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Long Distance Reporter |
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Rollin' eZine Volume 1, Number 12 April 2001 =============
Get the Rollin' Dude Wallpaper
Special for Rollin' readers
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It Was the Best of Rides, It Was the Worst of Rides - Or - "Some Days You're the Bug, Some Days You're the Windshield" by Bruce 'B2' Barge Authors
Note; This ride report was originally posted in Jan. '99 on the Long
Distance Rider's E-list and with some minor changes and additions it is
used with permission of Joe Denton, LDR List Administrator. Disclaimer;
What follows is a LONG trip report from a very newbie LDR pup. Other pups
may actually benefit from my experiences, for the older dawgs, guffawing
is encouraged. Perhaps this should be (sub)subtitled, "It's the Ride, stupid!" Last August, I completed my Saddlesore (1100 miles) in just under Bun Burner Gold (1500 miles < 24 hrs.) pace, then got up the next morning and did the remaining 550 miles home on the same pace. I could easily have done a Bun Burner (1500 miles <36 hrs.) had I not dallied that morning in Atlanta with my Georgia Peach. So, it was apparent to me that the next progression for me would be a Bun Burner Gold. The next decision would be which bike to take. The Katana 750 had already earned it's IBA tag holder. If the GS1100L, was to ever legitimately wear it's tag holder, it was gonna have earn it just like it's rider had. This decision would greatly complicate this trip, the added obstacles increasing the challenge of the situation. The "Sledgamatic" is a 1983 Suzuki GS1100L Cruiser Standard, shaft-drive model with 84K miles on her. She looks pretty good for her age, butt is definitely getting a little long in the tooth. Even though she is burning oil (butt not visibly) she still gets the good stuff, Mobil 1. In addition to having to frequently check the oil level and bring extra oil along, another obstacle would be (lack of) fuel capacity. In a test flight to John "Sparky" Laurenson's in St. Augustine a couple months back, available range had been (painfully-butt don't ask) pegged at 136 miles per tank. Allowing for a little variance would mean stopping about every 115-120 miles, this number of stops during 1500 miles would have to be carefully managed. On suggestion from some of the bigger dawgs on-list, I began to practice, practice, practice my fuel stops, trying to make the process somewhat more second nature. I also procured some items I considered to be LDR necessities, a collared (w/pepper sauce) Widder vest, some excellent polypropylene long johns and a Monsoon hydration system. I intended to take advantage of the normally great Florida winter weather so included the circumference of the state in my routing. Taking the route out to just past Mobile, AL and back to Melbourne would put me at 1540 miles. I then marked out my route on two different maps, actually three, as I also got my free Mop'n'Glo ($15 with a $15 rebate) the week of the trip and ran the route out on that also. As my target date neared, I scored a box of Nutra Grain bars (Thanks Sparky) a couple bottles of water and a huge bag of beef jerky. My work schedule necessitated a mid-week run and weather forecasts began to indicate Jan. 20 and 21 to have warmer temps with no frontal passages. I began to get things ready for the trip. I washed and waxed the bike, I hate starting a trip on a nasty bike, performed my normal pre-trip maintenance and attached my soft saddlebags. Then I began to get Really psyched! A couple days prior to departure, I called my Notary bud' at work and arraigned for her to sign me off early Wednesday morning at her house in Palm Bay about 15 miles South of my house. A check of the Weather Channel Tuesday evening indicated only light fog forecast in the panhandle of Florida on Wednesday morning. (Ohhh, Ok.) Since I planned on being there around 7-8 PM on Wednesday, I saw this as no problemo and we were cleared for take-off. I tossed the last couple things into my saddlebags and filled my Monsoon with water. (I learned later to wait until the next morning and use mostly ice and just a little water) It's got a top that's like a big Ziploc and it closes very easily and securely (at least it did for the first 6 months I owned it, then I took to folding it over and clipping it with a big file clip). I even turned the Monsoon over just to be sure it wasn't leaking (brave huh?). I stared at my pile of maps and thought which one did I really need, hell, you're only going to be on 4 major roads, how can even I mess this up? (You have to ask?, as that first ice pick slides into my head to the hilt) I settle on the regular Florida fold out map and slide it into my map pouch leaving all the others in the garage. (In unison now, DUMBASS!) As I shut the side door to the garage, glancing over my shoulder, the Sledgamatic sat there on the pad, umbilical and service gantry retracted, ready for take-off. I swear I heard her snort. Two different alarms blast the arrival of 3:45 the next morning and I have a couple cups of coffee and a breakfast bar while doing a final check of the Weather Channel. The only apparent weather problem is some "light fog" along the Gulf Coast. (I wonder if those 90 people in the ‘Nawlins pile-up later on that morning though it was "light"?) With our temps in the low 60's I decide on just my bicycle shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt under my riding suit, a couple quick poofs of Gold Bond powder on the butt and I'm suited up. A quick check of the house, and I'm rollin' the Sledgamatic out of the garage. A short stab on the start button and she BARKS to life, even after 5 years, that growl still makes me smile. As the bike warms up, I cram the mombo bag of jerky in my left jacket pocket, 2 breakfast bars into my chest pocket, clip my drinking tube to my jacket, twist and slide my earplugs in and helmetize. In 5 minutes, I'm on I-niner five South and in 10 more minutes Suzy-Q is signing me out on my IBA paperwork. On the way back to 95 I decide to start this trip right with a proper fill-up as I had practiced. As I pull into the station, I stab the Rat Shack timer and though it's only a "top off", 8 minutes later, I'm hooking it onto the entry ramp heading Southbound. My official start time was 5:27 AM Wednesday. It's a beautiful morning, only slightly cool with hardly any traffic. I run her right up to eight-o and click the throttle lock down, I think, damn!, if it stays like this, I'm gonna be one happy camper. Tis not to be. When only about 40 miles South of home, I see the first wisps of fog then suddenly, I'm deep into it. Visibility drops to around 1/4 mile, bad enough for the throttle lock to come off and my speed to drop to around 70. For the next half hour, it's like this with occasional thicker patches dropping me down to around 60-65 mph. I'm having to wipe my visor about every 15-20 seconds and this starts to get old real quick. (Little do I know then how old it will get.) As I get near Boca Raton, (pronounced BO-ca, with nose help slightly upward) the fog thins out a bit butt the traffic increases substantially. It is time for my first "real" on the clock gas stop. First small problem is it's about 2 blocks through the gray haired BO-ca traffic to the gas station. I slide to a stop on the right side of the pumps at the end of the island (thanks Bryan Moody) and kill the engine. Off the bike, Boom! Up on the centerstand she goes, run my card through the reader, off comes the gas cap, and start I pumping. As the last drops fill the tank, I'm reaching for my gas log paperwork, fill in the time, date and odometer readings and slide it back into my wallet. I wipe my visor off with my helmet still on my head, flick two Lifesavers into my mouth and roll the bike off its centerstand. As I hook a right onto the entry ramp of the slab, a stab at the timer shows 14 minutes. I had already worked my stops out to alternate between 12 and 20 minute stops, I knew I could do the 12's and planned to try and cut a few minutes off of each of the 20's to start the trip with, I'd have been right on the money on this stop had the station not been so far away from the Interstate. It's still a little foggy, butt not as bad as I near Ft. Lauderdale, however, traffic is another story as the morning rush hour is stacking up. I glance over at the empty HOV lane, then DING! the LDR list comes back to me, You're an HOV Dummy! I slide over into the "book it" lane and click the throttle lock back down on 80, snickering to myself as I blow by a couple of other bikes stagnating in the slower lanes in the next few miles. A glance to my right shows an upcoming turn-off for I-595. Hmm, some kinda bypass, WAIT!, it said I-75 up in the corner of that sign…hmm. I glance at my map and see no I-595, just I-75 West. I think to myself, hell, Alligator Alley has been here a long time, surely before any wimpy little by-pass came along, as the exit slides past to the right. In about 10 minutes, I see a sign that says North Miami up ahead. Oh No! Too Far, Damn it! As I exit and hook the u-turn back North, I think about trying to get a receipt to show that I've gone this far out of the way, miles that would still add in to my total, butt there doesn't appear to be any place near the slab to get one, and I'm already behind time here. (Insert another "clink" of the ice pick hilt against the helmet) As I pull onto the correct turnoff to I-595, a glance at my timer shows about 25 blown minutes. I had worked things out to have a little buffer at the end of the ride, butt now, with all the fog and having missed this exit, that little buffer (plus some) was gone. About 10 minutes West, past the airport, traffic starts to thin out a bit butt now the fog is back. It seems this morning it's either one or the other. I am still able to maintain speed with only an occasional flicking off of the throttle lock and have a few clear minutes to check out the scenery. We're cutting right through the Everglades and there's all kind of swampage and wildlife around-really neat! What there isn't a lot of, in fact ANY of is gas stations. I begin to get slightly concerned when just in time, signage for the upcoming Miccosukee Indian reservation flashes by, Great! This time gas is just off the highway and this 20 minute planned stop takes only 15 min. including checking and adding oil and stuffing a nice big chaw of jerky into my mouth. As I get closer to Golden Gate, the end of Alligator alley and the turn Northward towards Ft. Myers, the fog starts to get much worse, I count up to myself almost 1.5 hours on constant visor wiping This aspect of the ride is really starting to suck. My next gas stop is just North of Ft. Myers and the fog is as thick as it's been all day with no sign of it clearing at all. Finally around Sarasota, the fog starts to clear a bit, butt is quickly replaced by the Sarasota/Tampa traffic. While I consider myself a decent traffic slasher, here, there is just no place to slice and dice to, there's no HOV lane and just too many cars. I know I'm behind on time and still am not able to hold proper velocity. It's about here that my dogged determination to finish this ride wanes a little. My Mother lives in Sarasota and some of the last cross-state roads are in the area, if I'm gonna abort this for another less foggy day, now is the time to do it. I decide that Nothing can screw me up bad enough to not at least wring a regular Bun Burner out of it and shift into high forward. (You can stop that cackling right now) If I had known then the weather in the panhandle for the next 24 hrs….butt hindsight is always 20/20 isn't it? Finally, just North of Tampa around noon, the fog completely clears and the traffic thins out. I am finally able to cruise at my desired indicated 80 mph (plus maybe a little bit). My next stop is near Land-O-lakes and I nail it in 12 minutes including an oil check and Monsoon refill. There's no bottled water here butt my eyes fall on the infamous Steve Bream "blue stuff" in the cooler, and I pour a bottle of it on top of the remaining few ounces of water in my Monsoon, hmm, doesn't taste too bad at all. It ain't Ga. Mountain water sweet tea, butt it'll do. About 20 minutes later I put the bite valve to my mouth a take big draw, Wha, blub, blub, gag, cack, the hell is going on? Torrents of "blue stuff" are flooding into my mouth much quicker than I can swallow. I barely get the tube out of my mouth without choking at 80 mph and hold it out to the side of me with it spewing "blue stuff" all over the place! It takes just a second to see that the bite valve has slid almost all the way off the tube and I am able to push it back on and stop the floodgates. Just then, a car pulls up beside me and honks his horn, I glance over and the driver is just laughing his ass off and pointing to the hood and windshield of his car all covered with "blue stuff". I have to chuckle myself, it had to be a lot funnier watching that then it was almost drowning in it. Soon, Ocala passes and with it the 500 mile, 1/3 of the way point. Yahoo! I'm only 20 minutes late! After all I've been through, to finally have clear running room and to be "just" 20 minutes behind schedule really buoyed my sagging spirits. We just might make this after all. (Y'all are shakin' your heads right now aren't ya?) I am finally running the way I had originally intended when I first left 8 hrs. ago when I make the turn onto I-10 just North of Lake City and straight into the FHP inquisition. Within the first 10 miles there are 2 pullovers on each side of the road. Luckily, none of them are Me. Right before Tallahassee, I round a bend to see lots-o-cars and brake lights! Throttle lock OFF!, Speed flaps deployed, Whoa!, time for the obligatory accident. It seems a rather humongous 5th wheel travel trailer had a directional difference of opinion with the Ford Turbo-Diesel dually that was pulling it. Guess which one had won? The dually was inverted and facing the wrong direction, while the trailer had suffered the ultimate sacrifice, there was nothing recognizable of it left butt a debris field for about 50 yds. (Haven't you normally noticed that the "towee" usually "wins"?) Another couple uneventful hours pass along with another timely gas stop and I approach the half way point a little ways past Tallahassee. As 5:25 flashes on the timer, I glance down at my map to see the impossible, I was about 30 miles past my marked half way point! Yeah Buddie! All the ass busting and stop management had paid off, as of right now, I was actually a little ahead of the game. Any of this progress was in spite of the piece of crap road I was riding on. It was a mess, horribly wash boarded and breaking up to boot, no wonder they were resurfacing it. The next gas stop is DeFuniak Springs, about an hour out of Pensacola, just a hop skip and a jump from my turn around 950 mile point at Mobile. I still feel fine, the Slegamatic is running great, what else can possibly hose me up now? I would take about 2 hours for the answer to the above question to appear, then just as quickly fade away into the mist. About 7:15, I began to get very near Pensacola, Fl and I had already started to notice the wisp of fog. Again. When I began to cross the bay there, the only way I knew it, was that I could tell by the sound I was on a bridge. Visibility was less than 100', I could not even see the water below me and I had no choice butt to slow back down to between 50-60 mph. My spirits sank right away into that bay fog. I absolutely could not handle any more of it and pulled in for gas about 15 miles East of Mobile. It's starting to get a little nippy out so I take a few minutes to pull on my polyprop bottoms. I comment, "pretty foggy out there tonight" to the cashier lady and she answers back, "Yep, sure is, glad it's you out there in it instead of me." I ask her if she has any idea how bad it's gonna be in Mobile and she says, "well no, butt Mobile's fog is always worse than it is here in Pensacola." Just Wonderful. The way I figure it, I don't really have much choice, it's either Braille ride it to Mobile or head back through the same milky white to Pensacola, so, it's off to what they tell me was Mobile. It doesn't take too long until it's a total whiteout again, visibility never gets any better than 50-75'. I slowed down to between 45-50 and I was still coming up way too quickly on traffic, taillights would just appear out of nowhere right in front of me. A car would actually pass me (damn fools!) and in one split second, there'd not even be a hint of them or their taillights. I can tell again that I'm on a bridge again butt only by the hollow thumping of the roadway. This is really getting scary, I can't see jack except the constant windshield action of my glove wiping off my visor. I know there is supposed to be all kind of neat stuff around Mobile bay butt you could have fooled me, nothing butt white, white and more white. I quickly take a glance down to see if I can even see the water below me, nope, nada, zip. I wonder how far away the other lane of traffic is, butt I haven't a clue of even which side of me it's on. The 2 lanes are probably less than 100 yds. apart. Every few seconds I take what I think is a BIG chance and cut my glance down to my rearview mirrors, I am at least as worried about what is gonna plow into the back of me as to what I'm gonna run into. Where is that damn tunnel?! Will this bridge ever end?! Suddenly I ride into what looks like a big shower room, all I can see is polished tile, butt that's a lot better than the other milky white. Wow!, the tunnel! Instantly a LDR list thought pops into my head. Bryan Moody. The curves after the tunnel and the cops that like to hide there. I take just a second to enjoy the snarl of the Slegamatic echoing off the walls of the tunnel before I shoot out the other end. WhooHooo! Cool! For just a second in those couple of woops, I forget about the fog and any cop that might be hiding there watching me. I see a sign ahead that says Exit 15B, Tillman's Corner, my proposed 950 mile turnaround point. This is where my worst lapse of the trip occurs. Physically I am fine, it hasn't even been cool enough for my Widder vest, my polyprop has been all I've needed so far. I'm not even really that tired, butt mentally I wiped out. I've ridden about 7.5 hours out of 16 hrs. in the fog and the worst of it has been in the last 30-40 minutes. I had clawed my way back to even from being behind time-wise all morning, butt now; I'm behind all over again. I am not a happy camper. My thought process goes like this-there's no damn way in hell I'm going to try and make it back over both of those bay-ways. Damn!, look right up there, it's a Motel 6, no problem there Tom Bodette, I gothcher porch light buddie. I pull up in front of it and click off goes the bike key. I think later that this was a poor decision, not the decision to forego heading back across both fog-shrouded bays, butt the one to pull the plug on my original objective so soon. His Honor, Mayor Corky Reed of Reed's Landing, AL is only about 45 minutes away, maybe he could have helped my find an alternate route back Eastward. Regardless, I got me the damn room and called it a day. In retrospect, this was probably not that bad a decision after all. Corky may have been able to get me around the fog and I might have skirted the foggy bays, butt this whole area is world renown for it's fog, there's nothing to say it could not have been just as foggy all the way to Tallahassee. In fact, on a ride back from Texas last December, there Was heavy fog all the way from Gulfport, Ms to Tallahassee. In the 2-1/2 hours from Pensacola to Tallahassee, exits and hotels are few and far between, it is highly likely I would have spent a cold damp night at a suite in the Iron Butt Hilton (a picnic table at a rest area). The local weather forecast has Dense Fog adversaries (And these folks wrote the book on "Dense Fog") for the Entire surrounding areas, not just over the bays, until 10 AM the next morning. As I slide into sleep that night, even the prospect of "just" a regular Bun Burner begins to look bleak. The next morning, I am staring at the ceiling when the screaming meanie goes off for the first time, I just say the hell with it and get up. On comes the TV and they are showing the Tower Cam on the local news from around downtown Mobile. Kinda like you just dropped the camera into a big bucket of milk. Every now and then there is a bit of a gray blur passing that is supposed to be auto traffic. Jesus. The local weather folks are verifying their estimate from the night prior of it being "Dense and Severe", well, at least it's not just me. It's about 8:15 before it even starts to get light outside, I figure with a little sun light at least it won't be as impossible as it was last night in the dark. "Doin' the math" tells me that if I am not on the road by 9 AM, there's no chance at all of even a "straight" Bun Burner. I sit down on the bike at 8:55 and glance down at the evil Rat Shack timer. 9:55 it says. You are a true and total Dumbass, you just do not learn! I had forgotten about the two different time zones on this trip just like I had during the Feast in the East rally 3 months earlier. I almost got really po'd until I remembered that due to the fog, I wouldn't have been able to leave an hour earlier anyway. As I banked onto I-10 Westward, I just said to myself, "It'll be easy, just haul ass and don't stop". When I hit Mobile bay, visibility was a little less than 1/4 mile at least there was some sunlight shining through the fog. I got behind a big truck for a blocker and said to myself, "Don't run onto that thing and he can hit whatever he wants to." There was no major problems crossing this time and by the bay at Pensacola, the fog had lifted. This
has gotten way long, so I'll try and condense the ride back a little. I
was pretty much able to kick ass and take names all day long. I kept the
throttle locked at 80 (and sometimes a bit more than that) the whole day
and had some phenomenal (for me anyway) gas stops as most of the stations
were just off the Interstate-there were 2 at 9 min., 1-10 min., and 1 at
12 min! That's what quitting smoking can do for you. (Too bad I started
up again 4 months later.) I only had one little LEO moment. I was jammin' along at 80 when what looked like a Crown Vic is just wallerin' up ahead in the fast lane. Off comes the throttle lock and I start to slow, just as a little backlight shows me the chicken wire between the front and back seats. WHOA! Luckily, he slides over into my lane ahead of me and exits shortly thereafter. Whew. "Luckily" is Not the word to be used by the 4 different cars the FHP had pulled over Again near the I-10/I-75 split. (The same general location as the "inquisition" the day before-be yall forewarned) As I near Jacksonville, I remember this little wooded island median where I have seen LEO's almost every time I have come back from Georgia. (and that is more than a few times friends) Before I get to the island, I click off the throttle lock and slow. I glance over to the left and sho' nuf' there 2 of them sit, I expected them to be there so much I almost waved to them when I went by. As I hook it onto the I-295 by-pass at Jacksonville, the evil RS time reads 2:55 PM, I've got 1 hr. and 30 minutes to travel what would normally take about 2 hrs. and I still have one more gas stop. This is not looking good at all. (Major understatement) Traffic is somewhat heavier than normal on I-295 and for a little longer once I peel off onto I-95 South. There's one last 9-minute gas stop at St. Augustine and as I get back onto the slab the timers read 4:40-45 minutes to go over 100 miles. I have to make it to about 40 miles South of Daytona before 5:25. Though this is all butt impossible, I am still not ready to let this one go and push things a little harder to the stop. As I cross the overpass at the exit for International Speedway Blvd. I glance down at the timers to see them read 5:23. Dammit! Big Exhale…For a couple minutes I play "what if", what if I'd left 30 minutes earlier that morning, what if I'd somehow gotten a gas receipt at my 20 miles (each way) misdirection the day before. If should haves and could haves would have, imagine how much better off we'd be. About 10 miles further south is SR44 at New Smyrna Beach. There's a Shell station there on the right, off the Interstate, where I used to stop for a smoke break from time to time. The guy that runs it is a jerk. The nice cow that lives around the pond behind the store isn't. I decide it's time for a cold beer and a chat with my friend the cow. She isn't there anymore. Figures. B2 is outta here Many LDR's consider the Bun Burner Gold to be one of the absolute hardest timed IBA rides. There is no room for error. You do not see riders doing this ride in 21 or 22 hours with time to spare, most of the time, it is finished in over 23 hours. In retrospect, my goose was
probably cooked the 1st day from the fog, if not from time
lost, from the "daine bramage" of the added stress. Like all the
LDR rides I've done, I still had a good time
(despite what it sounds like)
and I learned a lot about what
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