It was cold and dark when thirty motorcycles gathered at a gas station on the Texas side of the border, in Texarkana.
The men and women piloting these bikes, machines honed for efficiency and prepared to be ridden for many hours, were a quiet, concentrating bunch. They went about their business with a studied purpose, belying the apparently relaxed and friendly atmosphere.
At six am we, and thirty five others similarly gathered across three other locations, would ride into the early morning darkness. Most would not see each other again until Dallas, some thirty six hours, and up to fifteen hundred miles later.
Until that moment, pictured on the right, I was just a number. The Big Tex Rally was about to begin, and I was number 67.
My own journey to be on this starting line was a mere three hundred miles, others traveled from as far afield as Sacramento, Ca. In reality though, I had begun a year ago when I entered the inaugural Big Tex Rally, and failed to finish. Despite some considerable personal achievements on that occasion, failing to finish (DNF) did not sit well with me; this time it was going to be different.
Three weeks before the event the Rally Packs hit our mailboxes. The Rally Pack is the "Bible". It specifies the rules of the game, which is effectively simply a scavenger hunt on crack, contains all the locations that may be visited to gain points, and basically provides a blueprint from which the rider has to plan a ride. That ride, if planned effectively and ridden as planned, will result in the rider gaining the most points that they were able ... if they get through scoring, and I'll come back to that later.
The planning is divided into sections. Points available simply for complying with various requirements. Good examples would be a Rest Bonus, where big points could be had for resting in one place for up to eight hours, or the enormous number of points for arriving at the finish with your Drivers License still tucked up securely in a sealed envelope, indicating that you had not been sat at the side of the highway, chatting with a State Trooper, etc. You have to assume that all the entrants will get all of those points. The second part are the various locations, and their point values. Usually, the harder they are to either reach or comply with, the greater the value they carry.
The part I like to refer to as the "riding points", were those locations strung together to make a route from the start location to the finish. The Rally Pack had around eighty five of those, values ranging from thirty nine to two thousand points each. In addition were twelve Texas Icons each valued at one hundred and fifty points, with a five thousand point bonus for any rider collecting ten or more.
In words from the Iron Butt Rally .... The Rally Pack is like a restaurant menu. You have to select from it, and cannot consume it all. If you try, you could get sick, and die!
In the end all rally planning is a compromise. Each rider compromises in a slightly different way, and tailors the ride to meet their knowledge of their own abilities and particular circumstances. There is no answer to the problem, just a series of potential solutions and we simply hope that the solution we choose is better than that chosen by our fellow riders ... then we hope we get lucky!
Planning for this event was not easy. The static points values were very high, and the points available for actually, you know, riding the bike were low. When that happens a small point spread can cover a lot of riders, so you have to maximise every opportunity. Last year it was the reverse, and I spent most of my time in the wide-open space of west Texas. I covered nearly eleven hundred miles on the first day before dropping out. This time I was in the east, and I couldn't find a way to maximise my points AND ride over fifteen hundred miles during the event, so one large bonus for doing so was immediately lost. My plan had eleven of the twelve Texas Icons and eighteen regular bonuses in its thirteen hundred and fifty miles. I simply hoped that would be enough for a good finish.
I was a bit concerned that some of the newer riders would actually struggle to gain sufficient points to be considered a "Finisher", and was expecting there would be some last minute information at the rider's briefing that would change that. I was not wrong. Just before the end of the meeting, at five thirty am, our starter quietly announced that there was a "misprint" in the Rally Pack. The Texas Icons, rather than being each worth a printed one hundred and fifty points, were actually each worth fifteen hundred points! ... Game On!
At six-o-five I rolled out into the remaining night, determined as usual to take it easy for the first twenty miles as I headed, with others, to Marietta and a picture of the Post Office there. Easy riding at first, because these events are exciting and competitive. I like to settle into the ride at a steady early pace. There is thirty six hours to go. You can't win a rally in the first hour, but you sure can lose it if you do something silly. We ran into fog, never a good sign, and I stopped to adjust the "wing" at the top of my windshield. I usually look through it, but the condensation was hampering my vision. Release the clips, hammer it down and leave it there until Dallas. It still directs the wind over my head. Another rider stopped to see that I was okay. This is a community. Sure we are in competition, but the first consideration is always the welfare of each other. We are a small band, and we take care of our own.
Mariatta came and went. Another rider pointed me to a Texas Icon, the city sign, population < 300. Good, I told you we take care of each other and that was going to be my next stop in a different town. Time saved I headed off to the Longview Rodeo Arena, and my second Texas Icon. I nearly lost my Rally Flag here. Having taken the picture I rode away with the flag still clipped to the back of the bike. Ten minutes later I realised. I stopped, more in hope than expectation, and found it clinging one by one remaining clip ... Phew!
Then it was one to Camp Ford and Tyler, for breakfast at Stanley's Barbeque. This was my compulsory bonus. We could choose any one from four possible locations, and we were instructed to eat a meal. I thoroughly enjoyed an egg and cheese burrito, washed down with a very fine root beer. After breakfast, a satisfying if necessarily speedy occasion, it was back on the bike to go get a picture of Sam "Lightnin'" Hopkins. This was a bonus used in the Heart of Texas Rally 2012 and I was looking forward to another visit with old Sam. He has a very fine statue. I made a mistake here. The picture was supposed to include the rider, and mine didn't. Despite later being credited with the points, I shouldn't have been and this is the kind of mistake that affects your finishing position. I am careful about things like this, and hope never to repeat that error.
The observant reader may have noticed that I am generally heading south west. There was a route to some big points in Galveston and Houston that would have had me ride south from the Marietta Post Office. I rejected that route because it was Galveston and Houston! The time that can be lost in major cities can kill a route and if I avoided Houston it would give me time to reach Laredo, and a much larger bonus. My next scheduled stop was to take on gas in Crockett. I could go further than the two hundred and ten miles I would have at that point, but I had planned the stops and knew that I didn't need to. Gas stops are a routine affair usually lasting about five minutes. This one was anything but routine, and nearly ended my quest.
I rolled into the small country gas station, parked as normal and went to remove the cap from my auxiliary gas tank. As I did so, the side stand completely failed leaving the motorcycle rubber side up alongside the pump. There was little I could do but stand and stare at if for a few moments, the only thoughts being what just happened? and what the ... do I do now?
My motorcycle weighs about eight hundred pounds even before I load it up, and the first thing is to get it back onto its wheels. A couple of guys come over to help. One of them is about seventy if he is a day, but they breed 'em tough down here. I can do this on my own but it's easier with help and I'm grateful. I can't think about the Rally for the moment, I want gas in the bike and I'll have plenty of time to think as I roll towards the next bonus, but things are looking bleak right now. I need to think, and to think I need to be moving. That's the first priority, so that is what happens. The next scheduled stop is Aunt Jemima's Grave, she of the syrup fame. It is over eighty miles away so that's a good hour and a bit to work out what to do next.
I ran through the possibilities. Motorcycles, I realise, are very easy to ride without a side stand, until that is, you want to stop! I can't do this for thirty two hours. I imagine how I might prop the bike up at gas pumps, or find somewhere to leave it at bonus locations. It really isn't going to work. When I get to the cemetery it is down a short gravel road. There is nowhere I can get off the bike without it falling over and I lose a little time figuring it out. Eventually I ride off the road onto a very soft verge and wedge the bike between the cemetery fence, and a tree. That will hold it while I grab a photo. This is not what you are supposed to do with a fully laden Full Dress Tourer, but it seems to work. As I am leaving I notice a big pump jack merrily sucking oil from the Texas ground. I can get to it and take the picture without getting off the bike. That's another Texas Icon in the bag, and one less stop to make.
I am not quitting. This is not going to happen two years in a row. That phone-call to Wayne (Rally Master) is not going to be made. I have a date in Dallas via several more point scoring opportunities, and I am going to Dallas, with those points!
Next stop is the Dixie Chicken Bar in a town that the GPS tells me has a Lowes. I am detouring because Lowes isn't such a bad place to be in this situation. I'm there is short order and prop the bike up against a lamp pole to survey the damage. Unbelievably, a twelve millimeter bolt that holds the side stand has sheared bending the lug as the stand gave up. I need two things ... a bolt, and a hammer. There are a couple of complications to this idea, the main one being that I have to settle for a hardened quarter inch bolt which is smaller than I am happy with. The hammer makes a decent job of straightening out bent metal, and the bolt goes through the hole. It all takes ninety minutes from my schedule but the bike is back, however temporarily, on its stand.
After getting the picture of the rattlesnake in the bar, next up is a bonus suggested by Ardys Kellerman. It is a statue outside a fire house and it is an easy location to pull right up alongside. I didn't really have to get off the bike, but two firefighters came out and offered to take the picture for me. They didn't even ask why I was there, so I figured I wasn't the first. Given that I had lost two hours that did not surprise me at all.
From there a short detour netted another Texas Icon - a sign from the Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association, and it was off to the Spoetzl Brewery where I had to buy an item from the gift shop; a store that closed at five pm. Better get a shift on.
This sign was another that had been pre-planned. The aim all along was to try to collect these as I rode, but just in case that didn't happen I had eleven of the twelve programmed. The final item was a person on a horse. Despite the fact that this is Texas, and people on horses are everywhere, they are not everywhere when you need one. I never saw anyone on a horse, and one consequence of the time I lost was that I didn't have the time remaining to go looking.
Gruene Hall, a well-known concert location was next. Between Gonzales and the Hall I managed to pick up two more Icons, a cactus and an AerMotor Windmill. Grabbing these two early saved me a planned stop the following day, but that didn't actually help the time-crunch I was facing prior to my rest stop.
By now it was quite clear that I couldn't reach Laredo and still earn maximum points for an eight hour rest stop. Generally the number of points available for stopping reflects the Rally Master's desire that riders actually get off their motorcycles, and rest. Wayne is quite keen to ensure that we do not put ourselves at risk because he offered nine hundred points per hour, for up to eight hours. From a planning point of view this means that if you cannot exceed nine hundred points an hour by riding, then you are wasting gas and would be better stopping, for lots of reasons.
The bonus in Laredo was worth just over one thousand points, a decent prize. However, the time I had lost to the mechanical issue meant that to claim these points I would have to ride three hundred miles and lose at least one hour from my rest stop. It made no sense to do this, so I pointed the bike at San Antonio and switched to my backup High School Football Game, which was in the city.
I was now in a very curious position. I was feeling great. The riding was good all day, and the weather had more or less cooperated. It was cool, and basically dry. It had tried to rain a few times but never to the point where I felt the need to stop and drag out the baggies for my electronics. Now after getting the picture of that ridiculous armadillo, a Texas Icon, and visiting the football game, all I needed to do was visit The Alamo and I was done for the day. My original plan had me spending eight hours checked in to the Iron Butt Motel at the Loves Truckstop in Von Ormy, south of San Antonio. I was no longer going south and could go north a stop close to my first planned location the following morning. Between the Armadillo and the football game was a one thousand point "Call-In" bonus. Calling from the bike is easy but the phone didn't connect. Then a text arrived asking me to text my info in. Great. I'm on Interstate 35, it's dark, raining and busy. Oh well, that many points is worth pulling over for.
Visiting The Alamo was a surreal experience. These rallies are an odd experience at the best of times. We get to visit fascinating places, and stay for all of two minutes to enjoy the moment. I am building quite a list of places to re-visit with my wife when we have time to relax, but am also learning to extract maximum value from a brief stop. All I was concentrating on as I rode through San Antonio was the traffic, the steady rain and slick streets. When I hit the waypoint I was right next to the concourse, and the two police officers happily agreed to watch the illegally parked bike while I got my photo.
Then I walked around the corner, stopped, and just stared. IT'S THE ALAMO! Jeez! I wasn't actually expecting to see The freakin' ALAMO. It can be hard to take in at times, and this one had caught me by surprise. I had never been here before and it took my breath away. These are the moments I live for on such rides, and I savour them.
With The Alamo captured (heh) my first day was officially done. Despite all the early hassle I had everything on my plan except Laredo, and was now three hours ahead of schedule, and further north than I needed to be. So I need a new overnight plan because I cannot be at the first stop in the morning before eight, and that is twelve hours away. Earlier in the week, Brian Walters had told me he was staying in the small town of Boerne. That, I realise, is three miles from my first stop of the next day, so I called him. This bike-to-bike stuff is really handy at times. By nine pm I was safely tucked up in Brian's room, he still being four hours away, and I was feeling guilty about not riding, but I had nowhere to ride that would earn points and even though I had three spare hours, it was dark and raining so hoping to find a person on a horse was a bit fruitless.
Holding my rally flag next to that awesome Cadillac is Vicki Schmidt, a manager at the Enchanted Springs Ranch. I had been emailing with her ever since I discovered that they had a car with horns mounted to the hood, and she had agreed to open the ranch gates a couple of hours early so I could get a photo. The ranch is laid out like an old western town. It is used for re-enactments and displays, but also as a film set on occasion. I want to extend my thanks to Vicki for her hospitality, and would urge anyone in the area to drop by.
Gaining all the time the previous evening allowed me to get an earlier start than expected, and brought Dead Man's Hole, a bonus worth around four hundred and sixty points into play. So Laredo suddenly was not a total loss and I grabbed it on my way into Austin for a group photo at the Stevie Ray Vaughan memorial. Before that I needed to acquaint my butt with a saddle on a longhorn, another Texas Icon, and grab a picture of a specific license plate. Both were in Luckenbach, Texas.
The ride into Austin was a nightmare. The weather was playing nicely, and would remain good all day, but the traffic was not. My GPS kindly informed me that I had an hour to spare to be at the memorial by noon. I needed half of that to negotiate the traffic and construction. The bridge I needed to use was closed, and cars were backed up every which way. I am in the photo, with my rally flag showing (orange t-shirt), and was credited the points. This was to be the pattern between now and the finish in Cedar Hill, and it was in stark contrast to the pretty free running the previous day. I have to say on reflection that I am not fond of high-point, and/or time-restricted bonii in the heart of major cities. They suck time and make for very hit or miss planning, because you can never be sure that you will lose the time in the end. It puts too much in the
lap of the Gods. I know you need good fortune to finish well, but it is tempting fate, and detracting from planning skills when so much relies on places like Houston, Dallas, Austin and San Antonio.
The next problem to contend with is that just about every rider was going to leave this bonus at the same time, all heading the eighty-odd miles north to another, two thousand point, bonus. A shooting range had been set up. We had a choice of guns and had to hit our rally flag from thirty feet with any one of three shots. This is going to be interesting as I have never even held a handgun, let alone fired one. However, I have watched many Western movies and episodes of NCIS, so how hard can it be?
I get out of Austin as fast as possible, knowing that it will be chaos at the range and those getting there early will have the shortest stop. I had allowed thirty minutes. When I arrived maybe twenty people were in front of me and the stop took an hour. I had to ... heh ... endure Rex LeGalley poking gentle fun about guns, and my Liberal friends. Listen matey ... I hit that flag so come the next spat with those southern states, I'll be ready! It was a new experience, and one I thoroughly enjoyed.
While there I heard a rumor about stationary traffic going north on Interstate 35. This could be a problem, as I still needed to mop up a few bonii in Dallas before riding to the finish. If I took an alternate route there would be no time to get the points, so I had to risk that I could get through whatever issue was affecting the interstate. Decisions like this, made on the fly can impact a plan in ways that are unpredictable. It happens, to one degree or another in just about every rally, and is something you get used to. Assess the information, consider its impact on your plan, make a decision and execute it. Don't look back, wondering "what if" adds unnecessary anxiety; just commit and free your mind to deal with the outcomes.
Sure as eggs are eggs, the rumor was confirmed within about fifteen miles when the traffic ground to a standstill. Worse, I could see a long way and there was little evidence of anything moving. What to do? My elderly motorcycle can sit in traffic but it doesn't like it any more than I do. It was the major part of the reason for my DNF last year, and I might already have mentioned that wasn't happening again. I have this theory, radical to some, that motorcycles only contribute to congestion if they choose to sit in traffic, taking up a space. My contribution was over as I took, slowly, to the emergency lane. Up ahead I could see cars crossing the median onto a less busy front road.
With my vast off-road experience (not), and ability to park a supertanker between a tree and a fence, then why would a median be an issue? It wasn't, and soon we were moving briskly again. This happened a couple more times, in one direction or another, but soon we were back up to a decent cruising speed, bound for Dallas.
One my way into the final resting place of a guy called Nick Beef (who is alive and living in New York) I saw another rider leaving. I parked by the rear access, hopped of the bike and went to find the grave marker. I knew where it was (preparation), and soon had a picture of his, and Lee Harvey Oswald's graves. Leaving I met another rider arriving and directed him to the correct spot. I wasn't sure I had time to get to Dallas Love Field and on to the finish before six pm, but he was pretty confident that an hour would be sufficient. So it should, but this was Dallas, at five pm!
I decided to make the attempt. My second GPS was giving arrival time at the finish hotel from whatever point I was at, and it was happy too, so I headed off. A few miles out, Troy Martin on his big Triumph thingie shot past me. Woah! ... If I can hang on to the back of him we might get somewhere, so I set off and gave chase. We made it in good time and each watched the bike of the other while we ran into the terminal and took the photos required. On leaving I thought we had time for the Texas Theater. Troy was less sure but he decided to trust me and we set off ... Then we hit the main road, and it became awkward.
Five lanes of virtually stationary traffic, all apparently on their way to cheer Troy and I into a finish they just made us miss! If the mirrors will go through a gap, then the bike will too. I could see Troy from time to time trying to follow my crazy path through the cars, all the while the GPS telling me the finish time was getting closer to six pm. We didn't have the luxury of another stop, in this chaos we might not even make the finish. So close, yet Cedar Hill might as well have been somewhere in Africa at that point.
Eventually it did clear and even though I still managed another wrong turn, I rolled to a stop before the delightful Josephine Boyter and her clipboard, at five forty nine pm.
For number sixty seven, the Big Tex Rally 2013 was now a memory.
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The final, and critical phase of any rally is the scoring process. Riders get anxious about this as it is the point where much of their hard work can be undone by a simple error. The best one can hope for is that you are awarded all of the bonus points you claim, but for that to happen a rider first has to persuade the scorer that the rally requirements were complied with. To be fair, scorers do not like to deny points to people who have worked so very hard to win them. On the other hand, very little leeway is given, because to do so would disadvantage the riders who did manage to comply accurately with the necessary restrictions. Reading, understanding, and following the Rally Pack is a necessary skill that needs to be mastered.
With this in mind, Wayne and his team had designed a scoring system with the single ambition of making the scoring of sixty riders as smooth, painless and fast as possible.
It didn't work out quite like that, yet I have no doubt at all that everyone involved tried to make it successful. When I arrived at the finish, I had thirty minutes to complete a form and submit all my evidence in a large envelope. At some point I would later be called in to scoring, based on the contents of the envelope. This much was known in advance.
The first issue was that people were a little unclear what needed to be submitted, and what should be brought to the table. Not helped by the fact that some items were just too big to fit. We muddled around this. The second thing we had to do was complete a "pre-scoring" sheet where we entered everything we were claiming, and came to a provisional score. I'm sure whoever designed that form felt it to be clear, and easy to use. In reality it was confusing. It missed out some bonuses (because they were pre-scored but no one knew), and was a little unclear where one had to fill in boxes, and where to ignore them. Remember that folk had just rolled in from thirty six hours of rallying. The thirty minute window also bothered some riders, it was a deadline when we had just bust our asses to meet a deadline, and were all "deadlined out" ... However, that was also known in advance and I'm not doing anything other than making an observation.
The real problem was the delay. Circumstances conspired against the Rally Crew and I hold them entirely harmless from blame. Quite the reverse, actually, they all showed a level of dedication and professionalism that I simply applaud and admire.
The net result was that it was ten pm, four hours after finishing, that I sat down to score my progress. I was exhausted, and the guy scoring me had probably been at it for four hours too. Nice guy and I was pleased to have met him.
The scorer and I went through everything I submitted and was claiming. There was even a pre-cleared bonus that I had forgotten, but it was already in the spreadsheet so I was given more points than I had estimated beforehand. I had all of my ducks in a row and it is always gratifying to not lose points at the scoring table. We agreed a figure of forty-six thousand five hundred and thirty points, with two thousand to come when the group photo was analysed (I got them).
Chatting with others, it seemed like that score was a good one, maybe floating in or close to the top ten. Given the problems I had to overcome, a position like that would have been immensely pleasing.
Imagine my surprise when the final standings were published, and I found that I had finished twentieth, with a total point score of forty six thousand, five hundred and thirty points! I appeared to be missing two thousand points!
I have discussed this with Wayne, and the record, as published, will be the official record. The Rally Master's decision is his to make, it is final, and I respect that and have clearly told him so.
But there is a reason I lost two thousand points, and this account would not be complete without explaining where they went. I do not want this to ever happen again, either to me or anyone else.
When I agreed the score with my scorer, the figure was as stated above. As we agreed the score, he jotted it down on the front of the evidence envelope, and I initialed it. We were relaxed, both happy, and we were even joking about a pack of gum I bought for my starting receipt. I have never chewed gum in my life, so I gave it to him.
The problem was that the number he had jotted down was not the score we agreed. He made a simple, minor clerical error, and I didn't notice. Where he should have written forty six thousand, he wrote forty four ..... and ten finishing places went south with it.
Now I am allowed to cordially disagree with Wayne's decision not to correct the record, while respecting the same. It's a judgement call, and one I can happily live with.
Here is the problem ... Had I made errors in the field, and been denied points, that is fair game. Had my receipts not been in order, or I had photographed an incorrect object, or, or, or ... all of those are reasons people drop points. But to lose so many having agreed that I was in compliance, and my only mistake was to fail to spot the clerical error of another, seems a bit harsh.
In all respects I loved this event. I will enter next year, I will bring my A-Game, and I will probably be beaten by other riders. But those riders will know that they beat Steve because they planned better, or rode harder, because I will pay you the respect of making you win!
I wish to extend my deep appreciation and thanks to Wayne Boyter, and his Rally Crew. Without these guys giving of their time and dedication, we would have no rallies to enjoy.
My warmest congratulations to everyone who made the start line, and special congratulations to Erik Lipps who rode to a magnificent win.
Special thanks to Brian Walters, for sheltering me for the night, and keeping me sane, and to Michael Cox who offered me a bed for the night in Cedar Hill.