My Quest for the Iron Butt

By Toni Haggard 

I had to ask. I should have known better but I just had to ask.  As a new rider with the Windy City RATS I spent a lot of time riding behind Dave Foster and Chris McKee, both of which are Iron Butt Association members.  On those long trips I literally stared at their license plate frames proclaiming that they were members of the “World’s Toughest Riders”.  What exactly did they do to get this prestigious honor?   When I asked them ride names like the “SaddleSore”, “BunBurner”, and of course “BunBurner GOLD” circulated throughout the conversation.  Basically these rides were 1000 miles in 24 hours, 1500 miles in under36 hours, and 1500 miles in less than 24 hours.  Now I understood. 

Never having ridden a motorcycle prior to June 2003, these types of long distance runs seemed out of reach for my ability and experience.  But after attending the MSF Basic Rider Course, logging many hours with Chris and Dave, going to the Galena Rally and participating in the filming of the Corbin video, and pretty much riding my bike every day, I found the miles and hours of experience increasing to the point where I actually thought I could pull off a SaddleSore.  So I chose the third weekend of November as the date and began my planning.

The association’s website www.ironbutt.org had lots of tips and tricks written by ride veterans, so I read and re-read the material.  I planned the route: Chicago - Des Moines - Kansas City - St. Louis - Chicago and checked the weather.  Except for a little rain, it should be a mild 60-degree weekend.  I had the magnetic tank bag, the heated grips, the farmer-john green two-piece bib overall rain suit (which I borrowed), CD player, snacks and extra clothes so I was ready to rock and roll.

I ended up putting on the rain suite as I was leaving the house.  Somewhere on I-80 the wind began pulling the jacket up so I stopped under a viaduct, grabbed a bungee cord, put it around my waist and voila!  The problem was solved.  Rudimentary, but it worked.  The rain was heavy and continued all the way to Des Moines.  It was a long, cold, wet morning but I had started and there was no turning back.  On I-35 south to Kansas City I began to really feel the wind.  So did the rain suit - the left leg had begun to separate at the seam and flapped like a trapped bird.  So out came the duct tape…  On one of the gas stops I walked by a glass window and saw my reflection and it even scared me! Because of the many layers of clothes and the glamorous rain suit I looked like the Michelin man held together by a bungee cord and tape!  Going to the bathroom took about 20 minutes between peeling the layers off and putting them all back on.  But I was warm and dry.  I resigned myself to getting true Triumph riding gear for future rides, but until then I’d have to live with scaring small children on the interstate. 

Somewhere around the Missouri border the landscape changed from totally flat (yes Iowa is flatter than Illinois) to hilly.  The sun came out and the temperature was a moderate 65-degrees.   Layers came off, the visor went up, and I sat back and enjoyed a beautiful sunset over the Missouri tree line.  After darkness fell, the rest of the trip from that point was a foggy, dark blur.  Miles and miles of highway, median lines, lane stripes, and truck lights blended together into a menagerie of miles.  The glow of St. Louis was a welcome site after several hours of riding on a dark and deserted Missouri highway.  

After riding directly beneath the arch and crossing the mighty Mississippi I was back in Illinois and in the homestretch.  At that point my bike and I were in a groove.  With average speeds of 80 mph during the entire run, I was less then four hours out of Chicago and it was only 10 at night.  I would make it back well under the 24 hour limit and would do it straight without an extended rest stop

The temperature began to drop so I put my heated grips on high.  As the lights of St. Louis began to fade, the wet road became harder to see.  I flicked on my high beams to verify my position and then Bam! Total darkness.  I guess the high setting of my grips and the high beam of my headlight was too much for my Adventurer’s electrical system.  I hoped it was a fuse and not the bulb, since I had only brought extras of the former.  I pulled off the road, swapped fuses and had a headlight once again.  I got back on the road happy that it wasn’t anything more.

I picked up speed to make up for lost time.  I could still make it according to plan.  Then the fog hit, and hit hard.  My speed dropped to 60.   Then came deer scurrying across the road.  My speed dropped to 50 to avoid killing Bambi and her brood.  Then the streetlights and median reflectors disappeared as did my speed and hopes of making it all the way back home.   It was about 3 a.m. at this point and I was fighting to stay awake.   I rode the centerline and sang along with my Staind CD hoping to ward off sleep.  It didn’t work.  I checked into a motel at 3:30 am and had trouble signing my credit card receipt as my hands had morphed into some curled up claw-like appendages.  But the desk clerk signed off on my Iron Butt paperwork and my 1049 miles, so I had reached my goal.  

My body had trouble laying flat on the bed, everything but my butt was sore, and the hum of the road noise echoed in my head even though the room was dead silent.  I slept a mere four hours, then got up and drove home.  The ride home was sweet - the clock and speedometer were no longer taskmasters.  I enjoyed the ride contented in having accomplished my goal.  So what’s up for next year?  I’ll probably take the MSF Experienced Rider Course and become an instructor.  Plus there are more Iron Butt rides to conquer...