I knew I was in trouble when I attended the riders’ briefing. Lisa Landry, the Rally-master, reminded us that the Iron Butt Rally was an extreme event. She told us that more people had climbed Everest during that year’s climbing season than had ever completed the Iron Butt Rally. ‘Extreme’ was the word that caught my attention. I thought I was going out for a spin on my bike. Extreme. I am not an extreme guy. Well, at least I thought that I wasn’t. But I was after 20 August 2007.
What a spin. From emotional lows to unbelievable highs. From physical discomfort to feeling no discomfort. What a spin. But I am getting ahead of myself.
The adventure started when I was time-barred in Dublin Airport. I was late to the airport, trying to spend the maximum time at home before I left. The flight was closed when I got to the airport. As with so many things related to preparing for the Iron Butt Rally, this was a problem that money could fix. €400 later, I was on the next flight to Manchester and running for my connecting flight. £125 sterling later again, I was on my way to Toronto – yes, overweight charges applied.
On the boat to the UK.
At Air Freighters in Manchester, UK.
I arrived at my hotel in Toronto to a message from the air freight office to say that my bike was ready for collection. Pay the money, rush to Customs, pay the money, back to the shipping zone and I was ready to go. Ready to ride my Honda Gold Wing onto Canadian soil, once I had negotiated the two-foot wide ramp that bridged the five-foot drop to road level. Gold Wings are heavy bikes and a two-foot ramp is not that wide. However, a few minutes later, I was into the Toronto night, heading for my hotel again. Slowly, tentatively, I merged into the traffic. It was not too heavy and, after a couple of minutes, I was relaxed and riding.
Next morning, the sun was blazing and it was already way too hot for an Irish guy from a temperate climate. I had parked the bike in the high-rise parking at the hotel under shade, so I was prepared to load her up and get her ready for the off. The Rally was due to start in St Louis, Missouri, about 800 miles from Toronto, so I had a little spin to get there. I also had an invitation to visit the Honda factory in Marysville, Ohio, on my way to St Louis, so the next couple of days were going to be interesting. I had planned to have a few days in the USA before the Rally to allow myself to get over any jet-lag. This morning was time to fit a new laminar lip to the top of my windshield, just enough off-centre to prove that it was owner-fitted, load the bike, fit the GPS and head out for Marysville. I was looking forward to bringing my bike back home to where it had been manufactured.
Crossing from Canada to USA.
I got to the border with the USA and joined the line – what a line. The day had been lovely so far, well up into the 30s or approaching 100˚F. Half an hour later, I got to the border control booth. I was hot, sticky and obviously not looking quite like the type of guy the USA wanted to just let in. The border guard very politely asked me the usual questions: “Where was I from? Where was I going? What was the purpose of my visit?”. At my replies, his eyes opened wide. “Eleven days riding all over the USA? Up to 11,000 miles?”, he repeated. When you say it like that, it does sound a bit daunting. “Where is the motorcycle registered?”. “Ireland.” “Ok, sir, can you please take this slip and move to the right to Building 2 and you will be attended to there?”.
For all I knew, Building 2 was a holding area for crazy undesirables. All the thoughts of being blocked at the border rushed through my mind. All the hours spent in my garage were piled up on my mind. They can’t stop me now! I could run for it. All these crazy ideas did go through my mind. Instead of running for it, I rode over to Building 2, parked my bike where I was told and headed in to the building. Oh no! There were about 50 people of all nationalities, crammed into a small room in front of a counter. People crowded out onto the path outside the room. I don’t like crowds too much anyway and at 100˚F and my Iron Butt ride in the balance, I was not too relaxed. As I calmed down, I noticed that, every few minutes, a loudspeaker would call people off to another building, Building 1. The lucky ones, I thought.
Then I was one of the lucky ones. “Keegan to Building 1”. I was there in a heartbeat. Only a family group of three people in front of me and I was with a border guard in minutes. The same questions again, the same answers and all was well. Pay the border stamp fee and I could go. One of the guys was a Harley rider and had heard of the Rally. All was well and I went back out into the oven, with temperatures well over 100˚F, got on the bike and took my first tentative miles into the USA. We were rolling.
I was due to meet a friend, Homer Krout, in Marysville in two days’ time. Homer and I had met on the first Iron Butt Saddle Sore ride in Ireland in 2000 and had made the opportunity to travel together and to work together a number of times since. We shared an interest in bikes, long-distance riding and motorcycle factories, so we were off to Honda to see how Gold Wings were put together. It was nice to bring my bike back ‘home’ and to see the level of excellence in manufacturing in use in the plant. Thanks, Bob.
Homer Krout, with his Harley-Davidson Road Glide.
And so to St Louis, 500 miles away. Homer and I had ridden together before and were reasonably comfortable, with similar paces and sitting abilities. We took off for St Louis and all was well with the world. Sit there, twist that, refill and repeat. It is a fairly standard approach for long-distance riding. Throw in a little food and all is well.
We approached St Louis after an uneventful ride. We had hit a rhythm and were making progress, as I got used to following Homer and dealing with the traffic. Then the sky began to darken. Then to blacken. Then to really go black. We hit a thunder cell. The winds and the rain lashed us. The CB chatter was all about ‘the blue bike nearly blowing off the road’. That was me.
We dived for the first exit, where it was nearly impossible to keep the bike upright at the exit junction. Water on the road was over my feet as I fought to hold her upright, waiting for the chance to cross to the other side of the road. A gas station’s lights shone out in the darkness and offered some shelter from the storm. This bit of weather had gotten my attention, my full attention. I had discovered the essential ‘run-for-cover’ technique. I quickly adjusted my personal goals for the Rally from ‘do well’ to ‘do’. We sheltered in the gas station until the storm passed and chatted to a guy driving an open-top, carbon-fibre sports car. He had not had the chance to get the hood up before the storm hit and was drenched. But he was smiling – as were we, once I had gotten over the initial shock of the weather. The run-for-cover technique was to prove very useful on the Rally. Thirty minutes later and the storm had moved on to the east and we headed out for St Louis, for the DoubleTree Hotel in Chesterfield, Missouri.