I’m riding along at 35 miles an hour, its 3 am, the sky is cloudless and there is nothing in this part of Quebec, Canada but forest and the road for miles and miles. No houses, no towns, no nothing. I’m standing on my motorcycle’s pegs because I’m riding over washboard gravel, and I hate gravel. I’m en route to Perce Rock in Northern Quebec, a place I’ve never heard of in a Country I’ve never visited with the sole goal of taking a Polaroid photo of said rock with a small flag in the foreground. The flag has the number 56 on it and the words “Iron Butt Rally, Worlds Toughest Motorcycle Competition, eleven days, eleven thousand miles”.

As I ride along the thought crosses my mind that the 250 miles of road between me and Perce Rock may be all gravel. I truly hate riding on gravel but I’ve invested close to 800 miles in getting to this point and if I turn around now I won’t have enough bonus points to be a finisher in the Iron Butt Rally so I suck it up and continue on. I’m mentally running the numbers, time, distance and speed. I’ve got to get to the Rock at low tide so I can walk out to it for the photo and even at this speed I can do it.It’s going to be a tiring ride but I start to feel better knowing I can make it in time. Then I notice that the deserted construction zone I’ve been riding through for the past 20 minutes is getting weird. Both my Northbound lane and the Southbound lane are marked by four foot high white poles with reflective tape on the top that are spaced every 20 feet, but the lane I’m traveling in starts to get lower than the Southbound side, sort of a gentle ramp and over the space of a few hundred feet I’m now below the grade of the other lane, still following the reflective guides.

I slow down a bit and in the headlights I see a wall of gravel dead ahead that is 10 feet high going all the way across my path. The reflective poles continue right into the gravel and I’m stopped at the bottom of a pit surrounded by gravel on three sides. I know I’ve been awake for a long while but I’m not prone to hallucinations and this has the feeling of a strange/bad dream.

I turn the R60 around and go back up the ramp till the two lanes are level again and figure that since there is no traffic I’ll go North in the Southbound lane after I get over the 8 inch berm of gravel that sits between the lanes. The front tire goes over fine and then the rear breaks loose and the bike drops, at 0 miles an hour, on the right side. Did I mention that I hate gravel? I step off to the right and look down at the bike. What else can I do but break out into loud, maniacal laughter.

My name is Joel, I’m a Long Distance motorcycle rider and I’ve been riding for 35 years. Back in the ‘70s BMW had a reputation for building extraordinarily reliable motorcycles that would go anywhere and last forever. I bought my BMW R60/6 new in 1976 and it’s the only cycle I’ve ridden since. I named the cycle Entropy after the idea in physics that everything in the universe wears down over time, but it takes a long time for it to happen. At this writing she has 462,000 miles on her and is as reliable and performs as well as the day I bought her. Until this past spring I’d done all of the maintenance including tire changes and engine rebuilds and she had never been in a shop.

I really love to ride, and in anything short of there being ice on the roads I’m on the bike. There is something about the feel of the wind, vibration of the engine, leaning into turns, smelling the countryside and the idea that I’m settled into a seat on top of an engine with a wheel at each end and not much else that appeals to me. I’ve been averaging 30-40,000 miles a year for the past few years and when asked why I ride so much I say that it keeps me sane. Folks who know me reply that it’s obviously not working, but I carry on.

I’ve always liked to ride and until 6 years ago that meant 200-300 miles in a day with an occasional 600 or 700 miles in 24 hours. Then I had a relative who lives in New Jersey get sick. I began making the 1050 mile round trip ride every other weekend from my home in North Carolina. When I began making these trips I would ride an hour and rest, ride an hour and eat, ride and hour…..you get the picture. It took 13 hours to travel each way and I was a bit ‘wired’ when I arrived at the end of each leg and needed to get a solid 8 hours sleep before I could ride again.

Then I discovered the Iron Butt Association. This is a group of riders who relish the thought of long miles in the saddle. I read everything I could at www.ironbutt.com and signed onto the LDriders e-mail list where long distance riders share information and stories. I modified the R60 for long distance riding with a custom saddle, auxiliary fuel cell (which increased my range to 480 miles), high-output charging system, state-of-the-art HID (high intensity discharge) lighting, GPS navigation, on-board water and food and a host of other items referred to in the LD community as “farkles”. I also started to modify ‘me’ by cutting down on caffeine, adjusting my eating habits toward foods that wouldn’t make me sleepy and studying everything I could on fatigue management.

The rides to New Jersey started to take less time as I spent more time riding and less stopped. I wasn’t as tired when I arrived there or back in NC and over four years time I gradually increased my comfort and ability to ride longer miles. Then one trip everything came together. I rode till I had to stop for gas, completed the fuel stop in 4 minutes and continued straight to NJ. Only seven and a half hours of riding and I wasn’t tired when I got there. After spending 8 hours with my relatives I got on the R60 and headed home, again with only one other fuel stop. Twenty four hours start-to-finish and I felt like riding some more when I got home.

The IBA certifies long distance rides and the website has a full explanation as well as the stories of various riders. I’d completed the basic ride required to join, 1000 miles in 24 hours, called a Saddlesore 1000, a few years back. Then a Bun Burner Gold which is 1500 miles in 24 hours. The next ride was a Bun Burner Gold 3000 or back-to-back 1500 mile days in 48 hours. I wanted to ride even more and one day I jokingly told my wife Susie that I’d like to ride in the Iron Butt Rally. She’s also insane, and said “go for it”. Susie had read Ron Ayer’s book Against The Wind and thought that the IBR would be the ultimate LD ride for me so In May 0f 2006 I entered the drawing for a starting slot in the 2007 IBR.

The IBR is an eleven day, long distance motorcycle rally. The website has a full explanation including rules and stories. Briefly, the folks who want to ride enter a drawing for starting positions. Thousands applied for a starting position in 2007 and 97 riders lined up at the start. If you’re picked you have an opportunity to pay an entry fee and join a group of riders who will put their lives for 11 days in the hands of the rallymaster, in this case Lisa Landry. Mike Kneebone runs the IBA and puts on the IBR and Lisa designs and runs the rally. At the start of each leg the riders are given a listing of bonus locations scattered over North America.

Each bonus is worth a specific number of points. The harder it is to get a bonus the more points its worth. The rider has to figure which bonuses they can get on the leg to get the highest number of points and make it to the next checkpoint during the window of time that it’s open. It’s not a race. Nothing goes to the rider who finishes first nor fastest. It’s a process of constantly figuring time, distance. speed and fatigue vs. the bonus values, difficulties and the checkpoint windows. No quarter is given for delays caused by road closures, weather, illness or anything else. The clock starts at the beginning of the rally and stops only at the end. The IBR is billed as the “Worlds Toughest Motorcycle Competition”.

I got word in July of 2006 that I was in the rally and a member of what’s referred to as the “hopeless class”. Most riders would be on late model, large displacement motorcycles in the 1000-2000cc range. Fuel injection is the rule, state-of-the-art computer controlled ignition, ABS braking systems, radial tires, massive charging systems and active change-on-the-fly suspensions. I would ride my 31 year old, 600 cc, forty horsepower bike with the best suspension that 1976 had to offer.

I made several changes to the bike specifically for the IBR. I added more water for hydration with a tube and bite valve so I could drink while riding. I upgraded the single high beam to twin HID lighting driving lights and the low beam to HID as well. I removed the front drum-type brake and installed the forks and twin disc brakes from a 1981 model, I exchanged the four gallon auxiliary fuel cell for a five gallon model. I also installed a map light and place to put route cards and other minor items to be easily reached while riding.

As this was my first rally I sought advice from past riders and rallymasters and these folks were more than happy to help. I knew how to ride but had little experience with analyzing bonuses and routing. Steve Chalmers was a past IBR rallymaster and puts on the Utah 1088 rally each year. He told me early on that I needed to ensure that the R60 was beyond reproach mechanically and electrically. Anything less would not be up to the IBR.

I called Boxerworks Parts in Watkinsville Georgia to inquire about the parts I needed for a rebuild. When Matt Richards heard the combination of ‘Airhead’ (which is a 1923 to 1994 BMW air-cooled motorcycle) and ‘Iron Butt Rally’ I suddenly found that I’d acquired three sponsors. Boxerworks in Georgia would do some mechanical work, Boxerworks Parts would supply some parts and Motorrad Elektric supplied a spare charging system as well as ignition parts. These folks are BMW Airhead enthusiasts and were tickled to be sponsors. Matt Richards was rabidly cheerleading the entire time.

August 17th. I left home for the start in St. Louis, a short 750 mile ride and all the way to the hotel I’m thinking, what have I gotten myself into? I arrived early Saturday and spend the next few hours going through tech inspection, registration, videotaped interviews, document checks, waiver signings and meeting a great group of folks who like riding as much as I do. I’m nervous and wanted to get out on the road.

Finally after the opening banquet Sunday evening Landry and Kneebone hand out the bonus listings for the first leg. They are printed on red paper and Kneebone notes that the IBR is supposed to be a test of the rider’s skills at riding and routing and in the past some riders have had a lot of outside help with routing. He almost cackles as he asks the group “have you ever tried to fax or copy anything on red paper?” We get some advice from Lisa and it’s off to the hotel room to find out what I’ll be doing for the next few days.

This IBR will be run in two legs. We start at 8 am on Monday and the first leg is four and a half days with the checkpoint back in St. Louis between 7 and 9 pm on Friday. We will be given the second leg’s bonuses at 4 am Saturday the 25th and return for the finish on Friday the 31st between 8 and 10 am. Miss the window at either checkpoint and your rally is over. Landry also advises us of the minimum number of points needed to be considered a ‘finisher’. Its 50,000 points on the first leg. This doesn’t include the points available for calling in your location at a specified time or points for a sleep bonus.

In the hotel room as I look through the bonus information I realize that the bloody listing has over 100 bonuses! I enter each bonus on the computer so I can download the locations to my GPS. Then I spend 5 hours coming up with a route. I’m going to head to Perce Rock in Quebec which is worth 33,000 points and pick up other bonuses on the way up and back. I get an hour’s fitful sleep and then head to the rider’s meeting. We get some more information from Lisa, a word from Kneebone and orders on how we are to depart at 8 am sharp.

I’m 54 years old, been a volunteer fireman for 27 years and am the Chief of an industrial fire brigade. I’ve faced from fires to mentally disturbed gun-pointing folks and I’ve never been as nervous as I was leading up to the start of the IBR. It was a relief to get on the road. Thirty five miles later I was at the first bonus at the Gateway Arch in St. Louis. Simple, just go into the visitor’s center and take a photo of the “builders mural” and get 3565 points. What could go wrong?

The Park Service guard mentions that there is a metal detector to go through and my folding knife isn’t going to make it. He pointedly tells me not to throw it away, hand it to someone or hide it. It’s got to go back to the bike, three hundred yards away, in the parking lot. So I hike back to the cycle then back to the visitor’s center feeling foolish and the temperature is in the high 90s with humidity at 100% so I’m getting bushed on the first bonus. I get my photo and feel less foolish as I walk back to the bike with George Barnes, the winner of the 1999 IBR and he tells me how he left his helmet at the mural and remembered it only when he got to his bike so he’s on his second round trip too

.

I’m off to Marysville Ohio to get a photo of the Honda Manufacturing Center. Riders have to document each bonus in order to prove they actually visited the site. Usually this is done by taking a Polaroid photo with the rally flag bearing their number included in the photo and noting the date, time, mileage and any other information required by the rallymaster. Marysville is a daylight-only bonus and I figure I can make it with a few hours to spare.

Thirty miles outside of St. Louis it starts to rain and this is not your everyday average rain. This is a Noah’s Ark kind of rain. A relentless, gully-washing, cars are pulling off of the interstate, frog strangling downpour that will continue for the next 35 hours.

An hour later the bike starts to misfire and run roughly and I pull off the interstate onto a dirt farm road surrounded by tall corn. I pull the float bowls and look for water, none present. I pull the spark plugs and they are all fine but water comes out of the cap on one plug. I put it back on and the misfire is gone. Problem solved!

Well, it was solved for 20 minutes and then I end up limping off of the road again. I find water in the same cap and this time I put tape around it to keep the water out. That lasts for only an hour so I stop and add a few more wraps of tape and I’m off again and trying to figure out how water is getting into a spark plug cap. When I sputter into a rest area with the same problem for the fourth time I do what I should have done to start with, pull a new plug cap out my spare supplies and replace the leaking one. That solves the problem but I’ve lost an hour of riding time.

I get to the Honda plant just before sunset and stop the bike a few feet off of the highway, lay my rally flag over the seat, back into the middle of the deserted four lane road and snap the photo. Its ok but its dark and I’m not sure that the scoring folk will accept it as a daylight photo so I go into Marysville and get fuel with a receipt to document that I was there before sunset and I’m 1578 points richer.

I call Susie to check in and tell her where I am, where I’ve been and where I’m going which is Moundsville, West Virginia to get a photo of a mural at Hoagie’s Heroes (whatever that is) and I think it’s a bonus available twenty four hours. I recheck the bonus listing and find that it’s only available from 6 pm till midnight today so I’m off.

This is when I pick up on the first of many small points that will add up to being more competitive in the rally. I had let the Garmin GPS lead me to Marysville and the last 45 minutes of the ride was through the countryside on one-lane, paved, farm roads. I thought it strange that a major manufacturing center would have farms roads as an access but trusted the GPS. When I consulted the map in Marysville I found that I was a few hundred yards from a four lane divided highway with a 65mph speed limit and began to understand Lisa’s advice before the rally that “maps are your friend”.

I’m getting soaked inside the Aerostitch riding suit, the inside of my helmet is drenched as are my gloves but the temperature is mild and at least my feet are dry as I ride on. On one of my trips to New Jersey I rode north in the tail of Hurricane Barbara and headed back south just as the eye of Hurricane Charlie was passing to the east and it didn’t rain as hard as it was raining now.

I pull into Moundsville just before midnight, follow the GPS and turn onto a side street where eight bikes are parked on the side of the road and two guys in the street are motioning me over and yelling that I’ve got time, go around the house, they’ll watch the bike. Hoagie’s Heroes is a basement converted into an eatery. I take my photo at 11:56 pm for 5099 points and am the last rider in. Our host gives me coffee, bananas, great conversation, a drink cozy and offers a spot in front of the wall heater for a few minutes.

Next stop is York, PA for two bonuses that are fairly close together. I had only gotten an hour of sleep since Sunday morning so I stopped in Carlisle, PA at a motel for three hours of rest and an attempt to dry out my riding suit with the motel hair dryer. There was an IBR bike at the room next to me when I checked in and another nearby when I checked out. As I left a car drove up and a guy asked me if I was in the rally. Turns out he’s and IBA member and was on his way to work when he saw me. It’s certainly a small world.

In York I pull up to another rally rider at a stoplight and ask how he’s doing. We both have earplugs in and just end up nodding at each other. This time Garmin gets me right to the bonus, a police car with a custom made “Anti Grinch” emblem on the door parked in an IBA member’s driveway worth 1712 points. Apparently a neighbor once objected to some Christmas decorations so the IBA member had two ex-police cars decorated with the emblems which he parks around the property.

The other rider pulls in and we both head off to the 1310 point Harley Davidson plant bonus a few miles away. Once there we pull in front of the sign needed for the bonus, take the photos and fill out the bonus sheet. We got some puzzled looks from the visitors heading for the plant tour but there’s no time to talk. We wish each other ‘luck’ and head our separate ways.

I head toward Reading PA to The Pagoda and trust the Garmin for the last time. The ride up what passes for a mountain in these parts is on a tight switchback road and takes twenty minutes. At the top I consult the map and take a straighter road back down in just four. The bonus was a huge Chinese pagoda worth 920 points with a commanding view of the valley below butt there is no time for admiring the view as I’ve gotta go.

I absolutely have to be at Perce Rock at low tide on Wednesday. Lisa was nice enough to give us tide tables for the area and told us that wading out to the Rock was not an option. Dead low tide was 2 pm local time and Perce Rock was a ways away so I headed straight for the bonus. Traffic was heavy near New York and was moving at 25 mph on the throughway so I looked at the map and noticed I was only 15 miles from I-95 which I thought would be moving faster so I took the next exit and traffic moved briskly on the connecting highway, until it got to the interstate where it was at a standstill. Not moving at all. On the CB the truckers were saying that the backup extended twelve miles due to construction. So back I went to the throughway and headed north again, slowly-butt-surely.

Northern Maine is empty and the stars are bright. The rain had stopped and the clouds were gone, which was a good thing considering that the temperature was dropping and I was soaked. I stopped North of Bangor at a rest area to change into dry clothes, eat a powerbar and check the bike. I did this quietly because there was another rider checked into the Iron Butt Motel in the rest area. He’d found a good spot under a tree to sleep. Folks that I know seem to understand the concept of the IBR and the riding I do but they just never seem to be at ease with the idea that I find it comfortable to sleep on picnic tables, walkways, or lawns. This is the Iron Butt Motel where there is always a vacancy. You sleep where you can when you can because there may not be a motel handy when a rider is tired and the time to check in and out eats up riding time.

I made the Canadian border near midnight and passed through without a hitch then on through a mass of road construction and into Canada. The roads were clear, traffic was almost non-existent and I was making good time and this brings this account back to where I ran into the gravel pit on highway 17. I’m laughing and looking down on my bike lying in the roadway in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. I picked up the bike, she started immediately, I head north and less than one hundred feet later I’m back on asphalt. I stopped, grabbed my flashlight and camera and walked back the way I’d come to see if I’d really driven into a pit or if I’d been awake far too long. The pit was there, ten feet deep with but one way in and out. Apparently the road crew was raising the level of the road and flagmen were alternating traffic on the southbound lane during the day but at night it was every man for himself.

Highway 17 had a few more construction zones but none like the first one. I did notice the huge moose warning signs every few miles. Some only had a representation of a moose but the more effective ones had an outline of a tiny car next to a huge moose, sure got my attention but I never saw any wildlife. As I approached Campbellton New Brunswick the sun came up and I was blown away by the view. I was descending a twisting road on a small mountain and the valleys below were filled with white clouds with only the tops of the hills and mountains standing clear in a cloudless sky. I wanted to stop and take pictures but the tide was moving and I had to keep going although I did stop in Campbellton to take a photo of a giant salmon statue for 3014 points before heading north again.

The last hundred miles or so of the road to Perce Rock runs along the shore of the Gulf of St. Laurence and is a remarkable ride. The Gulf is to your right most of the way and the view looking to the horizon is haunting. Even though the route passes through a mass of small towns the traffic is light and I make good time. I stop for gas fifty miles south of the bonus and use my credit card at a pay-at-the-pump. A receipt with the town, state, date, time and gallons is required in order to get the gas bonus for the leg which is a whopping 10,000 points butt this particular receipt doesn’t have the gallons or liters. In the store I don’t speak French and the clerk doesn’t speak English butt I smile a lot and point to the pump, my gas tank, the label on a drink that has the quantity and my receipt. She prints me out a proper receipt and I’m off again.

There is no mistaking Perce Rock as it’s an enormous mountain sitting just off shore, has a hole pierced in it and is the center of a thriving tourist attraction. I pull into the parking area and the owner of a nearby business comes out to talk, in English. He confirms my tide information and tells me that the stairs described on my bonus sheet were destroyed in a storm but there is another set nearby. We talk about riding for a bit and about the Rock and he walks back to work.

This is when I start worrying about whether the stairs are the same ones needed for the bonus. A call to Lisa and I’m told that any stairs will do so I take a photo to prove its low tide, walk across the ocean floor to the rock to take a close up and then its back to the bike with 33,000 points in hand. Its time to head back to the states and I decide to ride via Maine to pick up the bonuses in Bath, through New York State for the Baseball Hall of Fame and the Soccer hall of Fame and finally to Winchester, VA for a giant apple before turning toward St. Louis and the checkpoint.

On the way back toward the US I notice that there is a daylight only bonus at Hartland, New Brunswick for the world’s longest covered bridge and I should be able to get it before sunset. A few miles before I get back to the giant road construction project where the gravel pit lies I stop for gas and see two other rally riders who are talking at the pump. I wave and get a nod. The receipt is bad, no city, so I go into the store and get a good one. A few miles later I’m in the construction zone, this time in daylight, with flagmen, I’m standing on the pegs again and pass through without a pause.

Twenty minutes out from the covered bridge traffic comes to a halt at another construction zone and I’m stopped at the top of a hill overlooking a valley where they are building a new bridge. I’m also watching my chance at another 787 points tick away. I hear a siren, then silence, and then the other side of the valley explodes. One hundred yards of hilltop lifts into the air and disappears. When the dust settles the siren sounds, traffic starts moving and I pull up to the bonus just as the sun is setting to snap the photo. Now my plan is to get back to the states and get the rest bonus that has to begin today before Midnight.

Reentering the US goes swiftly and I get to the first major town in Maine to be told that there are no rooms till Bangor which is a few hours away. I check in with Susie and head south. A stay in a motel is not required for the bonus but if I’m going to stop for six hours it makes a great deal of sense. I get what appears to be the last room in Bangor and it’s literally on the wrong side of the tracks but its dry, warm and has a working hair dryer. An hour later my gear is dry, my rallybook is up to date, the bike is ready to ride (still hasn’t used any engine oil) and I’m asleep.

Six hours later I’m rolling south feeling alert and happy that I made the Perce Rock bonus. But I do notice that I feel a bit weary, not tired but worn. I get the Udder Place bonus in Brunswick, Maine which is a giant statue of a cow drinking a cup of coffee that rests on top of a coffee shop for 456 points. At the bonus location in Bath, Main I wave to two other riders when I photograph an artsy representation of a schooner being built and secure 1888 points.

Then I’m off to Cooperstown, New York for the baseball hall of fame. This time the Garmin takes me right where I need to go. I step off of the bike, walk six feet and place my flag on a fence to take a photo of gold baseball bats built into the wrought iron rail. Oneonta, New York is a short hop away and I take a photo of a fifteen foot tall soccer ball that appears to be coming through a wall for 1812 points at the soccer hall of fame. As I’m leaving I stop to talk to another rider as we pass. We compare notes, he’s heading to Ohio and I’m en route to Virginia. We wish each other luck and ride on.

There is a twelve foot tall apple in downtown Winchester and it’s close to midnight as I pull up to the corner where it sits and take my Polaroid. I do the same routine at each bonus. Confirm from the rally book that I know what’s required, pull the rally flag from my left breast pocket where its hooked with a carabineer, put the flag in the view, take the photo, put the flag back in the pocket, log the time, log the mileage, note the time mileage and bonus name on the Polaroid, check the picture to make sure its clear and re read the bonus instruction to make sure I’ve done what Landry wants. Leaving the flag out of the picture or not framing the photo correctly means that the bonus will be denied and the time and miles spent getting to the site were wasted.

Now its time to get on the Interstate and motor to St. Louis and these 600 miles go quickly. The checkpoint is open from 7-9 pm but they will start scoring earlier and I need to do some maintenance to the bike before sleeping so I plan to arrive around 3 pm. Fifty miles from the checkpoint I notice that the Nexrad radar on my GPS is showing severe rain moving across my path. The screen is covered in reds and yellows which is not a good thing. Ten miles from the checkpoint I’m in a downpour and the engine stops.

I glide to the side of a busy Interstate and sigh. There is no water in the sparkplug caps but every time I hit the starter I see sparks trace the spark plugs. I wipe the top of the plugs clean and hit the starter and I’m running, roughly, but running. I pull into the parking lot in Chesterfield a little after 3 to a welcome from Vonnie Glaves who snaps some photos to send to Susie and gives me a hug. Other folks walk up and actually cheer. It really gives me a boost.

Scoring goes well and the only problem is an incorrect entry on the gas log that cost me 250 points. I have 76369 points and am starting to realize that in four and a half days I rode about 4,500 miles and had a blast doing it. I was wet (again), weary, tired, beat, worn but happy.

My front tire was barely showing wear and the rear was still good for five or six thousand more miles. I had shipped a spare rear wheel with a new tire mounted and balanced to the hotel before the rally and not knowing what the second leg might bring I swapped the rear in the parking lot. I cleaned all of my ignition connections, rebuilt the carburetors and changed the fuel filter in my Auxiliary fuel cell. For some reason I was only able to get two gallons of gas out of the five gallon cell for the last three days of the leg. This cut my range from 480 miles between fill-ups to 340 miles. Changing the filter cleared up the problem. Then it was time to sleep till the rider’s meeting.

We gathered together at 4 am sharp and prior to handing out the bonus listings Kneebone made ready to announce the top ten riders and their scores but first he mentioned that I was in 55th. place. That moment was the high point of my years of Long Distance riding. He gave the top ten standings and handed out the rally books for the final leg.

Lisa said a few words and then I made the first of two mistakes that would cause me no end of grief. Kneebone said that he would meet with the rookies to give them some guidance after the rider’s meeting. I got my rally book and headed to my room to start planning along with a lot of the other rookies who didn’t stay to hear what Mike had to offer. Tom Austin in his daily updates on the rally asked “what were they thinking” about those of us who passed on the session. I don’t know about the others but I wasn’t thinking wisely at all.

Back in my room I looked through the packet and there were more than 130 bonuses. I spent around seven hours getting the computer and GPS loaded and getting a route together. There were way too many options. I eliminated Prudhoe Bay and Homer Alaska, noted the high number of points for Mt. St. Helens, Washington and San Jose, California and just stared at the map and bonus listing for a while.

I called Susie and talked to her as I thought about a route and finally decided I was going to Hyder Alaska via Lake Louise in British Columbia and then on to Vancouver, down through Oregon and Washington, catch some bonuses in California and more on the loop back to St. Louis. I thought that I’d be the last one out of the parking lot but when I left the lot was almost full so apparently I wasn’t the only rider having a problem with routing.

I loaded up the water jug with ice and water and headed west. The R60 ran fine on the road but in any kind of traffic slowdown she would start to misfire. I knew that the plugs and wiring were fine but the problem got worse as the day wore on. Finally just before sunset I stopped in western South Dakota at a rest area to sort the problem out. It had to be the points, everything else was as it should be so I pulled the points cover and found a solid covering of dried brown silt in the compartment. Somehow the rain had penetrated the seal and dirt was fouling the points. Thirty minutes later I had installed new points and condenser, set the timing, synced the carburetors and was riding a new bike.

I’d also had time to think about Hyder and decided that after my experience with Canadian road construction in New Brunswick and the fact that there is always construction on the way to this bonus that it wasn’t the right route for me. Susie acted as a sounding board to my routing thoughts as I tried to come up with a better plan. She was always bright and chipper and relentlessly cheering me on when I called, no matter the time. She asked me if I was feeling alright and I told her I was tired but fine to ride. What hindsight now shows was that I wasn’t making good routing decisions and I wasn’t ‘fine to ride’

One of the pieces of advice given repeatedly on the LDriders email list and in my conversations with other riders was to stay hydrated at all costs. I had a gallon jug with a bite valve so I could drink while riding and I did this religiously on the first leg but I wasn’t thirsty on the second so I didn’t drink. I’ve told firefighters in classes I teach how important it is to hydrate, I insist that they drink constantly during fire training and I know how critical it can be. Butt I just sipped every now and then. This is my second major mistake of the rally.

I headed to Minnesota for two bonuses. It was a great ride through endless forests, around dozens of lakes, there was no traffic, the weather was perfect for riding and I met some excruciatingly friendly people. The R60 was running well and I was meeting my new schedule. I found the Big Fish Supper club bonus which is a restaurant built in the shape of a huge fish for 5311 points and motored on toward a lighthouse in Two Harbors.

Just North of Duluth I saw Jim and Donna Phillips on their Gold Wing heading west and figured that I must routing ok if they had gotten the same bonus I was heading for. I took a photo of the lighthouse at Split Rock which was worth 18,674 points and headed west. I had picked up the Minnesota bonuses which were worth 23,985 points but that left me far from any others. The plan was to be in Sioux Falls, SD at 8 am to get a photo of the falls and then head west although I didn’t quite know ‘where’ west.

The next morning I climbed the observation tower at Sioux Falls when the park opened at 8:00 for 3453 points. The instructions said that the photo had to be taken from the observation deck which meant climbing four flights of stairs in my riding suit with the temperature already in the high eighties. With the bonus in hand I headed out to Mount Rushmore.

I was tired and the timing on Rushmore wasn’t good at all as I’d get there well before dawn, it was a daylight bonus and I would waste time waiting for daylight but there were no other bonuses nearby. I was dehydrated and not thinking straight but I just didn’t realize it till noon when I stopped at a rest area and tried for two long hours to get some sleep. I simply could not fall asleep. I’d doze off for a minute, and then wake up and wander and then lay down again. I was uncomfortable, depressed, feeling weak and realized as I looked at the map that I had thoroughly fouled up my rally. I had backtracked from South Dakota to get the Minnesota bonuses and I was now retracing my path from Sunday. You can’t waste a minute in the IBR and I’d lost days.

I called Susie to tell her that I had messed up and couldn’t see a way to finish the rally and was going to head home. She asked a lot of questions and told me she though that I needed to drink, that the hour of sleep every 8 hours wasn’t working and that I had to get to a motel and get some real sleep and then reconsider the route.

I called Lisa Landry to tell her I was down and out and she passionately explained that she had melted-down on day seven of her IBR and that I had plenty of time to get to other bonuses, that I may be dehydrated and to get my ass in gear and get moving toward California.

I called Susie again who told me in no uncertain terms to get to the next hotel, get something to drink (she suggested grape juice) and get some sleep without setting the alarm. Susie has always been the smart one in our relationship and it was a plan.

At the next exit I got a room, drank a bunch of grape juice and fell asleep in my riding suit for three hours. When I woke up I felt better, drank more juice and realized that I had wasted two days going toward Hyder, backtracking, riding to Minnesota and then ending up just a few miles from where I had repaired the bike two days before. I was thinking a bit straighter and realized I’d not followed my own advice on hydration.

I called Susie who was relieved that I was copasetic again and then I tried to come up with a route that would yield enough points to be a finisher. I ran the numbers for the West Coast bonuses but the top speed of 75 mph on the R60, which was below some of the posted speed limits, and the way I was feeling I wouldn’t have time to hit but a few bonuses before it was time to head to the last checkpoint. I decided to continue on to Mount Rushmore and then south to Casper, Wyoming where there was a cluster of three bonuses, then three high-pass bonuses in Colorado and see what time I had left.

I stopped at Wall Drugs in Wall, SD that night and took a photo of the store for 897 points and then saw that I was going to be at Mount Rushmore well before dawn. I tried to sleep at a rest area for a few hours but I should have stayed in the motel and gotten some quality sleep.

I was drinking a lot of fluids and feeling better but I’ve got to mention one rather personal effect of dehydration. I was stopping every 45 minutes or so to pee and it was highly uncomfortable. This was limiting the time/distance I could make on the route. That discomfort lasted for three and a half more weeks. But I was feeling better about riding and thinking more clearly about routing. I knew that between the R60’s top speed and this other issue my ability to make serious LD miles was reduced and I probably wouldn’t get enough points to be an official finisher but I was not going to quit. Susie cheered me on and gave me constant encouragement to do the best that I could and be proud of the ride regardless of my ‘finisher’ status.

I would be an hour too early at Rushmore to take the photo so I stopped at a McDonalds for coffee and a biscuit. The crowd was older folks who seemed to be regulars and I settled into a corner table and nodded off. I was slammed awake from my nap by the extraordinarily loud sound of a slide trombone in the next booth playing happy birthday. Ten or eleven people were singing to a gentleman who had a WWII cap on and was grinning from ear-to-ear but they were all looking my way as they smiled and sang. I had no other choice but to join in the song.

The Mount Rushmore bonus was worth 6505 points. When I arrived, the mountain was shrouded in fog so I parked the bike and had some friendly tourists take my photo, holding my rally flag, in front of the granite entrance with “Mount Rushmore National Park” carved in it. As I was filling out the paperwork the fog was lifting so I went back into the park area and a Ranger took my photo, with flag, with the mountain behind me and then I headed south.

Near Casper, Wyoming I photographed the sign explaining Hell’s Half Acre for 2999 points. The sign is at the edge of a deep canyon eroded into the side of a hill and the Indians used to stampede game animals over the edge and collect the carcasses at the bottom. The area was desolate, hot and nasty, befitting its name. There was a deserted restaurant near the sign and not another vehicle in sight. It was 98 degrees and the wind was blowing a steady 15 to 25 mph toward the canyon so I had to tape my flag to the sign so it wouldn’t blow away while I was taking the picture.

I rode what seemed like another 80 miles on this empty road to Independence Rock which was located at a rest area and secured another 2989 points. Even though I took the photo I can’t tell you why it’s called Independence rock. This is a part of the rally I had always heard about. You get to a bonus location and all that comes to mind is to nab the bonus and get going to the next one as quickly as possible. I was trying to read the sign telling the history of the rock but my mind was already working on getting down the road.

It was a dry, windy and hot day and I only saw another vehicle every ten minutes or so as I rolled up to Split Rock and took a Polaroid of it worth 4541 points. It was getting into evening hours and I was beat. I felt better than the day before but was still weak so I stopped that night in Casper for the rest bonus. A rest bonus requires that the rider stop for a particular number of hours and document the stop by getting a gas receipt from the same station to mark the beginning and the end of the bonus. You don’t have to stay in a motel but if you’re going to be off the road for five hours (the time for this bonus) it makes sense to do so.

Wednesday morning I was feeling better as I rode to Colorado and nailed the high-pass in Rocky Mountain National Park for 6320 points. It was perfect weather, not cold, not hot, few tourists and great roads at the top of the world. At times I was riding on bare dirt as there were crews replacing (not repaving) the road. A sheer drop-off of thousands of feet on one side and the mountain rising on the other and no guard rails. Gives a new meaning to the phrase “it’s a view to die for”.

Tennessee pass was no sweat and added another 4320 points. Riding up to Independence pass I was still feeling worn out but there was little traffic and even though the weather radar was showing rain, some heavy, all around me as the afternoon wore on my route stayed dry. I was enjoying the ride, the views, the hairpin turns and the fresh air as the road climbed to 12,000 feet and I photographed the sign at the top for another 4341 points.

I finished this grouping of bonuses by getting a photo of a statue of comic book hero Steve Canyon in Idaho Springs that was worth 878 points. No one I talked to could explain why they have a statue of Canyon but there it is.

Then I looked at the map and I knew I would be a DNF due to points. I couldn’t get to Dinosaur in Utah which was worth 9000+ points and back to St. Louis by the time the checkpoint closed. The only route that would work with my limitations was to backtrack to Scottsbluff, Nebraska to get the cluster of three bonuses there and then try for Hole in the Wall in Kansas, Garmin International headquarters in Olathe, Kansas and the University of Missouri bonus on the way to the checkpoint. I would be 15,000 points short of the 100,000 needed on this leg to be a finisher and the inefficiency of backtracking really bugged me butt I was not giving up.

I arrived in Scottsbluff, Nebraska just after 2 am and the bonus sheet said that the bonus was available during daylight hours so I settled in for a few hours sleep and was at the monument parking area an hour before dawn. Landry had explained that daylight bonuses could be gotten within an hour before dawn to an hour after sunset so I was getting an early start.

It was early enough to meet the nice Ranger who told me that the Park opened at 8 am and “no” he would not open the gate so I could slip in and get my photograph. So over the next two hours I tidied up the bike, filled out the rally book, napped in the parking lot next to the bike and called Susie. Another rider, Bill Thweat rolled in around 7:30 and we talked a bit, mostly about inaccurate route instructions. Promptly at 8 we paid our admission fee and went for the bonus which was a photo of a stone bench with an inscription on it at the observation point near the top of the monument worth 3333 points.

Since Bill and I were next riding to the same two bonuses we rode together and it was the first time in the rally that I got to use the CB just to chat. We took our photos of Chimney Rock for another 2199 points and then headed for Carhenge for 4327 points. Carhenge was just what you’d expect. Cars buried in the dirt with other cars placed across their tops in a bizarre imitation of Stonehenge. We stopped, placed our rally flags on the fence took our photos, filled out our rally books and headed out.

As we were riding toward Alliance where we would part ways Bill radioed that he would see me at the closing banquet and I said that I may just head home since I was depressed about not officially finishing and didn’t know how I’d feel around those celebrating their success. I won’t go into the whole conversation but I owe Bill a huge debt of gratitude. We talked back-and-forth about the reasons we ride and the reasons we are in the Butt. I thought about the ride I’d had to that point and my relative success in the first leg. I told him I’d see him at the banquet and he was off.

It was the last day on the road and I headed for the Hole in the Wall bonus in North West Kansas but as I got close to the bonus I realized I’d arrive too late to claim it so I turned toward St. Louis. The miles I traveled across Kansas and Missouri were long, hot and dull. My last bonus was Garmin International in Olathe Kansas where I earned 3189 points for taking a photo of a “Garmin” sign on the side of the building.

The final checkpoint in Chesterfield, MO was to open at 8 am, my calculations put me at the hotel around 4 am and early scoring started at 5. The thought of missing finishing status bothered me no end. It truly ate away at me as I was riding those last few hundred miles. The closer I got to St. Louis the more depressed I was. I’d planned for this rally for years and then made mistakes that lead to a DNF.

When I pulled off of the Interstate and stopped at the traffic light on the road leading to the hotel I was crying. But that was not the way I wanted to end this kind of monumental ride. I knew that I’d ridden well these last three days and done the best I could so I got my act together and motored up to the last checkpoint.

As I rode into the parking lot Matt Richards, the Airhead supporter and sponsor from Watkinsville Georgia was waiting. I got a hero’s welcome. Folks came up to hug me, shake my hand, say congratulations, take pictures and smile. Matt told me he understood the minimum points-to-finish rule but said he didn’t care because I’d ridden the R60 dammed near 9000 miles in 11 days and had not given up when things got grim. As far as he and the folks in Georgia were concerned I’d finished just fine.

At the scoring table I lost 250 points on the gas log for an incorrect entry but ended the leg with 100,076 points for the leg. I’d DNF by around 14,000 points. I called Susie who cheered me up as usual and then went downstairs for breakfast, which was my first sit down meal in 11 days.

That night at the closing banquet I applauded and cheered the finishers. Only a relative handful of people ride motorcycles. Of those, a small percentage ride over a few thousand miles a year. Few of those have heard of the IBA and fewer than that understand the Iron Butt Rally. More people have walked on top of Mount Everest than have finished the IBR. The community of long distance riders is a small group and I fully understood just how intense the IBR was and what it took to compete in it. Those who finished are awesome riders.

The ride back to North Carolina was a quiet one. After the previous 11 days of riding with bonuses to think about and the clock constantly ticking the rally away, it was strange to ride without having to worry about time. I did have plenty of time to lose the ‘glow’ from the previous evening’s banquet and face reality. I had DNF’d.

This was a worse year than normal for DNFs in the Rally. One third of the riders who started did not finish. There were mechanical failures, human failures and several accidents. For those of us who didn’t make the required number of points it’s painful. I had spent over a year and a half getting ready to ride. I had run dozens of routes using bonus listings from previous IBRs. I had spent hundreds of hours riding to sort out the cycle and physical aspects of the ride. I worked on my fuel stops till I could take on ten gallons of gas, log the stop, check the basics on the bike and be on my way in four minutes or less.

I’d recovered and ridden well in the last three days of the second leg but two errors had cost me my personal goal of at least a finish. Prior to the rally folks had assumed that my goal was to simply finish on a classic motorcycle and that I was riding the R60 to make a statement about the old bike. I was riding the R60 because it’s the only bike I own and was aiming to finish at least mid-pack.

As I pulled into my driveway I was embarrassed and thoroughly bummed out. Then Susie came out to greet me and pointed out all of the accomplishments of the ride and how proud she was that I’d not quit. My family was there to cheer, they’d made a welcome home banner and I started to unwind and stop focusing solely on the IBR. I talked about places I’d been and people I’d met and realized that I’d been on a grand adventure. And I still wanted to ride some more.

Susie had a file waiting for me of posts to various email lists where folks were following my ride, photos that people at the checkpoints had emailed her and notes wishing me well on the ride. She had a large map of North America where she had been tracking my progress and notes on each phone call I’d made and what we had discussed.

I recalled that the night before the rally I had gotten a phone call at the hotel from a rider I’d met for just a few minutes during the spring while at Boxerworks in Georgia. He was calling to wish me a safe ride and good luck. That same rider called at the end of the rally to tell me that I’d done a great ride on the R60 and should be proud to finish, with a small “f”. Those calls and the good wishes that Susie relayed to me throughout the rally helped to keep me going when I was having my meltdown. I could not have gotten through the rally without those kind words.

During the rider’s meeting the Sunday evening before the rally started Kneebone was talking about safe riding and told us that this was only a rally and not a life altering experience. Landry followed up by saying that it’s only a hobby and we had better be careful. She held the folder of emergency contact information in her hand and waved it around while saying that she did not want to have to give any bad news to anyone we loved.

It was hammered home to me on this ride just how much Susie had balanced her dread and fear of my riding with my love for the sport. We had never been apart more than a few days at a time in twenty five years and I went off for 14 days to ride strange places at strange times. Each time I called she was cheering me on, offering advice and doing everything she could to get me through the ride. At the same time she was asking questions to find out if I was still copasetic. Remembering how I felt in South Dakota at noon on Monday of the second leg I know that I could not have continued in the rally without her.

All-in-all Entropy ran extremely well. I realize that from the description of my ignition problems it seems that the R60 faltered but the initial problem with the spark plug cap was cured in three hours and the points problem lasted only eight. Both could have been fixed more quickly if I had stopped and immediately attended to them rather than trying to mush on.

I always felt confident that the bike would carry me through the rally butt then again I’ve worked on every system on the bike for more than three decades. I owe thanks to Matt Richards at Boxerworks Parts in Watkinsville Georgia for his rabid enthusiasm from our first telephone conversation to his traveling to the finish in Chesterfield to greet me at the end of the rally, and for his sponsorship.

Nathan and Dean at Boxerworks did an exceptional job of overhauling the R60 and converting the front brakes. I was nervous at the idea of anyone other than me setting a wrench on the bike but now have no qualms about the quality of their work. Rick at Motorrad Elektric donated, among other items, a spare charging system just because the original BMW charging systems failed regularly and all Airheads carry spares. However, I ran the rally with the original Omega high-output system he sold me five years ago and that now has 170,000 miles on it without a problem.

When I got home I found that the folks at work had been tracking my progress on a large wall map and keeping up with the email reports. Lots of people congratulated me on the ride but I hadn’t met my own goal of a finish and just couldn’t get enthusiastic about it. I was embarrassed because I’d not “finished”. It was almost five weeks after the rally ended before I started to feel good about the IBR in light of my DNF.

One Saturday in Late September I was cleaning up my riding gear and found my backup film camera that I’d taken eight duplicate bonus photos with. I had the film developed that afternoon and when I saw the photos it hit me that I’d been on one hell of a ride. That same day Susie presented me with my rally flag framed with several duplicate bonus Polaroid photos from the first leg. She is still my biggest cheerleader and the love of my life and that framed flag reminded me that I was really happy with that first leg.

I was happy with the last three days of the second leg. The ride from Mount Rushmore to Casper and getting the three bonuses there on a searing hot, windy day got me back on track. Riding from Casper Wyoming to Colorado, bagging three high-passes and a statue and getting to Scottsbluff Nebraska that night isn’t a ride that many people could envision. The last day netted four bonuses and a long haul across Nebraska, Kansas and Missouri on a tight schedule.

Few people ride motorcycles. Fewer still have ever heard of or care about Long Distance riding. A small fraction of those understand the IBR and a handful of those have finished the Iron Butt Rally. I had hoped to be one of those riders.

Long distance riding is what I do to relax. Riding in the IBR is the ultimate LD ride and one of the results of this type of riding is a change in perspective. Distances become shorter. The idea of riding to the beach for a ‘burger is not out of the ordinary. I know that I can cross the country from Atlantic to Pacific in only two days and return in two more.

Looking back, the IBR was the most intense, emotionally draining and concentrated task I’ve ever undertaken. From start to finish I was constantly thinking of nothing except the next bonus. There was no time for any other thoughts and the Ride was everything. It was the ultimate long distance ride and DNF or not, I loved it.

Joel Rappoport
Winston-Salem, NC
10/30/07