But with many years of long distance and endurance driving behind me, and being able to translate most of what I've learned from that exercise into doing the same on a motorcycle, I've felt I have an unfair advantage over most folks whose only attempts are occasional forays into the long distance stuff. And yet you'll probably never see me claiming a BBG, as that would require getting out of my comfort zone and pushing my limits. My sincere admiration goes to the riders who have done these and other, even more demanding, rides.
For me, my first 1K day was just too easy. Of course I didn't set out to make it difficult, and used up nearly the entire 24 hours to cover 1000 miles. I ate sit-down meals at truck-stop restaurants, took leisurely breaks, and didn't do a gas stop in under ten minutes. Nor did I bother documenting it, as this one was strictly for my own inquiring mind. I wanted to know how much 1000 mile days in a motorcycle saddle differed from 1000 mile days behind the wheel of a cage or 18 wheeler. For me, not all that much. Just for fun, I did a BB1500 from down near the border to Watson Lake, Yukon Territory on the way home. That seemed even easier than the Saddlesore.
The next time I did a SS1K it was to earn the coveted Iron Butt license plate frame, so it was witnessed, documented, a little more rushed, and provided with some extra "insurance" miles. Now if I could just find where my "ex" filed those gas receipts so I could send the paperwork in for recognition!
Failing to obtain the IB license plate frame in my first two attempts, I determined that the next one would be the charm. Thinking that I might also go for a BB1500, and wanting it to be on the Alcan (which has been shortened slightly over the years, and is somewhat shy of its original 1422 miles) I started my ride from Fairbanks, with the intention of ending it in Chetwynd, B.C., a distance of about 1541 miles. Unfortunately, I didn't calculate where my first 1000 miles would end, and when.
For the first 950 miles or so, everything was fine. Or at least as fine as 300 miles of broken pavement, construction, and RV traffic can expect to be. There were some mighty good roads in there too, so it still averaged out better than I-95 from New Jersey to Florida.
Having left Fairbanks at 4:30 AM, after only about 2 ½ hours sleep, I wasn't quite up to par for a long distance ride and hit the wall at around 1:30 AM, still just under 1000 miles. About that time I encountered some more construction, with gravel again. That caused two problems - 1. I had to slow down a bit, and 2. There were no signs or markings indicating pullouts or other suitable places to stop for some shuteye. Riding at a brisk pace had been helping to keep me alert, but the slower speed lulled me. When I caught myself waking up from a micro nap, I realized it was imperative that I find a spot to pull off the road, and do it SOON! Luckily, there was a large parking area just across a bridge, with only a couple of RV's parked in it at the far end. I put the Connie up on its center stand, sat down in the saddle with my feet on the ground, and slept like a dead man for two hours.
Awake and feeling well rested, if a bit cold, at 3:45 AM, it was time to hit the road. The GPS was reading 977 miles from Fairbanks, the odometer a little more than that. As I had set my clocks ahead back at the Yukon border, I actually had an hour and forty-five minutes to complete the SS1K, only 23 more miles.
Being that my southernmost destination was California, I had packed for hot weather, my only concession to possible cool temperatures being the Widders I had stuffed into the left hand bag. Once moving again, I found the temperature to be a bit brisk at 34 F - so I stopped and donned the Widders. Have mentioned this before, and will probably repeat it again, the Roadcrafter is NOT meant to keep you warm. I love it in hot weather, especially over a Mira-cool vest, but the Goretex only slows the wind down, it doesn't stop it. With the new System 2 vest and arm chaps, and electric gloves and heated grips, all turned up on high, it was bearable but not exactly comfy. One other problem - with a 100W H-4 on high beam, a pair of 15W halogen taillight bulbs glowing, and all the heated gear on, the alternator is a bit overloaded. When I saw the voltmeter reading under 12 volts, it was time to either go to low beam or turn down the heat. Road conditions dictated the choice until the sun finally started to peek over the mountains to the east, which was good because that was about the coolest time of morning, and I could finally warm up.
As I neared the magical figure of 1000 on the GPS (the odometer had reached it long since, but I wanted to be absolutely sure I had the full 1000 miles) I started taking more notice of where I was. Or rather, where I wasn't. It seemed I was just a few miles north of Nowhere. Or maybe I was south of it. At any rate, Somewhere was quite a few miles away yet.
Mountains stretched for over a hundred miles to the west of my position, and for nearly as far to the east. There was a twisting, narrow road ahead of me, and the same in my rearview mirrors. But the only sign of life along this stretch of road, at this hour of the morning, was the occasional bear beside the road. Not a human being was in sight, let alone stirring.
Finally, I met a vehicle heading north. But to what avail? Am I going to flag them down then ask them to witness my odometer and the time of day, as well as our location? More than likely they were as uncertain of where we were as I was. So I just motored on, content in my own mind that I had once again done the 1000 miles in just under 24 hours. Finally, about 30 minutes into the 25th hour, I came to Toad River Lodge, and its ceiling, festooned with over 5000 hats, emblazoned with logos from all over the world.
As I was too late to claim my 24 hour prize, I sat down to a hearty breakfast and chatted with the tables full of Canadian truck drivers, enjoying their northern, almost Irish-sounding, accents. All too soon it was time to press on to Dawson Creek, and a short distance beyond, the completion of a BB1500, which I would be SURE to document.
As the sun rose over the eastern mountains and warmed the atmosphere, and I was once again able to enjoy the beautiful highway that is the present day Alcan, a grin formed on my countenance, and I was glad to be alive, and on this road, at this day and hour. What a pity that virtually all of my fellow travelers were sealed inside steel cages, their souls unable to hear the song that my senses were singing to me.
NOTE: More will be added to this story, along with some photos, as soon as I can find the time.
