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The planning for this stupid, idiotic, mind-altering, time and space bending ride started several months ago. Actually, it was the idea of another list rider, who is still planning on going. He wishes to remain nameless, but it was his idea, and I'll get him for that. :-)

Going to the Iron Butt Web Page is a good place to begin. Reading the top 25 suggestions proved invaluable. I started following some of the ideas about 2 weeks before the launch date. This included their eating suggestions of oatmeal/cereal in the morning, a light snack for lunch and a salad and a noodle dish for dinner. With the gastric area under control, the sleep center was the next to address. I started to go to bed early and woke up early (3am) to get into the time frame I wanted.

On Tuesday, June 25th, I headed to BMW of Orlando for a new tire and then it was on to Jacksonville for a motel stop. My plan was to leave around 1am Wednesday morning to avoid the afternoon thunderstorms in the gulf states. So, I got to Jacksonville around 4 PM just missing the worst traffic jam I've seen in a long time. Checking into the motel chain from hell (the motel 666) things were right on schedule. The best laid plan of mice, men and motorcycle riders iron-butted head into Murphy's Law. No way could I go to sleep. ARGH! After trying to sleep for two hours I decided to take off. This was not good. I had been up since 3 am that morning, but what's a poor boy to do?

My first stop was the Jacksonville Police Dept. for a signature. With directions in hand I headed downtown to find that the route they gave me to the station was closed. Alllllll righty then. It was still relatively easy to find the station, especially since a cop downtown told me which way to go. It's amazing how that works. A nice officer was more than happy to fill out my form. He also pointed me in the right (supposedly) direction for getting out of town. He signed the sheet at 9:44 PM. I got lost getting out of town and immediately headed south on I-95 instead of west on I-10. This is a problem in Jacksonville because the river limits the turn around options. After tanking up (the station computer wasn't set to the correct day or time, so I had to get another receipt. Thank heaven I looked) I got headed in the correct direction, but was already 20 minutes behind schedule. I was not in a great frame of mind, but the weather looked good and the temps were coming down.

The first evening was a breeze and I made it to the other side of Baton Rouge before their rush hour. Being the paranoid individual each receipt went into a special plastic bag and into their own place in the tank bag. Losing these gems would be unforgivable and irreplaceable. At a stop in Alabama, I saw the largest moth in the history of mothdom. Mothra was so heavy that it could barely stay airborne. When it flew into the glass of the gas station, the whole building would shake and tiles would fall down from the ceiling. Women and children were cowering under the counter. F-16's were heard screaming overhead.

The trip over the swamp on I-10 west of Baton Rouge is always fun. The trees cool down the air and the engineering of the roadway is truly fascinating. Then comes Texas. If Texas is sooooo long, why doesn't it have a name like Mississippi? Eastern I-10 in Texas has very little to endear itself. Houston goes on and on and on and, well, you get the idea. I ended up chasing a motorcycle cop through town who was flying. He had his left saddlebag open and it was all I could do to catch up to him to tell him this was happening. This made for a quick run through town ala police escort.

San Antonio meant that I was getting to the ½ way point. It was time to look for some witnesses. A police officer would be best, but a strip mall seemed like a good choice. As I was leaving town a AAA office loomed in the distance. It had this glow and I swear, the skies parted and light was shining on the building. In I went. Out came my card and this turned into an event at their office. Everyone wanted to sign the witness form. They offered me sodas, sat me down to rest and cool off and treated me famously. Nice folks. With signatures in hand I pressed on.

It started to rain slightly which was more than welcome on this extremely hot day. Around Ozona it was apparent that I could have a 1500 in 1 for the taking. The problem is finding a witness out in the middle of the desert. So, I elected to have a meal instead of worring about it. I was satisfied to know that it could be done. This decision gave me a 1485 in 1. (As it turns out later, I had 1503 miles, which was just enough). I was looking forward to the sun and temps going down. This was a mistake.

As it got dark I was treated to one of the most fantastic lightening storms I have ever witnessed. This says a lot coming from someone who lives in the lightening capital of the US (Tampa, FL). The bolts were slicing into (really up from) the peaks of the Davis Mountains. The bolts were as thick as tree trunks and I fully expected to see blast craters in the road as I approached. Ahhh, there's a problem. Nothing escapes me. I'm headed into one of the worst lightening storms I've every seen AND in the desert I might be the highest point around. This is not a good plan. Just as a decision is in order the sky starts to open up. Isn't this the desert? A rest stop allows me to cover my wet clothes with my rain suite. This will prevent me from dripping on the road in case it dries out. Man, it rains hard. As I get closer to El Paso, the desert is filled with lights and very pretty.

El Paso (god, I hate to agree with Higdon) has few redeeming characteristics on a rainy night. There is one nice view coming down a hill into the valley. Night is the key though. Traffic is minimal. I-10 is closed. Whoopee! We're being routed down a service road that is full of mud, pot holes, pot filled drivers, construction cones and stop lights. This is living'. The radio station says the freeway is backed up with a bad accident downtown. Whooppee part deux. The good news is that it's in the other direction and I catch a break. Before I know it, I'm out of town and into New Mexico.

The speed limit is 75 mph. GREAT! On the other side of Las Cruces the weather clears up. If only my mind would do the same. I'm having problems. The sour lemon balls aren't working anymore. They were good for 25 minutes of clarity up to this point. I've had enough coffee to let Juan Valdez retire. It's not helping and a cat nap is in order. Sleeping on the tank bag for 10 minutes revives me enough to get to the next rest area. I could sleep longer, but that would put me in the Arizona/California desert in the heat of the day. That isn't a pleasant prospect, so this game continues until the sun comes up.

Mick Collins, an all around swell guy and great American, gave me the perfect directions to the police station in San Diego. An officer signed my witness form a couple of minutes short of 40 hours. Away I went to the motel and the deed was done!

THE STAY AND THE TRIP HOME (also very long)

The people at the Comfort Inn in Old Towne allowed me to park the bike on the patio behind the registration desk. Nice people. After a phone call to Mick I called Brattin Motors to arrange an oil change for Friday. They said that they could do it now, but not Friday. Oh man, I need SLEEP, but Descartes comes first and we head to the dealership. In less than an hour we're back at the motel and I have 2 hours before dinner at Butch Hays' pad.

Did that alarm ring? It was hard to tell, but its smashed condition on the floor and the dent on the wall are a pretty good clue that it did. Mick and his wonderful wife Lonnie (spelling?) pick me up and we head to Butch's. There I meet Butch for the first time, Fulton Martin and Doc, a local rider. They stuff us and I'm feeling very mellow. Butch chews me out for not asking to stay at his place, but I really feel that I need a room at the motel for the first night. Finally I'm back at the motel and sleepinzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

On Thursday, Butch suggested I head back east with him. Even though this is a day early for me, the idea has merit. So, I meet him at 8ish. Who know what time it is anymore. Away we go across the desert toward Tucson. Man is it hot. We pour water into body crevices that don't get wet when you go swimming and we're still hot. We splash each other with water at 90 mph and we're still hot. Already I can tell that this is going to be a fun ride with Butch. He's a demented as I am which is a dangerous combination. Butch is a truly fine Idiot.

Our plans for a place to stay that evening fall through and we call Arno Jones. We are going to eat at his house that evening and he offers us his home on top of things. But, can we find his house? Of course not. Embarrassingly, he has to come get us and leads us to his house. His outfit when he picks us up assures that this will be a really different evening. I love it.

Our plan is to make Roswell, N.M. for the evening. We are going to drive through the VLA (very large array) on the way so it became an extra-terrestrial theme. We hit Eagan for lunch just as the skies open up. Butch has got a great pair of rain pants that don't seal at the bottom. The image of his pants, wet from the knees down, still cracks me up.

Now, Butch will tell you that we were almost out of this large rain storm when I turned down a side road to go to the array. Don't believe a word of it. It was a beautiful sunny day and the birds were singing. In the distance were some very strange shapes which turned out to be a herd of space aliens in cow disguise in the middle of the highway. And they think the disguise fooled the stupid earthmen. HAH! I know they were aliens because, on the way out, they tried to be more convincing and placed several more of the "herd" in the road. I wasn't fooled. Live long and prosper cow people.

In the morning we continue to Roswell. Unfortunately, we are a couple of days early. On Friday, they are going to open up the crash site to visitors. That would be kind of neat. If you don't know the story, in 1947 the Air Force reported that they had discovered a crashed alien space craft. Rumor was that it contained live aliens. Withing a few hours, the report transformed into a crashed weather balloon. We probably won't ever know the real truth, but the town is into the alien theme. The radio stations make references to this continually. Everyone has an alien theme sale and so on. Being tourist, we want to stop at some kind of alien tourist trap and instead wind up at the art museum. It's embarrassing explaining to the guard that I'm just a typical tourist who isn't interested in fine art, but wants to see a space ship. He's heard this, let's see, maybe a billion times before, and tells us that the places we're looking for are closed this time of day. Regretfully, we push on.

Now, let's talk about Herb's dog. Herb owns this monster of a dog that stands at least 5 ft at the shoulder. Really it's a little bitty thing, but it has the attitude of the aforementioned animal. It seems that the dog wandered off on day and didn't come back. Herb and Perry found the little guy stuck in some brambles so it got the name Velcro. For some reason, Velcro took an instant dislike to me. I spent the evening and next morning with Velcro attached to my pants leg. As I lie down on the mattress Herb place on the floor that evening, Velcro is 1 foot away from my face growling. I know how the soldiers in Viet Nam must have slept after this. When I got up the first thing I did was check to see if any body parts were missing. Another President and another great host. We were sad to leave, but with Velcro trying to get in one last bite we headed down the driveway.  

It was time for Butch and I to part company. It was great, great, great and great riding with you. What could have been an awful ride home turned into one of the most memorable experiences of my life. OBTW, you're supposed to sleep on the top of the hammock, not underneath it. :-) 500 miles and I was home. 

So, in a week I did 5,050 miles (the Gauss number which was cool for a mathematician.) In the 8 days this was about 5,600 miles which is the most I've ever done. Words can't express the gratitude I have for my fellow Presidents. Mick, Butch, Arno, Herb, Corky and all the rest of the folks I've met, thanks for your hospitality and friendship. I can never hope to repay it. I'll remember you always. Now let's go to Morganton. Later......