
Then, if you ask three different people in three different locations
where El Famous is, you will get three different answers, one of which may be
correct. When
I finally got to El Famous, it was about 5:15 Saturday afternoon.
I was 15 minutes behind schedule according to The Plan.
Melody Albers was just getting on her bike to leave, and there was
another BMW parked next to hers. I
asked Melody where she was headed and she said Hell, Michigan.
I asked her if she thought she could make it there by dark, since the
Hell was supposedly a "daylight hours only" bonus.
Melody said she hoped she
could make it, I wished her luck, and off she went.
There's no way she'll make it, I
thought. Stepping
inside the restaurant I found another rally rider with a pile of empty plates
next to him and his maps spread all over the table. Hmmm.
He introduced himself as Don Johnson (not the
Don Johnson, just Don Johnson). I
ordered a taco and a 7-Up, then yacked with Don for a few minutes.
He glanced at my itinerary while I was deciding if I could make it to
Hell by dark. I told him I had
decided that I couldn't make it, so I was going to hit a couple other bonus
stops southwest of Joliet, then double back and head for Windsor, Ontario, then
double back from Windsor to Ann Arbor, Michigan, take a 3 hour break, then go to
Hell at dawn. Don liked my plan,
and we decided to ride to the next couple of bonus stops together. So
I wolfed down my taco, which was incredibly
good. In fact, I'd ride all that
way again just to eat there and to enjoy the scenery........NOT.
Then we took off for Norway, Illinois, southwest of Joliet.
We found the "crash site", took our photos of the wrecked
airplane, then headed out for Oglesby, Illinois to find mile marker 55 on I-39
south. It turns out mile 55 is on
the Abraham Lincoln Bridge. I took
the first exit after the bridge, crossed over the freeway, and stopped alongside
the freeway entrance ramp. Don
continued straight on down the road to a gas station.
I wrote down the mile marker info on my route sheet and I was outa there,
headed back toward I-80 and Joliet. Seeya
Don and thanks for the company! You
Came Here Just to Buy Gas, Eh? The
Plan said that I had to go to Windsor, Ontario and get a gas receipt.
I also had to get a receipt from the Ambassador Bridge which connects the
U.S. and Canada. So off I went on
I-94 across Michigan, headed for big, bad Detroit in the dead of night.
The ride was getting colder and colder as I went.
With no fairing or windshield to hide behind, I finally I had to pull
over at a gas stop and put on my sweat shirt and rain gear to stay warm.
But it was kind of a fun ride, because a lot of the towns along the way
were having their 4th of July fireworks celebrations Saturday night.
On the downside, the noise of fireworks tends to drown out the sounds of
drive-by shootings. Knowing
that I would be doubling back to Hell, Michigan later, I noticed that there was
a truck stop on exit 167 just west of Ann Arbor.
I figured that had to be pretty close to the exit to Hell (it turned out
to be the exit) so I made a mental
note. I got to the Ambassador
bridge at about 1:30 local time Sunday morning, bought my ticket to cross the
bridge, and pulled ahead to one of the many Canadian customs booths.
The young lady's name tag in the booth read 'Carol'. "Please
turn off your engine, " said Carol. "What?"
I couldn't hear a thing with my engine running and my ear plugs in. "Shut
off your engine!" yelled Carol as she made a slashing motion across her
throat. Well
why didn't you just say so? I
shut off my engine. "What is
your citizenship?" asked Carol. "U.S." "Are
you bringing any guns, ammunition, or other weapons into the country?" asks
Carol. Well,
I was coming from Detroit, after all. "Uhhhhhh......no." "What
is the purpose of your trip?" "Pleasure!" "How
long will you be in Canada?" I
didn't know any better so I told the truth.
"Well......I'm on a scavenger hunt, and I rode out here from
Minneapolis just to buy gas in Windsor, Ontario.
Then I'm going back to the States to continue on the rest of the
scavenger hunt." Pause.
Blink. "You're
kidding, right?" "No
Ma'am." "Well
that's the most insane thing I've heard all night. Welcome to Canada!"
chimed Carol. "Thank
you. By the way, where is
the nearest gas station?" I asked. "Right
there, eh," she says,
pointing to a partially-hidden 7-11 convenience store not 100 yards away.
"If you take this little "Customs Employees Only" service
road over here to the right, it loops you around and dumps you right in the 7-11
parking lot. How about that, eh?"
Amazing. "Great!
Thanks a lot, eh!" "No
problem. Enjoy your visit."
And I did. All three minutes
of it. Then it was right back in
line for the trip back across the bridge and a visit with the nice man at U.S.
Customs named Ted. At
the U.S. Customs booth, the routine was similar except I shut off my engine
right away, before being asked. Ted
the Customs agent said, "Good Morning.
What is your citizenship?" "U.S." "How
long were you in Canada?" I
checked my watch. "Oh, about
three minutes. I just bought gas at
that 7-11 on the other side of the bridge there and then I came back." Ted
looked a confused and suspicious at the same time.
"Why would you do that? Gas
is more expensive in Canada, plus you had to spend six bucks just to get across
the bridge." It
looked like I was going to have to break down and tell the truth again.
"Well......believe it or not, I'm on a scavenger hunt and I just
rode out here from Minneapolis to buy gas in Windsor, Ontario.
So I got gas at the 7-11 and now I'm heading to Ann Arbor for a 3 hour
layover, then I'm going to Hell, Michigan." Pause.
Blink. Customs
agents must be trained to do this. "You're
kidding, right?" "No
sir, you wanna go to Hell?" Oops.
Bad time for bad a joke. "Not
until I have to," Ted said
with a smirk, "That's the most insane thing I've heard all night. Welcome
back to the United States. By the
way, you'll want to take that freeway on-ramp right over there to get to Ann
Arbor. And say hello to my
mother-in-law in Hell." What
a trip. To
Hell and Back The
Plan called for a 3 hour layover near Ann Arbor.
I would score bonus points for the layover while waiting for dawn so I
could then visit Hell, Michigan during daylight hours.
At 2:30 Sunday morning I pulled into the truck stop that I had spotted
earlier, west of Ann Arbor. I
immediately went inside, bought a candy bar and got a receipt to start the clock
on my three hour break. Then I went
back outside and got out of my gear. Back
inside the gas station, I asked the barely employable guy behind the counter if
he knew where Hell, Michigan was. Although
we were within ten miles of Hell, he didn't have a clue.
It was on my Michigan state road map, but the road number was not
identified, so I was just looking for a little more detail.
No such luck. So I sat down
in a booth in the restaurant and got out my maps and stuff to review The Plan.
I decided to abort my upcoming stops in Marblehead and Cleveland, Ohio,
instead concentrating on the valuable three state capital gas bonus.
Then I managed to get an hour of sleep. At
the end of my three hour layover I gassed up the bike, got a receipt, and headed
out for Hell. I went north on the
correct road and then turned onto what I thought was the right cross-road.
After about five miles I knew I was lost but at that early hour there
wasn't anyone around to ask for directions.
I kept going, and luckily I rode by a golf course with its parking lot
right on the road. I saw a bunch of
golfers getting out of their cars so I pulled in.
I rode right up to the oldest guy and asked, "Excuse me, but where
in the hell is Hell?" "What
do you want to go there for?"
the guy asked. Tell
the truth..."Well,
you see, I'm on a scavenger hunt, and I just rode out here from Minneapolis to
have my picture taken outside some store in Hell." "You're
kidding, right?" "No
sir." "Well
then you must be nuts," the old man proclaimed. "Probably.
Can you get me to Hell?" "Sure,
go back to the last intersection, turn left, follow the road a few miles, and
you'll be in Hell."
Anyone you want me to say 'hello' to when I get there? So
I did what the man said, and sure enough I was in Hell.
Now to get my hell-met off, get my camera and rally flag out, and find
someone to take my picture at 6:00 in the morning.
Piece of cake. As luck would
have it, just as I got my helmet off a car came around the curve.
I figured this was my big chance, so I ran out in the road, arms waving
like there had been a bad accident. The
20 year-old kid in the car pulled over and rolled down his window.
I said, "I'm sorry to bother you and this is really stupid, but I'm
on a scavenger hunt and I need my picture taken over there by that store.
Will you take my picture?" "Dude,
what are you, like, insane?" "Probably.
Will you take my picture?" "Well,
I suppose," said the kid as he got out of his car, "Where are you
from, anyway, dude?" "Minneapolis." "Dude,
you are insane." "Take
another one just to be sure, dude."
Click.
Whirrr. "Thanks."
And just like that the kid from Hell was gone.
I packed up my stuff, put my skid lid back on and hit the road, headed
for my third and final pass through
Ann Arbor, Michigan. Oh
Me, Oh My-Oh, Those Cops in Ohio From
Ann Arbor it was south, through Toledo and then on to Columbus, Ohio.
I needed a gas receipt from Columbus for part of the "gas in three
state capitals" bonus. The
thing I noticed right away about Ohio was that none of the locals were speeding.
And there were law enforcement vehicles everywhere.
Half a dozen times I watched out-of-state cars blow by me only to see
them pulled over further up the road. So
I settled in behind a car going 67 MPH and sat tight, carefully watching my map
and the road signs ahead. After
running off of my map and missing the road signs, I took wrong freeway turn in
Findlay, Ohio (which put me an hour behind schedule), I finally made it to
Columbus and got a gas receipt. Then
I rode out to Pickerington and visited the AMA museum for a quick photo op, and
then it was back through Columbus, headed for Indianapolis.
As I neared the Indiana border I noticed that the traffic speed was
picking up, finally. There was a
concrete median dividing the six lanes of freeway, and everyone (including me)
must have figured with the median, the troopers couldn't turn around to chase
the speeders, so everyone went faster. My
theory now is that they built the median as a decoy just so they could bust
people. Having
been to Indianapolis on business last April, I had some free time and had driven
my rental car to the speedway and museum, so I knew exactly how to get in and
out of there. Coming off of the
I-65 freeway northeast of the track, I made my way south on Kessler Blvd.
I planned to follow Kessler to 16th Street, which is the road the track
(and museum) entrance is on. So I
pulled into a gas station on Kessler and 16th, and I didn't see it beforehand
because of the trees and shrubs lining the road, but there is a car sitting at
the gas pumps with its hood wide open and the engine compartment is fully ON
FIRE. A fire truck and a squad
car are just pulling into the other station entrance from 16th, and people are
scattering. I weighed my options,
thinking that it would be so cool to
just pull up to a gas pump and calmly go about my business like nothing was
wrong. But before I can decide what
to do on my own, a cop comes running at me and frantically waves me back out
into the street. Thanks
for saving me from myself, officer. I
ride another two blocks to the next gas station and fill up.
Then its on to the speedway museum. The
Indianapolis Motor Speedway has a great museum that located on the track infield
with excellent parking facilities. They
even have motorcycle parking with individual concrete slabs for each bike.
The only thing is, the car parking is right in front of the museum and
the motorcycle parking is about 300 yards away.
The security guards at the museum are professionally trained to never
allow a motorcycle's kickstand to set down on the sacred tar of the car parking
lot. I know this because I was
banished from the car lot to the bike lot.
At least they let me keep my helmet and my leather jacket in the guard
shack while I hiked the 300 yards to the museum. Once
there, I went directly to the gift shop and started looking for the least
expensive thing to buy. Bingo!
Right next to the cash register they had Indy 500 pencils for 50 cents
each. I grabbed one and bought it,
asking the cashier for a receipt. The
cashier, whose name tag said 'Judy' asked, "You need a receipt for a pencil?" Here
we go again..."Well,
Judy, you see, I'm on a scavenger hunt, and I rode my motorcycle out here from
Minneapolis, Minnesota just to buy this pencil, and yes, I need the
receipt." Pause.
Blink. "You're
kidding, right?" "No
Ma'am." "Well that's the most insane thing I've heard all day! Here you go," said Judy, as she handed me the receipt. Then it was another 300 yard walk back to my bike in the motorcycle lot. Back on the bike, I headed south out of Indy, headed for Nebraska, Indiana, then Frankfort Kentucky Give
Me Some Credit Ever
use your credit card for gas? Normally
I don't, maybe that was my problem. I
thought it would be fast and convenient to charge gas during the rally,
especially when you could pay at the pump and get a receipt.
Anyway, it took exactly three "pay-at-the-pump" transactions
before the credit card company put a block on my card while I was somewhere near
Nebraska, Indiana. Apparently they
thought someone had stolen my card and was using it for a jaunt across the
country. Well, they were right
about the jaunt part, anyway. So
after a couple of "Access Denied" notices on the gas pumps it was back
to cash. A
Blistering Pace The
run to Frankfort, Kentucky was incredible.
If you have never ridden on Highway 421 between Versailles, Indiana and
Frankfort, you should make a special trip just to do so.
What a road! 68 miles of
two-lane twisties, through river valleys and river bottoms, and the pavement is perfect.
Riding this road was by far the most enjoyable part of my trip.
I was having so much fun and riding so hard that I didn't notice until I
pulled into Frankfort that the top of my left big toe hurt.
As it turns out, I blistered right through my riding boot from a
day-and-a half of upshifting and tore a quarter-sized hunk of skin off the top
of my toe! With my right foot still
sore from the deer I hit earlier, I had a matching set. I
was an hour and fifteen minutes late getting to Frankfort, thanks to the wrong
turn I took back in Findlay, Ohio. I
burned another half hour in Frankfort, fixing my toe and checking over the bike.
The dipstick was bone dry when I checked the oil, so I added a quart.
To my horror, it was still dry and I had to add a second quart of oil.
My nice, gold O-ring chain didn't look so good either.
In fact it didn't look gold at all.
Mostly black. I chalked it
up to riding in the rain, so I lubed the chain and it was time to head for home. I
rode west to Louisville, Kentucky, then north to Indianapolis (again), then west
through Peoria, Illinois, where the big thunderstorms lurked.
I was going like a bandit with my rain gear on and I managed to slip
between two huge storms before driving out of the bad weather.
Another bullet dodged. Honest,
Officer Heading
west on I-80 just outside the Quad Cities, I had my third and final run-in with
The Law. It was about 2:00 Monday
morning and I was more or less the only vehicle on the road.
I had just run off of my map (again) and this time I was in a big panic
and because of fatigue I thought I had missed the I-380 turn-off to Cedar
Rapids/Waterloo. I had just passed
a huge truck stop and I was going to double back for gas and to check my maps,
so I hit the gas for the next exit a half mile up ahead.
Just then I blew right past a patrol car sitting in the left ditch with
all his lights off, and I never saw him until he shifted into drive, just as I
was going by. His lights came on
and I got that "oh shit" feeling as I pulled over on the exit ramp.
I got my license out right away and had it ready for him when he walked
up to me. "You
know, you're going awfully
fast," the officer said as he took my license. I
told him I had just ran off my map and I was in a hurry to get back to the truck
stop to get gas and to figure out where I was, because I was worried that I may
have missed my turn-off. "Where
are you going to?" he asked. "Well,
I'm going to.........uh..........." I brain-faded big time.
I couldn't remember Cedar Rapids. Finally,
"I'm going to Albert Lea, that's where I'm from," I said, pointing at
my license. "Oh,
so you want the 380 turn-off to Cedar Rapids?" he asked. "Yes!
Cedar Rapids, Waterloo, Albert Lea." "Well
380 is up by Iowa City. You're
still 40 miles away, so you haven't missed your turn." "OK,
well that's good," was all I could say. Then
came the question that saved me. "So
where are you coming from, if you don't mind me asking?" The
truth has worked for me this whole rally, so don't change now.
"Well, its a long story, but I've come from Minneapolis to Green Bay
to Milwaukee to Chicago to Joliet to Kalamazoo to Ann Arbor to Detroit to
Windsor Ontario, back to Ann Arbor to
Toledo to Columbus, Ohio to Pickerington, Ohio to Indianapolis to Frankfort,
Kentucky to Louisville, back to
Indianapolis to Peoria to the Quad Cities to
right here." What a
mouthful. I was surprised that he
listened to the whole thing without interruption. The
officer just stood there, then said, "Can you repeat that?" "Yes
I can." "Never
mind. What, exactly, are
you doing, anyway?" the officer asked. Here
we go again....."Well.....I'm
on a scavenger hunt, and there's about a hundred or so of us on bikes that are
scattered out all over the country." "Is
that like a poker run?" he
asked. "Well......I've
never been on a poker run, but I think a poker run has a set route that everyone
follows. With this scavenger hunt
thing you get a list of say 100 places to go, like historical markers and such,
and you can't make it to them all in the allotted time, so you have to create
your own route. It's a planning and
strategy thing." "So
when did you start this scavenger hunt?" "Saturday
morning at 8:00 AM." Pause.
The wheels were spinning now. "Sounds
like you could use some rest." I
knew that was coming. "They
have lay-overs built into the event, so there's a good incentive to rest,"
was my quick (and mostly truthful) reply. The
cop took one last look at me, then said, "That's a helluva story.
Wait here." He went
back to the car and checked my license and the bike registration, then came
back. He handed me what I thought
was going to be a ticket and said, "This is a warning.
Slow down, get some rest, and good luck." "OK,
Officer, will do, and thanks a lot. By
the way, since I didn't miss my turn for I-380, I would just as soon not
turn back for that truck stop to get gas. So
what's the closest gas station up ahead that's open?"
He gave me an exit number for the gas station and headed back to his car.
I put my warning ticket away and hit the road. Miles
To Go Before I Sleep The
last few hours of my ride were also some of the most dangerous.
I was rapidly becoming mentally exhausted, I wasn't thinking straight
anymore, and I was far enough behind schedule that I was not going to be able to
take the full four hour break at my house in Albert Lea. The
worst came at about 5:30 Monday morning when I was closing in on Waterloo, Iowa.
There was no traffic, and fog had
set in just outside of Cedar Rapids. I
was having trouble seeing through the fog, and worse, through my face shield.
I had never faced the sensory deprivation of riding in fog while being so
tired, and it took all my effort to stay awake.
I remember finally seeing a semi up ahead and thinking, "Finally,
someone to follow." So I
closed in on the truck, and even though I knew
I was closing rapidly on the truck, I fell asleep anyway.
I must have dozed off for five seconds or so, then I was jolted awake by
a really loud BANG! BANG!
When I opened my eyes, I was less than five feet from the back of the
semi trailer. The trailer door was
loose, and it was making a loud banging noise as the truck went over bumps in
the road! Well, this scared the
daylights out of me because I realized that I could have driven right into the
back of the truck and never even known it. After that scare I was wide awake. I rode through Waterloo and pulled in for gas at Waverly, then I rode to my house in Albert Lea. It was 8:30 Monday morning, too late to take the planned four hour lay-over, but still early enough to take a one hour break. Enough time for a quick shower, change of clothes, and some bike maintenance Now
What? After
I got cleaned up I took a look at my bike.
The first thing was to check the oil (or lack thereof).
Not registering on the dipstick again!
This was really depressing. Then,
after throwing two more quarts of oil in, I looked at the formerly gold drive
chain. It was blacker than before
and really loose, and some of the links were froze up.
Then I looked at the rear sprocket and I almost fainted.
My nice, gold-anodized aluminum sprocket had worn almost completely out,
with really deep grooves, and the sprocket teeth were so thin they looked like
needles! The sprocket, which had
shown absolutely no signs of wear in years past, apparently had decided to give
up all at once. Looking again at
the chain, I realized that it was black from all of the aluminum dust that the
sprocket had turned into. And it
appeared that this metallic dust got into the links and bound up the chain as
well. At
that point, all I could do was lube and tighten up the chain a little and hope I
made it at least back to the end of the rally.
So I left the house at about 9:30 and rode to Minneapolis, going slowly
and being very careful with the throttle. Thankfully
I pulled into Trackstar at 11:00 without further incident. After
the End Finally,
it was over. Surprisingly, I wasn't
tired after the rally, even though I only got one hour of sleep and didn't use
either of my two four hour lay-overs. It
must have been the adrenaline rush of finally finishing the ride and being
around all the other riders that kept me going. As
far as the final results were concerned, I knew that if I could stick to The
Plan I would probably score pretty well. But
I wasn't prepared for how well. In
all, The Plan yielded 32,000 points, 2600 miles, and a first place finish in
Standard Class. When I think back
about it, the most amazing part of The Plan was that, by design, I scored zero
points between Frankfort, Kentucky and Minneapolis! After
the post-rally barbecue and awards ceremony, I hopped on my bike and headed back
the 90 miles to Albert Lea. Just as
I pulled off of the freeway and into town my chain started jumping sprocket
teeth. When I pulled into my garage
and looked at the rear sprocket, about 1/3 of the teeth were broken off!
Unbelievable. Thinking
back about the whole excursion, I feel really, really
lucky. There were so many things
that happened that could just as easily have gone wrong as right, but every
single time something came up - like the deer incident or falling asleep or
potential mechanical trouble-things went right.
But next year I use a steel sprocket for sure. Thanks
to all at Team Strange for putting on another first class event. Dave
Long, Rider #250 |
Unless otherwise indicated, all
material herein © Team Strange Airheads, Inc. All rights reserved.
|