All the Way to the Water - Day 1

IRON BUTT ASSOCIATION SADDLE SORE 1000 DAY (Day 1)
Introduction:  Some may wonder, “Why do it”? Why spend so much time energy and money on a motorcycle trip to go 2200+ miles just to end up at the Pacific Ocean for a brief stop and photo op. I must admit I asked myself that question a time or two but there are many reasons for doing this ‘crazy’ trip. 

One of the things many motorcycle enthusiasts like to do is to track the states they have ridden their motorcycle to and in! This is the subject of some debate among riders as some trailer their bike to their destination and others ride…and some even fly in, rent a bike, and count that on their maps. In my mind, I like to know that I rode TO as well as IN a state before I mark it off my map. 



 Here is a copy of my map pre-ride 2010. You will notice that I had been all around North Dakota but not in it so I had a “hole” in my map (which is a partial reason to do what I did).
Another idea in my mind was to accomplish an Iron Butt Association certified Saddle Sore 1000, which is a challenge long distance ride of 1000 miles in less than 24 hours. There is a list of required preparations, documentations, and proofs that need to be submitted to have your ride verified and certified, after which you receive a plaque commemorating your achievement as well as being listed on their website. It is commonplace for riders to offer this as an indication of their prowess in riding their motorcycle. 

Early in the year of 2010 I figured out that Fargo North Dakota is about 550 miles from my house so I had planned on doing a 1 day “out & back” Saddle Sore run and kill 2 birds with one stone (Fill ND on my map and get the SS1000). However, plans changed when I started to plan my trip to Rockies Gold 2010.
The idea was hatched when I learned that the organizers of 2 past Rockies Gold Rally’s were going to reprise the past rally; one last time. RG2010 would be the last of the organized rally by the Rascals of Colorado (a group of riders from the area who like to show off their mountains to “flat-landers”).  I compared notes with my buddy from New York, Bill and found he was planning an extended trip through the south and up the west coast ending in Portland where his wife would fly home; and then he would ride to RG2010.  I looked over my schedule and concluded that I could meet him on the west coast and we could go to RG2010 together; splitting room costs and sharing company.

The only thing left to decide was where to meet…looking at my map it was clear that the trip through North Dakota and on to the west coast was a good idea, to meet in Portland, but Portland is still about 90 miles from the ocean.  I decided that if I was going…I was going…All the way to the water…But the only way for me to make it there was to do some HARD riding as it was over 2200 miles all the way from Merton to the Pacific Ocean. I needed to make time quickly and that was going to be easiest to do across the plains as the roads are straight and fast along the interstate highway system. The portion of the trip from western Montana, through northern Idaho and eastern Washington and all of Oregon were hilly, twisty, mountainous roads and not conducive to making miles pass quickly.

Calculating my options, it soon became apparent that this was my opportunity to accomplish a goal of mine and complete an Iron Butt Saddle Sore 1000. It served me well as I needed to make good time on the eastern legs of this journey.  So I investigated the route along the I-system and figured out which town was 1000+ miles from Merton…and I found the aptly named Miles City, Mt.- 1030 miles away.

Open Road Westward

Friday morning September 10^th was “launch” day. I planned on getting up early, in the dark, and starting my ride knowing I wanted to finish in the evening and still be able to get some sleep before I continued on my 10-day trip to amazement.  In the early morning darkness, I started my Wing and proceeded to gather my trip starting fuel receipt. With the gas station only 2 miles down the road, I was wasting very little riding and then only 6 more miles to the Interstate where I would spend the rest of my day.  Not another vehicle on the roadway at 3:52 AM around my home as I noticed the chill of the night air for the first time. I had my electrically heated jacket along but had decided to not wear it as the day was forecasted to be reasonably warm for September and I had dressed in layers. Once on the Interstate at speed I realized my mistake…it was COLD and I was underdressed. But I confidently road onward thinking that the sun would be up soon enough and the weather would warm nicely throughout the morning.  I occupied myself by mentally working through my ride plan, and calculating the fuel stops, the average moving time, and the arrival times I had planned so carefully over the past few weeks.  I knew the numbers by rote, and was just reviewing them to keep my mind off the fact that I was cold and losing heat quickly. I was unable to convince myself that it would warm sufficiently to prevent me from being miserable and after only 35 miles I had to stop (and loose time) to get some warmer cloths out and on. The electrics felt so good … This was a decision I would later learn was a very good one as the day would pass.

My fuel stops were carefully calculated and I had a listing attached to the handlebars in a spot I could easily see it. I knew the Saddle Sore 1000 was more an exercise in planning and execution than that of significant endurance so I had invested considerable effort to be certain I was ready to complete this day’s journey. I had also created a chart, which indicated my fuel consumption rates so I could easily and dependably calculate my fuel stops “on the fly”. I knew from experience that I had about 1 gallon of fuel left once the warning indicator light came on and then I backed into the chart from there so when the light came “on” I could glance at my trip odometer and know how far I could go before I was “empty”.   Of course, as life would have it all this careful meticulous planning was ruined on the first tank full. I was getting better than expected (although not unusual) fuel economy so rather than stop at my first planned fuel stop I decided to continue further and attempt to make up the time lost in my unscheduled clothing stop. Once I was “out of cycle” on the fuel stop planning all the rest of the stops were so out of synch that the list I had made with all the previous planning was useless (although I did find it a handy reference for mileage marking as I moved along).

Starting to get cloudy

Much of this day was non-descript as I sat and rode and sat and rode some more...that is how these long distance endurance runs work it seems…just stay in the saddle and keep moving until you get where you are going. Wisconsin soon became Minnesota as I followed the Interstate, and while each state is beautiful in it’s own right; this was not a sight-seeing run and I just let them fade into the mirrors as I headed west. 


Half way between the Twin City’s and Fargo, North Dakota, I ran into the cloudbank that had been on the horizon for quite some time. As I headed toward it I wondered what conditions I would find once I reached its eastern edge. I could see the road surface was changing color, getting darker and grayer as I approached the weather front. Soon it was on me… as if I had driven through the wall of it…and was now inside the weather system that would define much of my day. It was cooler, and moist, and darker inside and I realized I would be finding the front curtain of rain soon enough. As I trundled along, I waited for them...those first drops of water falling from the saturated sky. And then they were there…small, mist like drops of water forming on the windshield, and begging to form tiny rivers up to the edge where the drops would jump off and find the road surface, or my lap, or my face depending on the whims of the wind whipping aerodynamically around the bike.  

My experiences riding in the rain on other days had taught me that as long as I kept moving along, at highway speeds, and the rain wasn’t steady and strong I could hide in the “bubble” created by the fairing and windscreen on the bike and stay reasonably dry and comfortable. As I had recently fueled, and was focused on staying in the saddle I just kept on going. The highway was fairly empty with only the occasional car or truck to spray the water into the air to create a whirling mess of highly flung wetness. Soon Fargo passed, and I was well into the plains of North Dakota.  With a steady eye on the fuel gauge and constantly re-calculating the impact of the mounting rainstorm I had plenty to keep my mind concentrated on the task at hand...that being to keep moving as long as I still had fuel, and wasn’t getting too wet. With my incredibly weather resistant electric jacket, I was warm and dry still but the increasing rain finally overwhelmed the protection of the bubble and I was starting to get seriously wet…and wet means cold that could spell the end of my day if I didn’t do something. Fortune smiled on me again as it was time for fuel, and a convenient break to don my rain gear.

The consequence of riding in the rain was that I had put away my camera, and with that any chance of taking pictures along the way to document the experience which now resides mostly in my memory (and on these pages). The rain gear /fuel stop combination came at a good time…I was to spend the next 375 miles in this rain  A development that I had not predicted, and one that sincerely diminished my confidence that I would finish this ride.  The next several hours (about 5 hours total in the rain) took on an entirely new dimension. My mood was morose and I pushed on in anger at the weather but my resolve was emboldened with the flush of this displeasure and I quickly understood that this weather system would not beat me, although it did slow me down and ruin a perfectly good day.  Fargo North Dakota was the unofficial halfway point for me. It was still a long way across to Montana and most of it was in the rain. One thing I never realized before was just how far it was across those Great Plains. I still had a long way to go and it was going to be in North Dakota almost the entire rest of the day. One other thing I noticed as my machine hauled me through the rain along that semi-deserted highway. There was a lot of dirt on the roads (dust from the fields I imagine) that had transformed into a very light coating of mud. Now the surface wasn’t affected, not slippery or hard to ride on, but the entire bike, and everything on it (including me) was getting a nice coating of dirty, muddy, water slime; an occurrence I would realize the next day when I uncovered the bike in the morning.

As I approached eastern Montana I saw it…the back edge of the weather front...I had finally pushed my way through it and was seeing the sun for the first time in almost the entire day. A welcome relief to pop out into the sunshine, to ride drying roads, to be able to see clearly without the mist from other vehicles; and all with less than 200 miles left to go in the fading glow of the afternoon sun. I knew I would make it now. Heading into the sunset was a pleasure. The day’s rains had washed the dust from the vast farm fields and the crisp clean air was perfectly clear. Far across the fields were dark black clouds still chasing the rain across the vastness, and each one was something to see as the sun hid behind them; and painted them with varied colors and hues of translucence.  One large cloud hung low in the western horizon directly in my path as if the highway itself was pointing to this black cloud with the shining edges. As I watched the sun, the cloud danced into a new position and the vibrant colors created by this caught my full attention. The cloud was still dropping rain and it appeared from the bottom of the cloud like a silvery curtain, shimmering and blurry as it fell to the earth. The center of the cloud was the darkest black and in spots, the sun shoved its way through, punching holes of yellow in the inky black, the cloud edged in purple and hot pink, shimmering as the cloud rolled toward the east. The vividness of these colors was so stark as to be burned into my mind forever. The clean clear air and the golden hour of evening combining to offer this one image as reward for the day spent in bleakness.

Then I saw the sign that indicated Miles City was approaching. I was almost finished and it was darkening quickly. I found the exit and was relieved to see a fuel station across the street from my hotel all within a few hundred yards of the highway. One of the Saddle Sore requirements is meticulous record keeping, tracking fuel stops and producing receipts to prove the time and place. This is how the organization prevents cheating the system and an “end” receipt is as important as the “start” receipt I had acquired early that morning. Properly date and time stamped, all I needed now was a witness to sign off on the form and I was done… the hotel lobby clerk was happy to oblige and it was finished. I completed the Iron Butt Association Saddle Sore 1000 long distance endurance ride. Here are some of the details: 1029.9 miles in 16 hours and 47 minutes, 14 hours and 35 minutes of moving time at a moving average of 70.6 MPH. Actually a rather simple ride but for the adversity and changing conditions. ..cold, rain and finally sun.

As I unpacked my bike and moved things into my room, I was talking with other motel guests who were hanging around the parking lot outside their rooms. The doors opened to the outside of this motel and many were amazed that I had come 1000+ miles in the one day…I even was offered (and accepted) a nice cold beer from a group of guys that worked construction in the area.