This labor day weekend Russ and I decided on a camping trip up to Skaggs. We played most of it by ear, and didn't have too much planned out. Hell, we didn't even bring a map this time. Both of us needed new tires, so we started with both getting new tires shod (I got Dunlop Roadsmarts & Russ got Qualifiers) and meeting in SF on Friday afternoon.
Rode over the GG and took the twisty road to Stinson beach. Some traffic, but some fun stretches to be sure. Stopped at Tony's for some BBQ oysters and Tony burgers. Decent. Waitress took a long time, didn't get out of there until after sunset. Ventured up the coast in the dark, moving at a good clip. Had some fun surprises, a huge cow standing at the edge of the cliff around an uphill hairpin, a deer leaping in front of the car in front of us, and a tow truck with somewhere to be (the guy was hauling serious ass).
Finally made it up to Stewarts Point/Skaggs road by about 10pm. Rode a few miles in with highbeams, lots of fun with no lines or reflectors in the road. Slow going but very pretty and memorable to be navigating the redwood forest in complete darkness. Found a nice spot 30 feet in from the side of the road, and set up camp directly in front of a gate that said 'No trespassing without written permission'. Enjoyed a duraflame, some spaghetti-o's and a few rum & cokes under the star-filled sky. It was a treat camping with no rules, no quiet hours, and no other people or fires around.
Russ and I actually slept in a bit, and since my camelback leaked all over my tent, I had to take some time drying things before packing up and heading out. We headed east over Skaggs towards Lake Sonoma, and despite police presence, were able to pick up the pace to knee dragging speeds. One of my favorite sections in the road is where it dives downhill into a slightly increasing radius left-hander. Delicious. There's also something special about carrying peg-scraping lean angles with a tent and loads of camping gear strapped to the bike. My touring/commuting windscreen adds a special effect too, when I'm in race tuck I have the Fastrak (EZpass) right in my line of sight. After ~30 miles of fast sweepers, we made it to the Lake Sonoma lot. We rode to the lookout area at the top, a wooden deck with a spectacular view of the entire lake. I can't believe we've never been all the way up there before!
We headed into Cloverdale for lunch, and ate at a place called 'Pick's Drive-In'. Decent bacon cheeseburger and rootbeer float. After that, wandered over to the Visitor's Center to figure out where we wanted to head next. The woman working at the Visitor's Center was really nice, telling us how her brother recently won a Harley in some Miller sweepstakes. We decided to head 15 minutes north, cutting over to Hwy 175 to Clear Lake. 175 was a real treat, great pavement, little traffic, and no sense of anxiety about CHP presence. Definitely need to hit up 175 again in the future.
We stopped at the convenience store across from Foster's Freeze in Lower Lake for some trash watching. My apologies if you're reading this and hail from Lower Lake, but seriously, everyone there was a character. All the guys were shirtless and tatted up, with beer guts hanging out. All the girls, no matter how big or small, were wearing hideous cut-off jean shorts and smoking butts in the parking lot. A charming crowd for sure. After an iced coffee, nectarine, and gatorade we headed southeast towards Lake Berryessa. On Knoxville road approaching the dried up creek beds, we pulled over to the side of the road. Russ' Mille was having some issues with the last tank of gas, and we were letting the bike cool down when an old couple in a Toyota Yaris pulled over and asked us which way we were going. After indicating we were heading towards the lake, they warned us of all the 'mexicans and orientals' all over the place with their cars and tents and kids and guns....Being the polite Mexican and Oriental that we are, Russ and I politely thanked them and assured them we'd steer clear of any crazy gun toting immigrants.
The road down to the lake was super fun, Russ was going pretty fast through the dried creek bed whoopdeedoos. Once we finally got to the lake, CHP was all over. We took it easy and then parted ways and headed home. Overall it was a great ride, a big loop connecting a few of our favorite roads in the north bay. It was weird to not have Jon and Matt with us, but hopefully next time we'll have a crew.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
49er Rally 2008
For the second year in a row Jon and I decided to attend the BMW MOA '49er Rally' in Auburn, CA. It's a Memorial Day event that includes 3 nights of camping, a Saturday BBQ dinner, poker run, english trials, guest speakers, etc. Last year we had a good time exploring Gold Country on our bikes, and the weather was beautiful.
This year we enlisted Dave to come along on his 1150GS Adventure. Unfortunately Jon's bike was still stuck in the shop, so he ended up driving the Focus up to Auburn, as I wasn't keen on riding 2-up with Jon all weekend. We decided on meeting at the Arizmendi Bakery in SF on Saturday morning and leaving from there.
Saturday morning rolled around and it was rainy in SF. I packed up the FZ1 and headed out to meet up with Dave. We sat outside in the rain sipping coffee in our Aerostich suits until Jon rolled up, and we headed out. We had a generally uneventful 125 mile slab ride up to Auburn in the rain and traffic. The only real excitement came when we were just getting into Auburn and had a close call with 2 livestock trucks spewing poo all over the freeway. Luckily we were able to evade the poo shower and made it to the campground unscathed.
Once we got into the fairground we need to find a good (preferably dry) spot to camp. We ran into a few friends of Dave's who had setup in the sheep pens, which were relatively clean and completely dry (and no sheep). However, all of the pens were taken, so we had to settle for setting up camp in the pig pens across the way. They didn't smell too bad and I didn't see much pig shit, so things could've been worse. Literally sleeping in a pigsty was a first, an experience I'll never forget however hard I try.
The rain didn't show any signs of letting up, so we hopped in the car and went for lunch at a burger place called Ikeda's. The patty melts were incredible and we all stuffed our faces, completely disregarding the fact that we had tickets to a BBQ dinner just a few hours later. In the end it was a good move, because the BBQ dinner wasn't very good, and the portions were skimpy. Disappointing compared to last year, especially when it's raining and you've got nothing better to do than see how many ribs you can eat. The prices at the Bier Garten suffered from inflation as well, so after a few we ventured to Old Town Auburn. We ended up at a bar called the California Club, where the doofy bartender made us his signature drink called 'the orgasmatron' or 'the teabag', whichever suits your fancy. It was pretty bad, but he redeemed himself by making a decent g&t.
The next morning we got some coffee and listened to Dave Hough (author of Proficient Motorcycling) and Fred Rau rant for a little while. Then we went 'downtown' and had a good breakfast. Dave apparently didn't have enough of the wet weather, so he decided to spill his water all over himself. We got back to the fairgrounds in time to watch some English trials riding by some brave GS riders, and found that our area of the pig pen was turned into a water trap. The mud puddle stopped just inches shy of our tents, and we kicked some dirt and sawdust around to try and prevent it from creeping any closer.
After the trials, we head out for a ride. It wasn't raining anymore, and looked as though the sun might actually peek through the clouds. We went east to Foresthill and picked up Mosquito Ridge road, which is 600 curves in 36 miles of extremely grippy asphalt. We made it 20 miles before it started raining heavily and we decided to pull off and hike around a bit. There was a fleeting moment where I considered trying to go offroading on the FZ1 down a muddy fire road, but I wussed out after 100 feet and turned back. We hiked around until it started to let up a bit, and we decided to head back to the campsite before the storm got any worse. Heading back towards Foresthill it actually was dry after 10 miles, so I got to pick up the pace and have some fun for the last few miles.
The next morning we got up at the crack of dawn and headed out to beat the holiday traffic, and made it back to SF around 8:30am. All in all it was a wet weekend with more eating than riding, but it was a good time nonetheless. I plan on going again next year, but I think I'll pass on the BBQ dinner and pay closer attention to the weather.
This year we enlisted Dave to come along on his 1150GS Adventure. Unfortunately Jon's bike was still stuck in the shop, so he ended up driving the Focus up to Auburn, as I wasn't keen on riding 2-up with Jon all weekend. We decided on meeting at the Arizmendi Bakery in SF on Saturday morning and leaving from there.
Saturday morning rolled around and it was rainy in SF. I packed up the FZ1 and headed out to meet up with Dave. We sat outside in the rain sipping coffee in our Aerostich suits until Jon rolled up, and we headed out. We had a generally uneventful 125 mile slab ride up to Auburn in the rain and traffic. The only real excitement came when we were just getting into Auburn and had a close call with 2 livestock trucks spewing poo all over the freeway. Luckily we were able to evade the poo shower and made it to the campground unscathed.
Once we got into the fairground we need to find a good (preferably dry) spot to camp. We ran into a few friends of Dave's who had setup in the sheep pens, which were relatively clean and completely dry (and no sheep). However, all of the pens were taken, so we had to settle for setting up camp in the pig pens across the way. They didn't smell too bad and I didn't see much pig shit, so things could've been worse. Literally sleeping in a pigsty was a first, an experience I'll never forget however hard I try.
The rain didn't show any signs of letting up, so we hopped in the car and went for lunch at a burger place called Ikeda's. The patty melts were incredible and we all stuffed our faces, completely disregarding the fact that we had tickets to a BBQ dinner just a few hours later. In the end it was a good move, because the BBQ dinner wasn't very good, and the portions were skimpy. Disappointing compared to last year, especially when it's raining and you've got nothing better to do than see how many ribs you can eat. The prices at the Bier Garten suffered from inflation as well, so after a few we ventured to Old Town Auburn. We ended up at a bar called the California Club, where the doofy bartender made us his signature drink called 'the orgasmatron' or 'the teabag', whichever suits your fancy. It was pretty bad, but he redeemed himself by making a decent g&t.
The next morning we got some coffee and listened to Dave Hough (author of Proficient Motorcycling) and Fred Rau rant for a little while. Then we went 'downtown' and had a good breakfast. Dave apparently didn't have enough of the wet weather, so he decided to spill his water all over himself. We got back to the fairgrounds in time to watch some English trials riding by some brave GS riders, and found that our area of the pig pen was turned into a water trap. The mud puddle stopped just inches shy of our tents, and we kicked some dirt and sawdust around to try and prevent it from creeping any closer.
After the trials, we head out for a ride. It wasn't raining anymore, and looked as though the sun might actually peek through the clouds. We went east to Foresthill and picked up Mosquito Ridge road, which is 600 curves in 36 miles of extremely grippy asphalt. We made it 20 miles before it started raining heavily and we decided to pull off and hike around a bit. There was a fleeting moment where I considered trying to go offroading on the FZ1 down a muddy fire road, but I wussed out after 100 feet and turned back. We hiked around until it started to let up a bit, and we decided to head back to the campsite before the storm got any worse. Heading back towards Foresthill it actually was dry after 10 miles, so I got to pick up the pace and have some fun for the last few miles.
The next morning we got up at the crack of dawn and headed out to beat the holiday traffic, and made it back to SF around 8:30am. All in all it was a wet weekend with more eating than riding, but it was a good time nonetheless. I plan on going again next year, but I think I'll pass on the BBQ dinner and pay closer attention to the weather.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Iron Butt 2007 - Bay Area to Oregon
Endurance riding has always intrigued me. The test of physical and mental stamina, combined with the constant exhilaration and grin factor of motorcycle riding appeals to me at so many levels. But, rather than spewing about my love for motorcycling and road trips, I'll just jump right into the slideshow and ride report, which is long overdue...
For those of you unfamiliar with the world of motorcycle endurance riding, there is an association called the Iron Butt Association, or IBA. They certify rides of varying distances and times, and the entry level IBA ride is called the 'Saddle Sore 1000.' To get certified, you must ride 1000+ miles in under 24 hours. No sweat, right?
If we planned on slabbin' it up and down I-5 or back and forth on I-80 it would've been a piece of cake, and the main challenge would've been staying awake and not getting bored to the point of giving up. Instead, Russ and I masochistically decided that rather than slab it towards the more temperate and dry Southern California desert (my original proposal), we'd leave from Sacramento and go north up to Redding, then cut east to the coast and follow the coast up into Oregon. Our northermost point would be Reedsport, OR, where we'd then cut east back to I-5 at Roseburg, OR and head south through the mountain passes back towards California.
In preparation for the ride we made a hotel reservation in Roseburg, OR for Saturday night, printed a few maps, clipped together the pile of requisite IBA paperwork, and made sure our machines were in good running condition and ready for the long trip ahead of us. My Yamaha FZ1 is already a very capable and comfortable bike, but to be on the safe side I shod her with new Conti Road Attack sport touring tires, slapped on my big ugly touring windscreen, threw on the tankbag and Givi topcase and was ready to rock. Anticipating cold, wet, dark riding through Oregon mountain passes I also fixed my heated grips and invested in some very ugly yet functional handlebar gauntlets. Inspired by the oven-mitts worn by Chinese food delivery guys piloting scooters through the streets of NY in the dead of the winter, this dorky accessory turned out to be one of the best $25 I've ever spent. To top off my foul weather gear, I purchased a Tour Master 'Sabre' 3/4 length waterproof touring jacket from Newenough.com for only $65. Finally, last but not least was a pair of helmet speakers installed in my HJC to work with my iPod and help me fight boredom and fatigue on the straighter sections of our route.
Russ, who is crazy enough to attempt an Iron Butt on a fully dedicated sportbike - (Aprilia Mille) - decided that all of my touring accouterments were unnecessary, and the only modification he made was adding a throttle rocker wrist rest and a small tankbag to rest on when tucked in.
With the bikes in order, we ate a quick breakfast and left Russ' house in Sacramento just before 8am, taking pictures of our odometers and having Russ' better half, Jess, sign as our starting point witness (the IBA are sticklers, and excessive documentation is required to receive certification). From there we headed up I-5 towards Redding, cutting over east on Hwy 36, which boasts a 'Twisty Road next 140 miles' sign. They're not kidding either. Hwy 36 is one of those roads that the civil engineers must've been drunk when they built, as it undulates and meanders almost completely arbitrarily through the forest.
Partway through 36 we stopped at a town called Platina, CA for gas and lunch. We decided to be healthy and avoid burgers, instead ordering chicken fingers and fries and onion rings. Their homemade honey mustard was top notch, and got back on our bikes feeling fat and happy and ready to ride. The Platina store was a wonderful little spot, having existed since the early 1900's to cater to the logging community. Most of the other people we saw there were hunters stopping for a bite, and the owners of the store were extremely friendly.
We continued down 36, and the as we went further west, the road seemed to get tighter and more technical, not to mention less crowded. Most of the people on the road were hunters who graciously pulled over to let us by. We only had one exciting incident where we were passing a pickup who decided he didn't want us to pass, and tried his best to race us into the next corner. A blip and a downshift later, I was leaned over into a decreasing radius right-hander, with Russ following close behind and the pickup struggling to keep up.
After a few hours of sweepers and twisties that seemed to go on forever, we finally reached the coast. We headed north to the Avenue of the Giants, where we stopped to take some pictures with Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. After that, we headed north and didn't stop until we reached Oregon.
The Oregon coast is beautiful, and feels more like New England than California somehow. After filling up at a gas station, we pulled off onto on of the vista points along the coast to take a much needed rest and nap. After 15-20 minutes of granola bars, cashews, and shuteye, we got back on the road, trying to make it to Reedsport before it got too dark.
By the time we made it to Reedsport it was pitch black and we knew that we were behind schedule. We had foolishly taken too much time in Platina and we'd have to make up for it in the dark if we wanted to make it to the hotel in time to get any sleep at all. We headed east across Hwy 38, winding through the dense redwoods and cold fog, relying a bit too heavily on posted speed limits and reflectors in the road to carve our path through the darkness. We kept passing signs that warned 'Elk crossing' and I was doing 80 mph with my brights on, eyes wide open scanning for suicidal elk when I spotted something huge in the middle of the road. It was no elk, rather a large black bear who turned and ran off into the woods when he saw my headlights. Having never seen a bear before, and being a bit delirious from ~12 hours of riding, I was hooting and hollering in my helmet, hoping that Russ had seen the bear too.
As we continued east the elevation climbed and the temperature dropped. The fog got denser to the point that I had to squeegee my visor every 5 seconds. The heated grips and gauntlets worked wonders to keep my hands warm, but my feet were frozen and numb. In deep conversation with myself in my helmet I told myself that 'this is what an Iron Butt ride is all about!'. In comparison the rest of the day had been so pleasant- warm, dry, sunny, good visibility- but now we had a challenge, now it was an endurance ride!
One more gas stop along 138 and we finally hit I-5 to Roseburg. The visibility from the fog was so bad that traffic was crawling along at 50 mph. We pulled off at the exit for our hotel, and decided to hit up Wendy's before going to sleep. Only the drive through was open, and Russ took the initiative to ride his Aprilia up to the drive through window and get us some spicy chicken sammies and fries to go. We threw the grub in my tankbag and checked into the hotel to eat and sleep for 1.5 hours. It's a good thing that Russ brought his alarm clock from home, because even with 2 alarm clocks and two cell phone alarms set it was a miracle that we woke up an hour and a half later.
After showering and loading the bikes back up, we were back on the road at ~2 am. Unfortunately, it had only gotten foggier and colder, and there were times when I seriously considered pulling over because I couldn't see more than 15 feet in front of me. We had a few exciting overtakes while passing trucks and buses mid-corner, and I grew to really trust my tires on the cold, damp pavement. Russ and I switched bikes a few times, which worked out well because on the Aprilia, your hands would be frozen and entire body would go numb to the point that you be shivering and convulsing, but on the Yamaha your hands were so warm and the riding position so comfortable that you would start to doze off. So every time Russ would be painfully cold and need to pull over, I would usually be dozing off, and we'd switch for 100 miles.
The last hour of our trip we realized that we were cutting it close, and any inhibitions we may have had about blatant and obvious speeding went out the door. We hadn't ridden this long and this far to miss by such a narrow margin. The Iron Butt suddenly felt like an actual race, and Russ and I took turns leading, cruising at triple digit speeds for longer than is socially acceptable by a wide margin. It was an incredible feeling when we passed the 1000 mile mark, with about 25 minutes to spare. We pulled into a Valero gas station in Dunnigan, CA where we exchanged some hi fives and hugs, and convinced the charming gas station attendant Claire to sign as our end of ride witness.
After a few phone calls and a celebratory breakfast at Jack in the Box, we went our separate ways and headed home for some real rest. Completing the ride gave a unique sense of accomplishment that I can only imagine must be similar to the feeling of finishing a marathon, climbing a mountain, or winning a hot dog eating contest. Russ and I are both really happy that we did the ride, and it proved to be a formidable challenge. I plan on doing some sort of endurance ride at least once a year, and hope to be able to make it out to Taos to rally with the OFTAs next June.
For those of you unfamiliar with the world of motorcycle endurance riding, there is an association called the Iron Butt Association, or IBA. They certify rides of varying distances and times, and the entry level IBA ride is called the 'Saddle Sore 1000.' To get certified, you must ride 1000+ miles in under 24 hours. No sweat, right?
If we planned on slabbin' it up and down I-5 or back and forth on I-80 it would've been a piece of cake, and the main challenge would've been staying awake and not getting bored to the point of giving up. Instead, Russ and I masochistically decided that rather than slab it towards the more temperate and dry Southern California desert (my original proposal), we'd leave from Sacramento and go north up to Redding, then cut east to the coast and follow the coast up into Oregon. Our northermost point would be Reedsport, OR, where we'd then cut east back to I-5 at Roseburg, OR and head south through the mountain passes back towards California.
In preparation for the ride we made a hotel reservation in Roseburg, OR for Saturday night, printed a few maps, clipped together the pile of requisite IBA paperwork, and made sure our machines were in good running condition and ready for the long trip ahead of us. My Yamaha FZ1 is already a very capable and comfortable bike, but to be on the safe side I shod her with new Conti Road Attack sport touring tires, slapped on my big ugly touring windscreen, threw on the tankbag and Givi topcase and was ready to rock. Anticipating cold, wet, dark riding through Oregon mountain passes I also fixed my heated grips and invested in some very ugly yet functional handlebar gauntlets. Inspired by the oven-mitts worn by Chinese food delivery guys piloting scooters through the streets of NY in the dead of the winter, this dorky accessory turned out to be one of the best $25 I've ever spent. To top off my foul weather gear, I purchased a Tour Master 'Sabre' 3/4 length waterproof touring jacket from Newenough.com for only $65. Finally, last but not least was a pair of helmet speakers installed in my HJC to work with my iPod and help me fight boredom and fatigue on the straighter sections of our route.
Russ, who is crazy enough to attempt an Iron Butt on a fully dedicated sportbike - (Aprilia Mille) - decided that all of my touring accouterments were unnecessary, and the only modification he made was adding a throttle rocker wrist rest and a small tankbag to rest on when tucked in.
With the bikes in order, we ate a quick breakfast and left Russ' house in Sacramento just before 8am, taking pictures of our odometers and having Russ' better half, Jess, sign as our starting point witness (the IBA are sticklers, and excessive documentation is required to receive certification). From there we headed up I-5 towards Redding, cutting over east on Hwy 36, which boasts a 'Twisty Road next 140 miles' sign. They're not kidding either. Hwy 36 is one of those roads that the civil engineers must've been drunk when they built, as it undulates and meanders almost completely arbitrarily through the forest.
Partway through 36 we stopped at a town called Platina, CA for gas and lunch. We decided to be healthy and avoid burgers, instead ordering chicken fingers and fries and onion rings. Their homemade honey mustard was top notch, and got back on our bikes feeling fat and happy and ready to ride. The Platina store was a wonderful little spot, having existed since the early 1900's to cater to the logging community. Most of the other people we saw there were hunters stopping for a bite, and the owners of the store were extremely friendly.
We continued down 36, and the as we went further west, the road seemed to get tighter and more technical, not to mention less crowded. Most of the people on the road were hunters who graciously pulled over to let us by. We only had one exciting incident where we were passing a pickup who decided he didn't want us to pass, and tried his best to race us into the next corner. A blip and a downshift later, I was leaned over into a decreasing radius right-hander, with Russ following close behind and the pickup struggling to keep up.
After a few hours of sweepers and twisties that seemed to go on forever, we finally reached the coast. We headed north to the Avenue of the Giants, where we stopped to take some pictures with Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. After that, we headed north and didn't stop until we reached Oregon.
The Oregon coast is beautiful, and feels more like New England than California somehow. After filling up at a gas station, we pulled off onto on of the vista points along the coast to take a much needed rest and nap. After 15-20 minutes of granola bars, cashews, and shuteye, we got back on the road, trying to make it to Reedsport before it got too dark.
By the time we made it to Reedsport it was pitch black and we knew that we were behind schedule. We had foolishly taken too much time in Platina and we'd have to make up for it in the dark if we wanted to make it to the hotel in time to get any sleep at all. We headed east across Hwy 38, winding through the dense redwoods and cold fog, relying a bit too heavily on posted speed limits and reflectors in the road to carve our path through the darkness. We kept passing signs that warned 'Elk crossing' and I was doing 80 mph with my brights on, eyes wide open scanning for suicidal elk when I spotted something huge in the middle of the road. It was no elk, rather a large black bear who turned and ran off into the woods when he saw my headlights. Having never seen a bear before, and being a bit delirious from ~12 hours of riding, I was hooting and hollering in my helmet, hoping that Russ had seen the bear too.
As we continued east the elevation climbed and the temperature dropped. The fog got denser to the point that I had to squeegee my visor every 5 seconds. The heated grips and gauntlets worked wonders to keep my hands warm, but my feet were frozen and numb. In deep conversation with myself in my helmet I told myself that 'this is what an Iron Butt ride is all about!'. In comparison the rest of the day had been so pleasant- warm, dry, sunny, good visibility- but now we had a challenge, now it was an endurance ride!
One more gas stop along 138 and we finally hit I-5 to Roseburg. The visibility from the fog was so bad that traffic was crawling along at 50 mph. We pulled off at the exit for our hotel, and decided to hit up Wendy's before going to sleep. Only the drive through was open, and Russ took the initiative to ride his Aprilia up to the drive through window and get us some spicy chicken sammies and fries to go. We threw the grub in my tankbag and checked into the hotel to eat and sleep for 1.5 hours. It's a good thing that Russ brought his alarm clock from home, because even with 2 alarm clocks and two cell phone alarms set it was a miracle that we woke up an hour and a half later.
After showering and loading the bikes back up, we were back on the road at ~2 am. Unfortunately, it had only gotten foggier and colder, and there were times when I seriously considered pulling over because I couldn't see more than 15 feet in front of me. We had a few exciting overtakes while passing trucks and buses mid-corner, and I grew to really trust my tires on the cold, damp pavement. Russ and I switched bikes a few times, which worked out well because on the Aprilia, your hands would be frozen and entire body would go numb to the point that you be shivering and convulsing, but on the Yamaha your hands were so warm and the riding position so comfortable that you would start to doze off. So every time Russ would be painfully cold and need to pull over, I would usually be dozing off, and we'd switch for 100 miles.
The last hour of our trip we realized that we were cutting it close, and any inhibitions we may have had about blatant and obvious speeding went out the door. We hadn't ridden this long and this far to miss by such a narrow margin. The Iron Butt suddenly felt like an actual race, and Russ and I took turns leading, cruising at triple digit speeds for longer than is socially acceptable by a wide margin. It was an incredible feeling when we passed the 1000 mile mark, with about 25 minutes to spare. We pulled into a Valero gas station in Dunnigan, CA where we exchanged some hi fives and hugs, and convinced the charming gas station attendant Claire to sign as our end of ride witness.
After a few phone calls and a celebratory breakfast at Jack in the Box, we went our separate ways and headed home for some real rest. Completing the ride gave a unique sense of accomplishment that I can only imagine must be similar to the feeling of finishing a marathon, climbing a mountain, or winning a hot dog eating contest. Russ and I are both really happy that we did the ride, and it proved to be a formidable challenge. I plan on doing some sort of endurance ride at least once a year, and hope to be able to make it out to Taos to rally with the OFTAs next June.
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