A (Full) Day Ride Not long after I started riding BMWs about 7-1/2 years ago, I started hearing about folks who would ride an incredible distance in a very short period of time. My very first introduction was by a couple of SouthCoasters, Barry Nix and Gary Drake. In 1999, I was new to the club and volunteered to be their newsletter editor. I believe it was that spring when they went off and did a couple of distance rides. I�m not sure now whether it was 1,000 miles in 24 hours or 1,500 miles in 24 or 36 hours. Regardless, it was a lot of riding in a short amount of time. Later that year, I followed the Iron Butt Rally on the Internet. For those who don�t know, the Iron Butt Rally is an eleven day event with a minimum of 1,000 miles per day. If that�s all you do, the best you can expect to do is finish somewhere in the middle of the pack. The top 10-15 riders pick up some extreme bonus points and usually end up with 13,000 to 14,000 miles in that 11 days. It was fascinating following them on the Internet with daily ride reports from Bob Higdon. I got so wrapped up in it, I decided to meet the finishers as they came in. That year, the start and finish were in Ojai, about 120 miles from my home. I left at 4 am or so and made it in time to see the bulk of the riders check in. It was fascinating to see all the gadgets the riders had on their bikes to keep them informed and entertained. All of them had fuel cells. All in all it was a pretty interesting experience. The Iron Butt Association has other events, some of which you can do on your own. Some of the events include:		Saddle Sore 1,000 (1,000 miles in 24 hours)
	Bun Burner 1,500 (1,500 miles in 36 hours)
	Bun Burner Gold (1,500 miles in 24 hours)
	50CC (Coast to Coast in 50 hours)
	100CCC (Coast to Coast to Coast in 100 hours)
	National Parks Tour (50 parks in 25 states in 1 year)
	48-10 (48 states in 10 days)
	48 Plus! (48 states plus Alaska in 10 days)

For more information, visit the IBA website (http://www.ironbutt.com).

When I would share my experiences with other riders, they naturally got the impression that I had a goal of doing some endurance riding. That was not a correct assumption. A weekend jogger being fascinated with a marathon might be more accurate. In fact, at the time, most of my riding days were 300-400 miles and those usually took everything out of me. I often joked that I would start my own organization called �The Marshmallow Butt Association�. I could never ride �tank-to-tank�. My back wouldn�t allow it. Besides, my butt would really, really hurt after an hour or so.

Over the last few years, my endurance has increased quite a bit. I think a lot of it has to do with my diet. I�m eating less fat these days and more fruits and vegetables. Getting a Camelback also helped. My time in the saddle increased ever so slowly until I reached a point that changed my thinking about my riding abilities. In 2004 I had an abbreviated stay at the Beemer Bash in Quincy . The abbreviation was due to a winter storm front moving in. The meteorologists had promised snow for Saturday night. Even though I had pulled in late ( 8:30 pm , pitched my tent in the dark), I contemplated leaving the next morning. I walked around the rally site for a while and decided to leave about 10:00 am . That was the shortest rally I had ever attended. I packed up and rode down the road a few miles when I decided to have a nice breakfast before my ride home. I left the restaurant about 11 am and rode a little over 600 miles arriving home about 11 pm. What was amazing about that ride is that I wasn�t really tired. The constant hydration of the Camelback kept me from the fatigue that would usually cut my days short.

Still, I had not considered myself an endurance rider. As a matter of fact, my style of riding had evolved in a different direction as I developed a disdain for the Interstate system. I found that I enjoyed the trip more if I took an extra day and stayed on the back roads. I enjoy the twisties more than velocity; the scenery is more prevalent and it can be appreciated more at a lower speed. I truly thought I had the endurance bug out of my system. I was more proud of having 20-30 touring days a year or having a string at one time of 22 consecutive months of over 1,000 miles per month none of which were commuting miles. �Now, that takes real endurance� I would say to myself. All of that made sense to me but I would always wonder whenever I would see THAT license plate frame (you know the one)  why I was so envious of someone who had that license plate frame on their bike. Why should I be envious? I knew I rode a lot. I knew I toured a lot. I�m also a grown-up with nothing to prove to anyone. Why did this bother me so much? Was it because all that talk about touring days, total BMW miles and my love for the twisties just a rationalization why I couldn�t complete an Iron Butt event? That made it worse. I HATE rationalizations!

Of course, I didn�t think I could do anything about this ever growing monkey on my back because I thought I just didn�t have the physical endurance to ride that long. Even my most �efficient� rides would average 55-60 mph. Yes, I like to stop and stopping is the death Nell of endurance riding. At that pace, it would be difficult to ride 1,000 miles in 24 hours.

Then I rode in the Three Flags Classic. We left Tijuana at 3 am on the Friday before Labor Day in 2005. Sure, I had lots of �rabbits� but I had never ridden like the first day of the 3FC. I dropped Nancy off at her car in San Diego and didn�t put my foot down again until I rolled into Yuma , Arizona . I gassed and was off once again. Heretofore, I had maybe a half dozen days when I would get 300 miles under my belt before noon . I had once ridden 400 miles before lunch; riding to the 49�er Rally earlier in the year (2005). Well, this first day I was able to get 500 miles in before noon . Then I thought: � All I have to do is another 500 and I would have my SS 1,000�. Of course there were two problems with that thought. The first one was that I couldn�t ride another 500 that day; I had a reservation in Holbrook , AZ so I wouldn�t even get 700 miles in that day. Also, the second 500 is much worse than the first five hundred. But, what it did do was convince me that it was �doable�. I decided that I needed to get this thing put to bed so that I can get back to the kind of riding that makes me happiest.

I plotted a few routes and decided the best route for me was a loop starting in San Juan Capistrano , northeast to Las Vegas , south to Phoenix , then on to Casa Grande, east to San Diego then finally north to San Juan Capistrano . Once I settled on a route, it was just a matter of finding a convenient day. Preparation was pretty easy. The night before I check tire pressures and oil level. I also pack my bathroom bag just in case I decide to get a motel instead. No license plate frame is worth riding dangerously.

The next morning is even simpler. No shower. No shave. Skip the bike wash. I roll about four am to get my starting gas receipt. I stop at the local Chevron only to find that the receipt doesn�t have the address on it. I go inside and ask the attendant to write the address and phone number. He obliges but I�m not convinced this is good enough. It would be quite a tragedy if my efforts are not recognized by the IBA because of this. I ride next door to the Union 76 station and squeeze a little bit of gas in the tank and get a receipt with an address on it. Great. I�m on my way. I get a few miles down the road and realize I forgot to pack my Camelbak. I turn around at Crown Valley and go back home to pick up this valuable accessory. The additional gas stop and Camelbak fiasco cost me a half an hour. If that�s my only delay, I�m still in good shape.

I ride through the Cajon Pass , in the dark of course, and reach the high desert. I now recall what it was like growing up in El Paso , also high desert. Even though the days are nice and relatively warm, the nights are cold. I recall temperature swings of 40 degrees in one day. I notice that it is cold in Victorville. It�s colder in Barstow . By the time I get to Baker, I see the huge thermometer. Normally, the light is on near the top, indicating a high temperature (easily 100+). Today, the light is on at �30�. In the snack shop, the cashier tells me the actual temperature is not that high. He says it�s more like 25. No wonder my feet hurt! I decide to stay inside and drink my coffee until the feeling comes back. I lose another half an hour.

I arrive in Las Vegas at by 9 am . I turn south on 515 and immediately run into heavy traffic. I think: �What the�?.� It�s Saturday morning! Then I realize this is Las Vegas . There are three cars ahead, two are pointing the wrong way and a LEO is administering a field sobriety test. I get through traffic and find a gas station so that I can mark this �corner� of the route. I ride south through Henderson and then to Boulder City . The route and traffic is slow going over Hoover Dam. This is probably not a good route for an �efficient� ride, but there are no alternatives.

The road to Kingman , AZ is more of the same; cold and breezy. I start thinking, �This is really a dumb thing to do and a terrible waste of a nice Saturday�. Of course, it wouldn�t do any good to quit now. I�ve got over 400 miles under my belt and still quite a ways from home. This section becomes the least efficient of the entire route. Between Kingman and Wickenburg my clock goes out as does my electric jacket liner. Also, my windshield doesn�t work. Fortunately, the bike starts. The battery, a dry Westco, is just over a year old, so I�m thinking (hoping) I�ve got a bad fuse. That would be better than a loose or bad alternator belt. I stop in Wickenburg and make a phone call to Barry at Irv Seaver�s. He confirms that he thinks it should be a fuse. I remove the seat, the fuse box cover and the culprit is obvious. I replace the 10 amp fuse from a box of spares in my tank bag. I�m concerned that I now have no spare 10 amp fuses in case I truly have an electrical problem. Fortunately an auto parts store is right across the street and I pick up a pair for $3.69. I remark to the cashier that this is the cheapest purchase I�ve made for the repair of the Beemer. He says �Well, BMW does make good cars�. I think of about a dozen responses but all that becomes audible is �It�s a motorcycle�.

I continue south towards Phoenix and trying to avoid the same traffic jam on Highway 60 Nancy and I encountered last month by taking a scenic road over to I-17 South which connects nicely with I-10 East. I realize I have planned my stops poorly. I should have got gas when I replaced the fuse. Instead, I have to stop for gas just as I get through Phoenix and don�t feel comfortable going all the way to Casa Grande. I need to stop in Casa Grande regardless for a marker for my second �corner�. O.K. Two stops in 35 miles. Get over it. After Casa Grande, I turn west towards the coast. Hooray! A quick stop at a rest stop breaks up the ride to Yuma as the sun goes down. I get to Yuma by 8 pm and I�m feeling pretty good about my prospects of finishing.

Departing Yuma energized, I enter California riding right behind an Imperial County Sheriff. Great. He follows another car right at the speed limit. I change lanes, using my blinker of course, and pass at 6 mph over the speed limit. His headlights soon disappear behind me. I stop in El Centro at a Chevron station for a cup of coffee. As I put the coffee on the counter to pay for it, I ask �Is this coffee fresh?� He gives me a strange look, then looks down and says �No�. I leave the coffee on the counter and walk out. It would be nice to have a little boost going over the mountains. No problems. I start climbing as the temperature drops. This segment turns out to be the most difficult. The temperature drops, but not as bad as earlier. It�s dark. There�s a little traffic. Fortunately, the twisty roads help to keep me awake. Talking to myself helps. O.K. Shouting to myself actually helps. Forget singing. Shouting is the answer. Shouting stupid things. Reading the license plate number in front of me LOUD helps. Before I realize it, I start my descent and see the lights of beautiful downtown El Cajon . I don�t remember Alpine. I traverse San Diego and take I-805 north to Del Mar. I find a gas station and a McDonalds. I order a double quarter pounder with cheese and a diet coke. Take THAT you gall stone! Hah! I laugh at gall stones! I calm down and call Nancy to tell her I�m not far away. It�s 10:30 pm . I�ve been riding 18-1/2 hours. It will be 19-1/2 before I�m done. The ride up the coast is serene but the traffic is heavier than I expected. I arrive at the same Union 76 station to get my ending document when I realize that, even though the receipt has an address, it doesn�t have the time! I ride over the freeway to a Chevron station which has both an address and the time of day. Total by my odometer is 1,097 miles. The mapping program I use says 1,045 miles. Of course, the odometer isn�t perfect and I had a couple of exits I didn�t log.

I pull into the driveway, park the bike, take off the gear and climb into bed. Nancy says �I�m glad you�re home.� Me too. Whether or not my documents are satisfactory to the Iron Butt Association, I�m pretty sure this is my last endurance ride. This type of riding is just the opposite of the type of riding I enjoy the most. Spending 20 hours on the Interstate and putting on miles just for the sake of putting on miles is not my kind of motorcycling. Don�t get me wrong. I�m glad I did this and I still have a lot of respect and admiration of the endurance riders. I�m glad I got the monkey off my back. But this kind of riding is not for me. If it remains a necessity for me to impress anyone about the motorcycle riding I do, I�m going to have to do it by the number of touring days I have each year or with the miles in the twisties I ride or by just riding 400 miles on a back road, throwing down a sleeping bag and then getting up the next morning and doing it all over again. What I think is more admirable than riding thousands of miles in a short period of time is someone like my good friend Werner who is fast approaching 70 and is still riding, camping and wrenching. Now, THAT�S a goal worth working towards.