We pulled in for fuel just north of Bath and had one of those strange Iron Butt moments. A guy pulled in on a bike and we got chatting. He had applied – unsuccessfully – for a place in the Rally. He wanted to be on the ride we were doing. He knew the time pressure we were under, so he understood when we could not spend too much time chatting. Once the tanks were full, we were on our way again. As evening fell, the heat dropped too, towards a bearable level. North of Bangor, Maine, the land became less heavily populated and it was clear we were moving from one zone into another. The signs for wildlife seemed to get bigger, too, and deer changed to moose. Checking the sides of the roads for movement became even more important. Night fell and we still had some way to go if we were to get in position to make Perce Rock at low tide the next day. At this stage, we had discounted getting the bonuses on Prince Edward Island and Nova Scotia as being outside my range.
About 30 miles out of Houlton on the US-Canada border, we saw a bike pulled up on the hard shoulder. We pulled in to find Mike Huttsal out of petrol and stranded. The rules of the Rally state that you must give assistance to a Rally participant in the event of an emergency. Running out of petrol is not strictly an emergency but I reckoned it could be classified as a medical emergency – if it had been me to run out of petrol after all the preparations and planning for the Rally, I would have been very close to mental meltdown! So, I offered Mike some fuel. We could find a water bottle for the transfer but a hose or tube was a problem. Mike’s water tube came into play; later on after the Rally, he told me that it gave a strange flavour to his water for a few days, but at least he was back in the game. We gave and accepted ‘receipts’ for the fuel to ensure that our fuel logs would be correct and got back on the road.
The border at Houlton passed easily, with a slightly surprised border guard finding an Irish guy and an Irish bike heading into Canada in the dark around 22:00.
The road changed. In America, the road was Interstate, divided, two lanes both ways. In Canada, we were on simple two-lane roads with lots of construction. We began to hit some mist and lots of construction. Truck traffic also was quite heavy. On the Interstate, these giant trucks with 53-feet long trailers usually are well away from you, or you are passing them at about 5 to 10 miles per hour. On the Canadian roads, they were close and appeared to be moving very quickly. The first few miles in Canada were taken very gingerly, sitting in the pocket between two trucks as they cut a way forward into the night. As we got used to the road surface, the signage and the way of driving, we cut out on our own. In Houlton, we had stopped for fuel and a McDonald’s. We had targeted Grand Falls, Quebec, as a stopping place for the night. We got to Grand Falls just before midnight, got a motel room and hit the bed with alarms set for 06:00. This would give us the requisite stop time to claim the six-hour rest bonus.
RALLY DAYS 3 AND 4: WEDNESDAY, 22 AND THURSDAY, 23 AUGUST: GRAND FALLS, QUEBEC TO CONCORD, OHIO VIA PERCE ROCK, QUEBEC: 1,515 MILES – 38,924 POINTS
At 06.00, the sun was up but the country was shrouded in fog. On with the electrically-heated clothing, Homer and I packed the bikes and headed out into the fog. We had no way of knowing whether the fog would last long or disappear quickly. We were lucky – within 20 miles, we were riding through open rolling countryside. Small farmhouses were dotted along beside the road. The moose signs had completely taken over from deer signs when we saw the early warning signs for a construction zone.
This would be my first real construction zone and it soon became clear that, when they said ‘construction’, what they meant was the road was gone – not there – disappeared. The zone extended from the top of a hill down into the valley and beyond. The hill looked more like a cliff to me and the surface was soft, deep clay. I gripped the saddle tightly and headed down the cliff. The Gold Wing took it all in its stride but I was glad we had come to the construction zone in daylight hours and not the previous night.
Through St Quentin and soon we were at Campbelton, looking for the Giant Salmon. How hard can it be to find a giant salmon? After 10 or 15 minutes, we found the fish just as Ken Morton was pulling out. We took our photos and were packing up as Dick Fish pulled in. It was time for breakfast and the GPS showed that we would be OK for Perce, so we had a sit-down fried breakfast in a small café-petrol station. The hot grease was lovely and gave us a nice cover to our stomachs for the day’s efforts ahead.
Bonus 4: Campbelton, Giant Salmon, Canada.
The road from Campbelton to Perce is a beautiful one, bordering the Atlantic. Small towns and villages line the road all the way, with beautiful painted timber houses and lots of people on holidays, relaxing and enjoying the views. It was essential to keep our full attention for ‘Sunday drivers’. You know the type: “Oh, look at that lovely seagull! Let’s stop the car in the middle of the road and take a photograph!”. It is very important to remember that the Iron Butt is a Rally and we were very careful to make allowances for the Sunday drivers.
Perce Rock is spectacular. A huge rock broken from the mainland, with a section of sea-bed that is clear of the ocean at low tide. It appears to be a major tourist attraction, with lots of couples and families walking out to the rock at low tide. This day, they were joined by a number of guys in bike gear with cameras and Rally flags.
Bonus 5: Perce Rock, Quebec, Canada.
Homer and I got our gear together and headed along the stone beach to the rock. The footing was difficult but we made good progress, walking through ankle-deep water to get to the rock, as the holiday-makers stepped from stone to stone to keep their feet dry. We met four or five other Rally riders on the rock. It was like an impromptu committee meeting, as we discussed the detail of the bonus instructions. No one wanted to have ridden all the way to Perce Rock only to have their photo disqualified back in St Louis. Photos were taken to the agreed standard and we headed back to the bikes. It was time for another Iron Butt moment.
As we struggled back along the beach, the Bionic Man approached us. It was Rob Nye, running along the beach. Full run. Arms pumping. Breathing easily. No sweating. “Rob, that’s impressive”. “Yes”, he replied, “six miles a day, six days a week, for the past 18 months”. That is, since he was told he had a place in the Rally. I turned to Homer and said I was glad I wasn’t running in that Rally! The level of preparation and commitment of the Big Dogs in the longdistance community is very high. As Rob pulled away towards the Rock, three more guys came running along the beach. This time, they were still wearing their riding jackets and at a full run. Impressive.
We checked we had all the requirements for the Perce Rock bonus and looked at our route back to St Louis. It was Wednesday, 14:00. We had to be back in St Louis on Friday, at 17:00 I thought, but in fact it was for 19:00. Time to make tracks.
Bonus 5 again: Perce Rock, Quebec, Canada.
We chose to ride along the Northern Coast road of the Gaspe Peninsula to Quebec. The road was spectacular, a real coast road. Not just in and out but up and down as well, a real rollercoaster of a road. The sun shone and the bikes were running well. We had had a good night’s sleep and a cooked breakfast. We had bagged the big bonus of the Leg and were on our way back. Life was good. The road was long. Quebec came and went. Montreal seemed to take a long time to get through and Toronto stretched out before us. Tiredness began to be a problem for me. We pulled into a Canadian Root Beer café. Homer grabbed a power nap. I found it difficult to shut down and sleep. We were off again. A couple of hours later and, still with 100 miles to go to Toronto, I wanted to rest. We pulled into a truck stop and found a quiet place to sit and rest. I still had not mastered the art of sleeping while sitting up but the rest was very welcome.
Into the dawn as we approached Toronto. Toronto is a vibrant city and we got caught up in its early morning rush hour. To be honest, the traffic moved quite well but we had been so used to open roads with little traffic that it was a challenge. On a bike, I don’t like to have cars and trucks too close to me. Through Toronto and we got to Niagara for 09:00.
The bonus sheet said we had to take a photo of Niagara Falls from the top of the viewing tower. Up we went in a tiny yellow pod to the top of the tower. Out onto the viewing platform and we worked hard to get acceptable photos of the falls. But which falls – the American or the Canadian? We took no chances and took photos of both. You have never seen a grown man hold onto a piece of cloth so tightly as we did to our Rally flags at the top of the tower as the wind whipped around us. Back down and the tiredness was beginning to hit me again.
Niagara Falls Observation Tower, Niagara, Ontario, Canada.
Bonus 6: American Falls, Niagara.
Bonus 6 again: Canadian Falls, Niagara, Ontario, Canada.
We crossed into America at Buffalo and, within minutes, were back facing into a torrential rainstorm. Traffic was medium to heavy, with trucks throwing up walls of spray. The conditions were challenging. Hardly able to see, Homer and I missed each other at a turn-off. He pulled off at the first junction. I was on the junction before I realised he had taken it. I carried on at a reduced pace. He knew I was suffering and probably looking for something to eat.
I pulled into the first rest area on the Interstate and put the bike on the mainstand, facing back in the direction we had come from. The rest area was on a slight rise, so I could see back up the Interstate for about half a mile. The rain continued to pour down, with more vehicles beginning to take refuge. I waited for Homer to come out of the spray and signalled him when I saw his headlight. I had hit my personal physical and psychological wall. Marathon runners often hit this wall and now it was my turn. Thursday, 23 August 2007 in upstate New York in a torrential down pour, I was ready to go home.
Waiting for Homer: Buffalo, New York.
Homer pulled in and knew immediately the state of my mind. He previously had competed in three Iron Butt rallies and he knew the signs. He very sensitively waited for me to talk and suggested we rest for a while. By this stage, I had decided that we needed to run at our own separate paces. We had discussed this during the preparations for the Rally. We had decided to ride together as long as our respective riding, eating and sleeping rhythms were in sync and to ride our own rides thereafter. That time was now. We agreed to meet up in St Louis.
Homer headed off into the teeth of what in Ireland would be called a rainstorm. In the USA, it was probably called a shower. I rang home. My wife talked me through the situation and suggested that I needed food and rest, always a good recipe for a Keegan. I knew she was right. I went into the rest area, had some breakfast, a rest and got my head together. I called my pal Mike Nolan in Ireland too and talked through the situation. I decided to carry on, for a bit anyway.
The rain had eased off when I pulled on my wet gloves and got back onto the Interstate. I refuelled in a place called North East and passed a town called Chautaqua. Any of you who have read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M Pirsig will know the significance of Chautaqua. Within an hour, the sun was back out and the temperatures had risen towards 100˚F again. By mid-afternoon, I still had not managed to get much rest and my mood was at a deep low. The thought that kept running through my head was that I just was not good enough to be participating in the Rally. I doubted my riding ability and my stamina. This was day three-and-a-half of 11 days and I was right up against that wall. I rang home again, sweltering outside a small shopping mall, at 14:52. My wife asked me whether I had had any real rest? “No! Well, get some!!” By 15:00, I was checking into a motel in Concord, Ohio. By 15:30, I had showered and was in bed. By 15:31, I was asleep.
I woke up at 04:00. Yes, I had been tired and had gotten into a personal sleep deficit. At 04:00, I got out my maps and fired up the computer and GPS. Thinking hard and carefully, I decided that I could continue and that I wanted to continue.
RALLY DAY 5: FRIDAY, 24 AUGUST: CONCORD, OHIO TO ST LOUIS, MISSOURI: 689 MILES – 5,968 POINTS
Checking out at 04:20, I needed to find a Wal-Mart store. I wasn’t planning just to head back to St Louis, I had decided to get back in the Rally properly and I needed to replace my Polaroid camera that I had left behind me at the St Louis Arch, the first bonus location. The hotel staff told me there was a Wal-Mart five miles up the road, so off I went. America is an amazing place. It might be the middle of the night but you can buy a Polaroid camera, food and water – all you need for an Iron Butt Rally. Armed with my new camera, as well as some bananas, cereal bars and water, I got back on the bike and into the game.
Cleveland, Ohio and the FREE stamp. I got to Cleveland about an hour before dawn. But where was the FREE stamp? I saw a camera crew from a local television station and asked them where the FREE stamp was. Following their directions, I pulled up to find Jim Winterer resting beside his bike and waiting for dawn. We chatted for a couple of minutes, then I headed out for a short walk, a stretch and a hunt for some breakfast. Jim went back to sleep. I had my walk but couldn’t find any breakfast, so I headed back to Jim and the bikes. I laid down for a snooze, too.
No sooner had I closed my eyes than I heard two guys talking as they walked past: “I wouldn’t sleep there unless you wanted to be mugged”. My eyes shot open to see two construction workers on their way to work. Two strong, tough guys. One thing led to another and, within a minute, we were talking bikes and riding. It turned out that the construction guys rode Harleys and had visited the 100-year celebrations of Harley-Davidson. Jim was wide awake by this time and listening to the conversation. The construction guys mentioned what types of Harley they rode and I commented that they were lovely bikes. The guys chatted for another couple of minutes and then headed off to work. A pleasant few minutes chatting with fellow bikers. Jim was aghast. He couldn’t understand how I was still alive after telling two construction workers that their bikes were ‘lovely’. Apparently that word is not used in America to describe another guy’s bike!
Dawn had broken and we felt we could get our photos and roll out of Cleveland. We were making tracks out of town when a heavily-modified Harley zoomed past me and then almost immediately dived for an exit ramp to my right. I thought he was going a bit hard and had not left me a lot of space. Just another road incident, I thought. Jim Winterer was behind me, leaving the FREE stamp and he had a different view of the affair. He saw the Harley guy dive across in front of me, cutting me up. He then saw the guy struggle to make the turn, deck the whole bike down and leave a trail of sparks as he fought to bring his bike back under control. He saw him finally manage to do so. Jim reckoned there was a sudden, very strong smell of ‘adrenaline’ in the air.
West on I-90. The next bonus location was in Clyde, Ohio. I missed the turn off the Interstate and had to go nearly 20 miles further before I could get an off ramp. Both Jim and I arrived at the Twistee Ice Cream booth at the same time, taking two different roads. We talked about our plans for getting back to St Louis by 17:00 (the actual time for the checkpoint was 19:00, but we were both labouring under a 17:00 cut-off).
Bonus 7: The Twistee Kiosk, Clyde, Ohio.
It was now 07:15 in Ohio and we were still a ways from Missouri. Jim headed for the Honda factory in Marysville, while I headed for the Mentone Egg in Indiana. Jim left me with a reminder to be aware of the evening rush hour traffic in St Louis. This was to be a useful reminder, later in the day.
The run to Fort Wayne was uneventful, one of those ‘sit there, twist that’ rides. The weather was hot, the road was good and the traffic was OK. State road 30 out of Fort Wayne seemed to take forever to cross. I was back on a dual carriageway road with traffic lights, towns and frequent stops. After the relative freedom of the Interstate system, it was difficult and it was hot. Then the turn came for Mentone onto Ohio county road 25. I was back home. The road type, the surface and the hedgerows and countryside reminded me of Ireland. I could be comfortable on this small winding road. This was my type of road and it came at just the right time for me. Great fun.
Bonus 8: The Mentone Egg, Mentone, Ohio.
The Mentone Egg is a six-foot-tall egg, marking Ment
one as the ‘Egg Basket of the Mid West’. Mentone is a small village, built in the middle of a wonderful stretch of road. The Egg is located right at the centre of the village’s main street, outside the general store. I couldn’t help but wonder what the village’s people thought of all these strange creatures descending on their town with big bikes and lots of gadgets and who were gone as soon as they blinked.
I bought four litres of water and refilled my water cooler. I downed half a litre of Gatorade, refilled my bar-mounted drinks bottle and headed out of town. If the road into Mentone was fun, the road out should have been classified as addictive. Fabulous, open corners, top class surface, a biker’s playground.
It was time to head for St Louis now, on IN25 to IN31 and down to Indianapolis. The traffic built up as I got closer to the city, as it always does. I was very interested when I passed some road works. They had built small motorised buggies, with workmen driving along popping in cats eyes, sitting only a couple of inches from the ground. Strange but effective.
Back onto I-70 at Indianapolis and my Interstate head came back on. St Louis was still 250 miles away and Rally HQ a further 20 miles. Time to get on with it. Refill and ride. The sky started to go dark 100 miles from St Louis. And then it got really black. I knew what was coming and braced myself. Within 20 minutes, the winds had risen and the first rains hit. I was at 70 mph and watching the storm the way a dog watches its dinner. I was giving it a lot of careful attention. There was an exit coming about a mile ahead of me but none any sooner. Then the storm hit. Within seconds, the winds had risen to gale force strength. The rain made it nearly impossible to see the road. The turn-off I had been expecting came just on cue and I made a dive for the exit to get off the Interstate and get into shelter. It was all I could do to hold the bike upright in the wind. Water was flowing down the road, about one to two inches deep. I saw the lights of a petrol station and crawled my way over, fighting the winds all the way. Under the canopy, I drew breath again, putting the bike up on the main stand. Inside, I got a coffee and a muffin and gathered my nerves. I was going nowhere until this one had blown over. The thunder and lightning came quickly, with barely one to two seconds between the flashes and booms. From the relative security of the petrol station, I watched the storm roll in towards me from the west.
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