© 2010, Iron Butt Association, Chicago, Illinois Please respect our intellectual property rights. Do not distribute this
document, or portions therein, without the written permission of the Iron Butt Association.
Summary:
I attempted to ride the 2003 Iron Butt Rally. Did reasonably well on the
1st leg, then had an attack of acute prostatisis and struggled to finish the
2nd leg. In Georgia on the 3rd leg, I had to abandon and go to the
hospital. There's also a bunch of bitching about my health, praise for the
many folks who helped me, and congratulations to the winners.
Details:
The IBR'03 was incredibly well organized with dozens and dozens of
volunteers. The only line to speak of was the one to get individually
videotaped. Just checking out the bikes in the impound area was a lesson in
engineering and clever (and sometimes brute-force) design.
As a newbie (like over half the starters), I had set realistic goals for
myself over the course of the last 9 months preparation. First goal was to
finish, second goal was to finish as well as possible without jeopardizing
goal number one. I had no plans to go for the win, just a "good" finish.
The 1st leg had two main routes: the direct one, backtracking on I-90 to
Butte, MT then picking up I-15 and taking it south through Salt Lake City
and directly to Whiskey Pete's Casino on the NV/CA border, site of the 2nd
checkpoint (Missoula is the 1st and 5th checkpoint). That route was just
under 1,000 miles and was the route I'd planned on taking, to conserve my
energy for the 2nd half of the rally. But of course the bonuses on this
route were mostly in the single and low two-digit range.
The other route with the high-value bonuses was to hit Sunnyside Yamaha (WA)
for a photo, Palouse Falls, WA for another photo, then down to Bruno's at
Gerlach for the biggie, finding a coin left out on the playa of the Black
Rock desert using just your GPS for navigation. There were also big bonuses
for visiting the Bristlecone Forest (where the IBR's only Aprilia, a
Caponord, caught fire and burned down to the frame), Death Valley,
photographing the 9/11 memorial at the NY/NY casino/hotel in Las Vegas, and
picking up a $5 gaming chip from a casino in Boulder City, NV.
At the last second, literally, I decided to do the longer route through
WA/OR so I could pick up Sunnyside, WA and the two bonuses at Gerlach, NV
and the two big ones near Las Vegas. Between Pendleton, OR and the 2nd
checkpoint there are no big roads, but the 2-lanes are excellent and I know
them well -- I knew I could make good time on them. I skipped Palouse Falls
as it had a time window that would have delayed me by quite some hours
(which I wanted for sleeping). I also skipped Bristlecone as I know that
road and it is super twisty and slow-going, and skipped the Death Valley
bonuses as it was already over 110 degrees in Beaty, NV.
I finished the 1st leg just outside the top 25%, riding just under 1600
miles in 35 hours, yet still managed to get 5 hours sleep in a motel in
Lakeview, OR. I arrived at Whiskey Pete's feeling good, a couple hours
early, got checked in and scored, and stood around listening and talking to
the other riders. Jeff Earls and John O'Keefe did about 1900 miles and were
sitting in 2nd and 3rd place, but Jeff looked completely exhausted. Both
were talking about taking the blue pill (the easier but non-winning route)
for the rest of the rally.
A couple hours later, during the rider's meeting, Jeff looked quite chipper,
and they both took the red pill (which meant a full day spent heading the
wrong direction -- back to California -- before they could rejoin the rest
of us in Florida). I, like the majority of riders, chose the easier blue
pill.
After the rider's meeting I slept until about 6am, got some breakfast in the
casino's MacDonalds, then headed out. I'd guess there were at least 25
bikes still in the impound area when I left. My plan was to ride
conservatively to the Florida checkpoint, and probably from there to the
Maine checkpoint, then bust my butt on the last leg back to Missoula. It
didn't work out that way, however.
As I headed down towards I-10 in the 100+ degree temps, I started thinking I
should have gone for the one big bonus at Mt. Evans, CO instead, and the
many lesser but still good bonuses on the way. It would have meant quite a
few more miles, but it would have been at higher altitudes, and further
north, and would have been much cooler. Instead, I started trying to sleep
between Noon and 6pm, and ride mostly during the nighttime hours.
In Phoenix, I ran into the only really bad weather I encountered -- a
thunderstorm -- which damn near took the front wheel out from under me and
blew me across 3 lanes of the freeway in half a second. I took the next
exit to check my tire pressures, which were fine. So I took a dinner break
and waited for the wind and rain to pass. As I got off the bike I noticed
the first twinges of prostate pain, and thought "Oh no!", but 1/2 hour later
as I remounted to continue, all seemed well again.
Crossing Texas takes a long time on I-10, and by the time I got between San
Antonio and Houston, at about 2am, I was in enough pain that I pulled into a
hospital parking lot and stood beside the bike for a minute trying to decide
if I should sleep, go into the emergency room, or just pee. I ended up
doing the latter and pushing on. For awhile I was taking 400mg of Ibuprofen
every hour, on the hour, but it was making me light-headed and sick to my
stomach. Besides, it didn't seem to help.
My memory of riding from Houston to Lake City, FL is kind of sketchy. I was
trying to "become one" with the pain, and I imagined that it was dulling
somewhat due to the nerves just wearing out. But it had stopped improving
when I got off the bike to sleep in a rest area and was now just constant.
The bumpy freeway through Louisiana was agony. I have a vague memory of
getting up off a picnic table somewhere in Florida after a halfway
successful nap and seeing Eddie James asleep on the bench next to mine --
then seeing him pass me in the fog, sometime later, sitting bolt upright on
his R1150GS behind his large fairing.
It seemed that dawn would never come, and the last 100 miles into Lake City
were agonizing. I further angered myself by missing the turn to I-75 and
having to ride an extra dozen miles or so to loop back. I was whipped.
At the checkin, Lisa told me to get scored first, then catch a nap before
the rider's meeting. Meanwhile, my friends Ed (from nearby Gainesville),
Rob and John (who flew in from the west coast) took care of changing the oil
and filter on my bike, refilling my water jug, and checking the bike over.
It was perfect. Without their help I probably would have just skipped the
oil change.
After the rider's meeting, I think I went back to bed for awhile, but I
honestly can't remember for sure now. My plan was still to ride through the
night to avoid the heat and traffic congestion. I made it as far as
Brunnswick, Georgia on the 3rd leg. I stopped to get something to eat, and
realized there was no way I could endure the pain for another 6 days. I
made a tearful call to my wife, and then checked into a motel where I took a
handful of Ibuprofen and a couple sleeping pills.
By Sunday morning I'd gotten maybe 2-4 hours of sleep, and another 4-5 hours
of just lying there, and could once again think somewhat clearly. But I was
still in major pain. I fired up the laptop, connected to the 'net on a
pillow next to where I was laying, and started trying to figure out how I
could get myself and my bike home again. I ruled out riding it, for obvious
reasons. My wife suggested going to the emergency room, and I guess my
thinking wasn't totally clear as I hadn't thought of that. So later that
afternoon I called a cab.
It took about 5 hours to get through the process, but in the end I was
treated by the head of the E.R., a 56 yr old doctor who also rode a
motorcycle. He gave me a shot of some narcotic that made me feel really
drugged but didn't do much for the pain, put me on one of the new super
antibiotics, gave me some Vicadin, and an anti-nausea drug to counteract the
Vicadin. He also gave me his home phone number, and told me to call if I
needed help for any reason. He was truly a nice guy. The nurses couldn't
believe he actually gave me his home number, as apparently never did that.
About an hour after I got back to the motel room, a guy named Randy Ashurst
called (who lived just 6 miles from my motel) and offered to help in any way
necessary. My friend Ron Sanders had talked to my wife, found out the
predicament I was in, and started posting stuff on the 'net to try to find
me some help. Randy was a Godsend. Ron is an angel.
By 1:30am I took 2 Vicadin, more Ibuprofen and a sleeping pill and finally
managed to get some relatively good sleep, though only about 4 hours of it.
The next morning I called Randy, then made some contacts using my laptop and
cellphone, and soon had arranged to have the bike shipped back to Spokane,
WA, and a flight from Jacksonville to Seattle, where my wife had arranged an
appointment with a hotshot Urologist.
Randy came through, and rode my bike to his garage, then drove me to the
Jacksonville airport where I arrived about 2 hours early for my flight.
Good thing too, as about an hour later, they cancelled one of my flights,
and the good people at the Northwest counter switched me to some even
better flights on American that got me in the air sooner, and arriving in
Seattle 45 minutes quicker.
What a joy to see my smiling wife and daughter greet me in Seattle at
midnight!
The next day the specialist checked me out, and even did a CAT scan on me,
but couldn't find a cause for the prostatitis outbreak. No surprise to me,
though. I've had it for the last 35 years or so, and have been taking
prescription drugs for it (daily) for the last 10-15 years to keep it under
control. I haven't been able to ride a bicycle or jog since about '90, but
previously riding a motorcycle has never sparked an episode. With the
comfortable custom seat on my FJR1300 I didn't even consider the possibility
of a problem.
So now I'm sitting (yea!) in Spokane, almost a week after abandoning the
Iron Butt Rally near the start of the 3rd leg. Still in some pain, but much
improved. But I do need to get off this seat and lie back down for awhile.
Hopefully, this major episode will be over in another week or so.
This time though, I'm not going to let it go. I'm going to pursue it until
I get it cured. I've seen maybe a dozen M.D.s and specialists over the
years an none have offered me any real help. Now I'm going to try the
non-western stuff: naturopathic doctors, acupuncture, and even witch doctors
if I can find them. I've already gotten a full-body massage and had a
reflexology treatment. I think they helped. I'll take whatever help I can
get.
I've got to confess to my amazement and pleasure at all the folks who helped
me so much when I couldn't seem to help myself. Rob Scott and John Bowne
helped a bunch, Ed Gardner helped a tremendous amount, provided constant
moral support, and offered some serious assistance which I fortunately
didn't need -- but which he willingly offered. My true friend Ron Sanders
jumped on the situation the second he heard about it from my wife and used
all the power of the 'net to find me local help -- plus he did it within
about the first hour of effort. He was amazing. I may have to put him in
my will. Randy Ashurst, who volunteered to help out a total stranger in
somewhat dire need when he saw Ron's posting, gets my special thanks. He
literally saved my ass.
And finally, I've got to thank my wife, Wanda, whom I talked to every day
though the miracle of Verizon Wireless, and who provided the necessary
wisdom and thought when I wasn't capable of it myself.
I also can't express how disappointed I am to have not finished, and how
tough it was to come to that decision. But I'll bet it is even tougher for
my friend Jeff Earls, who surely would have gotten a 7th or even 6th place
finish if his GS'es rear drive hadn't failed on him just a State away from
the finish line. Jeff is superhuman. I expect that from his riding
partner, John O'Keefe, who is an ex Forced Recon black ops kinda guy (though
you'd never know it from his quiet, low-key demeanor). John never looked
tired that I could see. Jeff looked better and more rested at the Florida
checkpoint than he did in Nevada, in spite of riding probably 1,500 miles
(or more) further than I did on that leg. Those two are amazing
long-distance riders, truly amazing.
I wish I was in their league...
Congratulations to all the finishers. As Warchild wrote, everyone who
finishes the Iron Butt Rally is a winner. Special congratulations to John
for his 6th place finish, and to fellow newbie Ken Morton who finished an
amazing 35th on a "hopeless class" bike. Who knows how much higher Ken
could have finished if he'd been riding my FJR1300.
--
H. Marc Lewis
http://www.micapeak.com/
http://www.FJR1300.info/
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Please respect our intellectual property rights. Do not distribute any of these documents, or portions therein, without the written permission of the Iron Butt Association.
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