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.