When we left our intrepid hero he was somewhere in darkest Texas, asleep at a Loves gas station. The day is long, and the night short. Yesterday he covered one thousand and fifty miles in a variety of climactic conditions during twenty hours of riding.
The previous day had gone very well right up until the last few hours, when fog, rain and hail had descended to cause a two hour delay, and cause him, more than once, to question his sanity.
There is a strange ... pointlessness to these events. No one but the rider knows what resources are brought to bear to complete one in a timely manner, and no one but the rider and a few other, equally crazy people, cares very much.
It's in the sphere of personal challenge. It's not really a competition against the other participants. For me it is all about can I plan this thing, and can I then make it happen.
If I do that better than the others I will win. If not, someone else will win and I'm good with that.
I didn't know when I pulled my still damp boots on over a clean pair of dry socks, that I would not remove them again for the next thirty hours. When I finally got off the bike at the finish, I was limping. When I managed to get the right boot off I found out why. The dampness had caused chafing that was a sight to behold. I need new boots!
Waking up at a gas station is a little surreal. It takes a moment to work out what you are doing there, but the advantages are many. I have a decent bedroll and a Thermarest Pad. I can be in it within ten minutes of arriving, and need a similar amount of time to be ready to go. Gas stations have food, restrooms, timed receipts and lots of space where a tired motorcyclist will not get in the way. Also, they don't cost $100 per night, so there is that.
I'd managed about three hours sleep and now it was time to get moving. My immediate problem was that I had blown my planned meal stops, and at 2400 points each that was a big miss. Still, I save thirty minutes for breakfast and maybe I can get back on track. Once moving the aches and pains of yesterday subside, helped along by coffee and a healthy dose of Ibuprofen. There were points for those Welcome to State signs. I grabbed the Oklahoma one then headed to Hollis, and the old style gas pump.
There was a Subway in Hollis and it was in the window for the breakfast bonus. I asked in the store, but the only receipt they generate is marked "Loves", and I already know from bitter experience that the Loves till receipts do not carry a time-stamp. No chance of being credited the points, so I head off back to Texas.
Or at least I thought I did!
"Ding! Ding"! Seconds out for the latest round of the battle of the GPS Units. True to form I follow the directions whispered in my ear, ignoring the silent protest from the old crone alongside, and again I am suckered. I turn down a road and am instructed to drive twelve miles. The road is rough, but okay. Almost like it was tarmaced the day tarmac was invented, and has been left alone since. Still, I can keep up a steady pace so I go along with it. After about eight miles I arrive at a bridge across the Red River. Cool, Texas is the other side. The bridge is brand new, concrete and looks wonderful. As I rode across I wondered why it was even there. When I got to the other side my curiosity rose a few notches. The concrete ended and the dirt began. This dirt, however, was not to be trifled with. It had been doused in several days of rain and I could see the mud-holes from my seat. Not going there. Now I have to go back, and my thirty minutes of saved time has vanished. Some readers will understand just how close a brand new Garmin Zumo 660LM came, to ending up in a thousand pieces, right there on that bridge.
Back on track now and heading for Acton, TX, and a picture of the statue erected in the memory of the wife of Davy Crockett. It's a decent haul from the near tragedy of the GPS and I can almost hear her breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe it will get its act together because now I am in a hurry, and helpful guidance is needed more than ever.
By the time I get this picture I am two and a half hours behind schedule. I can't recover from this, and my route has structural problems that are not normally part of Rally routes that I plan.
Under normal circumstances I design routes that can accommodate a loss of time by giving up some minor opportunities later on, but saving both time and mileage. On this occasion the way the bonus opportunities were structured made this more difficult. I had chosen to base my route around a Seven Regions of Texas combination bonus. Seven locations, get them all and win an extra 19000 points. Miss any one and lose that. It was a deal-breaker. Had I run the route anti-clockwise I could have dropped the Alpine/Marfa area and saved time, but as they were daylight only bonuses I couldn't get them anyway.
So for better or worse I was committed. I head for the city of Reagan, and try to plot a new strategy while riding.
Reagan City was included as a reminder, not that anyone with a sense of their own mortality needs one, of a wonderful woman who met a tragic and untimely death, and in whose memory we are riding. I lingered a while here. Bonus grabs are as quick an in and out as you can make them. This one held a special significance and was not to be hurried or taken lightly. Rest in peace Reagan.
Reaching Woody's Smokehouse the clock is still giving me fairly bad news. From here I have a decision to make. I can cut the bonus in Jasper and head south for the Gulf Coast, or go east to Jasper and risk not arriving at the finish in time to qualify. Missing Jasper costs me my combination bonus but gives me an easy ride, grabbing Jasper might give me a decent finish, if I finish at all. At this point I am simply riding for a finish, any hope of a high placing having disappeared along with the hail. That said, you never quite know what mis-fortune might have befallen the other riders. If they had to cope with similar conditions (most didn't), then who knows what might happen in scoring. Knowing when to play the cautious card is important in an event like this. So is a refusal to lie down and be trampled on. I headed east!
On the ride to Jasper I scanned the GPS looking for a Denny's restaurant for a 2400 point dinner. I did find one but the additional mileage ruled it out as a possibility. Instead I settled for McDonalds, and 1000 points, but at least they do sell decent coffee.
The sculpture in Jasper is truly wonderful. An old guy sitting reading the newspaper, with room to side alongside him and enjoy a quiet moment. I don't have time for that but appreciate the scene nonetheless. It is dark now and the bonus is lit by the lights on my motorcycle. The bike carries great lighting. I ride at night these days, I do not ride in the dark, ever!
Leaving Jasper I have fifteen and a half hours until the finish line. There are a minimum of two bonuses still to collect and I have to fit in a rest stop of at least four hours. The distance to the finish is 632 miles. The GPS, which has been playing nicely for the last few hours, is telling me that I have four minutes to spare, and it doesn't know about some of the stops I need to make. In my favour, I do know that the GPS estimates are pessimistic, and I can do better than that. Still, there is not a great deal of wiggle room.
It's two hundred and thirty three miles from Jasper to Matagorda, and the location of the next bonus. I just have to grind this out now ... hit the bonus, grab the picture, move on to the next location and all while saving as much time as possible. None of this involves pushing speed limits very much. Long distance riding is more a function of simply keeping the wheels turning, than an attempt to drive too fast. It's a little pointless running at a speed that attracts the wrong kind of attention, and a fifteen minute chat at the side of the road. That is fifteen minutes I don't have, never mind the cost of the Performance Award! So I set the cruise a few mph over, and hunker down.
Sometimes my mind wanders a bit while on these long rides. There is little to do but ride the bike, keep your wits about you and an eye on the GPS(s). Random thoughts come and go. Phrases and sentences that others might appreciate later, maybe in a Ride Report. I enjoy these moments. As I rode through Texas, something I have done many times before, I was struck by the appearance of signs proclaiming "Passing Lane Ahead" and a distance usually given in miles. Sometimes two miles, sometimes twelve. It struck me that you see the Two Miles when the road ahead is clear, and the Twelve Miles when you are following a trailer, twenty feet high in bales of hay that are shedding in your path, and pulled by an elderly Ford Taurus, with engine trouble! On a bike this is much less of a problem than in the car. Power-to-weight ratios being what they are.
I mused a little on how the Brits deal with the same need to pass. In the UK, the people who build roads have built many that do not have passing lanes, but that have three lanes. As a motorist you are expected to share the center lane politely, with the on-coming traffic. What, you might wonder, could possibly go wrong? Well what goes wrong occasionally is exactly what you think could go wrong. To the point where the Brits have nicknamed the center lane "Suicide Alley" On balance, I prefer the US solution. On with the ride ...
The weather is warm and dry and I am thinking that if I can avoid more rain I should be okay. Alas, it was not to be. As I cleared Houston to the south I could see the lightning flashes streaking across the sky some miles ahead. I wondered what were the chances that this storm was staying out in the Gulf, or that I would head back west before I encountered it. Well the chances were slim to none, and Slim was last seen heading out of town ... in his rain gear!
Sure enough, as I cleared Houston to the south, the weather Gods decided that I was far too warm and dry, something they rectified in a wholly efficient manner. This was getting old. Deciding to ignore rain I pressed on. The lightning wasn't coming close, but the roads were slick and black. Hard to see even with my awesome lighting, they would have been impossible to see without it. I considered stopping early for the required four-hour break in the hope that the weather might pass over, but a text from Jodie assured me that was not about to happen. When nothing was coming towards me I could hit the high beams, and more-or-less see where I was going. When I had to lower the beams I entered a nether world where I simply guessed where the road was. Aim the bike just to the right of the approaching lights, and hope the Texas road engineers knew what they were doing. It wasn't quite that bad, but it was close. Again the main consequence is that you have to slow down, when slowing down is not really on the agenda. Then it began to hail.
Seriously? This can not be happening. It is happening though because I can hear the damned stuff rattling off my crash helmet. Do you have any idea how much hail hurts, even the small stuff, when it hits your gloved hands at seventy miles per hour? Right now though my main concern is the tornado potential. Hail usually forms on the north side of a super-cell. I was hitting the storm from the north, and riding south. This is not the most reassuring place to be, and anything could be in my path, rain-wrapped, and in the dark. I pressed on, eyes peeled.
I am confident that on a bright sunny day the approach to that anchor in Matagorda is one of spectacular scenery, and a very pleasant ride. At midnight, in the rain after eighteen hours of riding it is spooky, a bit scary and difficult. The satellite radio is playing hits from the sixties into my crash helmet. All I can hear though is Dueling Banjos and the Theme from Deliverance. I got the picture and left. Scenery is for another day, in better weather. I finally stop for the night at a large, welcoming gas station in Port Lavaca. Time of arrival, shortly after two AM and I am now here for four hours. Once I explained what I was doing the two ladies on the night shift were keen to help. They watched the bike while I went to find somewhere dry to sleep. Right behind the gas station was a Credit Union. The building had a wrap-around porch complete with chairs, and it was dry. Luxury. I lay down with all my gear on and my bike cover for a pillow, set the alarm and went to sleep.
This is a bit creepy, but it really is a thing. Apparently the town of Freer has an annual rattlesnake hunt for reasons best known to themselves. This morning, however, on the lot next door they are preparing for a bar-b-q contest and my mouth is salivating even as I approached.
At eleven minutes past six this morning my engine was running as I got the timed receipt I would need later. The GPS was calmly informing me that the expected time of arrival in Fredricksburg, three hundred and thirty miles away, was twenty minutes before the axe would fall. I had been texting (phone still was absent) with Jodie who was offering words of encouragement, probably from the comfort of our very nice, warm bed. While the GPS doesn't know that I still have three stops to make - I've got this!
The stop in Freer was just a formality. This last six hours of the rally became an object unto itself, with my only desire to make it back in one piece, and in good time. All I really need is for it to stay dry, and we know how that goes ...
Not this time! As I drew ever closer to Freer the sky darkened. As I crossed the hills before the run into the town it was almost black, and my lights were blazing ... and it stayed dry. It stayed dry for the rest of the trip. I welcome mercies, however small they might be and however tardy their arrival. After the Freer bonus it was gas, and go. Now I know I can get there. The eta has stretched to a thirty minute cushion, and I can spend ten of those minutes grabbing a six-pack for some more points.
A swift and fun run into Fredricksburg found me crossing the finish line at eleven forty AM ... I sent a quick text to Jodie. It was two words ... "Crushed it".
The 54-Hour Heart of Texas Rally 2015 was now just a memory.
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These events are as much fun, and as competitive, as you choose to make them. I like to take part as I love the riding. I also like to come away having learned something that will improve my performance next time out. If I get back to the barn with fewer points than expected, I want to know why. Often I have an idea, but my ideas can be misplaced. I also have real evidence in the form of time-stamps on photographs and a GPS Track Log. These do not lie. They speak of the ride in exactly, to the second, the way it was ridden and they are illuminating.
What I found in the post-match session after this one is instructive. I found I had planned a perfectly do-able ride. That the 95k plus points were a realistic aim. I found that the time was lost, and the points with it, almost exactly where I thought they were lost. I found a small loss of maybe 45 minutes in an unexplained place. I'll look closer at that, but that aside I rode the plan I made as well as I could given the circumstances.
I placed 6th. Times were I didn't even expect to finish so I have to be gratified with that place, and I am. My warm congratulations go to all the riders in this event. You guys do a thing that is very hard to do. You take on a mighty task and rise to it. Jim Orr won this time out following a simply outstanding ride, and he deserves his win and the admiration that goes with it. That Jim is also one of the nicest guys you will ever meet is simply a bonus.
Rallies would not exist without dedicated folk prepared to organize them. These events are meticulously planned, take hundreds of hours in a labor of love, and involve riding and driving thousands of miles. My thanks to James and Karen Stovall, Brian Walters and all the staff for making my fun possible.
Finally a note to my friend Brian ...
Brian, 2014 was a year that simply sucked. I cannot imagine the pain, nor would I wish it on anyone. Here is to a better year, and many years to come. You're okay, and you will be okay.