Iron Butt

1300 Minnesota 1000

This is the story of my first and, likely last, long distance motorcycle endurance rally, the Minnesota One-Thousand or MN1000. The Iron Butt Association® sponsors motorcycle endurance rallies. Unlike social rallies, such as the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally where attendees ride motorcycles in between alcohol binges and music concerts, IBA rallies are riding-centric scavenger hunts often lasting days and sometimes week(s). The scavenger hunt consists of “bonus” locations assigned various point values. Riders use computer spreadsheets, algorithms, and GPS systems to create a route that maximizes points within an allotted time period. Points are accumulated by riding to each bonus location, taking a photo of an object specified in the bonus manual with a uniquely numbered flag issued at the start of the rally, and logging the date, time, odometer reading, and the Bonus identifier. Photos and logs are submitted to judges who validate the scoresheet or deduct points for various errors. The most grueling IBA endurance rally is the official IBA Rally which lasts eleven days and is often won by a rider accumulating over 11,000 miles. The Hoka Hey Challenge is a similar eleven-day event that specifies a predefined route without allowing any electronic navigation aids. Additionally, the Hoka Hey requires riders sleep next to their motorcycles the entire length of the Challenge.

The MN1000, a 24 or 48-hour event, was held every year from 1995 to 2022, excluding 2020 when it was cancelled due to the Covid19 Pandemic. I enjoyed the rally experience immensely, learned some things about myself, and met some wonderful people. Ultimately though, I didn’t do enough in the first two-thirds of my marriage to build a relationship with my wife and, having figured that out and gotten it on track, I’m less inclined to spend my limited free time pounding out miles to random places chosen by someone.

The people who put this event on are legitimately nice guys and gals. Some went out of their way to engage me in conversation and help me feel among friends. While there are a few women, young riders, and people of color, the rally demographic can be largely stereotyped as “OWG” - “Old White Guy”. I had a very positive rally experience overall and all negatives were purely self-imposed. Nevertheless, the most enjoyable time of the Rally was spent with Mrs. RD before Friday night’s Riders Dinner.

I planned the weekend a month in advance. Needing a computer to process the GPX file and plan a route but not wanting to take the computer with me on the entire ride, Mrs. RD agreed to drive to the hotel seventy minutes away in rush hour traffic through Minneapolis and spend the night so she could take the laptop and any other unwanted/unneeded items with her. We arrived early enough to spend an hour in the indoor pool which was a welcome relief from the recent week of Phoenix-like temperatures. Afterwards, I attended the Rider’s Meeting and returned to the hotel where she assisted in route planning by looking up weather forecasts for different route options.

I rode 960 miles in 20 hours to see the Egyptian Pyramid and Dutch windmills in northern North Dakota. Ok - they’re not really Egyptian nor Dutch but that's what came to mind as I stood in middle-of-nowhere North Dakota looking at what I had ridden to see.

1301 Expectation

One of the old timers asked me at the Rider’s Meeting what my expectations were for the rally. I had thought about that beforehand and settled on two goals: Don't crash and Come in last place.

I jokingly told them I'd be very disappointed in myself if I failed at the first and in the entire group if I failed at the latter. I look at life as a competition against myself - not others. These people are remarkably good at long distance rally riding. It would have been naive to have thought I could have been competitive.

Similar to planning my trip to Alaska, I set bounds on my rally participation. I was totally willing to write it off if the weather was cold and wet, having no interest in spending hours riding in cold rain. Been There. Done That. What I didn’t expect was a record-breaking heat wave. Living in Phoenix for fourteen years taught me that my body handles heat well - my helmeted head no so much.

1302 Disappointment

My heart sank as I read through the Bonus listing and instantly recognized nearly all the points were in South Dakota along I-90 and in North Dakota along I-94. This was not what I expected. I spend a week nearly every year traversing both states on those interstates. The last thing I wanted was a motorcycle blast across I-90 to Rapid City - and even less appealing was to jet across I-94 past Bismark. Those were the clear paths to maximizing points and scoring well. Less obvious was a valuable point in Niobara, Nebraska, and adjacent high value points near Sioux Falls and Sioux City; eastern Nebraska was forecasted to have even higher temperatures.

The only alternative to the heat was routes to four points near Langdon, North Dakota, twenty miles from the Manitoba border. That route would be comfortable riding, however, there weren’t enough points to make it competitive. Clearly the rally master wanted the best riders to target Aladdin, Wyoming, or Alexander, North Dakota. I briefly considered Alexander as it would get me a quick visit with my Soldier Daughter before remembering she and Son-in-Law were out-of-state.

Expectation is the root of unhappiness. I vented my unhappiness to Mrs. RD. We were in our 33rd year together. We're very honest with each other that we both had unreasonable expectations for decades. A little bit of expectation is a good thing but an overabundance can ruin a marriage. We admit our faults and have lowered the bar to a healthy level. We enjoy being together again. To think that it could have been this way all along induces regret.

I don’t hold the rally master accountable for the weather but I expected a more varied point map. Granted, a lot of riders come to the MN1000 from other parts of the country; they don’t get to ride across the Dakotas as much as those of us who live in the neighborhood. I have it on good authority that the number one cause of motorcycle trailer sales is riding across the northern Great Plains a second time.

1303 Ride Planning

I worked three hours Friday night trying to piece together an interesting route before lying awake another hour churning the sequence over in my head. I was going to Langdon yet I wasn’t happy about it. I fell asleep at midnight and rose at 5 am to finalize the route plan: eight bonuses plus one optional.

Plan your ride. Ride your plan. The most competitive riders continually revise their plan in route with multiple GPS units - one for the Plan and one for What-If ideas that arise enroute. Just as in my Alaska ride, I chose not to mount a GPS display in front of me - just Google Maps speaking to me through a Bluetooth headset so I could hear Ms. Google tell me when to turn. The GPS decision was of no consequence in my finishing order. I might have saved 10-15 minutes total time over the course of 20 hours with a GPS - not enough to make a difference for my particular route.

I arrived at 7 am for the Rider’s Briefing, ate one donut, put a granola bar in my jacket pocket and grabbed a 32-ounce water bottle to supplement three frozen twenty-ounce water bottles in my panniers. Aside from a packet of peanut butter crackers I picked up at 4 pm - that was my nutrition for the day.

One of the coolest experiences I’ve had as a rider was pulling out of the rally parking lot together as one big band of brothers - each a knight of the round table departing to slay his own dragon. Each rider accelerated into oblivion once onto the interstate.

1304 Lake Wobegon

My first Bonus location was a nearby mural of Prince. He’s a big deal in these parts. So is Bob Dylan. Don’t even think of saying anything critical of either; both are gods in Minnesota. I’m largely indifferent. I was in a sour mood and this mural wasn’t helping. Flag. Picture. Log. I loaded the next latitude and longitude coordinates into Google Maps and departed. I was definitely not feeling it.

I dutifully soldiered on to the next point knowing that I had the option of bagging the rally and riding My Ride. Waypoint LWT, or Lake Wobegon Trail, was 90 minutes away in Holdingford, Minnesota. I mulled my options the entire way.

Mrs. RD and I moved to MN partly out of necessity and sort of due to Garrison Keillor’s radio program, A Prairie Home Companion.(IB01) I heard it the first time in 1983 and listened intermittently until we had children when listening to the news from Lake Wobegon became a weekly ritual. Having lived in Minnesota for over twenty years I can say his stereotypical characterization of his native tribe is reasonably accurate… which is why the natives largely dislike him. Turns out, the truth really does hurt.

I live on the outskirts of Lake Wobegon and regularly ride to small towns underneath towering church steeples on the prairie. The era is slipping away with every roof-mounted satellite dish but traces of fictional Lake Wobegon survive: community flower gardens, vegetable gardens complete with scarecrows, small town Main Streets with home cooking diners, ice houses on the lake every winter. There are dozens of small towns west of the Twin Cities out on the vast farmland, nestled into woodland valleys. Every one of them has a heritage of hardy Norwegians, Swedes, Danes, and Germans. When it came to men in Lake Wobegon it was famously said, the odds are good that the goods are odd. No truer observation has ever been made of Lake Wobegon life.

1305 Structure versus Whimsy

I needed fuel regardless of where I was going next. I pulled up to a pump at the station in Holdingford. While filling my tank I spotted a sign in the yard across the street containing a long political screed. I readily grant any man the right to fly his freak flag, however, it was unsolicited political commentary I could do without. My attitude was already in the toilet and now I was subjected to expert pandemic advice from a rural Minnesota genius lacking the mental capacity to spell virology. I didn’t like our society's response to Covid-19 any more than anybody else. In my formative years Americans were cautious about disclosing their ignorance in public; the internet seems to have destroyed that wisdom in the span of my lifetime.

I pulled into the LWT trailhead parking lot for the paved rails-to-trails bicycle/walking path. The lot was full of cars with empty bicycle racks. Cycling is the single largest religion among Minnesotans, exceeding both Catholics and Lutherans. I immediately began looking for the sign I needed to take a picture of. Fortunately, I had walked right past it to the Soo Line caboose painted with Keillor’s images of Lake Wobegon and the largest piece of petrified wood ever found in Minnesota just a few feet away. It was the touch of inspiration I needed. The emotional needle swung enough in the positive direction that I charted a course for Fargo.

One of my personal struggles with rallies is structure. To do well in a rally one needs to be disciplined and methodical - exactly the things I don’t want in any part of my motorcycling. Riding is one of the few whimsical activities in my life. I want it to remain that way.

I saw an old church while passing through Freeport, obviously of late 1800’s or early 1900’s construction. At first I didn’t get off the bike but then noticed a unique photo opportunity of the sun aligned to the peak of the steeple. I snapped a picture for Ural’s wife while spending ten minutes at Sacred Heart Catholic Church. Not that churches mean anything to me but that momentary spark of creativity was worth riding twenty hours to capture.

1306 Attitude Adjustment

Like Jake Elwood (IB02), the atheist was now on a mission from God. I had ridden all morning without music but decided to fire up my iTunes library for the next riding segment. The first song that came up was Bonnie Raitt’s cover of John Prine’s Angel from Montgomery.(IB03) How appropriate: A song about longing for a meaningful life as I searched for meaning on this motorcycle ride.

With my adjusted attitude I joined I-94 westbound for TWC - The Wood Chipper - 158 miles away at the Fargo-Moorhead Visitors Center. I rode into a steady 30 mph headwind typical of the northern plains. Of course, the woodchipper referred to is the one used in the Cohen brother’s movie, Fargo.(IB04) Once there I received conflicting directions from Ms. Google resulting in a few minutes dead reckoning. Similar to Mrs. RD - she needs to work on her timing. I was met by a retired couple manning the reception desk. He knew exactly what picture I needed and took my picture next to TWC. My favorite Cohen brothers’ movies are Raising Arizona (IB05) and Oh Brother Where Art Thou (IB06), but Fargo is a mix of the hilarious and macabre with a dose of Lake Wobegon thrown in.

With all the attitude gymnastics of the morning out of the way, I loaded the coordinates for Cavalier, North Dakota, - 160 miles north on Interstate 29 and departed TWC for bonus location SIM in Cavalier. As I was cruising up I-29 I had the stray thought I should eat something. I stopped outside Grand Forks to gas up and picked up a packet of peanut butter & crackers. I put one of my water bottles in my front jacket pocket and the crackers in another pocket and munched while I was headed up the highway with no traffic. That was another reason for choosing to head north; I-29 goes to Winnipeg. Not a whole lot of people want to go to Winnipeg.

1307 Ms. Google B*tch

The United States developed the Nike anti-ballistic missile (ABM) system from 1955 through 1975 eventually changing the name several times before resting on the name, Spartan. Spartan ABM’s were three stage solid fuel Thiokol rocket motors stretching fifty-five feet tall and nearly four feet in diameter carrying a 5 Megaton nuclear warhead. The whole package weighed 29,000 pounds and had a maximum range of less than five hundred miles. Spartans were deployed from 1975 through 1976. Due to increasing MiRV (multiple re-entry vehicles) deployment, ABM technology at the time simply wasn’t sophisticated enough to keep up with ICBM growth rates and the MiRV multiplier. Upon retirement empty rocket bodies were offered to cities and towns near deployment sites. Cavalier happened to be one of those towns. They placed theirs at the edge of town in an unused easement at an oddball intersection. With flag/photo/log completed, I loaded the coordinates for MSO - Masonic Scenic Overlook in Walhalla, ND.

The next bonus location was twenty-three miles from Cavalier. Walhalla sits on the banks of the Pembina River in a picturesque river valley with sporty riding into and out of. It’s the second oldest town in North Dakota dating back to 1840’s when it supported fur traders of the Red River Valley. Only five miles from the Canadian border - the nearest city is Winnipeg, Manitoba (90 miles). The nearest state-side Walmart is 107 miles away in Grand Forks.

At the Masonic Scenic Overlook (MSO) there was a wire frame larger-than-life-size statue of an elk. Here is the exact wording from the bonus packet: Follow the signs to the overlook, do not go into the cemetery. 0.5 miles of fair gravel with a couple of rough spots.

I was taking an eight-hundred-pound Touring bike on fair gravel with a couple of rough spots. What had I gotten myself into!? Seven hundred and twenty-eight points, that’s what. It was the single highest point value on my route due to distance and then difficulty of ascent. Yea, I said, “ascent”. Remember - we’re going to a scenic overlook. “Overlook” requires “up there” in all languages. We’re going uphill on a gravel road with ruts and holes on an 800-pound touring bike with about four inches of suspension travel.

Of course, the first thing I did was turn into the cemetery because right when I approached the cemetery drive on my right Ms. Google-B*tch screamed TURN RIGHT! which it turns out was way worse than the correct road going to the overlook. Fortunately, I made it back to the road without falling over but it was sketchy going in the cemetery.

I continued where I should have gone in the first place by telling Ms.Google-B*tch to STFU. She’d be less cocksure of her directions if she was in my place. A few tense minutes later I arrived at the overlook. It was indeed picturesque. I am forever amazed at the beauty of North Dakota.

1308 Langdon

I loaded coordinates into Google Maps, picked a route and… not so fast. I now had to descend a half mile of fair gravel with a couple rough spots. For the record: I have never ridden a dirt bike - ever. I kept Elvis in first gear, used the rear brake as necessary, and chose my line carefully to avoid the ruts.

Once back onto pavement I made a regretful decision. I had last filled the gas tank in Grand Forks and made a poor decision not to ride further into Walhalla to refuel. Much of North Dakota is a gas station desert. Claiming MSO had consumed valuable time. It was past 18:00 and I had to be back in Lakeville (south of Minneapolis) by 07:59:59. I was 434 miles from Lakeville and had to squeeze in a four-hour rest bonus. Plus, I still had two more bonus locations to claim. Ten miles down the road I realized I had no idea where the next gas station was located. Langdon could be a map dot for all I knew. Fortunately, the poor decision only resulted in added stress as Langdon had the most glorious gas station I’d ever laid eyes on. Four gallons filled the tank - meaning I was seventy miles from running out. In this part of North Dakota, seventy miles gets one from nowhere to nowhere with nothing in between.

The bonus point at Langdon was another Spartan missile body - only this one was placed in a city park adjacent to the elementary school. This missile was placed right next to where kids went through nuclear attack drills in the 1950’s and 60’s. With coordinates loaded into Google Maps, I let out the clutch.

1309 Matt from Climax

The Egyptians didn’t build a pyramid in North Dakota. The United States Army did - at horrific expense - $15B in current dollars. And got no return - it was operational for less than a year. The pyramid structure was a radar to detect incoming Soviet ICBMs and direct the Spartan ABM response to shoot them down. It was technically obsolete before it was completed. Technology giveth, technology taketh away - that’s in the Bible somewhere.

Wind turbines had been installed around the facility. As I stood on the paved road with the pyramid in the distance, the thought occurred: It’s as if the Egyptians built a pyramid and the Dutch built windmills right here in North Dakota. With bonus location NDP claimed, I loaded Grand Forks into Google Maps and saddled up.

The route intersected US2. These bonuses had pushed me farther west of I-29. Similar to Minnesota, much of northeast North Dakota is a wetland. In places, the road crossed wetlands with birds and ducks - a veritable Terry Redlin painting in real life - only he left out the insects. Within a mile, Elvis was plastered with dead bugs.

US2 is considered a scenic route. Some think it is a must ride if one loves vast landscapes. At one railroad overpass there was a Subaru parked on the side of the road. At this spot alongside US2 ninety miles west of Grand Forks in the proverbial middle of nowhere, sat a middle-aged couple in lawn chairs birdwatching.

Sixty miles west of Grand Forks on US2 is a rest area. I pulled in for a quick stop and found myself alone. As I exited the facilities I immediately noticed a motorcycle parked next to mine with a rear tire as wide as Texas. Walking toward me was Matt wearing his Combat Veterans Motorcycle Association (CVMA) leather jacket covered in patches. He spoke first: It looks like you have Bear strapped in well. We met at the bikes, he lit a cigar, and my short break turned into a little bit longer. No rally is worth missing out on a momentary roadside friendship. He had long, red hair in a ponytail and a long red beard tied off in spots. He had served in the Marine Expeditionary Force in Iraq.

On the front of his jacket was a large patch: CLIMAX. I asked, “Where’re you from?” Climax, Minnesota. “Where’s that?” Southeast of Grand Forks. We rode the sixty miles to Grand Forks and pulled into a gas station. He said he had never ridden a thousand in a day as he called it. He asked where I was crashing for the night - I told him the truth - I didn't know but I needed to be in Lakeville before 8 am. He shook his head in wonder. Worried that I wouldn’t transit the interchange onto I-94 East properly at Fargo, he brought the map up on his phone to explain it to me. Then it struck me: he saw me as a grandfather-type who might need some help. It was a touching thought and something I had never experienced before. We all like to see ourselves as who we imagine ourselves to be - not how other people actually perceive us. It was a reality check for me: I am not the young man I once was and still imagine myself to be.

We exited with Matt in the lead and thirty-five minutes of daylight remaining. Besides temperature, additional daylight was a factor I considered in picking the northern bonuses. It was barely dark at 11 pm. I saw the last vestiges of sunlight on the northwest horizon in my rearview mirror and immediately remembered the Land of the Midnight Sun. Matt took his exit from I-29 somewhere south of Grand Forks. I continued on to Fargo and transited the interchange - touched by his genuine concern for my wellbeing.

1310 Rest Bonus

I had sufficient fuel to get to Alexandria, Minnesota, around midnight. I love riding at night when it is safe - that feeling of continually punching a small hole into infinite darkness with only the illumination of the instrument cluster and headlights. I neared Fergus Falls at 23:30 and decided to get a room before the night clerk went to sleep. I pulled into a gas station to take on one gallon and get a receipt for starting the rest bonus. I’d fill up the remainder of the tank in the morning to document ending the rest bonus. [A “Rest Bonus” is when you earn rally points for getting off the motorcycle for a specified amount of time. It is the rally organizers method of ensuring no one is riding to the point of sleep deprivation putting the rider and others at risk of an accident. It is documented by two paper receipts from the same location with time stamps.]

The first motel had no vacancies so I pulled into one next door. A humble Indian fellow greeted me with total deference and I returned the same to him. He had been closing up for the night when I walked in; regardless, he checked me in quickly. I opened the door to find the room was a dive but the bed remarkably comfortable. After checking the projected time to Lakeville, I set the alarm for 4:07 am. I plugged the phone into its charger and slid into bed at midnight having ridden 763 miles in 15.6 hours. My energy was still high but I fell fast asleep.

The alarm startled me from a deep sleep. I rose quickly and took a 60-second shower before checking the temperature, dressing appropriately, and loading the bike. I pulled into the station across the street to fill the tank and got my second rest bonus receipt.

As I rode out of the lakes region and into the woodlands, the temperature dropped as the sun crested the horizon. Riding through the shallow valleys of the woodlands - the temperature lowered further. I rode into picturesque valleys with fog hanging low over lakes, chilled by the cold. I would be low on fuel by Lakeville. Not wanting to suffer the uncertainty of a day earlier, I pulled onto the exit ramp at Sauk Center to top off the tank and added a layer under my jacket before rejoining I-94. Although I passed within twelve miles from my house, I continued riding forty-five more miles to the rally finish.

1311 Finish Line

The rally ended at 7:59:59. It was precisely 7:30 am. My trip meter displayed 960 miles. Remarkably, I wasn’t the least bit tired or fatigued. I had no pains at any time in the preceding 20 hours of riding. The worst I could say was that my ears were tired of ear plugs.

The parking lot contained a fair number of rally bikes. I gathered my scoring sheet and headed inside to double-check my entries. Similar to golf, rally riding is a bit pedantic when it comes to scoring; the smallest error can be costly in points. Fortunately for me, the worst I had done was lost the flash drive containing the GPX file for which I was deducted 100 points. I ate a bit of breakfast while reviewing my score sheet.

Prior to the rally I had corresponded with the only other Harley rider entered. Doug had ridden up from Memphis on his 2017 Ultra Limited. He mentioned when passing me in the parking lot that he had been disqualified for arriving at 8:04 am. Most rallies have a 100 point per minute penalty for being late to the finish line. This one didn’t - he was disqualified for being four minutes late. Doug had ridden to Aladdin WY and back, 1300 miles, in 20 hours picking up some bonus locations in Rapid City along the way. I felt horrible for him.

Another rider hailing from Joliet, Illinois, approached to tell me that he had spoiled my goal of finishing last. He rode out three hundred miles before deciding that he was not in the physical condition to go any farther. He wisely turned around and returned to his hotel near the Start/Finish.

I finished well. The winner of the Rookie division finished slightly higher by going to the same northern locations as me but tacked on a higher value bonus location along I-90 instead of seeing Prince and Lake Wobegon. Ultimately I had a fantastic time riding in the rally. I said in the beginning this would likely be my first and last rally. I think that’s true, but maybe not. Sometimes even an atheist will go on a mission from God.

References

IB01. A Prairie Home Companion, G.Keillor, American Public Radio

IB02. The Blues Brothers, Akroyd/Landis, Universal, 1980

IB03. Steeetlights, Warner Brothers, 1974

IB04. Fargo, Cohen/Cohen, Working Title Films, 1996

IB05. Raising Arizona, Cohen/Cohen, 20th Century Fox, 1987

IB06. Oh Brother Where Art Thou, Cohen/Cohen, various, 2000