I don’t know if you have had an inclination to hop on your scoot and ride for 1000 miles in 24 hours, but there are people out there who believe it's a terrific way to spend time. They even have a certificate and patch for you if you meet the challenge. They call themselves the “Iron Butt Association.” No shit!
They claim to be the toughest motorcycle riders in the world and promote several endurance challenges including the 1000 miles in 24 hours to keep you red eyed, sleep deprived and saddle sore. Recently, after reading about the 1000 in 24 adventures, I got the bright idea that it was something I had to try. Hell, I’ve been riding motorcycles all my life. I thought this should be a walk in the park. How tough could it be I pondered? Well, I was going to find out.
Sidebar:The rules are fairly simple for the IBA Saddlesore 1000. Of course the rider must complete 1000 riding miles in 24 hours. There must be a witness at the start of the run and documentation of the start such as a gas slip . The time on the gas slip serves as the start time. The route of the run, particularly the turn point, if it is an out and back run, must be documented again. Gas slips will satisfy that requirement and finally at the end/finish there must be a witness and documentation/gas slip.
I own a 2002 Dyna Wide Glide. My bike is equipped with drag bars, straight pipes, that cause car alarms to go off three blocks away, and foot and hand controls that are not what you would consider endurance riding equipment. The Wide Glide is sweet but not an endurance motorcycle, to say the least. Like many bikers out there I have prided myself that I’m not old enough, yet, for one of those bikes with the wind shield, big fairing, stereo, big cushioned seat etc. etc. However, under the circumstances I thought maybe I could rent me one of those super tour bikes and make my quest for 1000 in 24 a little easier. It wasn’t like I was going to own one of those things. A good plan but easier said than done.
First, I discovered that there was only one Harley-Davidson dealer in Pittsburgh that rents motorcycles. Unfortunately for me, their Electra Glide was out for a month. I had already begun to plan my run and had mentally prepared myself to go, so I wasn’t about to cancel over not having the correct motorcycle for the job. I pondered my options. I have my Wide Glide. I reasoned, since I have been riding bikes like my Wide Glide for decades, that I might not adjust to a touring bike. I may as well take the Glide.
I am meticulous about maintaining my bike, so it was tuned and prepped to go. I tied my leather on the sissy bar, grabbed a set of clear and shaded glasses, gassed her up, and headed off for the highway. Bright eyed and bushytailed, I roared off toward my first destination only to find myself in bumper-to-bumper traffic on 376.
I planned to pick up 79 via 279 to Erie where I would catch I90 to Albany NY. That route would net me just over 500 miles and then I would turn around and return the same way finishing with 1000 plus miles. 376 isn’t the best road to choose if you want to get anywhere soon, but I thought that at 4:30 p.m. inbound to the Burgh would be OK…no luck. This traffic delay set me back on my time, but no problem, I thought, I would just grab more throttle on the Wide Glide and make up the difference.
Finally on 79 I opened the Glide up and began to eat road. I also began to suck fuel. By the time I arrived at Erie/ I90 I need to refuel. It felt good to get off the bike even for just a few minutes.
Gassed and moving again, I held 70 mph until I hit some traffic and construction in NY. Once again, I figured I would just kick the Wide Glide in the ass and make up the time. By the time I found open road again, I needed to refuel, and it was getting dark so I stopped gassed-up and changed my glasses.
Flying down the on ramp for I90 I realized that there were more than a few 18-wheelers competing for the road with me. Dealing with those trucks at high speed is somewhat stressful. I didn’t anticipate that the wind buffet and noise would be so physically demanding, but the turbulence coming off of the trucks pushed me around and knocked my head from side to side. I tried to pass them as quick as possible. This often required speeds of over 80 mph. The wind buffet, noise (should have had ear plugs) and the tendency of that skinny 21-inch wheel on the Wide Glide to catch every little groove was daunting. After a few hours of constant beating, the fatigue began to take effect quite unexpectedly but very thoroughly. At about the 375 mile point it was pitch black out, no moon light, no stars, no lights from the road, nothing but blackness. The Wide Glide only has one headlight, so my visibility was not ideal, and then I hit fog.
To maintain a reasonable speed I tucked in behind a truck and used the trucks taillights to help guide me through the fog. I knew that this was not the best idea because crap flies off trucks, and at speed, my reaction time would likely not be fast enough to avoid a blown tire tread, shattered brake pads, or chunks of chain. The truck also screened my view of the road ahead, so I was also vulnerable to smacking a pothole, road kill, or spare parts on the road. I rode like that for another two hours, before I decided that I needed to rest before I crashed. I began to search for motel signs. I figured that I could catch some sleep and then finish the 1000 miles the next day. I logged 480 miles so far and had been riding for about seven hours.
I was looking for an inexpensive flophouse. I needed to just crash for an hour or so. The noise from the ride gave me a headache, it was difficult to focus, my legs, arms, and shoulders were sore and the foot pegs on the Wide Glide forced blisters to form on my feet, even though I wore a comfortable pair of boots and thick socks. I needed rest.
I saw a sign for “Roadway Inn” Ahhh…I thought that should work. I pulled off of the exit and paid my toll. The toll lady said that rooms at the Roadway were only 50 bucks. A little much for an hour, but I was toast. To get to the motel you had to go through this little town. It was after 2 a.m. I chugged the Wide Glide through town so as not to attract the law. The last thing I needed was a local yokel, 22-year-old cop, making 8 bucks an hour, to bust my balls over my pipes.
I pulled into the motel as quietly as possible, unfolded myself, and staggered into the office. The motel manager Abdula could barely speak English. He couldn’t understand that the toll lady said his room rates were $50. Abdula had a big grin on his face as he wrote me up for 98 bucks. My attempts to negotiate a lower rate resulted in Abdula smiling more…only in America! So, I kicked the cash and hit the sack for two hours.
Those two hours slipped by fast, and I was up and hustling to get back on the road. My head was swimming, and I needed coffee bad but caffeine is supposedly a big no-no in endurance riding, so I put the warm steamy notion aside. It was 5:30 a.m. and I guess I hoped there would be light outside but it was still black and foggy and the bike was soaking wet.
I threw a leg over the saddle and hit the start button and the Wide Glide roared to life. I suppose the sound of freedom woke Abdula up. I let it idle a few minutes and headed for the highway to finish what I started. Before I knew it, a beautiful sunrise began to light the sky, and I could feel the warmth of the sun welcome me and the Wide Glide to the open road. Traffic was light until I hit Albany.
There isn’t time to look at maps at 75 mph on a motorcycle in traffic and I ended up in a southbound lane to a little town called Hannacroix, NY. The deviation resulted in another 30 miles or so outbound, but I felt good about my progress, and I figured to smack the 1000-mile point on the return trip before Pittsburgh. I gassed up and began my return at 535 miles.
I was still beat but functional. I was so confident in my progress that I began to slow down to about 60 mph and started to take breaks in conjunction with my fuel stops. I figured that I might as well try to enjoy the rest of the ride. It was at one of these stops that a met a biker named Jesse.
Parked at the rest stop parking area, Jesse was sprawled out over his white Road King, with his feet resting on the handlebar risers and his head resting on his backpack fastened to his sissy bar. The Road King was filthy as was Jesse. Jesse appeared to be in his mid thirties, about 6-foot tall, lanky build, dark hair past the ears and a Fu Manchu mustache. He was dressed in leather head-to-toe.
I pulled my Wide Glide right next to Jesse and the Road King. We introduced ourselves and began to chat. Jesse said that he was returning to Central California after riding to Vermont and was averaging 800 miles a day in the saddle, although he would try for 1000 a day if he could. Jesse hit bad weather in-route to Vermont, which explained why he and his bike were so dirty. My 1000 miles in 24 paled to a ride like that, so I was almost embarrassed at my exuberance over my ride.
Incredibly, Jesse was sleeping on his bike. When he was ready to catch some Zs, he stopped anywhere, yanked out a plastic tarp, laid down on his King and pulled the tarp over him. Jesse had heard about the Iron Butt certification but thought it was too much trouble to get his ride certified; he just wanted to ride. He was satisfied with his progress and could ride with anybody. We chatted for about 20 minutes or so, before we both realized that we needed to eat some road and log some miles.I still needed to refuel and watched Jesse and his Road King fly onto the highway, as pulled up to the pump. I wondered where he would be sleeping tonight, and if he would make it back to California in only three more days? At that point, on my own run, I couldn’t conceive of a riding effort like Jesse's and would be happy to just finish my run in 24 hours.
Back on the road, I began mental calculations of my logged mileage and remaining time. I was reaching 600 miles and had only 7 hours left to go before the 24 hour point. I could feel the anxiety build. The rest stops had really taken their toll on my riding time. I was over confident of my progress, and now I would need to ride hard for 7 hours with no problems to make it.
The anxiety moved to my throttle hand and I picked up my speed, passing cars and trucks like they weren’t moving. The faster I went, the more relaxed I became with the speed. I knew this was not a good combination. Complacency on the road is dangerous, and I began to visualize me getting tangled up in one of those 18-wheelers or a senior citizen switching lanes right into me. These negative thoughts were not helping me gobble miles. I still needed to finish 1000 in 24. I road hard and fast until I rolled into Erie, PA.
Once I arrived in Erie I had logged 900 miles and started to relax. I realized that I was going to make it. I had two hours left to get the last 100 miles. Heading South on 79, I felt back at home in PA. I was so close to finishing I could taste it. Although I could have slowed down to 60, I was settling in at around 70 mph. The extra speed would give me a breathing room. I only needed to reach New Castle to attain 1000 plus miles. I figured to pick up 422 off of Highway 79 grab a gas slip on 422 and pop into the New Castle Harley-Davidson Dealer to witness my finish with miles to spare.
My final fuel stop was very satisfying, and it was a relief to obtain the witness signature at the Harley store. There was no fan fare, no parade just the satisfaction, and relief that the run was finished. My face was sunburned and road dirty (I looked like a raccoon). I was sore and tired. My head was swimming, ears were ringing from the road, but I was happy. The Wide Glide handled the run very well, however the oil filter actually worked loose and allowed oil to seep out. A small oil puddle grew under the bike.
The guys at the Harley store suggested that I hit the nearest bar, but I still had to get the bike in the garage and didn’t know how alcohol might affect me in my dehydrated condition. So, I stopped at a steak house, gobbled some chow, and headed to the house, satisfied that I had the 1000 in 24 under my belt.
–Donnie
Welcome to Iron Butt Association
The 35,000+ members of the Iron Butt Association are dedicated to safe, long-distance motorcycle riding. Although based in the United States, we have thousands of enthusiastic members throughout the globe! One of our more popular slogans is, “The World Is Our Playground.”
This web site is home for hundreds of excellent stories about long-distance riding. One will also find a vast amount of technical information regarding the art and science of endurance riding. Our most famous document, the IBA “Archive of Wisdom”, contains the collective wisdom and knowledge of some of the most experienced, seasoned Endurance Riders in the world!
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