Let me tell you how I might have contracted this long distance bug of mine. I’m from a military family and during my childhood we moved a lot. Consequently, when you move around, you also have to travel a bit to see relatives and such. Most of my kin were in Tennessee and unfortunately, my family abode wasn’t. This meant vacations or visits required rapid transport via the Interstate Highway system (or any other available routes) with zero stopovers along the way. We piled in the car -- Dad took off and we even stopped for food once back in, I think it was 1958. We probably would have eaten better had they invented "drive-through dining" back then. Vacation trips consisted of 1. Get there, 2. Stop, 3. Roll in the dirt with my cousins, 4. Get back in the car, 5. Go home. I don’t remember actually "staying" anywhere.

Move to the 90’s, put me on a bike (or a car, for that matter) and it is a little déja-vu. Get on the bike, get where ever it is I’m going, turn around and come back. Gas stops resemble NASCAR pit stops with only a fewer number of people dancing around and I have to do my own windshield.

I recently read Ron Ayres’ excellent book, Against the Wind and that sealed my fate. "Hey," I thought, "there are other people with the same affliction/addiction." Now that I’ve read about the Iron Butt and other folks’ Saddle Sores (1,000 miles in 24 hours) and Bun Burners (1,500 mi. in 36 hours) and Bun Burner Golds (1,500 mi. in 24 hours), I know that these are folks after my own heart. I managed to enter the Reno BMW sponsored Ely Big Bang and have paid my entry into the Utah 1088. What I didn’t know was what I was really getting myself into. So, I had to enter something to break my cherry as a virgin endurance rider. Hence, the Beatty White Stag – The Almost World Famous Premier Winter Motorcycle Rally. Some hotshot riders would be there and familiar names off the ldrider list from the Internet. Maybe I might learn something from the likes of Ron Ayres, Mike Gaspers, Don Moses, Terry Smith and Garve Nelson. The Reno BMW contingent would be there (Mecca for ldriders) and who knows whom else.

It is Friday, 30 January, 1998 and I’m packing my stuff for my first Rally. Actually, I’ve packed up twice the night before, but re-packing is giving me something to do. I check my e-mail before leaving and make a couple of last posts. Check the weather report for the twelfth time and make a final run to the grocery store for some power bars and Mountain Dew. Bags are packed - bike is ready - tires checked - nothing left to do but gas up and go. Finally, check out of Reno at 11:00 am and head for beautiful downtown Beatty, NV. I should mention that I ride a Honda Valkyrie - Honda’s gift to OPEC by way of an intensely fun riding machine coupled with the thirstiest 6 carbs ever put on two wheels. Beatty -- here I come, but not without several stops in between for petrol. It’s about 61 miles to Fallon, NV just west of Reno on I-80 and then US95/50 and part of the Loneliest Road in America. Gotta get gas here even though it is only 70 more miles to Hawthorn, but depending on the prevailing winds and the amount of throttle I happen to grab -- I might make it and then again -- I might not. Prudent gas management student that I have become, I chose to fuel up in Fallon. My thinking on this is, "If I have gas -- I can go that much faster without worrying about running dry somewhere out in the desert."

It really turns out to be a pretty nice day. Hazy clouds broken up with patches of sunshine and the temperature is in the high 40’s. Really a nice day to be checking out my Eclipse electric vest and for remembering that Phil at Reno BMW was going to lend me some electric gloves, which I totally spaced on and forgot to drop by and pick up. Anyway, the wind isn’t blowing and it isn’t so cold that I can’t wear an open face helmet (with ski face mask attached) and not so sunny that I had to wear sunglasses all day. So, gas in Fallon -- head to Hawthorn. Pretty uneventful ride down to Walker Lake and Hawthorn. Ridden this ride hundreds of times -- doesn’t change much. Get to see some Naval Fighters doing their thing across the Fallon Naval Air Station range. Walker Lake looks calm and peaceful with a couple of fishing boats cruising the shores. Managed to get the Valk up to 90+ mph prior to the Walker River Payute Indian Reservation. Wanted to see what a run in the upper 80’s would do to the so-called "gas mileage" of my beast. Pull into Hawthorn and gas up. Lady at the stations asks if I’m heading for Beatty? It seems as though a few other hardy souls have already passed through today. Get my gas and the mpg. was only 23 or so. Not bad, but must consider that it is down hill most of the way. As soon as I finish gassing I notice a biker detouring through the truck route around town. The truck route around Hawthorn is there because this is an Army Ammunition Storage area. I guess the thought of big trucks carrying bombs makes the people of Hawthorn sleep better knowing that they detoured a whole mile out of town. I go through town and see the rider in black just up ahead getting back onto 95. He’s about 1 mile ahead and I’m behind a couple of trucks heading up the grade. There is a long section of double yellow on the south side of Hawthorn right near the US Navy Submarine training facility (in the desert?), and I patiently wait to get past this section. Sure is a bunch of Navy out here for being in the desert. Must be some kind of US Government cost savings plan. Let’s see, how much money can we save in the Navy budget if we remove the water part? All clear now --- zzoom. Dust a couple of trucks, but the black rider is nowhere to be seen. I figure it is only 103 miles to Tonopah and I should be able to open the Valkyrie up a notch and maybe catch this guy. Finally catch up with him and tag along for the next 60 miles or so. He’s a nice steady rider and kept it right at 82 mph pretty constantly. No police in sight and we keep on cruising till we hit the first gas station in Tonopah. We both pull in and there’s another rider with his BMW at the pumps and he’s talking on the phone. Black rider and myself both fill up (he’s riding a Beemer, too) and we pull out of town. Four Highway Patrol cars in Tonopah. All have their lights a flashing with cages pulled over. Make sure we are doing the posted 25 in town and head out for Goldfield.

This time, I’m in the lead. I take it easy for awhile for a couple of reasons. Reason one is that there are almost ALWAYS a few LEO’s on the down slope side of Tonopah on the way to Goldfield and the second is that my suspicious nature tells me that with all these LEO’s in Tonopah -- perhaps the news is out about a bunch of fast bikers invading the area. Since the Air Force moved out from the Tonopah Area 51 test facility -- I would imagine the revenue enhancement possibilities of 50 bikers hell bent on beating 49 other bikes to some spot on a map just might bring out the capitalistic natures of the local constabulary. Turns out that I’m pretty much wrong. Didn’t see another LEO all the way to Beatty. Pass the local landmarks on the way --- Mizpah Hotel in Tonopah - Goldfield Hotel in Goldfield - Cottontail Ranch at the Lida junction and the new kid in town - Angel’s Ladies just north of Beatty. Didn’t know it at the time, but this would be our starting point for the festivities in the morning.

BMW’s everywhere. I heard a trucker on the CB just as I entered town, "Whoooeee -- boy, did ya’ll see all them motorsickles?" "Some of them looked like space ships." After hearing this pearl, I figure I can’t be too far from the Exchange Club -- local residence for the White Stag contingent. Now, I’ve been through Beatty many times, but can’t say as I have ever noticed where the Exchange Club is located. As I’m cutting through town I see off to my left what undoubtedly is the space ship landing zone mentioned by the trucker. Gotta be the Exchange Club. Pull in to the parking lot and immediately reckon that I’m somewhat a fish out of water as this parking lot is looking a lot like the Teutonic Motorcycle gathering of the decade. Thought maybe I’d stumbled onto a BMW Owner’s group rally -- but nope -- over in the corner I see a lone Gold Wing and as soon as I take off my helmet I’m greeted with a, "Hey Chuck -- glad you could make it" from some guy I’ve never seen before in my life. Michael Gasper (you’ll hear his name again) world famous (just ask him) long distance rider and all around nice guy spots my Valkyrie and remembers me from some last second e-mails and greets me as if a long lost cousin. Immediately, I’m thinking that this could work out all right -- don’t know anyone here and already somebody is calling me by my first name.

Check in to my lovely room, unpack the bike and walk through the lot kicking a few tires. Head out for the Beatty Club as this is the headquarters and official watering hole for the White Stag riders. Walk in -- grab a bar stool and start quaffing an ale or two. Beer is cold and conversation is hot. Motorcycles are definitely the subject of everyone and only a little German is being sprechen. I eavesdrop for a few minutes and then sidle up to a couple of folks that don’t have Heidelberg scars and ask them if Honda is spoken here at all. They immediately send me over to the ST1100 study group. I haven’t eaten all day so I head out to the Exchange Club for a hearty meal of Chicken Fried Steak and since most of the tables are full I sit down with a new friend (riding a Wing) and we talk bikes over a pretty good meal. I figure I should get a little sleep and decide to give the mattress a try. Of course I’m too excited to sleep, so I get out the map and look it over -- grab a book and remove the lamp shade so I can get sufficient light to read by and try to relax. The ride takes off between 7 and 9 AM tomorrow (pick your poison) and we’ll be launching from Angel’s Ladies Brothel just outside of town.

Wake up at 5:30 and alarm is set to sound off at 6:00. Lie in bed awhile thinking about the sleep I didn’t get when the sounds of Screaming Meanies start going off all over the place. I’ve heard about these trucker’s alarms, but never have had the pleasure of hearing one up close and personal. I still haven’t heard one up close, but I can tell you that they are quite effective. I figure that the secret to the Screaming Meanie is that you can place it in a room on another floor and 3 doors down the hall and it is loud enough that you will have to get up and walk that far to turn it off. Now THAT is an alarm clock! Can’t wait to actually see one. Time to shower and clean up as you never know who might be standing around in a whore house at 7 am. Turns out that WE are the only folk standing around in a whore house at 7 am ‘cause the ladies are much smarter than this bunch of bikers (regardless of national origin of their bikes).

Clues and rules are passed out and now I get my first taste of what this thing is all about. Standing around in the cold I try to figure out what in the heck it is that they just gave me and how any of it relates to what I’m supposed to be doing for the rest of the day. First mistake of the day: No highlighter pen. Obvious rookie mistake. Rather than ask to borrow one -- I take off back to town, gas up again (after all, I’ve already gone 12 miles and I already told you about the Valkyrie’s mileage) and stop at the local hardware store and pick up a yellow fluorescent marker. Park my tail on a couple of garbage cans and start sorting through my route sheet and map. Now, I remember that I purchased a Nevada Gazetteer and that I left it on the table back in Reno (rookie mistake number 2). Mark my map of all bonus locations (at least the ones I can find on my AAA map) and go back to the store to ask a "local" which towns have gas. Now I can plot my route around fill ups and quickly realize that I probably can’t be competitive in this event, so I might as well have some fun and see some country. Decide to stay out of Death Valley because there is gas only at Furnace Creek and since my map doesn’t show me exactly where some of the clue locations are, figure that running back and forth to Furnace Creek would preclude me from getting much ground covered. I decide that since I’ve never been to Kelso, CA that Kelso should be my destination and I start adding up the potential bonus points between Beatty and there.

I’m off and running. Heading out of town I see my dinner partner pulled over south of town with a friendly Highway Patrolman inquiring about his well being. Discretion being the better part of valor -- I wave and hope for the best. I take this as a sign that the LEO’s are on alert and adjust my speed accordingly. First stop, Lathrop Wells/Armagosa Valley where there is a possible treasure, but more importantly -- another gas station (are you getting as tired of hearing as I am tired of saying, "gas station"). Treasure was already claimed so I head to Death Valley Junction to find out who is playing at the opera house and how much it costs for admission. From the Opera House it’s off to Shoshone for... you guessed it, MORE gas and a stop at the CROWBAR to find a license plate hanging on the wall. Nab a couple of Bonus points and head out for Tecopa Hot Springs to find what is prohibited in the bath houses. When I left Tecopa I was cruising along at a sedate 75 to 80 mph when I was passed by a black streak that turned out to be a certain rider’s Goldwing. Not being trained in the black magic of speed estimation nor being equipped with a Stalker Radar gun; my guess is that he passed me pretty close to double the posted limit (can you spell Nitrous Oxide?). I’m pretty sure that this was actually a motorcycle since the rider waved at me when going by. Come to think of it, he might have been just trying to hold on. Next stop is the Mile Marker 30.5 to find out how high the dunes are and maybe claim a treasure. The Dunes are 400 ft. above the desert floor, but the treasure is gone.

Off to the next fuel stop in Baker, CA. Stop at the Baker Airport and for 1 bonus point find out what logo is on the wind sock. Now it is getting a bit later in the day and I have to start thinking about time management. How long did it take me to get to Baker and how long will it take to get back to Beatty? I have to figure in the stops that I don’t have to make because I already have the bonus points and what possibilities there may be for some additional stops along a different route. Rookie mistake number 3 is that I reset my odometer at every gas stop and haven’t totaled my mileage traveled. I have to be back by 15:45 and any later than this and I’ll be time barred from the event. Gas up in Baker and head off for Kelso Railroad Station to find out what the manager wrote on the wall. My map doesn’t show how far Kelso is, but the sign on top of I-15 says it is 35 miles. Since the next points are farther down the road and I don’t know about gas for them, I determine that Kelso will have to be my final stop. As Steppenwolf has said about a bazillion times, "Head on down the highway" and put Kelso in my sites. Figure I can motivate down this road since it is only 70 miles round trip. So, here I go -- cutting a cool 90 and feeling pretty good. My Aerostich thigh map case takes off upon obtaining a terminal speed of 95 and have to stop to turn around and pick up my map. ZZZZooom -- there goes another BMW blasting by at 100 plus. Pick up the map and try to catch up. Finally do catch up when I find the bike parked at the Railroad station. Takes a while, but we both find the message on the wall and are joined by Jan from Reno BMW. We briefly discuss missed opportunities and everyone takes off. This time I don’t notice when my map flies off and now I don’t have any opportunity for any additional points. I decide to head back the way I came and of course duplicate my gas stops on the way back. I have to stop again in Baker to refuel and this time managed an all time low of 17 mpg. On a more positive note, I did manage to avoid gassing up in Lathrop Wells to the tune to $2.00 per gallon.

I make it back to Beatty and since I didn’t hit Rhyolite on the way out of town -- I decide to stop in to discover the Porter building was erected in 1906 and pick up a point. Decide that I’m not willing to buy a "Friends of Rhyolite" T-shirt for additional points so it is head on down the road to the final mandatory check point. This is the "dual sport" part of the ride as we have to get off road about 100 yards and dismount for the final humiliation. The last test of skill is to take a gun loaded with 5 bullets and try to kill 3 prophylactics inflated on a stand. I manage to miss everything with the first 3 shots and make a come back by hitting a double with one bullet (don’t ask me how) and a single with my last shot. Feeling pretty good about myself I head back to Beatty knowing that I made it through at least the riding part of my first rally and managed not to wreck either myself or my bike.

The evening’s festivities started with what I am sure is the traditional "stretching of the truth" session. Average speeds are inflated, survival, escape and evasion techniques are discussed and bonus point tactics are analyzed and critiqued. Our valor and intelligence increase proportionate with our blood alcohol level and thankfully the Beatty Club is just across the street from the contestants’ rooms. I won’t discuss the nuances of an awards dinner as each has its own personality. Let it suffice to say that dinner was eaten, speeches were made and awards were passed out. That guy who greeted me upon arrival managed to smoke everyone on his Wing and was sent out in search of the "special" bonus treasure reserved for the winner of the rally. This turned out to be a full size bowling ball labeled "I had a ball at the White Stag". As it turned out it was a good thing Michael had some room left in his saddle bags because he had to return to Washington with all the loot he won in the raffle and with a brand new bowling ball (with no holes).