Skipper’s Saddle Sore 1K Ride ReportBy The Skipper August 31st – September 1st, 2002
Leon had advised me to establish a late morning departure time to take advantage of my usual sleep cycle. Because, after riding all day, and late into the night, it would be easier to sleep a few hours while still dark outside than during daylight hours. So, we planned to leave at 11:00am. Next, I had to establish a route. So, I pulled out a map, looked down interstate 95, and chose a few locations that looked to be about 500 miles away. Then I typed the location into my favorite internet road map software, MapsOnUs, to determine the actual distance. After entering a few locations, I was able to narrow down my turn around location to the small town of Yemassee, South Carolina. It was 511 miles from my Woodbridge, Virginia starting point. Straight down I-95 and back. Perfect for a rookie distance rider such as myself.
Hoping to improve my ability to get some sleep the night before the ride, I had a couple of beers, and stayed up until a little past midnight. Unfortunately, my infant son woke me up at about 4am. Then, my wife’s alarm woke me up again at about 6am. After which, I would not be able to get back to sleep. All together, I’d estimate that I got about 5 hours of sleep the night before my Saddle Sore 1000 ride. My phone rang at about 9:00 am Saturday moring, August 31st. It was my friend Leon. He said, “I’m ready whenever you are”. So, I told him to come on over, since he lived just around the corner from me. And, within a few minutes, Leon and I rolled out of my driveway headed for the first of many gas stops. My tank was already full. But, I needed a dated, timed, and location receipt. So, I guaged my tire pressure and purchased $.37 worth of gas at Sheetz gas station at the corner of Prince William Parkway and Hillendale in Woodbridge, Virginia. I filled out my log sheet with an odometer reading of 6175.3 miles. We’d bumped up our start time 1 hour to 10:00am.
I was riding a 2000 Kawasaki Vulcan 800cc Drifter that is kind of a personal tribute to my favorite motorcycle, the 1947 Indian Chief, with my Wilson leather backpack stuffed full of clothes and gear and strapped onto my passenger seat.. Leon was riding a custom built rally bike that I don’t have a picture of. It started as a 250cc Kawasaki Ninja. He has covered it with the same surfacing material used for spray-on truck bed liners, instead of paint. He has added a custom built 10.9 gallon gas tank, an extra tall homemade windshield, a Rubbermaid 24 gallon capacity Action Packer, a Global Positioning Satellite(GPS) navigation device and mount, a waterproof am/fm digital radio, and a few other odds and ends including a cup holder. Leon was wearing a $1,200.00 custom tailored Aerostich riding suit and a Nolan 100 helmet with the flip-up chin. I was wearing my Hawain Harley T-shirt, some Cargo pants, a shorty helmet, and my fanny pack with my MP3 player. Leon had offered to haul my full faced Bell Legacy helmet so I could wear my shorty helmet as long as the weather was good, and I took him up on his offer.
The sun was shining. The weather was beautiful and warm when we left familiar territory. That would change quickly as we headed south on I-95. We were only about 60 miles into the ride, when the temperature dropped dramatically. And, the sun was no longer providing warmth. Ominous clouds had replaced blue skies as drops of rain began splattering on my windshield and sunglasses. I was cold. But, at least I wasn’t getting too wet. Not yet.
The first stop came at an Exxon station in Jarrett, Virginia at 12:20pm. Odometer reading was 6322.3. I was glad when my gas situation finally required a stop. Leon wouldn’t be needing gas until the turn around point of Yemassee, SC. I filled up and got my receipt. And, made certain all of the information was clearly printed on the receipt. Then, I made a log entry of the date, time, location, and odometer reading. I stored all of my paperwork in a waterproof zip-lok bag. I got my full faced helmet from Leon’s storage box and put it on, and put my shorty helmet in his storage box. Then, I put on some clothing and rain gear for what appeared to be an approaching storm. Leon mentioned that his bike was running rough. It appeared to have developed a “miss”. But, he decided to continue southbound anyway. I powered up my MP3 player and we took off toward some of the darkest skies I’ve ever approached on two wheels.
The sputtering rain soon turned into a torrential downpour. My first thought was “why didn’t I change my fingerless riding gloves for my full gauntlet pair”. The ends of my fingers were stinging from the massive raindrops hitting them at over 70 miles per hour. The pain was uncomfortable. But, it wasn’t so intense that I was going to stop again so soon. Besides, I didn’t want Leon to think I was going to be stopping every 15 minutes. To add insult to injury, the Temptations “I wish it would rain” played on my MP3 player during this leg of the trip. I have over 1000 songs on my MP3 jukebox. And, I remember laughing out loud in my helmet when that song came on. Whenever an 18 wheeler would pass, we would be engulfed in a cloud of mist and water. It was sort of cool watching Leon dissappear into these clouds momentarily. It helped pass the time. Traffic wasn’t very heavy though. Especially considering this was Labor Day weekend. It was pouring.
The next stop came at Massengill’s Gas & Grocery in Four Oaks, North Carolina at 2:22pm. Odometer reading was 6435.8. The rain had slowed to a steady sprinkle once again. And, I was glad for the opportunity to change gloves to my full gauntlet pair. After I started pumping gas, it occurred to me that these were the old type of gas pumps that don’t offer a receipt option. So, I’d have to go inside and get one. I needed a nature break anyway. After I made my log entry, I walked into the Gas & Grocery and noticed something I hadn’t seen in a long time. It wasn’t the wooden creaky flooring, or the old push button cash register. It was the lady behind the counter smoking inside the establishment while she waited on customers. I thought I’d stepped through a time warp or something. I love places like this. After my nature break, I grabbed a juice drink(avoiding the temptation to get something with caffeine) and a hot sausage and approached the counter. “Hello” she said. “Wet out there, ain’t it?” “Yes ma’am” I confirmed. “May I have a receipt with the date, time, amount, location, and your signature on it?” I asked. She looked at me as if I were not from around there. “Sure” she said, as she pulled a pad from beneath the register. She filled out the necessary information. I asked Leon if it would be acceptable to submit for certification and, he looked it over carefully and said it should be fine. I exited the store and chewed off the wrapper of the hot sausage. One big bite later and it was in the trash. That thing must have been on the shelf for years. It tasted foul. Leon laughed. He said, “If you want some beef jerky, I’ve got a pound of it in my tank bag. Here.” He handed me a couple of strips of excellent beef jerky. I said thanks and threw my leg over Ginger. Leon said, “If you want some more, just signal me. And, I’ll hand you some.” “Okay” I said. And pulled away toward I-95.
The next one hundred and twenty five miles were some of the toughest of the 1000 miles. And, oddly enough, the weather had little to do with it. I was getting sleepy. I don’t know why. Maybe I was too comfortable. Or, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep the night before. Whatever it was, I knew I still had a long way to go before I would stop for some much needed shut eye. I decided to pull up beside Leon and take him up on his beef jerky offer. However, due to straining my vocal cords at a Redskins game a couple nights earlier, I couldn’t shout loud enough for Leon to hear me. He had no idea what I was asking for. At one point, he attempted to hand me a long white tube. I found out later that it was connected to a gallon jug of lemonade. Repeated attempts fell on deaf ears. Nothing but school girl squeaks were coming out. So, we finally stopped beside the road for a couple strips of beef jerky. Not, apparently, a necessary stop. But, as it turned out, it was just what I needed to shake off the sleepiness I was fighting.
The rain had completely quit by the time we stopped for gas at a Shell station in Florence, South Carolina. Odometer reading was 6690.8. Ginger was running flawlessly. Leon’s bike, unfortunately, was not. His “missing problem” was getting worse. But, he said he was pressing on. With the rain stopped, I got my shorty helmet on again. I debated riding without a helmet since we were in a state without a helmet law. But, Leon quickly convinced me that I wouldn’t be very smart to do so during an Iron Butt ride. So, I removed some rain gear, put on my fingerless gloves, made a log entry, got gas, and a drink. Just before we saddled up, a gentleman on a very nice BMW motorcycle pulled up to the pump in front of me. I don’t recall the specific model of his bike, but it was definitely built for touring. I said “Staying dry?” To which he replied “Well, I am now. But, I just came through a serious rain storm.” Thinking he must have road through the same rain we did, I asked “Which way are you headed?” “North” he said. “You?” “We’re going south” I said, as I realized I’d just suited up for dry riding. I knew this was a mistake. But, I’d hoped I could ride one more full leg without getting soaked. Wrong. “Ride safe” I said to the Beamer rider, as we pulled away. The next leg of this ride would be tougher.
We’d only ridden a short distance when the rain came. Sheets of it. And, to make matters worse, I didn’t have my full face helmet or rain gear on, and Leon’s bike was only capable of running short spurts at 60 miles per hour. He was constantly fighting the throttle to try and keep up his speed. He’d drop down to 35 m.p.h.. Then surge back to 60 m.p.h. I tucked in behind my windshield for a couple of miles. But, when Leon’s bike caused our speed to drop below about 50 m.p.h., tucking behind my windshield didn’t help at all. Then, I spotted an overpass. Unfortunately, visibility was poor. And, I didn’t see it in time to stop beneath it. I overshot it by about 15 yards. I started walking Ginger backwards to get under the shelter of the overpass. Then, Leon came to an abrupt stop right beside me. He shouted, “I’m going on to the next exit to see if I can get my bike fixed. I’ll meet you there.” “Okay”, I shouted back. I put my kickstand down and got off. Then, it dawned on me that my full faced helmet was in Leon’s storage box. Big mistake. I jumped back on my bike and hauled ass. Within a couple of miles, I found the next exit. Signs indicated that the gas stations were to my left. So, that’s where I went. Crossing over I-95, the first station was on the right. All of the covered parking was clearly visible from the main road. But, Leon was nowhere in sight. Then I saw another gas station on the left. But, still no sign of Leon. I was drenched without my rain gear. So, I pulled into the station on the left. I didn’t know what to do. I got off my bike and scanned the horizon for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, I saw that weird looking bike pop over the hill that led to the gas stations and felt a huge sense of relief. That was one of the many sights and sounds of this adventure that I’ll never forget. Without that full faced helmet, this tough ride would be nearly impossible in this weather. But, more importantly, Leon was alright. He’d turned the wrong way at the top of the exit ramp. Whew. Close call. I got my rain gear on, and my full faced helmet. I put my shorty helmet in Leon’s box and made a mental note that it would be the last time that I’d touch that helmet until the trip was over. I suggested to Leon that he top off his tank because his bike problem might be a gas tank ventilation issue. Willing to give it a shot, he filled up his tank, and we headed south for the last time. Leon’s bike was getting worse. It was still raining hard, and didn’t let up until we were almost at our turn around point. Leon, struggled with his throttle the rest of the way to Yemassee, South Carolina. As we passed the exit sign for our turn around point, Leon, uncharacteristically, pumped a triumphant fist in the air. That’s when I knew this was not an ordinary Iron Butt ride.
I had only one dry pair of socks, one somewhat dry sweatshirt, and one dry pair of gloves left. Everything else was soaked. We pulled into an Exxon station in Yemassee, South Carolina at 7:13pm. The turn around point. Odometer reading was 6690.8 miles. Leon immediately began working on his bike. I took care of my gas receipt, log entry, and walked across the street to Subway for some human fuel. Got a footlong sub and split it with Leon. We discussed the first half of the ride. Amazingly, with all the problems, we’d come more than 500 miles in a little more than 9 hours. This was fortunate. It meant that we’d be able to get a few hours of rest. We also talked about Leon’s mechanical problems. Seems he was unable to diagnose the culprit. He’d checked the plugs, the fuel system, and a few other odds and ends. But, nothing appeared to be wrong. Leon used a zip tie to create a manual vent for his gas tank. Eventhough, this wasn’t the fix for this particular problem, I can’t stress enough how important zip ties and bungee cords are. They are cheap, easy to carry, and can save your butt if you have them. We also talked about what to do if Leon’s bike was problematic on the 2nd half of the ride. Leon strongly urged me to leave him behind if his bike slowed down again. I told him I wouldn’t leave him, and that I’d do an Iron Butt ride some other time if we couldn’t make it. He informed me that he’d be fine and reminded me that he could always rent a Uhaul and carry his bike home if necessary. As a member of the Southern Cruisers Riding Club, I never leave a rider behind. But, an Iron Butt ride was different. So, reluctantly, I agreed to leave him if his bike problems returned. As darkness began to fall on us, we pointed our steeds northward. Back through the storm we’d just survived.
Amazingly, Leon’s bike seemed to be running great. For almost 100 miles we never dropped below 70 m.p.h. Eventhough we’d ran head on back into the storm we’d been fighting for nearly 500 miles. Just as I began to think everything was going to be fine, Leon’s bike problems returned. So, after only about 113 miles, we made a slightly early gas stop in Sardis, South Carolina, at 9:49pm. Odometer reading was 6803.3. Still about 372 miles from finishing this Saddle Sore 1000. The combination of weather, mechanical problems, and miles were taking their toll on me. Both mentally and physically. Leon reiterated his opinion that I should leave him behind when his bike slowed down, and I just said “Okay”. Darn BP gas stations in North Carolina. No paying at the pump after dark? Must go inside and leave a deposit? 12 guage shotgun in a quick release mount behind the counter? Where the hell was I? The twilight zone? Fortunately, the toothless gentleman behind the counter was nice enough to fill out a decent receipt for me. So, another nature break, and we were back in the saddle again.
After only about 20 miles, Leon’s bike was slower than ever. I pulled up beside him and he emphatically waved me forward. I waved and accelerated past him up to about 80 m.p.h. I had mixed emotions about this as I watched his headlight fade into the rain and other traffic in my rear view mirror. On one hand, I’m committed to never leaving a rider stranded. On the other, I knew he’d be alright and would expect me to finish what I’d started. And, it felt good to be up to speed again. So I rode on. I pushed Ginger to her limits. Evidenced by the fact that I only ran 66 miles when I had to switch to reserve. After a dozen or so more miles, I stopped for fuel in St. Paul, North Carolina at 11:17pm. I’d been riding for a little more than 13 hours straight. Mostly through pouring rain. Odometer reading was 6884.3. It was raining hard. I was exhausted. Got my receipt. Scribbled my log entry. I was having a little difficulty completing something as simple as a log entry. It was time to stop and rest. I patted Ginger’s saddle and made some silly comment to her like “We’re gonna rest soon girl.”, as if my motorcycle were alive. Strange things you do in sleepless states. I rode another 30 miles, or so. I found a little roadside motel. I pulled up to the check in window, paid my $31.00, and asked for a 5:00am wake up call. A foreign accent proclaimed, from behind the glass, that I’d get my wake up call. I asked him how reliable it was. He replied that it was automated. And, it would ring every five minutes until I answered. That’ll have to be good enough. Since, I don’t own a screaming meanie. I pulled Ginger right up over the curb and onto the sidewalk in front of the rooms. She was out of the rain under the overhanging awning. The first thing I did, after getting into the room, was strip out of the soaking wet clothing. The second thing I did was put those dry socks on my freezing toes. Those socks felt as good as when I was a kid coming in from playing in the snow for too long, and mom pulled a pair of socks from the dryer for me. I placed my soaked gloves on the vent and turned the fan on high. The last thing I remember is hearing the rain pounding in the parking lot outside.
I woke to the sound of a strained scream. It was coming from me! Some kind of hellacious nightmare, I guess. Fortunately, I can’t remember that particular dream. I didn’t sleep until the wake up call. It was only 4:37am. Then, it occurred to me that I’d calculated my sleep time by my orginal start time of 11:00am! We’d left at 10:00am. I scrambled to get dressed and get my gear packed. I threw my pack on Ginger, strapped it down, and fired up the bike on the sidewalk. I probably woke up everyone on that side of the hotel. Eventhough, my pipes aren’t very loud, starting my bike under the overhang made it sound pretty loud to me. I rode right off of the curbing and around to the room key drop box. I didn’t care. I had an hour to make up. Or, this whole ordeal would be for naught. Dropped my key and hauled ass. I’ve got almost 300 miles to travel in about 5 hours. I was constantly calculating in my head during this leg. “If I average 70 m.p.h. for 5 hours that’s 350 miles. So, if I don’t mess around during gas stops I can still make it with time to spare. But, if anything goes wrong…I’d better haul ass.”
My next stop was at 5:37am in Wilson, North Carolina. The odometer reading was 6980.3. I didn’t even take off my helmet. I tried to be as efficient as humanly possible. No wasted motion. Got my receipt, entered the log entry, and north bound again.
Finally back in good ‘ole Virginia. Stoney Creek. 6:53am and it started raining again. Odometer reading was 7067.6. A little more than one hundred miles to go, and it looked like I would finish on time. Then, I got to Richmond.
The hardest rain of the entire trip. Visibility was horrific. Cars and trucks had pulled to the side of the road to wait out the rain. Small rivers streamed across I-95. I began to think I might not make it after all. I can only imagine what the people in the cages thought when this classic looking motorcycle came flying past them in this weather. With rooster tails shooting from both sides of the wheels, I wasn’t about to slow down. I was going down, or I was going to finish this ride on time. Not too smart I guess. But, it was my state of mind at the time. Fortunately, this hydroplaning only lasted for 20 minutes, or so. You just have to watch out for the wake behind the 18 wheelers.
I made it to Fredericksburg, Virginia by 8:31am. Gassed up, logged entry, odometer at 7164.0 and I’m starting to worry about my finishing witness form. I had originally planned to have Leon sign since he is an Iron Butt member. But, now, I’d have to have two signatures from credible witnesses. As I rode toward home, I tried to think of people I might get to sign my form. Police Officers? Firemen? Gas station employees? Customers? I’d have to grab my form from my garage, and turn around and find witnesses.
As I turned the corner to my home, I couldn’t help but worry about my friend I’d left in South Carolina. When I turned into my own driveway I saw the most amazing sight of the entire ride. My shorty helmet was hanging on my garage door handle! Leon had somehow manage to beat me home! I quickly rode around the corner to his house. He was still awake. “You made it.” he said as I approached his door. “With a half hour to spare.” I said. “How about signing my finishing form?” “You’ll need that last gas receipt.” he informed me after looking over my paperwork. In my haste to finish, I’d forgotten to get my last gas receipt. I jumped back on Ginger one more time. Raced to the corner gas station and back to Leon’s house. He signed my form at 9:31am and the ride was done. It turned out that Leon had stopped to work on his bike once more. And, was able to develop a throttling method that allowed him to maintain a consistent speed. He said he’d slept about 1 hour beside his bike, and then tried to catch up to me. He’d left a couple of messages on my cel phone. But, I didn’t even think to check it. He must have passed me while I slept. He is an amazing endurance rider.
Ginger’s odometer read 7203. She performed fantastically. I may own many other bikes in my life, but there will never be another one that did my first official Iron Butt ride with me. The Kawasaki Drifter is a great value, in my opinion.
Total miles: 1027.7
Skipper
Iron Butt Association Member
SCRC #293047
http://mywebpages.comcast.net/Drift/Ginger.jpg http://mywebpages.comcast.net/Drift/MaryAnn.jpg
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