Butt Seriously

by Richard Keegan

  The storm seemed to have a life of its own. The electricity cut out in the petrol station for a couple of seconds. The storm was over us, around us, on all sides. Rain covered the ground to two or three inches. Cars were filling the petrol station rapidly. I wasn’t the only one looking for shelter. The storm continued to move east. The winds and the rain eased off. It was around 15:00 and I had to be in St Louis for 17:00. I rang Lisa Landry to tell her I might be late in getting back in. “No problem, keep it safe”. The storm was gone. As if it had never been there. The sky to the west was clear and bright. The sky to the east was black. Barns that had been clearly visible to the east had disappeared. I finished my coffee and saddled up.

  Riding through the post-storm countryside was a pleasure. The road had dried out very quickly but the air still was cool from the rain. After the heat of the day, it was very comfortable, for about an hour. I began to close on St Louis. As I came into the rush hour traffic, I saw a bike about four cars in front of me. It was Jim Winterer and we were both caught in the St Louis rush hour. After a few minutes of very slow, stop-start traffic, we started a programme of lane-changing. I live in Dublin, the capital of Ireland, and I suppose that I am used to heavy traffic and making progress under such conditions. I avoided lane-splitting completely but did make liberal use of the lane-changing method. Jim sat on my six and, in no time at all, we were back at Rally HQ with our clocks stopped and out of the rain that had started to fall again. Jim had a huge grin on his face; apparently, he quite enjoyed the Irish system of traffic management.

  The car park of the DoubleTree Chesterfield hotel, which served as Rally HQ was a different place to the one we had left four-and-a-half days ago. Gazebo-type tents had sprung up in a line, with crews of people working on bikes under the shade and cover of the gazebos. It looked like a scene from the Paris-Dakar Rally. Guys were having their tyres changed, oil changed and running repairs done on their bikes by pals and supporters. Now my clock was stopped, I unpacked my bike and pulled a rain-cover over the top. She needed no work done to her and she was not going to get any fiddling done. All systems were working well and all bits were still attached. I headed into the hotel and out of the rain.

  Homer also was at the Rally HQ. He had made Mentone and headed up to Chicago for the big bonus locations there, only to run into a serious storm in Chicago with hurricane winds of 70 to 80 mph, widespread power cuts and Interstate closures. He had managed to get into a motel that night and back to St Louis. We did our paperwork for Leg 1 and prepared to go into the scoring room. The Rally staff had laid on a beautiful BBQ buffet and we were very glad of the food.

  I waited for my turn to sit at the scoring table for the first time. Of course, I had not gotten my paperwork right. The scorer rightly told me to leave the table, correct the oversight and queue up again. Bill Watts was managing the process and told me to take my time, answer the question on the scoring sheet I had missed and he got me scheduled to a scoring table soon afterwards. I had been very particular in keeping my fuel logs accurate during the ride and sailed through that part of the process. The question I had missed was “Are there any bonus locations claimed that were different to the bonus sheet instructions?”. The answer was “Yes” – remember the Honda factory and getting the business card and not a photo. My final total for Leg 1 of the Rally was 77,323 points with zero penalties. I was placed 45th, with 4,001 miles travelled.

  Leg 1 over, time to get ready for Leg 2. It was 22:15 on Friday, 24 August. Bonus sheets for Leg 2 would be issued at 04:00 on Saturday morning.

  Time for bed.

  LEG 2: SATURDAY, 25 AUGUST TO THURSDAY, 30 AUGUST

  RALLY DAY 6: SATURDAY, 25 AUGUST: ST LOUIS, MISSOURI TO EAGLE, COLORADO: 997 MILES – 4,498 POINTS

  The Leg 2 bonus packs were due to be distributed at 04:00 on Saturday morning. At 03:30, the hotel lifts were in full action, with riders making their way to the main hall. Rally packs were distributed and we headed to the room to get out the maps and fire up the computers. There were 130 bonus locations, spread from Homer, Alaska and Deadhorse, Alaska through Washington state, California and on to Texas, with a couple of bonuses in Minnesota. West coast it was then.

  “Where is Idaho?”, the process began. Four hours later and we had found all the locations on the maps. The picture began to take shape. For the really adventurous, there was Deadhorse, Alaska – actually, it was clear that this was impossible, given the need to be back in St Louis by Friday at 08:00. It was just not physically possible, even for the best long-distance riders in the world. Homer, Alaska, though, was just on the outer limit of possible, if you had good roads, good weather and are one of the best riders in the world. There were one or two guys in the room who potentially could have pulled off the ride to Homer and got back to St Louis in time. I was not one of them.

  The more I studied the West Coast map with the bonus locations on it, the more clearly my ride began to shout at me. There were big bonus points to be gained in San Francisco and the mountains of California. Mono Hot Springs was a bonus location. I had read about the ride into Mono and it had gotten under my skin. The ride was all tarmac, but supposed to be very difficult. I wanted to do it, and it was big points. The Ancient Bristlecone Forest, on the other hand, was big points but miles of dirt road with the warning that it was impassable if it was raining or had rained. I was listening to warnings given.

  Homer and I decided on the simple loop ride from St Louis to Las Vegas, up to San Francisco and back, with the possibility of several bonus locations that could be added or dropped, based on how we were progressing. We loaded the route and the additional bonus locations into the GPS and got ready to head out on Leg 2. We were ready to leave by 10:30, when I checked my tyre pressures to find them low by five pounds. My compressor failed and I ended up borrowing Homer’s to get the pressures up. My blood pressure was up, as well as the tyre pressure.

  Bonus 9: Columbia University, Missouri.

  Homer and I were riding together again. The heat and humidity were fierce. We left the parking lot at 11:00 on our way to Columbia University in Missouri. The first part of the challenge was finding the university, and the columns that are used as its symbol. We found the bonus location and had to try a couple of angles to get the Rally flags and all six Ionic columns into the picture. Do the paperwork, load up and saddle up and we were on our way into Kansas.

  Bonus 10: The Wizard of Oz Museum, Wamego.

  Kansas, made famous through The Wizard of Oz movie. The bonus we were targeting was the Wizard of Oz museum in Wamego. The bonus was time-delimited. We had to be there by 17:00 to buy a simple souvenir in the store. A quick calculation on the GPS showed that we would be there by 16:55. With a five-minute margin of error and 232 miles to go, we had no time to lose. We got right out of Columbia and on our way. We rode straight to Wamego, arriving at 16:50 and captured our bonus. Now we could relax, a little. Our next bonus was available 24 hours and was on our route over the Rockies, in Idaho Springs.

  Back in Wamego, the ladies in the museum were nice and smiled when the phrase, “We are not in Kansas anymore!” was used. They said it was the first time they had heard it, that day. Some of the other Rally riders were there, one sitting on the pavement, in the shade, with his laptop, working on his route for the rest of the leg. A number of local people were sitting around, taking in the sights as these unusual bikers rode into their town, targeted their museum and rode out again. On the ride back out of town, two more Rally participants passed us on their way into town. One of them was sure to miss the bonus, one of them might have made it on time.

  The road stretched in front of us. It was 17:00 and the next bonus location was in Idaho Springs, Colorado, 541 miles and at least seven-and-a-half hours away. The only thing between us and the bonus was Kansas. Kansas is big. Kansas is flat. Kansas is probably a nice place to live in, but it is not a great place to ride through. You feel as if the road stretches out in front of you interminably. The sky is huge and we had two tur
ns to make in the state. One turn to the right and one turn to the left. It was time to set the cruise control. We locked onto our speed-setting and settled in for the ride. We had a small problem, though. The Gold Wing is fitted with a very accurate electronic cruise control. Homer’s BMW-GS had a throttle-lock fitted. On a completely flat road, the two bikes would hold their relative positions and stay at the same speed. Add any form of incline and the Gold Wing would compensate and maintain the same speed, while the BMW would slow down on the up incline and speed up on the down slope, its speed dictated by the throttle setting.

  We rode deeper into Kansas. Three hours later, we were facing into a towering wall of black cloud. We were heading straight towards a major storm in Kansas, the home of the tornado. Thoughts of Dorothy landing in Oz flashed through my mind, or was that the lightning from the bottom of the clouds? Then we had a bit of luck. We turned right. Turning right brought us across the front of the storm and, at 70 mph, we were soon riding north and out of its reaches. Dry.

  An hour later, we were still riding north on I-70 and the sky turned black once again, directly in front of us. Our luck held. The second turn in Kansas came up. We could see the storm crashing into the ground in front of us as we rode towards it. We could see houses being engulfed. We could see their lights winking out as the storm hit them. And we turned left and it missed us. Just like that. Dry, again.

  We rode on into Colorado as night fell. Denver came and went without any problem. I had been in Denver in 2005. My wife and I had travelled to Denver to attend the end of the 2005 Iron Butt Rally. We arrived a couple of days early and had hired a bike to ride to Yellowstone Park. We also had made the trip from Denver to Vail so I knew the road we were on.

  West of Denver, I-70 rises from the gentle slope of the Great Central Plains to the peaks of the Rocky Mountains. The ride from Vail back into Denver is spectacular. It is as if you come to a point where the road seems to act like a lemming and dives over a cliff down to the Great Plains. We were riding up the cliff. The road rises to over 11,000 feet. It is a beautiful but challenging ride in daylight.

  Interstate 70 is a fine road. In the mountains, it takes on a new nature. It changes from a gentle, straight road with two turns to a snarling switchback with tight turns, rapidly-rising smooth curves and long power-sapping climbs. In the daytime, it is the sort of road that bikers dream about. At night …

  We pulled into Idaho Springs above Denver at about 23:30 local time. We were now on mountain-time, and started our search for the Steve Canyon statue. Steve Canyon was a well-known American cartoon character in the 1960s, apparently, so I had no idea what he looked like, but I knew to look for a statue. Idaho Springs reminded me of any Alpine village, except that this one was in the Rockies. When looking for bonus locations, it is often difficult to know how far you should go before turning back. We split up in the town and kept contact over the CB radio system. My unit worked OK at static or very low speeds. Over 50 mph, it was useless. It worked in Idaho Springs.

  We found Steve and took our photos and waited to check they showed the statue and Rally flags clearly. We wrote all the required information onto the photos. I was finding the going hard again, so we hit the local McDonald’s just before they closed. Homer took a catnap but, once again, I wasn’t able to turn off and sleep.

  Bonus 11: The Steve Canyon Statue, Idaho Springs, Colorado.

  Back on the bikes, we were off towards Vail and the pass reaching over 11,000 feet. There was some traffic, even at this elevation, after midnight. It was pitch black and, as we rose into the mountains, we hit mist and fog. Now the ride became surreal.

  Homer practises by riding in the Alps, often getting to ride the great roads of the Austrian, Swiss and Italian Alps. I practice by riding in Ireland. Our highest mountain is 3,000 feet high. I suppose I am a ‘plains rider’. On the climb to Vail, the difference in our riding styles and abilities was very clear. I was losing ground and had no way of staying in touch with Homer if I rode within my personal boundaries. I chose to keep within my skill level and lost touch with Homer. We had discussed this again in St Louis and again had agreed that we would ride together as long as it made sense for both of us.

  I pulled over at Eagle, Colorado and got myself a hotel room for some sleep. This was Day 6 of the Rally. The first hotel I went to had all its lights on in the lobby but no desk clerk. I was tempted to crash in their lovely comfortable-looking easy chairs but I knew I needed to get horizontal and get some sleep, not just a snooze. I called out for the night clerk for a couple of minutes and left when none arrived. I still wonder where they were and what they were doing?

  Down the road, I tried my second hotel. Here, the night clerk, a very helpful and polite lady, said she had a room free and that she would put me at the end of the hotel away from the other guests so that I could sleep on in the morning and not be woken by the cleaning staff. It was 02:30. I got to my room, sent some text messages to home and to Homer to tell him I was stopped and OK, had a shower and was in bed asleep by 02:50.

  RALLY DAY 7: SUNDAY, 26 AUGUST: EAGLE, COLORADO TO BAKERSFIELD, CALIFORNIA: 913 MILES – 3,690 POINTS

  I surprised the desk clerk when I checked out at 05:30 next morning. The three hours’ sleep, a perfect rest and I was all set for the day’s ride. And what a ride it was to be.

  Spectacular is an often-used word. The ride this Sunday was spectacular. I had crossed the Continental Divide in the night. All rivers were now heading for the Pacific Ocean and so was I. The scenery was really American. The colours of the rocks were amazing, with awe-inspiring formations. I was approaching canyon land, the bike and the tyres were performing beautifully and the bike was tracking as if it was on rails through the broad sweeping turns as I descended from the Rockies. Life was good. I was up early enough that, for the first three hours riding, it was not even too hot, just a really pleasant Sunday bike run.

  Then the warning light came on for low petrol. No problem, time for the auxiliary tank. Except I had already emptied the auxiliary tank the previous evening. I was getting low on petrol. No problem, I thought, I will get juice at the next town, 30 or 40 miles away. No problem. But 30 miles, then 40 miles, came and went without any petrol opportunities. Finally, an exit came and I took it. A mile and a half later, I came to a T-junction. On the left was a simple petrol station, more like a shack, with two petrol pumps outside. And two old guys in real cowboy hats chatting in what was now 100˚F heat. Just chatting, no hurry. No problem, I thought, until I saw the sign written onto the side of the shed: “God took a day off on Sunday – and so do we!”.

  Oh boy. I asked the old guys and they directed me back east about eight miles on the county road, where they assured me I could get gas on a Sunday. Riding along through the range lands on the county road, I was counting down the miles, passing by fields with horses running free, the Wild West. Then the fun started. The gas station was supposed to be at a crossroads. I had found the crossroads but no sign of the petrol station. It took me about 20 minutes to find the gas station – up and down and across. Unbelievable. In this remote and semi-desert place, I couldn’t find the gas station. It was ‘hidden’ behind some small bushes. Filled up with gas, water and Gatorade, I headed back to the Interstate and the junction with Interstate 15.

  Interstate 15 has to be one of the most dangerous roads in the world. The traffic was moderate, the surface is good, the road is wide but it goes through one of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever seen. You find yourself not wanting to watch the road but wanting to look at the incredible scenery instead – highly dangerous! Temperatures were again well into the 100s and I was sucking water and Gatorade constantly. Twice on this run to Las Vegas, my cloud angels helped me out. Twice, it rained a gentle rain when the temperature was at its highest.

  I-15 is a popular biker route. I passed several groups of Harley riders as they holidayed down this spectacular road. The contrasts were quite stark. They rode in T-shirts and jeans, some with helmets, some withou
t. They all seemed to be so cool. I was riding in full bike gear: jacket, trousers, gloves and helmet. I was sure that I wasn’t cool. But we were all enjoying the ride, the scenery and the experience. There are so many different ways to enjoy biking.

  This was my first time in this part of America and I had not realised that there were so many mountains. Trucks crawled their way up steep inclines and then made strong progress on the way down the other side. On the run into Vegas, the radar detector went off for only the second time in 6,000 miles. I quickly checked my speed and it was at 72 mph. So, it was not a problem for me unless the officer wanted to be very picky, as I was in a 70 mph zone. The detector beat increased and then I saw the police cruiser approaching on the opposite carriageway. No lights on and no chase. He was driving with his radar on full-time. Another 15 miles down the road and the same thing happened again; it was obviously their way of working the roads and letting drivers know they were about.