2012 Team Lyle Garden State 8hr Rally

After waiting for a month for my first rally packet to arrive, the email from the Team Lyle Garden State 8hr Rally did not disappoint. LD porn for yours truly.  There was a well presented 32 page PDF of the rally book, as well as a separate PDF for the rules.  Bonus location files in both .csv and  .xls formats where also in there making my job immensely easier.  Package delivered 4 days before the rally.

Let the games begin.

First things first.  I knew the waypoint names wouldn't work for my style and GPS so the first thing I did was rename them using a convention of the first letter of the given name of the bonus, followed by the 2  digit page number, followed by the point value / 100, followed by a letter to indicate it was part of one of 4 threads. I take no credit for the system.  Many who have come before me have laid out those nuggets of wisdom for noob's like me.  That took SUSMIS002 (High Point State Park Monument) and made it   s13101t.  Page 13 - 10,100 points - Top to Bottom Thread. I could then easily convert back and forth between the rally book and my system.  Only problem was when rally HQ would communicate a clarification to SUSMIS002 (which there were only 2, they had clearly done their homework) it made it a little tough to find without re-reading 32 pages of bonus listings.  Fortunately, at the scoring table where it counts, the score sheet had the page numbers, which made scoring a breeze.

For 2 months prior, I assumed the big point winner would be Cape May, NJ to High Point State Point, NJ.  A ridiculously tight time frame from a Branchburg, NJ HQ, but doable.  The rally packet confirmed my suspicions.  It only had a 30,000 thread bonus however, which ended up not making my top 5 routes in the end.  In a way, I am quite glad that it didn't.  My sole intent was to enter and finish my first rally while seeing some bikes and riders who shared a similar passion. I also needed to figure out how much extra time the bonus documentation took for future rallys.  Cranking out 438 Jersey miles with 2 bonus stops wouldn't gain me that experience.  55,000 points would have made it a head scratcher.

To me, the way the bonus locations were laid out screamed 1 and only 1 route.  Jim Abbot, who ended up winning the rally, seemed to be bumping into me quite a bit during the day as did a few others.  The rally post-mortem with Jim seemed to indicate our planned routes only diverged by a few locations.  I came pretty close with a second route which included the graves thread as a bonus, but it was still 6-8,000 points less than the route I chose and the "doability" factor was a bit less in a more congested part of the state.  5 or 6 more small bonuses in the Old Bridge to Jackson Twp area would have been a complete free-for-all and there would have been several competitive routes in play.  Again, I just may not have seen the alternates and this is only my opinion.  That would be my only suggestion for changes to future versions of this rally, which I really hope Anthony and Kate continue.  They set the bar pretty high with their first.

So, when it was all said and done, my route, which basecamp said would take me 8:17 to complete, looked like the dark blue route below.  Rally HQ is indicated by the House at 6 O'Clock in the picture

Bonus distributions were like this:

Rally day.  6:30 am 10/13/2012.  28 degrees F on my deck.   Rally start is 45 minutes away at 70mph with a rider meeting at 8am.

Time to pop my rally cherry, but only after wrapping said cherry in as much electrically powered clothing as my stator can power.

"Ah, that was a refreshing ride" says your raconteur, as he pulls up to the gas station a mile away from rally HQ at 7:30am.  The display on his trusty Tiger 1050 said  80 miles to E on the lightly frosted screen.  "$@#*!" says he in several variations, in his ever professional and calm manner as today is only about staying calm and having fun.

Even though I live about 15 miles from the NJ state line, I always forget that Jersey has that ridiculous "pumping engineer" law.  Gas stations almost never open early, especially on frosty saturday mornings.  No matter how many times I slide my credit card into the pump, it still says "card reader not active" in its' stupid blue scrolling manner.  I have to get to the riders meeting, my plan for a 1 fill day is now shot to hell.  I will now need 2 gas stops on the clock, and my schedule is already tighter than a bull's ass. I need every drop of 2 tanks.  I can go 220 miles on interstate, but economy with this route today down places like "Old Mine Road", and up to the "Highest Point in NJ" wouldn't exactly make old Al Gore proud.

I am going to refrain from a blow by blow of the ride itself.  North West New Jersey is a beautiful place, I ride the high point area several times a year and was stoked to do the same in a rally.

My favorite historical bonus of the trip was my final bonus, worth 3500 points, which was big in this rally:
"World War I ended here by Warren Harding
(a tiny monument marks the spot where on July 1921 President Harding interrupted his golf game to sign the papers that officially ended WWI)"

Below, is a gorgeous picture I took of that location, which exemplifies the beauty, serenity and grandeur of the Garden State.

Then, there is a little perspective of the same shot.  Something tells me the "actual" location may be in section D row 4 of the PC Richard & Son parking lot.  Row 3 is where they put Jimmy Hoffa of course.

And some random other favorites from the day.

Starting in the nosebleed section, row 6 I think?

These are the riders who started in the rows in front of me.  Row 1 sported a couple 2 up on a GS  from Quebec.

Everyone knows dees' geys'

For whom the bells toll

The only giant's I like from Jersey are the one's who ride and offer to hold my flag.  No, I do not have 12 inch wheels on my Tiger.

The little gas oversight at the start of the day cost me in the end.  I got back to HQ at 4:52, my plan was 4:57 as drop dead time because the goal was to finish, not DNF.  You can lose 3 minutes in Jersey in the blink of an eye if 2 people get into a bird flipping contest out the window of their Camaro's.  Extra fuel stop cost me approx 4 minutes.  I needed 7 minutes to get my next to last bonus of SOMMIS010, the Hindu Temple.  I deleted the bonus from my route at 4:10pm so I could stay on the mostly reliable, and always fast rt 287.   Said bonus was worth 2,100 points.  I scored 71,100 points.  Jim Abbot, whom I appreciate letting me bend his ear afterwards, scored 73,200 for the win in the inaugural Team Lyle Garden State 8hr rally. I'll take a second out of 30 any day of the week though.

It's all good.

I won't rerun the coulda-woulda-shoulda's.

Second's not the first loser.

Anyway... I think the takeaway is that rally's have a little sumptin'-sumptin' to do with planning and execution.  I will have a full tank next year if I have to hire a sherpa with a jug to meet me at the starting line.

Congratulations to Jim Abbot on both planning and executing.  Congratulations to the RM's Anthony Mills and Kate Johnson for putting on one hell of show.  Well organized, lots of prizes, lots of riders, fantistic bonus locations.

If the rally master and mistress are reading this, please sign me up for next year.  I can't wait.

Rider #25

2013 Ride

So, I didn't think I would start obsessing about the 2013 ride quite this early, but it really started a year ago.  There are 2 frontrunners at the moment.

1.  Alaska
2.  California

Alaska is a bike longevity thing.  Ideally I would do this in about 3 years when Princess is a bit older and I can better explain a 2 week jaunt.  Problem is in 3 years, the Tiger, which should be a perfect candidate for a trip of this nature, will likely be beyond 100K and I am unsure how wise that would be.

California is currently the leading candidate, but as 2012 showed, that means slightly less than nothing when it comes to what is actually ridden.

I like the band Little Feat, and saw them a several times.  I have wanted to go from Tuscon to Tucumcari, Tehachapi and Tonopah for 25 years.  If I mix the order up a bit, that's a solid ride of 1184  Now that, my dear friends, is karma slapping me in the cheek with a white glove.

Dear Karma,
I'm Willin.

Deer Avoidance

This was an email to LDRiders list I penned.  May as well store it here.

Sun Tzu said "Know your opponent".  He just said it with funny looking 'scribblins.

Some things to be aware of:  That corn field you pass is the least of your worries.  YOU see them in fields, but densities tend to run at dramatically lower levels where people can, and do, hunt the animals. This tends to be more typical behavior in rural areas.   Your area may be different, but this list tends towards people who leave their own neighborhood on occasion.

Depending on where you live and which biologist you believe, optimal deer densities "should" run 15-30 deer per square mile in temperate climates with sufficient vegetation.

Here where I live in PA for example, Valley Forge National Park, which is basically in the the city of Philadelphia, supports approx 241/sq mile (1277 deer)  http://www.nps.gov/vafo/parkmgmt/white-tailed-deer.htm

. 

In the forests of the Allegheny where riders and cagers alike tend to be most aware because it is "deer country", the numbers approach 5/sq mile.  (http://www.portal.state.pa.us/portal/server.pt?open=514&objID=587865&mode=2)

This study (http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1029&context=ewdcc6) broke down the vehicle/deer rendezvous frequency by a number of factors in Virginia.  Interestingly (to me) 50% of all strikes occurred when dark on "Lighted Highway's".  Something tells me it is not a deer's fondness for streetlamps that was at play with the study.  We don't have many streetlights around here in cornfields and forests.

Deer movement biology also plays a significant role and we are getting to that time of year people.  In the same study above, October nearly triples the chance of strike  (13.87% of monthly strikes), while November (25.91%) has it go up by nearly a factor of 5.  They are looking for love in all the wrong places.

Everyone has, or should have, their own strategy. After a number of years pursuing these buggers and studying them up close and personal on crisp October mornings, I have my own thoughts which may draw great derision, but have worked for me after a couple unscheduled pit stops at the body shop back in the day.  YMMV

1.  If there is a deer in the road, and you ponied up for ABS, see if it works.  Practice makes perfect.

2.  Deer evolved over millions of years as prey animals.  It's pretty rare for a prey animal to just stand there and let the predator git 'em.  If they are standing in the road in my lane, I aim for them (where they were) during my abs checkout.  In my opinion, it is much more likely they will move than stay stationary. I don't know the actual odds, I made up my own at 90-10. Whether they move left or right has a number of factors beyond your control, odds are 50-50 regardless.  Guess wrong and you are out of position and luck.  While I am not advocating running them over, I personally believe my chances are greater in the odds of fight vs flight than the coin toss of left and right.  You have a better chance of improving your sense of smell then matching reflexes.

3.  I am most fearful of deer in the opposite lane.  The tendency is to run towards their bedding area.  They don't wear a tag which lets you know which side the Holiday Inn is on.

4.  Previous comment about head up vs down has merit in my book.  That can change pretty quick though. I am still on my brakes, but not to an ABS checkout level.

5.  The deer you hit back in the day was not stupid just standing there.  They appear (to me) to have a hard time judging speeds that do not occur in nature from predators. Deer are fast, but rely more-so on their agility.  A dog will catch a deer every time in a race in the open.  Deer have very little stamina.  They survive by playing the angles game with tremendous reflexes and evasiveness with an unbelievable initial burst of speed. wait...Wait....WAIT...NOW! and they hope you blow right by them as they make their turn, not leaving the predator the time to react to it, thus wasting the predators energy by passing and requiring a 180 to resume pursuit.  Unfortunately, you blow through them when you are 30mph in excess of what their experience has taught them and catch them at the second wait.  If you get the chance some day, go out in the woods and sit there where there are a lot of deer, watch how they react when dogs or a bobcat come through.  Unless they smell them from far away, in my experience they wait for the predator to make the first move, putting them off balance.  For NFL fans, see old Barry Sanders highlight reels, and yes, it is OK to make the Chris Berman sound effects.

6.  When on the motorcycle I use my size to my advantage if I can.  I am only 25-30% as wide a target on the bike as I am in my truck.  Try and maximize that advantage, because you don't have the protection advantage of a cage, that and braking are your safety net.  Turn your side to them and now you are as wide as a car and have doubled or tripled your surface area without the protection.  (I saw some of your bikes at the meet, you may need to factor up a little...)

7.  I dislike following the rabbit closely.  I prefer soft carnage I can see, rather than spinning soft carnage mixed with spinning steel carnage I can't react to until the last second.

8.  Except for mature bucks (big antlers) and yearling males (tiny antlers) in the fall, deer are very rarely alone.  Don't watch the one that already crossed, watch his/her kid(s)/friend(s)/lover(s) following in their footsteps.

9.  Sometimes, stuff happens. ATGATT

Be careful out there.

Westward Ho!

Well, the time has come.  After many iterations of this years adventure and 9 months of planning, I have settled on one.  Or to be more specific, I have left heading westward with a very specific route I may or may not hold to.  This trip started off as laps around the great lakes, then morphed into a 6 waypoint trip.  Bethlehem, PA - Mackinaw Bridge - Lemmon, SD, Beartooth Hwy MT, Yellowstone NP WY, Grand Teton NP WY and a whole bunch of receipts from states across the country.  As noted in a previous post, I found the IBA National Parks Tour challenge and it's off to the races.  Route has been adjusted, now it is up to Me, my Tiger, and Garmin to get it done.



If you would like to follow my travels from Aug 11-21, you may do so via the map below.





Plan looks something like this.

NPT Rebel Edition - Ride Report

It's hot, but it's better than work.  I cannot recall how many times this rang through my helmet, but it was true.  Every ride seems to have a mantra for me, and this one was singular - HYDRATE.  3 days, 2500 miles, temps in the upper 90's. Bring it.

July 27, 2012, departure time 03:00.  First leg to Kings Mountain National Park, SC followed most of the same route that my saddlesore 1000 did in March.  78-81 with 77 being the new wrinkle.  Twist the throttle and get gas when miles to empty says 0.  No blasting zone headaches or snarl this time.  At 500 miles it felt like I had just left.  This new setup makes a world of difference.  Next up was Cowpens NB SC which was an on the fly addition. Unremarkable, except for a neat obelisk out front.  States=7 

Next stop was Carl Sandberg NHS Flatrock, NC.  I would like to have sat down and had a chat with old Carl.  First off, parking area was 1/3 mile downhill from the house where the stamp was located.  Temp was 95 already and humid as a sock.  I thought of this as an Iron Butt Rally bonus and the howls from the competitors which would ensue were that the case.  Turns out this is the only poet with a national park and that is because he was Lincoln's biographer, among many other endeavors.  I loved his most famous of quotes.  He found his place of loneliness in this homestead.  I would move in tomorrow.  Carl should have ridden on 2 wheels as it has the same effect, but with more scenery.  Better..that's is a judgement call. States = 8

Next up was some winding through western NC via Ashville, the home of my favorite musician Warren Haynes.  On to the Blue Ridge Parkway for the first time in many years.  It was raining, but it was still beautiful.  Traffic stopped dead in the street around a curve within eyesight of Great Smoky Mountains National Park visitors center.  Nice rack.

Grabbed a hotel near the GA, TN, AL border with storms rolling in and a mere 15 minutes from my next park.  Grabbed a burger and hit the sack.  Great day, and yes, way better than work.

Day 2,. July 28, 2012.  No need for an early start since I am 15 minutes from Chickamauga Battlefield, GA so had a banana and wheels were turning at 7:30.  Too bad the visitors center doesn't open until 8:30.  Had a great chat with some scout leaders and one of their kids about all kinds of things waiting for the doors to open.  Human contact was a welcome respite not being on the clock.  Cannons out front were neat, I am not feeling these southern battlefields though.  Better than St Gaudins though.  States= 9

Russell Cave, AL was a sleeper park for me.  Ride in was very enjoyable and wished I had time to see the cave.  I had no idea indigenous history went back that far.  Road in was really nice country twisty road and a nice counterpoint to the slab.  Also stamped for Little River Canyon NP and back on the road.  I was getting the feeling that I was not going to make my plan of Mammoth cave in KY today.  Unplanned 1/2 hr here, 1/2 hr there adds up when you only have 9 to play with.  I am loving the ride and really don't care.  Kentucky is hittable from home at a later date if it doesn't work out.  States = 10

Mississippi is hot as hell, but the best leg of the trip was here.  The Natchez Trace Parkway down towards Tupelo was just fantastic.  Not a car on the road.  Just me, my tiger and the turns.  Stopped at the visitors center and stamped for Brices Crossroads as well.  Tupelo National battlefield, another stamp.  I should feel more pride and interest here but I don't.  I am glad I am seeing these battlefields, but growing up daytripping to Gettysburg, Valley Forge, Washington's Crossing, Independence Hall and the Liberty bell seems to have calloused my sense of battlefield amazement.  I want to come back and run Natchez Trace again some day.  The next few sweltering hours were spent concocting a route that would take me all the way down the blue ridge parkway and onto the full Natchez Trace Parkway experience.  Someday rabbit, some day.  States = 11

Did I mention it's hot?  Are you sure?  Because it is blistering out here.  I am chugging water via the camelback and it's making it's way through the system on schedule.  3 litres by mid-day down and a partial refill of the camelback.  It's ok moving, dreadful at stops.  I recall 97 degrees being the highest number I saw, and I saw it several times.

40 miles or so from Shiloh National Battfield, TN, things don't seem right inside the helmet.  Decisions are coming a little slower then they should and there is a lack of confidence in my GPS for no reason.  I struggle over stopping for gas or pushing it with the yellow light on.  My riding seems fine, but that's what drunk drivers say too.  I stop at a gas station about 5 miles from Shiloh and finally there is gas.  87, 87 and 87 the pump says.   This sucks.  I poke at it a bit with my credit card trying to find the slot and there is none.  I have to go old school and pay inside I guess.  I thoroughly enjoy the blast of air conditioned air inside and strip off the jacket and wander the store for a bit and grab 4 bottles of water.  I have to pee as well.  What the hell is going on with me?  If I am taking a leak, I can't be dehydrated.  Confusion is getting a little worse, concerning, but not panicking me.  I put in $10 of the low test gas with trepidation, chug a cold water and refill the camelback with the others with slightly shaky hands.  Did I mention it's hot?

Make it to Shiloh, park the bike, strip off the clothes.  Must...get....stamp...  I feel like shit, legs are like jelly and now I am changing from concern to worry.  Walked into the big building, no stamp, have to go to the bookstore "over there".  I walk around a bit in the air seeing if that will clear my head to no avail.  Hit the bookstore for the stamp, have to pee again.  I am NOT dehydrated.  Chug more water from the fountain. Thoughts of sunstroke creep in, but that doesn't seem to fit but not sure if I can trust my faculties.  I am now foggy at best and just lay down in the grass behind my bike trying hard to assess my situation.  It was hard work thinkin'.  My legs were rubbery in my stamp quest.  It was high heat and sun at approx 2pm.  I could not continue my adventure, but there had to be a reason.  I was in an unsafe condition to operate any motor vehicle, let alone my prized steed.  I am not one to accept defeat, pretty much ever.  I told myself that I was in fact defeated and that I had to move on with a plan to get back to normal, then home.  I felt it becoming a survival situation and started making plans to ask passers by for assistance.

Ding!

Kid walks by with a brownie or something in hand.  My that looks...  SONOFABITCH!!!  I didn't eat at all.  The banana 7-8 hours ago was not cutting it.  All the symptoms of low blood sugar snapped into place.  No I am not diabetic, yes, I have been tested.  No, this is not a common occurrence.  I pretty much struggle to get to my feet  and stumble to the bike that is 10 feet away, brushing the ants off of me.  I HATE ANTS.  I opened the top box and inhaled a melted protein bar and a Planters Energy bar.  The downward spiral stopped while I was still chewing the second one.  Why not, wack a third one, this time the heart healthy Planters one with the cranberries.  (I love them!).  Lay back down again, this time hopefully not in the ants. Were there really ants before? 30 minutes or so later, I felt like a new man.  Not perfect, but able to safely continue.  My efforts of the last 2 hours to stave off my (lack of) dehydration were keeping me active back and forth to the air conditioned stalls.  I will admit publicly that I was scared.  I was loving the ride and never once thought to eat.  This is a stupid mistake that could have ended in tragedy.  Hopefully that is a lesson learned permanently. 10:00, 12:00 and 14:00 for protein bars from now on when on the bike whether I want them or not.  Check.  Oh yeah, States = 12

Hey stupid, it is SAFE, long distance motorcycling...

All hopes of mammoth cave are now shattered obviously, but I decide to press on and get there anyway.  I90 and I65 presented me with the fastest riding I have ever done.  Hammer lane was 90+ the WHOLE WAY.  Slow lane was 80.   Made mammoth in quick time feeling like a new man.  I ran across a military guy riding his wing from Buffalo that morning to Mississippi that night.  We talked for a while and wished him luck.  When he asked if it was hotter there, I just laughed and told him at least the sun will be down when you get there.   I had been thinking BBQ for 2 days, now's my shot.  Local's pointed me to "Big Moose's BBQ" in Glasgow, KY.  I am SO glad that they did.  Have you ever had Indian Stew at Big Moose's BBQ?  Run, don't walk, dear reader.  Ribs were smoked and sauced and just what the Dr ordered.  I want more indian stew.  Talked about my ride for a while with the owner in hopes he would part with the recipe or at least some hints.  No dice.

I grabbed a Days Inn in Mammoth for a deeply discounted rate somehow.  Great adventurous, though almost disastrous day, but not many miles on the clock.  In retrospect, 587 miles is my 4th highest day all time prior to this trip.  Amazing what a little experience and modifications can do to one's perspective.  Original plan was to hit Mammoth Cave at 4:59 and keep going back through Ohio, and stop there for the night for a short jaunt home on Sunday.  That ain't happenin now hot stuff is it?  I will just have to hit it in the AM.

Now I lay me down to...recalculating...ZZZZZ.  I awoke with a start, GPS on chest,  02:00.  Recurring dream that I am supposed to pick up my daughter from school and I forgot.  I have never forgotten, not once, not even been late.  I have learned over the years that this dream means I have a flaw in my plan, whatever the plan of the moment may be.  Recalculating...  This Mammoth Cave plan is a loser if I am to make it home before midnight. The little screen clicked around and the options became fluid.  I was awake.  Decision made to abandon Mammoth Cave.  I really did not want to abandon Kentucky though.  It is an awkward place to get to from my area, even though it is not too far away as the crow flies.  Only other Kentucky option, and just barely in KY was Cumberland Gap National Park.  If I leave now, I can make it there for the opening...  Snapped out of bed and got the gear on and as George Thorogood and John Lee Hooker said, out the door I went.

Day 3,. July 29, 2012.  KY rt 2008 is dark at 3am.  Just sayin'.

Dawn broke to heavy fog which got heavier as I wound through the hills and dales of SW Kentucky.  It looked like beautiful country though.  Fog gathered heavier, heavier..  It never really got light, though the clock said it should be.  Finally arrived at Cumberland Gap KY shortly after 8am and sauntered inside for a stamp.  Ranger showed me where the stamps were and I looked at the real nice exhibits they had there.  Seems like one of the better visitors centers.

"You know, there is an event occurring right now that you really shouldn't miss", says the friendly ranger.  By now on this IBA National Parks Tour, I am becoming adept at deflecting the tour offers.  Again he pleads with me to listen.  "If you can just spare 30 minutes (I swallowed my laughter), you will see a site that people rarely see.  It happens to a lesser extent, but nothing like this morning" he says.

"30 minutes huh?" I quip.

"Yup, you NEED to go to the pinnacle.  This area was created by a meteor impact long ago.  You will be amazed what you see."  This guy is really into this.  Strippers, sunrises?  What pray tell awaits me on your scavenger hunt.

"It's pretty foggy dude, not sure if I will be able to see anything anyway"

"That's the point, you'll see.  Just do yourself a favor, leave the parking lot and go right and follow the signs for the pinnacle"

"30 minutes?"

"Tops.  Go now."

Park rangers are like George Washington apparently.  They cannot tell a lie.

 

Thank you Iron Butt Association, and nameless ranger at Cumberland Gap National Park.  This site floored me.  Your adventure suggestions made this possible.  I do not believe it to be a sight I will forget.  The road up to the pinnacle was a blast as well.  Hairpin after hairpin.  Good training ground for the Beartooth Highway in 2 weeks, even though it did put a crimp in the schedule.  The reason it was so dark all morning until I broke through a few thousand vertical feet later, was that fog bank was so think and dense, it did not allow the light to penetrate.  I love mother nature, even if she does occasionally macerate and broil me.  This makes us even in my book. Allman Brothers Blue Sky played on the way up and  Johnny Cash's Sunday Morning Coming down on the descent.  My android conspired in my favor.  There could not have been a more eloquent DJ.  States=13

Back down and hit the highway and East bound and Down, the song from my saddlesore, was up next.  I am NOT making this up.  Giddyup.

My god is it beautiful.  That intersection of KY, VA and WV may be my new favorite place.  613-19 is one hell of a cruiser road with even better scenery.  

West Virgina is bigger than I thought.  

I am navigating by GPS waypoints provided by "Barb" on the NPT forum.  They are an absolute godsend.  Next waypoint is New River Gorge WV.  As I approached, I was taken off the highway.  OK.  Road got smaller.  OK.  Road condition got worse. Ok  Miles to go. ok?  This is odd.  At the end of this barely maintained road is this.  It's cool, though the strangest National Park visitors center to date.  The reason for the site is that there is no longer anything there, like Seinfeld, the show about nothing that was really something.  It is just an abandoned railway town.  I am glad that I went, even if it did cut into my time pretty severely.   The train which went through here switched from coal to diesel and the town immediately ceased to exist.  Lights out national park.  States = 14

Not only is West Virginia big, it is fast.  These drivers are posessed.  They can actually drive as well, much like the other states I have visited this trip.  Nothing like the northeast!

Now I was back to Maryland and the home stretch.  Traffic got bad and took a couple "wing it" detours to get over to 81 after sitting for a while nearly stopped in the sauna.

Garage door rolled up at 10pm.  Battery died in the GPS for about 30 miles, but still a great mileage day, and one I won't soon forget.

As the key moved my tiger into sleep mode, I in fact gave a muted rebel yell as I dismounted, and in the solitude that only home can give, smiled and said:

"More, More More"

States:  6 + 8 = 14

Parks = 13 + 13 = 26

National Parks Tour - Rebel Edition

I am a son of the south.  I just happened to be born and raised a yankee, in Philadelphia, PA.  I still say yes maam and no sir unless I am speaking to children, much to the chagrin of the lady folk.  Sorry Miss Kathy... Dixie's colors flew above my dining room table as a child.  For all of her egregious faults which that flag may represent,  the people of the south are different than the one's which I call neighbor.  It's time for a visit.

I had the opportunity to live with my grandparents on a sand road in the back woods of South Carolina.  We spent a week there for Easter every year, but those 2 summers so long ago changed me in many ways.  The house was in the middle of a tobacco plantation, with the owners 4 acre hog pen 20 feet from my window.  My grandparents had a "garden" larger than most community parks where I grew up.  They were a self sufficient lot.  They received protein from the fruit of their hens, and occasional supplementary income from the prize money of the hot blooded males.   I shot bb guns with gusto and proved Newton's second law true more times than I can remember with the local songbird community.  I shot the 22, which I now have in my possession, quite a bit as well.  Though, I was sent back to bb land due to the minor levels of destruction on objects I thought were junk.  I met my first black folk.  They lived across the street in a house they built out of construction scraps.  There was a rusty coffee can over the makeshift chimney.  Peaches, the only other person within 5 miles of tobacco within 5 years of my age gave me a different perspective on life, as did her father Mack and the rest of the family.  He was a modern day share-cropper with an infinitely small percentage, as he used Mr Johnson's tractors, diesel and spray.  The man worked from sunup to sundown.  I knew because my grandfather got up every day at 3am for coffee and a pipe on the porch.  A porch no black man dare step upon. Though many came to call, all knew the unwritten rule of staying 2 feet from the bottom step. Oddly, it felt like a world of bi-directional respect, not of racism. Another time, another world.

Back to motorcycles.

IBA National Parks Tour.  That's how this article started.  I have 6 states down.  I have a strategy, time will tell if it is successful.  I care only about states and I care about the one's furthest away most.  PA, NJ, MD, WV, VA, OH and DC I am considering in the bag and can hit all of the above in a winter day-trip.  That gives me 13 I will consider done.  Barely 1/2 way to the 25 required.  I am leaving in 2 weeks for my trip out west.  Here's the rub on the NPT.  To get the stamp, you have to visit the center between 8-5, 9-4, sometimes smaller windows.  That makes planning crucial, and also makes the distances a bit of a challenge.  The windows for hitting these do not coincide with good mileage strategies.  What to do?  Well, time to head south and pick up some insurance.  Other side benefit is that I will get 2,000 miles or so on the oil and can send it away to see how the new 15w-50 is working out.

Did I mention the bike was out of commission since my northern excursion?  It's good to be back on 2 wheels.  I am hoping to visit the Carl Sandberg National Historic site.  It's off my route, but anyone known by the phrase "Who am I, where am I going and where have I been?" has to make my book right? 

You can follow along on spotwalla as this weekend plays out.

IBA National Parks Tour (NPT)

So, I think I caught a new bug.  We will see on Saturday when the adventure begins with knocking 8 states off of the IBA National Parks Tour challenge list.

I read John Ryan's blog at http://longerfasterstronger.wordpress.com, and started to total up my park admission fees for my upcoming trip out west.  There was a single line in John's blog that really struck me.

"The Iron Butt Association’s National Parks Tours are the best way for people who don’t enjoy 1,000 or 1,500 mile days to earn an IBA membership, and are probably the best way to earn that membership overall."

Technically, I have already earned my IBA membership, thought I have a long way to go in my personal goals.  Coming from a guy with that much "cred" behind him, that sentence gnawed at me for a few weeks.  So, the route remains similar, and all the states are still being hit for my map, but now a new challenge has been added.  The IBA National Parks Tour challenge.

Where I live, the 50 stamps would be an easy accomplishments.  Not even up to the challenge status, except for that little gem of a caveat.  25 states.  That changes the ballgame and this trip is a perfect opportunity to level the playing field.

This weekend starts the clock on 365 days to complete the challenge.   It is also a great excuse to go see my brother in NH.    Spotwalla track below will show my progress.

Happy Independence day

Couple of things to catch up on here.

First, It's independence day and I am dependent on a British bike.  I found that quite odd on my way in this morning.  Almost unpatriotic, but satisfying in a world peace kind of way.  In the end, I don't care, I love the bike and 1/2 of its bits and pieces have been put on in the US anyway at this point.

Speaking of "in work", I'm working today to make up for the day off yesterday for the fork/suspension service and parts bonanza.  One more farkle discovered.  Expected to buy the racetech 1.0 springs and have them installed as an upgrade from the factory .6, and they were already in there.  I liked the suspension setup, but it dove like crazy on braking which I did not care for at all. Figured I would do the upgrade since I had to get new seals anyway.  Turns out it already had racetech 1.0 springs in there, but whoever did it, didn't cut the dampening tubes down correctly and left them at stock length.  Had the tubes chopped about an inch and it is night and day.  Also lowered the front since I lowered the rear 25mm and they needed to be lowered anyway for the tube cutting.  I was told that was part of my handling issue and why my front tire looks new but cupped compared to the nearly destroyed rear. Special thanks to Jim Hamlin at Branchville Motors in Connecticut for doing the work, and letting me assist start to finish and giving the bike a thorough once over for the trip.  Now I have to install a lot of crap I just bought.  19T sprocket, clutch cable, thermostat, radiator cap, tires.  Most of the loose crap he found shouldn't fall off now at least.

I firmly believe I have one of the best commutes in the mid-atlantic.  20 miles of twisties and farm roads each way, though I do have to pass the dump which can at times be an assault.  Getting behind a garbage scowl is worse, but both are typically short lived.  Today, my heart sank as I turned on to Applebutter road.  Cinders EVERYWHERE.  Cinders still there through the first chicane pair.  I have no idea what happened, but my beautiful banked asphalt must have had one too many cracks and pothole repairs (almost none were in the line).  I really hope this is just a base layer. It looks and behaves like tar and chip and it keeps going and going and going for 5-8 miles with the top 1/4 inch being just cinders.  It was kind of heartbreaking.  Also pretty impressive since I rode it friday and they didn't even have signs up and now there is not a construction vehicle in sight and no signs other than "No Road Lines" here and there.  They couldn't have just gone right over the road surface could they?

Please join me in a deep prayer/meditation/seance that this is just a perfectly rolled base layer and I will be getting my country road moonlighting as a racetrack asphalt back.

Happy Independence day to all, especially the veterans in my family and yours.

Non Sequitur Alert

LDRider is having a moose vs meeses nonsense discussion, as they do so well. This brings me to my non sequitur of a point. I still have never seen a moose in the wild. I tried desperately for 3000 miles last year, even following a moose tour bus for a bit. I really hope I see one at a safe distance next month, or maybe on Saturday, when I go for lunch in Montreal.

Karma in the age of cell phones

Yesterday was a great day. Little girl had been after me for a month to go see Brave, and it was only to be in 3D. Disney is wise in their promotional abilities, and they start early. "Coming Soon" means 6 weeks. 9 year old girls don't always get that, but with age, comes the understanding of calendars. Perhaps age will also bring patience. She has hit a home run so far in everything else so far. Perhaps patience is more of a necessity for fathers than fair maidens.

It was hot, and McDonalds was cool and within eyeshot of said matinee movie, so I threw out the offer which was eagerly accepted.

We always have a great time, and I mean always. We were chatting about what we thought the movie would be like, and how magnets make the kids meal toy cool. I then spotted a very lonely cellphone in the empty booth adjacent to ours. After a bit, I grabbed it as it was clearly abandoned. Much like a woman's purse, I was reticent to explore it. I can run a lot of my life through mine and the thoughts of a stranger fondling it don't sit well. My thoughts turned to me in South Dakota in a few weeks and what my feelings would be should the same happen to me. I guess I am a serial LD rider because I wondered if he had spot enabled through Google latitude...

It was android like mine, and a top of the line 4G HTC at that. I flicked the screen and found the number for home and dialed. Fax line. Tried again various times with fax or just dead air. Phone number was a 704 area code which was NC and 600 miles away at least. This person was screwed. I waffled a bit on whether I should take it with me and keep calling, or take it to an AT&T store and drop it off, or donate it to a high school kid who moonlighted as a cashier at this establishment. If it was me, I would retrace my steps and adding extra steps to the puzzle would not be appreciated, especially if the Samaritan was holed up in a high priced theatre. It must stay.

I sent the guy an email from his own device in case he checked it from a hotel, letting him know it was found and where, and that I was leaving it with great reticence with the restauranteur.

I hope he has found it by now, and wish him well on his travels. Nice phone dude. "Android lost" is free, hopefully you have that installed. I hope Karma is a beautiful mistress for you, I know she has been for me.

Learnins' from my Saddlesore 1000

I have now had 3 months to reflect on the saddlesore ride and have had the opportunity to test out some items that were niggling away at me during the ride.  Writing the series itself was more than somewhat cathartic. It also allowed for a thorough lessons learned session as I reviewed my notes and replayed the sequences of the events.  This edition will focus on those thoughts, solutions implemented, and new variables that were subsequently introduced which need further testing.

"Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy.."

My dad was doing a lot of commuting back and forth from Philly to Western VA about 15 years ago after his employer of 25 years locked the doors one night and moved to china.

He found a "new" song on his ride with the title above.  He thought I may like it.  I stopped short of telling him that was the "pot smoking hippie music" he railed against for 20 years when I lived at home back in the day.  I was the bigger man and smiled, knowing I won the music taste battle.  The song does have a point though when taken out of context.  Whether it is a long commute in a cage, or 700-1000 mile stretch on 2 wheels, company in your noggin is good.  In my truck, I have Sirius radio and love it. I like music that isn't necessarily standard after burning through the classic rock stations for so many years.  Jam on, blues, dead, bluegrass it's all in the variety and country in the morning.  Singing east bound and down 40 times in a row to yourself may be fun, but pulls the sanity question into play after a while.

Solution is unquestionably the Sena smh-10. I purchased one a few weeks after the trip and can't even fathom how I did without. Pairs easily with my phone, great sound and phone calls work if I need them. I'm a buyers remorse kind of guy, not here, not a bit.  My friend Drummond got one as well and it excels in coms mode as well.  Highly recommend.  Sold my brother on one as well for his new scooter. Now I just have to haul on up to NH to check it out.

Lights, cameras, action.
Tiger lights suck as documented earlier.  Got some 1600 lumen led's from Komy on ebay. Mounted low and outside on the sw motech crashbars. Love them.

Iron butt?
Not so much. I love the stock seat. I can move on it and no real pressure points.  1000 miles showed the weaknesses. I resolved to make a big purchase if I finished successfully. I'd need help if I was going to do 5,500 in 7 days this summer. Researched extensively and founds lots of options for custom builds. Everything kept pointing back to the Russell day long if you wanted to for it right.  Figure there was no chance for finding a good used one so resolved to drop $600 plus dig around for a blown out seat for the pan. In my search for the pan, lo and behold I ran into a guy willing to part with his. It was exactly what I was looking for and saved likely $350 in the end. Seat is all it is cracked up to be. Longest trip so far was 750 miles in a day for a tag on the Ohio border.  Felt as good as I did when the day started.

Worlds toughest riders...
Not sure what I think about that line. I'm not one of the toughest by a longshot. Part of me suspects some tough dude is going to take exception to it. I used to be physically tough when I played rugby in college,  now, not so much, though I haven't dared to test that assumption in quite a while. Saddlesore is a mental toughness thing however,  and that I still have.

MotoMorphosis (Conclusion)

"My god, look at all of this destruction."

I had not been on 81 long at all after my breakfast stop when I went through the town of Pulaski, NC.  Mother nature had been here, and she had been pissed.  A tornado had been through here last year I later learned and left an indelible mark on these people's lives and their homesteads.  Not a tree was left in tact, though the piles of debris were still abundant.  Treetops co-mingled with bunk beds.  It had crossed the highway where I now sped and continued its' destructive ways up over the next hill.  Amazing and humbling how fickle she can be.  I wish these fine citizens of this town the best of luck.  They didn't have much that harrowing night for sure.

Mile marker 0.

I cross the Tennessee line to little fanfare other than my own nuisance making efforts.  No bands, no ticker tape.  Only Fasmart 471 and its decrepit pumps and a convenience store parking lot stacked with vehicles in even worse shape.  The time was 10:35 and the odometer read 14,747.  529 miles from home and all I could do was smile like a guy who just got laid for the first time.  3.665 gallons in 172 miles.

The only note on my trip log was this ->>  "I WANT MORE!!!"

That pretty much sums it up.  No literary finagling necessary.

Perhaps it was my state of mind, but I took one of only 3 pictures on this trip in the Fasmart parking lot so I could prove I was really in Bristol, TN.  This may be the worst picture I have ever taken.  I had other things on my mind and I was gettin busy livin. The other bonus of this trip was that this ride was no longer the miserable trip I used to take with my ex.  It now belongs to me.  I will own this memory and this road in a positive light from this day forth.

The trash bag liner went into the top box, along with the neck gaiter. The Gerbings gloves were replaced with ventilated leather.  It was march and it was time for some summertime riding.  I may be the luckiest guy on earth at this particular point and time.

New song for the ride home.  It's cheesy and predictable but it's a classic, and it fits my buoyed spirits.  I will have a Coors in Texarcana, likely in 2013 on my trip to Needles, CA if anyone has any suggestions.  For today, I will just sing it to myself a couple dozen times and laugh at Buford T Justice quotes as I count up to 323 from 0.

208.6 miles later and a solid  20 miles past 0 miles left till empty, I pull myself away from the 50th "Boy when I get home.." and slide off of exit 205 into Raphine, VA, under full Triumph power at 13:01, into Smileys Fuel City.  Smileys sign out front informs me it is the home of the "Best BBQ in VA".  There is some question if that is really 13:01 or 14:01 as daylight savings happened the previous weekend, but I didn't care.  The sun was shining, the jiggly weather girls were right, it really was the perfect day to be doing anything other than sitting in a cubicle.

It was perhaps a foolhardy decision at the time, but I was getting cocky.  I remember Jim's advice to "have fun, THAT'S the bottom line".  I sprayed the chain with some dupont teflon, put in 4.18 gallons (DOH!) and stripped off the fleece.

Mr Smiley, your ass is mine.  I'll be the judge of these here claims to the best BBQ.

Well, about 3 minutes after receiving my order of brisket and a dousing with a melange of sauces at the self service bar, this is what remained as I washed the goodness down with some good old fashioned, hot summer's day, caffeinated Coca-Cola.  Had I turned the camera around, my face would have looked similar to that napkin dispenser, only covered in Texas style mesquite sauce.

 

I will do the rest of this trip on my own terms.  I was no longer worried about the clock.  I have now ridden further than any other single day of my two-wheeled career and I yearn for more.  My only regret is that I didn't have a Dr Pepper to stick with the theme.

45 minutes later I have my camelback refilled for the second time this trip and bugs removed from the visor.  East bound and down has been fun for the last couple hours, let's stick with that you maniac as Chiron fires up with as much vigor as its' better half.

225, 250, 275, 300, 323. A honk, wave and and an ADV style salute to West Virginia, and the same goes for you Maryland shortly thereafter.

Maybe I should have held off on the ADV salute to MD.  My credit card at the Hagerstown Shell station was declined since it was the 4th time I used their network today.  Hah, you have to do more than that to stop me. It's all good, I don't care, that girl at Falling Waters WV returned my backup plan to me many miles and smiles ago.  Here's an Andrew Jackson.  You can stick him where you will once I leave, I am riding and my face hurts from smiling.  I have another gas receipt from a new state and the great Commonwealth of Pennsylvania can be seen just over the next rise.  I am east bound and down.

PA gets more of the same minutes later as I return to my homeland.  A statey is in his hidey hole right across the line looking for guys like me. Guys who aren't paying attention and are bitching on their cellphone about their shitty day at the office to their old lady who doesn't give two shits except when he will be home. I'm going the speed limit with a smile that says it all beneath my lifted lid to let this day fill my every pore. Today ain't your day pal.  I swear I see him laugh at my antics across the line behind his Buford T Justice specs.  Perfect.  I may be an idiot, but there is no law against that and he knows it.  Yet another memory to file away, maybe someday I will write about this experience. 

19:37 on the day of my departure and the light is quickly fading across a lightly streaked pink and purple sky.  These are my little girls 2 favorite colors and I have thought of her often today.  I hope some day she can enjoy a passion to the extent her father does.  I can't wait to squeeze the living shit out her tomorrow when I pick her up from school.  

My receipt spits out from the Bethlehem Pennsylvania Exxon 4 minutes later as the tiger drinks her final cocktail of 3.162 gallons of super. My sidestand has gone down each time, my gloves are in tact.  I have all my receipts, and I even have my wallet.  Home is only 0.36 miles away as the crow flies.  I snap a picture of the GPS for posterity. On the 2 minute ride home I begin to ponder if I can do this several days in a row and maybe, just maybe, if the stars align and I can recreate this, if perhaps Grand Teton would be so kind as to bless me with her shadow this summer after I cross the Mackinaw bridge.  If she doesn't, that's fine with me, because as you may have noticed by now, for me it's about the journey, not the destination.

http://spotwalla.com/tripViewer.php?id=42504f5e0c54bb99c

Respectfully submitted,

GrimeTime

MotoMorphosis (Part 9)

"Buuuurp, flitch, schlup, schlup, schlup", says Phase 1 reluctantly.

"Err, that's no help", says I.

The mile markers to Roanoke are ticking down like the shot clock in an NCAA Final 4 cinderella game, and I needed to pick my shot.  I was nursing a lead but my opponent was showing signs of life.  Computers usually help me out of these kind of binds.  Teetering above my tiger  there was no hope of that familiar crutch helping now.  Phone a friend wasn't an option.  Even if phone a friend was an option, I would have gotten a "My suggestion is to have a PBR and find a 24 hr strip club" in response.  I was alone on this fools errand.  I guess that's the whole point.  Can you keep your shit together in good times and bad?  Not a bad lesson to be learned regardless of the final grade.

Phase 1 had been in solid hibernation now for almost 5 hours.  It was as slow to awaken as it was this morning in the confines of my shower.  Irish Spring hadn't made much of a dent. Flashing dotted centerlines and wind-noise wasn't helping the rejuvenation process at the moment.  Come on buddy, you can do it.  I could really use some help here.  What the heck am I supposed to do?

Two diametrically opposed options were on the table. "Plan your ride, ride your plan" or "Improvise, Modify, Adapt and Overcome"? I always found it fascinating that the latter is attributed to the United States Marine Corps.  Military organizations for 3,000 years have been founded on the principles of do what you are told, when you are told, how you are told according to a strict chain of command. Leap without looking. My old man and brother were both US Navy men and knew this chain well.  My father floated above the seas and my brother below. The battlefields of Gettysburg, to which I passed so closely this morning, and countless other stretches of farm land in this great state where my current journey has led me have seen 100's of thousands of my forefathers meet their end in this way both for and against this Union.  The Lee-Jackson Highway which I passed this morning was a good attempt to keep their memories alive, but a paltry reward in comparison to the price paid by the men who served under them. History seems to canonize the Atilla's, Green Mountain Boys, George Washington , Erwin Rommel and his arch nemesis and my own personal hero, Gen. G.S. Patton. All had a knack for improvisation and were attuned to the art of guerrilla tactics.   When the global fan starts spinning out of control due to some poopie buildup on the blades, who gets called?  The Marines who honorably wear the Stars and Bars of their fathers.  Thank you to all who serve, regardless of branch, or flag, so I, and your countrymen and women, can undertake silly journeys of 1000 miles in 24 hours on their motorcycle.

I digress... but I am the author.

I needed to pull off of this ribbon of quandary my tax dollars have subsidized, and Improvise, Modify, Adapt and Overcome.  Good to have you back old friend.  Decision made.

Roanoke traffic was building, but I could dutifully keep to the speed limit or just below as I steamed through.  Not so bad, minor crisis averted.  I need some grub and a plan for the daddy mac.

I leave the city limits of Roanoke without incident and begin to see the signs for my current terror as I look for an exit where I can get a McBurrito.  Blacksburg, VA serves as the gateway to hell, and 81 has become my solid version of Styx.  In the distance I catch a glimpse of the first big 8x6 ft square orange roadside trailer that the DOT uses to let travelers know they are screwed beyond all recognition.  I had 3 miles to my exit and now I am stuck in the left lane with JB Hunt's finest to my right.  I need to see this sign to aid in my planning stop and make this nightmare a reality I can dissect with facts, not fears.  The GPS affixed to my handlebars will set the mark for max speed for the trip at this juncture.  I apologize to the LEO community for what I have done, it only lasted about 10 seconds.  Err, it wasn't me, I'm holding it for a friend? Just between you and I, that Kenworth didn't have a snowball's chance...

As I clear the fender of the Kenworth and make my calculations to get over to the right I see it.  I blink my eyes and shake my head to be sure what I think I saw is actually there and not some mirage of fatigue.  The message remained the same.

NO BLASTING TODAY.  NO BLASTING TODAY it screamed in 900 font every 4 seconds in all of its amber glory. A message conveyed as eloquently as Kate Smith belting out God Bless America.  I was 7 years old and still remember Kate's performance on UHF like it was yesterday.  That started a losing streak for my Flyers which continues to this day.  As I type this today, the message from that Virgina Department of Transportation sign is my most vivid of the trip, by a mile.   I was wound up tighter than a banjo for the last hour or 2, time no longer matters except for 02:36 tomorrow which was just a hair over 18 hours away. The pressure release delivered by that sign was tremendous.

I screamed back at that most beautiful of inanimate objects.  Pretty much...well...EXACTLY like Henry Hill in the Shower in Goodfellas .  I didn't look at myself in my mirrors, but I can guarantee that's what my facial expression looked like as I rounded that Kenworth's  fender.

After all the worrying, I decide to delay the breakfast stop and get through the construction before the sign changed its mind.  I never did cut that Kenworth off and good thing too as my mind was where it should be to mess with that much iron.  I had enough gas to make it to Bristol, now that I wouldn't waste it in neutral.  The construction was really a site to behold.  They were taking a pretty good sized mountain they had cut through to lay the original road and were widening it another 20-30 yards.  Caterpillar had some serious profits on the books from this job.  There were massive yellow vehicles swarming everywhere, but the lanes were clear and it's all I cared about.

At 08:55 I found my McBurrito and a cup of pansy-ass decaf in Dublin VA, mile marker 96.  I felt fantastic as I lubed the chain on the tiger who was running without a hitch, as it has done for the last 8 months and 10,000 miles.  How the PO only put 5K on her in 4 years I don't know, he was pretty busy farkeling though.  His loss and my gain.  At McDonalds, there was a guy riding across country on his bicycle. He covered in religious prison tattoos, and his bike trailer covered in "Jesus Saves" signs.  I was curious about what made this dude tick, but sensed there was no hope it would be a 2 minute conversation.  His iron was tougher than mine I am sure and I wish him luck.

After a 20 minute respite and some bodily fuel only, then it was back at it.  Get busy living, or get busy dieing were some pretty famous words uttered by Red in Shawshank Redemption.  Today I was choosing to live, and live on my own terms.  No one will care if I make it or fail miserably. Today, only I care about the outcome and that was enough.

As I merged back on to southbound 81, I sensed the half-way turnaround was now well within my sites.  Bristol, TN is just over the border  I tried to temper the foolish sense of invincibility that was growing inside me to no avail.  I had no idea what the rest of this adventure had in store for me today, but I relished the opportunity to experience it.

"Southbound" by the Allman Brothers was the song stuck in my head most of the morning, guiding me down the highway in dark and in light.  I missed a lot of classes in college and more than a few days of work seeing them more than 50 times in concert over the years.  I just put an acoustic version of those sweet sounds on now to put me back in the moment of this incredible (for me) journey to allow me to finish this installation of the story, while remembering both periods of my life with great fondness.

Giddy up.

MotoMorphosis (Part 8)

I know I am firmly entrenched in phase 3 because the proverbial ass kicking over the wallet subsided about 5 or 10 miles outside of Falling Waters, WV.  Had this happened at Wawa at 02:30, it would have been a different story.  Live for the moment and take Jim's advice and enjoy every mile.  I was certainly heeding that sage advice thus far.

No shit.  I'm not tired, not even a little.

After the rough start to the day and the nonsense that led up to it, I was sure I would be fighting the sleepy eye about now as I sizzled through the darkness, respectful of the radar gun buffer of the posted speed limit.  I knew I would be ok once I could see the sun. The only way for me to sleep during the day is to have a medium sized hangover and put on my own personal Ambien which is the Masters or NASCAR.  I haven't had a hangover in years, but that's how I remember it. I wasn't thinking about staying awake.  In retrospect, I wasn't thinking about anything at all.  It was as if I was just sitting there and sub-consciously reading and reacting to my surroundings. It was 05:20 and and sunrise was in 1 hour 55 minutes.  I can DO this.

"Virginia Welcomes You" the sign announces. Right back at-cha.  I wave and beep at the greeting, as is my custom, and get on with the business of shagging this big bitch.  Mile marker 323 of a descending pattern lets me know just how much is ahead of me.  646 miles out of the 1048 will occur in this state with so much history for my nation, of which I am so proud. Hopefully I don't make much history of my own and am able to pass through unnoticed in my bidirectional assault. I make a mental note of the 323 since on the way back I will be counting up to do my 'figgerin.

Rt 81 is such an easy ride.  Especially once you hit WV and VA where the posted speed bounces manically between 65 and 70 for no apparent reason.  Just as the sky took on that awesome shade of purple that marks the official start of a new day, I noticed Exit 205 had a large yellow and black billboard boasting the "Best BBQ in VA".  I wondered how many smoker toting pickup drivers took that as a personal offense when driving this interstate.  No mention of awards and their dates, just plain old best 'cause his momma said so I guess.  Too bad it was so early, too early for even BBQ which I usually cannot be denied.  Today was about making tracks, not sightseeing.  The real Iron Butt folks have a saying "Plan your ride, ride your plan".  BBQ was certainly not anywhere in my plan for today so on the Pilot Road 3's spun.

It seemed the next tank drained to the amber warning light pretty quickly.  Traffic picked up a bit with the morning commuters cursing themselves for being in a cage on what all the bubbly and busty weather girls were predicting to be the definition of a perfect day.  How did Al Roker get that job?? I of course was smiling about my predicament, so much so the cheeks on my face were about the only area of unusual discomfort.  The cheeks on my seat made nary a whimper.

"Here comes the sun do-do-do-dah.."

Buchanan, VA 07:40.  VA mile marker 168.  357 miles into this adventure and I successfully made it through night 1 about 20 minutes ago.  Miles to empty said 0 for the last 4 miles. I broke my own rule a couple miles back and exited without actually seeing the Marquee for the gas station and was jolted by the "3 miles thataway" sign at the bottom of the exit ramp.  Screw that, I am on a schedule.  Tached it back up to 5K and kept looking until I saw what the Tiger so desperately thought that it needed. 178.1 miles since Falling Waters.  4.328 gallons of Shell V-Power later I am cursing the ECU of this beautiful beast I occasionally refer to as Chiron.  Technically, we are both Chiron, but I'll let my readers figure that one out if they are so inclined.  There was another gallon in there and I swear to run deeper past 0 since the greedy bitch holds out on me for  80-100 miles in her thirst for more of the good stuff. The thought of pushing my top-heavy partner to the finish line somewhat tempered my enthusiasm for the plan as I chewed it over throughout the day.

I ask the lady inside about the construction that's about 1.5-2 hours ahead of me.  It's my biggest worry of the trip.  For days I have seen google traffic light up with red for extended stretches on the other side of Roanoke, sometimes for quite a ways.  It's a nondescript part of the state with not much in the way of population centers anywhere near.  My old girl at the counter tells me "oh yeah, that's bad, they're blastin' the mountains away on both sides and they start 'bout 8:30 quarter-a-9.  Lady in my church sat there in park for almost 2 hours on monday."  Thanks lady, it's 07:50 now, it's about 80 miles away, and you just mind fucked me.  This whole goddamn adventure may now come crashing down due to some Obama spending.  Whelp, nuttin' I can do about it now other than turn the key and get rockin down the highway.  I thank her politely as I return to my ride with thoughts of getting rock rained on my head from the blasts being more palatable than sitting there for 2 hours.  I was only 31.5 inches wide at the handlebars. Between he handguards and the polycarbonate coconut on my head, that should provide enough protection from the shrapnel right?  Maybe I can lane split and blast past the flagger in hopes the odds are in my favor.

Goddammit.

To add insult to injury, the original plan was to do breakfast at this stop (time, not place).  I was 30 miles from Roanoke however which was a little closer than I had planned.  If I were to hit commuter traffic anywhere along the line, it was likely to be Roanoke and I was now in a pinch.  I decide to push on through Roanoke and hope the work force there is more 9-5 than 8-5.  Hopefully I can catch breakfast on the other side without too much damage to the clock. It is abundantly clear i need some recon for alternate routes around the blasting which won't screw me too badly.

"Breaker-breaker 1-9, this is Joel.  Scuba-Conscious, you got your ears on?"
"This is Scuba-Conscious, go-head"
"Rumor has it we're crawling with care bears up ahead.  I need you to send up phase 1 pronto"
"That's a negative ghostrider, the pattern is full."
"Don't give me that shit, just do it, or I'll make you listen to rap when we get home."
"Uh-uh-uh, yes sir, right away sir, please don't ever mention that again sir"

Buh-bye phase 3.  You were awesome, I hope to have you back soon.  Every man has a job to do, and for the next hour of my life, I'm gonna need a pro.

MotoMorphosis (Part 7)

I stare longingly at Mr Coffee in the soft fluorescent glow of my kitchen.  He is such a swell guy.  I am tired, Friday 8am class after a raging Schaefer multi-keg college party tired.   The mehican standoff lasts a moment or two.  I remember my readings in the scroll of the Iron Butt tribe and decide for once in my life to follow directions.  All those elementary school teachers were SO wrong on my report card when they said I couldn't.  Ha! How do you like me now Mrs Lipski???  Vitamins, OJ and golden grahams will be the entirety of the menu this morning.

I slink off to the freezer, much like my daughter when she is told no more iCarly. I fill my camelback with some ice for the trip since the scrolls also say regular water intake is critical.  If I am going to listen to them regarding my bff Juan Valdez, I may as well take the camelback.  It's 45 degrees so I went light on the ice then slid into my gear.  LD Comfort scivvys bought specifically for this adventure, followed up by the polarweight fleecy hunting thermal pants.  Long sleeve tshirt and thermal top round out the undergarments.  Cabelas hunting socks on the dogs, followed by Firstgear mesh pants with the comfy liner in and my trusty hiking boots.  Upper half gets a fleece, Speed & Strength jacket with the trash bag liner in and the neck gaiter to cover the gobbler.  Final touches include the gerbings gloves and a reflective hi-vis vest so they can find me in the ditch after my lack of coffee dt's force me off the road.  Montezuma's a wuss.  I am much more afraid of Valdez's Revenge.

Dog is confused as hell due to the hour.  Thank god for neighbors to take care of him today.  With a wave I am off and awkwardly mount my  waltzing Tiger in my Michelin man duds.  Back down the driveway and I am at the 24hr Wawa minutes later for my first receipt at 2:36am.  For those of you who are new to the saddlesore/Iron Butt rules, it is based off of gas receipts.  I now have until 2:36am tomorrow to get a receipt 1000 miles away, or in my case, back from a 524 mile each way jaunt into this realm of silliness.
My guess is if I fail it will be because I forget to get one of my receipts. "Sidestand down, unplug gloves, get a receipt"  becomes my mantra for the day. I get about 200 miles easily out of a tank of hi test so there will be at least 5 more opportunities to screw it up.

First 50 miles or so were at 55 which was a drag but expected. For those who have never ridden a tiger, you should. I love this bike but it has 2 weaknesses. Both will be an issue for this trip. First, the headlight sucks, even after the hid upgrade. Stock is equivalent to holding a dinner candle at speed to light your way. Fortunately the high beam is weak as well but not too bad and fine for highway riding without incurring the wrath of my compadres in the giant trucks. Secondly, the trip buttons to reset mileage were designed by a tween  girl who never wore a pair of motorcycle gloves. How a bike with this much attention to detail gets through engineering with those buttons is something I cannot begin comprehend.

The beginnings of any longish ride for me follow a fairly predictable pattern. I think its why I like to ride further than most.  Phase 1 sees mind and body tingling with excitement and anticipation.. I mentioned Phaedrus earlier and this mental slicing mentality is a constant presence in my life. It has made me somewhat successful in several different ventures both professional and personal so it isn't necessarily a bad thing. The constant buzz of ideas gets a little old sometimes, but it is like Elwood J Blues said when the train passes his room. It happens "so often you won't even notice it". My friends laugh at it because it makes me me. The din recedes on very few occasions. Those include whenever my princess is around, 3+ hr motorcycle rides, 3hr + bass fishing trips and occasionally while reading a fictional novel by writers like Tom Clancy.

Today is no different. As I roll through Harrisburg PA the flood grows stronger and is also par for the course. Phase 2 is the corollary to a "Spinal Tap 11". Rerunning the route in my mind, playing out scenarios should I have a breakdown how it would be resolved. How will different mechanical gremlins present themselves in the early stages. These are the melodies playing over the harmonies of Penndot/government inefficiencies and funding, commercial vehicle inspection, the intricacies of customer satisfaction and engagement programs, what high school will be like for an adopted kid in 7 years, and god knows what else.  The melodies and harmonies run concurrently.  My only guess is that in a last ditch effort, my twisted neurons open all valves to full and start dumping in an effort to overload the system.  It doesn't work. Tiger trumps neuron.

By the PA-MD border things are quieting down inside the HJC. Welcome to the zone, we are glad to have you back. Phase 3 is why I ride. Here it is simply scanning for hazards ahead and to the sides.  That's it, nothing else. The symphony gives way to a one fingered solo of chopsticks. I LOVE IT.  I think this is why Buddhists always seem to have a smile.  They were smart enough to spend their life training to be in the zone.  It's like a titty bar for the mind.

Now that my mind is where I want it, I realize the temperature has dropped and I am getting cold. Hunters knows this thermocline event which occurs just before dawn well.  It always surprises me.  I guess I am not so bright.  I neglected to hook my gloves to the wires turtling out from my jacket.  No need to add stress so I hit the rest stop and electrify and I am back on the road in under 2 minutes. No harm no foul. 

Gas light on at 150miles. Silly computer doesn't know its ass from a hole in the ground. I know I can go maybe 75 more miles technically but usually concede to the orange light. Now to look for an easy on easy off a 4:45am in West Virginia. Falling Waters fit the bill 175 miles in.  I get my receipt, and take care of business. Things are going well and I am thrilled. I double check my receipt bag is stowed, the pelican box is locked tight and fumble with the trip reset buttons.

"Sir?  SIR!"

What the... Who's yelling sir so loud at 5am that I can hear through earplugs, a helmet and 1050cc's of the UK's finest?  I thought to ignore it at first and mind my own business, but put the bike back on sidestand and popped the lid on the helmet to see what the ruckus was about.  There was a 20 something girl with a lip ring and fake red hair walking in my general direction.

"Is this wallet yours?"

Epic fail.

You have got to be kidding me.  She went to clean the mens room after I left and it had fallen out of my jacket pocket which I thought was zipped. No matter how many times I F up, this trip seems destined for success. What's the chances that a gas station bathroom is cleaned more than once a day, and that a pierced 20 something graveyard shift worker at said gas station would find my wallet and return it to me,  inside a 3 minute window, with the $300 in tact?  I slipped her 20 for her efforts and kicked myself on down rt 81 south in the dark.

"Sidestand down, unplug gloves, get a receipt, check for your frickin wallet dumbass"

MotoMorphosis (Part 6)

WORK SUCKS.

In all fairness, most, if not all work sucks, that's why we ride on two wheels and supplement our protein intake with bugs, ingested at 70mph like some entomological beer bong.  I happen to like my job for the most part, certainly more than most.  Before I got paid to do what I do, I did it for fun in the comforts of my own home.  To steal a line from "vermin", the "grocery spigot" part of work helps smooth out the rough spots of the day.

The salve of the grocery spigot wasn't working today.

Tonight/tomorrow I leave.  What is 2am anyway? (said in my best Seinfeld voice)  The day was spent tying up loose ends for tomorrows absence, scanning google maps traffic overlays for construction and being generally unproductive.  I rambled more than usual much to my co-workers chagrin, but they are good eggs.  I did get a bonus for my ramblings though when the owner offered to pay for my gas if I did one more thing before I left.  (Note to self: you still haven't filed that expense report dummy).  My indenture clock got punched early on that beautiful day.  What to do?  Riding the tiger seemed semi-foolish as it would add some wear and tear to a posterior I would desperately need to protect in a few hours.

I was tired, it was 3pm.  Allow me to turn back the hands of time 24 hours.  I hate when movies do that without telling me...  So it is now 36 hours before my departure time.  Since I am being honest, I have sleep issues.  I'm not an insomniac per-se, but I fairly regularly stare at the ceiling for no particular reason when the sun no longer allows me to bask in its' glow.  I did not inherit either of my grandfathers genes who were regular working men who woke up at 3am every day of their lives.  Nope, I got that chromosome flipped at birth.  Fortunately, I did inherit their shiny headed hairline.  Wait, that's not good either. Anyway I can't fall asleep once a week or so.  This causes me to enjoy waking up late, every day.

I have a bit of Phaedrus in me.  I haven't finished the book as I type this, but so far at chapter 7, it fits.  I over-analyze.   My knife makes many sand piles then mixes them up to cut them up a different way.  It's a thing..  So, in my utter brilliance, I decide to set the alarm for 4:30am instead of my normal 6:30 snooze-a-thon so I can get my day started.  This will do two things Phaedrus says.  1, I can get the pile of sand on my desk at work cut and filtered for my absence (it's 1 day for god's sake).  2.  More importantly, I will intentionally screw with my circadian rhythm, thus allowing me to sleep long and deep *tomorrow* when it really counts because I will have intentionally made myself tired.  (For those of you who are brain surgeon's, you just picked up on some foreshadowing right? )

So, I had a Sierra Nevada Ruthless Rye while cleaning up the DVR and headed to bed.  Success.  What seemed like 2 minutes later the radio blared "She thinks my tractor's sexy" and it was off to the races.  Refreshed, bright eyed and bushy butt'ed, I scurried around and did my duties.

Fast forward 18 hours.  I'm frickin tired.  My friend Rick came over to verify my odometer for the witness form since start time was 0-dark-thirty.   I had a plan to get to bed early and he wished me luck and bolted early.

Stupid Flyers lose to the stupid devils. No worries, we will take them in the playoffs, we are way better than them. (Ahem, pay attention, more foreshadowing)  The reason seems to be no apparent reason other than they sucked.  Both the post-game show and the post-game-post-game wrapup show seem to share my in depth analysis.  Yup, what I thought was utter brilliance in waking up early appears to have been the infiltration of Wile E. Coyote.  I am a frickin moron.  I can't sleep.  Last time I remember looking at the clock was around midnight.  My tractor is all sexy again 2 hours later.  WTF.  I grab a shower and into my gear I go.  Nothing I can do about it now...

MotoMorphosis (Part 5)

The next few weeks passed rather slowly. My daydreams as well as the ones at night were filled with dashed yellow lines blazing by. The Tiger was checked and rechecked and ridden as the weather permitted. It wasn't enough.

A significant amount of time was spent reading about other people's rides, familiarizing myself with terminology and paying particular attention to others who had failed similar rides and why. The reasons really seemed to run the gamut from mechanical to mental. Mostly mental. Many lost receipts or had other lapses in judgement. Those who made it ranged from completely anal retentive planners, to guys who stayed too long partying with their friends and and had to race back to work the following day 1000 miles away. Other than being properly prepared, there didn't seem to be one sure-fire way to fail or succeed.

Wondering about my mental and physical state as the journey would progress consumed a large percentage of my thoughts. Would my butt hold up longer than my programmer hands, or would it be the other way around? Most imagery had me pulling into town late at night the following day 10 minutes short of 24 hrs. Jim assured me that if I did it right and kept my stops to military precision, I should have no problem making it home by 8pm if I left at 2am, which was my plan.

Jim's a good guy. Funny thing was, as I researched ride reports and read articles ad nauseum, I kept running into a dude sharing the same name as the one with which I was communicating. As stated earlier, I am a fan of the GPS since I got my first GPS 12 from Garmin long, long ago. I read articles on trip planning and learned a bit about rally's. (Note to self: remember to read that Ayers book!) Again, Jim's doppleganger. Turns out, my blind cry in the dark for local wisdom landed on the doorstep of the 2009 Iron Butt Rally champion and routing guru, Jim Owen. I felt a bit like a tool. I am still amazed at the time one of the heroes of this passion took out of their schedule to help a noob grow wings. That's pretty rare in most circles. I wouldn't expect batting practice tips from Ryan Howard or tips on breaking down a play from Brian Dawkins. I could expect Jaworski to talk my ear off about absolutely anything, but that's a different story entirely.

As predicted, my googling started running a bit thin. The weather was still cold. Time to break out Against the Wind.

I am glad that I did.

Against the Wind was quite different than I expected, and I loved it. I had read a little about Ron on various websites. "The executive who also rides a motorcycle". Why is that so shocking to people? I've known a couple fortune 500 execs over the years. Most are pretty normal guys, though some are certainly pompous asses. I think the article writers like the subliminal juxtaposition of smart and dumb. They also tout a neurosurgeon in the same regard. I would learn more about said neurosurgeon in the pages of the book that lay on my lap.

The book didn't lay there for long as I ripped though the contents in a few days. How these guys do/did it amazed me. 1000 mile days for 10 days in a row is just unfathomable for someone who struggled through 700 and paid for it the next day. I thought the account was quite well written and riveting. Enough technical detail for my personal taste, but overlayed quite well with the stories of the participants. I would recommend it highly.

Books done. Research done. Tiger done, and done and done. Damn you March, cut me some slack. You are giving me too much time to think, I just want to do.

Then it happened. The heavens opened. Trumpets sounded. Wednesday March 14, 2012. Sunny, highs near 80, lows in the upper 40's. Probability of precipitation 0%. Winds 5-15. Same forecast for Winchester, Roanoke and Bristol, TN. You have got to be kidding me. It's here. I shot Jim an email letting him know my decision. I scheduled some time with my daughter with my ex and wrote the day off the company vacation calendar.

By god, I am actually going to do this.