Errata

Nothing ever goes 100% right.

In fact, my Dad believes that when a project starts off too well, it's a bad sign.  And the project that prompted him to say that went completely to shit before it was all over.  So, since then I've believed in that bit of fatherly wisdom.

I got lucky with rain the first two days, avoiding it altogether, or suiting up just in the nick of time.  I had no wrong turns, no traffic jams, and was cranking out big miles with ease.  I had myself convinced at one point that I was getting COVID, but here I am (updated 11 days and one negative test result after leaving Texas) Rona-free.  However...

In the parking lot in Plainview, the evening before I was to leave on my Iron Butt ride, I'd gone outside to go over the bike.  I ended up doing a half-assed garbage pail wash, which almost always guarantees rain the next day.  While I was doing this, there was a minivan parked 2-3 spaces over from me, and the lady was going through it.  Whatever she was doing, it took some time.  I heard tape coming off a roll.  Eyeballing her over the gas tank from my crouch on the other side of the bike, I could see she was making a plastic film wall behind the front seats.  She was "sealing off" the rest of the van, and being very meticulous about it.  So, it dawns on me exactly what is happening here, and I'm thinking to myself, "are *you* the one with COVID, or are you picking up that person in the morning?  And also, if you put the A/C on in that thing - and it's Texas in July - then that plastic probably ain't gonna do what you need it to do.

I confirmed that I was not downwind, and wrapped up quickly.  When the alarm went off at 4:15, I saw the emergency lights of an ambulance flashing silently outside my window and eventually moving away.  So I guess I got my answer:  "picking up."  I thanked my stars that wasn't me, with my bike at some dealership, and was glad I'd be in Missouri by afternoon.

I'm not an ATGATT (All The Gear All The Time) kind of guy, but I do wear full length jeans 100% of the time and a  helmet 95% of the time.  The other 5% is when I'm out west, it's stupid hot, and I'm the only vehicle on a road that I can see 5 miles of at a time.  Like now.  But what I didn't do was add the extra sunscreen above my eyebrows, because I normally never need it there, and I at some point realized my forehead was burning after it was, well, burning.  Any longer and it would have been excruciating to put the helmet back on from there on out, but as it was it was only mildly painful and then annoying / funny when it started to peel.

As noted, when you're on the clock, stops need to be very efficient for obvious reasons.  There are volumes written in Iron Butt forums on this, but I just use my common sense, knowing that every minute wasted is another minute of rest or sleep I could have had.  So the ideal gas stop is right at the exit, stop signs and not traffic lights, fuel, pee, and flee.  Maybe grab a protein bar.  In my case, refill the water bottle from the cooler.

I made a stop outside Tulsa; you can count on gas stations at almost every exit near a big city, and I passed 3 good ones to pick the wrong one.  I ended up going a mile down a backed up busy street, narrowed to one lane by construction, and almost turned around before a gas station did appear.  Then I had to do the same thing in the other direction.  15 minutes gone.

I made 1,050 miles that day and still felt great going on midnight, as reported earlier.  I exited somewhere in Indiana where there was a Holiday Inn along with the others on the blue traveler's info sign, but I found only a gas station, behind which was a Super 8 and a Quality Inn.  I gathered that downtown was a few miles down the road, and certainly wasn't going to go searching for the Holiday Inn when I was only looking for a quick nap anyway.  I would find another Holiday tomorrow night, stay again on points, and this would be the only hotel room I would pay for the entire trip.  Also as reported earlier, this Low Quality Inn was the most disgusting place I ever stayed in.  And when I woke up in the morning and rode 100 feet to the gas station, what did I find a few hundred yards behind the Low Quality Inn?  Yep.  The Holiday.  Derf.

All in all, I'll take this success rate every time.  And on that note, I can't wait until the next one!  Hope you enjoyed.

God bless it

Omissions

A couple other intersting things of note:

I've learned to come prepared.  I carry a pretty robust tool selection, a tire plug kit with CO2 and hand pump which I've never had to use, and just this time added a small lithium battery pack that will jump start a motorcycle.  I have a little mesh drawstring bag with Aleve, lip balm, Visine, tummy tablets and other stuff, kept handy whatever and wherever I'm riding.  The bagger always has a small first aid kit.  But (fortunately) I used none of them on this trip, and the thing that was most important, learned also from experience, was a tube of Butt Paste.  I guess it's basically diaper rash cream, but monkey butt is a real thing when stacking up long, hot days, and when applied as a preventative, it worked wonders!

The morning I woke up in Wichita Falls, I woke in the middle of a dream where I was walking into a little diner outside Hazleton, PA and alongside me walked up Jerry Reed from 1977.  I made eye contact, smiled, and said "hey there, Snowman."  He grinned his Jerry Reed grin and said, "good morning, son!" I followed him in the door and then just like that he was gone; vanished into thin air, and I woke up.  Later that day, in the middle of nowhere listening to Red, White, and Booze on Sirius XM (my easy day, remember?) what comes on but Eastbound and Down.  I haven't heard that one in probably 20 years.  I love when that shit happens.

Speaking of the middle of nowhere in Texas, I noted in an earlier post how far away from civilization you can really get out there, and you don't always realize it on the interstate.  We see signs here saying Fogelsville 20, and know we're going through Lenhartsville, Krumsville, and New Smithsville along the way.  Out there, you see a sign for a town 37 miles away, and it means you will not be seeing a single man-made structure for 37 miles.  And there might not be a stop sign when you pass through.  Gas?  Fingers crossed.  But... on the 40 mile ride from Plainview to Earth before dawn, I found a different reality.  Along with cell and radio towers, there are many lonely lights dotting the landscape, and some in bunches that would have to be a feed mill, or petro rig, or some other activity that you never saw 12 hours ago in the daylight.  I mean, it's still desolate.  But someone ran wire.

Along with my three (plus one) blessings of good fortune from my lucky star, I also had some more minor weather miracles.  Twice, on a highway dead flat and straight for 100 miles, I found myself headed directly into a black storm cloud that had to be less than 10 miles ahead.  Both times, the GPS (I keep it zoomed out with north at the top) showed the interstate making a dogleg, once just outside Springfield where it was moved as an old Rt 66 bypass, and once on the way northeast toward St Louis.  Literally rode right around the storm both times.  Aside from the two downpours on Day 2, which I had suited up for in just the nick of time, and the showers I simply waited out, I really did do well with rain.

It dawned on me a day later that on the way to Wichita Falls, one of my options under consideration was to go through Texarkana.  I instead went through Hot Springs and Paris, TX, but that's probably where the dream came from.  I had no influence over Sirius XM's playlist, though.  Also, I was technically westbound at the time :)

Riding and Recalling

Today was a simple 225-ish mile ride home over familiar roads, noteworthy for only two things.

First, somewhere between Johnstown and Breezewood, I saw a crude hand (spray?) painted sign high in front of an equally crude structure that read "solar system for sale."  Jesus.  I had just ridden 3,500-some miles to go from Earth to Moon to Mars, and I could have just come here in an afternoon and gotten the whole damn set!  I almost had enough time to get the camera whipped out for a funny picture, but I didn't, and it wasn't that funny so I didn't turn around.

Second, I love US Route 30 - the old Lincoln Highway - through the mountains out here.  I was kind of disappointed that I had developed such a lack of trust in the handling of this wallowing behemoth, preventing me from doing my normal here.  But I think I can fix it with shocks, and it's not bad at all with the trunk at home in the garage, which is most of the time, and it made me reflect on the last 6 days.

Riding long distance, like any other worthwhile hobby, gets into details.  The deeper you go, the more there is.  In general, though, the overriding principle is to remove the minor discomforts that after 12-16 hours become completely intolerable.  For example, this bike has an ear-splitting sound system that you can hear very clearly at 75 mph, which in most cases would be next to impossible.  It also can be heard 2 blocks away when stationary.  So when you come down off a ramp, and this thing is cranking to the point where people are turning around to look, you realize that in addition to the exhaust and wind and road noise, you've now added 100 decibels of Ozzy's Boneyard, and you wonder why you've got a headache.  So for an afternoon, that's great, but for 600 mile days, you put your earbuds in to cut down the road and wind noise, and still get you some tuneage.  (I have 3 Shuffle Minis, which last amazingly long, and I rotate them out on the USB charger when they die.)  That's one example.

The bike has USB ports.  It has 2 cigarette ligher ports.  It has locking, watertight luggage compartments, with courtesy lights.  It has a windshield with an engineered laminar lip, a fairing with lowers to keep most of the wind and rain from belting you head on, and 3 heat management duct and door systems.  It has a sofa for a seat, and an Airhawk pad that I've added on top.  By my count, there are 57 different possible ergonomic combinations if you use both seats, all 3 sets of pegs, and cruise control to free your throttle hand.  It has glove compartments where I stash roll-on sunscreen, lip balm, munchies, and Aleve.  It will run 175 miles at 80 mph before needing fuel, without sneezing.  It has satellite radio, USB media, navigation, and fuel locator. So, I sort of realized that me bitching about it not handling like my Sportster and being a pain in a parking lot is kind of ridiculous.  You minimize your annoyances to the best of your ability, but this bike does it so well and it is truly amazing how easily the thing just eats miles.  Just. Eats. Miles.

The other thing about long distance riding, and rallying in particular, is efficiency.  Fuel stop procedures get sequenced to turn minutes into seconds.  90% of riders wear $1,000 suits, which get vented in the heat, zipped up in the cool, and zipped some more in the rain.  No pulling over to gear up or down.  Most have auxiliary fuel and do not have to stop for 400+ miles.  People "farkle" their bikes; they mount sky-ionizing aux lights, hydration systems, dual GPS systems, and weather radar on a tablet.  I haven't heard of a coffemaker or microwave yet, but I would not bet against it.  Every annoyance you minimize reduces fatigue, and every stop avoided - and every minute saved in a stop - equals more rest time.  I'm just a piker in this league and have none of this stuff, nor the burning desire to get to that degree, but it really is a wormhole you can get yourself down into once you peer in.

And here I am at home.  3,838 miles in 7 days, and about 3,300 in 5 of them.

Dierks, AR

The Dust Settled

Having successfully planned and executed my mission, my next step was to figure out where I was staying, and then make the (should be) simple ride home the next day.  Before leaving Moon for Mars, on a lark I google mapped the distance to Johnstown, which I knew to be some distance from Pittsburgh on the correct heading. I immediately decided that it was far enough from Pittsburgh, which Donna had advised me was a new COVID hotspot, and yet close enough to get there, and then familiar enough to make me smile.  We're in Johnstown every year for Thunder in the Valley, by far our favorite bike rally and a second home to us, but this year it had been cancelled like everything else.  I could stay at our familiar Holiday Inn downtown, and have an actual sit-down meal for the first time in a week, a celebration of accomplishment of sorts.  I knew their restaurant had a patio, and also knew that the indoor seating was never busy.

I'd expected to get in early, get a shower, have an early dinner, catch up with Donna, and maybe get some blogging done.  Reality was that I'd farted around a lot getting to and taking pictures of Mars, Mars was further away from Johnstown than Moon was, and where you get Route 22 there off the turnpike, there's still 50 traffic lights.  So with afternoon showers due at any moment, and my easy evening slipping away, I started getting a little cranky.  And once out of town a ways, I'm cranky going 70 in a 45 between traffic lights once they get spaced further and further apart.

It is here where I shall discuss the good fortune I associate with my lucky star at departure Sunday before dawn, and also pat myself on the back for a good personal habit.

By now, I've talked endlessly in Life Behind Bars about identifying, accepting, and mitigating risk.  When your card gets pulled, that's it, and you have to accept that.  But you can stack the deck, and it's in your best interest to learn how to do it.  This is true of life in general.

At some point on some interstate on the way up, I'd allowed myself to get into a position that is best to avoid:  tractor-trailer immediately on my right 6 feet away, and one directly in front of me, with me kind of boxed in.  In general, I don't follow anything I can't see through or around regardless of what I'm driving, for obvious reasons.  Here, I was waiting for the truck to complete his pass and I wanted to keep my spot in line.  As he cleared the right lane traffic, he began to ease over and as he did so, suddenly a gator - truck tire carcass - appeared directly in front of me at 75 mph.  My bad for letting this happen, but thankfully he didn't hit it and throw it, and I was able to instinctively shove the left side bar and swerve around it.  Normally you smell rubber or see the tell-tale shreds leading up to it, but nothing.  I shouldn't have been that close, but I was and I got away with it, even with my tail-heavy, slow-handling drunken hippo of a bike.

Then, having acknowledged first thing in the morning that slowing down in the dark is a sign of intelligence, 15 hours later I'm trucking full speed into the fading twilight, sun having set behind me, pretty much alone on I-64 outside St. Louis.  Something, I forget what, captured my attention with the nav/info system.  I think I was trying to figure out how to display altitude, or find some Thin Lizzy, or something extremely mission critical like that [sarcasm font.]  Just as I looked up, something in the darkness immediately didn't seem quite right, but wh---- GATOR!!!

Right in the middle of my lane, right in front of me.  I didn't have time to think, but my reaction was true, and again I darted to the side of disaster.  Both wrecks would have been a bad luck shame, yet ultimately my fault and avoidable.

So, threes.  This stuff always happens in threes.

Back now to barrelling ass down 22 outside of Pittsburgh, 25 over the speed limit, with a bee in my bonnet trying to get somewhere I really should be in no hurry to get to.   By this time, I'm getting pretty far out of the burbs.  I'd left the last traffic light in pole position and had smooth sailing.  I got over into the right lane, which I always do when not passing.  I HATE people who ride in the left lane for no reason.  HATE it.  Makes me want to set things on fire.  But also, my logic is if the cop sees you out there, he's going to grab you first. So I always go out, pass, and get back.  But Mr. Toyota is out there, also in a hurry, and has to get his nose out in front of me, which I graciously let him do.  About 5-10 car lengths.  And down the road we go.

It's not long at all before I see the Ford Explorer with the TROOPER decals on the side and the pretty lights flashing trying to pull out of a gravel parking lot on my right.  I'm pretty sure he just threw the lights on and pulled out of his good hiding spot.  He even waved at me.  He gets out onto the highway and turns the lights off, but he's coming hard.  And here he comes.  And there he goes.  Right up Mr. Toyota's ass, turns the lights back on, and begins his interview.  Nice.  That one was not cheap.

Then, as a bonus lucky star blessing, I stopped at the Sheetz just across town from the Johnstown Holiday inn to grab some munchies and another beer, which would stay cold on its own outside the cooler for 5 minutes.  I masked up, went in, did my business and came out to that afternoon shower, appearing totally unexpectedly out of nowhere.  Damn.  Within 30 more seconds it was raining hard, coming down in, you know... sheetz! (Sorry.)  I efficiently used that time to call Donna from under the awning, then rode across town 15 minutes later without unpacking the rainsuit.

No shower before dinner, but the two other customers and one waitress didn't seem to notice.  Dinner was fantastic, and despite not getting any blogging done, I had two more beers to enjoy upstairs, no alarm to set, and I knew by heart 7 different ways to make the 4 hour ride home tomorrow.  Sweet.

The Eagle Has Landed

This morning's shower was the greatest thing that's happened to me in a long time.  I hoped I left there disease-free, went next door to grab some ice, a gallon of water, and some protein bars, and off I went back into the early morning sun.

I stopped for gas just across the river from Louisville, which was earlier than I really needed to, but on this trip I'm not getting cute with stretching gas stops.  I've never run out of gas on a Sportster with a 3 gallon tank (OK, once but I coasted downhill to a gas station) so I was not about to do it on a bike with a tank twice as large, especially when I'm "on the clock."

As soon as I got back up on the big road, I ended up in Louisville traffic in the usual maze of exits and crossovers.  I've never been here; since leaving St. Louis everything is new to me, although much of it was after dark.  Going into full-alert-head-on-a-swivel mode, I see a few spots ahead of me a guy on a bike.  He's got stuff strapped to it, and is in a light-colored long-sleeved shirt and by his actions I can tell he's also far from home and has done this before.  We dodged and parried for a while and then parted ways.

Cincinnati from the south

Five hundred miles in 11 hours, on a sunny day is about the easiest thing I will have done all week, and sure enough, it was.  The only thing I learned was between Cincinnati and Columbus. 

There was a wreck that I still cannot comprehend - two cars in my side of the median facing one way, and another waaaay on the southbound side shoulder facing the correct way with the front end destroyed.  I have no idea what took place, but it closed a lane in each direction. I'm still way ahead of the game at this point, so no issue other than the sun beating on me.  Which brings me to what I learned.

Original Cincinnati-Covington KY Ohio River bridge

A great method to manage sunburn and heat exhaustion is to wear a light-colored long-sleeved shirt, just like the other guy was, and just like I'd been doing for the last couple days.  I'll put on a sleeveless or t-shirt in the morning when it's cool, and when the sun gets strong I have a  nice, loose white long-sleeved thing that is almost like thermal underwear in texture, but way lighter.  When it's really hot, you soak down the undershirt either in the bathroom, or with your handy gallon cooler if you're between stops in the middle of nowhere.  The evaporation does a pretty good job of cooling you down, and the long sleeved overshirt both keeps the sun off and keeps the other shirt from drying out completely in a mile and a half.  It works.

Done!

After the traffic jam, I put on today's long-sleeved shirt, this one a regular weight t-shirt in gold (probably goldenrod or marigold or taupe or something, but whatever.)  I'd worn the white with great results for 2 or 3 days and retired it to the dirty bag, and it was time for a fresh one.  This one felt heavier over my regular t-shirt, and was.

Good lord, that was a mistake.  I was sweating to death in 5 miles, and no soaking of any undershirt was going to fix that.  Rather than douse both at the next exit, and not willing to dig the stinky one out of the stinky bag, I just doubled down on the sunscreen and kept going.  Lesson learned.  More light, white shirts.

Before you know it, Columbus turned into Wheeling, and I-79 turned into Pittsburgh.  I found my airport exit, turned onto University Boulevard, and got my receipt for a liter of water and 22-oz Budweiser (which went into the gallon cooler can and all) at Sheetz  #379 with 1,527 miles on the clock and 3-1/2 hours to spare.  Mission accomplished.

While in outer space, however, I had one more thing to do.  By sheer coincidence, Donna and I were out for a ride near Pittsburgh earlier this summer, and discovered that Mars is also just outside Pittsburgh, not 25 miles from Moon.  This led me to the idea of taking Marvin the Martian along, and taking him home.  It did not count in my certified ride, but of course it was the right thing to do and now was the only thing left.  And so we did.  And he was home.  And there should have been great rejoicing.  But, in fact, there were only 2 people on a park bench by the flying saucer, and they had no idea what was going on.

We Have Ignition

I woke to my alarm today* did my stretches, downed a coffee, and was out the door by 5:00.  Everything was already on the bike - three locking hard bags being one of the great advantages of a full dresser - except for my toothbrush, the drawers I was wearing yesterday, and the clothes I'm wearing today.  And sunscreen, which just gets thrown in there anyway.  And my mask.  Don't forget the mask.

I'd just pulled out of the parking lot and down the little street that goes only to the hotel, in the pitch black, when I saw a shooting star pass across the sky in front of me .  How cool.  I smiled and hoped it was a sign.

The ride to Earth was not as quick as I'd timed it yesterday, for two reasons:  1) at 80+ mph on a desolate 2-lane road, you're *way* overdriving even your kick-ass LED headlights - duh.  And, 2) as many times as I've been out in wide open spaces, I have NEVER seen the Milky Way.  I've never had that perfect opportunity to look up into the night sky out in the middle of nowhere, far from light pollution.  Since the clock doesn't start until I print that gas receipt, I thought it was a great opportunity out here in the peacefulness to pull off on a dirt farm road and do just that.

It takes your eyes a few minutes to adjust, and as fate would have it, the sun was already starting to affect the eastern sky enough that I did enjoy my brief stargazing but never did get to see the Milky Way.

Earth and liftoff went smoothly, and a quick detour a few miles further west to the New Mexico border gave me the necessary stretch to make the ride comfortably exceed the required 1,500 miles.  Now I was trucking northeast at 85 mph into what would soon be the rising sun.  I knew this, of course, and it's my preference anyway to deal with the sun in the morning when there's nobody out and it's not yet hot.  Hammer down.

This entire ride, with the exception of a minor throat irritation that had me jumping to a worst case scenario, I've felt as good as I've ever felt.  It's been amazing and kind of weird.  At work, at home, or even on a road trip, you always get those drowsy afternoons.  You get a stomach thing.  On a bike for the entire day, you get cramps and aches.  A headache.  I'm in decent shape these days, doing my stretches every day, and except for a worsening burning vulcan nerve pinch in my left shoulder, which started a few days ago and has been manageable with repositioning, I can't tell you when I've felt any better.  Almost waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I made a couple Route 66 tourist stops between Amarillo and St. Louis where they were convenient to the newer Interstate, and in 16+ hours, I made it 1,050 miles to Evanston, Indiana just short of the Kentucky border and just before midnight.  This gave me my third Saddlesore 1,000 certification.  I was alert, comfortable, and honestly felt like I could keep going through the night and get the 1,500 in 24 hours.  Really.  But, I was already a bit behind schedule on that, I didn't trust that I'd still feel that way at 2:30 am, and the other thing was, when I got to Moon (Pittsburgh) dead exhausted at 6:00 am, what would I do then?  My plan was to get away from the city and check into a hotel.  Not ideal first thing in the morning.  So, I'm off the road in a Quality Inn.  I've never been in a whorehouse in Laos, so I can't compare, but I personally have never been in a more disgusting place in my life than this room.  Alarm set for 5.

*most of my posts are created well after the fact, especially when I need to hurry, but are given a fairly correct timestamp

Early morning, Eastbound and Down

Bug Ranch.  Cadillac Ranch is on the other side of Amarillo

U Drop Inn on Rt. 66 in Shamrock, TX

If you look closely, you can see Marvin riding on the back :)

T minus 12 hours

After three 500-600+ mile days, today is my break.

Leaving Wichita falls late morning, I had only to get 250-ish miles to Plainview, TX where I reserved a room the night before.  If I got there before 3, I could not check in yet and would be looking for something to do that was not indoors, which is what?  So it made no sense to hustle even if I wanted to.  It's nice to not be in a hurry - although that's about to change.

I'm in Plainview, because it's the nearest hotel to Earth, TX about 40 miles away.  I will be arriving in Earth before dawn on Sunday morning, the 49th anniversary of the Apollo 15 launch, to embark on an Iron Butt Association ride to Moon, Pennsylvania 1500 miles away.  Fifteen hundred in 36 hours is a Bun Burner, which is the next step above the 1,000-in-24 Saddlesore that is the minimum requirement for IBA certification and membership, and doing this ride on a manned lunar launch anniversary is a nerdy special certification.  There is a Bun Burner Gold for 1,500 miles in 24 hours, but that's basically straight through balls out with no sleep.  Meh.  We'll see, but I highly doubt it.

I've been off the interstate since not long after Little Rock, and this part of Texas is the part I love.  Two-lane highways through ranchland and oilfields, posted at 75 mph. 

Many stretches are four lane, though, because Texas deems it worthy where the federal highway administration does not see the need for an Interstate.  Bottom line is, y'all can cover a lot of ground.

So after 3 hours of whizzing by mailboxes at 75, I rolled into Plainview and located the hotel, still way too early to check in.  Which was fine, because I wanted to take the ride over to Earth anyway, to time it, take a few daylight pictures since it would be dark tomorrow morning, and most importantly, check the gas station receipt, which must have the correct location and time of day.  There's only one gas station in Earth, so that was kinda important.

I got all that completed, got back to Plainview with my dirty, buggy bike, and set about getting ready for 4:15 alarm.

Marvin the Martian is coming along for this spaceflight