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Stories From The Road
IRON BUTT NEW ENGLAND 1000 RECAP
Story From: Bob Vincent
IRON BUTT NEW ENGLAND 1000 RECAP
Sunset on a clear, dry, 80 degree, summer night. Perfect night-riding weather. I had been preparing for this moment all year, ever since I heard of a motorcycle ride called the Iron Butt New England 1000. (see website www.ironbutt.com).
That's a 1000 miles in 24 hours, riding in all 6 New England states and if you prove you did it on a bike, you get a pin for $25. Attempting this ride will tell you just how long and how far you and your bike can go. My kind of ride! Why? That's something I'll try to explain in this recap.
I called the IBA ridemaster and got permission to start from my hometown in Middletown, CT. The official route starts in Augusta, ME. goes to Bangor, ME. to Burlington, VT. through Middletown, CT. to New Haven, CT. to New Bedford, MA. and back to Augusta, ME.
The license plate on my 2000 H-D Ultra was "TIMBA", named after Tarzan's faithful elephant. When Tarzan needed some heavy hauling or clearing a path through the jungle, he would mount the pachyderm's neck and yell the command, "ON-GA-WA, TIMBA" and instantly the beast would respond.
So, when I got home from work around 5:00 PM, I packed my pachyderm with tools and rain gear (just in case) in one saddlebag, power bars and Gatorade (for sure) in the other. The tour pak held a change of clothes, including a turtleneck sweater (just in case).
I had a little bite to eat, showered and foolishly thought I could get a couple hours of sleep. All I could do was quiver with excitement for 2 hours, thinking of the ride. It was time. The bike was fully dressed and so was I, in full black leather regalia: jacket, chaps, boots and gloves.
My departure was based on what day and time would allow the most daylight riding on beautiful Route 2W in moose country, New Hampshire. So, at 9:00 PM, Friday, June 23, 2000, one of the shortest nights of the year, I tanked up with my speedpass at the Mobil station on Route 66 in Middletown, CT., saved the receipt, and headed to New Haven, CT., via Route 91S to begin my 1000 mile ride. "ON-GA-WA, TIMBA".
I connected with Route 95N in New Haven, CT., topped off at a Mobil, right on Route 95N, in Branford, CT., and saved the receipt. These receipts better prove I was on the official route!
Since I treat every vehicle as a potential enemy and find music can be distracting in traffic, I play mind games to stay focused and alert: like noting the type of wheels on a vehicle, the position of the drivers hands, the highest sequence of license plates or anticipating the signs at state lines. Soon, with camera in my clutch hand, I snapped a picture of the "Welcome To Rhode Island" highway sign.
I encountered heavy weekend traffic in Providence, RI., while entering the Route 195E exit, which would lead me through Fall River, MA. and New Bedford, MA. There were no gas stations or lights on Route 195E. The exits were few and far between and once you did exit, it may take several miles to find a station, with no guarantee they would be open.
I made it past the Cape, through fog, bogs and bugs, to Route 495N. My chaps and lower farings deflected the now chilly air.
After 3 hours and 150 miles, I stopped for gas at midnight in Middleboro, MA., then continued through Boston, MA., in heavy traffic, on Route 24N and Route 95N. I snapped the "Welcome To New Hampshire" sign and paid my first toll. 15 minutes later, I snapped the "Welcome To Maine" sign and paid another toll.
Why are tolls necessary? Tolls are taxes collected in an unhealthy and unsafe manner. Why not divert money from some other tax and reassign the toll workers, so they won't have to breathe exhaust fumes every day. Then toll booths could be removed, to allow traffic to move faster and safer.
2.5 hours and 135 miles later, while gassing up in Kennebunk, ME., at a Mobil right on Route 95N, I snapped a picture of a "GOOBER" license plate on a car parked next to me. Ingrid will like this one. It was 45 degrees and I donned that "just in case" turtleneck sweater. I also de-bugged my windshield and had a power bar and bottle of water.
At 2:30 AM, on Route 95N in Maine, in very light traffic, I used the cruise control for the first time. This allowed me to rest my throttle hand and sustain high speeds for lots of miles. Out on the highway, it was me and the truckers and I passed every one of them. There is nothing like having your feet on the footpegs, legs stretched out, letting 40 degree 80 mph wind rush up your chaps.
At the next toll booth, the attendant warned me of a moose alert that was in effect that night. Great. As if cars, trucks and cold weren't enough, now I had to watch for mooses!!!
I arrived at the last toll in Maine at 3:45 AM, in some fog and a quarter of a tank of gas. Enough to get me to Bangor, ME., right? Wrong. Not the way I was riding. I had traveled over 400 miles, at speeds up to 80 mph, disregarding moose, fog and cold. I knew I wasn't getting the usual 40-45 mpg, but I had no idea just how fast I was using up gas. I soon found out.
The next exit was 15 miles north and when I exited I could not see any station. I did not want to drive around on unfamiliar back roads at night, so I decided to take the next exit.
The next exit was 17 miles away and I was on empty, yellow light flashing and still no station. I could not continue. I did not want to find out what happens to a fuel injector when it goes dry, so I stopped at the bottom of the exit in Etna, ME. I opened the gas cap, shook the bike and listened to the swish of very little gas. I got on the CB, channel 9 and 19, to call for help. No reply. I called the police on my cell phone and they found someone willing to rescue me.
By the time help arrived, the dew had settled on me and my bike and the sun was rising. The fellow lifted the plastic jug of gas and promptly banged it into my tank, leaving a nice scuff mark. He poured gas into and onto my tank before I could ask him to allow me to pour.
When I asked how much I owed him, he said 2 gallons and his time came to $15. All I had was a $20 bill. He said he didn't have change. Great. A scuffed tank, at least a gallon spilled all over my bike and I had to tip this guy $5. Every minute stopped is a mile lost, so after a 60 minute delay and $20 a gallon for gas, I just wanted to get back on the road. I paid, shook my head and waved good-bye.
At 6:00 AM, I finally filled up in Bangor, ME. and turned onto Route 2W, headed towards Burlington, VT. An hour later, at 525 miles and 10 hours into the ride, I felt it was time to stop, rest and review.
I pulled over at a beautiful rest area in Skowhegan, ME. This was my first non-gas stop. I laid on top of a picnic table and shut my eyes for the first time in 20 hours. I thought about my somewhat reckless speed on foggy moose infested roads and my costly decision not to stop for gas that caused me to lose an hour of my limited 24. Maybe these actions were due to fatigue, intensity or both.
I kept my eyes closed and took several deep breaths, smelling the pine and cedar, stretching my legs and cracking my back and neck. The rumble of bikes always gets my attention. I opened my eyes in time to see 2 solo riders on H-D Electra Glides roar by. Folks ride early around here.
It was time to mount up. As it was getting warmer, I replaced my turtleneck for a T-shirt, had a power bar and Gatorade and headed west with the sun on my back.
Around 8:00 AM I caught sight of those 2 bikers, curving around a bend, way off on the horizon. I played another mind game: catch-up. This required some elevated speed and passing of vehicles. Somewhere near Rumford, ME., I noticed they had Connecticut plates. Now I had another goal: to talk with them. These little mental games kept me occupied, so I wasn't thinking about how tired I should be.
These guys were really moving with determination, but eventually, they pulled over and so did I. Turns out, Tim and Gene, from Southington, CT., were doing the same 1000 mile ride, only they started from Augusta, ME. earlier today, at 4:30 AM.
I followed them as I snapped a picture of the "Welcome To New Hampshire" sign, again. They pulled over at a nice rest area where we chatted about mosquitoes, ravens and crows. It was getting warmer and I drank another bottle of water. They declined my offer of water and off we went.
I was feeling really fine as we rode through green pines, white birches, bugs and small towns. It was a good thing to have other riders in front of me, especially ones that were as determined to move as Tim and Gene.
I could not keep up with them as we encountered the worst road I have ever ridden a Harley on. Route 2W, outside Gorham, NH. is currently a third world road. I would only ride 20 mph, while Tim and Gene flew over these bolt-loosening bumps for several miles.
As I passed Mt. Washington, I caught up with my fellow Butt'sters and pulled along side to snap pictures of them in motion. At 10:00 AM, after a 170 mile run, we stopped for gas in Jefferson, NH. where it was 80 degrees. I had plenty of liquids, but Tim and Gene declined again.
The next 110 miles were hot and green. I had never seen so much green and I never saw the Vermont welcome sign as we took Route 89N into Burlington, VT., where we gassed up at 12:30 PM.
We took Route 89S to Route 91S in White River Junction, VT., where I lost Tim and Gene among the RV's. It was 90 degrees and I still had on my leather jacket and chaps. I completed 750 miles in 15 hours and it was time for another rest.
I pulled into a shady rest stop on Route 91S. I de-leathered, layed down in a poop-free grassy spot and closed my eyes. I thought about how my riding companions had kept me going without their knowing it. I had not seen them take any food or water that entire day and I hoped they were alright, so I can thank them someday.
After a while, I de-bugged my windshield and had a power bar with a Gatorade. I re-leathered and re-mounted my trusty steed, TIMBA, and off I went, on Route 91S, the last leg of my ride. ON-GA-WA.
I made a quick gas stop in Putney, VT. and back into traffic. Not much happened for the next couple of hours. I thought about how lucky I was to have a machine built for long distance riding. The windshield, backrest, footpegs and cruise control allowed me a comfortable ride.
I snapped the Massachusetts and Connecticut welcome signs. I pulled into my favorite Mobil station in Middletown, CT. to gas up for the last time at 5:30 PM, Saturday, June 24, 2000, with an overall time of 20.5 hours.
Such a ride was not done for the scenic vistas. It certainly required the ability to stay awake and concentrate on motorcycling. I didn't think of work or bills or the news. It was a 1000 mile, highway vacation and I smelled like it, so it must have been worth it. But next time, I won't work all day before attempting a 24 hour ride.
I wish to thank the IBA and Ed, the ridemaster, for providing valuable information.
Bob Vincent
bluesbreaker53@yahoo.com
