Grinding to a Halt
We still had plenty of daylight as we dropped back toward Leadville, CO. The last bonus of the day was to be Tennessee Pass, just 10 miles outside of Leadville. As we rode through the town, I began hearing a horrible, metal on metal grinding coming from the bike. Even though we were both wearing ear plugs, there was no missing the screeching coming from my bike. I pulled into a gas station to try and assess the situation.
I called Roger and gave him the symptoms. He immediately suspected final drive failure, but I wasn’t so sure. He wanted me to drain the oil from the bike and do some other things. What became clear was that the bike was not going anywhere. Night was falling, as was the temperature. I coasted the bike down to a motel parking lot, with the bike screaming and protesting every second it moved. Vicki decided to get a few hours sleep at the hotel and get the bonus at Tennessee Pass at dawn.
I settled into the room and started making some phone calls. I called Lisa Landry and explained the situation. She referred me to Ray Zimmerman, the executive director of the BMW Owners Association. In fairly rapid order, I spoke with Ray, Roger, Paul, Nancy, Bob Woolridge (owner of BMW Atlanta) and some assorted other folks. No one was exactly sure what the problem was, but a final drive failure was the leading suspect. In any event, there was nothing to do but try and get the bike to the nearest BMW shop first thing in the morning. And it needed to be a shop that could work on the bike immediately.
I felt pretty confident that if I could just get the bike to St. Louis, I had enough points for a top 10 finish, even without picking up one more point along the way. To do this, I would need to get the bike repaired and back on the road no later than 2:00-3:00 PM the next day. This would allow me just enough time to return to Leadville (as required by the rules) and make a run to St. Louis.
Paul pulled yet another miracle out of his bag of tricks and found a final drive that someone was willing to bring to me. Roger felt confident he could talk me through the repair. I cannot express how much I appreciated their efforts. The problem was that I still had no definitive diagnosis. I finally decided the best course was to get a tow truck to take the bike to Foothills BMW in Colorado Springs early the next morning. This was not the closest dealership, but I was assured they would do their best to repair the bike immediately.
I slept fitfully for the next few hours. Even though I badly need sleep, it would not come. After 9½ days of hard riding and overcoming a slew of problems, many self inflicted, my Rally was over. I needed a miracle.
I started calling for a tow truck at 5:00 AM Thursday morning. Unfortunately, it would take several hours for the truck to get there. I helped the driver load the bike onto the truck for the drive to Colorado Springs. Unbelievably enough, after never having been on a tow truck, the bike was now taking its second excursion since leaving home.
Beginning of the End
The bright blue skies and stunning Colorado skylines did little to brighten my mood. It would have been a glorious day to ride. As it was, I napped as the trucked rattled its’ way through the mountain passes. A couple hours and $600 later we arrived at Foothills BMW. Though Foothills was a little further, I had the good fortune (if you can call it that) to have the bike looked at by Matt Parkhouse, one of the best BMW mechanics in the country. Unfortunately, there was no one that was going to fix this problem.
In short order, the final drive was given a clean bill of health and eliminated from the pool of suspects. Matt then opened the gear box and put a magnetic probe inside. When he removed it, thousands of small, metal shards stuck to the probe, like some giant, oily Q-Tip. The transmission had torn itself apart. The look on Matt’s face told the entire story. The bike was finished and not going anywhere on its’ own.
The great folks at the dealership helped me arrange a truck rental and load the bike into the back. After tying the bike down, I headed off for St. Louis. If I drove all night, I would be able to make St. Louis sometime the next morning. Unfortunately, the truck I had would develop a terrible vibration at any speed over 55 MPH. As I slugged along 20 miles below the speed limit, once again, every vehicle on the road passed me. I would drive all the way back to Maryland like this. I figured this was my penance for every speed limit I ever exceeded in my life.
To say the drive to St. Louis was depressing would be too kind. But it was nothing compared to the pain of seeing other riders that had finished the Rally. Only two years prior, I had experienced that wonderful high. But now, I felt nothing but despair and heartache. So many people had helped me over the last year to get to this point and I had let every one of them down. Many people think the Rally is about the riders. It never is. It’s about the family and friends that support the riders and anguish with them over those eleven days. It is about the sacrifices they make that allows the riders to compete.
Nancy had flown to St. Louis in anticipation of meeting me at the finish. Neither one of us thought it would be like this. I pulled into the parking lot beaten and dejected. She was there taking pictures and talking with friends.
St. Louis Blues
I spoke with some of the riders, most prominently Jim Owen. Jim had a gear box failure near the end of the 2005 Rally that probably cost him the victory. I also learned of David Derrick’s terrible accident. Sometimes it takes something like that to make you realize that you really have no problems. Though I would not finish, it was the bike that was broke and not me. Things could have been a lot worse.
We attended the finisher’s banquet later that night. Though I had very little interest in attending, Nancy and I went and cheered every finisher with new found admiration. They had all done something I had failed to do.
The top 10 was full of familiar names. Jeff Earls and Eric Jewell had once again stellar rides. There was one name I really wanted to see in the top 10. I wanted Vicki to become one of the few female riders to ever finish in the top 10. Unfortunately, she would miss out by fewer than 8,000 points. However, she would once again be the top female rider finishing with a personal best 14th place.
Unlike 2005, this would not be photo finish, but it would come down to two riders. Jim Owen had ridden the counterclockwise route going west, while Marty Leir had taken a nearly identical route to mine on the second leg. Marty had been able to get a large bonus in Minnesota, while Jim had struggled with a punctured tire that had slowed his progress. Marty would end up winning by nearly 11,000 points.
And for me there was nothing but a barrel full of what ifs to ponder. Had the bike held up and I had been able to pick up the bonuses on the final day of the Rally, I would have had a good chance at another second place finish. If I could have gotten the bike back to St. Louis with no points on the last day, I would have finished 10th. None of that matters, because none of it happened.
The rally had been tough on a lot of riders. Nearly three dozen riders would fail to finish, an attrition rate well over 30%. Only 64 riders would claim their finisher’s plaque. I was happy for each and every one of them. I just wished I could have joined them.
Continue to Chapter 11
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