2003 All-Army BoB / CO Springs Trip
I'm kind of ashamed to admit that, although I've owned the ST1100 for more than 3 years, I've never taken a long trip on it. Quite a few medium-range trips in the 300 to 600 mile neighborhood, to be sure. But this bike's made for crossing continents!
So when I learned that my son, Bobby, would be in Colorado Springs the week of Oct. 12th, "bike trip" immediately popped into my head. A quick query of mapquest.com told me that it was 1,123 miles and 18.5 hours to Colo Springs.. not exactly a long ride, by Iron-Butt standards, but certainly a respectable one. When a quick check of weather.com promised fine weather for the whole week, I decided it was the perfect opportunity for a ride.
Most of you know that Bobby is in the Army, but you might not realize that I haven't seen him for 3 years. He's stationed in Ansbach, Germany, and returned there from the Iraq war in July. He hooked up with a band upon his return, and they proved to have great chemistry. Indeed, they made it into the All-Army Battle Of Bands World Competition, held this year at Ft. Carson, just down the road from Colorado Springs.
So I watched the weather forecast anxiously, hoping that it wouldn't change. If it had, I'd have taken the 300M instead.. no way could I pass this up!
I departed under gloomy skies at 11:25 on Tuesday the 12th, with the plan being to overnight in Wichita, KS. A smooth ride, and everything went according to plan. I actually made it a bit past Wichita - it was only 21:30 when I hit the city limits, so I decided to ride 'til 10 p.m. I did 630 miles in 10 hours and change, and was checked in to a motel & snoozing by about 23:15.
Now, doing 1,000 miles in 24 hours or less is something of a rite-of-passage amongst the Iron-Butt set, and I'd never done it. So I'd planned on getting an early start - I had the alarm set for 04:00 - figuring that if I was on the road by 5, it'd be easy to do the 370 miles I needed by 11:25. However, I must have been more tired than I thought, 'cause I actually had the alarm set for 16:00 (4 PM)! Oops.. ;-) I woke up at about a quarter of 6, and when I saw the time I immediately abandoned any hope of doing the 1K in 24. I didn't dally, though, and was showered, dressed, and rolling by 06:38.
Now, aprox. 4.8 hours to do 370 miles might not sound too tough. It's 'only' a 77 mph average, after all. Barely speeding. But add in gas and facilities stops, and you've got to boogie to achieve that kind of average. It just didn't seem feasible. However, I didn't make any stops the first hour, and was somewhat surprised to see that 82 miles had passed under my wheels. This led to some quick mental calculation, and the conclusion that if I really burned up some road, I could still do it.
The roads were flat, with virtually no traffic, I had plenty of fuel & I felt great. So burn road I did! During the next hour I saw as much as 150 mph indicated, and rarely dropped below 120. I covered 104 miles in that hour. :-)
At that point I was low on fuel, so I had to stop. But it was a quick stop! Indeed, I didn't even take my helmet off nor smoke a butt, and was rolling again in well under 5 minutes. I backed off a bit, mind you, as I was starting to encounter some traffic. Still, I did 86 miles during the next hour. At that point, I knew I had it whipped. I needed only 98 miles, and had nearly 2 hours to do it. McDonalds was still serving breakfast, so I took 20 to refuel both the bike and meself..
The next couple of hours were quite leisurely, at least compared to that banzai 2nd hour, and I passed the 1K mark on I-70 at mile marker 412 near Vena, Colorado, with 23 hours and 35 minutes elapsed.
I hit the next podunk truck stop, took a photo to commemorate the occasion, smoked, had a snack, and just generally took it easy for about a half-hour. I was only 120-odd miles from my destination, and given Bobby's 18:30 ETA and that I'd gained an hour upon entering the mountain time zone, I had 7 hours+ at my disposal.
The last leg of the trip was the total opposite of the first. I slowed way, way down, stopped frequently for photo ops & what not, and still made it to Colo Springs with almost 4 hours to kill. I scoped out the airport, cruised around town a bit, stopped and had a beer at an Irish bar (owned by a Mexican & with mariachi music on the jukebox!), and still had nearly 3 hours to kill. So I did what any red-blooded American biker would do - I stopped into a tattoo parlor and got a souveneir. ];-)
Actually, I stopped in at two tatto parlors. I didn't care much for the attitude of the first bloke, so I moved on down the street to Sinister Tattoo. Bingo! Great folks who live by "The customer is always right" mantra. An hour-and-a-half later and $85 lighter in the wallet, and I had exactly the tattoo that I've been wanting for, lo, nigh on 2 decades. Thanks, Hollywood Mike!
I made it to the airport with well over a half-hour to spare, had another beer & thumbed through the new Cycle World while I waited for Bobby's plane. It was right on time, and it was really special seeing Bob hoofing it up the jetway. God, he looked great! Big hugs all around, and I got to meet the rest of Kickthroat, finally: Rusty "the Missing Link" on drums, Miguel "the Puerto-Rican Pecan" on lead guitar, and Josh "the Barbarian Banshee" on vocals. Great guys all, as I'd soon learn!
Then 'twas off to see what sort of accomodations our Uncle Sam had lined up for the boys. Somewhat to my surprise (and to their sheer amazement) they were excellent! The Airport Radisson, no less! Indeed, I stayed on Uncles' dime, too; bunked with the boys, horned in on the buffets, rode the bus to & from the rehearsals & gigs, etc. Shoot, this would've been a very inexpensive trip, if not for the fact that I bought enough beer to float a bass boat. And then there was the $168 speeding ticket on the way home. But I'm getting ahead of myself.. :-)
Anyway.. while I didn't have an 'all-access pass', I had something just as good, maybe even better: I kinda hit it off with the Master Sargent who was running the whole shebang. :-) One of the PFC's detailed for security gave me some grief early on, and the Sarge set him straight in no uncertain terms. It went something like "This man rode a f*ing motorcycle 1,000 miles to see his son! He does not need a f*ing wet-behind-the-ears private like you f*ing with him! And, by God, you will NOT f* with him again!" ];-) Word gets around quick between Army grunts, and none of the security guys said a word to me again. It was a hoot, really - I'd see 'em eyeball me, and could read their minds: "Uh-oh. There's the Master Sar'nts buddy. Don't wanna go there..." ;-)
Bobby, Miguel and I stayed in and shot the breeze on Wednesday night, had a great visit and turned in pretty early. Josh and Rusty went clubbing 'most all night, despite having been up for 24+ hours. We all went out to a club on Thursday night, knocked back a few Co'Colas, and had a grand ol' time. Actually, we did the same thing on Friday night, too. I now understand why we have the toughest Army in the world. Never mind the jumping out of airplanes, marching with a 60-pound pack, or the actual battles. No, them SOB's have to be tough to survive the way they party! ];-)
Thursday was, except for a brief morning orientation meeting, totally free. Bobby and I made the most of it by cruising the town, stopping at a goodly number of the eateries that they don't have in Germany. Seems good ol' American Fast Food is one of the things Bobby misses most. :-) Durn, that boy can eat!
After taking in all those calories, we decided we needed some exercise.. say a bike ride up Pike's Peak. :-) I went up the Pike's Peak Highway back in the mid-70's, in a Pontiac, and was keen to try it on a bike. Bobby was game, so off we went. I had my leather jacket on, though it was 75 deg in town, but Bobby had on only a long-sleeve shirt. Despite his protests that he'd be OK, I insisted that we first return to the hotel and get a jacket for him. He was thanking me profusely before we even hit the timberline, 'cause it was chilly up thar! High 30's, I'd say.. there was snow on the ground, too.
The trip up was a piece o' cake, really. The hardest part was parting with the $10 per head toll. :-) The ST pulled even the steepest grades in 2nd gear, no sweat. The real limiting factor was suspension; the gravel portion of the Peak Highway is washboard in some places, and the "test pavement" section sports some horrendous potholes. But by picking your lines carefully you can mostly avoid the bad sections, though I did bottom the bike a few times. We were the only bike at the top when we arrived, and were congratulating ourselves on being real he-men when up rides two li'l ol' girls on a Honda 250 Rebel and a Kawasaki KZ450. It was at precisely that point that we decided the climb was actually easy as pie... ];-)
We hung out at the summit for 'bout an hour, taking in the view, shooting photos, talking, grabbing a bite (food prices at the mountain-top are outrageous! I nearly needed a trip to the Oxygen Bar when our bill - for just a snack, basically - was $18. Eat before you go!).
Then, a wee bit light-headed from the thin air, we took off down the mountain. I was more apprehensive about the ride down than the ride up; you gots to be careful with the front brake on gravel, and building up too much speed on the gravel portions could've been problematic. But, as it turned out, there was no need to worry. The brakes on the ST are excellent, providing good feedback along with great stopping power, and 'twas no problem at all. The two young things on the Rebel and KZ450 ended up right behind us, so we had a 3-bike convoy down the mountain. Fun!
They mustered the bands at 19:00 for a dinner and lottery to determine their order of appearance, and Bobby and I were back at the hotel with an hour to spare. Afterwards we adjourned to a pretty cool club called The Rum Bay, minus Miguel who decided to rest up. The Rum Bay's billed as "Seven Clubs In One" - they've got seperate areas for Country, Rock, Dance, Karaoke, etc. We mostly hung out in the Rock club which, appropriately enough, featured a mouth-watering collection of vintage Indian motorcycles hung from the ceiling. The Bud Light (and John Jameson) flowed freely, and we all had a great time.
Friday was rehearsal day, and we had a bit of drama as Miguel scrambled around trying to find an FX pedal. The effect he likes is a built-in feature of his amp, and the bands weren't allowed to bring personal amps, hence his delemma. They got it all sorted out in the end, though, and rehearsal went smooth.
We had such a great time the night before that we went back to the Rum Bay, this time with Migs in tow. I considered sitting it out since, to be frank, I was a wee bit hungover from the revelry of the previous night. But, thinking of how seldom I get to spend time with Bobby nowadays, I went along. While I took it a bit easier, the boys in the band were in full party mode again. We closed the Rum Bay and then hit an after-hours club right across the street.
It was nearly 6 on Sat morning when we got back to the hotel.. and we were sans Miguel. And therein lies the drama for Saturday. Migs, see, ran into a pretty little Mexican girl & ended up going home with her. :-)
Bobby and I got about 3 or 3-1/2 hours of sleep, but Rusty and Josh just stayed up all night. There was an 11:00 muster and roll-call, with the gigs themselves being held at 13:00 and 19:00. When Migs wasn't back by 8, the boys started to get worried. When he wasn't back by 9, they started to get pissed. When he wasn't back by 10, it was "I'm going to eat his FACE! Not only that, I will desecrate his immortal SOUL!" :-)
He actually did miss the roll call, but they were able to fake it, and thus avoid disqualification. He finally showed up about 12:15, about a half-hour before the bus was scheduled to depart for the afternoon gig. I was afraid, at first, that they really were gonna kick his ass.. but in the end they were so relieved to see him that they merely bitched him out.
The gig itself went smooth. Kickthroat was the lead-off band.. which was probably a good thing, considering how burned-out they all were. They turned in a great set! I was particularly impressed that Rusty and Josh performed so well, even though they hadn't slept a wink the night before. The competition was definitely fierce! I taped the whole show, and enjoyed every band. The last act finished up shortly after 15:00, and we were all bussed back to the hotel for a dynamite Mexican buffet. That left only about an hour before we had to load up and head back for the second gig, but the boys all managed to catch a catnap.
The second gig was in the reverse order, so Kickthroat closed the show. Instead of watching the 2nd set, I hung out with the boys backstage and provided moral support. They switched up the set a bit, doing two covers (The Toadies' "Tyler" and Staind's "Mudshovel") in place of the first sets all-originals lineup. Their second set went great, too. There were a couple of minor glitches; Josh got the setlist mixed up and announced a wrong song, and Bobby's bass came unplugged 27 seconds into the closing number. The song ("Mudshovel") opens with a bass solo, and Bobby was boppin' pretty good. We accused him of showboating, unplugging his bass on purpose, so he could do that solo twice. ;-)
The show ended shortly after 21:00, and the bands were bussed to and on-base club, Xtremes, for an interview with the judges, and a little time to unwind. The actual presentation of awards wasn't scheduled 'til 09:00 the next morning, with the first bands departing early in the afternoon. Kickthroat's departure was set for 16:00, so I was tempted to stick around for it. I knew I had a long hard ride ahead of me, though, so I said my goodbyes and was on the road by 05:00.
The weather had been great all week, with lows in the mid to-high 40's. But of course it turned chilly the morning of my departure. :-) The official temp at the airport was 28F, but I'm pretty sure it was a few degrees lower than that once I got out into the open country. Could've been a lot worse, though! At least it was dry, so I set the HotGrips to 'barbecue', and kept 'er pointed east. I made it to I-70 at about 06:30, and not quite feeling ready for a 340+ mile interstate drone, I stopped at a Denny's, thawed out & ate a leisurely breakfast. Lots of hot coffee, too!
The sun was just clearing the horizon by time I finished breakfast, and while it was still pretty durned chilly, 'twas bright and clear and held the promise of warming up nicely. So I mounted up & hit the super-slab.
It was 2/3rd of the way through my I-70 leg, a few miles east of Ellis, KS, that I had my only real excitement of the return trip. One of Kansas' finest got me on radar at 112 in a 70.. :-/
I was just thankful that he hadn't set his radar a few miles further west! Ellis, KS, you see, is the boyhood home of Walter P. Chrysler. They maintain his family home as a memorial and museum, and when I passed the sign on the interstate I put the spurs to the ST and wound 'er up to 150 as a way of paying my own tribute to Mr. Chrysler. :-)
In any case, 112 it was. 42 over. Yeah, I was sweatin', despite the fact that the temps were still in the 40's. They can slap on a Reckless Driving charge and lock you up for 42 over! The officer seemed like a decent sort, if rather by-the-book. He was obviously going to ticket me. But, noting that he had a military bearing about him, I gave him a spiel about having just visited Bob at Ft. Carson, how I hadn't seen him in 3 years, how it'd been so great that my spirits were still soaring, and that's why I'd been burning up the road at 112 mph. :-)
I didn't think he was gonna buy any of it, and had just about resigned myself to a killer ticket, if not the hoosegow. Not to mention the 1600+ round trip that would be required, since, as the officer was kind enough to point out, at 25+ over appearing in person before the judge is compulsory. But, luckily, after I pleaded a bit more he says "Look, I know you're BS'ing me here. But if you'll promise to slow that thing down, I'll split the difference with you."
"Yes, officer, YES! I'll slow down!" ];-) He ended up writing the ticket for 92 mph. Bad enough, but at least I was able to pay the $168 fine by mail. And, for the most part I did keep it down to 80 afterwards.. with exception of the Muskogee Turnpike. Folks drive so fast on it that 80 is obstructing traffic!
And that's about it. I ran into a bit of a traffic jam in Little
Rock, AR. That delayed me by about 20 minutes. I passed the 1,000 mile mark
a little west of Lonoke, AR, after 17 hours and change. So now I've done the
1K-in-24 thing not once but twice. It's a bit more strenuous doing it straight-through,
though! Or maybe it was a case of being a little.. ummm, let's say "less fresh"
Bobby called a couple of days later (remember, he had to travel a lot further than I did!) and I learned that Kickthroat had taken 3rd place in the competition. I was a little disappointed, as I thought they had a real good shot at winning. But Bobby was voted "Best Bass Player" of the competition! And since it was a world-wide All-Army competition, that means he's the best durned bassman in the whole U.S. Army! I'm awfully proud of him, and took that news as the perfect capper of an all-around great trip.