What I did on my summer vacation. Or Manhattan-to-Manhattan Beach in 43:15:59.

  

 

Last weekend, I walked out to the garage and started to take apart my RT. She had it coming - that is, an oil change, valve adjustment and a good cleaning. As I worked, I reviewed the past two weeks of my life. I was pleased with the outcome. I had just been on a 7000-mile ride that started with a 50CC accompanied by two friends, Joe Kuchinski and Pete Murray.

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In late fall of 2002, I made the decision that I would be crossing the continent on two wheels. I only had to ask Pete once to get a riding partner. Not long after my friend Joe had in on the plan. Literally, from that time on I started to plan and prepare for the ride.

 

 

The first matter of business was finding a fuel cell. I knew from the LD rides I had accomplished so far that extra gas would make the ride easier. I spent hours, nights and weeks pouring over existing systems and the parts that made them up. My final decision was that I would make my own set-up out of parts available on the market incorporated with some custom machined parts I would make myself. Joe rides a similar bike to mine; so it only made sense that we should make our fuel cells together. For three months I spent almost every free moment designing, specifying and fabricating the units. Pete’s choice was to have Terry Smith at Samson build a cell for his LT. Both methods took about the same time to completion and to get them attached on the bikes.

 

In addition to the fuel cell, we prepared other areas of the machine, including mounting CBs, CD players and a GPS system. Previously I had installed a big Mac tank bag, Briggs foot pegs, and Sergeant saddle with a lambs wool seat cover. Boots, clothing and helmets also needed investigation.

 

The winter months flew by with the details of the preparation. We used Two LD Rallies to put our systems to the test - the Mason/ Dixon 20/20 and the BATLD FEARLESS CAP. Once installed correctly, the fuel cells worked flawlessly. And I found that the Street Pilot III is valuable piece of equipment both for safety and convenience.  We also discovered in the BATLD ride that dehydration is a real factor to consider in planning. On that 24-hour ride, both Joe and I experienced heat exhaustion, which was manifested by headaches and confused thinking. This happened even while using a Camelback water system.

 

In January, I sent out some e-mails to find IBA approved witnesses to sign us out and in of the 50CC. I was able to get the help of two great people to do the job. In New York, we were privileged to have Dan (big miles) Cohen help us out. On the West coast, Terry Smith helped me meet Glenn Clave. Glen and his wife, Francine, went out of their way to prepare our landing area, including scouting out the final gas receipt and the best streets to travel into the LA area.

 

When we started to plan the actual date for the trip, it hit us that the 50CC was only half the fun. Once there, we had the whole ride back. The more we thought about it, the more it made sense to fly our wives out to meet us at the finish line - then afterwards, ride the west two up. Of course, this would mean that our fuel cell would then need to be sent back home in a box. We sent out our rear seats, wives' helmets and packing materials in the boxes that the cells would come home in, to our LA hotel. (Yes, we did wash out the cell before packing.)   The ride date had a hiccup; we first chose June 21, the longest day of the year. Later on Pete asked for a rescheduling and for a good reason, it happen that he had some “special boni points” on his license that were coming off by July. So with out more thought about it, we penciled in July 17th for our start date.

 

As the months grew near and numerous trip maps were made, it became clear that we would be riding in some HOT weather. Many considerations needed attention. Clothing that would work in the desert, hydration and food became a major topic in our planning.  We picked up some MiraCool vests to wear under our riding jackets. We reasoned that keeping the moisture in was better than letting the wind blowing us dry. It was decided that all food would be packed on board, including most of the water we would be drinking. This way, stopping for gas would have two objectives - gas and toilet.   Pete is a DC and has a good background in nutrition. He advised us to pre-hydrate our bodies for the week before the ride. We also carried Camelback water supplies and drank before we got thirsty. He also suggested packing a good quality food replacement bar and continue eating them throughout the ride to keep our calorie intake high.  (All good advice.)

Day broke about the time we were heading out of Texas. As we drove on, the geology changed. The sun rose from behind and the landscape appear magical. Joe and Pete were both ahead of me and this time I was taking the view of the land all in. Joe’s Aerostich was reflecting the sun and he glowed like ember. I pulled out the camera from my tank bag and grabbed the image. As we drove on into New Mexico, the landscape became more and more and more like the Flintstone’s Bedrock, and weird things began to happen.  We started to see Harley-Davidsons everywhere. Two from the west, five from the east, four from the west and so on. As we passed, I gave each fellow biker a friendly wave. That was fine for the first two hundred or so.  After that, I gave up.  My arm got tired and frankly, I felt foolish. We had to have gone by at least 500 bikes - one small group at a time, all H-Ds. Where did they come from?  Where were they going? Who knows? As soon as we were out of NM, the parade stopped.

 

 

In the morning, the desert was still cool. Our bikes were running great and we felt like we could really do this thing. We pulled into gas stop #7 (Newkirk, NM), and proceeded to follow the filling ritual; gas, receipt, paperwork. While I was paying, I asked the clerk when the heat would turn on!  He replied that we’d be feeling it after 12:00 and we should just be patient. Dang if he wasn’t right. And so began the slow roasting of our persons!

 

The heat turned on right on time. At about 11:30am, the temperature rose to the 90-degree mark - and that was about as low as it would go for the completion of our ride. We stopped for gas (#8 Chambers, AZ) and put on our only defense - the swamp vest. This device (MiraCool vest) provides a continuous supply of moisture to your body’s core when worn over a tee shirt. The wind flowing into your jacket makes for a refreshing blast of cool, although the blast is short lived.  As soon as the cool air had a chance to refresh, an oven hot blast returned.  As our ride proceeded, we kept up with our hydration routine, but the food bars became very hard to put down. Eating one became an act of prevention - like a spoonful of bad medicine. Additionally, the bars were melting in the tank bag, so when I reached to grab one my hand became messed up with bar goop. For Joe it was even worse, his helmet was not a flip up, which made it very difficult to pass food to his mouth. The melting bars were a soft and messy annoyance. Plus, the face pads that touched his hot cheeks were creating a rash. The irritation got so bad that by our next fuel stop he cut out all the cheek padding from his helmet lining.  Also about this time, my boots became very hot - although never wet from sweat. Just hot, hot, hot - like two roasting chili peppers. Did I mention that it was hot?

 

We did find some relief in Arizona as we continued on I40 towards the Flagstaff area. The elevation rose and the temperature went back down to 90 degrees. This rush through the pine-lined Interstate played a trick on us. Oh yes, we knew as we descended that mountainous pass that the heat would go back up, but we never dreamed of the hell that was before us. You know the saying, “it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity”. Well actually it is the heat. Our temperature gauges went up and stayed there. Our engines were not sounding as perfect as they did earlier that day. In fact, they sounded like they where running HOT, very hot. Pete gave us the air temperature read out from his bike’s ambient gauge over the CB. 100, 102, 104, 108, 110, 112 - it finally topped off at 116 degrees that day. The heat from the road and the engine added to the fun. I would guess that the road was giving off heat above 130 degrees.  Questions of tire wear ran through my mind. They were still handling good enough, so I decide not to stop until the next gas to check them out. My RT has some parts that are attached by adhesive, and they gave way. I looked down at the kneepad on my gas tank to find one holding on by one-inch of grip. The other side was only halfway off. I placed my knees tight against the pads and held them till our next stop. Once I got home I found other items that had met the same fate  inside the Tupperware side panels of the bike. As we drove on in the burning heat, we saw a sight that was as if it was in a movie or cartoon. Off in the distance, we could see a car stopped alongside the roadway.  As we drove closer, we noticed that it was a late model - not more than a year or two old. It was parked right next to a rhombus shaped road sign, announcing a road condition ahead. As we sped past, we saw perched under the shade of the sign, the only shade in conceivably 50 miles of anywhere, a guy in his twenties - sitting on the ground trying to get the only protection from the sun’s heat that he could. He was sitting, reading a book as he waited for the help we assumed he had already called. After all, he wasn't trying to flag anyone down. I can’t imagine we could have done much for him - with our fuel cells taking up our rear seat area and only 25 miles of gas left in our tanks. Nevertheless, I hope someone with air conditioning had the heart to stop for him soon after we passed.

 

As I just mentioned, we were about out of gas. In fact, the next stop was the longest mileage between all of the stops of the ride. We were right outside of Needles, CA. We turned off at the first exit in town. This would be stop # 9 and we were hitting it at 3:00pm. The whole time we were driving, I had a constant read out of our ETA from the GPS. Earlier in the day the readings made it look like we were considerably ahead of our 48-hour deadline. Somehow those readings seemed incorrect and the heat of the day had my attention elsewhere. At this point it was time to face facts. Instead of coming into LA at 12 midnight, we would be hitting our final destination about 8:00pm.  This was great, but for the nightmare in trying to reschedule all of the folks that would be meeting us. I called Glenn’s cell phone and got his voice mail. He had just changed his cell phone and still did not have the answering the phone thing down. A few week prior to our trip my nephew, Bill, had moved to nearby Venice CA.   He was scheduled to help the effort by picking up our wives at LAX that evening. I placed a call to his cell and found him out on the beach about to go surfing. “Bill, New Plan, we will be in about 8:00pm. Get the Girls and come directly to meet us - and while you’re at it, call Glenn and tell him what we are up to!” Keep in mind, I’m still roasting and now in need of a good meal. At the same time, I notice that the pump was not giving out receipts, so I quickly head inside to ask the clerk for one. When I get it and look it over I notice that the time and date are not on it. Well, I must have look like a real sight when I start saying that I needed a receipt with a time and date, because she comes back at me with a “chill out”. Checking my composure, I took a look at myself in the reflection of the glass door of a nearby refrigerator and saw what she did:  a wild man with a swamp vest on, hair dripping wet and a bright red face from windburn.  It was the last couple of hours of this ride and I was not a bit exhausted, in fact I was about to blast off from this planet. I took a breath when she told me she could print out a store receipt with all the necessary stuff if I could hang there a minute. I bought a bottle of water and did what she said. “Chilled out”.

 

We headed out of Needles towards Barstow in more blasting heat. By the time we got to Barstow and turned onto I15, the traffic started to pick up. We were hitting LA at full tilt Saturday afternoon traffic and the friendly cagers surrounding us were about to give us lesson in how to get around LA.  We bounced from one lane to the other trying to keep a comfort zone in place. Our next turn was onto I-10, then onto the 605, which goes into the 105 towards LAX. What are there, 6 or 8 lanes of cars passing in any and all directions? And directional signals? We don’t need no stinking directional signals!

 

We continued driving towards the airport, finally turning off onto the last street for our run, North Sepulveda Blvd.  We stopped a few blocks down at the Shell station on the corner of Manhattan Blvd. It was 7:20pm and none of finish line party was present! We followed the filling ritual; gas, receipt, paperwork. We were done. My GPS read 43:15:59. Within 10 minutes, we saw nephew Bill pulling up with Pete’s wife, Alison, and my wife, Robin. (Joe's wife had opted out of the ride out west a month or so earlier.) They were about to pass us by on their way to meet Glenn and his wife at a restaurant a few blocks away. As they drove past, Robin noticed a BMW with NJ plates gassing up at the pumps. A double take confirmed our arrival ahead of schedule. Bill pulled into the gas station and called Glenn to meet us there. A few minutes later Glenn and his wife Francine showed up on a custom trike (so Californian). It was all hugs, pats on the back and picture taking for a while after. Glenn filled out our IBA forms and led us for a ride to the beach for the ceremonial bottling of sand and water.   Afterwards, we all headed to the hotel for a little celebration and a well deserved and much needed rest.