It's a dubious honor to be first out of the IBR

TdLpps

Premier Member
#1
It all got real when texts from friends and family members started coming in. A few wanted to know what I was doing at a motel in the daytime when my plans were to ride a few hours into the night before starting my rest bonus. A couple others had read the Day 3 Flash Update before getting in touch with me. It read:

“Todd Lipps’ 2018 Harley Davidson Road King Police is done, and so is his rally. The bike was blowing oil for a few hours and getting more and more noisy before he finally pulled in the clutch and coasted to a stop. He is in a small hotel in southern Wisconsin, waiting for his comfort-food order of pizza and beer. At this time, like so many riders faced with this choice, Todd is sad and we are too. He talked it over with his family, knowing that riders would offer their bikes so that he could at least finish the IBR, but decided this is not an option he wanted to take. As the clouds gather in the Midwestern sky it is indeed a gloomy night for Todd. He had a good leg, but his Harley wasn’t up to the challenge.”

“Sh*t,” I thought. “I’m the first one out.”

But, my 2021 IBR doesn’t really end, or start, in Southern Wisconsin.

The prep work on my Road King Police was thorough and proper and I was very confident it could make it through the rally without needing an oil change, tires, brakes or any other scheduled maintenance. I was prepared for tire repairs and had oil to top off the engine and enough tools to do many of the repairs I might need to perform.

I left home early on Thursday, June 17th to beat some of the heat I’d run into across the California and Nevada desert. It was hot, at times well over 100, but I didn’t feel very uncomfortable. I made my only fuel stop in Mesquite, NV and arrived in Provo by the early afternoon.

A few other riders had arrived and I talked to them in the parking garage as I unpacked my things and checked into the start hotel at the same time as Dale Wilson. The days leading up to the rally went well. I met a few riders I knew and a bunch I didn’t. A natural introvert, I pushed myself to talk to as many people as I could and everyone treated me well.

I made it through all of the preliminary steps without any major issues other than not bringing all three of my memory cards with me to the camera check, but that was corrected and I progressed to the next station. I rode the odometer check properly on the first try and made it to all of the meetings on time.

Time dragged in the days leading up to the start. By the time Sunday afternoon came, I was itching to get on the bike and ride. I had gotten more sleep in the past few days than I had in months and felt great. By Monday morning the hours between 6am and 10am seemed like days.

But, at 10am sharp, bikes started rolling. I left in the first third of the group and didn’t stall my bike when Dale pointed to me. My rally had already started perfectly.

We bunched up on the street leading to the freeway as the police seemed to treat it more like a parade than the start of an 11-day endurance event. Most of the riders, including me, took advantage of the walking pace and used the time to honk and acknowledge the spectators that grouped on the street. Many little kids stood awed, mouth agape, arms waving.

I expected to be riding away from the start with the same stupid, just glad to be here, grin on my face that I had on Butt Lite a few years previously, but this time it didn’t happen. A long line of hi-viz and auxiliary lamps stretched out on Interstate 15 and I was just one of dozens of similarly appearing riders.

I had made a routing decision the night before not to attempt to retrieve the bonus on Antelope Island because I didn’t want to take the chance on collecting 85 points there but missing out on the group photo worth 963. As it was, there was plenty of time to do both, but I was intent on finishing, not competing for a top spot.

With the extra time, I topped off my fuel tanks, used the restroom, ate a banana and still had a bunch of time to spare. On the way to the Golden Spike group photo bonus I caught up to Michael Boge on the two-stroke KTM. He was going about 50 mph and normally I would have passed him and continued on. As we were going to the same place and I had time, I tucked in behind him and tried to imagine what the next eleven days would be like for him.

Some riders passed us, but a couple slid in behind me.

I reached the Golden Spike monument and realized that I left my National Park Card on my computer desk in Southern California. The bonus points, 963 in all, cost me $15 – almost 1.6 cents per point. There is photo evidence that I made it to my first bonus. While I am not very apparent in the photo, my #66 flag is clearly visible.

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It was at this point that the rally pace really picked up. Until now, we weren’t really on the clock. Since we couldn’t leave until the photo was taken, no one seemed rushed until seconds after the digital sensor recorded our presence there. Most of the bikes left the park at the same time and I was in the middle of a long line of riders heading towards Idaho. On the 15 North I passed a few riders and was passed by a few riders. It hit me that while on previous rallies I rarely had interaction with other riders in the field, this one might be different because the most obvious route to the north central part of the US would be duplicated by a lot of riders.

Many of us collected points in Idaho. A while later I crossed paths with Andy Mackey who was trying to get to the same daylight only bonus in Riverton, WY. We rode as a pair over the Teton Pass, through traffic in Jackson, past Grand Teton Park with little traffic. We both made the daylight bonus. His plan was to settle in for a few hours while mine was to continue on to Casper to find a motel.

He mentioned wildlife in the area and I felt it might be better to get some sleep now and continue on later. We ended up at the same motel about fifteen minutes apart and when I was starting my bike early the next morning, his tail lights were just passing out of view. I wouldn’t see him again until the end of the rally.

Only minutes behind Andy, day two started with a deer encounter just outside of town. I had my Clearwaters burning and caught the shape of a large doe off to the right.

“I hope she stays there,” I thought.

She didn’t. Her path was leading her right into my front fender. I applied the brakes hard enough to activate the ABS and swerved to the right, aiming for her bounding hind-quarters. I cleared her by about two feet and she continued on for another day – likely to become a venison steak, or an insurance claim for another vehicle.

I crossed Wyoming, entered South Dakota, eventually North Dakota, and then Minnesota, collecting points along the way. Daylight faded in northern Minnesota and I pulled into a McDonalds to grab something quick to eat. The next bonus, in Hibbing, Minnesota, was daylight only and still about 90 miles away. As I rounded the drive-thru area I saw two dirty, rally-prepped BMW GS motorcycles that I recognized. I couldn’t remember who rode them, but I knew they were in the rally and had to be heading to the only bonus in this area.

I walked in, pulled off my helmet and found the only McDonald’s I’ve visited in a year that had an operating dining room. Lisa Rufo and Martin Cover were sitting at a table. They recognized me as I walked in, waved me over, and we made small talk. They were heading to the Hibbing bonus, not coming from, and shared a few details of their rally to that point.

Lisa had said she was able to get a room at the Rodeway Inn in Hibbing and I was relieved as I hadn’t made any plans for the night and didn’t have a reservation. I’ve never had to search too hard for a vacant motel room in the past and figured I’d grab a room there, too.

I left McDonald’s a few minutes before they did and made time to the north and east. The roads were poorly lit, completely covered in forests on both sides, and there was so much construction going on that using my auxiliary lights was almost worse than not using them as the reflectors on all of the roadside cones and markers were blinding in the dark night. I rode cautiously for the next hour and a half and eventually made it to the Rodeway Inn a little before 11pm.

There were construction vehicles all over the parking lot and young men in work uniforms sitting on tailgates drinking beers and talking. It didn’t look good.

I walked into the lobby and found out that they were out of rooms. Back at my bike I began searching for any other motels or hotels in the area and began calling. There was no lodging available within 20 miles. There was, though, an empty church parking lot, smooth and freshly sealed, right next door.

Fortunately, there were no mosquitos. The temp was in the 40s, however, so I layered-up, put on my helmet and gloves, got out my work pad for a pillow, and lay down. It took a while for me to settle into sleep. I stared up at the sky and identified stars, planets and constellations I knew. I eventually slept.

I woke up to cramping thigh muscles and when my eyes opened, I noticed that the sky had shifted enough that an hour or two had passed. I walked the cramps off, drank some water, took some electrolyte tablets, and got back on the ground. I slept for a while longer and woke to a dawning sky.

The Hibbing, MN bonus, the Greyhound Bus Museum, was daylight only and a few minutes away. I had the first signs that my bike might have problems when I started it and it idled very roughly while it warmed up. Once on my way and into normal operating temperatures it smoothed out.

I reached the Greyhound Museum bonus and waited a couple minutes to be sure that I had enough daylight to collect the points. I had finished taking my pictures and walking back to my bike when Bill Norris rode up. We talked for a couple minutes. I had gotten to know Bill in the days before the rally and found him to be a really good guy. Polite, kind, and easy to talk to, I was more worried about him finishing on his 1997 Kawasaki with 200,000+ miles than I was on my three-year-old bike.

Bill, too, had slept on the ground when he couldn’t find a room. While I was undisturbed except for leg cramps, he was checked on by the police who left him alone when they figured out what he was up to.

I rode in the cool morning through Duluth and entered northern Wisconsin in Superior. Points were collected in several sites in Wisconsin and shortly after lunch I got another sign that things were going south with my engine. I pulled into a gas station in Coloma, WI and smelled burning oil for the first time.

When I got off my bike to refuel, I saw a small trail of oil going rearward from the primary cover. I figured I was seeping primary oil and it had burned off on the exhaust. I had started a short mental list of things to address in Indianapolis and added tightening the primary cover bolts to it. When I returned from the restroom, I became more concerned.

Under the right side of the engine was a pool of oil the size of a quarter. A trail of oil led up the frame to the location where a K&N filter terminated a crankcase breather line. I checked the oil and found it to be within the normal range, close to where it was the previous day. There was nothing I could do but continue on.

I rode into Iowa, collected points in Cresco, and was buttoning up my camera and clipboard when I recognized Lew Ballard riding up to the bonus from the opposite direction. We waved to each other as he was stopping and I was rolling away. During the time I had stopped to log the bonus and take my picture, the oil under the bike had grown from the size of a quarter to a half dollar.

I rode back into Wisconsin, Lew a short distance behind me. I stopped at another McDonalds and grabbed something to eat. He did the same and we stood around our bikes talking and eating burgers. I kept going over to the side of my bike and watched the drip, drip, drip of used oil. I considered asking Lew what he thought, but decided not to. He wouldn’t likely be carrying a magic wand in his tour pack and I didn’t want him altering his route or plans because I was concerned about my bike. I kept quiet, and we talked about the rest of the leg.

He left the McDonalds about a minute before I did and we both continued on to Madison and the bonus at UW. This time he was leaving the bonus as I arrived. When I applied the brakes to stop, the rear felt odd. The leak had gotten even worse and the right-side case was coated in oil.

I found the correct display board, took my picture, logged my stop and was on my way. The next application of brakes brought a new surprise. Last time it felt odd; this time the rear brake felt non-existent. The rear wheel and brake were oil-soaked. I added rear brake pads and re-routing the breather hose to the list of things I’d do in the parking lot of the checkpoint hotel.

I was getting really concerned as I putted through Madison on the way to Interstate 94. The engine was beginning to make light knocking noises and a rhythmic howl at times. I didn’t have to wait long for something to happen. Twenty minutes east of Madison the knocking noise got louder, the breather hose blew oil all over the side of the bike, and I lost a cylinder. I pulled in the clutch and rolled off the freeway at the Lake Mills exit.

There was a motel on the north side of the freeway. I lurched into the parking lot, oil burning off the exhaust pipe, one cylinder producing power and the other screaming in protest. I shut the bike off and started doing the math, calculating whether or not I was still able to make it to the checkpoint.

I had plenty of time even if I had to wait several hours before leaving Lake Mills. Time wasn’t a problem.

After a short time I tried starting the bike. It wasn’t going to make it very far.

I called Lisa Landry and let her know what happened. She said there were a lot of people in the area that the IBA knew and she was confident she could find me another bike if I wanted her to. I asked for a minute to consider that. I told her I’d call back shortly.

I called home and spoke with my wife, explaining that I was fine, I hadn’t been in an accident, I hadn’t been robbed, or lost my wallet. To her credit, she listened well, and didn’t tell me to pull out of the rally. We talked about options and I knew that another bike might be a possibility but it was me who brought up that even if I made it to the end of the rally on a stranger’s bike, I still had to get a bike back to Wisconsin and my dead bike home. All this would have to happen between the Saturday after the rally ended and Monday morning, two days later, when I had to return to work.

I couldn’t see it working.

I called Lisa Landry back and explained that I didn’t think getting another bike was the answer. Had it been late in Leg 3, I would have done it and figured everything else out later. It was late on Day 3, though, nowhere close to the final leg. I said I’d use my AMA towing coverage to get to a U-Haul dealer in the morning and load my broken bike in a truck and start the two-day drive back to the west coast.

Lisa was sympathetic and instructed me to find large quantities of pizza and beer (or maybe it was large quantities of beer, and pizza), get comfortable, and figure it out in the morning.

Soon after, the calls and texts started. It was the first of many times that I second-guessed the decision to pass up a replacement bike.

The next morning, I checked and found out that there was a U-Haul dealer in Lake Mills. I called when they opened and they were receptive to picking me up, processing the rental, and even agreed to help me get the bike into the back of a truck.

I called my parents, who retired in Missouri, and told them I’d be stopping by and spending a couple days with them on my way home. They were ecstatic.

U-haul made good on all of their promises and by 11 am I was heading south after stopping at a WalMart to buy some clothes and shoes as all I had on my bike were two sets of LD Comforts and clean socks. About two hours into the drive to Missouri I rounded a freeway off-ramp, heard a loud “bang” and felt a jolt to the left. I hoped it was just a harsh downshift (the truck was an older GMC with a hard shifting automatic transmission) but I knew the bike had fallen over.

Fortunately my helmet broke most of the fall and the bike ended up wedged between the crash bars on the floor and the helmet between my aux tank and the bed wall. U-Haul trucks don’t have floor ‘D’ rings so my attempt to secure it using the lowest wall rails did not put enough of the weight onto the tires, allowing it to slip out from under the ratcheting tie-downs and onto the floor.

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There was no major damage and when I arrived in Missouri the bike was secured to the floor and remained on its side the rest of the way. I arrived at my parents house as the sun set and spent two days with them.

I left for home early on Sunday morning and drove through to Albuquerque, and then to California the following day.

My wife, daughter, grandson and I flew back to Utah on Wednesday and I was present at the finish and the banquet. It was good to see friends make it back safely and several rookies, like myself, that earned their three-digit number.

It’s a dubious honor to be the first one out of something like the IBR. What makes it more frustrating is that my ride was going really well. I was hitting my bonus sights, was on schedule, had good points, felt good (better than I expected to feel), and was looking forward to the checkpoint, scoring, and the next leg.

While finishers have been having dreams placing them in unknown locations with a distorted sense of time, I have been having dreams reliving the decision in a Wisconsin motel parking lot to drop out. In every dream I ride a stranger’s bike, usually a different bike each dream, to the finish, get the bike swap accomplished, and maintain employment.

But, someone has to be on the very bottom of the list. Two years ago I didn't even make it to the start, having lost another motor in another bike without enough time to fix it properly before the IBR started. This year I made the roster, but landed at the bottom of the list.

I actually feel worse for Michael Boge, Lance Corley, Jim Hampshire, John Coons, Stephen and Tamara Vook, Bruce Edwards,Ken Meese, Tom Spearman, Angelo Patacca, and Lionel Ramos -- riders who scored points, some who rode to the finish, and didn't earn finisher status.

The IBR staff is awesome. Everyone that I had contact with was awesome -- professional, helpful, kind, considerate and very, very supportive.

Each day is a little easier, and my attitude has shifted from one of disappointment to one of gratitude. It was only three days, but it was three really great days.
 
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lakota

Premier Member
IBR Finisher
#6
we saw you leaving the Rodeway as we pulled in. As we got off the bikes the manager came out of the office saying she was looking for you as they had found a room. Somedays all the luck is bad.
 

CB650F

Premier Member
#12
Honestly, I've been trying to figure out why you having mechanical issues would reflect on your own desires or abilities in any way. It looks like your bike was prepared as best you could have before the ride. You did your due diligence, and were fully prepared to complete the IBR. You did everything that can be expected of you. That's something to be proud of, not something to be shamed of. Mechanical problems that start during the ride aren't your fault so they don't reflect on you.
 

Shawn K

Professional Cat Confuser
Premier Member
#13
Liter plus, shaft drive, made in Japan.
That's been my mantra for every street bike I've owned, and has served me very well. Aside from a 30-year old fuel pump that finally gave up the ghost (and even then, I managed to bbodge it and get back home), I've never had a bike leave me on the side of the road.
 

TdLpps

Premier Member
#16
Good of you to do the write up. Sucks that you had to bow out early.

Now, every night before you go to sleep, repeat these words: Liter plus, shaft drive, made in Japan. That's a rally bike. Everything else is just another DNF waiting to happen. Sure, people get lucky. You didn't. Do you really want to try that again?
Thanks, Eric. Appreciate the advice. No, I don't want to try that again. Luck, or good fortune, or whatever one wants to call it, does mean something in a long distance event. A second, or a fraction of a second, can mean the difference between getting a flat, having a meeting with wildlife, or not so wildlife, hitting or missing weather, etc. Sometimes luck means as much as the ride.

I got back from Utah on Saturday night after the rally. By the following Wednesday, I had the bike patched up and traded in on a different bike -- made in Japan, Liter-plus, shaft, er...chain drive. The last three distance bikes I've owned have all been 900 pounders. I went back to a middleweight.

Honestly, I've been trying to figure out why you having mechanical issues would reflect on your own desires or abilities in any way. It looks like your bike was prepared as best you could have before the ride. You did your due diligence, and were fully prepared to complete the IBR. You did everything that can be expected of you. That's something to be proud of, not something to be shamed of. Mechanical problems that start during the ride aren't your fault so they don't reflect on you.
Thanks. I appreciate it. Unfortunately, preparation means more than hitting the checkboxes. I did do everything I had listed leading up to the start and nothing was short-cutted. Even so, my Road King was the least reliable bike I've ever owned. The original engine gave up the ghost at 16,000 miles. The replacement build, no expenses spared, and built with strength in mind, had about 6,000 miles on it when the rally started. 3,000 miles after that, it, too, failed.

I was working on the bike for one thing or another until just a few days before I left for the rally. I've never had to work on a bike more, or as often, as that one. I knew that there was a possibility I'd have to wrench on the road and was prepared for a lot of things, but there was a limit to the amount of parts and tools I could carry.

At one point, about ten months before the rally start, I considered trading in my Road King for a Honda because I was already concerned about reliability, but didn't. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

Agreed. I like it when mine say, "You can count on me. I'll always get you home. I'll never leave you stranded. We're in this together." ;):D
Shawn, yours says that? Mine have typically laughed maniacally before saying, "You want adventure? I'll show you adventure."
 
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Shawn K

Professional Cat Confuser
Premier Member
#18
Shawn, yours say that? Mine have typically laughed maniacally before saying, "You want adventure? I'll show you adventure."
When I was a callow youth, I dated a few "adventurous" girls. They were all temperamental, high-maintenance, drama-filled, and interesting for about 10 seconds until I realized that I had to live with that nonsense.

Once I figured out that there were girls who DIDN'T behave like that, my life changed. I married one of them, and we're approaching our 19th anniversary.

There's an analogy there somewhere.
 

EricV

Premier Member
IBR Finisher
#20
We manage our risks. From eyeing the toilet paper roll before sitting down, to what bike we buy.

Lots of things come into play when buying a bike. Cold hard objectiveness isn't always on that list. Sometimes we just buy what we like, or the image that is projected.

There is no wrong. Only the lessons we learn from our experience.