By Spitfire

The stress seems less this morning as the riders headed out on a mostly flat course of only 184 miles from Wichita, KS to Dodge City, KS. 67 riders got a later than usual start (9:00) which gave people a chance to eat breakfast, take showers and dry some of their clothes out. We only had 9 pages of instructions. We left on a 6 lane freeway which is always a bit interesting as the bikes mix with traffic. At mile marker 23 I found the first bike pulled over. Anthony Rutledge, #11 was just tightening his kickstand to avert potential disaster. He said he always looks and listens for anything that might come loose. We continued on.

The terrain was flat with vast fields. An occasional tree stood out of the earth like an invitation to seek shelter from the hot sun. I thought about one of my favorite TV shows, Little House on the Prairie and how each show taught a life lesson. I wondered why the TV shows we have now no longer do that? My day-dreaming was stopped abruptly by some serious dips in the road that caused me to stand up on my footboards to absorb some of the energy. I hoped the person behind me noticed me bounce! The long stretches of road gave me great opportunities to get pictures of riders. I leave after everyone else has gone out on the course and then I pass the riders to get ahead a little bit so I can stop to help and fall back again. I do that leap frogging all day. After lunch we found some great opportunities for pictures as a freight train with graffiti on it rolled by. I pulled over to wait for some riders to go by in Mullinsville and was pleasantly surprised to see a whole field of Road Art. Two of the riders, Scott Byrd #25 from AR and #99 John Neuman from TX on their 1916 Harley Davidson’s bounced off the highway and next to the fence for some fun pictures. It was so relaxing and fun to be able to do those kinds of things today.

I stopped a couple of times with Steve Alexander from Georgia on his 1913 Douglas. The engine was “getting tight” and running hot. He did an oil change and adjusted his belt. His sprocket was making some noise but we were able to get him push started so he continued, hope to be able to get another 60 miles to the end of today. I knew we were getting close to Dodge City when I saw street signs like Outlaw ridge and Wyatt Erp Parkway. Dodge City hosted a reception and Dinner at Boot Hill. Chicken Fried Steak, Mashed Potatoes and Beans. The town is excited about the Cannonball having their day of rest here and so are we. It was a fun relaxing day and we know that the 2nd ½ is harder than the 1st so we need to refresh and get some much needed rest before tackling Colorado and then the desert.

I went to my hotel to find that two of the Cannonballers were stuck in the Elevator, The Fire Dept was called to get them out. I set up “Spitfire’s Free Clinic in the lobby of the Hotel but ended up closing up to make house calls until 9pm. The sunset was beautiful and the night air perfect for standing around the parking lot talking about bikes and adventures. I love this gig.

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By Spitfire

After a day of rest, people were ready to get back on the road. During the “rest” day, competitors and crew worked hard on the bikes to get them read for the seven days that remain. For some it was stressful. So much to do in so little time! Engines were rebuilt, chains changes, fluids and bearing replaced. Weather cooperated, mid 80s and dry. We were in 3 hotels , non of them right next to each other. Everywhere I looked people were busy but not in a frantic way. I rode around town making a couple trips to stores to stock up on smart water, more bandages and re-stocked the first aid supplies in the support vehicles. I made a few “house” calls for minor issues. Families had a little time to spend together.

Today, we awoke to thick fog. It was still dark when the first bikes went out at 7:45 am. They typically don’t have much by way of lighting and they are small so the riders do what they can to make themselves visible. The Official starter, Cole Dister, dressed as the grim reaper this morning. It was a little freaky but fun anyway. We are heading from Dodge City to Pueblo, CO today. Elevation will increase from 2400 to 5000 feet but we won’t be in the mountains yet. I visited with Scott Byrd, #25 from Arkansas. He is always so cheerful and happy. On the last Cannonball he rode for his sister who had passed away, telling me that he did this for her because she couldn’t. Brotherly love. This Cannonball he is wearing pink with his long hair and tattoos. His bike is painted with pink accents. I asked if this bike was also named Kimberly and he said, no, this is Gypsy! Her parts have come from all over the USA. I asked if all of his 10 bikes had names and he said no, they reveal themselves to him at some point but some had not done that yet. He then showed me a Tattoo with all of his bikes listed. Cracks me up. Good luck Scott!

I didn’t see the usual litter of broken down bikes today in the first 20 miles. The fog was lifting and the cool dry morning air was welcome. Traffic was not heavy but with a speed limit of 65 it’s a bit scary to see the big trucks passing. It’s obvious they can’t see the little bikes in front of the line of vehicles that stacks up so a couple of times I flipped my strobes on and waved the truck back in behind me. As we continued the traffic got lighter and the grouping of bikes started to spread out. Still, like a bunch of hornets, the bikes would gather at gas stations to the delight of locals. One woman grabbed my arm and exclaimed, “ Did someone call the newspaper”? I smiled and told her what a special event she was witnessing. At the next gas stop I saw a reporter with paper and pen in hand talking with some of the riders. I feel so honored to be able to be a part of this! One rider needed help with a push start, There were some guys gawking at the bikes so I asked them to help him knowing they would be talking about how they helped for the rest of the day.

The afternoon temps were in the mid 90s and there was no getting out of the blistering sun. It made the last 60 miles feel like an eternity. We could see the mountains in the background. I stopped at more road art and contemplated what would make a person create such a thing. It had the same look and feel as the Kansas Road Art with Political statements and other bizarre creations. I wondered what the person looked like who does this. We ended at the Marriott Courtyard where a crowd had gathered cheering the riders in. 71 riders had started the day. The trailer had come in with bikes on it and some had been picked up by their support crews. One of the riders that had broken down told me he was done and the bike’s engine just could not go on. I was sad for him. He had so much invested. I hope he stays to enjoy the rest of the trip and help with other bikes at night. There is always something to do! Tomorrow we get into the mountains. Should be interesting!

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Sturgis this year was a blur of neon, activities, and traffic. According to the experts, numbers were significantly down from last year as expected, but it was still a flurry of activities, events, entertainment, new model launches, girls, bands, you name it. Sturgis became the biker’s Disneyland–the showcase of the V-Twin industry and the focal point for some of the best riding in the world.

I’ve been involved in the Black Hills Rally since about 1979 when I sent Michael Lichter to cover it for Easyriders. According to some, 12,000 partied around the area and in City Park and lit the Porto-Potties on fire in the middle of the night. Imagine the smell. The next year they closed the park, but 24,000 hauled ass to South Dakota to check the action.

A couple of years ago, I discovered my private Nirvana for the Sturgis event, Deadwood. A brother moved into the mining town 20 years ago to build a lodge for the notorious Hamsters in Spearfish and never left. This year, we rolled to Deadwood, set up camp, and made a quick list of activities we could hit in a couple of days, then cut a dusty trail for the coast.

We clamored through one party Saturday night. The next morning, we jammed to the Chip for Marilyn’s Industry breakfast, and then FXR Show, expanded to accept Dynas. We rolled downtown to 2Wheelers, and I found a patch sewing machine, where I had my 5-Ball racing patch sewn on my 5-Ball Pit Crew Vest. The plans called for making the Michael Lichter exhibit party in the early evening. We had to wait six hours in the blazing sun. We gave in and rolled back to Deadwood, drank whiskey and then the hail came, and Roland rode off the stage. We called it a night.

The next day was all Hamsters, with mandatory meetings, drinks and the silent auction, which raised $285,000 for the Rapid City Children’s Hospital. It’s too bad a chunk can’t go to the motorcycle industry, a Hamster retirement fund, or whiskey. I’m kidding; some definitely goes to whiskey.

The next morning, we cut a dusty trail. This chapter will contain a couple of sidebars, one from our Deadwood host, one the most talented individuals I’ve ever met. When it comes to buildings, Adrian, who was once a male model in Europe can do and created anything. Don’t ask me. He’s just another grubby biker now meandering from one building project to another with an ever-present beer in one hand and a cigar in the other.

The Outlaw Adrian sidebar:

So, two dudes walk into a bar, actually they rolled up to my house on Lincoln Street in Deadwood, which leads directly to Wild Bill’s graveyard, boot hill at the top of the slanted cobblestone lane.

At the time I rode a 100-point ’59 Panhead with red primer showing through the original tank paint at all the normal wear and tear places. It was the real deal. We’ve been bros ever since.

A brother mentioned the code at a sunbaked party,“I can’t stand Sturgis, but the ride out is everything.” The ride, yes the ride. As we pulled out onto the turn of the century street leading to downtown Deadwood I had 1430 miles on my trip gauge.

I scrambled through various conversations with guys I only see a couple of times a year in Sturgis or at the V-Twin Expo in Cincinnati in February, my two mandatory runs. At one time I hit events almost every other weekend.

Bob McKay said in the saloon, “You’ll never hit a deer twice.” I thought about that statement all the way home. Fortunately, I made it. It must be true. We jumped on the 90 and rolled east toward Wyoming and Buffalo, where we would dive off the interstate and start our trek to Worland on the old Ten Sheep Highway.

These are some of the best roads winding along creeks and through green valleys, except just outside of Ten Sheep I jammed to pass a slow moving RV. As I rounded the curve at 90 mph I came face to face with the law. He was coming the other direction and immediately lit up his shit. I didn’t blink but pulled over as soon as I could. Mike kept riding for a half mile, and then he ducked under a tree with his street glide and watched the action.

I thought I had a broken line clearance during my high-speed maneuver on the Indian. “You can’t pass on a bridge,” the short fireplug cop said briskly.

“I thought I had a broken line,” I mutter, but his demeanor immediately changed. He didn’t want to debate the issue, or I was going to feel his jurisdictional pain with a citation.

“Mums the word,” I thought.

“I just wanted to warn you,” the cop said and took my documents, which I didn’t have much. I bought the bike in South Carolina, but had no SC registration or papers. I held a wadded, funky trip pass for California, which I tried to explain to the officer. He looked at me as if I was nuts, or California was nuts. He had it right on both accounts. He ran my papers through a multitude of terrorist watch data banks and cut me loose.

We rolled into a narrow canyon with curvy roads and slow switchbacks. At one almost 220 degree hairpin curve, a deer ran in front of Mike. His ABS system took him from 35 mph to zip in no time without loss of control. The doe escaped, while Mike’s heart attempted to depart his chest and the Street Glide’s loosey-goosey rear steer caused his eyes to blow up like a man with his finger in a 220-volt socket. We actually took the road where I hit a deer in 2011 on a Buell and ended up in the hospital for four days. I tried to angle on the spot where it happened.

Blistering hot in Woreland in the Big Horn Basin, a farming town where my Wyoming girl runs a hair salon. I strolled into her tidy salon and demanded service while eyeing the massage table. I could have disrobed and crawled on that puppy for a week.

The smiling staff recommended a yellow building diner for a healthy lunch, Goodies. We drove up and down Highway 433 junction several times before spotting the pastel yellow and sheik gray building with the name embossed in concrete. It was impossible to read in the noonday sun, but we found it.

A stark little joint with a lack of country-style furnishings, someone was trying to be hip and minimalist, but the menu was amazing and I had a wild salad, but only ate half of it. It’s all about portions.

Worland is a hub for business in the Big Horn Basin. Agriculture and oil/ gas drilling supplement the economy of Worland. Sugar beets are the top agricultural product of the area. Top employers in Worland include Admiral Beverage, Wyoming Sugar Company, Crown Cork & Seal, and Miller Coors.

We packed up and cut a dusty trail out of town alongside the winding Big Horn River toward Thermopolis. This route was very similar to last years home trek, except I took a detour to Sun Valley, Idaho to reach the Hamster clan heading into the Badlands. I love the winding road along the Big Horn to the Boysen Reservoir.

Boysen Reservoir is a reservoir formed by Boysen Dam, an earth-fill dam on the Wind River in the central part of Wyoming. It is near the town of Shoshoni in Fremont County. The dam was constructed between 1947 and 1952 at the mouth of Wind River Canyon, just upstream from a previous dam that had been built by Asmus Boysen in 1908 on land he had leased from the Shoshone and Arapaho tribes. The dam and much of the reservoir are physically located on the Wind River Indian Reservation.

As a result of construction of the dam, a major railroad track that connected Billings, Montana with Casper, Wyoming would be flooded. A new track would be laid. This new track starts near the new dam where an 11/3-mile tunnel carries the tracks under the dam, under parts of the lake and around the edges of the reservoir.

Our destination for the night was planned to be in Dubois, since last year, I stopped at the Roomers Motel in Riverton. I wish I had kept rolling to Dubois, sort of a small mountain town leading into the Rocky Mountains and Jackson Hole.

It worked out perfectly. The weather couldn’t have been better and we wove through the hillsides into Dubois. Mike complained that the Street Glide seat was too low, the floorboards were too high, but the bars were just right, the controls were perfect, and the cruise control worked like a champ.

We almost peeled through the log cabin era town and then quickly pulled onto a gravel road leading to a dozen log cabins facing a grassy park and the main drag. The sun set as we entered the log cabin office and looked at all the touristy shit on the walls. The woman behind the counter talked her husband out of his coal mine job for the crisp air of Dubois. “I wanted us to buy a B&B,” she said grinning from ear to ear. Maybe it was the wine. “But we didn’t have the down payment, so we got this job.” Her husband, a tall drink of water, also held a tall drink of something and grinned.

I looked through a cabin window behind the log counter and saw the small dilapidated manager’s residence surrounded by a junkyard of washers and dryers. Something seemed odd, but we paid for a cabin and asked for dinner recommendations.

Dinner was terrific. The waitress wasn’t bad and on the way back we roamed through a couple of galleries, including Gary J. Keimig’s western art, and I found a old western painting of a cowpoke who was the spitting image of Micah McCloskey, a member of the Uglies MC and a bike builder, Bonneville racer and a member of the Easyriders Streamliner team when we held the motorcycle record at 321 mph for 16 years. After the run home, I ordered the painting and had it shipped to Micah’s home.

By the time we reached our cabin two guests were passed out on the wooden bench in front of their cabin, and the management was long gone. We were beginning to run through long stretches of gravel roads, which Mike wasn’t enjoying. Handling issues were enhanced on oiled roads sporting coats of gravel, the poor man’s road repair. It’s a wonder the EPA hadn’t force them to use anything but a petroleum product.

My shifter began to stick with in the constant dust, and I heard a chirping sound from somewhere, but I kept rolling. Our plan the next morning called for waiting out the morning chill then cutting a really dusty trail toward Jackson Hole for breakfast. Mike, fed up with handling issues wanted to find Jackson Hole Harley-Davidson for service help.

Roaming through the green hillsides, we spotted two dead dear and numerous deer warning signs. Four-legged treachery afoot, we blasted into Jackson Hole and found the dealership sans a service department. Covered in dust, the girl at the counter asked me if I needed anything. “Not a thing,” I said, “an Indian is chasing me across the country. Where’s a good breakfast joint?”

She smiled, not understanding what I said about the Indian, and pointed us in the direction of an excellent, massive, breakfast joint in a hotel complex on highway leading us out of town. Next stop Idaho.

Mike discussed the next dealership. The handling issues intensified and the gravel on the roads increased. We followed a magnificent meandering broad curved road along the Snake River past the Palisades Reservoir into Swan Valley and toward another Harley dealer in Idaho Falls, where we would snatch the dreaded 15 Interstate toward Twin Falls. As we rolled onto the 15, Mike indicated to keep going SW on the interstate toward Twin Falls and highway 93 into Nevada.

What is it about interstates? Suddenly you’re flying along at 80 plus mph. My beanie helmet rattled, and I wished I had donned earplugs. The Indian didn’t bat an eye. If I put my gloved hand on the tank, I felt no vibration, but I was faced with passing one truck after another. I have another bullshit road code. The fast lane is for passing, so I pass a truck and pull over for the speeding bastards. But then another truck shows up.

There are two positive aspects to my maneuvers. One, it prevents boredom. I’m constantly changing lanes. Two, it keeps me from holding up traffic or speeding close to a ticket by increasing my speed to stay way out from of the speeders in the fast lane. There was a time when no one passed me. I was brutal.

I like to drop into the number two lane, set the cruise control or throttle for just slightly over the speed limit and putt, but that’s not the case anymore, there’s always another truck. This is why I like small highways. I like to enjoy the scenery and not be constantly focused on the next truck and my buffeting helmet.

We sliced through 161 miles of interstate to reach 93 south, basically to the dreaded Wells, Nevada another town crumbling to dust. I remember rolling into a Wells truck stop last year on fumes. I was seriously low on fuel and didn’t know how large the Indian reserve was. I’ve had petcock bikes with a reserve capable of less than 10 miles. Had me sitting tightly on the edge of my seat.

The frugal Mike immediately pointed out the Number 6 motel for $54.00. “We’ve got to do better,” I said and we crossed the tracks and road construction, meandering through another town on the brink of extinction. Most businesses were closed and the faded dilapidated buildings turned to the color of cigarette ash. We found one open motel, but it smelled of crack addicts and addicted whores.

I like prostitution and support it, but the connection to drugs is all wrong, hurtful, lacks progress, and is dangerous on several levels. We ended up at the dive Number 6 with a handful of other riders, including one trike rider. The room held two Queen beds, but no other space. Hell, I couldn’t get out of my bed without stepping on his. We ate dinner at the metallic truck stop, which wasn’t bad at all. Just 381 miles ahead to peel through to reach Vegas and our brother, Joe Zanelli at Rocky’s Restaurant on Maryland Blvd.

The next morning, we rolled due south on 93 into Nevada toward Ely for Breakfast and gas. There was a cool Mexican joint in the center of town we frequented on our way to Wendover and Bonneville. They were closed, so we grabbed fast-food egg breakfast and peeled toward the Great Basin.

We were rolling along enjoying the Ruby Mountains west of us, when a rider blew by us on a BMW as if we were parked. His bike was so smooth and quiet, it startled us. But we caught up with him at the next stopped construction zone. He was in trouble. He had slipped to the front of the line to check the status and they didn’t like that. Hell, I use to do it all the time and no one bothered.

He came back and started to tell us the story. He flipped up his full-face darkened faceplate and started to talk to Mike. Suddenly the gray-bearded biker in a full black rain suit looked familiar.

“Bill Reed,” I said.

“Keith Ball,” Bill said.

Bill was a Satan Slave in the ‘60s until they became Hells Angels in the mid ‘70s. He’ll never admit it, but he should be an icon. Finally, road construction let us through, but unlike all the crews before them, these over-weight broads holding stop signs sneered at us as we passed. Cops were lined up at the other end and pulled us over. They were after Bill.

Another 20 miles closer to Ely and he peeled past us and waved. But we kept running into Bill in Ely, then in the Great Basin along the White River, past the Schell Creek Range, the rolling Egan Range, the Delamar Mountains into Alamo at a gas stop. It was hotter than a firecracker when we saw “Wild Bill from over the hill, never worked and never will,” for the last time. The greenery slipped behind us as we rolled into the Sheep Range and met with the Interstate freeway 15 once more and dropped into Vegas. At over 110 degrees, we pulled into the South Point casino hotel parking lot and grabbed a room, the coldest beer in the house and a magnificent dinner with Joe.

The next day was like so many runs before, over one long desert pass after another leading into Los Angeles. We stopped in Victorville for gas and the first pancake breakfast I attempted during the run at Richie’s. It wasn’t bad, but they weren’t terrific either. At least when the plate arrived they were hot. Mike grabbed Highway 14 toward the San Fernando Valley, while I stayed on the 15 to the 210 into LA.

My brother was right. The ride is everything. The cool sea air felt damn good as I escaped freeways to come to rest in the Port of Los Angeles.

Mike’s Story:

Sometimes the singular road trip escape focus is what we need desperately. Riding a motorcycle takes major focus just to survive. Having a destination with or without friends maybe less important than the ride itself.

Back in Los Angeles, the same old shit was building and I started to feel another road trip brewing. But this time, I’m feeling another bike maybe in store and it might have 111 inches…… Yeah, that’s the ticket!

Sources:

American Biker
My Indian Dealer in Charleston, SC

The Old Guy Shirt Connection

Aeromach
Online

5-Ball Leathers

By Spitfire

There was a different energy in the air this morning. The day before had been long hot and grueling. Today we will be traveling 264 miles and will reach an elevation f nearly 11,000 feet as we cross Wolf Creek Pass in the Rocky Mountains. The person in 1st place, #13, Dean Bordigiori from California, was at the start line early making last minute adjustments. Doc, #52, who has all of his miles in for every day told me that he had lowered his gear ratio to help climb the mountain passes. The sunrise promised a beautiful day but I’m not sure anyone else noticed. Shawn Duden, #39 from a previous cannonball (the chopper guys) arrived with the bike that he and Bill Buckingham, #40 built for the Cannonball. August 27th, Bill was hit and killed in a motorcycle crash. Shawn was there to honor his friend and ride the bike for a day. I saw people crying, laughing and shaking with nervous anticipation.

At the first stop sign, Linda Monahan, a rider who had struggled to get her bike on the course at all dropped her bike and could not get it started again. We got on Interstate 25. On the first long grade uphill I saw someone pushing their bike. He was calling for help and out of breath. I offered to help push but he had decided to get picked up. Just beyond him was another rider being helped, and by mile marker 30 two more were broken down and unable to fix their bikes. It was going to be a long day. Seeing the mountains off in the distance was both soothing and ominous. The riders stop about every 50 miles for gas. At the first gas stop people were talking about how they heard we have 34 miles of “hell” up ahead. The first pass was a 9 mile 1800 foot climb to LaVeta Pass, elevation 9413.

For my newer bike, the sweeping, wide newly blacktopped mountain climb was beautiful. The cut rock, smell of pine and cool mountain pine scented air was welcome after the heat and flat land we had crossed the day before. I passed people still riding and didn’t see anyone off of their bikes. I stopped at a gas station on the other side and watched the riders come in. I was looking for fatigue and possible altitude problems. I saw a rider struggling to move his bike to the pump. He said he was just so exhausted and he was breathing heavy. His oxygen level as 88%. I gave him some canned oxygen while he ate a granola bar. He looked better after 10 minutes and continued on.

We had a hosted lunch today put on by the Chamber of Commerce in Alamosa, Colorado at Cole Park. Paul d’Orleans was staging bikes for pictures. He does a special “Old school” type of photography called “Tin Type”. The board slipped as #18, Doug Feinsod was exiting the grassy area where pictures were being taken and the bike hung up. Eager locals jumped into action to help lift the bike off the board. No damage, whew! The bikes headed off to the Conoco Station at mile marker 162 where bikes were allowed to trailer, with no penalty other than the 22 miles, over Wolf Creek Pass. Only 6 opted to do that. Most stopped to gas up since they were going through more gas with the inclines. I found the guy who had been struggling earlier sitting, again looking exhausted. This time his oxygen level was better. He had taken and energy drink but was not feeling better. I suggested a candy bar for a shot of sugar to the brain to get over the pass. He did both. Whoo Hoo!!!! As I was getting ready to leave a man approached me in his plaid shirt and overalls. He introduced himself as “Turtle” who is running for president. In a southern drawl he said, I got 100 votes today just going to buy a pack of cigarettes. Be sure to write me in. I’m on facebook too. As I pulled away he exclaimed “Vote Turtle, the no nonsense candidate”!

The next incline had a couple of tunnels. As I came through the 2nd tunnel I saw Dean, #13 pulled over to the side. Polly and Joe Sparrow, support staff, were with him. I pulled over with my strobes on and found Joe squirting water on the severely overheated clutch. Dean was a little short of breath and said he planned to push the bike to the top of the summit. We were about 1-1.5 miles from the top. I gave him a can of oxygen and Joe stayed with him. People were excited as they hit the Summit. Most had gone by now since I was near the last few riders but it was fun to see the excitement as they conquered the beast. Next challenge, 8 miles of 7% downhill winding grade with scenic overlooks. I watched the truck runaway ramps for anyone whose brakes failed that might go off into the soft sand. Nope, all clear! I stopped at a gas station and waited to see if Dean would come by and be sure I was near the back of the pack. Only 60 miles to Durango.

About 20 miles from Durango I saw a bike pulled over with a helmet and gloves. Lights were on. I looked around to see where the rider might be and was puzzled. I didn’t see him anywhere! I saw a gas station a couple blocks away and thought maybe he went there for gas but his gas can was still on the bike. Just then I heard a man calling to me from near a fence. “Are you looking for that man”? I found #1, Hans Cortese, at a restaurant looking pale. He had felt faint so got off of the bike. Someone took him to the restaurant. He kept saying – help me finish…I need to get back on the bike. I suggested he have some sugar and a little girl named Jesabelle at the restaurant offered him her skittles. The good Samaritan that had been helping him, Paul, drove him back out to his bike. He said he was feeling better, got back on, went a few blocks and got back off and laid down roadside. I told him I thought we should load his bike and get him to a hospital but again, he disagreed. After 5 minutes I followed him in to the finish line. His family had just flown in from South Africa and were waiting there for him. Good Samaritan Paul had arrived at the dealership. Others pitched in to take care of the bike and Hans & wife were taken to the hospital emergency room with me following. Labs showed severe dehydration and another issue that needed to be checked. Hans gave me permission to share and encourage all of the riders to take time to drink water and take electrolytes!!! He was kept overnight and I arrived back at the hotel a bit after 9pm. Vern and Tanner saw me come in and ordered a wonderful chefs salad for me. Dean made it in with full points for the day so he is still in first place. I love this crew. Right now, they are my world. I wonder what tomorrow has in store?

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By Spitfire

I slept right through my alarm clock. The days have been long and the nights short. It’s beginning to wear on the entire crew. We woke to steady rain, not a welcome sight. Riders began donning garbage bags and goggles, taking last sips of warm coffee but not wanting to have to stop to use a restroom because of the additional clothing. The Motorcycle Cannonball is truly a test of both man and machine. Who will endure to the end??? Only 58 riders started out today. Currently the 5 front runners have been steady. They are on two Harley Davidsons and three Hendersons. Today we face more steep grades as we climb into the High Desert. 262 miles with elevations of 3700 to 8400 feet and a stop at Four Corners Monument. The monument immortalizes the intersection of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Utah. The countdown began and the riders were off!

Mixing with traffic today was even more stressful since the water spray on the road made the riders extra hard to see. We were on a 4-lane highway with a 65 mph speed limit. I prayed for safety and grace. Just then a large word appeared in my vision, painted on the roof of an old building: GRACE. I knew we would all be OK. Thank you…. As we went down to 2-lane, I found #59, Steve Gonzales, pulled over. His clutch was slipping and he needed to do an adjustment. He pulled his rain soaked tools from his canvas saddlebags and went to work. Sometimes the best thing for me to do is be quiet and just let the person do their work. I stepped back to my bike and pulled my “Slow” sign out to provide more safety while he worked on the left side of the bike.

We got to 4 corners with a little break in the rain and pulled into a gravel muddy parking lot. We were able to get a few picture, mixed with many other tourists, before the sky let loose again and everyone huddled near the vendors seeking shelter. I had left my rain gear on the bike so had to run out to retrieve my soaked on both sides gear…. Ugh… A little further down the road many riders pulled into a small trading post for gas. It was busy with locals retrieving mail and buying supplies. They were curious. Darlene, a local Native American motorcyclists stopped to talk to me. She had just ridden home from Texas for a visit and was delighted to see the bikes. As we pulled out I saw another painting on a roof; Love Life. Yes I do.

I got more pictures of scenery than riders today. The red rock formations were fascinating and made you wonder what it would have been like for cowboys of the old west on horseback looking for shade. Trees and water were scares. I saw many people walking. About 2 miles before we got to one of the larger towns, Kayenta, I saw a woman and child walking with a dog following them. Later I saw them in town. A motorized bicycle would be nice for them, especially one with a sidecar!

We arrived in Page, AZ for the night. 10 bikes were on the sweep trailers and more had been picked up by their crews. Where some people are done for the night many others are busy with maintenance and repairs. I am doing the same but in my case it is for the riders. I finally got to my room about 9pm but tonight I got to eat supper for the first time in 4 days. Good night, sleep tight – tomorrow we visit the Grand Canyon! For more information about the Motorcycle Cannonball including statistics, visit www.motorcyclecannonball.com

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I hope to have a front section mock up of the nose of the frame middle of next week. this will include cutting and shrinking of the alum seat and building a cage for the driver. 

We will mock up / tack together the front
cage using exhaust pipes bent for maximum clearance to prove the size- shape – concept of front nose area. Then we can remake using correct tubing.

It’s easy to cut up exhaust stuff just for first article design….then hang the front wheels & axle…

I will take pictures of all this and send late next week…

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By Spitfire

The grind of the Cannonball is apparent as the riders lined up to head out for yet another day. Only 4 days left and today they look forward to a 2-1/2 hour break at the Grand Canyon for lunch and sight seeing. After several 260+ days, the prospect of a 195 mile day is welcome. Whispers of rain and high winds dampened the mood as 67 riders, including all class 1 riders, took off at their scheduled times. The long climb out of Page Arizona created a roadside litter as bikes pulled over to cool, riders pedaled and pushed their machines to the top.

The first gas stop at 46 miles was a flurry of activity and fun. #97, Kevin Naser had parked next to me at the start this morning. He had an “In Memory of Kelly Naser” on his bike. I asked about Kelly and he said his son has died in a crash at 28 years old. We shared a moment as I told him my 37 year old daughter passed in June and her last trip with her friends had been to the Grand Canyon in November 2015. Today would be meaningful. I found Kevin at the gas station teaching a little boy & his Grandpa how to play a little flute that it appeared Kevin had picked up for them. A camper full of girls from LA pulled in and they were delighted to meet the riders, especially Yoshi, #80. Finally everyone headed out across a flat long desert road toward the Grand Canyon. I passed #3, Buck Carson who had been working for days to get his BSA going and get back out on the course. Whoo Hoo!!!!

As we neared the park we could see the rain coming. The dense fog hung over the canyon making it impossible to see the huge crater. Disappointed riders motored on through the park hoping to get some lunch while others continued on to the hotels in Williams, AZ. In order to stay behind and support the group I hung out at the Visitor Center Area and Mather Point. To my delight the sun came out and the Grand Canyon revealed itself! I came across two Cannonball Crew members but the riders had all moved on. At 2:30 I headed out hoping to catch up with a few people on my trek to Williams, which was only 60 miles away. The first rider I pulled up to check on was 109-Alex Trepanier on his single speed 1912 Indian. He had lost 10 spokes on his rear tire and felt it was no longer safe to keep going. He grabbed a white towel and flagged a couple of the other riders in to discuss with them.

I continued on a passed a few more riders. There was no more rain but the air had cooled substantially and the wind was ferocious. The riders were struggling to keep their bikes going straight. I came upon #77, Richard Asprey from Texas riding his 1915 Norton. The front sprocket had stripped and he was desperately trying to get just 7 more miles to the finish. He has had a perfect score and the chase truck was close behind. A friend in a sidecar pulled up and tried to help him to no avail. He sadly, accepted the tow. He dropped from 7th place to 21st place. We rolled in to Williams along Route 66. The parking lot was busy again as the riders prepare for the last 3 days of the Cannonball. Disappointment over the weather and exhaustion have set in. The brewery next door was busy serving food and beer but morning comes early as first riders leave at 7:15 am. For more information and rider standings go to www.motorcyclecannonball.com

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By Spitfire

Up early and at the starting line was class 1 competitor, #13, Dean Bordigioni. Dean suffered a devastating one-point penalty for a ½ mile tow on Stage 10. That tow cost him the #1 spot on the leader board. There is much controversy over the penalty assessment and the mood this morning is tense. Distracting the riders was the weather. Some scraped frost from their seats as the frigid overnight temperatures dropped into the low 30s. Today we will travel 232 miles from William, AZ to Lake Havasu City, AZ with elevations of 400 to 7000 feet. 64 riders started.

Much of our route today took us on the Historic Route 66. Riders had fun stopping for pictures and chatting with the many tourists who travel that route. The cool dry weather started out making riders pretty uncomfortable but with no clouds in the sky the sun quickly warmed things up. The red tinged rock gave was to brown rugged dirt with sagebrush as the only green to be seen. I could not help but wonder how the cowboys on horseback must have felt crossing this dry arid land. I considered how exciting it must have been to have a motorized vehicle to propel you across the vast expanse of dry dusty desert. I watched for riders along side the road and was sometimes tricked by mailboxes or signs until I got closer.

Our hosted lunch stop at Mother Road Harley Davidson in Kingman was welcome. They had done a great job of advertising and there were many people to greet the Cannonball Riders. They left their bikes on display and enjoyed the Mexican lunch with many choices. Riders left with full stomachs and smiles on their faces. Paul d’Orleans and Susan were there taking tin type photos. After this flurry of activity we left on a winding, then straight dusty backroad to avoid traffic. We took a long decent from the High dessert to Bullhead City where the temperature soared to 91 degrees. Traffic could not be avoided and the riders were happy to know the ride was almost over for the day.

I got a call. Rider down. A dune buggy driver had pulled out in front of the rider. They were about 20 minutes ahead of me. I headed over to find the rider had been transported but the police were still working the scene. The rider ended up being sore but was released with only a few minor injuries. The bike? Not so lucky. Friends and family were relieved. It could have been worse! Stage 13 down and only 2 days to go. 18 perfect score yet with Frank Westfall from New York leading on his Class 2 1912 Henderson. For more information about stats, visit the official Cannonball site at www.motorcyclecannonball.com

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By Spitfire

Only two more days. Feeling are mixed and I see more hugs this morning. Will it really all be over soon? Tired, battered, worn out and happy. People are talking about looking forward to going home to their families while others, like #20, Dennis Sharon said “When we get to Carlsbad, can we just turn around and head back to New Jersey doing the route backward”? Today we are prepared for a scorching hot day as we continue to cross the Mohave Desert from Lake Havasu City, AZ to Palm Desert, CA – just 100 miles from our ending location. 241 miles of hot dry desert meant I was going to bring lots of water and preach electrolytes. #49, Frank Westfall from New York is still in 1st Place with his 1912 4 cylinder Henderson. Byrne Bramwell from Canada is in 2nd Place with will points and no penalties but is riding a newer, 1913 Henderson. At this point 18 contestants can brag about the 2979 miles they have ridden penalty free. 4 Hendersons, 4 Indians and 10 Harley Davidsons have proven to be most reliable.

64 people started the day following the Colorado River through rugged terrain with little in the way of vegetation to be seen. At mile marker 31 I found #81, Ziggy (who is riding Sharon Jacobs motorcycle while she is with he husband who crashed day two) along side the road. Spark issues. New plugs and he was off for about a mile then pulled over again. I figured he was continuing to have spark issues but no, he came out of the ditch holding his headlight which had broken off the bike! “Here, can you carry this for me”? The next over 100 miles was relatively without incident. You could see for many miles and the terrain was virtually flat. The temperatures were starting to climb and there were no clouds or shade to be seen. Riders wove in and out while photographers enjoyed the opportunity to take pictures of riders. Michael Lichter and Felicia Morgan are the two official photographers for the Cannonball. Michael has ridden backward for all 4 Cannonball’s making him the only person who has crossed the United States 4 times backward. Wowsa!

At Mile Marker 106 we had been climbing a steady grade when I saw #109, Alex Trepanier from California on his 1912 single speed Indian riding the opposite direction. I finished the climb to the top of the hill and pulled over to wait for him and notified the chase vehicles. 20 minutes later he rode past me. I cheered and clapped as he chugged by. Victories on the Cannonball are not always being the front place winner – often they are multiple victories and I rejoice when I see people overcome disappointment with tenacity. We arrived at our hosted lunch stop to an enthusiastic crowd. Twentynine Palms hosted a bike/car show and lunch. Just getting out of the sun for a bit was good for me. I stocked up on more water and took off again.

Only a couple miles down the road I found #66, Ben Brown from Pennsylvania working frantically to figure out why he was running on one cylinder. He is a first time Cannonballer and is so pleased to be in 7th place with his 1915 Harley Davidson. He and his team had replaced the valve seat two nights ago and the heat had loosened it. He managed to get things realigned and was off again with the motor sounding strong. We rode through the Joshua Tree National Park for miles, ending in Mecca, a little town with only one gas station. It was over 100 degrees and riders were hot and exhausted. Only 25 hot miles to go but the end of the day is in sight. Tonight was special as we walked the parking lots watching people work on bikes and chat about their adventures. This was the last night of camaraderie before the 100 mile trek to the end celebration and banquet tomorrow. Who will win the Cannonball? Stay tuned…… To learn more about the motorcycle cannonball and check standings go to www.motorcyclecannonball.com.

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By Spitfire

The last day of the Biannual Motorcycle Cannonball was everything but easy. With only 102 miles to travel the riders started leaving at 7:45 am with the first challenge being a 20 mile , 5000 ft climb to the top of the San Bernadino mountain pass. Dubbed the “Palms to Pines” Highway, this route provided a scenic challenge that most overcame. I saw the chase vehicle picking up #104, Perry Ruiter from Canada at mile marker 5, next I saw Ciri Nasi #103 from Italy pushing his bike. Wow, this is going to be a hard climb for him! At mile marker #39 I stopped to visit with Linda Monahan, #39 from California as she awaited the trailer. At the top the morning air was cool, a welcome relief from the heat we had been experiencing.

As we descended the winds picked up and with that the dry desert sand provided a dust storm that made it feel like we were being sand blasted. Rocks, branches and sand on the road made conditions a bit less than safe! The sand was getting in my hair, eyes, everywhere! I stopped to put more clothes on and could barely get back on my bike due to the wind. We reached the bottom where traffic and heat beat up the riders one more time. The crowd at Temecula Harley Davidson was energized and it felt good to experience the cheering as riders entered. We were now just 35 miles from the end where some of these riders will make history! A police officer followed rider #29, Ryan Allen, in to see what was going on and when he heard he offered a Police Escort out of the congested busy area.

We rode the next 34 miles to a staging area. All of the starting and stopping is hard on the bikes, especially in the heat of the day, forecast to be 102 degrees. I saw #110, #115, #8, #84 and #16 pulled over but all had help. I then saw Doug Wothke come alongside #2, Steve Decosas from Texas and pointed to his rear brake caliper linkage that was dragging on the ground. I could not see or hear what Steve was saying but he was visibly upset. With no brakes and just 10 miles to go, Steve had crossed the nation on his 1915 Harley Davidson with perfect points and was currently in the #6 position on the leader board. To avoid stopping he took the shoulder to pass cars, turned right at intersections then u turned and turned right again. How thrilling it was to see him at the end!!!

We got to the staging area where they were sending the bikes to the finish line in classes. Class one, the smallest engines with single speed went first, followed by Class two and then by class three. The excitement was palpable as we rode downhill to Carlsbad Expressway that ran along the Ocean. The air was cooler but the traffic and pedestrians were a challenge to navigate. Splitting lanes is legal in California making it easier for the guys (and girl) to navigate traffic and keep rolling. I saw #91, Ziggy, pushing his 1916 Indian. He later told me that he lost the pedal on his kicker and this clutch mechanism gave out. Still, he pushed his bike over the finish line completing all but 81 miles of this cross-country trek.

At the Carlsbad Visitor Center the riders and crowd were ecstatic! Champaign was flowing while eager families and friends awaited their loved ones. The look of love and admiration in their eyes was one of my favorite moments of the entire event. The exhaustion was still evident but was mixed with relief. Smiles, hugs, tears of joy created a joyous atmosphere. Scott Jacobs and wife Sharon were there to greet us. Scott had crashed day two which took the two of them out of the event as they dealt with surgery and recovery. History was been made by 16 motorcyclists who came in with 3306 miles and no penalties. All 16 were on Henderson, Harley Davidson and Indian Motorcycles.

The celebration banquet at the Holiday Inn gave everyone an opportunity to clean up and put his or her celebration attire on. For some that meant wearing a cocktail dress while for others it meant shorts and a tropical themed shirt. Awards were presented by Jason Sims, Director of operations, and Paul d’Orleans who Emceed the evening program. Jason started the evening comments by saying: “We made history and we did it as a family”.

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