"Mike Kneebone received a call before dawn this morning from Herbie Saint. The king of the Tarbutts was at the border of Idaho and Wyoming. His bike had been fixed and he was heading for Maine.  Taking a miss at Washington and not being able to pick up bonus points on either of the first two legs guarantees that Herbie will finish toward the bottom of the field. But pressing on in the face of utter hopelessness is part of the Iron Butt tradition. Naturally that kind of behavior doesn't make a grain of sense; nothing in this event makes sense."  Bob Higdon, motojournalist (excerpt from the 1999 Iron Butt Reports)

Ojai, California

"Los Angeles International paging Herbie Saint, please pick up the courtesy phone."

I'd flown into Los Angeles on Saturday, August 28 around 10:30am. Peter Heesch had driven to LAX Airport to pick me up and give me a lift to Ojai California for the 1999 Iron Butt Rally. My flight had arrived early and he thought he'd missed my arrival so he had me paged. 

On the way to Ojai, we stopped for lunch in Hidden Hills CA at an Italian restaurant for some pasta. We arrived in Ojai at 1:30pm and went directly to Widder to pick up "The Freshmaker (my 1996 BMW R1100GS)" which had been stored there the previous three weeks.  I had ridden a 50cc on the way out, stored my bike and flew back in the interest of saving  my vacation time. 

Widder Enterprises (host site for the rally) was buzzing with activity. The official check-in was in progress. But first, I took The Freshmaker to the Los Padres Inn (where I was staying) to add an inline fuse to the aux. fuel cell. I also added sponsor decals and made one last inspection of the bike (air pressure, oil level, etc.).

I went back to Widder for check-in. Airyn Darling processed the check-in paperwork for me and The Freshmaker. Officer Jeff Jones (CHiP) was testing dB levels on non-original exhaust systems.

I was instructed to go on a five mile tire warm-up ride. Then, onto a 32 mile odometer check out Hwy 150E, through beautiful twisties (this was the same road that Astronaut Conrad met his fate on a motorcycle just a couple of months earlier). Lots of rock slides and cliffs. It was an amazing ride in itself. I couldn't believe I had finally made it to The Show.  The Iron Butt Rally.

I went to a Park area to turnaround, but wasn't quite sure if I was at the right place or not so I pulled onto the sidewalk, verified that was indeed the right park and made my direction change.

I returned to Widder. The officials found and noted that my odometer was about 2% high so I processed my paperwork further while waiting for my interview with Michael Kneebone and Bob Higdon. Upon check in, we received a wait number (mine was #56) for our pre-rally interview.  Kneebone was taking an extended time with the new riders (30-45 minutes each), to make sure they were comfortable and understood the magnitude of this ride. By 10pm, he was only up to about #40. (I heard he stayed till 1am that night). So I went back to the motel and socialized a bit with a lot of my friends.

I saw a lot of old friends and acquaintances that evening at the motel.... Harold Brooks, Manny Samerio, Fran Crane, Airyn Darling, Ross Copas, Shane Smith, Warchild, Suzy Q, Art Holland, and Terry Smith (west) just to name a few.

And I even met some new friends... Rick Morrison (who won the IBR in 97), Leonard Aron (who spent the entire night working on his Indian), Gerhard Krueger (from Germany), and John McCrindle (from Australia).

Rick Morrison shared his philosophy of "the Tree" with me. He told me to "visualize a tree, and then visualize the branches. The tree can either be as tall or a short as you want it to be, with the branches being the bonus locations and the trunk being the main route. The taller the trunk, the shorter the branches will have to be. The shorter the trunk, the longer the branches can be (I hope I remembered that correctly). Visualize the Tree when planning your route."

Fran Crane told me to "ride your own ride, know your limits and above all... ride safely."  She looked confident and prepared.

And Harold's words of wisdom were to "approach each leg of the Iron Butt like an individual rally.  Don't worry about the whole thing right now. It can be overwhelming. Just focus on each leg. Get to the next checkpoint, then start over again on the next leg."

I tried to take in as much as I could remember before going in to sleep around midnight.

They continued the check in/interview process at 10am the next morning.  I was there at 9:30 and had my interview very close to 10. Kneebone talked about being safe, pacing myself, getting rest, eating right and using good judgment. Higdon told me that if I had an accident, he would track me down, pour acid on me and finish the job. I think he was joking.

After I was officially checked in, I hung around Widder for a while, socialized with more friends (old and new), then went for my last casual ride (for the next two weeks) to explore Ojai and the surrounding area ... Ojai is beautiful. Orange groves, mountains, twisties, etc.

The official rider's meeting was scheduled for 5pm Sunday evening at Soule Park Country Club (dinner at 6:15pm) just across the street from Widder. The first bonus packs of the rally would be handed out then.

Iron Butt finisher and neurosurgeon Mike Murphy gave the group a safety lecture before dinner. The rules were reviewed.  Higdon again threatened us bodily harm if we didn't finish safely.  Michael Kneebone assigned numbers to the riders (mine was #30) and handed out the first leg's bonuses.  After our steak dinner, it was time to go obsess.

So back to the room to plan my strategy.

We initially had four poisons to choose from: Being my first rally, I chose to take a more conservative first leg which could still garner big points but give me plenty of options in the interest of time. The other legs all garnered bigger points, but with very few options. Once you committed, you had to go for all of it.

So my first leg plan had me leaving Ojai at 10am Monday (Aug 30, 1999) and then on a route through Maricopa, CA for a gas receipt, Parkfield for an identifying photograph, San Simeon for a gas receipt, Monterey for another gas receipt, then onto Mt. St. Helens National Volcanic Monument and finally into Miles WA for an identifying photograph before checking in at Kennewick WA on Tuesday at 6pm.

This route would have collected me a total of 3885 points. Pick your poison two, which several riders collected was simpler in route, but required more miles for only 75 more points (if you took advantage of all the bonus stops).

Poison three would garner you 33 more points than poison two and poison four would allow you even one more point than poison three. But these two particularly came at a high price (miles!) and I planned to pace myself from the beginning. Kneebone had drummed into my head (and everyone else's) to save yourself for the end. "That's where the big points were."

But I also knew that the big dawgs would go for big points right away.  And since I never had any fantasy about winning the Iron Butt Rally, I planned to give myself as many options as possible while riding my best ride possible. I was willing to trade some points for sleep. My ultimate goal was to finish...safely.

=====

California to Washington

Widder Enterprises was transformed into a media frenzy Monday morning - even before most of the riders had arrived. Hundreds of spectators, motorcyclists and rallyists crammed onto the few blocks around Widder. It was truly an event! Lots of folks taking photographs and videos of the moment.

I parked The Freshmaker on the street and opted to stay away from as much of the crowd as I could and study my atlas a bit more. As I was confusing myself while the clock counted down, a very nice local man introduced himself as Randy Shelton. He asked me what I had planned and I showed him on the map.

I was considering taking CA150east from Ojai to 126 to I-5 North, then back west on CA166 to Maricopa instead on CA 33 North due to road construction. We had been told (by Higdon) that they were building a new bridge and that the road could be closed for more that an hour at times.

Randy told me he had just come over the mountains via CA33 and the road was open. He also called the CA Highway patrol to verify the road was open so I changed my plan. My initial route would have added almost an hour but there would be no guesswork involved. So I decided to take a chance on CA33.

In a few moments, rally volunteers began to round everyone up. "We want all IBR motorcycles in the back parking lot (behind Widder)." I moved and found a small space to squeeze into behind Michael and Caroline McDaniel (the IBR wedding couple). They were getting a lot of attention from photo hounds since they had decided to get married in Las Vegas on the way to the rally and ride in the Iron Butt Rally for their honeymoon. Just a guess, but I don't think my wife would ever have considered doing that.

Then, Kneebone and Higdon called us all to the center of the parking lot for one last bit of information. He told us to line up in the alley in order to receive our rally flags and begin the rally. It was almost 10am.

All one hundred riders hustled to our bikes and worked our way into line. At 10:00, we received our flags and we were off, two at a time. I pulled out of the alley around 10:10am and headed straight for CA 33 North.

As I worked my way up into the mountains, there were already a few Ironbutt riders coming the other way and waving for me to turnaround. I appreciated the information, but if I was going to abort my new plan so early (15 minutes into the rally), then I at least wanted to know why.

I came around a mountain curve and then to a complete stop. Eddie James and Melody Albers were already stopped and off their bikes. "What's going on?" I asked. Eddie replied that they had just closed the road to work on the bridge. I walked over to the flagman and asked if he knew how long this would last. "About an hour" he replied.

I walked back over to the group which now included Ardys Kellerman, Art Holland, Ed Farrell and several more. I suggested we pool some money and bribe these guys to let us trough. "Go for it" Ardys said. I was sure we could come up with $10. each and by then, there were about 10 of us.

I walked back over to the flagman and told him we'd give him $100. to let us through immediately. He told me to ask him again in 15 minutes. I told him the offer was only good for two minutes. He declined. Damn.

I delivered the news to the group and we began to joke about how hard the ride had already been and that we needed the rest anyway (after 10 minutes of riding). The consensus of the group was that we would wait it out, since any of the detours would add at least an hour in either direction. The other option was to blow off the Maricopa bonus.

In less than ten minutes, a truck came from the bridge and the flagman waved us through. I'll bet the flagman wished he had known that was going to happen so soon :)) We jumped on our motorcycles and suddenly, we were competitors again. The flagman gave me a grimaced look as I passed him.

The next fifty miles were mountainous and twisty. Our IB group begin to thin out a bit as some of the more experienced riders (i.e. ex-road racers) began to blast away. I followed Melody Albers up to Maricopa (damn, she can ride), working hard to keep up. The Freshmaker felt a little loose but I chalked it up to my imagination since I hadn't ridden at all for the three weeks leading up to the rally.

I pulled into a Texaco fuel station in Maricopa at 11:38am, filled up and headed for San Simeon, CA. My strategy was to avoid spending much time on PCH-1 and to use CA101 as much as possible. I took CA166 West over to Hwy101 and went North in search of my next gas receipt in San Simeon.

I reached San Simeon sometime around 2pm. There were lots of hotels and even a few stores, but no gas anywhere. I decided to ride a little further up the road and discovered Old San Simeon near Hurst Castle. I quickly explored the area, but still no gas. I went back to the hotel area, thinking I must have missed something. No gas. I saw an old hippie chick  waiting for a bus and asked her where a gas station was in San Simeon. She replied that there wasn't one since that one (she pointed to a liquor store across the street) quit selling it more than a year ago.

I went to the liquor store and made a purchase (soda) from a not very friendly clerk who would not let me use her restroom and seemed completely put out when I asked her for the telephone number (for verification) since her register receipt had very little information on it.

Then, I decided I needed to get a better form of proof so I went to the San Simeon Lodge and snapped a photo of my IB flag in front of their sign. This should do I thought and took off for Parkfield, CA. I later learned from Richard Smith that there was indeed gas, even farther up the road past Old San Simeon.

I also noticed at this point that traffic was fairly light on PCH-1 and my decision to return to CA-101 was going to cost me time (maybe 30-45 extra minutes) but I was already committed and needed the Parkfield bonus before going to Monterrey.

From Hwy 101, I took several turns onto many deserted rural roads for about 25 miles to find Parkfield. I arrived at the Parkfield Library (a very small trailer - camper sized) to find Jack Tollett and Joan Oswald finishing their photos. Joan said she would take my photograph with my flag so I walked over to the library sign and smiled. They rode on, heading to San Simeon while I needed a few minutes to reorganize myself and re-evaluate my plan. I was already about an hour behind where I thought I should have been.

Parkfield is located directly on the San Andreas fault and I understand it is monitored more closely than any other location in the US for earthquake activity. Parkfield is where "they" are expecting the "big one" to eventually hit. Thank goodness, it didn't happen on August 30, 1999.  That information would also explain the very sparse population (Pop. 37 - soon to be zero).

I rode back to CA 101, maintaining CB radio contact with Jack and Joan for awhile. I needed fuel and peeled off soon after rejoining CA101. I fueled up and headed for Monterrey.

I turned off of CA101 near Salinas onto CA68 toward Monterrey. It was around 5pm and traffic was thick on this slow two-lane highway.  Shortly thereafter, I began to hear a slight grinding noise, like my brake adjustment wasn't quite right. I figured that if that were the case, I would just grind them down and replace them in Washington. I drove into Monterrey and found a fuel station almost an hour later. The grinding was much worse. I put the motorcycle on the centerstand and rotated the rear tire. Again, I hoped it was only my brakes. The tire didn't seem to move unusually hard and there was no grinding noise while I turned it by hand. I collected my receipt and entered PCH-1.

Just as the bike climbed to highway speeds (i.e. 65mph), the rear of the motorcycle suddenly slammed hard to my left two very quick times. All I could do was grab the front brake and try to get The Freshmaker over to the shoulder, while the rear tire steered itself. As I slowed down, the rear tire grabbed metal again and felt like it was coming off completely. Luckily, I finally stopped the bike without losing control.

It all happened so quickly that I didn't even have time to react or determine the problem. I remember hoping that is was an earthquake so that I could continue riding in a few moments. Traffic was whizzing by so I limped and wobbled the bike up the exit ramp to Fort Ord and into the Thrift Shop parking lot. It was 6:30pm by now and I was dumbfounded. What in the hell do I do now ?

Again, I placed the motorcycle onto the centerstand and this time the results were quite different. The wheel would still turn, but it took a lot of effort and you could hear metal every turn. I stood up and just looked at the motorcycle for about 10 minutes. I was completely at a loss. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I was just over 8 hours into the 1999 Iron Butt Rally and already I was in jeopardy of not even finishing the first leg.

I did know that whatever the problem, it was beyond my limited skills as a mechanic. So finally, I pulled myself together and grabbed my cell phone. I opened my BMW dealer guide first and found a number to a dealership near Monterrey. I could only hope someone would still be there.

It was 6:45pm when I called Honda Kawasaki BMW Powersports in Seaside, CA with my fingers crossed. Mason Killebrew (the owner) answered the phone and I frantically explained my situation. He said he had closed at 6:00pm but was just finishing up some paperwork. He told me that the mechanics had gone home for the evening but agreed to come get me and The Freshmaker with his truck and trailer as soon as he took care of some business. I thanked him and God.

Mason pulled into the parking lot around 7:30pm, rotated the wheel himself and cringed. We loaded the bike and headed back to the shop. He said that I could have several different problems but we couldn't know for sure which until we took it apart. We arrived at the shop just 15 minutes later and Mason immediately put the GS up on a lift in the shop. We pulled the and disassembled the wheel. While draining the rear drive fluid, I noticed it looked like something from the movie, Terminator 2. The ABS sensor had been ground away, the brakes were indeed worn and all the bolts which held the hub housing together were ground down, but still usable.

In just a little while, he handed me the main bearing from the rear wheel. He pointed to it as he said, "that's where the ball bearings used to be." They were gone. He determined that he didn't have the replacement part in house but said there were four bearing shops in town. He said he would call them first thing in the morning to locate one. It was around 9:30pm at this point so there was nothing left to do but get a room for the night and wait until morning.

Luckily, there was a clean, inexpensive motel (the Sandcastle Motel) just across the street and within walking distance to a diner and convenience store. Mason drove me over and the motel owners gave me a substantial discount at his request. I checked in and called Mike Kneebone and Bob Higdon to advise them of my ordeal. They wished me luck and asked me to keep them posted. After hanging up, I decided to try and hurt myself with a cheeseburger, a six pack of beer and some cigarettes. It didn't work. I only felt better but kept trying until I fell sound asleep.

The next morning, I was at the front door of the shop by 9am sharp.  Mason let me in and told me that he had already called a couple of the bearing shops with no luck. He then called the other two before discovering that the bearing in my rear wheel was a BMW only part. I began to think of other options but my window of time was getting very narrow. I had thoughts of calling buddies on the east coast and flying parts out but that seemed useless since I was still in the Monterrey, CA area and the first checkpoint would open in less than nine hours in Washington state.

Mason asked me to give him a few moments to give it some thought. Outwardly, I was very appreciative and thankful that he cared so much. Inside, I was freaking out. I sat in the lounge area and tried to read my copy of Ted Simon's "Riding High."

In about 15 more minutes, Mason came out of his office and told me he had located a bearing at California BMW/Triumph in Mountain View, CA. He told me he would leave immediately and drive to Mountain View and get the part for me. I just couldn't believe how nice this guy was and how far he would go to help me. He left shortly before 10am and said he would return as soon as possible (nearly a 250 mile roundtrip).

I passed the time in the lounge area of his showroom, reading some but mostly wondering how everyone else was doing in the rally. I began to wonder if this was all worth the effort. Did I have enough time to catch up anyway? Surely I would miss the Washington checkpoint, but what about Maine.  By 10am, I was already 16 hours behind. And I was certain of being nearly a whole day behind in the best case scenario. Mason had just left on a 250 mile journey to obtain my new bearing and once he returned, the mechanic would still have to re-assemble the motorcycle with the new part. I'd decided to keep going for it as long as The Freshmaker could get repaired that day. Since Maine is on the east coast - even if I missed that checkpoint, and my rally ended, it would only be a short ride home from there.  Besides, I had these nice folks helping me repair the bike at warp speed. I couldn't let them down.  I wouldn't let myself down.  I had waited too long for this rare opportunity.

Mason returned just after 1:00pm with the new bearing and they went to work immediately on The Freshmaker. At 2:00pm, Mason came through the service door and told me to get my things ready, I would be leaving soon. My heart began pumping as I gathered everything and walked hurriedly into the service area. They were unloading the bike from the rack and I began to repack. I told Mason that we needed to settle the bill and he said not to worry about it. That it should be warranty work.  I thanked him and reminded him that I still owed him for towing and certainly for spending all that morning driving nearly 250 miles to retrieve the necessary bearing. He smiled and told me that I couldn't afford his time and that I was running late. I was speechless. Again, he said to get going. So I did. I jumped on the bike and flew like a once wounded eagle back into the hills of California. I was 20 hours behind and it felt great to be alive. I was starting my rally over.

I had asked for the quickest directions to I-5 and one of Mason's customers, Jean said for me to follow him. He lead me all the way (about 1.25 hours one way). He pulled ahead and waived good-bye as I began my trek north to Oregon and onto Washington.

The Iron Butt Rally allows competitors to miss one checkpoint during the rally. However, the competitor still must go to that checkpoint city and obtain proof of the visit before continuing on to the next checkpoint. There are no shortcuts in the Iron Butt Rally. Additionally, the competitor can obtain no bonus points for either leg, previous to or after the missed checkpoint. So now I was faced with making up 20 hours with absolutely no chance of acquiring any points until after the Maine checkpoint.

The Washington checkpoint opened and closed while I was still in Northern California. I rode through several large areas of wild fires and heavy smoke that night along I-5. It was an amazing sight but unfortunately, extremely destructive for those who live in that part of the state. I also saw what I thought were shooting stars near Red Bluff and Redding CA. Needing to focus on the road, I didn't look too long. Later that week, I heard on the Art Bell radio show that there had been UFO sightings that night in the area.

I rode until 2:30am when I checked into a Motel 6 in Eugene, OR. I figured that I had made up a few of the hours by not stopping for any bonus points but most of the catch-up would occur while crossing the country over the next few days. I set the Screamin' Beekin for 5:30am and fell sound asleep.

I finally pulled myself out of bed by 6am the next morning and was ready to ride by 7am. Outside, the weather was very cold and foggy... fog as thick as pea soup. The radio announcer informed us that we were having record cold in the Northwest (temperatures in the 30s). The fog seemed to thin out a little and I made my way to the gas station. I filled up and decided to go for it. This fog could last half the day and I was already too far behind. This would be my first of a couple of days to wear the Widder heated vest all day long to keep from going numb.

I made my way to Portland OR that morning and turned east on I-84. The remnants of the fog cleared away and the scenery was breathtaking all along the Columbia River. Beautiful mountains and densely wooded forests. Before Kennewick, WA, I passed fellow competitor Marsha Roach on  the Panzer motorcycle. I heard later she had a problem with her stator and got caught in the horrible storm system coming in off the west coast.. I don't believe she made the Maine checkpoint. 

The one aggravating point about Oregon is that the state doesn't allow self-serve gas. You must wait for an attendant but I figured  that if you would ask, they would usually let you pump your own fuel anyway.

I began to reflect on my path to the rally. From how I found out about the Iron Butt Rally initially to actually riding in it.

In 1995, I went on what I considered at the time to be a long distance ride across North Carolina with some friends (Kevin, Bill and Rich). We rode our Harleys from Manteo to Murphy (about 575 miles, mostly 2 lane). It took us around 13 hours and I remember the feeling of accomplishment once we finished. Sitting on the hotel balcony that evening in Manteo NC, drinking a few beers, Kevin told us of a friend of his who actually rode the Iron Butt Rally and then explained what he knew about the Iron Butt. "A motorcycle competition that circles the United States in 11 days." I remember thinking that I needed to find out about this rally as soon as I returned home.

I found their page on the internet (ironbutt.com) and soon after, discovered the email list for LDRiders. I began to correspond with a few of the riders (Jerry Clemmons, Ron Major, Ron Ayres, and Harold Brooks)  and began to feel like it was time to prove to myself that I could ride a 1000+ mile day. In June of 1996, after getting a lot of encouragement from friends and preparing myself with all the information I could get my hands on, I rode my stock Harley-Davidson Sportster from Raleigh, NC to Nashville, TN and then back to Raleigh for a total of 1062 miles in about 19 hours. I had crossed over into a new era of my life. I felt different from that point on. I was ready to try for more.

Fast forward back to 1999 and my brutal reality.

I turned onto I-82 and crossed the Columbia River, making my way north toward Kennewick, WA. 

I pulled into Kennewick WA and I went for the nearest gas station to obtain my receipt for proof of having completed the first leg. It was just a few minutes before noon. I grabbed a Hot Pocket and Gatorade for lunch and wolfed it down while pumping my gas. The Kennewick checkpoint had closed at 8:00pm the day before, so I calculated that I was exactly 16 hours behind. And at this point, I had 73 hours to meet the two hour window of opportunity in Gorham, ME before possibly ending my participation in the rally.

=====

Washington to Maine

I mounted The Freshmaker and left Kennewick on I-82, back into Oregon. Looking at the atlas, I decided to take I-80 across the country to stay near populated areas due to my back wheel bearing incident. It seemed a little longer (about 200-300 miles more than the next alternative) but I felt I would have a better chance of getting assistance if needed. I had originally planned to be running very hard on this leg, but rally rules dictated that I head straight to Maine.

First, I had to rejoin I-84 east for the rest of the day. I continued on through Oregon and Idaho and finally to the Wyoming border.

I thought about Mason and his dealership, about how much they'd helped. I needed to acknowledge that. I wanted to do something nice for those folks when I returned home.

Somewhere near Twin Falls, ID, I ran into a horrible thunder storm that afternoon,  and I suddenly found myself depressed. I didn't know what else to do so I stopped the bike on the side of the highway. I sat there for a while and realized that I was close to an exit. So I started again and took the exit. At the top of the ramp was a Subway Sandwich shop. I went in for a sandwich and began to feel better. Maybe I was just too hungry.

Later that evening, on I-84, two Jessup truck drivers who were on the CB,  led me down Hwy 30 around Salt Lake City, on a shortcut to the Idaho, Wyoming border. They told me to forget about I-84, that I'd be wasting hours getting through the construction around the city.

I described The Freshmaker and the Iron Butt Rally over the CB while I followed them through the darkness in the thunderstorm. We stopped at a truckstop for fuel where I met the drivers and they invited me to eat dinner with them, but I felt like pushing on (in the rain). So I rode for another hour and got a room at a  Super 8 Motel on the Wyoming/Idaho border.

I checked in and slept like a rock. I had ridden just over 1000 miles this day. I'd needed to ride more.  I called Kneebone & Higdon the next morning  and told them where I was, that I was rested and ready to ride. That I'd see them in Maine.  I'm not convinced that Higdon believed me.

I checked out of the hotel before dawn and headed east again on Hwy 30. Watching the sun rise over Wyoming was truly spectacular.  I rode on the two-lane  highway for another day. Somewhere around Opal WY, the road turned to dirt. No more pavement. No move civilization. Just a dirt road. Just me and some tractor trailers navigating the scorched earth. It seemed like I had crossed over into the Twilight Zone.  A few miles later, the paved road returned and I continued on. 

But in just a few minutes, I noticed a large warning sign in the distance.  As I rode closer I read, "Migratory Deer Crossing."  It wasn't one of those wimpy "solo deer" crossing signs like we have back home.  Of course, my first thought was being trampled by thousands of uncontrollable deer out here in the middle of nowhere.  I looked high and low. Thankfully, there were no deer around.  Not at that moment anyway.  

I joined I-80 near Little America where I believe the largest truckstop in America is. I pulled in, fueled up and walked around for some off the bike exercise. I noticed another BMW rider a few gas islands over and decided to ask him if he was riding with me in the Iron Butt Rally. He said no but introduced himself as George and said he was riding to Minnesota (from Los Angeles)  to join his  wife and child for a family vacation. He knew all about the Ironbutt and asked if I minded some company for the next several hours. I welcomed it and so we joined I-80 together.

We stopped for fuel another time in Nebraska and separated somewhere after that.

I stopped that night at an Econolodge in Des Moines IA and found myself in a room next to a group of teenagers who were renting a room to party for the night. I turned up the television and quickly went to sleep.

The next morning, I checked out of the motel around 5am, being very careful "to make all the noise I could" and return the favor from the night before, to my teenage friends who were sleeping in the next room. I had a day and a half leftover  to get to Maine to meet the two hour checkpoint before getting barred altogether from the rally.  I had a long day ahead of me.

At this point, I had not seen another rally participant and I was becoming increasingly depressed that my efforts were for nothing.

Somewhere after Chicago, I joined I-90 and continued onto New York state. I continued on through Syracuse. Soon after that, I pulled into a rest stop and saw a couple of motorcycles that appeared to be rally bikes. The Kraus Brothers walked over and asked me how I was doing. "Glad as heck to see you guys," I replied. I also saw Gary Johnson there. For the first time in several days. I felt like I had a chance to finish this thing. I had been sleeping about 3-4 hours a night at this point.

I ate some dinner at one of the fast food restaurants there, fueled up and traveled out into the night once again. I rode to Amsterdam NY (somewhere around Albany) and decided to get a room

Just as I pulled in, I saw Gary Johnson's Goldwing again and knew I was at the right place. My spirit was renewed. I checked in and slept another three hours.

The next morning, I was up and heading toward Boston in the best mood I'd been in for a week. I took I-495 around Boston and headed north toward Maine.

As I rode through New Hampshire on I-95, a small group of BMW riders came up alongside me and yelled out, "Iron Butt?' I nodded "yes" and they motioned for me to follow. I was so tired at that point that I gladly obliged.

As we approached the Maine/New Hampshire state line (and toll booth), two of the three riders went ahead into the toll booth. As I approached, one of the riders had pulled over to the side and was waving me through. They had paid my fare and were cheering me on. I rode through and found my way to Gorham, Maine with two hours to spare.

I didn't meet the riders who assisted me that day, but later found out that one of them was Rob Nye. Thank you Rob (and your BMW riding friends).

I pulled into Reynolds Motorsports at Gorham, ME to a crowd of on-lookers and Iron Butt Staff workers who guided me into the competitor's area. I checked in at the parking lot with Don Damron. I walked  inside and turned my paperwork into Harry Kaplan (man, was it good to see some familiar faces). Bob Higdon walked over, shook my hand and said, "Welcome to Maine." I was officially back in the 1999 Iron Butt Rally.

As it turned out, I had been in a three-way tie for 98th place (out of 100 riders) in Washington State. After turning in my paperwork in Maine, I'd climbed all the way up to 80th place.

=====

Maine to Florida

Reynolds Motorsports installed a new set of tires (that I had shipped to them prior to the rally) on The Freshmaker and we received our bonus locations for the next leg of the rally at 4:00pm. It was time to go again.

I walked around to the side of the dealership for some privacy to plan my next leg. Bob Ray approached  me and asked me what I was doing. I said that I was trying to figure out what to do next. He said to stuff the information into my tankbag and get my butt to Portsmouth, NH for the massage bonus. I must have looked like I needed it.

So I immediately did as suggested. I grabbed that bonus and the newspaper bonus across the street after that. 

From there, I headed back toward Boston on I-95 and onto Pennsylvania down I-81.  I'd chosen this route because the east coast was getting pounded with rain from Hurricane Dennis and I wanted the protection of the mountain range more than anything else.  Somewhere around midnight, I began to get unusually tired and wanted rest.  I wanted to go a little further and so I needed a way to wake up.  I found a sign directing me to a community store and began to slow down for the exit.  As I pulled into the right lane to wait for the merge lane to become available, I heard the sound of an automobile screeching and looked in my rearview mirrors in time to notice they were sliding toward me.  Luckily, I had enough time to pull onto the shoulder and gun it, avoiding what could have been disastrous.   I believe the driver was impaired and didn't see me until he was almost on top of me.  Now keep in mind that the back of my GS is wrapped up with reflectors and lights.  I wear an Aerostich with a high visibility reflector strip and my helmet is also covered in reflection tape.  Traffic was light.  That guy was blind.  And I was a little shook up.

So I pulled into the store, not needing as much stimulation to stay awake as I did five minutes before, but I had already decided on a pack of Twinkies(tm) and a Mountain Dew(tm).  As I was standing in front of the 24 hour convenience store, eating my nutritious dinner,  I saw an old AMC Hornet coming slowly down the street, weaving a little.  It needed a muffler as well as a new driver.  As they pulled into the store, I saw a large tree trunk hanging out the passenger side window.  They parked and three teenagers got out and went into the store.  As they came out, I couldn't resist asking about the tree trunk.  They were camping up the road and said they were cold so they went in search of firewood.  But now they needed someway to cut it up to burn for heat.  I wanted to laugh but just said good luck instead.  I was wide awake for a couple of hours after that.

Around 3am, I began to hunt for a room for the night. I would pull off the interstate and go from one motel to another to find nothing available.  I would return to the interstate and repeat this three more times before getting a room in Harrisburg. But of  course, it was Labor Day weekend. Arriving in Harrisburg, I  finally got an overpriced room at an EconoLodge. I was exhausted and happy to pay their price.

I slept for about 3.5 hours and hit the road again for the Three Mile Island Nuclear Power Plant bonus. I met up with Jeff Fisher and Dan Lowery at the Power Plant and rode with them for several hours down I-81 until it began to rain. 

At this point, we had caught up to Hurricane Dennis and began to get drowned. The storm had moved over the mountains now and was directly on top of us.  I spent most of the rest of the day riding in blinding rain.  Nearly two hours of that was so bad that I couldn't see ten feet in front of me.  But I was so determined to finish at this point that I didn't pull over.  I was going to Florida, by way of Maryville, TN.

As I pulled into Maryville TN, I began to search for the billboard that was erected to the memory of Terry Barnard, who had been killed in a questionable motorcycle accident. The billboard protested the naming of a roadway for the late Sen. Carl Koella, who had caused his death.

The weather finally began to ease up near Maryville and upon finding the billboard, I met up with fellow IB participant, Peter Withers.  I rode with him from there to the Atlanta, GA area and split off to find a room for the night as he was going to sleep at a friend's home. 

I continued on into Forsythe, GA where I stopped for the night at The Stephen King Motel around 3:30am (with apologies to Stephen King).  The sign out front indicated that it was a Super 8 but it was without question, the dirtiest hotel room I had ever rented.  I was so tired that I couldn't even go back to the office to complain.  I slept in my Aerostich riding suit that night on top of the bed cover.  I was concerned about leaving The Freshmaker outside in the parking lot, but I was too tired to do anything about it.  Plus, there was a Sheriff in the next room and I had an alarm on my motorcycle.  If anything was going to happen beyond that, I didn't care.  They charged me $35, but they should have paid me instead.  I haven't slept in a Super 8 since.

I was awake by 5:30 and left the motel that Monday morning in search of the original spring in Andersonville, GA.  It was on the site of an old Civil War Prison Camp.  I met up again with Peter Withers and another friend of mine, Gary Parece.  On the way back to I-75, we had a chance meeting with one of Georgia's finest State Troopers, but that's a story to be told  when you see me at a gathering of some sort.  

We rode together all the way into Florida and down to Daytona for the bonus at the Harley dealership.  We were instructed to photograph the personalized brick walkway leading up to the front doors.  It just so happens, that a friend of mine (David Wagner a.k.a. Harley Dave) from Raleigh, had contributed to the building fund several years before and had his name engraved in one of the bricks.  So while other riders were snapping their photos and heading to the checkpoint in St. Augustine, I was looking for Dave's brick.  I finally found it, placed my rally flag, snapped my photo and headed to St. Augustine.  

But earlier, on the way to Daytona, I had begun to experience severe pains in my abdomen.   It was hot on the ride down but I was sweating more than usual.  I thought that maybe I should go to a hospital emergency room a couple of times because the pains were so intense.  However, I didn't want to risk being time-barred from a second checkpoint, which would mean that my rally was over.  I really thought I was having an appendicitis attack.  I even had thoughts of giving up the Daytona bonus and checking into the St. Augustine checkpoint as I passed the rally hotel (not the hospital) at 12:30 on the way to the Daytona bonus.  But the checkpoint didn't open until 4:00pm and I had plenty of time to get the bonus in Daytona and have a simple medical procedure, if necessary.  I never said that Iron Butt participation is logical.

I finally made it to Daytona with over 5000 points collected on that leg (during Hurricane Dennis).  My first competitive leg of the rally since I was time-barred in Washington and I had clawed my way up to 78th place.  News was quick in coming that John Laurenson had an accident near the GA/FL state line and was in the hospital.  But he was discharged later that day and actually came to the Florida checkpoint (by car).

After checking in and getting my paperwork in order, I found the event Nurse.  She diagnosed me in one of the rooms.  Poking me, she asked how regular I'd been.  "What," I asked.  "Have you been regular lately," she asked again..  "Ma'am," I said, "I've been riding a motorcycle 20 hours a day for the last seven days.  I don't even know what regular is anymore."  She laughed and handed me five peaches.  "This is all you need. Eat these, drink some water and get some sleep."

What a relief.  I was still in the rally !!  I ate a couple of the peaches and went out into the parking lot to hang out with some of my southern buddies.   John Harrison and Greg Roberts were there, just to name a couple.  After talking with them for a few moments, a local cable TV reporter asked me if he could interview me.  I said sure and answered a few questions for him.  I don't have a clue what I said that day.  And I don't remember where he was from. I wouldn't remember most of this if I hadn't kept good notes on a tape recorder.

I do remember Kneebone finding me in the parking lot later and demanding that I get some sleep.  "Go to your room," he said.  "You're going to need your rest for this final leg." 

"But I'm in 78th place.  What do I care.  My only goal is to finish," I responded.

He finished with "well, if you promise you're going to get a good night's sleep, then I won't worry about you.  But we have a big surprise in store when we hand out the final leg bonus routes at 6:00pm."

And a big surprise they had indeed.  For the final leg of the 1999 Iron Butt Rally from St. Augustine, FL back to Ojai, CA - the biggest points were back in "White Plains, New York !!!"

I'm glad I'm in 78th place, I thought to myself !!  Those idiots are going to hurt themselves trying to win this thing.  All I have to do is ride back to California.

6:00pm came.  Kneebone handed out the worst of the poisons and about 20 of the riders scrambled to get out of the parking lot and head back up to New York.  Me?  I went into my room and slept for nine luxurious hours.

=====

Florida to California

I woke up the next day and walked outside to an empty motel parking lot.  I casually loaded my bike in preparation for my day.  I looked down at the map window on my tank bag and decided quickly that I should only be focused on one goal.  Getting back to Ojai.  Nothing else.  So I took a permanent marker from my bag and wrote Ojai on the clear plastic before leaving.

There were a couple of very large bonuses on my way (Ron Ayres' book signing in Plano, TX and the Oklahoma City Bomb Site Memorial fence).  So I decided to get those in the spirit of the game.  But all I wanted to do was finish the 1999 Iron Butt Rally. 

Once again, I pointed the motorcycle west and headed toward Texas, leaving the motel around 6:30am.  I rode up I-95 and quickly connected to I-10 for the rest of the day.

In Louisiana, I encountered one of the worst thunderstorms ever.  I was on that fifty mile long bridge that runs through the state when the storm began - so I had nowhere to go.    Traffic slowed to a crawl and lightning struck trees close by.  I could actually see it hit the trees. For nearly an hour, I crept through Louisiana as close as I'd ever been to lightning bolts.  I really did want to stop and get out of this storm, but I had nowhere to go but straight ahead.

As I approached the Dallas TX area, I met up again with Jack Tollett and Joan Oswald.  We rode together for a while but they were in a bit of a hurry and I had plenty of time.  We split off once again when I stopped for fuel. 

I arrived in Dallas around 11:15 and still had 45 more minutes to get the Ron Ayres bonus (worth 2812 points).  I took I-635 to the northern part of the city toward Plano, but had neglected to write my exit number on my notes.  I had ridden all the way to the Dallas/Ft. Worth Airport before I began to realize that I had done something wrong.  I pulled over on a service road and checked my rally pack again for directions.  I needed to turn around and go back.  At this point,  I had 25 minutes left to get the bonus.  Amazingly, I found his house in around 15 minutes.  I obtained the 2812 point bonus with only ten minutes to spare.

Ron had a nice spread of fruit and drinks and even offered to cook a hamburger for me.  But all I wanted was a banana and a place to sit and relax for a few moments.  Jack, Joan and a few others were outside, relaxing by the pool so I joined them for some conversation. Only one other rider, Heinz Kugler finished after me that night with only two minutes to spare.

After 30 minutes, I began to feel the day and left in search of a motel room.  I found a Motel 6 and checked in for another night's sleep.  I stayed in the room for another luxurious five hours before continuing onto Oklahoma City the next day.

I met up with Alan Barbic at the Oklahoma City Bomb Site for another 2669 points.  We spoke for a few moments about the significance of such a bonus in the rally.  Alan said he felt that Kneebone had included this bonus to remind us how valuable life was. We talked more about how we felt standing there and how horrible it must have been for the victim's families.  We took each other's photograph at the fence but we weren't in a hurry to leave. 

I rode alone to Gallup NM that night and slept in another Motel 6, where I met up again with Ardys Kellerman.  We talked for a while and she asked me where I was going the next day.  "Ojai," I said.

This 67 year old lady was riding in her fourth Iron Butt and suggested that I still had plenty of time to get a few more bonuses before returning to Ojai.  "All I want to do at this point, is finish," I told her. "After what I've been through on this trip, I just want to finish."

She has to be the most amazing Great Grandmother I've ever met !  I slept another five hours that night before my final day's ride back to Ojai, CA.

The rally was scheduled to end back in Ojai on Friday morning at 8:00am.  But I intended to finish by sundown on Thursday.  I was only 750 miles away and by the grace of God, I was going to finish this thing.

So Thursday morning, September 9th, I climbed back on The Freshmaker for one last day of spirited competition in the last Iron Butt Rally of the millennium.  I continued on I-40 on through Flagstaff and Kingman AZ.  The temperature was in the mid 60s.  Cool for that time of year but understandable in the higher elevations.  

As I rode down from Kingman AZ into the desert near the California state line, the temperature jumped to over 100 degrees.  Time to take the sweatshirt off.  100 degrees feels like 200 after you've spent the day riding in 60 degree temperatures.

I rode into Barstow CA and made one very bad decision.  Being "slightly" familiar with the Los Angeles area, I decided that I no longer needed my atlas and merged onto I-15 (with plans to take I-10 to the 405 and then back up to Ojai).  Translated, that means I chose to ride south of Los Angeles on the busiest roads in the area, and then travel right through the greater Los Angeles area traffic - instead of a leisurely ride through the country for an easy finish.  But that's just the way I am.

I-10 was truly a treat that day, one not to be missed.  Not long after getting onto I-10, traffic began slowing down and then traffic stopped.  No problem I thought.  This is California where lane splitting is legal.  So I began to inch my way up through the stand-still traffic.  I had my CB radio on and asked a truck driver what was going?  He said, "if that's you coming up here on that motorcycle, I'd advise you to stop right where you are. The California Highway Patrol has the lanes blocked up ahead because some guy is running around (on foot) on the highway with a gun."   I agreed that it would be an excellent time to take a break.

So I baked in the blazing sun for about 15 minutes until finally, one (or several) of the patrolmen tackled the gunman and they whisked him into a car, cleared the lanes and opened traffic again.  Here we go, Ojai or bust (again).

=====

The Finish

At 4:30pm on Thursday, September 09,  I was the first rider to finish the 1999 Iron Butt Rally.  Unfortunately, there is no special recognition or bonus award for finishing first.  But there is one great reward.  *FINISHING.*  And I had just done that.

I walked into the Iron Butt office at Widder Enterprises and said, "Honey, I'm home."  Those who were already gathered shook my hand and offered their congratulations.  It was a satisfying moment.  Jan Cutler signed me in but official check-in would not begin until Friday morning.  I was in Ojai !!

My wife Catharine, had flown in just a couple of hours earlier and should be at our hotel room, so I got back on The Freshmaker one more time and rode three blocks to the hotel.  As I pulled into the parking lot, Catharine just happened to walk out.  It was good to see my beautiful wife after two weeks of riding a motorcycle around these United States.  Jerry and Debbie Clemmons were at the pool along with Jean Brooks (Harold's wife) and several others.  So we all hung out for a bit.  I told them of my just finished adventure and Jerry told me how bad he wished he could have ridden.  He'd missed it terribly.

Throughout the afternoon, other riders began to come in, one at a time.

Catharine wasn't feeling well but had taken the trip to see me finish the rally anyway.  I went out and got dinner for us and for the rest of the evening, we just hung out in the room.  I went to sleep early that night for the most restful sleep in two weeks.

The next morning, I was up at 5:30am.  I assembled my paperwork, dressed and rode the three long blocks back to Widder Enterprises for my official check-in.  Riders had been arriving all through the night.  Pat Widder had set up a mini tent city with space for lots of folks to sleep.  That Pat is first class. He had also arranged for chair massages for those who needed them (i.e. everyone).  Just about everyone was awake and stirring around the parking lot at this point.

As I approached the scoring office, I think I heard a rider say, "uh, well maybe I did go there."  The Iron Butt Rally will do that to your mind.  Then it was my turn.  Bob Higdon called me into the office with Michael Kneebone and they tallied my final score.  Then, it was official. (click here to view my final score sheet).

I hung around the parking lot until around 8am, talking to my buddies and listening to the stories from the road.  Then I went back to the room to pick up Catharine and go to breakfast.  We found a very nice sidewalk style place in Ojai and had a very leisurely breakfast.

After spending the day walking around Ojai, Catharine and I went over to Soule Park Country Club for the awards banquet at 3:15.  Most of the riders were already there and lining up outside.

Once the doors opened, we filled the room in anticipation of our accolades.   But even more -  finding out who would be this year's winner.  Could Rick Morrison pull it off two years in a row.  Would Peter Hoogeveen finally shake off his Mr. Number Two status.  Most of us easily knew we weren't candidates for the winning position.  But who would take that coveted trophy home?

Michael Kneebone started announcing finishers at 100 and went backwards to first place.  As our names were called, we were asked to walk up to collect our plaque and medal. My name came quickly.  I had finished in 72nd place. I was pleased to be a finisher. I was proud to hold that plaque in my hands.

Peter Hoogeveen took 7th place this year.  It was a tough group.  My friends Harold Brooks and Manny Sameiro tied for third.  Rick Morrison came very close to repeating but had to settle for second place this time.  The winner of the 1999 Iron Butt Rally was George Barnes.

After the awards ceremony, all the finishers assembled outside for a group photograph.  We were all laughing and talking but we knew that this was a group of people who would only ever be together in this one moment.  And it felt good to be a part of it all.  It felt good to be an Iron Butt finisher.  This was the highest point of my Iron Butt adventure.

=====

The Road Home

Catharine and I slept in on Saturday morning.  She had a car service coming to pick her up for a ride to the airport and I had an appointment with RPM Cycles in Ventura CA for a valve job and oil change.  My decision to leave California on Saturday meant that I would surely miss Leonard Aron's barbeque (unfortunately, Leonard wouldn't finish the rally again in 1999).  I decided to take I-40 all the way home.

I made it to out into the California desert that night before hearing from truck drivers on the CB, that Kingman, AZ was getting snow and hail.   I could see the bad weather up ahead so I stopped in Needles CA at another Motel 6 and spent the night so the snow would have time to melt the next day.  I met a couple of Goldwing riders at the pool who traded me beer for my Iron Butt stories.

I woke the next day to weather reports that the roads were passable so I continued on my way home.  I stopped for a brief visit to the Grand Canyon and then rode onto Santa Rosa NM before getting another room.  On Monday, I rode to Brinkley AR before having electrical problems (no lights) and stopping at another motel for the night.  I repaired The Freshmaker in the parking lot that night (with help from Tom Mellown via the telephone) and made it home to Raleigh on Tuesday, Sept. 14, just in time to prepare my home for Hurricane Floyd. 

What an adventure.  I had experienced a wide range of emotions and I had discovered new personal limits. I had learned a lot about myself.  

Finally, in a March 2000 interview with The Robb Report, I was quoted as saying  "competing in such a huge test of will can only increase your confidence for all other aspects of life."

If riding the Iron Butt Rally is one of your personal goals, I hope you get to experience all that I did.  If it's not one of your goals, I hope you get to experience something equally as great in your life.

Herbie Saint  IBA #199

In Memory Of Fran Crane