I had done a Saddlesore 1000 in August, 1999, and had enjoyed it and wanted to do another of the Iron Butt Association rides since. But most of my "long" distance riding had taken place on my way to and from motorcycle rallies, and had all been short of even the 1,000 mile standard. Late this summer, Mike Reid and I started talking about some Saddlesore/Bun Burner combinations. Finally our schedules came together and we set the Friday / Saturday of October 26-27 as the big date. In our part of the world, weather can be a problem in late October, but not this time!

Mike left Loveland, Colorado, at 2:35 PM (after having trouble getting a time-stamped receipt at the first two stations he tried) and we met at the Conoco here in Fort Morgan, Colorado, right at I-76 Exit 80. By 4:45, we had both started the clock and gotten bundled against the cold - it was a brisk 29 degrees - and headed east. Mike had electric gloves and socks, but I just had three layers of long underwear, a fleece vest, a chamois shirt and Dockers, plus a sweat suit under my Tourmaster Cortech riding gear. I was wearing some old X-country ski gloves with fleece inserts and glove liners, so I was OK for the first hour or so. After that my hands and feet got cold!

As we headed south on Colorado 71, I was glad I had the 80/100 watt headlight. It lit things up a long way down the road. The stars were bright and I was surprised at the number of planes heading to and from Denver International Airport, about 70 miles west of us. Most of them were probably check-transporters for the bank clearing houses. We rode through the aptly-named town of Last Chance, at the junction of US36 and 71, and blasted on down to Limon. We gassed up there, even though we'd only ridden 85 miles. We needed to document that we'd taken 71 instead of the coward's way South - back through Denver on I-76 and south on I-25.

After we left Limon, the only lights we saw, except for the occasional cattle truck, were the bright lights of the prison just south of town, and once, about 50 miles west of us, some of the lights of Colorado Springs eastern exhurbs. At about 5:30, I noticed a big airplane low on the eastern horizon. A few minutes later there was a little airplane just below it. A few minutes after that, I realized that they weren't moving very fast and figured out that I was looking at Venus and another planet. Then the sky began to brighten, even if the temperature didn't warm up much until we were south of Rocky Ford.

We turned onto US350 and were following the old Santa Fe trail. It was scenic in a desolate sort of way. I could imagine the pioneers and mountain men making their way towards the Spanish colony at Santa Fe and wondered what their stock would have grazed on. As the sun came up, we watched the Spanish Peaks just south of Walsenburg shine in the sun. By the time we passed an US Army "Maneuver Area" east of Tyrone, it was a "shining" day. We passed an Army convoy of 6X6 trucks, hauling some kind of tanks (for liquid, not the armored kind) that were all spewing a steady stream of liquid on the road, which covered our windshields as we passed. I had visions of diesel fuel or "gray water," but the tanks said "Potable Water" and it evaporated without leaving a trace.

By the time we got to Trinidad, Colorado, and I-25, we were more than ready for the warmth of the Country Kitchen and breakfast. About an hour there (we weren't trying for a BB Gold pace) and we were back on the road to Springer, NM. As we climbed to the summit of Raton Pass (at 6,880 feet, the high point of our trip) I thought of the old black and white images of the Santa Fe's glorious 2-10-4 steam locomotives double-heading long freights up the grade and of the streamlined Super Chief with its dome cars. But the only thing we saw was a BNSF coal train being pulled north by only 2 of the big EMD freight engines that outhaul anything from the age of steam.

At Springer, we turned east on US 412 to Clayton, New Mexico. A strong cross-wind leaned us to the right all the way. Mike hit a bird and saw feathers come up through the fairing, but no bird. We stopped and looked, but didn't notice until later in the trip one tiny feather and a "birdprint" on his front fender. No bird. Don't know where it went. Lots of grass and a few cows on this leg of the trip.

At Clayton, it was onto US 87 toward Dalhart and Dumas, Texas. More wind. Trucks. Much nicer temperatures.

We got to Amarillo at around one and successfully navigated the mess that's been there at the intersections of I-40 and I-27 for at least a year and half now. Maybe someday they'll be finished. We stopped at the Travel America truck stop for an indifferent lunch, peeled off a few layers of clothes, gassed up, and about an hour later were back on the road.

East of Amarillo, on I-40, truck traffic was impressive. We passed Groom, where in a vacant field northwest of town, there looms a large cross. A year ago, when I was heading to Mt. Home, I am pretty sure there was a sign identifying it as "The World's Largest Cross." I know that's not true. It's not even the biggest one in Texas. South of Sweetwater is a much bigger one. We stopped once at a rest area, where Mike was waylaid by a trucker who wanted his help in designing a new outside mirror for 18-wheelers, one with a wider field of view. While I rested, Mike was up on the side of this guy's tractor holding two measuring tapes from the driver's eyes to his right-side mirror. I hope Mike gets royalties!

We enjoyed the "sharp" 70+ mph curves that were on I-40 just before the Oklahoma line. I have fantasies about west-Texas riders going hundreds of miles to run through those two or three curves several times, just so all the wear on their tires won't be from the center.

It was dark by the time we got to OKC, and stopped for gas again and for a snack. We would have been on the road quicker, but a guy who had an 86 Goldwing wanted to talk about riding and pick our empty brains about what we knew about 82 Goldwings. He never figured out that we knew absolutely nothing. We both called home and let our wives know we were alive and called ahead to Mike Smith in Hutchinson to let him know we'd be there around midnight.

North of OKC, we saw another big cross near the highway at Guthrie and got worried by a guy in a pickup who would pass us, slow down, block us, let us pass him, then drop way back, only to catch up and tailgate us or ride alongside one or the other of us. I was beginning to think about pulling off the Interstate and going to a police station to ask him what he was doing (and Mike was beginning to think about ratcheting it up to a hundred mph or so and just leaving him) when he finally decided to play his game with someone else.

One stop at a rest area just before the Kansas line. Two stops on the Kansas Turnpike, then it was on to Newton for gas and the turn west to US 50. At a little after midnight we pulled into Mike Smith's driveway. He didn't answer his door, so I called him on the cell phone and he opened the garage. We pulled in, got off, he witnessed Mike Reid's Saddlesore ride, and we crashed. For all of three hours.

Then it was up and at 'em, Atom Ant. Mike Smith rode with us for a few miles, helping us get out of Hutchinson in the quickest manner, and westbound on US 50. At US 281, we turned north and headed to Great Bend. We stopped there long enough for Mike to put his earplugs in, and then on our way out of town, my speedometer dropped to zero mph. Just as quickly, it was back up, then back down. We had talked about the possibility of breaking a speedometer cable and Mike had been able to pick one up the day before we left town. When we stopped, I unscrewed the bottom of the cable and it looked fine. Then the top just fell out! We pulled off the road under a street light and quick enough, Mike had it screwed back in.

Between Great Bend and Russell, I noticed those same two airplanes climbing into the eastern sky.

Through Russell, the home of Senators Bob Dole and Arlen Specter, and north through rolling hills and fairly impressive road cuts. At State Road 18, we turned west past the exit to Paradise (so near, yet so far!) and rode on through the cold to Plainville, Kansas. In the rear-view, I saw my second sunrise in two days. What a magnificent combination of orange and blue and purple!

At Plainville, we were ready for breakfast but couldn't find a restaurant. I couldn't imagine a farm community without somewhere for farmers to gather in the early morning, so we wandered around until we found the Sale Barn and Shelly's Restaurant. We got some funny looks, but we also got a great breakfast at about half the price of the Country Kitchen in Trinidad. A couple of ranchers asked us if it was cold. An hour later, when we left, it was still cold.

The country north of Plainville, as we rode through Philllipsburg, Kansas, and Alma, Nebraska, was just beautiful. The turning leaves, green alfalfa, golden corn and wheat stubble, made me grateful to live in such a rich land.

At Holdrege, Nebraska, we got gas for the next to last time, and went inside and drank coffee. It seemed like every old man in town came by to ask us if it was cold. One man told us about his one experience on a "great big Kawasaki 1000" when he had twisted that throttle and nearly been thrown off the back. It scared him so bad he made his cousin drive the bike home and never rode a street bike again. "Boys," he said, "Boys - them things are sumpthin!" We agreed and headed west on the last leg of the trip. 250 miles to Fort Morgan and five hours to make it for Mike's Bunburner. He did have the cushion of being able to stop about 80 miles before I could if we ran into time difficulties.

That wasn't necessary as we cruised along at 75-80, only slowing every 10-15 miles for another little Nebraska town. McCook was the only one that slowed us below 30 and we had to stop for three or four traffic lights there. When we went by Binkleman, Nebraska, the temperature was still in the high 40s, but by Haigler, the last town in Nebraska, it was into the upper 50s. Then in only a few miles, we stopped at Wray, Colorado, for something to drink and so we could peel off a layer or two - it was 70 degrees when we left.

About a half hour after we left Wray, we were just east of Yuma, when a kid in a red Jeep Waggoner tried to end my trip prematurely. I don't know if he was on his cell phone or reading a book, or what, but he was aimed straight at me and looking down on the passenger seat. I was just ready to head for the little dab of shoulder that was still open and hoping that he wouldn't swerve more to his left, when he looked up and dove back into his lane. It was the only real danger I felt on the whole trip (except for the nervousness with the pickup north of OKC).

Another hour brought us safely home to Fort Morgan and the Conoco, where I stopped my clock 34 hours and 21 minutes after it started. 1520 miles! What a trip!

I have nothing but admiration for those who do the Bun Burner Golds and the long rallies. To have turned this ride into BBG, would have taken electrics for me and much faster stops. I think sit-down meals (we had three) would be absolutely out of the question for a Gold pace.

By the way, I had purchased the Concours fairing extenders the day before we left, and they make a big difference. Well worth the $72 I paid Sun Enterprises. I recommend them heartily!

Phil Tarman, Ft. Morgan, CO, IBA # 5811: SS1000, BB1500