Plan B

I called Nancy and had her contact Terry Smith from Sampson Sport Touring to ship a new fuel cap to St. Louis.  I told her that my route was screwed up.  As I spoke with her, I looked down at my jacket.  I had been riding for the past few hours with one of my pockets unzipped.  Unfortunately, I had $500 stored in that pocket for emergency funds.  The money was gone, lost somewhere on Gaspe Peninsula.  I think Nancy wanted to chastise me for yet another stupid error, but I beat her to it.  Obviously I was trying to squeeze as many mistakes as possible into this leg.

There was no choice but to head south.  I knew there were bunches of bonuses along the route I had just rode.  I had skipped them all to make it to Perce Rock on time.  The area would also be familiar, since I had just ridden it.  I called Paul Taylor and spoke with him.  Though I was dejected, Paul did not think it was all bad news.  He thought there were a fairly large amount of points to be had along the route.  Whether there was or not became academic, since I had no clear alternative.

I headed south toward the longest covered bridge in the world in Hartland, New Brunswick.  South of Campbellton traffic had finally eased up and I was able to move along at a decent speed.  Apparently it was just a tad too decent, because I encountered Canadian Mounted Trooper that took exception with my pace.  I was a little surprised to see him, as I had not really seen any vehicles in the past 20 miles.  It was a very desolate area of New Brunswick. 

He politely informed me that he had clocked me at 120.  I was stunned and immediately began to protest until he explained that it was 120 kilometers per hour, not miles per hour.  He explained that he really had not thought I was going that fast, but that I should be very careful with night approaching, the critters would be coming out and they had a lot of moose in the area.  Properly chastised with his warning, I continued on my way watching for four legged creatures of all sizes.

I arrived in Hartland, well after sunset.  The bridge was a daytime bonus only.  I stared out to where the bridge was supposed to be, but was rewarded with only the darkest of dark.  I saw no bridge.  There was nothing to do but continue south.  So far, I was off to a smashing start on Plan B.  First bonus….zero points.

Passing back into the United States in Houlton, Maine, the Customs Inspector would also issue me a moose warning.  The ride down 95 toward Bangor is extremely desolate with few towns and even fewer lights.  I was the only thing moving.  I occasionally would come across another vehicle and would use them to “plow the field” against the critters of the night.  No moose were sighted, but deer abounded.  Mostly though, they grazed beside the road, barely acknowledging me as I passed. 

As I rode, I weighed the pros and cons of the bonus in Boston, Paul Revere’s House.  The bonus was sort of on the way to the New York bonuses, but would still eat a lot of time.  I wanted to get to the New York bonuses at daybreak, collect them and get out of the city before rush hour fully developed.  After much internal debate, I decided to try for the Boston bonus.  It would be nearly 4:00 AM when I got there, so Boston traffic would not be an issue, so I thought.

The RID was continuing to give me problems, still locking up.  To reset it, I had to pull the fuse under the seat at every stop.  To say this became tedious would be an understatement, but there was nothing else to do.  I was also having problems with Phillips HID lights.  Though it was hard to tell while riding, it did not appear that both lights were igniting.  With four HID lights on the bike, plus the Motolights, I should have been burning a hole in the night, but that was not the case.  The light output seemed very dim.

I arrived in downtown Boston on schedule, but almost immediately regretted the choice to come there.  The Sumner Tunnel was closed.  The “Dig” was in full bloom.  This massive construction project has an unique goal, to bury every road in the city at least one mile beneath the surface.  This would somehow solve the traffic problem in the city.  More immediately it was causing me serious navigation problems.  I was in and out of tunnels constantly, making a consistent GPS signal impossible.  I would come within a few tenths of a mile of the bonus and then end up back in a tunnel.  Somehow I kept ending up a Logan International Airport.  I saw signs for the Revere House, but never could find it.  After an hour of useless searching, I gave up.  As far as I could tell, Paul Revere never lived in Boston and no one will ever convince me otherwise.  Plan B so far, two bonuses….zero points.

I headed out of Boston for New York.  It now had become apparent that the only light working on the bike was the main low beam.  Nothing else was working.  At a fuel stop, I began pulling fuses and relays to see if I could find a common answer.  Everything seemed normal.  After replacing everything, all the lights worked again.  I never would find the cause and the problem never resurfaced.

Near Hartford, I pulled into a church parking lot and slept for an hour.  I knew this would probably put me in New York rush hour, but I needed a quick recharge.  Afterward, I felt great and headed for the Big Apple.  I was still bummed about Boston, but there was nothing else to do about it.  I had made a mistake.  It was time to move on.  Every rider will make mistakes and have problems.  To dwell on your mistakes is pointless and distracting.

I have noticed Rally Masters like to put bonuses in places where riders generally do not want to go.  One of their favorite places is in big cities.  Many riders will not go there, no matter the point value.  New York is a favorite bonus location.  In the 2005, there were four or five bonuses in New York that individually were not great, but together were substantial.  This was the same again in 2007.  However the points were much greater and the bonuses were not that far apart.  Four were in Manhattan and two were on Coney Island.  All told, they probably were not more than 10 miles apart.  A good rider could probably collect them all in under an hour without traffic.

I hit the Manhattan bonuses first, taking them as they came.  The second bonus, Carnegie Hall gave me the opportunity to do something I had always wanted to do, but had never had the opportunity to do.  As I made my way to the bonus, I stopped as many people as I could to ask them “How do you get to Carnegie Hall?”  After a few responses, I came across a man in a suit and posed the question to him.  He started to answer and then stopped.  He looked at me and said, “Practice, Practice, Practice.”  I smiled, thanked him and rode off.  “Practice, Practice, Practice”  Now that’s funny.  In fact, I happened to think it was downright hilarious as I laughed my way around Manhattan.

In Front of Carnegie Hall….”Practice, Practice, Practice”

 After a couple more stops in Manhattan, I rode over to Coney Island for two quick bonuses at Nathan’s and the Cyclone.  I spent more time getting out of New York heading toward Atlantic City because of an accident.  In reality, the New York bonuses were ridiculously easy and a good break from the endless droning of interstate miles.

I headed south on the Garden State Parkway, back in much more familiar territory.  After turning east on the Atlantic City Expressway, I found myself riding beside a New Jersey State Trooper.  I gave the trooper a friendly wave as we made our way to Atlantic City.  I was a little surprised when he slowed down and fell in behind me.  I was very surprised when he pulled me over a few minutes later.  I certainly had not been speeding.  In fact, I could not think of anything I had done.  Perhaps he had heard of my exploits in New Brunswick.

After obtaining my license and registration, the trooper explained to me that he had pulled me over for “excessive leg swinging”.  I almost started laughing, thinking that someone had put him up to this.  With great restraint, I inquired as to what exactly was excessive leg swinging.  In a very serious tone, he explained that should my foot actually hit the ground as I was swinging it, then there was an excellent chance that my leg would then act as a pole vault and throw me and the bike through the air.  Once again, I fought back the urge to laugh out loud.

Now, as anyone that has ridden behind me knows, I routinely kick the ground riding down the road and not once in those tens of thousands of times have I flown through the air.  Outside of the occasional painful raised lane marking, nothing remarkable has ever happened.  I have kicked rocks, possums, a rabbit, dead deer and on one very smelly occasion, a skunk.  But still, not one flying Wallenda off the bike.  In fact, I was already well on my way to ruining another set of new boots during this Rally toe tapping my way across North America.

I would never want to speak ill of one of my brother officers, but this guy was clearly a boob.  The more I feigned interest in what he was telling me, the more incredulous his statements became.  I started thanking him for saving my life, saying I had no idea how close I had come to such a tragic accident.  The more he talked, the more embarrassing he was to his profession.  The trooper was obviously quite new and knew absolutely nothing about riding.  He would have done better to heed the words of Abraham Lincoln.  “Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.”

Once again properly chastised by law enforcement for my hazardous activity, I continued on my way to Atlantic City, happily toe tapping and leg swinging my way into town.  I was careful to not swing my legs “excessively” though.

The Taj Mahal, Atlantic City

Lucy the Elephant, Margate, New Jersey

Back on the Atlantic City Expressway, I made my way to Philadelphia.  Once again there were a good grouping of bonuses located pretty close to each other, as long as you didn’t mind a little urban riding.  And as long as the points are there, that was where I was going.

The bonuses in Philadelphia were actually just about as easy as the New York bonuses.  One of the bonuses was to obtain a receipt for a steak sandwich from Pat’s King of Steaks.  When I arrived there was a long line at the counter.  I had no interest in eating a steak sandwich at this time and went up to the first person in line.  I asked him if he had ordered a steak sandwich.  He stated that he had.  I explained that I was on a scavenger hunt and would gladly pay for his dinner if I could have his receipt.  He readily agreed.  What I did not know was that he had ordered 7 steak sandwiches and that his dinner was over $50.  A deal was a deal.  I paid for his dinner and got one very expensive receipt.  I had long ago ceased to be concerned about the money this Rally was costing.

The rest of the bonuses in Philadelphia were quite unremarkable.  What was not unremarkable though was the traffic heading out of town toward the bonus in Reading, PA.  It was the worse I saw the entire Rally.  The back up lasted for miles and hours.  By the time I got to Reading, I was pretty done in.  I got to the area of the bonus, something called the “Pagoda”.  I could not find it and was wondering aimlessly on some mountain roads.  I pulled over, dejected tired and just plain done in.  Darkness was falling and the daylight bonus was slipping through my fingers.  The location I had plotted in the GPS was clearly not correct.

I sat there on a rock trying to sort out where this Pagoda might be.  I re-read the directions in the bonus listings.  None of the roads sounded like anything I had seen.  Then I looked at the address, which was simply “The Pagoda, Skyline Drive.”  Skyline meant up.  I got back on the bike.  Whenever I came to a turn, I took the road that went up.  A few minutes later, the woods cleared and I came across the Pagoda with a stunning view of the Pennsylvania countryside.

Go up for the Pagoda

Riding back down the mountain, I knew I was done and needed to get some sleep.  I started searching for hotels between Reading and York.  There were two bonuses in York I had hoped to get before dark.  One was a day bonus at the Harley Factory and the other was a 24 hour bonus.  I had decided to skip the day bonus and get the 24 hour bonus after grabbing some sleep. 

As I searched the GPS for hotels, I got two phone calls, one from Nancy and one from Paul.  Though I could still not speak with them, they were both offering words of encouragement and urging me on.  Though they meant to encourage me, they had another effect.  They really made me angry.  After a good day riding, they still were pushing me on.  I had not been in a bed since the Rally started and I had no intention of going any further.  To say I was a little cranky was an understatement. 

It’s a funny thing about being angry though.  The angrier I was, the less tired I was.  At some point in being angry I found myself halfway to York, with still time before sunset to get the Harley Factory day bonus.  Many years before, Nancy and I had ridden this exact route as we were finishing her one and only endurance rally.  I remembered she was pretty tired, yet managed to finish strong, literally running out of gas as she arrived at the finish in York.  I knew there was a hotel right next to the Harley Factory, so I continued on.

The bonus at the Harley Factory was to take a picture of a sign, which was mounted on the ground.  Try as I might, I could not a good picture of the sign with the sky to show the sun was still up.  This was not a concern, since I could also get a receipt with the time printed on it as back up proof to show I had obtained the bonus during the allotted time.

I rode to the Days Inn next door, got a room, along with a timed receipt.  I got to my room and barely undressed before falling into bed.  I slept for about 5 hours, leaving the hotel around 3:00 AM Friday morning.  I still had a bunch of bonuses to grab before getting to St. Louis later that afternoon.

Continue to Chapter 6

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