Karol Patzer's '95 IBR account

We Rode Hard, Went Far, and Kept Smilin'

The Iron Butt Rally is a rally like no other. The Iron Butt is about riding! It's not about sight seeing, or leisurely meandering to out of the way places. Nor is it about casually searching out unique restaurants or talking at great length to local residents. It's not about waiting for just the right moment to capture a photographic memory or shopping for that perfect souvenir for friends back home. The Iron Butt is an Endurance Rally, and it's about getting on the machine and staying on for 11 days. The riders see a good portion of the contiguous U.S. They see it in the ever-brightening dawn of day, the blazing afternoon sunshine, the golden haze of sunset and the cold darkness of night. They experience the Rocky Mountains and turn up their electric vests as temperatures drop to 30 degrees. They experience the reds and browns of the southwestern desert and survive 115 degree temperatures as blasts of hot air envelop their leather or Gore-tex clad bodies. They sip fluids through tubes from packs on their backs in an attempt to stay hydrated and to keep their attention on their ever-changing environment. They wipe faceshields clear of driving rain and brace themselves against persistent winds as they ride the fringes of hurricanes threatening to alter their course to the next checkpoint. What is the mystique that surrounds the Iron-Butt Rally? Why are there traditionally more applicants than spaces available for this bi-annual event?

For this writer, it started out as seeds of curiosity that soon blossomed to a personal challenge.

When Bob Higdon announced the progress of the riders of the 1993 Rally to a crowd at the Finger Lakes BMW Rally, the seed was planted. In subsequent conversations with Bob, he reported that they were all crazy! When I told him I thought it sounded interesting, and that it could be fun, he responded that I must be crazy. (The seed germinated.)

Upon returning home, I called Mike Kneebone and requested information on the Iron Butt Association and the Rally. Mike responded with the information, and a note telling me that Bob was right, and that I should consider riding it because I was crazy! (The seed sprouted.) The deposit was sent in, and the wait began. The wait ended in February, 1994 with the receipt of a letter from Steve Chalmers, Rallymaster. After quickly scanning the two pages one sentence stood out. "Congratulations! Your application was drawn for entry in the 1995 Iron Butt Rally - The World's Toughest Motorcycle Competition!" The letter went on to provide basic information about the rally, listing other participants, and tentative checkpoint locations.

Now what? Did I really want to do this? Was I physically and mentally able to ride hard for 11 straight days? These questions and many unspoken concerns plagued me. Only 3 women had ever finished this rally. Never mind women, only 63 people had ever finished it. Doubts continued to plague me, and then Daytona and the Iron Butt pizza party rolled around. Veterans gathered to impress the "newbies" with their bikes, gadgets, and tales of swamp rides. Bob Higdon spoke to the group and again questioned our sanity. Introductions were made and several riders reported that this would be a second or third attempt, and this time they intended to finish. After leaving the Pizza Party, the mystique of the Iron Butt overruled common sense.

Over the next year and a half, letters from Steve Chalmers continued to arrive and the contents were read and reread. With preparations in full swing, Jerry worked diligently getting the K-75 ready for a trial run to the 1995 MOA National in Durango. The final adjustments were made the night before I left on a 2700 mile "test ride". The bike performed well, and the rider made it too. 2700 miles in 3 1/2 days with 12 hours spent at the rally. That simulated what the bike and I would have to endure, except many times over. After Durango, brackets were retightened, a major service was performed by Leo's BMW, new tires were mounted, the bike was parked, and the rider rested anticipating the long ride.

Monday was check-in, tech, a riders' meeting and the banquet. Monday after breakfast, Mike Kneebone, Iron-Butt organizer and Steve Chalmers, 1995 Rallymaster sent us out individually for an Odometer check. The K-75 odometer registered almost 5% less. Safety Gear was checked and paperwork reviewed. For 18 months we had been receiving correspondence outlining safety gear, tools, insurance requirements, allowable bike modifications, and the rules governing this rally. Two hours before registration one rider was trying to find the mandatory first aid kit. Four hours before departure riders were still performing maintenance on their bikes. What had they been doing the past 18 months?

The events before and during the rally were being captured on video by Brian Bush, President of Talk In Pictures, Ltd. Brian's dream is to produce a documentary on the rally, and he and his film crew were everywhere. Brian had purchased a K-75RT, and was going to ride the first two legs to experience firsthand the conditions the other riders would face.

The evening's banquet allowed the riders to relax before their big event. Introductions went around the room. Steve warned that the ratio of finishers during past rallies had been 50%. This crowd was determined to prove him wrong. 54 riders were to start the 1995 Iron Butt rally. Steve's advice to the riders for the evening was to stay up late, have a beer, or glass of warm milk, and to sleep late the next morning. That last piece of advice was the most difficult.

Tuesday, August 29, Departure was scheduled for 5:00 PM. The rider's were hyped and ready to get started. Chalmers' technique seemed to be intended to build tension. Finally at 4:00 PM the riders were assembled for distribution of the packets. Each rider hurriedly opened their packet, and dropped to the ground or leaned on their bikes, highlighters in hand. We had one hour to plan an 800+ mile trip. Keyboards were clicking as some riders fed information into computer mapping programs for quick calculations. The first bonus listed was 963 points for a gas receipt from Anchorage, AK. Steve and Mike have a great sense of humor! The seasoned endurance riders were scanning the bonus sheets for the big points, while I debated about trying even the simplest bonus destinations.

Leg 1: Depart Salt Lake City August 29, 5:00 PM First Checkpoint : August 30 at Jim Plunketts Tyre & Supply, Spokane, WA. Check-in opens 3:00 PDT closes 5:00 PM PDT. Direct route - 720 miles 21 hours.

The "big dogs" took off towards Scottsbluff, Nebraska and a tempting 315 points. For this rider a mere 21 points, and the Golden Spike National Monument would suffice for an initial bonus attempt. The road to the Monument turned, and changed from pavement to packed chip rock. Since the K-75 doesn't handle quite like a GS, I hoped Steve and Mike had left their sadistic nature to the more difficult bonuses. Fortunately, the road never changed to a rutted trail, as I had feared. After dismounting the bike, I dug out the awkward Polaroid and the fashionable pink towel with contrasting black number, disregarding the gravel parking lot. As I draped the towel over the sign, Greg Smith, and Ardys Kellerman pulled into the lot to photograph proof of their visit. Quickly repacking, I jumped on the bike, and discovered due to an increasing lean angle, and the added weight of the 8 gallon tank I could not right the bike. In the spirit of fellowship, Jim Culp put some muscle into it, and the bike was upright. He left quickly in a cloud of dust.

Leaving the first bonus site, riders of oncoming bikes flashed running lights to acknowledge kindred spirits. After checking the map, I headed on the back roads to highway 84 W. Approaching the entrance ramp, I dejectedly realized an 18-wheeler was blocking the ramp. I was directed to ride through the high grass and gravel or turn around and retrace the route. Sure hoped this wasn't a sign of things to come.

Long before returning to Hwy 15 N, the sun had set. The driving lights helped illuminate the ditches, and I hoped the local wildlife didn't try to share the mountain roads with me. Glancing down briefly, the flashlight beam played across the map, as I attempted to determine my location. As my eyes returned to the road, fear quickly replaced fatigue at the sign "Pavement Ends". The flashlight was quickly stuffed between my not yet Iron Butt and the seat as the bike left the road, continuing across stones and bouncing through holes. Was this still the road or had I mistakenly entered a gravel pit? Trying to downshift smoothly and slow the rolling bike to a manageable speed, my heart seemed to be racing faster than the bike. The short mile seemed like five as I rode out of the rocks and back to pavement and control. What was I doing out here alone in the middle of nowhere? What kind of vacation was this? I realized that this was just one of many hurdles, and during the next 10 days there would be more, but this hurdle had been cleared. As the temperature dropped, and my eyes scanned the seemingly never-ending darkness, I noticed the twinkle of a taillight ahead in the distance. Picking up the pace I came up behind a heavily laden VT500, and realized I wasn't alone out there after all. Garve Nelson waved as I passed, and I'm sure he too was smiling as we wordlessly communicated in the darkness. A deep chill had set in as I pulled off the highway and headed for the welcoming lights and warmth of a quaint Inn. Lima, Montana. Midnight-Day 1.

5:00 AM: While repacking the bike the rumble of a Harley was heard as two bikes turned off the highway and into the darkened service station across the street, and then returned to the highway. Were they IB riders attempting to find fuel? Only a few miles down the road, my question was answered as I waved to the two riders in a rest area.

Riding along in the chilling light of dawn, Eddie James and mascot, Lyle the bear, flew by at warp speed on a K1100RS. The morning silence was shattered by a blast of horns, startling me out of my reverie, and nearly out of my seat. I'll have to remember to keep checking my mirrors for UFOs. I was heading for Lolo, Montana and a gas receipt worth a whopping 18 points! So was Mike Murphy on his ST1100, Greg Smith on his Venture and Ed James. Lolo was a popular place that morning. Not many of these riders would ride US-12 and Lolo Pass today. The only route they were thinking about was to Spokane, Washington and the tallying of their efforts on the first leg.

12:30 P.M. Plunketts Tyre, Spokane, WA. Checked in 2 1/2 hours early, and was greeted by Horst Haak (K1100RS), Hank Rowland (K100RT), and Eric Faires (K75RT). We congratulated each other on making it this far especially after learning that one rider had hit a deer, and would not make the first checkpoint. Jim Plunkett tallied points while verifying fuel logs, receipts and pictures. We helped ourselves to a feast of pastas, meats and cheese, fruits and veggies, and plenty of Gatorade. I washed the bike and anticipated the next leg of my adventure. Ardys Kellerman pulled in and told us about her evening's lodging. (The seat of her K-75RT with a tank bag for her pillow). While in pursuit of bonus points, Ardys grew weary of dodging wildlife in Yellowstone, and decided to nap long enough to allow the roads to clear. Seems the Iron Butt Motel is still in operation.

The office was opened so the early arrivals could rest. Sleepy riders went into the office to catch a few winks, while others sataround talking about conversations with law enforcement officers or the difficult ride to Scottsbluff, Nebraska or through Yellowstone.

Only one rider was out of the rally at the first checkpoint. Perhaps this group would change the odds.

5:00 PM Spokane, WA: The riders assembled for the distribution of their packets, eager to plot leg 2 of their journey; San Diego...1400 miles 41 hours. Most riders are going for the bonus points that require traveling south towards LA and traffic. I headed back in the direction of Salt Lake City. This leg was planned to include only two bonus attempts and was taken to avoid LA traffic. South on 395 to 84E, and attempting a Nevada bonus. The sun had set long ago, and it seemed the bonus should be coming up anytime. Stopping at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere I refueled the bike. After making the required entry in the log, I parked the bike and went inside for some much needed dinner. The place was loaded with locals and over-the road drivers, eyeing me curiously. I ate quickly, and went back to the bike retrieving the maps. Scanning the map with a sinking feeling, I realized I was searching for a bonus that wasn't here. In my haste to depart the checkpoint I had misread the bonus location and wasn't even close to any bonuses. Disgruntled, I repacked maps and the packet of bonus listings and headed off into the darkness.

A deep chill had settled into my body, as I stopped in Mountain Home, Idaho for the night. Three and a half hours later I was on my way back to Salt Lake City and the dealer in Sandy, Utah for 68 points. The heat was devastating as temperatures soared again into the high 90's. Somewhere in the mountains of Montana I had lost the plug/dispenser for the Camelbak, and was now relying on bottled water stuffed in the front of my Aerostich. The salesman at South Valley Yamaha found a golf tee which served quite well to plug the tubing. I once again had a rehydration system, and finally found a reason for golfing. After refilling the Camelbak and renewing the koolcollar, I was off for San Diego.

At the start in Salt Lake City, Ed Otto had warned this ride would be Hell, and as I rode down the hills approaching Las Vegas, it did seem much like riding into an inferno. Temperatures were hovering around 114 degrees. Lungs aching from breathing in the hot dry air, and soaked with perspiration, the water in the tube of the Camelbak was too hot to be refreshing, but was essential. Admiring the riders chasing the important bonuses into Death Valley, but unable to continue, I pulled into a motel in Glendale, NV. There were still several hours of daylight, and I had only traveled about 600 miles, but I had become preoccupied with thoughts of a cold shower and water. Time enough to continue during the early morning hours. After a cold shower, dinner and about 3 hours of sleep, there wasn't much relief in the heat, but I had to continue. The temperatures in the desert were still in the high 90's, but the blazing sun was no longer a factor. It began to cool slightly, and the roads changed to leisurely sweeping mountain roads, providing an interesting ride down Hwy. 15 S. I accelerated around and amongst sleepy commuters, and had time to speculate how fortunate I was. I still had 8 days left to ride my motorcycle, and I smiled, as I breathed in the morning air and experienced a rush of elation. The K seemed to fly down the mountain road heading for the next gathering of "Butt Buddies".

Brattin Motors - 8:30 AM: Check in wasn't scheduled until 10:00 AM, but many riders had arrived the night before. Steve Chalmers, Rallymaster, was awaiting our arrival, armed with pastries and a smile. Eric Faires, again seemed to be refreshed and well-rested, smiling as usual and congratulating incoming riders on their progress. Horst Haak and Hank Rowland pulled in also appearing none the worse for the experience. Ed Otto made a grand entrance on the MCN Helix looking very much like a modern-day prospector mounted on his "pack mule".

After checkin, riders made temporary beds in the shade of dumpsters, under awnings and inside the shop. I picked the shade of Eugene McKinney's R1100RSL for a temporary respite. Noon arrived and time again for our route planning. Numbers were called and highlighters were tracing highways on maps and atlases. Several riders were staring transfixedly at laptop displays checking out routes on Automap programs. One by one bikes were started and riders bid their farewells and good lucks.

Leg 3: Ft. Lauderdale, FL 2700 miles - 75 hours. Riders were off to the Coronado Bridge for a receipt and 87 points. There is no toll for motorcycles, and as we pulled up to the toll gate, the operators motioned the riders to continue. One by one riders explained to the toll booth operators that they "wanted", no, "needed" to pay the toll and needed the receipt. Shaking their heads, the collectors quit waving the bikes on and accepted their money. Bikes rolled through the gates and immediately pulled to the side to file receipts in envelopes or tank bags. By this time we were becoming experts at collecting receipts and entering pertinent information in our logs. Each rider knew the importance of retaining any scrap of paper that may be used for documentation and points. Riders might lose sunglasses, film or other nonessentials, but knew they must hang on to paperwork, Polaroids and pink towels.

The riders scattered in different directions in pursuit of the next bonus. Crossing Texas and the continued heat wave, temps were still hovering in the low 100's. Waco, Texas and the Dr. Pepper Museum seemed like Chalmer's cruel sense of humor. It was one of those "can't get there from here" places. Finally, hailing a police officer, I had a police escort to the museum. 162 points for a receipt, and after a cool Dr. Pepper I was outta there.

Bonuses for fuel stops took my off the direct route to Lauderdale. In Magee, MS during early morning hours, I saw a bike pulled off on a gravel road and a rider performing vigorous calisthenics. Continuing on I was again passed by Eddie James, but without the previous fanfare. We rode together to the USS Alabama in Mobile and positioned our towels on the sign in the darkness. Polaroids flashed, and we accumulated another 18 points. We departed, and Eddie pulled into a rest area for a nap as I headed on. Several hours later and the Burger King in Ft. Lauderdale for the third checkpoint. The feared hurricane had fortunately stayed offshore, and the only thing waiting for us was another crowd of well-wishers and the Florida heat and humidity. To the surprise of many, the Harley's were still rumbling in. Four of the H-D entrants would go on to finish!

The heat was taking its toll, and after check in and review of fuel logs and bonus logs at the Quality Inn, a cold shower was the prescription for incoming riders. There were beds to be shared and air conditioning to be enjoyed, but only for a few minutes, and then it was time to trek over to the Burger King for packets. The usual two hour window had been narrowed to one hour at this checkpoint. Maps now well-worn were again pulled out of tank bags and checked against the now familiar packet of possible bonus destinations. There were fewer riders departing from this checkpoint. We had lost several riders. Ardys Kellerman had run off the road in New Mexico, and was hospitalized with a broken ankle and wrist. Steve Losofsky, Reno BMW had a rock thrown up by an oncoming truck and seriously injured his leg. Steve Attwood, 1993 IB winner, had mechanical problems, and after withdrawing from the rally had hit a deer. We had lost Leonard and his '46 Indian Chief to mechanical difficulties, but he promised to see us in Salt Lake.

As the skies darkened with a storm resulting from the ongoing hurricanes, it was time for the remaining riders to head North on the 4th leg. Gorham, Maine 1600 miles - 47 hours. I had been on the road since 2:00 AM with only the short stop at the checkpoint. High winds and sheets of rain made progress slow. At midnight and after 1050 miles that day, Ed Jorgensen met me in Melbourne and led me to his home. After eating the salad Debbie had prepared, I fell into bed exhausted, while Ed performed some minor repairs to a radar detector that hadn't worked since Salt Lake, and a broken turn signal switch. This was where the transfer of dirty clothes with clean clothes occurred, and more packets of high energy snacks were packed into the bike for the remainder of the Rally. Unfortunately, this stop had been too comfortable. I slept for 5 hours, and was slow to get started in the morning. I was running out of steam, and the heat combined with long days and lack of sleep put me behind for the next leg of the rally. After only 700 miles, I was too tired to continue and stopped in Weldon, NC. Bob, the night desk clerk, promised that my bike would be safe if I parked it next to his Shadow. When I saw the pistol tucked under his belt, I believed him, and moved the bike around to the office. That's when I discovered a tail light bulb was burned out. Bob called several of the gas stations, and I walked to two, but none had the bulb in stock. We took the lenses off the Shadow in an attempt to use one of the bulbs, but they didn't fit. It was almost 1:00 AM, and I had told Bob I wanted a 3:30 wake up call. This was cutting into valuable sleeping time. A pickup pulled in with two locals who had been coon hunting, and Bob started to check their marker lights for a fit, but there wasn't much on the truck that was operational. I thanked them all, and insisted I would find one down the road, and hurried to the room for two hours sleep. True to his word, Bob called the room at 3:30 and had coffee waiting for me. He directed me to a truck stop, and flashers engaged, I took off in search of a bulb. 20 miles north I purchased two bulbs, and removing the duffel and seat, replaced the used bulb, storing the spare.

I had 750 miles to go, and check in was in 14 hours. 7:30 AM Washington, DC. Panic was setting in as I sat in traffic not moving, realizing that I still had 550 miles to go in East Coast traffic, with only about 10 hours remaining to accomplish it. Philadelphia was next, and thinking I had missed an exit, I pulled off and made the mistake of asking for directions. 4 people offered 4 alternative routes. The heat was again stifling, and bank temperature readings exceeded 95 degrees. I was frantic as I finally found myself back on the correct route, but definitely behind schedule. At a fuel stop in New York at 2:00 PM, I again made the mistake of asking someone how far it was to Gorham. When he answered about 8 or 9 hours, he recoiled at my response, and amended his estimate to about 6 or 7 hours.

Back on the bike, I experienced feelings of defeat for the first time. This was the fourth checkpoint, and I had screwed up. Riding through Connecticut, and then entering Massachusetts, I saw a Gold Wing passing cars and overtaking me at warp speed. Brad flew by, and gave me a thumbs' up, and I couldn't help but smile as I realized, maybe, just maybe there was still a chance. So what if I was late? I cranked the throttle and picked up the pace. Ron and Karen on their ST1100 fell into formation with us and three bikes dodged in and out of traffic for quite a while. The ST pulled into a rest area, and I decided to back off a bit. Getting stopped for a traffic violation wouldn't get me to the checkpoint before it closed.

This was one of the many times I was glad I'd changed the stock tank. The increased range allowed me to ride the 290 miles without stopping, and to pull into Reynolds Sport Center 73 minutes after the open. This meant a loss of 730 points, and a drop from 20th place to 30th. No time for food or rest. After checking in and grabbing a cup of coffee, it was time to receive the final packets.

After the near miss in Gorham, it was an easy decision to forego any bonuses, and head straight for Salt Lake City. Tomorrow! One of the last ones to leave, I checked in to a nearby motel, and crashed for 4 hours before heading for the finish.

Salt Lake City: 2500 miles - 70 hours. This leg would prove to be a near killer. Despite no bonus attempts, I didn't even make it to Cleveland before running out of reserve energy. I had been fighting high winds and heavy rain when I tried to find a motel in Mentor, Ohio. After several no vacancies, I shut it down for a few hours at a motel after only riding 700 miles. At 4:00 AM EST I was again on the bike with 1800 miles remaining and 39 hours to accomplish it.

Cheyenne, WY: 1400 miles and 26 hours later, I was not brave enough to stop in a rest area, and check in to the "Iron Butt Motel". I was again in search of a bed for at least a couple of hours. After being sent to the only "decent" motel with a vacancy, I rang the night bell and waited for the proprietor. A gentleman resembling a miniature Sumo wrestler opened the door, and looked over my shoulder. "Where's your partner?" he asked. I responded that I was alone, to which he muttered, "Crazy country...Women shouldn't be out at night doing things like this." I was too tired to argue, and accepted the key. This was a prime example of a time that a rest area may have been better. The door wouldn't lock properly, and I slept in my clothes with a tear gas spray close by. After only two hours, the requested wake-up call never came, but my Radio Shack rooster alarm crowed loudly waking me for the final leg. I was off again by dawn. The two hour rest and periodic stops would have to suffice until Salt Lake.

After getting only 196 points for a gas stop in Des Moines, I was going to attempt the "last chance" to use the camera and get an additional 173 points. The bonus sheet didn't even indicate what state it was in, but from the description I knew it was in Wyoming and on my route. Fatigue was overtaking me again as I passed the bonus spot. There were several bikes there, and I was once again alert as I turned around to take the final picture of the Sherman Mountains and my pink towel. Several bikes sped by, but made no attempt to return for the shot.

Salt Lake City - 3:00 PM: Heart pounding, and experiencing a feeling of accomplishment, I approached the Quality Inn two hours before the final checkpoint would open. Brian's video crew was positioned in the field and along the highway to capture footage of the incoming riders. 9,600 miles after I had begun, I rode the bike into the same parking lot I had left 11 days before. When I left the adrenaline was pumping and I was filled with energy and enthusiasm. 11 days later, the adrenaline was still pumping, but not with the same vigor. My store of energy was depleted, and I wasn't sure how I would make the 1400 mile return trip home. The experience was almost over and the feeling of accomplishment was overwhelming. We had done it!

Not all 54 of the starters had finished, but 38 finishers would long remember the 1995 Iron Butt Rally. Mike Murphy, the Brain surgeon, Martin Hildebrandt, the German techno-freak, and all the others who would join the ranks of finishers of the "World's Toughest Motorcycle Competition". Will we do it again? Some of these riders will return, and many new ones will attempt the ride and succeed. Why? For the challenge of riding across the United States beneath the blazing sun, and twinkling stars; experiencing the heat and cold, enduring throughout the duration of the rally and far exceeding your known limits. Also for the opportunity to compete with yourself and other riders for 11 days, and to be able to say you've completed the "World's Toughest Motorcycle Competition".

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Mechanical info:
1988 K-75C: 12,900 miles on the odometer (actual appr. 17,000)
Tires: Dunlop 491 (14,000 miles.  No tire change required)

Fairing:  Parabellum Scout; Required slight modification
to allow for driving light brackets Driving Lights: BMW brackets
with generic lights (55 watt bulbs)

Fuel Tank Capacity:  8 Gallon Slightly damaged K-75 tank, Fuel
pump and miscellanous hardware:  Eurotech Motor Sports Modified
by: R. Randoff, Lubbock Tx. MOA member                    

Tank Bag:   Custom-made by Barb Grueschow (Standard bags would
not allow handlebar clearance) Contained extra pockets and
map holder. 

Seat:  Stock K-75C seat modified into bench style. 
Modified by Sargent Cycle Upholstery  1-800-749-SEAT  Sargent's
service and workmanship were both  excellent. Stock seat pan was
sent with instructions for reupholstery and retuned promptly.  
The craftsmanship was top-notch and the seat was very comfortable! 

Essentials:  Road Whiz Ultra (Interstate Services)                                           

Camelbak-Hydration system 

First Aid Kit- JFF  Enterprises  1-800-583-2206

Oil:   Synthetic

High altitude plug not used, but needed in Colorado

Major Service including spline lube at start and finish:  Leo's
South BMW, Lakeville, MN Oil and filter change at San Diego
check point (Brattin Motors)

Additional service required:  None Bike ran great.  Only
mechanical failure: Two tail light bulbs burned out.

Expenses:  Entry Fee, bike modifications, hardware, insurance,
maps,  rider essentials.............Estimated......$2000.00 /
Motels, Food, Fuel, Phone, tolls....Est.....$2500.00