Chris' Ultimate Coast to Coast Ride

Chapter 5

Day Two

            I have never gotten used to being jarred out of a deep sleep by the Meanie in a strange location and this time was no different.  I bolted up in bed as the timer went off.  I took a quick shower, had my power bar breakfast and loaded the bike in the early morning darkness.  By 5:30 AM CST (6:30 AM EST) I was on the road, heading north.

            Two states surprised me on the trip, just by the amount of time it took to ride through them.  Florida was the first and Illinois was the second.  I seemed to be in Illinois forever.  Illinois also distinguished itself by having the stupidest toll on the trip.  In northern Illinois, as I approached the Wisconsin border, traffic ground to a halt.  Being early on a Friday morning, I was sure that an accident was the cause.  As I inched forward, I began mentally making withdrawals from my time bank.  After about a half hour, I saw the cause for the back up.  A toll booth with only 2 active lanes lay ahead.  Not only that, the toll was a 10 cent exact change toll.  Unbelievable. 

            I began scrounging through my tank bag looking for anything in the way of change.  I eventually found a quarter to toss in.  If I had not found the quarter, the State of Illinois would have been 10 cents poorer, because I was just going to ride through.   A half hour lost to a toll that can’t possibly pay to even maintain the equipment.  As I sat in the traffic, I did some ciphering.  I figured about 3 cars per minute per lane and came up with a gross income of $36.00 per hour state revenue generated.  And this of course assumes traffic is always backed up at the toll, even in the dead of night.  Subtracting costs, maintenance and salaries, I would bet this toll ends up in a negative deficit.   I have no idea if this is true, but it killed the time as I sat in traffic.  And people wonder what endurance riders think about while riding all those miles alone.  Ten cent tolls would be an answer.

            I continued north into the Wisconsin Dells.  Having ridden through the Dells a couple of times, I still do not know what a Dell is.  I assume the “Farmer in the Dell” childhood rhyme has something to do with an agricultural product in Wisconsin, but if anyone really knows what a Dell is, drop me line and let me know.  I’m thinking it could be some type of hill, but being there were a lot bovine types in this area, it may very well be a Wisconsin cow.

            North of Madison, Wisconsin, I dodged another bullet.  Traffic on I-90 south was back up for miles and miles due to construction.   As I headed north, I waited for the proverbial hammer to fall as I was sure construction had to be coming up.  The hammer never fell.  I began feeling guilty about passing the cars stuck on the other side of the interstate.   The cars on the other side were not even moving and the back-up went on forever.  Had the construction been on the northbound side, my time account would have been overdrawn quickly.

            By the time I had put the Dells behind me and turned west towards Minneapolis, I was three hours a head of schedule.  It was around this time that I realized that if I was able to maintain this pace and stay out of trouble, that I would have a chance at bettering Shane Smith’s record time for the ride.  My mind was trying to recalculate where I was in relation to the record.  I was also fully aware that much tougher riding lay ahead of me, but, heck, this gave me something more to cipher on.  This was probably more important than thinking about 10 cent tolls.

            I had passed through the Minneapolis/St. Paul area during the BLIII.  The second checkpoint had been located just north of the Twin Cities in Monticello, MN.  I had gotten stuck in traffic on I-94 heading out of St. Paul a year ago.  This time would be no different.  I have come to the decision the term Twin Cities means twice as much traffic.  Especially on a Friday evening rush hour.  Here I made a riding mistake that nearly ended the ride.

            I was hot, miserable and sitting in traffic.  The more I sat, the more frustrated I became.  I made a lane change from a dead stop without fully looking to my right.    As I pulled into the right lane I saw a vehicle in that lane bearing squarely down on me.  STUPID!  Tires squealed behind me.  I hit the throttle as hard as I could.  Whoever the lady was, I am thankful she was a pretty good driver.  She swerved her vehicle onto the shoulder and slid between me and the guardrail, missing both by the narrowest of margins.  She pulled over up ahead.  I don’t know if she thought she had hit me or was stopping to calm herself down.  My heart was thumping.  I was cursing myself.  What a stupid way to get squished.  I couldn’t even complain about the stupid lady on the cell phone.  This accident would have been all about the crazy biker from Maryland.  This time it was the motorcyclist who hadn’t seen the car. 

            After finally clearing the Twin Cities area, I headed into western Minnesota.  There was very little traffic, high speed limits and beautiful countryside.   Weather continued to be perfect as I crossed into North Dakota.  As I passed through Fargo and turned north to Canada, I thought about the movie Fargo, and the vast barren areas it portrayed.  I know the film was shot someplace else, but the feeling was the same.  There were large areas of emptiness, with little or no traffic.  I don’t even know what the speed limit was between Fargo and the Canadian Border.  No one seemed to really care.  I passed some cars and cars passed me.  I saw a couple of police cars in this stretch, and I don’t think they cared much about the speed limit.  The miles slipped away as daylight dwindled down. 

            I could see storms off in the distance, but none seemed to be in my path.  Clouds just towered above the horizon.  I could see the lightning strikes and the rain coming down, but I knew they were no threat.  I think this is one of the best things about riding out west.  You can see storm cells miles and miles away from you.  Back home, by the time you see it, you are nearly in it.

            I pulled into Pembina, North Dakota, desperately needing gas, just as the last vestiges of daylight slipped below the horizon.  I gassed up and switched to my clear visor for the night ahead.  I was about to loose a serious chunk of time due to a navigating error.

            I never cease to amaze Nancy with my incredible lack of any sense of direction.  It confounds her that I still get lost going to her house, even though I have been there hundreds of times.   Yet, I can safely navigate via the GPS all over the country, often to obscure locations, with little trouble.  It would seem that it is true, that you become so dependant on the GPS, that a long distance rider can’t find the kitchen without one.

            Pembina, ND is a major border crossing into Canada.  I-29 passes the town and heads straight into Canada, where it becomes Canadian Route 75.  In other words, finding Canada should not be a problem!  I had pulled off I-29 and into a gas station to fuel up.  As I was leaving the station, the GPS was guiding me away from I-29 and pointing me east.  For some reason, this seemed perfectly normal to me.  I followed the GPS, moving farther away from the Border crossing at Pembina.  For some reason, the GPS wanted me to cross the border near Emerson, Manitoba. 

            I wound my way through dark, deserted streets, thinking this must be one small border crossing.  I eventually ended up at a US Customs checkpoint, south of Emerson.  I spoke to the inspector there, who informed me the border was closed on the Canadian side and would not open until the next morning.  I was stunned.  How can you close a country?  I was told that I could go to Pembina and cross there.  I stupidly asked ‘where is Pembina?’, even though I had just been there.  As he gave directions, I came to the realization that I was just there.  Wasted time.

            I headed back to Pembina, cursing myself the whole time.  The stupid mistakes were going to continue.  I passed the gas station where I had just refueled 45 minutes before.  Just beyond the gas station, I jumped back on I-29 north and came to the border crossing about a mile later.  I waited in line, happy to have finally found Canada.  As I pulled into a long line, there was only one lane open at Canadian Customs.  Just after I pulled into the line, another lane opened up and I quickly hopped out of line and went to the open lane.

            I was asked the routine questions.   No weapons.  No tobacco.  No alcohol.  The Canadian Inspector advised me to pick up some bear spray, since I told him that I was heading to Alaska.  He wished me luck and sent me on my way.  I had intended to ride north to Trans Canadian Route 1 and take that west.  The GPS was acting up.  It kept directing me to make a U-Turn.  I knew I wanted to head in a general northwest direction, avoiding Winnipeg.  I had a sense of disorientation and was not sure of my route at all.  And the GPS kept screaming to make a u-turn.  I finally relented and made a u-turn.

            For some strange reason, the GPS kept routing me south.  I came back to the border crossing at Pembina.  I knew I didn’t want to re-enter the United States, and meet the same Customs person for a second time in a half hour.  I cursed myself again and made another u-turn.  This time I kept going north until I finally hit TC 1, no matter how much the GPS objected.  Two stupid blunders had easily cost me an hour.  I had a couple of other times where the GPS wanted to route me well out of my way.  I learned to ignore these variations when they occurred in the future.  Other riders had told me the GPS would lose some of its accuracies the further north I went.

            I pulled into Barney’s Motel in Brandon, Manitoba around 2:00 AM CST (3:00 AM EST) Saturday morning.  I was pretty tired, but felt that I had rode a pretty good ride that day.  I was about 100 miles ahead of schedule and had put another 1200 miles behind me.  I unloaded the bike got into bed even quicker than the night before.  I set the Meanie for 3 hours and was quickly asleep. 

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