[This is a long post regarding my motorcycle ride to and from Sturgis, South Dakota, so if you're not into "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," please feel free to skip it. I'll do another post about our time at Sturgis.........WITH PHOTOS........you WON"T want to miss that!]
I got back last night from Sturgis, South Dakota and the famous Harley Davidson Bike Week rally they hold there every year (motorcyles, not bicycles). Steve, John and I left at 6 am last Sunday morning to ride the 1300 miles out. Many folks "trailer" their bikes to the rally, but we insist on riding. (You see lots of tee-shirts with sayings like, "Nice Trailer..........PUSSY!" or " I RODE my Bike to Trailer Week.")
We usually take 2 1/2 days to ride to Sturgis, but this year we decided to try for the coveted "Iron Butt" to get us there quick. The Iron Butt is an honor awarded to motorcyclists who ride 1,000 miles in 24 hours or 1,500 miles in 36 hours. There's an Iron Butt Club that qualifies rides and issues the Iron Butt patches which are worn as badges of honor.
Riding 1,000 miles in 24 hours on a motorcycle is very difficult, especially when you consider weather conditions, traffic delays (especially around cities like Chicago), road construction, and the available daylight (I normally refuse to ride after dark for fear of hitting a deer which several riders did this year on their way to the rally......these accidents are usually fatal.) Riding west is best because it gives you 2 extra hours of daylight.
John and I departed from Columbus and headed north to pick up Steve who'd been at Put-in-Bay (adding another challenge to attaining the Butt.) The weather was good and we averaged 80+ mph across I-90. We made 800 miles to Blue Earth, Iowa by dusk and I was about to waive my "don't ride after dark rule" to make the final 200 miles to Mitchell, South Dakota when a local guy saw us getting on our bikes to leave. "You guys sure you want keep riding? The deer are thick around here and riders hit 'em all the time. Hell, they just life-flighted a guy out yesterday. Around here we put our bikes away at dark." That was it, I was done........we got a motel room in Blue Earth and left the Iron Butt for another day. (I've been paranoid about hitting deer ever since one came through the windshield of Beth's Volvo two Thanksgivings ago and nearly killed our son, Brandon.......if interested, you can search for my post on this harrowing experience in the archives below.)
We had a great 3 days in Sturgis. We stayed the last night at a bed and breakfast at the base of Devil's Tower near Sundance, Wyoming. Steve and I needed to get home quick, so we decided to try again for the Iron Butt on the return trip, which is more difficult because, riding east, you lose 2 hours of daylight and you're a lot more tired after riding to Sturgis and partying for 3 days.
The clouds were gathering as we left Devil's Tower a little before 6 am. Coming through the hills we rode through dense fog for 100 miles and then all hell broke lose. The rain came in sheets and the winds knocked us all over the road. My face began to sting as hail stones coming at 70 mph left welts. My riding glasses began to fog up and before long, I couldn't see 10 feet in front of me. I pulled to the side of the freeway in time to see Steve disappear into a wall of water as he passed a semi. I figured we'd try to hook up somewhere down the road. At this point I didn't give a damn about the Iron Butt.........I was focused on surviving.
For the next 8 hours I made my way through the massive storm, stopping every 50-75 miles to de-fog my glasses and rest. Riding in these conditions is fatiguing and dangerous. (An ambulance screamed past me at one point to get to a rider who went down.) Before my cell phone died, I left Steve a message, "Ride as far as you can, leave me a message where you are and I'll try to get there by dark." I really didn't really think I could catch him because he rides fast and, in the storm, I was only riding 65-75 mph (instead of our usual 80-90 mph) and making frequent stops.
Finally, I outran the storm. The rain stopped and the sun came out. I got off I-90 somewhere in bum-f__k Iowa to get gas and followed the signs to a small, one-pump town a couple miles off the highway. Normally during Sturgis week there are lots of bikes at every gas station along the route, but I was the only bike at this out of the way station. I gassed up and was finishing an energy drink as I heard another bike approaching and Steve pulled up to the pump.
We made Grinnel, Iowa by dark, got some dinner and 5 hours of sleep and were back on the bikes by 6 am. The storm, moving east, had overtaken us so we rode in heavy rain for 9 more hours before we outran it again. Steve and I parted ways just west of Columbus as he took his route home to Dublin. I looked down at my odometer, then my watch, and did some quick ciphering. Notwithstanding the weather, I had logged almost 1,350 miles in less than 34 hours. I didn't get the 1,000 mile Iron Butt, but the 1,500 Butt was within reach.
I got to Columbus, and kept going, to New Concord (home of John Glenn) 70 miles east of Columbus. I gassed up at the exit (getting my time stamped receipt and the name and phone number of a witness) and turned for home. When I gassed up at the station near my house, the receipt said 7:48 EST and my odometer showed I had traveled 1,554 miles from Devil's Tower, Wyoming in the requisite 36 hours. I had my Iron Butt.
It's been 12 hours since I got off my bike and my ears are still ringing with the sound of pipes and the rest of my body is just getting used to not hurtling through space. My bike needs washed but my ass hurts and I don't know if I can even make the short ride to the car wash today, but I will because I owe it to my bike.
Motorcycling and bicycling have a lot in common. People who are attracted to two-wheeled transportation like moving in the open air where they can smell and really see things. And they understand and embrace the risk that comes with riding 2 wheels in a culture that's been built, to a fault, around the automobile. Call us renegades, outlaws or pioneers........twowheeling gets in your blood, or maybe it's already in our DNA. Whatever it is, I sense we could use a bit more of it to help us move forward during troubled times.
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