This report has been delayed, and for that I apologize. When we lost Tim so soon after I finished the rally, the wind was let out of my sails and I shelved my effort. It just didn’t seem to matter. Following Tim’s memorial service my heart’s in a better place; besides, I think he may be waiting to read it.
This is for you, Mr. Bates. Hugs and Kisses!
S P A N K 2 0 0 8
My only goal of the SPANK rally was to be considered a finisher. To prove to myself that I could do multiple days in the saddle, covering long distances, discovering how I dealt with unknowns…. Ensuring that I was able to function as was necessary to complete the duration. 7 days of riding, covering distances as yet unproven to myself. To summarize - I finished. I completed what I set out to do.
The best $600 bucks tuition I’ve ever spent.
And so let me start here, somewhere along the Klamath Falls Main Highway in Oregon.
I decided I needed sleep. I’m not quite sure what town I was in, but based upon time of day, I’ve since figured out it was just north of the Oregon/California border, probably Altamont, Oregon or perhaps Merrill, Oregon, in that area. I’d left Twin Falls, Idaho early Friday morning, and had claimed my first bonus of the Seattle Main Library in downtown Seattle, Washington about 5:30 pm. Ain’t nothing like downtown Seattle at 5:30 pm on a Friday evening.
Around 2:30 A.M. or so I noticed a recently built coin operated car wash right next to a Shell station. I pulled into the facility, and found that the vacuum bays were sparkling new, no litter, and lots of very inviting clean pavement. “This should do” I thought - and selected the vacuum bay farthest from the street. I parked the bike, climbed off, set my Screaming Meanie for 32 minutes, gloves on the asphalt, and laid down. Helmet cushioned by my gloves, the screamer on my chest, I settled in for a nap. I cracked open the chin bar on my helmet, adjusting it so the sodium vapor lights of the car wash would not shine directly into my eyes.
Sleep arrives fast when I do this - I don’t know why, but I’m very comfortable lying there in my Roadcrafter, cushioned by all the armor padding in the suit, my world quieted by the helmet and ear plugs.
And I quickly slipped into darkness. Ah, blessed sleep. And I began to dream.
My muse announced her presence by licking my jawline. Warm, soft, her tongue caressed along my right jaw, and was followed by another lick, this one a bit lower, under the jawline. A gentle sigh. A gentle ‘snork.’
Under the opiate of sleep, I fantasized, wondering what was in store.
I noticed the scent of her most recent meal…. Hmmmm….. Big Mac? Green burrito? … ALPO ? ?????
BEAR!!!! I thought!! Sitting BOLT upright, the Screaming Meanie flying off my chest, my fight or flight response in run 9, blinded by the partially opened chinbar of my helmet, I was greeted by a welcome sight; a blonde Labrador retriever.
Once I remembered to breathe, I reached out and rumpled her ears. She was wearing a collar, her I.D. tag declaring “Peaches” and her owners’ phone number. I doubted they knew she was roaming about. Peaches was very happy to see me - smiling as only Labs can do.
Laughing in relief, struggling to my feet, I stepped to my bike and retrieved a small piece of jerky. “Peaches, Sit!” I asked, and she complied, followed by her reward of salted and dried bovine.
Well, she’s trained, Cool !! “Peaches, Shake!” I asked, holding out my left hand.
And, just as her paw touched mine, the Screaming Meanie fired off at 120 db, 32 minutes after I’d started it.
Peaches decided she needed to be somewhere else. Quite frankly, I’ve never seen a large breed dog move that quickly.
Scrabbling to retrieve the screamer from the asphalt, I turned it off, and looking away at the hind end of a far receding dog, I wished her well, regretting what may have been.
That was when I noticed that she’d apparently been garbage diving. I was reminded of this via my helmet for several days hence.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The Beginning:
Odo Check and Iowa
What did I get my self into?
Bleeding Brains
I’d left home on Sunday, August 3rd, about 5 am or so - I headed for Omaha, NE via the most direct route - out the 15, then east on the 70 through Colorado. I over nighted Sunday in Glenwood Springs, then on to Omaha, arriving Monday evening on the 4th.
Odo checks and tech inspection weren’t until the 6th, so I had planned to arrive a day early in order to visit my wife’s uncle, who had undergone a quintuple bypass about 3 weeks previously. I slept in, enjoying this last moment of sanity before the rally started - and spent some time with Uncle and Aunt that evening. Good to see them, it had been a long time.
Wednesday was registration, tech inspection, and odo check - and I learned that if you miss the turn off for the turn-around point, Iowa doesn’t necessarily have another offramp for a really long distance.
Once I successfully completed my odo check on the second try, we headed for the riders meeting, the waypoints were handed out, and we all worked to get them downloaded to laptops, and into our gps’s.
That evening at the riders’ dinner, the packs were handed out after dessert – and when George told us to open them….
You could hear the brains leaking out of our collective ears.
Quiet. Absolute Dead Quiet.
Holy &$^%!, I thought!
I’ve known George for a bit now - and I’ve always considered him a very intelligent, creative individual, a good friend.
But this was amazing. How on earth? I’m still not sure if he was visited by the rally gods and was selected to take endurance rallying in the U.S. to another level, or perhaps he needs to change his meds, or if he’s just really sadistic.
Here’s another pic of George’s now infamous bonus map -
What have I done?!?!? Why am I here?!?!?
Maybe if I hide under the table they’ll forget I signed up for this?
We all retired to our rooms to design our routes. I was trying to figure out what on earth was going on.
I picked a route that was absolutely monumental !! Heading to the north west, I would sweep down the western United States, claiming bonus after bonus, then head east along the 10, vacuuming up the many bonii there; to the south east, then the eastern seaboard, then to the north east, cleaning up on every bonus , easily defeating the other entrants in their folly quests!! Streets and Trips showed just a wee bit over 8,000 miles, which I should easily be able to do. After all, I’d completed a few saddle sores, and even a BBG !! Nothing to it !!
Right.
I’m thinking my helmet was too tight.
Thursday, August 7th.
Choking on my spoonful.
7:45 am the next morning, the riders were queued up and ready to start. I was there, not quite sure just what it was I was doing, but I had a plan, by golly, and I was gonna go somewheres !!! My route looked like a bunch of nightcrawlers trying to stay away from a hook.
And so it began. First, we all danced the Hokey Pokey. It’s on YouTube. I won’t give you the link, but if you really want to watch it, use the search function. I hope it’s no longer there. I was standing in the back, my Hi-Viz Stitch quite visible.
George ‘launched’ us – and I headed west, intending to make the Seattle library the next morning. Only 1700+ miles away, I figured that a comfortable 26 to 28 hours would get me there.
Riding along and riding along and riding along, I had plenty of time to second guess myself. I started to think about my route - about the places I was headed, the time frames, etc., and began to have misgivings about my choices. I simply was no longer sure about what I was doing. Was I biting off more than I could chew? Did I have even the slightest idea what was in store? I was riding into this huge experience, and not quite sure I would survive it, much less finish. I think Overwhelming fits here.
Passing through Wyoming, and into Utah, the weight of my uncertainty grew. Around Ogden it was really weighing heavily. I was starting to get that “deer in the headlights” feeling.
Moving into Idaho, heavy winds, getting late, I decided to put the brakes on. About 1100 miles into the day, I used the ‘Find” button on the 2730.
I was routed to a Best Western Inn in Twin Falls, Idaho. Around 11:30 pm, I checked into a room, pulled the gear off the bike, and settled into a chair, with maps and rally packs spread around me. Laptop powered up, I started running ‘what ifs’ - and decided that I needed to scale things back. When building my first route, I had forgotten my reason for doing this rally. I did NOT want to start out with my hair on fire, and go down in a blaze of failure because I’d over estimated my ability.
I had to get past that. I had to complete what I’d set out to do. My goal was to finish.
I scaled it way back – deciding to claim only one blue and one orange bonus. Seattle. Reno, Phoenix, and Atlanta. This was attainable, and I was able to focus on one waypoint at a time.
One thing at a time. Get it done. Finish it.
I needed to know how my physiological and psychological makeup would tolerate the aspects that are part of any multi-day rally - fatigue, morale, situational awareness, pressure of time windows, etc. This is what I was here to learn.
Having a plan that was doable was huge. The uncertainty of the unknown had lifted; all I had to do was ride the bike and maintain myself. I can do this.
I cleaned up my room and retired. I decided to let myself sleep until I woke. I’ve found that when you can do this, it’s very valuable. Your body will tell you what it needs.
Friday, August 8th, Saturday, August 9th.
Seattle Traffic and Wonderful Perfume.
Incredible Generosity from Strangers.
Waking about 6 am the next morning, I loaded up the bike, and then walked over to the ‘continental’ breakfast. I got the second to last banana. I doubt anyone ate the last banana, it was looking like something that snuck in on the mud flap of a semi.
I headed for Seattle to visit the library.
From Twin Falls, west on 84, north on 82, west on 90. Arriving at Seattle around 5:00 pm, to discover that the car pool lane was shut down for construction. A bright sunny afternoon, clear skies, and lots of traffic. Not being in California, lane sharing was out of the question. The urge to do so was there; but I resisted.
Clutching along in first gear, I moved in behind a Mercedes convertible with a couple of Seattleites enjoying the day. One of the things about motorcycling that we all notice but never really think about are the smells that we encounter. Impending rain, warm wet asphalt, something that used to be alive. Cigarette smoke, livestock trucks, freshly mown alfalfa fields. Truly in the environment.
Mr. Seattleite was driving, and Mrs. Seattleite was wearing an absolutely wonderful perfume which I was catching whiffs of during the stopped traffic. Nice. A bit of a distraction from the conditions. I thought about yelling ‘nice perfume!!” at her - but not being able to lane share meant I would not be able to escape.
I finally arrived at the library about 5:30 pm, Friday evening. Traffic up the wazoo, and everyone trying to beat each other out of town. How could I have been such an idiot!? One way streets, far from level hills, and after two laps around the block no where to park. I found a spot across the street and snapped my pic, saddled up, and got the H E double hockey sticks out of there.
Mixed in with all the commuters bailing out of town on Friday evening, it was a bit of a grinder. I almost became ‘one with the bus.’
As I moved south on the 5, the traffic eased and speeds picked up. Moving through sunset and into the evening, I turned east on 58 at Eugene towards Reno and my next bonus.
Aside from meeting Peaches, (whom I still miss) this stretch was uneventful. At sunrise I was still about 200 miles north of Reno, moving along towards my breakfast. The bonus was to order an ‘Awful Awful Burger’ at the Nugget Diner, take before and after pictures, and then a pic of the line.
Finally arriving in Reno, Australian Karen is trying to take me to the diner - but there’s a wee bit of a problem - Hot August Nights is there, and downtown Reno is shut down, as in ALL THE STREETS WERE BLOCKED OFF. This sucks. I ride around a bit, trying to figure it out. Did I mention that this sucks? It’s now about 10:00 am, I’ve been up for 28 hours, and I’m hungry. I want my burger !!!
About 5 blocks south of the Nugget on Virginia Street, I pull into a bank parking lot. I climbed off the bike and started to figure out how I was going to do this. As I’m standing there trying to make sense of things, a golf cart approaches that says “SECURITY” on the side, with a fellow about my age piloting the craft.
Him: “What ya doing?”
Me: “ahh…. Well, I’m supposed to go to the Nugget Diner and get a burger.”
Him: “???”
Me: “I’m doing a rally, and it’s a bonus.”
Him: “When I saw your suit, I figured you weren’t just on a ride.”
Me: “Yeah, well, don’t ask me why. I’m trying to figure out how to go get my burger.”
Him: “I tell ya what - I’ll watch your bike. You hike in and get your burger.”
And off I went. At a near run, I moved along Virginia Street, admiring all of the restored and custom vehicles on display. I find the Nugget Casino, run in the front, through the casino to the back where the diner is, and place my order. Once served, I take my “before” picture, shove it in my face, and take my “after” picture. Suck down the Pepsi, and head back to my bike.
The Aftermath:
And Mr. Security Guy is sitting there, watching my bike and gear. I thanked him profusely, shook his hand, and he wished me well. I noticed the HD tat on his forearm. A fellow rider. I’ll pay that favor forward.
I needed a room. It’s now almost 11:00 am, and I’m starting to feel a bit whacked.
Garmin to the rescue - find button employed, I ride .6 miles to a Clarion hotel with lots of custom rods in the parking lot. I park under the portico, stride to the front desk. The young lady looks at me, and I ask about vacancies. “None available” she replies.
It didn’t register. Fatigue, helmet still on, heat. It just didn’t register. I stand there and just look at her trying to keep my eyes from crossing. Remembering to breathe.
At the office desk behind her is a lady that reminded me of my grandmother. Looking up at me, “you on a bike? Hold on” and she stands up and walks out the side door towards the rooms.
I stand there looking around like an escaped Alzheimer’s patient. Grandma returns. “Give him room 116, it’s ready even though it doesn’t show on the computer.”
I hand over my credit card.
My new grandmother then proceeds to pull out a diagram of the rooms, and tells me that this room has a back patio, and if I ride my bike up onto the sidewalk outside via the handicap ramp, I can tuck my bike onto the private patio for my room. This is way cool.
Paperwork signed, I head outside and do what she said. Into the room, gear off, hot shower (while washing my LD Comfort gear) and I sit down and figure out my next ride to the Phoenix main library. It opens at 11:30 am on Sundays. And into bed I go.
It’s noon on Saturday the 9th.
P.S. Dear Mr. Security Guy and New Grandma, Thank You from the bottom of my heart.
Saturday, August 9th, Sunday, August 10th.
Orion, the Hunter.
Breakfast in Ludlow.
Did ya know Phoenix has a Library inside a Tunnel?
I woke around 8:00 pm. Reviewing the route I had picked for my next bonus, I verified my fatigued results, and geared up for the ride. It’s now Saturday night, and the Phoenix library opens at 11:30 am Sunday. I slowly maneuvered my bike out of the patio, down the handicap ramp, and found a gas station.
Needing food, I hunted down a Del Taco and had a bite, then visited a Walgreens to load some Gatorade into my cooler.
At 9:30 pm I headed out. I had examined the shortest route to Phoenix but decided against it as I had ample time, and there was sparse population along that route. I’d be traveling at night, and wasn’t sure about fuel, etc.
Streets and Trips wanted to route me west to Sacramento, down the 5, and then east on the 10 to Phoenix. Long, but fast.
I picked my own route, using 395 south as I was familiar with it, I had the time, and was comfortable. It gave me a warm and fuzzy.
I moved south down 395 at the speed limit or below. Cranking up the Warm and Safe jacket, heated grips cooking away, I simply rode along enjoying the stars painted across the sky.
I stopped in Kramer Junction to fuel up and headed east on hwy 58. Orion was just beginning his hunt across the sky, lying on his right side just over the eastern horizon.
Orion: “Dude, What are you doing? Why are you sitting on that bike at o-dark-30, riding to find a library??
Me: “You wouldn’t understand. If you have to ask, you don’t get it.”
Orion: “You’re an idiot. Why on earth would you be doing that when you could be home with your family? Sitting in your recliner, watching the game? Drinking beer?”
Me: “Stuff it, you twinkling, loin cloth wearing schmuck! I hope your belt slips, and your sword cuts off your big toe. Who asked your opinion anyway?”
Ignoring Orion’s next comment, I continued on, further determined to get this done.
Miss Garmin was routing me south towards the 10 fwy. 58 led to 40 east, and off at Ludlow. Ludlow used to be a railroad terminal, and still exists with a gas station and the Ludlow Café. I’d stopped there for breakfast with TurboDave and Minuteman on our way to NAFO just two weeks earlier.
I needed some breakfast, and pulled into the parking lot about 5:45 am. Not open. I walked around the café checking for a ‘hours of operation’ sign, but did not find any. Just as I was preparing to climb back on the bike, a waitress unlocked the door and told me to come in. I sat at the counter and drank coffee while she finished her side work, after which she served me breakfast. Sausage and eggs, biscuits and gravy, hash browns. Tummy full, I saddled up and headed south towards the 10.
Heading east out of Ludlow places you on the National Trails Highway, an almost two lane road through the desert. Turning south east, it continues on through Klondike and Bagdad, intersecting Amboy Road at Amboy. Taking Amboy Road south, you roll through the desert, and south of the Marine base, it turns due west.
My two GPS’s did not agree on the route. Having set them differently, my primary wanted to route me almost 19 miles west to Utah Trail, then south for a few, and back, a route of almost 40 miles. My secondary unit suggested I take Iron Age Road, which was only 5.8 miles, saving me almost 34 miles.
No brainer.
As I turned left onto Iron Age Road, the pavement ended in a gawd awful road surface! Packed clay, washboard surface, pockets of loose sand and gravel. This has gotta end, right? Nope. I stood on my pegs for most of the road. Looking at the instruments was futile – everything was buzzing about in a circle, completely unintelligible. I was running at 15 to 20 mph, up on the pegs, waking up when the front end would start to wash out. Dirt mode. I tried not to think how much fun it would be to drop the bike.
Finally arriving at the end, I parked the bike and did a quick inspection for loose or missing fasteners. None found. I would find out two days later that a Molex connector to my dash shelf was under too much tension, and had started to separate itself creating an open. That was it.
Iron Age Road dumped me into hwy 62, east to hwy 177, south to Desert Center and the 10 Freeway. Then east to Phoenix.
Temps are climbing, at 9:30 am I’m seeing 94 degrees, and steadily climbing. 11:00 am Phoenix arrives, and I start following Australian Karen to the library. If you’ve never been to Phoenix, the 10 freeway is built through a tunnel for about 5 blocks under downtown. Miss Garmin takes me into the tunnel eastbound, off on 7th Ave., back onto the 10 westbound, and announces that my waypoint is on the right.
In the slow lane.
In the tunnel.
Now being a somewhat rational person, as well as the fact that I couldn’t see any libraries down there, I realize that this just ain’t so, and what do I do? Well, I continue west, then loop over the freeway heading east, and then head west again, and was again told that my waypoint was in the slow lane. Guess the GPS wasn’t going to change it’s mind.
Let’s see. They have signs guiding you to the library, don’t they? I’m off the freeway, looking for signs. It’s 11:15 am, 100 degrees and climbing quickly, and I’m roaming about looking for signs.
I’m an idiot. I realized that I had the correct waypoint in my GPS. I pulled up at a parking structure in the shade, using the find function, found the listing in the POI’s, and followed the instructions for 3/10’s of a mile. Now THAT was easy. 102 F at this point, parking in the only shade I could find, I stripped off my gear and headed for the entrance. After booking this one, I called George, discussion ensued, and found he had been standing at the main entrance to the building when he saved the waypoint. Which just happened to be over the right lane of the 10 west. Ain’t technology great?
I stood in the shade for a while, hydrating, cooling both myself and the bike down, relaxing on my feet for just a bit, trying to balance how I was feeling.
The only shade in the parking lot:
My next bonus was Atlanta. The most direct route was east on the 10, but I would encounter high temperatures most of the way. I elected to head north to Flagstaff, then east on 40, which Weather.com showed to be in the 70’s and 80’s the entire way.
I hadn’t considered tropical storm Fay in the mix.
I headed for Flagstaff to get a room. After all, it was Sunday, I had one bonus left, and I still had till 8:00 am Thursday to make the finish. Around 2:30 pm I hit Camp Verde, about 60 miles south of Flagstaff. I needed some lunch, and pulled into a Taco Bell.
As I sat there eating my crunchy tacos, I looked out the window, and there was a Days Inn. I finished my meal, rode the 200 yards to the hotel and checked in. Into bed after a hot shower, sleep fell quickly. Back up at 9 pm, walked to Denny’s for dinner and back to bed.
Monday would be Atlanta, a short 1780+ miles away. ETA at Ann’s Snack Bar on Tuesday approx 1:00 pm.
Monday, August 11th, Tuesday, August 12th.
New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas.
Forgiveness. Please?
I awoke around dawn, packed everything up, Denny’s for breakfast. Headed north to Flagstaff, then hung a right on the 40 east. Heading for my Ghetto Burger.
Rolling east, I realized I was going to be riding through states I’d never visited before. Out of Arizona and across New Mexico, into the panhandle of Texas; across the entire state of Oklahoma, and into Arkansas. Ahead of me lay Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia.
I don’t know about you, but I tend to think about ‘things’ quite a bit when I’m riding along. Riding in a rally like this we’re alone. Even though we encounter dozens if not hundreds of people every day, we’re alone, because none of them understand. Go ahead – tell a waitress in Oklahoma that you plan on being in California in 20 hours. See what reaction you get. Tell the gas station attendant in Oregon that you’re on your way to Atlanta for a burger. Again, the same.
There’s a point where mental fatigue hits; kind of like ‘hitting the wall’ in a marathon. Empty. Unsure. I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and make it all go away. Suck my thumb. But I couldn’t. I had to grunt it out, get it done. It would get better after it was over. I was thinking that taking up self administered lobotomies as a hobby would be simpler.
FOCUS on what you had to do, I thought. This is what I was here to learn.
Evening fell around Shawnee, Oklahoma. The edge of tropical storm Fay started about there, and I encountered my first rain of the trip. As I moved east, the rain intensified, never letting up, soaking every bit of the bike.
When riding in the dark in the rain, your lights tend to glare a bit in the diffused water flying around you. Oncoming traffic does the same, and soon, any little droplet of water anywhere on your screen, your face shield, or your glasses acts as a refractor, severely reducing your visibility. As the rain increases, your visibility decreases, and the safety factors involved change not for the better.
I slowed down and moved to the right lane, and was soon being passed by everyone. I started stopping at most of the rest stops offered along the way. I’d pull in and park, find some shelter and wipe down everything, then wait for a few minutes, hoping that the rain would ease or even cease. Wasn’t happening.
I pulled into a rest stop about 60 miles east of Fort Smith, and was amazed at the number of semi trucks parked there. They were ‘stuffed’ into every slot, as well as parked in the drive lanes. The rain was fairly intense at this point, and I guess the drivers decided to wait it out. Me, I just got back on the highway and continued along, completely ignorant of what I should have read into all those parked trucks.
Around 4:30 am or so, I was riding along at about 25 mph, hugging the right shoulder limit line, emergency flashers going to make myself more visible. The rain was so intense that I could not see the left shoulder, the center line, nor the right shoulder ahead of me, and could only follow that white limit line for maybe the 30 feet I could see.
And that’s when it hit me: I was nuts. This was NOT safe, and I was really risking things by doing this. I had the time to change my plan, so I did.
Morrilton, Arkansas, I pulled off, found the closest hotel, and checked into a Days Inn.
As the dark lifted while I was pulling gear off the bike, I was seriously considering my options. Pulling off my boots, I set them upside down in a corner so the water would drain out, and spread my now soaked gear all over the room in hopes that it would somehow become a bit less damp.
Into bed, I decided to deal with my schedule change when I awoke.
I awoke less than 4 hours later, somehow having figured it out while sleeping. I would continue riding now that it was daylight, and ride as long as I was able to safely see where I was going. I geared up, and was back on the road about 11:00 am, heading for Atlanta.
East out of Arkansas, through Mississippi, and into Alabama, the rain never stopped. There were a few moments in there where it took a breath, but it just rained, and rained, and rained.
As the afternoon wore on and moved into evening, I started paying attention to how things were going - could I still see well? How am I feeling? When my answers changed I knew it was time to enact my plan, and get off the road. About 8:30 pm in Leeds, Alabama, I pulled into a Holiday Inn booking the last available room. I was a short 134 miles from my next bonus, Ann’s Snack Bar. Eazy Peazy.
And this is when I realized I screwed up - Monday the 11th was my 29th wedding anniversary. And I hadn’t called my bride. Ooops.
Wednesday, August 13.
The Ghetto
A Cultural Icon
"Don’t Eat More Than You Can Lift" (Miss Piggy)
Home To Tulsa.
Sleeping in, awaking about 7:00 am, I was feeling wonderful. I loaded up the bike and then partook in another ‘continental’ breakfast. I’m sorry, but hard boiled eggs are just not a breakfast item as far as I’m concerned. The rain had finally lifted, and I was looking forward to that last little bit of ride for my last bonus.
I had ample time to make Ann’s, as they did not open until 11:30. I set off on a leisurely ride into Atlanta, and at 9:45 am, I pulled into a parking spot at Ann’s Snack Bar. I was first in line for my last bonus.
I hadn’t even climbed off the bike before I was ‘approached’ by one of the locals. A gentleman in his 40’s ambled over to me and started speaking; still wearing my helmet and ear plugs I was watching his lips move, but wasn’t getting the gist of what he was saying. “Hold on a sec” I said, removing my helmet and plugs. “How ya doing?” I asked.
He’s looking at me, not quite sure. I’m not sure either. “You looking for spare change?” I asked. His head nodded in affirmation. “I gotta run to that gas station down the street to hit the head - here’s 5 bucks. Is it cool to park here?” He grinned, said he’d keep an eye on things.
Returning from the gas station about 5 minutes later, he blessed me, and moved on.
Right next door to the snack bar is an auto body shop surrounded by a 6 foot tall chain link fence. Just inside of that fence is a really huge pit bull, just kinda checking me out, wondering what was going on, perhaps guessing how I’d taste.
I wondered for a moment if he knew Peaches. Doubted it.
Right behind him comes one of the owners of the shop with a broom, he’s sweeping up the lot in preparation for the day’s business. “How ya doing?” he asks, eyeing me. Seems it was way to early for lunch, and he was just making sure. “I’m fine, I’m here to get a burger from Miss Ann.” He stopped sweeping, and we stood on opposite sides of the fence and we discussed Ghetto burgers, Miss Ann, and what she meant to him. He obviously held the lady in high regard.
He moved on to the rest of his opening work, and I retreated into the screened in porch that shades a few tables for folks waiting to enter. As there were no chairs, I sat on the steps climbing into the diner, and rested.
About 10:30, A pair of fuzzy pink house slippers walk into view around the corner. The wearer of those slippers was clothed in a pink floral house dress, and she moves across the front of the porch to the fence separating the auto body shop from the snack bar - and yells “WILLIAM – GIVE ME MY BROOM!” Now, she doesn’t know I’m there yet, as she’s outside of the screen.
William, the gentleman I was speaking with earlier, gave her the broom. She enters the screened porch where I’m sitting on the steps, and stops where she sees me. “How ya doing, Ma’am?” I ask, letting her know I’m not a threat. “I’m early, but I’m waiting for the place to open.” She relaxed at that point, and began cleaning up inside the porch, all the while carrying on a discussion with me about Miss Ann. I was meeting Denise, Miss Ann’s only employee. She brought out the chairs for the tables, I helped her set them up.
When I told Denise what I was doing, she said “We had this lady and man in here on a motorbike earlier this week - do you know them?” And I did, as it was Tom and Rosie Sperry on their new Gold Wing.
Miss Ann arrived at about 11:00 am in her black pickup truck, the bed loaded with the day’s supplies. I jumped in and helped Denise and Ann unload the truck, and when finished, I retreated back out side till seating time. Some locals were starting to arrive in anticipation of the first seating.
Miss Denise left before opening, said she would return about 3:00 pm to help with the afternoon work.
I was so looking forward to this burger.
Customers started to show up, each sitting under the screen awning, waiting for the first seating. At 11:30 am sharp, Miss Ann opened the door to the diner, looks at me, and says “ you’re first in line, you come in and sit down.” And so I did, followed by the next 7 patrons.
I won’t go into detail about the burgers. You can find experiences on the web, even on Wikipedia. Miss Ann cooked our burgers, then ensured that I was the first one served as I had helped out earlier. I will say that I stuffed my face. It was good, and I would ride from my home in Orange, California, to Atlanta for another one.
Just as I was finishing, I heard the door open behind me. “Sir, you’ll need to wait outside” Miss Ann said. “I’ve just stepped in to say hello to my friend,” replied the intruder. I recognized that voice – it was Chris Ogden, a fellow Spank rider from Hollywood, California. I hadn’t seen any other Spank riders since the start – and here I was, 6 days into this thing, and there’s Chris. It was good to see him. Finally, someone that understood. As soon as I paid up, I joined Chris outside – he was in good spirits, and obviously well ahead of me in points. And he was safe. I told him I’d see him in Tulsa, and geared up. I had 20 hours to make the finish, a mere 780 miles or so away.
An uneventful ride to the Tulsa Marriot and the finish at 8:00 am on the 14th. I arrived about 1:00 am, retrieved the two parcels of clean clothes I’d shipped to myself almost three weeks ago, and retired to my room, leaving a wake up call for 6 am.
Thursday, August 14th.
It’s Over. Yes, It’s Finished.
I Don’t Know the Answer.
The check in window opened at 8:00 am, and I was second or third in line.
I lost points for three incorrect fuel receipts, and I had one ‘non-bonus’ picture on the card, as well as a couple of other things I could have improved my processing of.
But I finished. Bonii verified, paperwork finished, process done. I’d completed it.
Final standing? 16th. 5,985 miles.
I’d achieved my goal.
I called my bride Jeannette about 9:00 am, as it was now 7:00 am on the west coast.
Me: “Hon, I finished.”
Da Boss: “Wonderful! Are you glad it’s over?”
I was at a loss for words. I didn’t know how to answer her. In fact, I still don’t. I had been working up to this experience for almost two years, and now it was over. I’d completed my long term goal of finishing, and had nothing else scheduled to ride.
The rally? Amazing. Aside from the physical part of riding in something like this, the mental component is huge. I look at the rides done by Matt, Ken Meese, Tom and Rosie Sperry, Marc Crane, Terry Neal, and I fail to comprehend how they can do it. They’ve all ‘cracked the nut’ on what’s necessary. They all demonstrate the mental presence and strength to handle the duration of a multi-day, and do it with apparent ease.
I’m not there yet. I have a lot to learn.
EDIT on 10-9-08 to correct spelling and add picture.
This is for you, Mr. Bates. Hugs and Kisses!
S P A N K 2 0 0 8
My only goal of the SPANK rally was to be considered a finisher. To prove to myself that I could do multiple days in the saddle, covering long distances, discovering how I dealt with unknowns…. Ensuring that I was able to function as was necessary to complete the duration. 7 days of riding, covering distances as yet unproven to myself. To summarize - I finished. I completed what I set out to do.
The best $600 bucks tuition I’ve ever spent.
And so let me start here, somewhere along the Klamath Falls Main Highway in Oregon.
I decided I needed sleep. I’m not quite sure what town I was in, but based upon time of day, I’ve since figured out it was just north of the Oregon/California border, probably Altamont, Oregon or perhaps Merrill, Oregon, in that area. I’d left Twin Falls, Idaho early Friday morning, and had claimed my first bonus of the Seattle Main Library in downtown Seattle, Washington about 5:30 pm. Ain’t nothing like downtown Seattle at 5:30 pm on a Friday evening.
Around 2:30 A.M. or so I noticed a recently built coin operated car wash right next to a Shell station. I pulled into the facility, and found that the vacuum bays were sparkling new, no litter, and lots of very inviting clean pavement. “This should do” I thought - and selected the vacuum bay farthest from the street. I parked the bike, climbed off, set my Screaming Meanie for 32 minutes, gloves on the asphalt, and laid down. Helmet cushioned by my gloves, the screamer on my chest, I settled in for a nap. I cracked open the chin bar on my helmet, adjusting it so the sodium vapor lights of the car wash would not shine directly into my eyes.
Sleep arrives fast when I do this - I don’t know why, but I’m very comfortable lying there in my Roadcrafter, cushioned by all the armor padding in the suit, my world quieted by the helmet and ear plugs.
And I quickly slipped into darkness. Ah, blessed sleep. And I began to dream.
My muse announced her presence by licking my jawline. Warm, soft, her tongue caressed along my right jaw, and was followed by another lick, this one a bit lower, under the jawline. A gentle sigh. A gentle ‘snork.’
Under the opiate of sleep, I fantasized, wondering what was in store.
I noticed the scent of her most recent meal…. Hmmmm….. Big Mac? Green burrito? … ALPO ? ?????
BEAR!!!! I thought!! Sitting BOLT upright, the Screaming Meanie flying off my chest, my fight or flight response in run 9, blinded by the partially opened chinbar of my helmet, I was greeted by a welcome sight; a blonde Labrador retriever.
Once I remembered to breathe, I reached out and rumpled her ears. She was wearing a collar, her I.D. tag declaring “Peaches” and her owners’ phone number. I doubted they knew she was roaming about. Peaches was very happy to see me - smiling as only Labs can do.
Laughing in relief, struggling to my feet, I stepped to my bike and retrieved a small piece of jerky. “Peaches, Sit!” I asked, and she complied, followed by her reward of salted and dried bovine.
Well, she’s trained, Cool !! “Peaches, Shake!” I asked, holding out my left hand.
And, just as her paw touched mine, the Screaming Meanie fired off at 120 db, 32 minutes after I’d started it.
Peaches decided she needed to be somewhere else. Quite frankly, I’ve never seen a large breed dog move that quickly.
Scrabbling to retrieve the screamer from the asphalt, I turned it off, and looking away at the hind end of a far receding dog, I wished her well, regretting what may have been.
That was when I noticed that she’d apparently been garbage diving. I was reminded of this via my helmet for several days hence.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The Beginning:
Odo Check and Iowa
What did I get my self into?
Bleeding Brains
I’d left home on Sunday, August 3rd, about 5 am or so - I headed for Omaha, NE via the most direct route - out the 15, then east on the 70 through Colorado. I over nighted Sunday in Glenwood Springs, then on to Omaha, arriving Monday evening on the 4th.
Odo checks and tech inspection weren’t until the 6th, so I had planned to arrive a day early in order to visit my wife’s uncle, who had undergone a quintuple bypass about 3 weeks previously. I slept in, enjoying this last moment of sanity before the rally started - and spent some time with Uncle and Aunt that evening. Good to see them, it had been a long time.
Wednesday was registration, tech inspection, and odo check - and I learned that if you miss the turn off for the turn-around point, Iowa doesn’t necessarily have another offramp for a really long distance.
Once I successfully completed my odo check on the second try, we headed for the riders meeting, the waypoints were handed out, and we all worked to get them downloaded to laptops, and into our gps’s.
That evening at the riders’ dinner, the packs were handed out after dessert – and when George told us to open them….
You could hear the brains leaking out of our collective ears.
Quiet. Absolute Dead Quiet.
Holy &$^%!, I thought!
I’ve known George for a bit now - and I’ve always considered him a very intelligent, creative individual, a good friend.
But this was amazing. How on earth? I’m still not sure if he was visited by the rally gods and was selected to take endurance rallying in the U.S. to another level, or perhaps he needs to change his meds, or if he’s just really sadistic.
Here’s another pic of George’s now infamous bonus map -
What have I done?!?!? Why am I here?!?!?
Maybe if I hide under the table they’ll forget I signed up for this?
We all retired to our rooms to design our routes. I was trying to figure out what on earth was going on.
I picked a route that was absolutely monumental !! Heading to the north west, I would sweep down the western United States, claiming bonus after bonus, then head east along the 10, vacuuming up the many bonii there; to the south east, then the eastern seaboard, then to the north east, cleaning up on every bonus , easily defeating the other entrants in their folly quests!! Streets and Trips showed just a wee bit over 8,000 miles, which I should easily be able to do. After all, I’d completed a few saddle sores, and even a BBG !! Nothing to it !!
Right.
I’m thinking my helmet was too tight.
Thursday, August 7th.
Choking on my spoonful.
7:45 am the next morning, the riders were queued up and ready to start. I was there, not quite sure just what it was I was doing, but I had a plan, by golly, and I was gonna go somewheres !!! My route looked like a bunch of nightcrawlers trying to stay away from a hook.
And so it began. First, we all danced the Hokey Pokey. It’s on YouTube. I won’t give you the link, but if you really want to watch it, use the search function. I hope it’s no longer there. I was standing in the back, my Hi-Viz Stitch quite visible.
George ‘launched’ us – and I headed west, intending to make the Seattle library the next morning. Only 1700+ miles away, I figured that a comfortable 26 to 28 hours would get me there.
Riding along and riding along and riding along, I had plenty of time to second guess myself. I started to think about my route - about the places I was headed, the time frames, etc., and began to have misgivings about my choices. I simply was no longer sure about what I was doing. Was I biting off more than I could chew? Did I have even the slightest idea what was in store? I was riding into this huge experience, and not quite sure I would survive it, much less finish. I think Overwhelming fits here.
Passing through Wyoming, and into Utah, the weight of my uncertainty grew. Around Ogden it was really weighing heavily. I was starting to get that “deer in the headlights” feeling.
Moving into Idaho, heavy winds, getting late, I decided to put the brakes on. About 1100 miles into the day, I used the ‘Find” button on the 2730.
I was routed to a Best Western Inn in Twin Falls, Idaho. Around 11:30 pm, I checked into a room, pulled the gear off the bike, and settled into a chair, with maps and rally packs spread around me. Laptop powered up, I started running ‘what ifs’ - and decided that I needed to scale things back. When building my first route, I had forgotten my reason for doing this rally. I did NOT want to start out with my hair on fire, and go down in a blaze of failure because I’d over estimated my ability.
I had to get past that. I had to complete what I’d set out to do. My goal was to finish.
I scaled it way back – deciding to claim only one blue and one orange bonus. Seattle. Reno, Phoenix, and Atlanta. This was attainable, and I was able to focus on one waypoint at a time.
One thing at a time. Get it done. Finish it.
I needed to know how my physiological and psychological makeup would tolerate the aspects that are part of any multi-day rally - fatigue, morale, situational awareness, pressure of time windows, etc. This is what I was here to learn.
Having a plan that was doable was huge. The uncertainty of the unknown had lifted; all I had to do was ride the bike and maintain myself. I can do this.
I cleaned up my room and retired. I decided to let myself sleep until I woke. I’ve found that when you can do this, it’s very valuable. Your body will tell you what it needs.
Friday, August 8th, Saturday, August 9th.
Seattle Traffic and Wonderful Perfume.
Incredible Generosity from Strangers.
Waking about 6 am the next morning, I loaded up the bike, and then walked over to the ‘continental’ breakfast. I got the second to last banana. I doubt anyone ate the last banana, it was looking like something that snuck in on the mud flap of a semi.
I headed for Seattle to visit the library.
From Twin Falls, west on 84, north on 82, west on 90. Arriving at Seattle around 5:00 pm, to discover that the car pool lane was shut down for construction. A bright sunny afternoon, clear skies, and lots of traffic. Not being in California, lane sharing was out of the question. The urge to do so was there; but I resisted.
Clutching along in first gear, I moved in behind a Mercedes convertible with a couple of Seattleites enjoying the day. One of the things about motorcycling that we all notice but never really think about are the smells that we encounter. Impending rain, warm wet asphalt, something that used to be alive. Cigarette smoke, livestock trucks, freshly mown alfalfa fields. Truly in the environment.
Mr. Seattleite was driving, and Mrs. Seattleite was wearing an absolutely wonderful perfume which I was catching whiffs of during the stopped traffic. Nice. A bit of a distraction from the conditions. I thought about yelling ‘nice perfume!!” at her - but not being able to lane share meant I would not be able to escape.
I finally arrived at the library about 5:30 pm, Friday evening. Traffic up the wazoo, and everyone trying to beat each other out of town. How could I have been such an idiot!? One way streets, far from level hills, and after two laps around the block no where to park. I found a spot across the street and snapped my pic, saddled up, and got the H E double hockey sticks out of there.
Mixed in with all the commuters bailing out of town on Friday evening, it was a bit of a grinder. I almost became ‘one with the bus.’
As I moved south on the 5, the traffic eased and speeds picked up. Moving through sunset and into the evening, I turned east on 58 at Eugene towards Reno and my next bonus.
Aside from meeting Peaches, (whom I still miss) this stretch was uneventful. At sunrise I was still about 200 miles north of Reno, moving along towards my breakfast. The bonus was to order an ‘Awful Awful Burger’ at the Nugget Diner, take before and after pictures, and then a pic of the line.
Finally arriving in Reno, Australian Karen is trying to take me to the diner - but there’s a wee bit of a problem - Hot August Nights is there, and downtown Reno is shut down, as in ALL THE STREETS WERE BLOCKED OFF. This sucks. I ride around a bit, trying to figure it out. Did I mention that this sucks? It’s now about 10:00 am, I’ve been up for 28 hours, and I’m hungry. I want my burger !!!
About 5 blocks south of the Nugget on Virginia Street, I pull into a bank parking lot. I climbed off the bike and started to figure out how I was going to do this. As I’m standing there trying to make sense of things, a golf cart approaches that says “SECURITY” on the side, with a fellow about my age piloting the craft.
Him: “What ya doing?”
Me: “ahh…. Well, I’m supposed to go to the Nugget Diner and get a burger.”
Him: “???”
Me: “I’m doing a rally, and it’s a bonus.”
Him: “When I saw your suit, I figured you weren’t just on a ride.”
Me: “Yeah, well, don’t ask me why. I’m trying to figure out how to go get my burger.”
Him: “I tell ya what - I’ll watch your bike. You hike in and get your burger.”
And off I went. At a near run, I moved along Virginia Street, admiring all of the restored and custom vehicles on display. I find the Nugget Casino, run in the front, through the casino to the back where the diner is, and place my order. Once served, I take my “before” picture, shove it in my face, and take my “after” picture. Suck down the Pepsi, and head back to my bike.
The Aftermath:
And Mr. Security Guy is sitting there, watching my bike and gear. I thanked him profusely, shook his hand, and he wished me well. I noticed the HD tat on his forearm. A fellow rider. I’ll pay that favor forward.
I needed a room. It’s now almost 11:00 am, and I’m starting to feel a bit whacked.
Garmin to the rescue - find button employed, I ride .6 miles to a Clarion hotel with lots of custom rods in the parking lot. I park under the portico, stride to the front desk. The young lady looks at me, and I ask about vacancies. “None available” she replies.
It didn’t register. Fatigue, helmet still on, heat. It just didn’t register. I stand there and just look at her trying to keep my eyes from crossing. Remembering to breathe.
At the office desk behind her is a lady that reminded me of my grandmother. Looking up at me, “you on a bike? Hold on” and she stands up and walks out the side door towards the rooms.
I stand there looking around like an escaped Alzheimer’s patient. Grandma returns. “Give him room 116, it’s ready even though it doesn’t show on the computer.”
I hand over my credit card.
My new grandmother then proceeds to pull out a diagram of the rooms, and tells me that this room has a back patio, and if I ride my bike up onto the sidewalk outside via the handicap ramp, I can tuck my bike onto the private patio for my room. This is way cool.
Paperwork signed, I head outside and do what she said. Into the room, gear off, hot shower (while washing my LD Comfort gear) and I sit down and figure out my next ride to the Phoenix main library. It opens at 11:30 am on Sundays. And into bed I go.
It’s noon on Saturday the 9th.
P.S. Dear Mr. Security Guy and New Grandma, Thank You from the bottom of my heart.
Saturday, August 9th, Sunday, August 10th.
Orion, the Hunter.
Breakfast in Ludlow.
Did ya know Phoenix has a Library inside a Tunnel?
I woke around 8:00 pm. Reviewing the route I had picked for my next bonus, I verified my fatigued results, and geared up for the ride. It’s now Saturday night, and the Phoenix library opens at 11:30 am Sunday. I slowly maneuvered my bike out of the patio, down the handicap ramp, and found a gas station.
Needing food, I hunted down a Del Taco and had a bite, then visited a Walgreens to load some Gatorade into my cooler.
At 9:30 pm I headed out. I had examined the shortest route to Phoenix but decided against it as I had ample time, and there was sparse population along that route. I’d be traveling at night, and wasn’t sure about fuel, etc.
Streets and Trips wanted to route me west to Sacramento, down the 5, and then east on the 10 to Phoenix. Long, but fast.
I picked my own route, using 395 south as I was familiar with it, I had the time, and was comfortable. It gave me a warm and fuzzy.
I moved south down 395 at the speed limit or below. Cranking up the Warm and Safe jacket, heated grips cooking away, I simply rode along enjoying the stars painted across the sky.
I stopped in Kramer Junction to fuel up and headed east on hwy 58. Orion was just beginning his hunt across the sky, lying on his right side just over the eastern horizon.
Orion: “Dude, What are you doing? Why are you sitting on that bike at o-dark-30, riding to find a library??
Me: “You wouldn’t understand. If you have to ask, you don’t get it.”
Orion: “You’re an idiot. Why on earth would you be doing that when you could be home with your family? Sitting in your recliner, watching the game? Drinking beer?”
Me: “Stuff it, you twinkling, loin cloth wearing schmuck! I hope your belt slips, and your sword cuts off your big toe. Who asked your opinion anyway?”
Ignoring Orion’s next comment, I continued on, further determined to get this done.
Miss Garmin was routing me south towards the 10 fwy. 58 led to 40 east, and off at Ludlow. Ludlow used to be a railroad terminal, and still exists with a gas station and the Ludlow Café. I’d stopped there for breakfast with TurboDave and Minuteman on our way to NAFO just two weeks earlier.
I needed some breakfast, and pulled into the parking lot about 5:45 am. Not open. I walked around the café checking for a ‘hours of operation’ sign, but did not find any. Just as I was preparing to climb back on the bike, a waitress unlocked the door and told me to come in. I sat at the counter and drank coffee while she finished her side work, after which she served me breakfast. Sausage and eggs, biscuits and gravy, hash browns. Tummy full, I saddled up and headed south towards the 10.
Heading east out of Ludlow places you on the National Trails Highway, an almost two lane road through the desert. Turning south east, it continues on through Klondike and Bagdad, intersecting Amboy Road at Amboy. Taking Amboy Road south, you roll through the desert, and south of the Marine base, it turns due west.
My two GPS’s did not agree on the route. Having set them differently, my primary wanted to route me almost 19 miles west to Utah Trail, then south for a few, and back, a route of almost 40 miles. My secondary unit suggested I take Iron Age Road, which was only 5.8 miles, saving me almost 34 miles.
No brainer.
As I turned left onto Iron Age Road, the pavement ended in a gawd awful road surface! Packed clay, washboard surface, pockets of loose sand and gravel. This has gotta end, right? Nope. I stood on my pegs for most of the road. Looking at the instruments was futile – everything was buzzing about in a circle, completely unintelligible. I was running at 15 to 20 mph, up on the pegs, waking up when the front end would start to wash out. Dirt mode. I tried not to think how much fun it would be to drop the bike.
Finally arriving at the end, I parked the bike and did a quick inspection for loose or missing fasteners. None found. I would find out two days later that a Molex connector to my dash shelf was under too much tension, and had started to separate itself creating an open. That was it.
Iron Age Road dumped me into hwy 62, east to hwy 177, south to Desert Center and the 10 Freeway. Then east to Phoenix.
Temps are climbing, at 9:30 am I’m seeing 94 degrees, and steadily climbing. 11:00 am Phoenix arrives, and I start following Australian Karen to the library. If you’ve never been to Phoenix, the 10 freeway is built through a tunnel for about 5 blocks under downtown. Miss Garmin takes me into the tunnel eastbound, off on 7th Ave., back onto the 10 westbound, and announces that my waypoint is on the right.
In the slow lane.
In the tunnel.
Now being a somewhat rational person, as well as the fact that I couldn’t see any libraries down there, I realize that this just ain’t so, and what do I do? Well, I continue west, then loop over the freeway heading east, and then head west again, and was again told that my waypoint was in the slow lane. Guess the GPS wasn’t going to change it’s mind.
Let’s see. They have signs guiding you to the library, don’t they? I’m off the freeway, looking for signs. It’s 11:15 am, 100 degrees and climbing quickly, and I’m roaming about looking for signs.
I’m an idiot. I realized that I had the correct waypoint in my GPS. I pulled up at a parking structure in the shade, using the find function, found the listing in the POI’s, and followed the instructions for 3/10’s of a mile. Now THAT was easy. 102 F at this point, parking in the only shade I could find, I stripped off my gear and headed for the entrance. After booking this one, I called George, discussion ensued, and found he had been standing at the main entrance to the building when he saved the waypoint. Which just happened to be over the right lane of the 10 west. Ain’t technology great?
I stood in the shade for a while, hydrating, cooling both myself and the bike down, relaxing on my feet for just a bit, trying to balance how I was feeling.
The only shade in the parking lot:
My next bonus was Atlanta. The most direct route was east on the 10, but I would encounter high temperatures most of the way. I elected to head north to Flagstaff, then east on 40, which Weather.com showed to be in the 70’s and 80’s the entire way.
I hadn’t considered tropical storm Fay in the mix.
I headed for Flagstaff to get a room. After all, it was Sunday, I had one bonus left, and I still had till 8:00 am Thursday to make the finish. Around 2:30 pm I hit Camp Verde, about 60 miles south of Flagstaff. I needed some lunch, and pulled into a Taco Bell.
As I sat there eating my crunchy tacos, I looked out the window, and there was a Days Inn. I finished my meal, rode the 200 yards to the hotel and checked in. Into bed after a hot shower, sleep fell quickly. Back up at 9 pm, walked to Denny’s for dinner and back to bed.
Monday would be Atlanta, a short 1780+ miles away. ETA at Ann’s Snack Bar on Tuesday approx 1:00 pm.
Monday, August 11th, Tuesday, August 12th.
New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas.
Forgiveness. Please?
I awoke around dawn, packed everything up, Denny’s for breakfast. Headed north to Flagstaff, then hung a right on the 40 east. Heading for my Ghetto Burger.
Rolling east, I realized I was going to be riding through states I’d never visited before. Out of Arizona and across New Mexico, into the panhandle of Texas; across the entire state of Oklahoma, and into Arkansas. Ahead of me lay Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia.
I don’t know about you, but I tend to think about ‘things’ quite a bit when I’m riding along. Riding in a rally like this we’re alone. Even though we encounter dozens if not hundreds of people every day, we’re alone, because none of them understand. Go ahead – tell a waitress in Oklahoma that you plan on being in California in 20 hours. See what reaction you get. Tell the gas station attendant in Oregon that you’re on your way to Atlanta for a burger. Again, the same.
There’s a point where mental fatigue hits; kind of like ‘hitting the wall’ in a marathon. Empty. Unsure. I wanted to curl up in the fetal position and make it all go away. Suck my thumb. But I couldn’t. I had to grunt it out, get it done. It would get better after it was over. I was thinking that taking up self administered lobotomies as a hobby would be simpler.
FOCUS on what you had to do, I thought. This is what I was here to learn.
Evening fell around Shawnee, Oklahoma. The edge of tropical storm Fay started about there, and I encountered my first rain of the trip. As I moved east, the rain intensified, never letting up, soaking every bit of the bike.
When riding in the dark in the rain, your lights tend to glare a bit in the diffused water flying around you. Oncoming traffic does the same, and soon, any little droplet of water anywhere on your screen, your face shield, or your glasses acts as a refractor, severely reducing your visibility. As the rain increases, your visibility decreases, and the safety factors involved change not for the better.
I slowed down and moved to the right lane, and was soon being passed by everyone. I started stopping at most of the rest stops offered along the way. I’d pull in and park, find some shelter and wipe down everything, then wait for a few minutes, hoping that the rain would ease or even cease. Wasn’t happening.
I pulled into a rest stop about 60 miles east of Fort Smith, and was amazed at the number of semi trucks parked there. They were ‘stuffed’ into every slot, as well as parked in the drive lanes. The rain was fairly intense at this point, and I guess the drivers decided to wait it out. Me, I just got back on the highway and continued along, completely ignorant of what I should have read into all those parked trucks.
Around 4:30 am or so, I was riding along at about 25 mph, hugging the right shoulder limit line, emergency flashers going to make myself more visible. The rain was so intense that I could not see the left shoulder, the center line, nor the right shoulder ahead of me, and could only follow that white limit line for maybe the 30 feet I could see.
And that’s when it hit me: I was nuts. This was NOT safe, and I was really risking things by doing this. I had the time to change my plan, so I did.
Morrilton, Arkansas, I pulled off, found the closest hotel, and checked into a Days Inn.
As the dark lifted while I was pulling gear off the bike, I was seriously considering my options. Pulling off my boots, I set them upside down in a corner so the water would drain out, and spread my now soaked gear all over the room in hopes that it would somehow become a bit less damp.
Into bed, I decided to deal with my schedule change when I awoke.
I awoke less than 4 hours later, somehow having figured it out while sleeping. I would continue riding now that it was daylight, and ride as long as I was able to safely see where I was going. I geared up, and was back on the road about 11:00 am, heading for Atlanta.
East out of Arkansas, through Mississippi, and into Alabama, the rain never stopped. There were a few moments in there where it took a breath, but it just rained, and rained, and rained.
As the afternoon wore on and moved into evening, I started paying attention to how things were going - could I still see well? How am I feeling? When my answers changed I knew it was time to enact my plan, and get off the road. About 8:30 pm in Leeds, Alabama, I pulled into a Holiday Inn booking the last available room. I was a short 134 miles from my next bonus, Ann’s Snack Bar. Eazy Peazy.
And this is when I realized I screwed up - Monday the 11th was my 29th wedding anniversary. And I hadn’t called my bride. Ooops.
Wednesday, August 13.
The Ghetto
A Cultural Icon
"Don’t Eat More Than You Can Lift" (Miss Piggy)
Home To Tulsa.
Sleeping in, awaking about 7:00 am, I was feeling wonderful. I loaded up the bike and then partook in another ‘continental’ breakfast. I’m sorry, but hard boiled eggs are just not a breakfast item as far as I’m concerned. The rain had finally lifted, and I was looking forward to that last little bit of ride for my last bonus.
I had ample time to make Ann’s, as they did not open until 11:30. I set off on a leisurely ride into Atlanta, and at 9:45 am, I pulled into a parking spot at Ann’s Snack Bar. I was first in line for my last bonus.
I hadn’t even climbed off the bike before I was ‘approached’ by one of the locals. A gentleman in his 40’s ambled over to me and started speaking; still wearing my helmet and ear plugs I was watching his lips move, but wasn’t getting the gist of what he was saying. “Hold on a sec” I said, removing my helmet and plugs. “How ya doing?” I asked.
He’s looking at me, not quite sure. I’m not sure either. “You looking for spare change?” I asked. His head nodded in affirmation. “I gotta run to that gas station down the street to hit the head - here’s 5 bucks. Is it cool to park here?” He grinned, said he’d keep an eye on things.
Returning from the gas station about 5 minutes later, he blessed me, and moved on.
Right next door to the snack bar is an auto body shop surrounded by a 6 foot tall chain link fence. Just inside of that fence is a really huge pit bull, just kinda checking me out, wondering what was going on, perhaps guessing how I’d taste.
I wondered for a moment if he knew Peaches. Doubted it.
Right behind him comes one of the owners of the shop with a broom, he’s sweeping up the lot in preparation for the day’s business. “How ya doing?” he asks, eyeing me. Seems it was way to early for lunch, and he was just making sure. “I’m fine, I’m here to get a burger from Miss Ann.” He stopped sweeping, and we stood on opposite sides of the fence and we discussed Ghetto burgers, Miss Ann, and what she meant to him. He obviously held the lady in high regard.
He moved on to the rest of his opening work, and I retreated into the screened in porch that shades a few tables for folks waiting to enter. As there were no chairs, I sat on the steps climbing into the diner, and rested.
About 10:30, A pair of fuzzy pink house slippers walk into view around the corner. The wearer of those slippers was clothed in a pink floral house dress, and she moves across the front of the porch to the fence separating the auto body shop from the snack bar - and yells “WILLIAM – GIVE ME MY BROOM!” Now, she doesn’t know I’m there yet, as she’s outside of the screen.
William, the gentleman I was speaking with earlier, gave her the broom. She enters the screened porch where I’m sitting on the steps, and stops where she sees me. “How ya doing, Ma’am?” I ask, letting her know I’m not a threat. “I’m early, but I’m waiting for the place to open.” She relaxed at that point, and began cleaning up inside the porch, all the while carrying on a discussion with me about Miss Ann. I was meeting Denise, Miss Ann’s only employee. She brought out the chairs for the tables, I helped her set them up.
When I told Denise what I was doing, she said “We had this lady and man in here on a motorbike earlier this week - do you know them?” And I did, as it was Tom and Rosie Sperry on their new Gold Wing.
Miss Ann arrived at about 11:00 am in her black pickup truck, the bed loaded with the day’s supplies. I jumped in and helped Denise and Ann unload the truck, and when finished, I retreated back out side till seating time. Some locals were starting to arrive in anticipation of the first seating.
Miss Denise left before opening, said she would return about 3:00 pm to help with the afternoon work.
I was so looking forward to this burger.
Customers started to show up, each sitting under the screen awning, waiting for the first seating. At 11:30 am sharp, Miss Ann opened the door to the diner, looks at me, and says “ you’re first in line, you come in and sit down.” And so I did, followed by the next 7 patrons.
I won’t go into detail about the burgers. You can find experiences on the web, even on Wikipedia. Miss Ann cooked our burgers, then ensured that I was the first one served as I had helped out earlier. I will say that I stuffed my face. It was good, and I would ride from my home in Orange, California, to Atlanta for another one.
Just as I was finishing, I heard the door open behind me. “Sir, you’ll need to wait outside” Miss Ann said. “I’ve just stepped in to say hello to my friend,” replied the intruder. I recognized that voice – it was Chris Ogden, a fellow Spank rider from Hollywood, California. I hadn’t seen any other Spank riders since the start – and here I was, 6 days into this thing, and there’s Chris. It was good to see him. Finally, someone that understood. As soon as I paid up, I joined Chris outside – he was in good spirits, and obviously well ahead of me in points. And he was safe. I told him I’d see him in Tulsa, and geared up. I had 20 hours to make the finish, a mere 780 miles or so away.
An uneventful ride to the Tulsa Marriot and the finish at 8:00 am on the 14th. I arrived about 1:00 am, retrieved the two parcels of clean clothes I’d shipped to myself almost three weeks ago, and retired to my room, leaving a wake up call for 6 am.
Thursday, August 14th.
It’s Over. Yes, It’s Finished.
I Don’t Know the Answer.
The check in window opened at 8:00 am, and I was second or third in line.
I lost points for three incorrect fuel receipts, and I had one ‘non-bonus’ picture on the card, as well as a couple of other things I could have improved my processing of.
But I finished. Bonii verified, paperwork finished, process done. I’d completed it.
Final standing? 16th. 5,985 miles.
I’d achieved my goal.
I called my bride Jeannette about 9:00 am, as it was now 7:00 am on the west coast.
Me: “Hon, I finished.”
Da Boss: “Wonderful! Are you glad it’s over?”
I was at a loss for words. I didn’t know how to answer her. In fact, I still don’t. I had been working up to this experience for almost two years, and now it was over. I’d completed my long term goal of finishing, and had nothing else scheduled to ride.
The rally? Amazing. Aside from the physical part of riding in something like this, the mental component is huge. I look at the rides done by Matt, Ken Meese, Tom and Rosie Sperry, Marc Crane, Terry Neal, and I fail to comprehend how they can do it. They’ve all ‘cracked the nut’ on what’s necessary. They all demonstrate the mental presence and strength to handle the duration of a multi-day, and do it with apparent ease.
I’m not there yet. I have a lot to learn.
EDIT on 10-9-08 to correct spelling and add picture.
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