[Cut and paste from the old forum 2nd May 2011]
This ride seemed a natural progression from my recent 100CCC rides with Crackaz east/west and north/south here in Oz.
Being a long way from home it took a bit of preparation. Firstly I had to find the time. It’s a six day commitment due to the flight before and after the ride. My wife and I discussed it and instead stretched the time away to include a couple of weeks touring the national parks of the southwest USA (by car) after the ride. I allowed a 4 day rental period (96 hours) to complete the ride.
I selected the conventional west/east route along Interstate 10 (I-10E), with a slight variation in that I was leaving from Los Angeles, rather than San Diego simply because the plane landed at LAX. My main focus was the first leg i.e. the 50CC to Florida. The return leg initially had 4 alternate routes. I kept a daily watch on the US weather forecast and had to reluctantly cancel a couple of the alternates because of the cold. Minus 5C for much of the third night along Interstate 40 (I-40W) did not seem safe. Likewise the Devils Highway Route 666 in Arizona was binned. Minus 5C at the lowest altitude of 1150m and peaks of over 3000m on a road with a thousand bends in the middle of the night.
Then I had to select a bike: I chose the BMW R1200RT from EagleRider rentals near LAX. I picked this bike for a few reasons, namely the neutral riding position, the large tank, shaft drive and the fact that Kevin, the salesman at my local BMW dealer was happy for me to regularly sit on one in his showroom for hours. I never bothered riding one before the trip as they just have an engine, a pair of handlebars and a couple of wheels like every other bike.
As a reserve bike I selected the R1200GS because its on my “next bike” short list and an 8000km test-ride is hard to wangle here in Oz.
Before leaving I made up a loom and RAM mount to fit the BMW for a Garmin 660 GPS and charging for iphone and Bluetooth headset. I also bought a Kaoko throttle lock for the GS in case I was riding that one instead.
Then I stopped drinking coffee and alcohol for a couple of months and upped the exercise dropped a half a dozen kg or so.
The plane was due to land at 1000am LAX time and I planned to pick up the bike at 1100am. That’s 400am AEST. Gold. By ignoring the sun, I planned to ride the 100CCC by Oz time, not US time. At home I’d leave home at 0400, ride for 2000km and stop to rest at midnight about half way across the country, get up and do it again. So my plan was to ride from the middle of the day to mid-morning in the middle of Texas, rest awhile, then be back on the bike at lunch time to do it again. And again and again.
Day 1: Los Angeles to Texas
The plane was on time, but with a slow exit from the airport I first laid eyes on the R1200RT a bit after 1200 local time. Fitted up the GPS wiring simply enough but the RAM mount was harder. A simple substitution of the M8 bolt on the handlebar mounts was all that was required, but the techs at EagleRider remove ALL OF THE TOOLS from the bike and also the owners manual – thanks fellas. I borrowed a T45 and used the allen key I brought with me and hoped I wouldn’t need anything else for the next 4 days. I had digital copies of the owners and workshop manuals in my phone, but without any tools they were largely academic.
Down to the beach at El Segundo for a sand sample. Sand only, as the airport security on the way back may take a dim view of the liquid in the little urine sample jars.
Next stop the El Segundo Police station for my witness signature. Check.
Then a hundred metres to the official start with a fuel docket. First snag. I couldn’t get a drop of fuel into the tank. Bought a drink, scored a computer timestamp and logged the start at 13:45 (Pacific Daylight Savings Time PDT). Stayed on PDT the whole way, rather than observe the 6 or 7 time zone changes I would otherwise have to allow for.
Hit “go” on the GPS and headed into the LA traffic toward Palm Springs. Only light Saturday afternoon traffic, I got used to the bike, the road signs, the GPS lady in my headphones and made my way toward Florida.
Cruised up through Palm Springs as the heat increased.
First stop Blythe, CA (1713 PDT). Fuel light blinking “0” for the last 10 minutes or so, made it to the servo I picked via Google streetview. “0”? It had only been 330km. I was banking on a hundred more km per tank……. Picked up the petrol pump and so began the main irritation and delays of the trip.
The petrol problems were threefold:
- firstly, in the US payment for fuel is generally required before filling. That’s fine with swipecard readers at the pumps. However, not all pumps are equal. Some require a PIN, some require a 5 digit ZIP code. Some do take/don’t take American Express/VISA. Some won’t accept credit cards, others won’t accept debit cards. With an AMEX, VISA credit and a VISA debit card in my wallet, I ended up paying cash most of the time. Cash is a pain. Gloves off, helmet off, into the station, wait in line with cash in hand, the clerk says “how much gas?”, I don’t know how much, “well, honey, I have to know how much to put through now, don’t I?”, hand over a $100, go back out to the pump, wait for them to turn the pump on, pump the gas, go back inside, wait in line, remind the clerk that I am the funny sounding biker who paid them a $100, “oh, that’s right, honey”, collect the change and docket, log the stop, helmet on, gloves on, ride off. No chance of a Tabledrain sub 4 minute stop.
- Secondly the pumps are often weird. More specifically it’s the nozzles in all of the Californian stations, many of the ones in Louisiana and Alabama and some in between. They have a “foreskin” that functions as a return system for petrol vapour. They allegedly do not interfere with the filling process. They in fact do interfere with the filling process, especially on a bike. Firstly, the foreskin has to engage correctly and/or squarely with the bike filler neck or the pump won’t pump. That is almost impossible on a bike when the fuel cap opens to a tad under 90 degrees like the RT. That’s not including the bulky cap seal that protrudes downward into the tank. Secondly, when the foreskin is engaged, the end of the nozzle is well down into the tank. Withdrawing the nozzle to fill the remaining several litres shuts off the pump, leaving you looking down the spout into the tank with nothing but air filling the top of the tank, greatly reducing the amount of gas you can ride off with. Careful retraction of the foreskin sometimes tricked the pump into giving up a bit extra, but it then becomes a 2 handed job to fill the tank, increases the spill rate as the pump splutters away intermittently and doesn’t always work anyway. No chance of a Tabledrain sub 4 minute fuel stop.
- Thirdly, the bike itself was fitted with an extra orange spout in the tank that I have not seen before. Perhaps they are fitted on Oz models as well? Anyway, this plastic spout seemed at least 15cm deep into the tank, was barely wide enough to take any metal nozzle and featured a tiny breather hole on the top edge. Filling (even without the foreskin jobbie) became a very slow process. Once rising petrol in the tank reaches the deepest part of the orange spout the pump switches off. Tedious and repetitive kachunking then ensues as a hundred ml or so goes in, some froths and backflows out, shuts off the pump, recedes into the tank and the process goes on. No chance of a Tabledrain sub 4 minute fuel stop.
Overall the fuel range I achieved with the R1200RT was very disappointing and may have been any one of several factors. Maybe the bike simply gave poor mileage? Maybe I never filled it properly because of the above issues? Maybe the fuel gauge and range countdown were too conservative? I just wasn’t game enough to push far beyond the blinking “0” and risk running out of gas on a timed run.
I also opted not to carry a jerry can. In some states it is illegal to carry a jerry can on the bike (full or empty) and in some, but not all, states it is illegal to fill from a jerry can. So it may be legal in some states to carry, but not use a jerry can and in others it may be legal to use, but not carry a jerry can. I didn’t want the hassle.
Across the state line into Arizona with clear skies and late afternoon and settled into a rhythm. The interstate system is very smooth and efficient. Generally 2 lanes each way, sometimes 3, and the eastward and westward roads divided by 100m or so. Cruise control on the Beemer and exercising every 30 minutes.
In the desert now and with the dark came the cold – fast. The long vistas and wide open spaces made the increase in altitude imperceptible. By the time I reached New Mexico (Lordsburg, NM, 00:02am PDT, 1015km) I’d seen the RT dash flash the snowflake and “32”. As in fahrenheit, as in freezing. I stopped to refuel, repositioned the GPS to cover the offending flashing and shivered my way inside for more layers. Sharkskins under and a vest over the top, heated grips and heated seat and back into the night.
Sailed through El Paso in awe of the lights of Juarez, just over the border in Mexico and joined more trucks across Texas. In the middle of nowhere the I-10E veered into a border patrol station.
Looking like a truck weighing station, but with uniformed guards with guns…… Flipped the visor up but I greeted the very stern officer with me wearing a full balaclava and deafness-inducing earplugs.
“US passport holder, suh?
“No”
“What passport do you hold, suh?”
“Australian”
“Where are from, suh?”
“I’m from Australia”.
“You may proceed, suh.”
“Thanks, but …um…… Border Patrol? Am I heading into Mexico?” I was a bit confused.
“Yes, suh. You held a single entry visa for the USA and you are now leaving US soil, suh. Enjoy Mexico, suh”
“Hold on……I didn’t realise I was leaving the US. Is this road leading me into Mexico?”
“Ha! I was just kiddin with you, man!” and slapped me on the shoulder.
Cheeky bastard was just taking the piss while his mate’s standing there pointing a gun at me.
I was very relived as I throttled away, the two of them laughing there heads off in my mirrors. Got me a beauty.
Topped up in Van Horn, TX just before dawn (04:32 PDT, 1470km) and rolled in to Ozona TX (0813 PDT, 1837km) for fuel and a few hours sleep in a hotel. On track a bit under half way across in 18 hours and 28 minutes.
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Day 2 Texas to Jacksonville Beach Florida
Refreshed from the kip, but now its very hot. Hard to believe how fast that happened. Out of the parking lot at 1105 PDT and rejoined the I-10E.
Quite a few police cars around here for some reason. Well…. police, state troopers and Sheriff’s cars all mixed up, just like most of the trip. They tended to sit between the two parallel stretches of interstate, broadside, and stuck out like the proverbial. In Texas 80mph is the limit in the daytime (65 at night) but many cars travel faster. One passed me at over a hundred, and the police car on the side of the road never moved. I’d like to know what you would have to be doing to provoke them? Anyway, some people must because over the whole trip I counted 57 police cars with lights flashing and a paying customer parked nearby.
Paused at Schertz, TX (1426 PDT, 2202km) for a drink and a bear claw. These were my staple food. I had one on the first day, two on the second day, none on the third and had my fourth one on day four. I ate nothing else on the trip.
Starbucks coffee in a can. May not be great, but it is reliably found in servos and consistent. I’d been off coffee well before the trip began, hoping to get a little boost with the reintroduction.
Passed through Houston with its spaghetti spiderweb of freeways and crossed into Louisiana. Baton Rouge (2202 PDT, 2929km) for fuel before riding on to the Atchafalaya Bridge. I’d been looking forward to this, but in the dark it amounted to no big deal. It’s a pair of twenty mile long concrete bridges over the swampland of its namesake river.
Slight mishap here. I took the opportunity during a glove change to snap a pic of the bridge as I reached it. Left glove off and under the right thigh, right glove off and under the left thigh, snapped the pic, silk inners on, grabbed the right glove and bugger me the velcros caught and the left glove flicked over my shoulder and off into the dark. 65 miles an hour, steady traffic, no shoulders on the concrete canyon Atchafalaya bridge and nowhere to turn for at least 18 miles. Gorn. And the pic was a dud.
Just before dawn between Pensacola FL and Monticello FL I saw an unusual sight. Up ahead under a lamp post I could see what looked like a rat at first. Bigger. Maybe a possum? As I passed it was clearly visible. It was an armadillo. Likely nine-banded based on the location but I didn’t count the bands. What was unusual about it was that it was the only roadside animal I saw on the whole trip. Dead deer and birds of prey on the wing in Texas, yes, but nothing else alive along the interstate. I’d been warned about the night-time deer in west Texas by IBA members, but none ever appeared.
The interstate through Florida was good. Divided as before, and with lush green grass on either side and forest for much of the way. Periodically little creeks would terminate by the roadside, but I never saw a ‘gator.
I had my witnesses for the Atlantic planned and prepped. Honda of Jacksonville, on the road to the beach. The IBA recommend them as witnesses and any 2 employees would suffice. The GPS guided me to the spot. I’d pre-programmed the address before leaving home and after calling the dealer to confirm. Off the interstate now and mixing with the rowdy Florida traffic, I saw the Honda sign and pulled in. The carpark was basically empty apart from a bloke with an overheated Prius, but on such a beautiful day people were probably down at the beach. Off the bike, filled in the witness forms and headed to the door. Closed. Locked, in fact. Nobody inside, despite me squinting. Sign on the door says “closed”. Closed on Mondays. I spoke to them a few days before, but it never dawned on me to ask “are you open on Mondays?”. What bike shop closes on a Monday? Race on Sunday, sell on Monday – there’s even a slogan to tell dealers when to open.
Back on the bike and down to the beach for a sample. Jacksonville Beach, Atlantic Beach and Neptune Beach. Its one stretch of sand, but the street signs, shops and Police station seem to mix them up. Thankfully I’d checked the location and also put the address into the GPS, so around the corner to the Police Station I go. The receptionist said to me as I stumbled in cradling helmet, camera, sand jar and all my papers “ Are you one of those Iron Ass biker types?” Close enough. “Yes, all the way from Australia”. “You got yer papers for signing?” Gold. She had a look, then called on one of the detectives to bring a badge and come and sign my documents. The detective thought I was mad, but she checked my log, gave the bike a once over and signed me off.
Last step – fuel – (Atlantic Beach FL 1006 PDT, 3922km), docket and log.
50CC completed in 44 hours and 21 minutes. 9 minutes ahead of my ride plan.
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Day 3 – Florida to Texas
Apart from a few minute nap at a servo overnight, I hadn’t slept since Ozona in Texas, but I didn’t feel tired. I had allowed for a sleep at a resort at the beach, but phoned them and cancelled. I just got back on and headed for California. A few minutes at Chattahoochee and again when I stopped to put on wets at a rest stop in Loxley, Alabama and I was feeling completely refreshed.
Mobile, AL (1843 PDT, 4617km) marked a node point. I’d been watching the weather heading west, and had been wet intermittently. The wind was from the south and clouds increasing. A turn northward at Mobile was my alternate ride plan: to reach the I-20W up through Louisiana and arcing back down just after Odessa to rejoin the I-10W in west Texas.
At the servo another rider approached me. He was in the car, not riding but asked where I was heading. He’d just come from his home town of Hattiesburg (my next stop) and told me in no uncertain terms that the weather up that way was bad. “Real bad, suh. Its come up from the Gulf and its real wild, suh. I don’t think you should go that way”. Decision made. Although no one died in exactly the towns I’d planned to ride through, that weather system sprouted tornados and I understand 20 people died in the surrounding area.
200 or so miles of rain followed, but my Tiger Angel Guardian kept me dry and it wasn’t at all cold. Through Mississippi and Louisiana. Bypassed New Orleans again on the I-12W and into east Texas. It smells bad in them thar parts. Sulphur towns, swampy stuff and cattle holding yards.
Winnie, Texas (0127 PDT, 5256km). I fuelled up, saw a hotel next door and moved in for a sleep. I wasn’t very tired, so I was glad to get to sleep quickly.
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Day 4 Texas to LAX
Up and on the road again, I joined the commuters to Pasadena and on to the tangle of Houston. Traffic stopped on the freeway a few times, but I soon realised I was on a High-occupancy density vehicle, and took to the “HOV” lanes to avoid the snarl.
On through the farmlands for seemingly hours, into the open stretches and soon I was back in Ozona, TX (1132 PDT, 6008km) 70 hours and ¾ of the way. It started getting hot again through here. Close to 40C, but at least the sun was overhead. By the time I’d passed Van Horn it was getting unpleasant and in El Paso it got worse. For some reason the crossroads in El Paso seemed to me to actually have traffic cross the interstate? The rest of the trip only features on ramps and off ramps, but El Paso seemed to have intersections. To make matters worse, a motorist told me there was an accident up ahead causing the gridlock. My boots were hot, the tar was getting sticky and I was worried about the now-squared rear Metzeler baking in the heat. There was an odd assortment of bikes stuck in the traffic. I’d had enough, so pulled left and tooled along up the shoulder. Cars politely moved over and soon we had a little 2 wheeled procession moving toward the front. After a couple of kms it all just evaporated. No police, no ambulance, no accident, no worries.
Swung north toward La Cruces, New Mexico and the traffic thinned. Yet another prison near the interstate. Yet another “Don’t pick up hitch hikers in this area” sign. Cracked me up every time I saw one. Westward turn and into misery. Flat, hot and devoid of anything interesting. Well at least that’s how it appeared to me. The sun was now straight ahead and unrelenting. Visibility was poor with a dusty haze around and even a big bush fire in the scrub. My equipment made it worse. I wore my new Shark flip face helmet which is basically a gem. But it has an external clear visor, a dark visor that slides down inside that one and with my prescription sunnies and the bug-splattered BMW screen I had 4 layers of plastic between my squinting eyes and the orb hovering above the horizon glowing white hot.
I pulled in to Deming, New Mexico (1817 PDT, 6724km) and made it a meal break as well as fuel to allow the sun to go down. Refreshed and ready, I rounded the rear of the bike to get on and my heart sank. There in the middle of the Metzeler I saw the glint of metal. Not a nail. Not a screw. Not even a spoon. The glint was the metal of the steel belts within. I checked the time and checked the GPS – 711 miles to destination. Shops have just shut and a FarRide’s worth of riding to go. I called the number for the BMW dealers in Tucson and Phoenix and tried a couple of others. No luck of course.
1150km to go, 2 ½ states to cover, and a bit under 18 hours left to the deadline. No bike shop in this town, no point staying here, I’ll be out. I might make it to Phoenix, but by the time a tyre is fitted in the morning, I won’t make LAX on time and I’ll be out…… If the tyre runs flat and I spend the night on the side of the road I’ll be out. The closer I get to LA the better off I am and the only way possible to complete the ride.
I hatched a plan. 10 miles on the left side, 10 miles on the right side, crank that baby over on its cylinder head, hang my butt off the side of the seat and just ride. 70 flicks to the opposite lock and I’ll roll on in to LA.
So that’s precisely what I did. Every 10 miles I flipped over to the opposite side of the bike, hung off as far as I could on the “wrong” side of the bike and rode to California. Over 900km without sitting on the seat for a single second.
Held time and fuelled at Marana then Quartzite, Arizona (0229 PDT, 7460km) before entering California in the pre-dawn. As I approached Palm Springs I passed the same trio of trucks for the third time that night and wondered what they thought of the tool on the BMW laid over like that? After the border check station the traffic had started to pick up.
Then it turned to sh!t. I-10W picks up LA commuters around there. I saw a sign saying “LA 146 miles” and the melee began. The traffic was extraordinary and the conditions in the dark horrendous. Dust storms, wind gusts and all kinds of debris flying around with thousands of cut-throat commuters zigging and zagging at 20 over. The road was like a roller coaster with dodgy camber changes, inclines and declines, poor signage and all jam packed. I had to throw out my side saddle manoeuvres and just held on to my buffer and tried not to get killed for the next 200km of hell.
At the first sign of the airport I could at least relax…….. quiet little El Segundo was just around the corner.
Clear plan here: Straight to the beach for a sample; Police station for a witness ;Petrol Station for finish docket (El Segundo, CA 0745am PDT, 7980km).
100CCC LAX/JAX/LAX done and dusted in exactly 90 hours.
All that was left to do was to get the bike washed, then back to EagleRider. Jason, the young bloke who rented it to me came out for the return. I said all was well but that the rear tyre was “toasted” (Though there appeared to be no more steel showing than back in New Mexico yesterday evening).
He said “Doin some burnouts, hey dude?” “No, I rode to Florida and back.” "Man, since Saturday? Florida? Thats CRAZY"
.
This ride seemed a natural progression from my recent 100CCC rides with Crackaz east/west and north/south here in Oz.
Being a long way from home it took a bit of preparation. Firstly I had to find the time. It’s a six day commitment due to the flight before and after the ride. My wife and I discussed it and instead stretched the time away to include a couple of weeks touring the national parks of the southwest USA (by car) after the ride. I allowed a 4 day rental period (96 hours) to complete the ride.
I selected the conventional west/east route along Interstate 10 (I-10E), with a slight variation in that I was leaving from Los Angeles, rather than San Diego simply because the plane landed at LAX. My main focus was the first leg i.e. the 50CC to Florida. The return leg initially had 4 alternate routes. I kept a daily watch on the US weather forecast and had to reluctantly cancel a couple of the alternates because of the cold. Minus 5C for much of the third night along Interstate 40 (I-40W) did not seem safe. Likewise the Devils Highway Route 666 in Arizona was binned. Minus 5C at the lowest altitude of 1150m and peaks of over 3000m on a road with a thousand bends in the middle of the night.
Then I had to select a bike: I chose the BMW R1200RT from EagleRider rentals near LAX. I picked this bike for a few reasons, namely the neutral riding position, the large tank, shaft drive and the fact that Kevin, the salesman at my local BMW dealer was happy for me to regularly sit on one in his showroom for hours. I never bothered riding one before the trip as they just have an engine, a pair of handlebars and a couple of wheels like every other bike.
As a reserve bike I selected the R1200GS because its on my “next bike” short list and an 8000km test-ride is hard to wangle here in Oz.
Before leaving I made up a loom and RAM mount to fit the BMW for a Garmin 660 GPS and charging for iphone and Bluetooth headset. I also bought a Kaoko throttle lock for the GS in case I was riding that one instead.
Then I stopped drinking coffee and alcohol for a couple of months and upped the exercise dropped a half a dozen kg or so.
The plane was due to land at 1000am LAX time and I planned to pick up the bike at 1100am. That’s 400am AEST. Gold. By ignoring the sun, I planned to ride the 100CCC by Oz time, not US time. At home I’d leave home at 0400, ride for 2000km and stop to rest at midnight about half way across the country, get up and do it again. So my plan was to ride from the middle of the day to mid-morning in the middle of Texas, rest awhile, then be back on the bike at lunch time to do it again. And again and again.
Day 1: Los Angeles to Texas
The plane was on time, but with a slow exit from the airport I first laid eyes on the R1200RT a bit after 1200 local time. Fitted up the GPS wiring simply enough but the RAM mount was harder. A simple substitution of the M8 bolt on the handlebar mounts was all that was required, but the techs at EagleRider remove ALL OF THE TOOLS from the bike and also the owners manual – thanks fellas. I borrowed a T45 and used the allen key I brought with me and hoped I wouldn’t need anything else for the next 4 days. I had digital copies of the owners and workshop manuals in my phone, but without any tools they were largely academic.
Down to the beach at El Segundo for a sand sample. Sand only, as the airport security on the way back may take a dim view of the liquid in the little urine sample jars.
Next stop the El Segundo Police station for my witness signature. Check.
Then a hundred metres to the official start with a fuel docket. First snag. I couldn’t get a drop of fuel into the tank. Bought a drink, scored a computer timestamp and logged the start at 13:45 (Pacific Daylight Savings Time PDT). Stayed on PDT the whole way, rather than observe the 6 or 7 time zone changes I would otherwise have to allow for.
Hit “go” on the GPS and headed into the LA traffic toward Palm Springs. Only light Saturday afternoon traffic, I got used to the bike, the road signs, the GPS lady in my headphones and made my way toward Florida.
Cruised up through Palm Springs as the heat increased.
First stop Blythe, CA (1713 PDT). Fuel light blinking “0” for the last 10 minutes or so, made it to the servo I picked via Google streetview. “0”? It had only been 330km. I was banking on a hundred more km per tank……. Picked up the petrol pump and so began the main irritation and delays of the trip.
The petrol problems were threefold:
- firstly, in the US payment for fuel is generally required before filling. That’s fine with swipecard readers at the pumps. However, not all pumps are equal. Some require a PIN, some require a 5 digit ZIP code. Some do take/don’t take American Express/VISA. Some won’t accept credit cards, others won’t accept debit cards. With an AMEX, VISA credit and a VISA debit card in my wallet, I ended up paying cash most of the time. Cash is a pain. Gloves off, helmet off, into the station, wait in line with cash in hand, the clerk says “how much gas?”, I don’t know how much, “well, honey, I have to know how much to put through now, don’t I?”, hand over a $100, go back out to the pump, wait for them to turn the pump on, pump the gas, go back inside, wait in line, remind the clerk that I am the funny sounding biker who paid them a $100, “oh, that’s right, honey”, collect the change and docket, log the stop, helmet on, gloves on, ride off. No chance of a Tabledrain sub 4 minute stop.
- Secondly the pumps are often weird. More specifically it’s the nozzles in all of the Californian stations, many of the ones in Louisiana and Alabama and some in between. They have a “foreskin” that functions as a return system for petrol vapour. They allegedly do not interfere with the filling process. They in fact do interfere with the filling process, especially on a bike. Firstly, the foreskin has to engage correctly and/or squarely with the bike filler neck or the pump won’t pump. That is almost impossible on a bike when the fuel cap opens to a tad under 90 degrees like the RT. That’s not including the bulky cap seal that protrudes downward into the tank. Secondly, when the foreskin is engaged, the end of the nozzle is well down into the tank. Withdrawing the nozzle to fill the remaining several litres shuts off the pump, leaving you looking down the spout into the tank with nothing but air filling the top of the tank, greatly reducing the amount of gas you can ride off with. Careful retraction of the foreskin sometimes tricked the pump into giving up a bit extra, but it then becomes a 2 handed job to fill the tank, increases the spill rate as the pump splutters away intermittently and doesn’t always work anyway. No chance of a Tabledrain sub 4 minute fuel stop.
- Thirdly, the bike itself was fitted with an extra orange spout in the tank that I have not seen before. Perhaps they are fitted on Oz models as well? Anyway, this plastic spout seemed at least 15cm deep into the tank, was barely wide enough to take any metal nozzle and featured a tiny breather hole on the top edge. Filling (even without the foreskin jobbie) became a very slow process. Once rising petrol in the tank reaches the deepest part of the orange spout the pump switches off. Tedious and repetitive kachunking then ensues as a hundred ml or so goes in, some froths and backflows out, shuts off the pump, recedes into the tank and the process goes on. No chance of a Tabledrain sub 4 minute fuel stop.
Overall the fuel range I achieved with the R1200RT was very disappointing and may have been any one of several factors. Maybe the bike simply gave poor mileage? Maybe I never filled it properly because of the above issues? Maybe the fuel gauge and range countdown were too conservative? I just wasn’t game enough to push far beyond the blinking “0” and risk running out of gas on a timed run.
I also opted not to carry a jerry can. In some states it is illegal to carry a jerry can on the bike (full or empty) and in some, but not all, states it is illegal to fill from a jerry can. So it may be legal in some states to carry, but not use a jerry can and in others it may be legal to use, but not carry a jerry can. I didn’t want the hassle.
Across the state line into Arizona with clear skies and late afternoon and settled into a rhythm. The interstate system is very smooth and efficient. Generally 2 lanes each way, sometimes 3, and the eastward and westward roads divided by 100m or so. Cruise control on the Beemer and exercising every 30 minutes.
In the desert now and with the dark came the cold – fast. The long vistas and wide open spaces made the increase in altitude imperceptible. By the time I reached New Mexico (Lordsburg, NM, 00:02am PDT, 1015km) I’d seen the RT dash flash the snowflake and “32”. As in fahrenheit, as in freezing. I stopped to refuel, repositioned the GPS to cover the offending flashing and shivered my way inside for more layers. Sharkskins under and a vest over the top, heated grips and heated seat and back into the night.
Sailed through El Paso in awe of the lights of Juarez, just over the border in Mexico and joined more trucks across Texas. In the middle of nowhere the I-10E veered into a border patrol station.
Looking like a truck weighing station, but with uniformed guards with guns…… Flipped the visor up but I greeted the very stern officer with me wearing a full balaclava and deafness-inducing earplugs.
“US passport holder, suh?
“No”
“What passport do you hold, suh?”
“Australian”
“Where are from, suh?”
“I’m from Australia”.
“You may proceed, suh.”
“Thanks, but …um…… Border Patrol? Am I heading into Mexico?” I was a bit confused.
“Yes, suh. You held a single entry visa for the USA and you are now leaving US soil, suh. Enjoy Mexico, suh”
“Hold on……I didn’t realise I was leaving the US. Is this road leading me into Mexico?”
“Ha! I was just kiddin with you, man!” and slapped me on the shoulder.
Cheeky bastard was just taking the piss while his mate’s standing there pointing a gun at me.
I was very relived as I throttled away, the two of them laughing there heads off in my mirrors. Got me a beauty.
Topped up in Van Horn, TX just before dawn (04:32 PDT, 1470km) and rolled in to Ozona TX (0813 PDT, 1837km) for fuel and a few hours sleep in a hotel. On track a bit under half way across in 18 hours and 28 minutes.
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Day 2 Texas to Jacksonville Beach Florida
Refreshed from the kip, but now its very hot. Hard to believe how fast that happened. Out of the parking lot at 1105 PDT and rejoined the I-10E.
Quite a few police cars around here for some reason. Well…. police, state troopers and Sheriff’s cars all mixed up, just like most of the trip. They tended to sit between the two parallel stretches of interstate, broadside, and stuck out like the proverbial. In Texas 80mph is the limit in the daytime (65 at night) but many cars travel faster. One passed me at over a hundred, and the police car on the side of the road never moved. I’d like to know what you would have to be doing to provoke them? Anyway, some people must because over the whole trip I counted 57 police cars with lights flashing and a paying customer parked nearby.
Paused at Schertz, TX (1426 PDT, 2202km) for a drink and a bear claw. These were my staple food. I had one on the first day, two on the second day, none on the third and had my fourth one on day four. I ate nothing else on the trip.
Starbucks coffee in a can. May not be great, but it is reliably found in servos and consistent. I’d been off coffee well before the trip began, hoping to get a little boost with the reintroduction.
Passed through Houston with its spaghetti spiderweb of freeways and crossed into Louisiana. Baton Rouge (2202 PDT, 2929km) for fuel before riding on to the Atchafalaya Bridge. I’d been looking forward to this, but in the dark it amounted to no big deal. It’s a pair of twenty mile long concrete bridges over the swampland of its namesake river.
Slight mishap here. I took the opportunity during a glove change to snap a pic of the bridge as I reached it. Left glove off and under the right thigh, right glove off and under the left thigh, snapped the pic, silk inners on, grabbed the right glove and bugger me the velcros caught and the left glove flicked over my shoulder and off into the dark. 65 miles an hour, steady traffic, no shoulders on the concrete canyon Atchafalaya bridge and nowhere to turn for at least 18 miles. Gorn. And the pic was a dud.
Just before dawn between Pensacola FL and Monticello FL I saw an unusual sight. Up ahead under a lamp post I could see what looked like a rat at first. Bigger. Maybe a possum? As I passed it was clearly visible. It was an armadillo. Likely nine-banded based on the location but I didn’t count the bands. What was unusual about it was that it was the only roadside animal I saw on the whole trip. Dead deer and birds of prey on the wing in Texas, yes, but nothing else alive along the interstate. I’d been warned about the night-time deer in west Texas by IBA members, but none ever appeared.
The interstate through Florida was good. Divided as before, and with lush green grass on either side and forest for much of the way. Periodically little creeks would terminate by the roadside, but I never saw a ‘gator.
I had my witnesses for the Atlantic planned and prepped. Honda of Jacksonville, on the road to the beach. The IBA recommend them as witnesses and any 2 employees would suffice. The GPS guided me to the spot. I’d pre-programmed the address before leaving home and after calling the dealer to confirm. Off the interstate now and mixing with the rowdy Florida traffic, I saw the Honda sign and pulled in. The carpark was basically empty apart from a bloke with an overheated Prius, but on such a beautiful day people were probably down at the beach. Off the bike, filled in the witness forms and headed to the door. Closed. Locked, in fact. Nobody inside, despite me squinting. Sign on the door says “closed”. Closed on Mondays. I spoke to them a few days before, but it never dawned on me to ask “are you open on Mondays?”. What bike shop closes on a Monday? Race on Sunday, sell on Monday – there’s even a slogan to tell dealers when to open.
Back on the bike and down to the beach for a sample. Jacksonville Beach, Atlantic Beach and Neptune Beach. Its one stretch of sand, but the street signs, shops and Police station seem to mix them up. Thankfully I’d checked the location and also put the address into the GPS, so around the corner to the Police Station I go. The receptionist said to me as I stumbled in cradling helmet, camera, sand jar and all my papers “ Are you one of those Iron Ass biker types?” Close enough. “Yes, all the way from Australia”. “You got yer papers for signing?” Gold. She had a look, then called on one of the detectives to bring a badge and come and sign my documents. The detective thought I was mad, but she checked my log, gave the bike a once over and signed me off.
Last step – fuel – (Atlantic Beach FL 1006 PDT, 3922km), docket and log.
50CC completed in 44 hours and 21 minutes. 9 minutes ahead of my ride plan.
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Day 3 – Florida to Texas
Apart from a few minute nap at a servo overnight, I hadn’t slept since Ozona in Texas, but I didn’t feel tired. I had allowed for a sleep at a resort at the beach, but phoned them and cancelled. I just got back on and headed for California. A few minutes at Chattahoochee and again when I stopped to put on wets at a rest stop in Loxley, Alabama and I was feeling completely refreshed.
Mobile, AL (1843 PDT, 4617km) marked a node point. I’d been watching the weather heading west, and had been wet intermittently. The wind was from the south and clouds increasing. A turn northward at Mobile was my alternate ride plan: to reach the I-20W up through Louisiana and arcing back down just after Odessa to rejoin the I-10W in west Texas.
At the servo another rider approached me. He was in the car, not riding but asked where I was heading. He’d just come from his home town of Hattiesburg (my next stop) and told me in no uncertain terms that the weather up that way was bad. “Real bad, suh. Its come up from the Gulf and its real wild, suh. I don’t think you should go that way”. Decision made. Although no one died in exactly the towns I’d planned to ride through, that weather system sprouted tornados and I understand 20 people died in the surrounding area.
200 or so miles of rain followed, but my Tiger Angel Guardian kept me dry and it wasn’t at all cold. Through Mississippi and Louisiana. Bypassed New Orleans again on the I-12W and into east Texas. It smells bad in them thar parts. Sulphur towns, swampy stuff and cattle holding yards.
Winnie, Texas (0127 PDT, 5256km). I fuelled up, saw a hotel next door and moved in for a sleep. I wasn’t very tired, so I was glad to get to sleep quickly.
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Day 4 Texas to LAX
Up and on the road again, I joined the commuters to Pasadena and on to the tangle of Houston. Traffic stopped on the freeway a few times, but I soon realised I was on a High-occupancy density vehicle, and took to the “HOV” lanes to avoid the snarl.
On through the farmlands for seemingly hours, into the open stretches and soon I was back in Ozona, TX (1132 PDT, 6008km) 70 hours and ¾ of the way. It started getting hot again through here. Close to 40C, but at least the sun was overhead. By the time I’d passed Van Horn it was getting unpleasant and in El Paso it got worse. For some reason the crossroads in El Paso seemed to me to actually have traffic cross the interstate? The rest of the trip only features on ramps and off ramps, but El Paso seemed to have intersections. To make matters worse, a motorist told me there was an accident up ahead causing the gridlock. My boots were hot, the tar was getting sticky and I was worried about the now-squared rear Metzeler baking in the heat. There was an odd assortment of bikes stuck in the traffic. I’d had enough, so pulled left and tooled along up the shoulder. Cars politely moved over and soon we had a little 2 wheeled procession moving toward the front. After a couple of kms it all just evaporated. No police, no ambulance, no accident, no worries.
Swung north toward La Cruces, New Mexico and the traffic thinned. Yet another prison near the interstate. Yet another “Don’t pick up hitch hikers in this area” sign. Cracked me up every time I saw one. Westward turn and into misery. Flat, hot and devoid of anything interesting. Well at least that’s how it appeared to me. The sun was now straight ahead and unrelenting. Visibility was poor with a dusty haze around and even a big bush fire in the scrub. My equipment made it worse. I wore my new Shark flip face helmet which is basically a gem. But it has an external clear visor, a dark visor that slides down inside that one and with my prescription sunnies and the bug-splattered BMW screen I had 4 layers of plastic between my squinting eyes and the orb hovering above the horizon glowing white hot.
I pulled in to Deming, New Mexico (1817 PDT, 6724km) and made it a meal break as well as fuel to allow the sun to go down. Refreshed and ready, I rounded the rear of the bike to get on and my heart sank. There in the middle of the Metzeler I saw the glint of metal. Not a nail. Not a screw. Not even a spoon. The glint was the metal of the steel belts within. I checked the time and checked the GPS – 711 miles to destination. Shops have just shut and a FarRide’s worth of riding to go. I called the number for the BMW dealers in Tucson and Phoenix and tried a couple of others. No luck of course.
1150km to go, 2 ½ states to cover, and a bit under 18 hours left to the deadline. No bike shop in this town, no point staying here, I’ll be out. I might make it to Phoenix, but by the time a tyre is fitted in the morning, I won’t make LAX on time and I’ll be out…… If the tyre runs flat and I spend the night on the side of the road I’ll be out. The closer I get to LA the better off I am and the only way possible to complete the ride.
I hatched a plan. 10 miles on the left side, 10 miles on the right side, crank that baby over on its cylinder head, hang my butt off the side of the seat and just ride. 70 flicks to the opposite lock and I’ll roll on in to LA.
So that’s precisely what I did. Every 10 miles I flipped over to the opposite side of the bike, hung off as far as I could on the “wrong” side of the bike and rode to California. Over 900km without sitting on the seat for a single second.
Held time and fuelled at Marana then Quartzite, Arizona (0229 PDT, 7460km) before entering California in the pre-dawn. As I approached Palm Springs I passed the same trio of trucks for the third time that night and wondered what they thought of the tool on the BMW laid over like that? After the border check station the traffic had started to pick up.
Then it turned to sh!t. I-10W picks up LA commuters around there. I saw a sign saying “LA 146 miles” and the melee began. The traffic was extraordinary and the conditions in the dark horrendous. Dust storms, wind gusts and all kinds of debris flying around with thousands of cut-throat commuters zigging and zagging at 20 over. The road was like a roller coaster with dodgy camber changes, inclines and declines, poor signage and all jam packed. I had to throw out my side saddle manoeuvres and just held on to my buffer and tried not to get killed for the next 200km of hell.
At the first sign of the airport I could at least relax…….. quiet little El Segundo was just around the corner.
Clear plan here: Straight to the beach for a sample; Police station for a witness ;Petrol Station for finish docket (El Segundo, CA 0745am PDT, 7980km).
100CCC LAX/JAX/LAX done and dusted in exactly 90 hours.
All that was left to do was to get the bike washed, then back to EagleRider. Jason, the young bloke who rented it to me came out for the return. I said all was well but that the rear tyre was “toasted” (Though there appeared to be no more steel showing than back in New Mexico yesterday evening).
He said “Doin some burnouts, hey dude?” “No, I rode to Florida and back.” "Man, since Saturday? Florida? Thats CRAZY"
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