Iron Butt

[Klem]

Back in 2004 I did an Iron Butt with a friend. Simple ride down to Waco and Back. I wrote this story to try to help my In-laws understand motorcycling. It didn't work they still think I'm crazy. This is a little long so I promise not to do it again, story not ride. Don



Waco for Lunch


It was the dark of the moon on the 6th of June in a Kenworth hauling logs; that’s how C.W. McCall starts his song “Convoy.” For me it was the 7th of June, and the moon if any was covered with clouds and it was a Harley hauling – ah-- me. I had left the comfort and warmth of my cozy bed after a whopping four hours sleep, rolled the Harley out the door and was headed south on the turnpike. The 50 degree temperature had quickly cleared the last of the cobwebs out of my brain and as it began to function, I was wondering what I was doing here at four o’clock in the morning, and if this was as good as an idea as it seemed while talking about it over a Coke at Denny’s.

The plan was to meet an old friend Jack and his Goldwing at Emporia, and ride to Waco, Texas and back in less than 24 hours. Jack was the one that got this ride started. He has been a touring rider for years and claims to have kept a log on all his riding. In June he was reaching the 500,000 mile mark and wanted to do something to cap it off. He had arranged to do the ride with a rider that backed out on him, so having a little free time, I told him I would join in. We didn’t just jump into this thing we gave it minutes of thought. We planned to meet at the flying J in Emporia, ride to Waco, eat lunch, and ride home, simple huh. So I put some gas in the bike, strapped a T-Bag on the back rest, a small cooler full of water and Gatorade on the rack, a couple of different weight jackets in one bag, and a small cooler with jerky and grapes in the other. With my niece’s help this was going to be a good trip.

Jack was waiting for me at the Flying J and had talked a Highway Patrol Trooper into signing our witness forms. Part of the documentation is to have a witness at the start and finish to verify the odometer and the fact that you were there. The other part of the documentation is to buy gas with a credit card so the pump will time and date your receipt, giving proof of time and also mark your progress. It was five a.m.; we were gassed, witnessed, and ready. Grinning like kids that just caught their first fish, we mounted up and headed south.

The purpose of this trip was to put miles under the wheels, no sight seeing, no leisurely stops, just cover the miles. This didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy it; we just couldn’t goof around and get the job done. Jack took the lead as he had everything on his bike but air conditioning and a moon roof. He had cruise control, am, fm, CD, CB, GPS, radar detector, cell phone and a cup holder with an insulated cup that looked the size of a small trash can. My bike is fully equipped also; I have a windshield. I guess I have a sound system also; I have heard my wife talk of her children’s choir as a Joyful Noise; well, my bike makes a Glorious Racket. I have the whirring of the bearings, the chattering of the tappets and the hollow grumble of the intake. Then to top all that I have the exhaust with its sharp staccato, tattooing a rhythm that only a big twin can have. Who needs a cd player when you have music like that?

The trip to Wichita was uneventful, and the sun was trying its best to come through the clouds as we went around the town. The sky over my left shoulder was turning a dark red as the sun continued its efforts. I had the old saying, “Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning,” going through my head as we left Wichita and headed on south. It was raining now, not heavy, just a shower that lasted about twenty miles or so. But as the rain was getting lighter, and the sun was winning its struggle with the clouds, the most beautiful double rainbow popped up over my right shoulder and was ending on the road well ahead of us. Being the properly superstitious sailor that I am, I took this for a good omen. The rainbows ended almost on the highway, the rain stopped and we were on our way.

The first stop was at Brahman Ok. It set the pattern for the next two. Pull in, gas the bike, stretch, down a bottle of water, eat a hand full of grapes and leave the station with a piece of jerky dangling from my month like Groucho’s cigar. We were about 150 miles into our trip and I was really appreciating my niece’s thoughtfulness. Could she have been psychic? The Interstate is not an interesting road. Mile after mile of the same thing, the view was very uninspiring and the only thing that had broken the monotony was the two biplanes that we saw headed north. As we reached Purcell, the countryside had changed and was turning a lush green, rolling country. I noticed that none of the ground was in till. All was pasture and what looked like small acreage home sites. Through Oklahoma City and south, the ground had rock close to the surface. Where the road had cut through a soft rock was exposed. I say it was soft because the weather had seriously eroded it, making the scars look as though they had been exposed for ages. Still heading south to Texas, talk about uninspiring.

We were riding what is called staggered pairs. Jack was on the inside track and I would follow in the outside track. Normally when we do this, we stay closed up, but I was following several seconds behind. When I would venture close, I would hear his stereo playing and drop back to listen to mine. I guess that’s why they make different kinds of bikes. It was after 11:00, and we were rolling by the Texas Motor Speedway. Ft. Worth was on the horizon, and we were making good time. I was thinking about all the people I had worked with that had moved to Ft. Worth to keep working and was very glad I wasn’t one of them. I really dislike big towns and their sprawling freeways. So easy to miss a turn and end up miles from where you want to be. We did manage to slip right on through just like we knew what we were doing. So far the only problem had been a traffic jam for road construction near Denton. We were on time and feeling good. I think I was thanking my niece each and every mile. We had gone from the low fifties in Kansas and the wee hours of the morning to almost ninety and just afternoon in Texas. The heavy snowmobile jacket had been replaced with a light riding jacket. Then it and the sweat shirt came off and the sun felt good on my arms. We were just south of Ft Worth and about 75 miles to Waco getting fuel. A couple of riders on sportsters were fuelling and engaged in conversation. I tried to get them to join us to Waco but that was more than they wanted to ride.

Waco at last, and wouldn’t you know we missed the turnoff. Made the next one a couple of miles down the road and back to the Harley shop. I had talked to the manager a week earlier, and he was more than happy to sign our witness forms. He was telling me about his Iron Butt ride a few years earlier and the story I had heard before about the last couple of hundred miles and how much they hurt. Dr. Dan, the Doc I go to, says motorcycles are hard on you. He wasn’t talking about getting hurt, he was saying that you sit bolt upright with little back support, your spine taking every jolt the highway offers. Your arms and legs are in fixed positions so the lack of circulation numbs them. He is right, but the freedom and contentment of riding overshadows such trivial things, usually.

Our forms signed, we had a quick shopping spree at the shop. Then after a good check of the bikes and luggage on them, we were ready for lunch. Next door to the Harley shop is a Flying J. Who would have guessed? We went in and had a light lunch, lots of water, and were a little reluctant to leave the A.C. We had spent too much time between here and the shop and needed to get rolling. We rolled the bikes to the pumps, fuelled and were headed north. It had been about one thirty when we hit Waco and it was three o’clock when we left. Too much down time, but we were still in good shape, the weather was good, and the bikes were happy to be headed home.

Gainesville was the first stop headed back, and it was just a little slower than the ones had been coming down. I think maybe we were starting to feel the wear just a little. The pattern was the same: fuel, drink, snack and ride. Ft. Worth and a traffic jam; there was a race tonight, and the traffic had backed up to the middle of town. I thought this could really put the hurts to the trip, but after a mile or so of slow going the road opened up and we were rolling. I had taken the lead and given the old hog its head. We were making good time, and Jack rolled up and indicated that there was radar ahead. I slowed and gave the lead back to him and his electronic masterpiece and we kept rolling north.

We were getting close to Ok. City again. It was still nice out, but I was starting to chill. We stopped on the north side of Ok. City to fuel. It was still light out, but getting close to sunset. This was a long stop. Jack was fiddling with something. I went in and got a cookie; we both put jackets on and after 30 min or so we were ready to head out. Just as soon as we hit the road, we went by a bank with time and temp. It was 69 degrees, I had a coat on and still felt cold, go figure. It was getting pretty cloudy again and the sun was dropping fast. Over my left shoulder the sun was a huge orange spotlight, overhead was dark billowy clouds, to the right was what appeared to be a sunset as the sun projected on the clouds. As the sun dropped, the area overhead began to glow. Then as if t was its last mighty effort as the sun slid behind the horizon, it burnt through the clouds and the sky overhead looked like a storm tossed sea. The dark gray of the clouds was like the troubled green of the sea, but instead of white caps, the froth was a brilliant orange. This wonderful sight lasted what seemed a few moments, and then we slid into darkness.

The ride to Wellington was as uneventful as the rest of the ride had been. Which is a good thing for this kind of ride? We stopped at Wellington to fuel and add sweat shirt, and heavier coat. Still cold and it isn’t that cold out. We were back on the bikes and headed north. This was supposed to be the hard part. So far we were both feeling good, the bikes running well, and I was still thanking my niece. Through Wichita and we were in the minutes, still having fun, in fact, I think this was the most exhilarated I had been the whole trip. Maybe I was just getting punchy. There was some low lying fog near El Dorado Lake, not enough for a problem, but like walking into those big freezers they had at the ice plant when I was a kid. Still no problems other than feeling cold.

What a sight when we topped the hill and Saw Emporia. We slid into the Flying J at eleven thirty showing 1055 miles on the odometer. A friendly Highway Patrol Trooper signed our witness forms, we fueled to get a time stamp, and at shortly after midnight I was back on the bike headed north. The rest at Emporia had taken the excitement out of the day. The ride was over, and I was still on the highway. It wasn’t bad, but this part wasn’t fun. I was now cold, really cold. The temp had dropped to close to 50 degrees, and the air was wet and soaked in like my waterproof jacket was a sponge. I wasn’t really getting wet under the jacket, but it sure felt like it. I rolled in the garage at 1:05 in the morning with 1170 miles on the odometer since I had left at 3:45 the morning before. I wasn’t as tired as I thought I would be. I really felt pretty good except for being cold. The ride we documented was 1055 miles in 18 hours and 30 minutes. According to Jack’s GPS we averaged 56.2 mph for the time we were gone. Our speed for the trip was usually keeping with the traffic on the interstate. We did crank it up a little leaving Ft. Worth to get away from a group of drivers that had watched too much NASCAR on TV. I don’t think I would do something like this as a regular thing, but I had fun. I got to see a beautiful rainbow, and probably the most gorgeous sunset ever, and all the time listening to a Glorious Racket.

I guess I forgot to tell you all about my niece’s help on this odyssey. She had sent me a lovely pillow she had made for Christmas; I placed it in a roll bag and strapped it to the back seat of the bike. It made an absolutely perfect cushion for my lower back. I don’t think I could have made the trip without it...

[JerryM100]

OMG, you made me laugh out loud! My dogs sleeping at my feet are wondering what's wrong with me! That's the funniest thing I have read lately! Great story, well written. You could sell that stuff. You really are a good writer. I hope you have some other ride reports you can share here with us.

Thanks for taking the time to write all that - that was a job.

Jerry in KC

[Robin]

Great story, thanks for sharing!

Robin

[wil6831]

I guess I forgot to tell you all about my niece’s help on this odyssey. She had sent me a lovely pillow she had made for Christmas; I placed it in a roll bag and strapped it to the back seat of the bike. It made an absolutely perfect cushion for my lower back. I don’t think I could have made the trip without it...

Dad blame it, Don, I rolled back to the beginning of your story twice trying to find out what you niece had done for you. Nice piece of writing, very enjoyable read....Leonard