J
JWHITE518
Guest
Introduction
ItÔÇÖs all Mike KneeboneÔÇÖs fault. My big summer motorcycle ride was inspired by the creation of a new Iron Butt Association certificate earlier this year. In a twist on the standard SaddleSore 1000, a rider can now complete a route that stays all within the boundaries of a single state. They would then get recognized for completing a Same State 1000. Designs were published for a series of pins, one for each state. It didnÔÇÖt take long for me to realize that this was a good excuse to turn one of our regular family visits to Iowa into a motorcycle ride, so I set out to design my route. It was an interesting ride that took me all around the borders of the state and ended at my in-lawÔÇÖs home in Des Moines. I would get to see a lot of the state that I had never seen before and probably never would again. However, I had no idea when IÔÇÖd be able to ride it. The stars fell into place when we began discussing the idea to visit the world-famous Iowa State Fair in August. This was my chance! So it ended up that wife and daughter (Sally and Claire) took a plane while I rode my motorcycle. On the way out to Iowa I documented 2000 miles in 48 hours, so that at the end IÔÇÖd have earned a SaddleSore 3000 along with my Same-State 1000.
Day 1 ÔÇô SaddleSore 3000
I obtained my starting fuel receipt at 5:37 AM in San Leandro and rolled onto the highway headed east toward Sacramento. Even though it was a weekday I was early enough to miss any heavy rush hour traffic. Once I got past Auburn and started climbing into the Sierras it began to get cool. The sky was clear and the ride was gorgeous through the mountains. I paused at the Donner Lake overlook just to take it in. I descended into Reno, and before I knew it I was in the Nevada desert. It only took me three hours to get from home to Reno.
The stretch from Reno to Salt Lake City can easily be dismissed as a boring 500-mile slog through the desert. If youÔÇÖre in a car it probably is. YouÔÇÖve got the A/C on and the stereo cranked up, and youÔÇÖre just putting in the time. Your surroundings are inconsequential. ThereÔÇÖs not much to look at, really. On a motorcycle itÔÇÖs another story entirely. Because youÔÇÖre not in an enclosed cage, you feel the heat of the day. You feel the gust of every breeze. You hear the wind, the hum of your tires, the roar and rattles of the motor beneath you. You smell the desert sage, the diesel exhaust of the semi-trucks, and the saline aroma of northwestern Utah. Every slight mountain pass is a thrill. I suppose it was a long day crossing that desert but it seemed to pass quickly. It was about 4:30 PM when I joined the rush hour exodus from Mormon Central.
At this point I had to work hard. Traffic was heavy but moving quickly. Since I was on unfamiliar roads, was a little tired, and it was hot, I was extra careful and alert. Traffic didnÔÇÖt really ease up until I-15 narrowed back to two lanes, which was considerably south of SLC. I hadnÔÇÖt planned to stop until Salina but I felt I needed a break so I took one in Scipio. I was well ahead of my anticipated timeline. Taking US-50 through ÔÇ£downtown ScipioÔÇØ I sure was glad to be off the interstate. The ride was pretty but not long enough; too soon I was in Salina. I caught a look at MomÔÇÖs Caf?® and hopped onto I-70 eastward. Running down the canyon east of Salina was such a pleasure. Picture this: itÔÇÖs the end of the day, the low sun is casting its golden light on the rock formations, the curves sweep out ahead of me, thereÔÇÖs no traffic to speak of. I have hundreds of miles behind me and still more hundreds ahead of me. It doesnÔÇÖt get much better than this for a long distance rider.
It had been totally dark for about an hour by the time I found my exit at Grand Junction and headed for a fuel receipt to close out the dayÔÇÖs ride. It was 9:27 PM. LetÔÇÖs see, factor in the time change, can this be right? I rode 1100 miles in 15 hours? Holy cow, thatÔÇÖs my best time ever for a SaddleSore 1000. I suppose itÔÇÖs possible that I may have violated the speed laws in a few states. However I attribute my record run to not stopping except for fuel, and then staying focused on efficiency while stopped. Feeling great about my kick-ass ride and the great start of a long trip, I settled in for the night.
Day 2 ÔÇô SaddleSore 3000
I got back on the road after a not-so-great nightÔÇÖs sleep. (Note to self: DonÔÇÖt get a room at the front of the motel near the office. Too much noise made by the late arrivals.) Immediately east of Grand Junction thereÔÇÖs a nice stretch of I-70 that curves along beside the Colorado River. I did my best to enjoy the ride but it was tough, what with the morning traffic, frequent blips of the radar detector, and sun right in my eyes. I passed the towns of Parachute and Rifle, and then was looking at the familiar town of Glenwood Springs, which is the cutoff to where my brother-in-law and nephew live. I will be stopping for a visit next week on my way home, but today I have other plans.
I continued up Glenwood Canyon, where the speed limit drops and the road twists and narrows. ItÔÇÖs a nicely engineered double-decker road. The steep red canyon walls frame the river and highway. Fishermen in waders dot the banks. Then the road opens up into the high country of the mid-Rockies and its ritzy ski resorts. At Silverthorne I gazed over at the shopping center where we had stopped on a trip when Claire was barely one year old. The happy memory made me remember how much I love my family. Those feelings really sustain me when IÔÇÖm on the road all alone. Note to self: DonÔÇÖt Get Killed On Motorcycle.
My bike powered up the steep grade to the Eisenhower Tunnel, blowing past the struggling trucks, and then I made the long and curvy descent to Denver. Without any heavy traffic I was soon through Denver and presto, the Rockies were in my mirrors and the Great Plains were in my windshield. The rest of the day was a mindless slog through eastern Colorado on I-76 and a big chunk of Nebraska on I-80. All that stuff I said about the wonders of motorcycling through vast open spaces? Bah! Nebraska sucks. And whatÔÇÖs the deal with that gigantic archway that crosses over the interstate at Kearney? ItÔÇÖs some kind of tourist attraction. Some day if IÔÇÖm interested enough IÔÇÖll stop and check it out, but I donÔÇÖt know if IÔÇÖll ever be interested enough. The town of Lincoln, Nebraska had highway construction and cops, Omaha had a traffic jam, and then I was riding across the Missouri River.
Iowa! Oh how I love to be in Iowa. Instantly the roadside terrain changed into rolling hills with cornfields. I wasnÔÇÖt bored any more. I was in the best state in the land. At my fuel stop in Adair I called the folks to say I was in the state, but wouldnÔÇÖt be stopping in to visit them tonight. Mom wished me luck on tomorrowÔÇÖs ride, and promised to follow along on Star-Traxx. As the sun went down I rode the rest of the way eastward to Des Moines, then sliced southward on I-35 to complete the remaining few miles down to Osceola.
As I rode into town I passed the obligatory town square with teenagers hanging out. Osceola is a decent-sized town that seems to have a healthy main street. ItÔÇÖs probably helped by the big casino that dominates the town from the interstate side. After cruising the town I went back and checked in to the Blue Haven Motel, which I had identified ahead of time with mapping software and Internet searches. The innkeeper was a friendly Indian man with a wife and young son hanging around the office while we chatted. He gladly signed my start witness form for tomorrowÔÇÖs ride, and assigned me a room way at the back. As I settled in to sleep before the next dayÔÇÖs big ride, the hot-rodding teens gunned their motors down the main drag. Ah, small town America!
More to come...
