We were up late that morning having enjoyed a good nights sleep after a fantastic two days of riding. I leisurely took my bike to Deeley's and left it for the day to get the first service completed in preparation for the trip east. The day was then spent hanging around the hotel with my Bro awaiting the third arrival. Nuthin'. Not a peep. All day. I went back and picked up my hog before closing time.
Bro and I went out, had dinner and a few pints and scoped the ball game on the box at a local. We walked back to the hotel around 11PM. There is a note pined to our hotel room door. The La-Dee-Da-Dee-Doo has arrived. He is now somewhere in the immediate vicinity. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
We looked around the hotel and rang his room but he and his bike were nowhere to be found. The front desk clerk had seen 'em though 'cause he was in his face earlier about signing some papers. Bro and I have just closed the door to our room when there comes a knock and lo and behold........ it is he!! And he's feeling pretty damn good about himself. To us, he looks like shit. With the skin on his face all pulled back from the wind and his eyes buggin' out. And he was babblin' a mile a minute, something about giant bugs drillin his head at a hundred miles an hour, forty four hours ridin' at Warp 9, gallons of caffeine etc.etc. We slow him down best we can and soon he was able to fill us in on the details.
He departed his home in Toronto Saturday, September 15th at 2:30 in the morning, crossing Windsor to Detroit at six AM. The trip, up to and including Chicago, was relatively sane. West of Chicago, the Bat Out of Hell broke loose. Seems that the northern prairie states have little in the way of law enforcement when it comes to upholding speed limits. As he tells it, during daylight hours anyway, no one really cares how fast you drive.
The BMW RT 1100 is built to take rider and passenger at speeds of over 160km/h all day long. And that is just what he did. Minus the passenger. Or so he claims. Near as he recalls, much of the Prairie leg of the trip averaged over 170kph, stopping once for a seven hour nap at a motel in North Dakota nineteen miles from the Montana border. And he stopped once a day to eat a sub sandwich. Oh yeah, and gas. He did stop for gas. I think.
Montana state troopers on the other hand aren't quite so forgiving as those in the Prairies 'cause there was a cop who he met who thought that 95 mph in a 75 zone warranted a prize that cost our hero forty bucks.
He reached the US / Canada border south of Vancouver Sunday evening in thirty three and one half hours after entering the states in Detroit and the conversation with the customs official in B.C. went something like this:
"Citizenship"?
"Canadian".
"Where and when did you enter the States"?
"Detroit, Michigan at 6AM Saturday".
Pause, pause, pause, while our Nut Bar watches the border guard doing the math in his head.
"Well I guess you don't have anything to declare. Welcome home". Says the official.
If I was the border guard, knowing our pal like I do, I woulda come to a different conclusion about lettin' him back in.
By now it was about 11:30 Sunday night and he was wired to the max. In spite of only six hours sleep in the last thirty nine or so, I found myself wondering how he was ever going to deflate and stop vibrating enough to get a few winks. 'Cause sleep would be the best thing right now. For us all. Tomorrow's a huge day.
Epilogue
Our hero pulled off a stunning achievement. Not with standing that, having arrived and hooked up with us on time, he would then go on to ride another 600 kilometers on Monday and, on Tuesday he would turn around and begin the trip back home with me, he had just completed damn close to 4,440 K in forty seven hours including a sleep of seven hours! Forty hours driving time door to door. And he had all the gas receipts to prove it. His introduction to the front desk manager had him verifying and signing off on his arrival time.All of this documentation would later be sent to the Iron Butt Association. He requested their entry level recognition of:
1,000 miles in 24 hours and
1,500 miles in 48 hours
The IBA wrote him back and congratulated him on his error in submission and they were very please to upgrade his achievement to:
The Bun Burner Award for completing 1,500 miles in 24 hours and
The Saddle Sore Award for 2,000 miles in 48 hours.
All miles. Not our girlie K's.
The plaques are on his wall at his home. I've seen 'em.
To this day, now eleven years hence, he still suggests that he hasn't been able to walk properly since.
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