I’m a motorcycle newbie. I’ve only been riding since July 2001, but have thrown myself into this pursuit feet-first. I discovered the sport of Long-Distance riding in September 2001, when I stumbled on the coverage of the Iron Butt Rally, 11,000 miles in 11 days.

It really caught my imagination as a sport that the average Joe could participate in. In October, I earned my stripes with a Saddlesore 1000, a 1000 mile ride covered in less than 24 hours. Then I heard about the Great Lakes Challenge ride.

 The Great Lakes Challenge was a ride meant to go completely around the Great Lakes . Superior , Huron, Ontario , Erie , and Michigan . 2,450 miles in all. Best yet, the event was sponsored by a well-known group out of Minneapolis , TeamStrange. I entered and was signed up as Rider #32. Thus began the nearly six months of preparation to bike, brain, and body to ready myself for this ride, much to the consternation of my bride.

I think she labeled it “an obsession”.  

I got out of the hotel bed at 445am, unable to feign sleeping any longer. The day I’d been waiting on was finally here. I showered and put on some of my gear to check out the action in the parking lot. Damn….it was raining steadily and about 40 degrees F. I relaxed and ate some breakfast, watched the weather channel (didn’t look good!), shared strategy and shot the bull with my room mate Rick Corwine and the other riders in the lobby.  

Whoa, it’s 6:00am already?! Where did the time go?! I have to leave in 17 minutes!!!!  

Back up to the room, three trips back and forth to the bike to get it loaded, strapped down…..quick, check the tire pressure….it’s a pound low up front….screw it!....keep moving, check out of the hotel, stuff the receipt in the tank bag….5 minutes to go….fingers are wet and can’t get them into gloves……3 minutes to go…where’s the damn route sheets?......helmet on…..SHIT!!!....forgot my earplugs….helmet back off….glasses all fogged up now…  

RIDER 32!!!!!! came the call from the start line. I was late. Damndamndamn…….  

OK, let’s go. The engine chugs right to life….I ease off the choke, and drop it into first gear…..

 <rrrrrrrrrr…whaaaaaa……………………………>

 The engine cuts off. I had forgotten to raise the kickstand before putting the bike in gear. It was now 6:21am , I was 4 minutes late off the line, I was already making mental mistakes and the day hadn’t started. I was sweating underneath all the clothing, glasses were fogged up, I was pissed and hadn’t even traveled a mile. I was a rookie and showing my colors early today.

I duckpaddle up to the start line and am asked my rider number by Eddie James.  

“32!!!”  I bark through the helmet.  

“Just pull right around those guys and get moving!!” offers Eddie with warm encouragement. I snake through the parking lot and hit the road. I’m finally moving.  

I wouldn’t know until later just how important those 4 lost minutes would be.

I scan the route sheets, careful not to make any wrong turns as the first 50 miles to the odometer check were important to the “group ride” for the purpose of setting a world record for concurrent Great Lakes 100 riders. As I get on to US53 that travels north up through Wisconsin , I gain confidence and speed. I join Gus Breiland (riding on Eddie’s GS), and some BMW RT rider from Cincinnati . We buzz along at a good clip up to the odometer check.  

The odometer check was a quick stop, including answering a question from a historical marker as to the price per acre that this land originally sold for. More TeamStrange hijinks, all for the purpose of proving that you rode the correct route. 

After I leave the odometer check, I decide to try to make up some time while I’m still in the states. I start bombing the straightaways where you can see way ahead…..and then backing down around curves and overpasses, places where Johnny Law likes to hide out. I had never run with a radar detector before, and had generally been lucky when it came to tickets.  

That luck would be pressed soon enough.  

Reaching the Superior , WI mandatory fuel stop, I did the gas n’ head thing as fast as possible, and had just gotten back to my bike when I heard:  

“CRASH!!!!!”

 “Aw, F*CK!!!!! Gawd DAMMIT!!!!!!!  

Gus had dropped Eddie’s GS at the gas station. Mark Kiecker pulled up on his yellow VFR, with Molly Gilbert on the back, and just started cracking up at Gus. I ran over to help Gus out but he quickly had the bike back up, nary a scratch.  

Before I had my receipts and logs completed, Kiecker roared off down the road. It hit me right then that guys like Mark are way out of my league.  

I pulled out of the gas stop and pointed the big Honda north, to parts unknown. The rain had stopped. A good sign, yes? I knew the next part of the ride would be tough. Would I measure up?

 As the tip of Superior came into view, the words “stark” and “bleak” came to mind. It looked like an incredibly cold and windy place. Further into Duluth , the local bears that had been asleep in their houses all winter had come out of hibernation, as evidenced by the numerous yard sales taking place. All the while, Lake Superior loomed menacingly on my right.

 I was dry, making good time and having fun seeing new parts of the world, and the country was gorgeous. What could be better? I began to let the enthusiasm affect my speed, and over the next rise came a State Trooper who fired up his lights at me.  

Damn. Got me.  

I had begun to slow down and look for a parking space on the roadside when he motioned to me to slow it down, turned off his lights, and sped away. Oh, what a relief.  

Most of the time up the North Shore I went solo. Occasionally, another bike would join me from behind, ride with me a while, and then pass. Still spooked from my earlier encounter with Johnny Law, I kept it close to the limit.  

At the Canadian border, about 10 of us stacked up into two lines, where we were told to shut ‘em down.  

Cheery Canadian Border Guard: “Hello! Where ya goin’ today?”

Group: (monotone) Watertown , New York .  

CCBG: “oh, ALL the way around, eh? OK, got any firearms? Alcohol? Tobacco?  

Group: heads shake back and forth  

CCBG: OK, have a good time, eh?  

And off we went into the Great White North.

The next chunk of mileage was uneventful as we pulled into the mandatory gas stop in Thunder Bay . A rider on a VFR had no tread left on his rear tire, and was frantically trying to find a local shop to change it. I felt sorry for the guy, and felt glad that I had prepared as thoroughly as I did. 

 When we left Thunder Bay for Nipigon, it began to rain steadily. Compounding that problem were the Canadian two-lane roads, which had low speed limits. Due to the rain, trucks began to throw off huge vortexes of backwash, effectively blinding you from passing them. Riding behind them also beat you up from the turbulence. My only option was to wait until a passing lane materialized, which was about every 10km. Then it was like trying to punch through a sheet of saran wrap to get by them……then on to the next truck to conquer.

 Two guys with enormous cojones stuffed into their saddlebags were riding in the oncoming lane for long stretches, passing everyone. When oncoming traffic would approach, they would duck in briefly, then continue their conquest in the oncoming lane. Bigger men than me.

 The temperature dropped down to 36 degrees F. Guys were getting cold, you could see it in their face. Don from Minnesota on his Suzuki Bandit looked pale. I don’t think he was running electric clothing. I never saw him after that.

 I see a roadsign saying: WAWA 261

 Damn!!!! That’s going to take forever in this weather! Why did I ever sign up for this punishment?

 Craig, this is your left brain speaking. That distance was in kilometers, which means it’s really less than 160 miles. Chill out, dude.

 This mind game would continue throughout Canada .

 I finally hit Wawa at 600pm after 650 wet, freezing miles. I needed gas and some food. I was informed by the gas station attendant that “some yellow sportbike carrying a girl on back went through here 90 minutes ago in a big hurry”. Must have been Kiecker just stirring up the local law enforcement…..

 I wanted to celebrate making Wawa by nightfall, so I pulled into a local Subway shop and proceeded to pull off my mounds of riding gear into my booth. I order my sandwich, and get stares from the clerk. A group of teenagers rumble in, with one kid loudly asking “what’s the deal with all of these motorbikes, eh?”. Then they start to stare and giggle at me. Have I grown horns? Do I have a “kick me” sign on my back?

 I eat my sandwich, and go to the washroom, and the mystery is solved. I had put my balaclava hood on inside out, with the seams on the inside……so I had a neat pattern of a Crucifix pressed into my forehead from the balaclava seams and the pressure of the helmet. Hey, anything just to please the locals.

 I pull my wet riding gear back on and assume Michelin Man stature again.

I have a big problem now, as my “waterproof” gloves are completely soaked and I cannot get my fingers in them. I go to plan “b”, which is to wear some surgical latex gloves that I had packed, and wear my summer gloves over them. As I pull down the road away from Wawa, my hands begin to freeze even with the grip heaters on. After a while, they’re numb, and I don’t notice any more.

 Instead of continuing on route 17 south, we were directed to route 101/109, bypassing Sault Ste. Marie and apparently hundreds of miles of curves and slow towns, only to encounter the horror that was "the shortcut".

 The route 101/109 combination was like riding through a state park, very remote. Feeling better about having a full tank and  belly, I began to make time again through the rain. The road was essentially straight with an occasional rise. Even at speed, a couple of BMW GS’ blew by me. I decided to keep up with them.

 At that moment, a car crested the hill coming in the opposite lane. Flashers! Rats, I was caught. I was straight with Dudley Do-Right, and informed that I was doing 138. Wow, my bike isn’t even capable…..ooops, that damned metric conversion thing again.

“Ya, so, like, I’m gonna cut you a huge break here, eh? I’m only gonna cite you for 100 Km/hr. $52 and no points. Now be careful with the road about 60km ahead, it’s really bad.”  

Yeah, some break. This stop had cost me 30 minutes of daylight, which was quickly fading. I saddled up and rode on.

 BEAR!!!!!!!!!!!  

A huge black bear appeared out of nowhere and crossed my path no more than 10 meters…uh, yards in front of me. Once it saw me, it commenced into full bear trot. Then the cub decided to make a break for it in front of my bike. Great, I could see it now. Bike hits cub, rider goes down, mother bear eats rider. This was getting better by the minute. I was 14 hours into the ride, it was getting dark, it was still raining and about 36 deg, and now the wildlife had come to reclaim their road.

 A mandatory checkpoint neared at Le Clair – we had to read the fuel price of gas on a pump…..again, to prove that we were there and took this road. It was pitch black as I pulled into the lot. A rider on a Victory bike was just leaving. The following conversation ensued through full-face helmets:  

Me: “Heyyy…..iiiiinnnnn mmiiitttthhhh thuuuu mmmaaaatttthhhhh?” (is this the place?)

Victory Rider: (nods) “yyyeeooooooooo” (Yes, I’m quite certain that it is, old chap)

I stumble over to the pumps and am noting the price on the pump by shining my lights on it. It is DARK and I’m struggling to make out the numbers.

 “Hey, that’s a diesel pump. The gas pump is next to it” rang out the voice of Victor Wanchena, one of the rally organizers who was helping to run it. Victor had just saved my keister.  

The next part of 129 south can only be described as a goat trail. My heavy bike got a full suspension workout and we crawled over ruts, bumps, and rocks down towards Iron Bridge . Fuel was now beginning to be a concern, because the only gas station in the area was at Iron Bridge , still 60 miles distant over rough terrain and time was flying. It was pitch black outside and my PIAA driving lights were working overtime…..turning them off for oncoming traffic left me in total darkness, my stock headlight appearing to have all the luminescence of a lone candle. Cold, tired, and holding my bars in a death grip I motored on.

 Said the sign…..thank God. It was 15 minutes until the pumps closed and I knew that I’d make it in time, only 10 kilometers.

 When I got to the little outpost by the side of route 17, it was a busy place. A whole bunch of cold and tired riders were gassing up and milling around.  The proprietor was a busy little imp of a woman who was truly enjoying the business and the company. I was happy to provide her a little extra revenue and to thank her for staying open.

 “The road gets pretty bad up ahead, folks” warned the friendly OPP officer. “Abooot 30 kilometers of tarmac paving”.

 Yeah, yeah…..well can’t you see my license plate, buddy? “World’s Toughest Riders” it says. I’ve just been through bears and goat trails and Dudley Do-Right and rain and cold….how bad could it be?

 Really bad.

 Continuing east on 17, I soon found out what he was warning us about. They had removed the top layer of asphalt, leaving the resurfacing grooves to ride in. They were only about, hmmmm….5 inches wide or so, totally swallowing my front tire and offering me no directional control. This went on for at least 20 miles.

 “OK, I’ve had it. I’ve gone 900 miles through some of the worst weather and roads that I’ve ever been on, I’ve been going straight for 19 hours, and I need some sleep and to dry out.” I spoke out loud to myself. At least I would listen. Time to find a hotel.  

The first hotel that showed up was “ Roy ’s Motel”, which looked deserted. Keep looking.

 The next one was in a little town called Spanish, ON. ”Truckers Only” it said. Keep going. 920 miles. Will I have to go another 60 miles into Sudbury ?  

OK, here’s one in a little hamlet called "Massey", and there’s a Road King that passed me hours ago. I wake the clerk (it’s now 0200 am) and his thick Russian accent offers cheer and encouragement, and a good rate. I pull off my wet boots and gloves and pile them on the radiator to dry out, and collapse into bed.

 At this point I had surrendered my goal of 50 hours; I still had over 1500 miles to go in less than 30 hours, which I considered above my skills with the weather and speed of traffic at this point. I didn’t bother to set an alarm. I would wake early with the sun, or so I thought.

 Five hours later, I woke to brilliant sunshine. A good omen, although I was getting a lazy start at 0800am. Even if I wasn’t going to hit my 50 hour goal, I would now enjoy the scenery and the adventure, being dry and well rested.

 I concentrated on setting up some good APRS satellite runs so that I could send a position report back to my family in Ohio . I coordinated times and frequencies so that I could hit the appropriate satellite, and pushed off. (see "errata" section at the end of this report if this is foreign language to you)

 The bulk of day two was uneventful; just a solid dose of Canadian two-lane highways run at ridiculously low speed limits, with a lot of towns on the route where the limit dropped to 50Km/hr. This made it extremely difficult to keep a good pace.

 When you ride without a radio and the only person to talk to is yourself, you get to think a lot. TeamStrange had set up a mandatory checkpoint at the 1500 mile point for those that wanted to earn an Ironbutt Bunburner award, which is 1500 miles within 36 hours. “If I can get to Seneca , NY by 7:17pm tonight, why not?!” I thought.

As Steve Martin would say, it’s always good to have a special purpose. After giving up on the 50 hour goal, I had found a new one. I sped on and kept gas stops short to keep pace. Unfortunately, being in a hurry means that you have the opportunity to use all kinds of clichés, like “haste makes waste” and other equally overused phrases. Well, it’s true. Route sheets are hard to read when you’re trying to ride, so I ended up taking a wrong turn in Smith's Falls, ON . I had to backtrack 20 miles, which put me behind schedule. I thought if I could hit the border crossing by 1700 local time, I’d have a shot.

 At the US border, I removed helmet/gloves/earplugs and got out my license….everything I could do to expedite the passage.

 Guard: “what’s your citizenship?”

Me: “US”

Guard: “where ya been?”

Me: “Touring Canada ”

Guard: “Right. Off you go, then.”

 I felt like I had just crossed the “bridge of death” in Monty Python’s “Holy Grail”. Nope, not yet. Here comes the bridge over the St. Lawrence…..wow, is it skinny and tall….

 JESUSFREAKIN’CHRIST!!!!!!!!!!

 I struggled to keep the handlebars straight. I felt like I was at least 5000’ above the river and was being hit by gale force crosswinds on this narrow bridge with low guardrails and oncoming trucks. I crawled over the bridge at about 15mph, hunched over the tank and experiencing a “10” on the sphincter-pucker scale.

 I was never so glad to be back on US soil. OK, now to make some time, haul ass, and earn that bunburner…..

 The 1500 mile gas stop at Seneca Falls, NY took longer to get to than I wanted, thanks to a poorly executed gas stop in Watertown , NY . The exit signs said to turn right to get to the Shell station. There was no Shell station….or any other gas station, for that matter, on the right side. Crap. Wasted just enough time to void the Bunburner effort.

 Pulling into Seneca after 1500 miles, I felt relaxed. The night was coming on, I had less than 1000 miles to go, and I was tired and hungry. I rewarded myself with a big mistake…..a double Whopper with cheese! That sandwich put me into a food coma, so I tried to deal with it by sleeping on the bike in the parking lot…..no deal, not comfortable enough. Then, by chance I found the same bench that I had napped on my Saddlesore 1000 ride in October, 2001. I laid down on the bench and tried to sleep, but all I could hear was other bikes riding by, mocking me. I got up and pressed on.

 The burger had taken its toll. By the Buffalo outskirts, I was fading and ready for some sleep. I found a Microtel and shuffled in. I finally got a chance to call my wife and check in, and assure her that I was doing well. I felt kind of ridiculous that I was out here in the middle of a holiday weekend, sleeping in a Buffalo Microtel, and not home with my family, taking the kids fishing or some other wholesome, safe activity. Oh, the price of adventure and the siren song of glory. Especially after turning 40….

 I woke to the alarm at 0300am, and got cracking. I felt alive and motivated, as I was ready for this thing to be done with. Only another 850 miles to go.

 “Can I do this thing in under 60 hours?” I thought. Yep, it could be done. 59 hours certainly sounds more manly than 60.

 I had a new Special Purpose!

 I burned up a quick tank between Buffalo and Willoughby , OH . A Valkyrie pulled up from behind and made some frantic hand signals at me. I interpreted these signals as the question “how many more miles to the next required fuel stop?”. I flashed 5 fingers from my left hand 3 times, indicating 15 miles. The rider nodded in understanding, then pressed on. I felt for the guy, knowing that Valks are notoriously thirsty animals. He pulled off at the next stop, just shy of Willoughby . As if by cue, my fuel light had gone on, and I started to count down the miles to the next fuel stop. This was actually the first time during the entire trip that I had run the tank down to reserve. Even without an auxiliary fuel cell, my Honda ST1100 had 7.4 gallons available, a huge advantage compared to BMW RTs and the like, that could only do about 220 miles if pressed. I could easily fit 325 miles between stops. I gassed up and headed for the home stretch.

 I enjoyed my morning ride through downtown Cleveland . I grew up in neighboring Lakewood , and spent much of my later youth going to community college downtown. A nod at Lake Erie , a wave at Cleveland , and then it was on to the Ohio Turnpike.

 Yikes!!!!!!

 Clusters of Ohio ’s Finest lined the turnpike, pulling people over in bunches. I counted at least 30 troopers between western Cleveland and the Indiana border. Not willing to risk any more performance awards, I kept it close to the limit.

 Going through Chicago on route 90 was a white-knuckle exercise. Fortunately, traffic kept moving since it was Memorial Day, and the only thing that slowed me down was toll booths. Coast to a stop in the automated lane, keep to the left to avoid the huge slimy crud patch in the middle, quickly dig for some change, flip it in, gear up and roll on. Now repeat this exercise at least 10 times in the next 90 minutes. That’s the Chicago way.

 Five hours to go to beat 60 hours. I gas up at the last required stop, eat some trail mix, thrown down some water, and the kickstand’s up.

 The last part of the ride was through I 90 and I94 through Wisconsin . This area really surprised me by how nice and hilly it was, with interesting rock formations. And dead deer. Everywhere. I kept waiting for one to play chicken with me but none materialized.

 By this part of the ride, my rump was sore, and my neck was very stiff from holding my helmet at an incorrect angle. I would deal with this by standing on the pegs and looking over the handlebars. (hint provided courtesy Tim Conway, Buca DiBeppo, May 23 MSP) Probably a very unnerving sight to a minivan full of Mom and Kids but it felt great to stretch.

 The last 300 miles I did without stopping and I pulled into the hotel parking lot to the finish line. I raised my arms in victory salute, I yelled and whooped!!! The TeamStrange volunteers, having seen it all before about 75 times prior to my arrival, were not impressed by my rabbit-like finish time of 59 hours, 30 (?) minutes and just wanted to know my rider number.

 “Oh yeah, about 49 guys came in under 50 hours, and several broke the old record.”

 Man. 59 hours doesn’t seem quite so studly anymore. Those guys faced the same hazards and weather as me, and some completed their ride in EIGHTEEN fewer hours than me.

 Wimp. <sigh>  

Wait a minute!!!! How quickly I forget. I’m a NEWBIE! Yeah, that’s it!

 Oh, and those four minutes that I lost at the start? Didn’t mean a thing.

What did I learn from this ride? Probably the most important thing is that you can prepare all the stuff you want to....your bike, your gear, even your body......but lack of saddle time hurt me badly on this ride. A Saddlesore 1000 that I had accomplished 8 months prior to this ride meant nothing. I was not up to the challenge of riding more than 1000 miles in a day during tough conditions.

Something else that I learned was that most successful efforts on this ride were done as a group. Not knowing many people in this group, I didn't have that advantage to have someone push me on.

 As I mentioned at the beginning of this report, I had planned this ride for MONTHS prior to starting. How did the equipment hold up?  

1996 Honda ST1100 – this bike ran like a top the entire time. I serviced the engine prior to the trip and it never hiccup’ed once. Next time I do one of these rides, I’m adding Helibars first. A+.

 PIAA 910 Driving Lights – I was probably seen from outer space when I used these on route 129. Especially helpful when your eyes are tired and not as sensitive as they should be. A+  

Hotgrips – I left them on “high” all the time when they were in use. Could have used more heat at times. B

Aerostich Combat Touring Boots – I put on two coats of waterproofing stuff prior to this trip. They did get a little wet on the inside after 20 hours of rain. They are also not as warm as my insulated Rocky work boots that I used to wear, as the bottom sole is thin and hard. I put in a pair of Dr. Scholl’s insoles the day before the ride, which made a lot of difference. Still, a lot of $ to pay for shortcomings. B+

 Olympic Waterproof Gloves – these weren’t up to the task. Not sure what glove would have held up better. “leather” and “waterproof” are mutually exclusive. C+

 Smartwool Socks – just terrific. A+

 Shoei RF-R Helmet – it worked. It was quieter than my Schuberth Concept, so I ended up taking this one. A-

 Teknic Chicane Jacket/Joe Rocket Ballistic Pants – This is a poor man’s 2-piece Roadcrafter suit. It worked, nothing to report. B

 Tourmaster Raincoat - worked fine. A

Eclipse Electric Vest – it worked, nothing to report. B

Disposable Cameras - a disaster. I should have used waterprroof disposables, and mounted them on a lanyard so I could have used them when stuff happened. F  

RioVolt 250 MP3 CD player – I used this to/from Ohio to Eau Claire ….did not use it on the actual ride. This is a great combo to stuff in your tank bag, and I did the modification using Koss Earbuds to use earplugs with them. Only complaint is that it’s easy to accidentally snarl the cords with your hands, and yank the buds out of position (affects balance) or totally out of your ears. When they’re in….it’s great.  B+

 Garmin GPS III+ - fantastic little GPS unit. Fit well on my MR Dash. A+

 Kenwood TH-D7a HT/APRS radio – It’s surprising how well this setup worked. My only complaint was that I had to stop and reprogram the PATH every time I switched between satellites and terrestrial coverage. A

 Here is a shot of my actual trip route as reported through APRS. The position reports up on the Superior north shore, as well as those in remote Ontario were made through a small satellite done as a research project by the US Naval Academy. The rest of the "hits" were via a terrestrial amateur radio network.

 Contact me at [email protected] if you want to learn more about this cool technology.