posted by Stella, The Riding Princess

I didn't quite make it. Although the ride ended with 300 km short to the goal, which entitles me to 3/4 of an Iron Butt, my butt checks don't feel quite like iron but more or less like Jell-O.

Sometimes, the coffee ride to Tim Horton's doesn't quite cut it. Unless it is 1,600 km away. There is nothing quite like an Iron Butt to challenge your ingenuity and stamina as a long-distance rider. Most riders hope to discover how to see more of the world from their motorcycle in a limited amount of time by significantly increasing their daily mileage. It is certainly not a ride that relies solely on spontaneity: it requires preparation both materially and mentally. The idea of completing a 1,600 km tour of Lake Huron within 24 hrs started brewing over a year ago. The month of June seemed like the ideal time of the year to do so since daylight is longer than night.

I used the day before to go over my extensive items list and pack it all on my BMW F650GS. Everything to make my ride comfortable, safe and enjoyable was considered and packed wisely. Tip 4 from the Iron Butt Association's Archive of Wisdom is "prepare your motorcycle before the trip"; this includes motorcycle maintenance. One should not pack tardily. Although last minute adjustments are bound to happen, only the key in the ignition switch and the GPS should be turned on. I also used that day prior the grand adventure to rest and nap in order to store energy which would be vital. I went to bed soon after dinner and woke up at 11:15 pm with a daunting feeling mixed with excitement. Rising as everyone else is hitting the sack felt odd and I admit that I felt a little apprehensive. A moment of doubt crossed my mind, as I geared up and rode to the first checkpoint.

My adventure began at a local gas station at 1:08 am. Considering that I would be using a 24 hr period to complete the challenge with potentially no sleep at all, riding the dark roads at the beginning of the rally while my alertness was at its peak seemed like a reasonable idea. If all went well, I would ideally ride to the finish line with day light to spare. So it is in the thick of the night that I rode to Barrie, Ontario, up Highway 400. And Barrie came and went in a blink of an eye. And not because I was speeding! High speeds and long-distance riding have little in common. Slow and steady wins the race and with my single cylinder thumper, I was not going to jeopardize my stamina right from the get go.

The further North I rode, the lower the temperature got. I took comfort in my heated jacket and moved very little in order to avoid any infiltration from the wind. As the dark and bulky landscape passed by like a movie strip, my only focus was the white line in the middle of the road and the sound of the engine. It was me, in a moment of time, not thinking of the many miles separating me from the goal but just the ride itself. At the 3 am mark, in a sudden moment of realization, my body reciprocated with a slight lightheadedness and faint nausea to the fact that it wasn't asleep at this hour of the night. I realigned my focus on the white line until my body adjusted to this new state. It later opposed to the cold with a contraction of the bladder and I stopped at a convenient gas station in Parry Sound (ON), to eliminate this irritation and fuel up the other tank.

After writing a few notes in my "2 Wheel Journal" and ensuring that my gas receipt was accurate and put away in a secure water tight area in the tank bag, I was on my way to Sudbury (ON). At 4 am, I noticed layers of thin fog clouds and a gleam on the Eastern horizon. Could it already be the sun rising to a new day? New shadows appeared along with road side activity from woodland creatures, scavengers and ravens ready to feast on dead meat. My thoughts shifted to the deer whistle glued to my turn signal and hoped it provided an audible protection barrier. The only deer encountered during my tour were already decaying on the side of the road. Thankfully and sadly. As the night traded its place for a palette of pastel colours and the forest returned to its usual shades of green, I regain a certain level of energy.

One of the tricks of the trade I picked up from successful Iron Butters is to stock up on tart candies. A sour green apple flavoured War Head candy can shock your senses and keep you going for a few kilometers more. I later noticed a scent of mesquite sweetness and realized my exhaust pipe was caramelized by the Gatorade that was slowly leaking from my Camelback tube. My motorcycle would have to wait to get a proper scrub.

I reached the mining town and wondered why the roads were so empty. Although the sun had been shining for a while, everyone was still tucked in bed and sleeping away on this beautiful Saturday morning. My gas receipt indicated 5:32 am and I was ready to take on the second major portion of the rally to Sault Ste-Marie (ON). An attempt to snap a shot of Sudbury's Big Nickel was quickly discarded as valuable time was being lost trying to find the road that lead to it. I caught a glimpse of the shiny coin in the corner of my eye as I rode on to Hwy. 17.

With the I-Pod fully loaded and strategically placed in the tank bag's top plastic pocket, I pursued my route to Sault Ste-Marie to a musical rhythm. At this early hour of the day, I felt good and motivated. I can't say as much for the man in a visible state of inebriation sadly staggering along and the hiker sleeping with his backpack over his head on a granite bedrock by the side of the road. Those visual distractions were certainly not as nice as the rugged beauty of the Northern shoreline of Georgian Bay to my left. I rode into Sault Ste-Marie three hours later with 314 km to the tank and just in time for the morning rush at Tim Horton's. By that point, it felt like noon as I had 9 hrs of riding time under my belt. As residents went on their morning routine, crowding the streets and the Timmy's parking lot, I discarded the idea of a hot beverage and did a few stretches that amused the locals before hitting the road once more. The international bridge was just around the corner and I was hoping for a smooth and rapid transition to Michigan, U.S.A.

At 10:48 am, I presented my Canadian passport to the friendly duty officer, paid the $2.50 toll for my two axles and rode on Interstate 75, in Northern Michigan, towards the Straits of Mackinac and its famous bridge. I was mentally preparing myself for the crossing of the third longest suspension bridge in the world. The height of the roadway at mid-span is approximately 200 feet above the water level and for anyone crossing the bridge on a motorcycle; the view of the strait underneath through the metallic, slippery grid can be frightening. Needless to say, I didn't look down much and focused on loosening my grip on the handlebars in order to let the front wheel find its groove. Once on the other side of the bridge, I proudly thought that it wasn't as bad as what I had caught wind of.

Just past Mackinac City, I took the exit onto the Sunrise Side Coastal Highway, U.S. 23 that skirts Lake Huron. I was reaching the half way point of the rally and knew I would have to be vigilant about my growing fatigue. By not focusing on the final goal and by tackling the tour in little increments it helped alleviate the discouragement. So, while having a positive talk with my mind, my stomach gurgled to let me know it was time for lunch. I knew that would be another important factor in the game. Not the action of eating food but digesting it. I learned enough about myself over the years to know that I am wired for a "sombrero nap" in the afternoon. My brain valve turns off temporarily while my stomach takes over. A bad combination for operating a motorcycle while being sleep deprived. I pulled over in a road side park to have a bite, while keeping an eye on the watch.

I mounted my F650 GS once more and pursued along the scenic route. I took comfort in the passing scenery; intermittent views of Lake Huron laced with waterfront homes and cottages. All the while trying to find distraction from the developing sore and numbs spots. I practiced a routine of various exercises and positions on my bike, from riding standing on the pegs, to resting my feet on the passenger pegs or simply dangling my feet above the ground. Trading one discomfort for another...

At 2:25 pm, with a 1000 km completed, I arrived in the town of Alpena. The mid-afternoon glow was burning my eyes, which were getting heavier by the minute. I figured that I could complete another 600 km within 9 hrs, therefore I allowed myself the luxury of a power nap. When the deadlines of a rally or the goals of a ride don't permit checking into a motel, a nap on the roadside can provide sufficient rest to finish a ride. It is in Alpena's Court of Justice's backyard, right in front of the cops' parking lot and under large maple trees that I feel asleep instantly to the sound of leaves rustling in the wind and music by amateur folks. One hour later, I woke up to the sound of my alarm and in a pool of drool. Slightly embarrassed, I quickly wiped the side of my mouth and rolled up my ground sheet. It was time to pick up the pace and head to Bay City, Michigan.

Bay City provided much hassle with construction zones that brought me further from the planned route. The detours were poorly indicated and seemed to be having me ride in circles. My patience was wearing thin and I was eager to return to the scenic road. Flustered, I made an effort to regain composure and focus. I had no regret leaving the city half an hour later, as I rode on to the last scenic route of the journey, U.S. 25.

With the all stresses of completing the Iron Butt challenge on time, crossing the border back to Canada and riding the last and long stretch of dull highway to the last check point; I failed to recognize the warning signs of fatigue. I kept on riding. I felt on auto-pilot mode; any wild card thrown in front of me would have caught me off guard. My maneuvers were becoming erratic and the irritation of my knee swelling up became my point of focus. My body was winning the battle. Defeat was a hard pill to swallow.

At 300 km short to the goal, Port Austin became my final destination for the night. I regretted my decision several times but knew that my safety was at stake if I kept on riding. I questioned my mental strength and physical capacity. Later, I simply accepted that I had beaten a personal mileage record: 1,300 km in approx. 18 hrs. My journey ended with a majestic sunset over Lake Huron.  

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