A Most Successful D.N.F.
A non-finishers view of the 2006
by Ron Schmidt
Fast forward to the banquet dinner after the end of the
rally. Ira, the rally master, asked the last place finisher to stand up.
"Did you have a great time?"
"Yes!" he exclaimed.
Ira's goal for this rally was, most importantly, to have no injuries. It
was also important to him that each competitor would have a good experience. He
would consider the rally a success if the last place finisher had had a good
time. Little did he know that I, as a non-finisher, also had the time of my
life and I considered the experience a personal success as well.
My friend Bob Torter had called about a month before
that dinner to tell me that he had paid my registration for the 2006
The LOE rally is held annually and is mostly in
Other than competing in the in the North West Passage Rally two years ago, I
have no experience in these long distance rallies. Even in that rally, I did
not experience "rallying" because I just tried to do the Canada to
Mexico to Canada 55 hour extreme ride, rather than using any brain cells to get
more points by riding smarter rather than harder. I have done a lot of high
mileage days, completed the Iron Butt Association Saddle Sore and also the Bun
Burner rides, but those are very easy things to do. I really did not know what
to expect in a serious IBA competition rally like this one. I knew it
would be a bunch of miles in 24 hours and that there would be some locations to
take pictures of, but beyond that I was really clueless.
I have my R1150GS set up with an auxiliary fuel cell to meet the IBA maximum of
11.5 gallons; about a million candlepower of light and a lot of things to just
make the bike easy to ride and deal with when I am tired. I loaded four
different colors of highliters and a map of
The weekend of the rally timed perfectly with one of the worst autumn storms in
the
Early Friday evening the competitors all met for a fun dinner of story sharing
and words of wisdom from the "Big Dogs". At 8 pm we were
shuffled into a small room and given the "talk" by Ira and Jeff, the
other rally master, explaining how this was to be a safe rally. Ira made
it clear, in no uncertain terms, that any breach of good motorcycling conduct
would be reason for disqualification.
This rally would be won as much in the hotel room by planning, as it
would be on the road riding. There would be no reason to do really big
miles because he was going to take each riders total
bonus points and divide them by the number of miles they rode, and that number
would be the competitor's score. So, unless the far away places were worth so
many points that the extra miles would not hurt you, the best plan would be to
stay close and get as many bonus location points as possible. The rules
were pretty easy. We had to hit at least 8 bonus locations and ride at
least 1000 miles in 24 hours to qualify for a finish. An extra hour grace
would be available, but at huge penalty point costs, for the slow riders or
over ambitious planners. For me, that hour grace period would be 17 minutes too
little!
By 9 pm I was in my room and opened my rally packet. I wondered why the packet
was so thick, thinking that if we had only eight bonus
locations to worry about, each location must have been explained in detail on a
couple pages. To my horror, there were 18 pages of bonus locations, each page
having about a half dozen locations listed on it. There were different
point values for each location. How was I to even begin to determine which
to go to, or in what order? I almost called Bob to tell him I was ill and
was going to drop out before I started.
After a few minutes, when I could once again breathe and hear the radio over my
beating heart, I thought to myself, "OK, so this is the game! Let's do
it!" To determine a route, it was clear that I would have to find
each of the locations on the map, then try to make a route to include as many
as I could and still stay close to 1000 miles. It would be impossible to reach
all the locations in a 24-hour period, so decisions had to be made about which
ones to choose. This took some time because I had to look on the map
index to find each location. I spent about an hour to get through the first
four of the 18 pages, marking each location with a green Hi-Liter. Somehow, the
green seemed appropriate for me at that time!
Realizing then that another critical part of this rally would be getting some
sleep before the actual riding started, and doing a quick mental calculation, I
realized that the ride would actually start before I even found all the
locations on the map at the rate I was going. Ira, bless his little rally
master heart, had put what quadrant of the state each of the bonus locations
was located in. So, a decision based more on desperation than intellect, I
decided to only look at the points in the western part of New Mexico, because I
knew it better than the east side. Then, using the pink Hi-Liter, I marked the
pages of the rally packet that had bonus locations that were in the western part
of the state only. Then I went back to
the map, found those locations, and Hi-Lited them
with the blue Hi-Liter. I then chose the 12 with the highest points,
mistakenly figuring that if we needed only eight to finish, 50%
more than that would at least get me in the running!
I drew out what looked to be a reasonable route, then
entered each location into my GPS, Emily. (I named it "Emily" because
I was able to choose a very calm British female voice that leads me kindly yet
assuredly from place to place. She just sounds like an Emily to me!) I
pushed the "sort" button just for grins and found that Emily had
chosen the same order that I did. That was most comforting. The route computed to 1145 miles and 21 hours
driving time. Seemed like a winner to me. I was in bed by midnight,
but I was way too wound up to sleep soundly. About 3 am Saturday morning, still
mostly wide awake, I decided to redo the route and take out some miles and
bonuses to get closer to 1000 miles. I was done at 4, slept until 5, then
was up and ready to go. A few hours of sleepless rest and one hour of
good sleep is not really enough to start a 24-hour rally on, at least not for
me!
About 6:15 I saw Sylvie Torter standing by their
K1200S, looking like the movie star she always does. She asked to see my
route. When she reviewed it she looked a
little confused. "Why are you going to the west when all the good
routes are to the east?" she asked in her beautiful Argentinean
accent. I was dumbstruck. Bob and Sylvie know about 29,000 times
more about this planning stuff than I do, and there was Sylvie, their team
route planner, amazed that I had chosen to go the wrong way. She did point out
that one of the good things I did was to take the off-road short cut from the
Valle Grande to Cuba N.M., since I was on the GS. Sylvie knows that I
think paved roads are a waste of taxpayer money and that I spend a lot of time
riding the GS off the beaten path. I told her I was not even aware it was a
dirt road, and with all the rain in the last few days I would not take the
chance anyway. I made a note to make sure to avoid the dirt part, and
route around it.
At 7 am sharp we were released in an orderly manner. I entered I-25 North
and was off for my first bonus picture. It needed to show at least four
hot air balloons from the Albuquerque Balloon Festival in the picture with my
GS. I pulled off the side of the Interstate, parked the bike, hung my
numbered towel on the saddlebag by removing the lid and pinching the towel
between the lid and the main bag, and got the shot. I was almost overcome with
the feeling of accomplishment. My first rally bonus picture ever, and it actually came out! With glee in my heart
and a song on my lips I headed out for my next bonus at the Valle Grande.
About five minutes later, feeling like a real pro rally contender, I realized
that I had not removed my rally number towel from the saddlebag! That
towel has to be in every picture, or they do not count. If you loose your
towel, you might as well go home. Just like a Galaxy Hitchhiker, that towel is
the most important thing in your life as a rallyist.
Earlier that very morning, Bob and instructed me to write the following in bold
letters on the top of my tankbag:
Time and Date
Mileage
Towel
He advised that these easy things are often overlooked and lack of having of
any one of them renders the picture a no-score. When he told me that, I thought
to myself, "How could anyone forget to do
those three simple things without a note? Certainly I could not make such a
stupid error!" Yet, there I was, making the mistake he warned me
about at the very first bonus stop! I pulled off the road, and was relieved to
find that the towel was still connected to the saddlebag. I vowed to
never let that happen again. While I was stopped, I got a marker out of
the tank bag and wrote on top of it:
Time and Date
Mileage
Towel
you stupid man
It was raining hard when I stopped at the Valle Grande
sign and took picture #2. It was cold enough to make the required
Polaroid picture take a bit of time to self-develop, but as soon as I was sure
it would be clear enough to pass Ira's muster, I threw it in my bag and was off
to the
Leaving Bandelier, I was once again feeling euphoric. This rally thing is
a lot of fun, even in the rain and cold. I love riding motorcycles and
this was a new way to enjoy it. Emily had led me right to each location
with her calm and reliable tone. The bike was running faultlessly, I was
feeling unstoppable! YAHOO!
"Turn right in 200 feet" Emily said. I followed without
question. The sign said that
Then it happened. I came over a rise to see the slithered tire tracks
immediately recognizable to dual sport riders as the slime that clay based
roads become after being soaked in too much rain. I used all the brakes that the stupid BMW
IABS system would allow and somehow did not crash as the front wheel locked up
from the mud being jammed between it and the front fender. I stepped off the
bike to find a stick to dig the mud out. Huffing and puffing now, I got
back on the bike, noting that my boots each weighed about five pounds more than
normal from the mud stuck to them. I started the bike, tried to get it to
move and when I slipped the clutch I was reminded of the last dual sport ride
when I toasted it. That is the smell burning money makes! Usually,
in my business, this is a good smell, because I am on the receiving end of the
repair charges, but this time it just stunk. The bike moved about one
wheel revolution and then the front wheel was jammed to a stop again. Another stick, another stink, another wheel revolution further down
the road. Repeat over and over again for 90 minutes. By then I
could see that the road just a few hundred feet away was in the sunlight and
might be dryer. Hope was everywhere!
Then Edward came around the corner, sideways, in his old Ford 4 wheel drive
truck. He stopped and asked if he could help. Edward is a Native
American, thin as a rail, perhaps 17 years old. He suggested we lift the
bike into his truck and he would haul me out the last ¼ mile to where the road
was passable. When I told him the bike weighed about 650 pounds he decided that
he would just help me push it. With his help and the slightly dryer surface, I
was back to being in control of the GS in 10 minutes or so. I gave Edward
my most sincere thanks, money enough to feed him for a week, and a bottle of
Propel. He was grinning when I left, probably thinking something about
how foolish white men are!
I limped the GS into
N.M. Highway 550 across the Apache Reservation is beautiful. The light at
that time of day, the enhanced colors from the rain, the great condition of the
road, and riding my motorcycle all began to make the earlier struggle diminish
in importance. I decided then that I would continue my planned ride until
7 pm, one half of the time of the rally, and then take a look at where I was as
far as time and bonus points were concerned. At that time I would make a
decision about re-planning my route if necessary. I knew that losing
about 90 minutes in a 24-hour rally was terrible, but I would just continue on
my plan and enjoy this beautiful scenery for now.
I found the Blanco Trading Post and took a picture, entered the mileage and
time, ate a hand full of trail mix and was off in a flash. Things were
indeed looking up. The next bonus was the Aztec Ruins. There was a mess
of road construction there, and it took several extra precious minutes to negotiate
through it. Emily kept repeating "Recalculating, recalculating"
as I was forced to take the detours that the road construction demanded.
She finally did get me to the ruins, I snapped a
picture and was off toward Shiprock.
There was a gas receipt bonus in Shiprock, so I
stopped even though I was not in need of fuel. I got the receipt and was
so glad that I noticed that the time imprinted on it was incorrect. The receipt
showed 13:34 (1:34 pm), the real time was 14:50 (2:50 pm). I knew that Ira
would disallow that because with the correct time at the stop at the Ruins
earlier, I would have had to average well over 100 mph to get to Shiprock that soon. Either I would be disqualified
for reckless behavior, or the last bonus time would be disallowed. I
convinced Tuyla, the attendant there, to sign my
rally packet as a witness to the actual time, and to include her work phone
number, just in case Ira wanted to verify my story.
While I was explaining why the time stamp was so important, a family of a few
kids, a Mom, a Dad and Grandma overheard us.
Grandma was fascinated by this crazy competition and wanted to know what
the winner would be awarded. She was dumbfounded to find that the winner
would only get a small plaque and the applause of a few other competitors. No
money, no fame outside our small community, no free coffee at McDonalds, no
adoring teenaged girls swarming about. Just the satisfaction
of knowing that we do this just to do this. It is a competition of our
riding ability, determination, some luck, good planning and time management.
And, many of us would rather do this than just about anything else in the
world. I saw a glimmer of understanding in her wise old eyes, and wondered what
she had done in her life that she could equate to this. I wish I could
have asked her, but I knew she understood, and the clock was ticking!
I was feeling remarkably first-rate, considering my lack of sleep, the time on
the road, the pushing of the bike in the mud, and the stress of
competition. I did know, though, that my next stop was many miles away,
it would likely be dark when I got there and the temperatures would drop
rapidly as the sun went to bed. I chose not to put on the warm gear though,
because it would make me drowsily comfortable.
The ride south on N.M. 491 though the Navajo Indian Reservation toward Gallup
is straight, wide open and barely patrolled, so I was able to make up some of
the time I lost in the mud, hovering in the upper two digit speeds. South
of Gallup, the evening critter crossings began as the light turned golden.
I was surprised to see deer there, but they are just tiny compared to the ones
here at home in
I stopped in
Five minutes before arriving in
I fueled in
The night sky was clouded, making it dark as the inside of a cow. The flashes of a major lightning storm ahead
often punctuated the blackness. Each lightning strike would illuminate
the clouds in brilliant showers of oranges and blues. It was exhilarating
and wonderful. It was also directly in the direction I was headed.
I could tell by the GS's reduced power that we were
gaining altitude, and the falling temperatures verified it. Near the
intersection of 12 and 180 it began to rain, then the
rain turned to hail. The road became narrow and twisty, and I suddenly
realized that I was VERY tired and hungry. I would get the needed picture of
the Alpine Town Limit sign, stop there and get something to eat, and then
continue toward
By the time I reached the Alpine sign, it was hailing so hard that it was
difficult to tell where the road was. I saw the sign and got my number
towel out. The sign was about 50 feet off the road, about as high as I could
reach, and it was hailing so hard that it actually hurt. Try as I might,
I could not find a way to secure the towel to the sign so I could get the two
in the picture. I finally managed to pull the corner of the sign away from the
steel post to which it was mounted, stick the corner of the towel between the
two, hold the adjacent corner with my left hand, hold the Polaroid camera with
my right hand, stretch out as far as I could and shoot the picture. I ruined
the first picture by getting it wet; the second would not develop because it
was so cold. I held the third attempt over the cylinder of the GS to get it
warm enough to develop, but to my horror, it showed that the towel had blown
over itself and I could not see my number clearly. The fourth attempt yielded
an acceptable image. I shivered back to the bike after about 20 minutes
of failed photography and being unplugged from my heated jacket. I was
miserable, cold and hungry. This was not fun.
It was 8:30 pm when I slithered into Alpine proper and stopped at the only open
restaurant in town, the Bear Wallow Cafe. I was certainly the focus of
attention of the staff and locals as the fool on the motorcycle in a hailstorm
messed up the floor of the restaurant with sloppy wet riding gear. The hail was
coming so hard by then the main street looked like a river of hail.
I ordered a cheeseburger and fries and a cup of coffee. My server, Shaylyn, was very friendly and asked why I was riding a
motorcycle in these conditions. I explained the rally, and she said she
would go tell the cook to hurry up so I could get on my way as fast as
possible. She returned moments later and asked where I was going.
"Are you out of your mind?" asked the man at the next table when he
heard me tell Shaylyn that I was headed to
Shaylyn helped me spread out all the water soaked
rally receipts onto various tables so they could dry out. She got some
Ziploc bags for me to put them in. While I ate, she dobbed the receipts and pictures with napkins to dry them.
A few of the patrons stopped and offered alternative plans how to get back to
Los Lunas without going to
I suited up, paid my tab and a large tip that was far less than the Thank You I
really wanted to convey, left the restaurant and got on the bike. I was
really excited about finishing. It seems sometimes that the more
difficult something is to obtain, the bigger value we place on it. A finish at
this point was still possible, though very difficult to do in the 24-hour time
limit before the penalty points for the one-hour grace period began. The
hail had stopped, being replaced with a cold rain. I got to the
intersection where a left turn would take me over the dangerous pass and to the
Behind the scenes, this was happening. Unbeknownst to me, I left my
wallet in the cafe. In the wallet was all my cash, credit cards, ID, everything
that one would not want to loose. Shaylyn saw it
lying on the floor a few minutes after I left. She called the local
sheriff, Web, who then called the sheriff in the next town, who agreed to go to
the road they thought I would be on and stop me long enough for Web to get
there with my wallet. You just have to love the small town people.
Of course, I never showed up because I was on the impossible route to
The road and weather to
Some time after passing the summit and going to lower altitudes, the snow
turned into rain, and a while later the road dried up completely. I put on my
race face and was running full throttle or full brakes, both about the same
amount of the time, as the straights were very short, the turns tight. The
adrenalin overcame my sleepiness and I was literally laughing and screaming as
I watched Emily show some possibility of finishing this thing on time after
all!
As I pulled into
So, there I was, 1 am on a deserted road with a dead motorcycle. I cursed
like Meg, threw a temper tantrum like a spoiled three year old, kicked the
I was still not willing to accept defeat. I got out my flashlight and
waited to see if anybody might come down that road. I saw some headlights and
waved my flashlight and jumped up and down, knowing that the reflective parts
of my riding suit would attract attention. The car was coming my way!
The Arizona Highway Patrol officer stopped and turned on the cruiser's red
lights. "Why are you here and why do you have all the lights turned
off on your motorcycle parked on the roadside?" he asked, almost accusing
me of breaking some law. I explained my dilemma and asked if he would
just give me a jumpstart from his car.
"No, I will not. It is not my problem that you are here with a dead
battery. If I was to stop and give a jump start to every Indian's car
that would not start, I would not get anything done."
His lack of humanity was only overshadowed by his racism. I was appalled,
more about his slam on the Indians than by his callousness of my condition. How
such a man can be allowed to wear a badge and represent his state is a mystery
to me.
"Sir", I accused, "have you ever read what is on the door of
your cruiser? It says 'to protect and to serve', of which you are doing
neither. Are you going to help me, or should I just get your badge number and
talk to your boss tomorrow?" Not the best tactic. He slammed
his door, sprayed rocks all over me as he sped away.
A bit later, a Suburban with a family from
Several minutes later a lowered Honda car with one of those loud mufflers that
sounds like extended flatulence came by. The driver was a Native American
youngster. He did not have jumper cables, but his friend who lived about
five miles away did. He was off like Mario Andretti
to awaken his friend at two o'clock in the morning to borrow his jumper cables
to help this stranger out. Those damn Indians, anyway! This was the
second time in 20 hours that I was being helped by a Native American who did
not know me. Officer Friendly could take
some lessons from these folks that he obviously knows little about.
My new best friend in the world was soon back and gave me the jump. I
went to pull out my wallet to offer him some thank you money, when I realized
that it was lost. I asked him for his name and address so I could send
him a token of my appreciation when I found my wallet. He declined saying,
"Sir, this is a small town; this is just the way we are. I would not
take your money if you had it. Just promise me that if you can help someone one
day that you will." Now, there is an American we could all try more
to be like!
Note: I now carry jumper cables!
With electrons flowing properly, I asked Emily to re-route us the very fastest
way back to Los Lunas. I would bypass all the
rest of the bonus locations.
The fastest way back was still many hours away, and the road through Mule
Creek, past the Gila Cliff Dwellings and toward
I came around a corner and saw a man with a huge backpack near the side of the
road. As I rode by, I realized it was not a man, just a bush. A few
miles later I saw a bear. When I went by it, I realized that it too was
just a bush. I was aware of my errors, and decided to follow my "three
mistakes rule". I would stop as soon as I made even one more minor
error. I had barely finished the thought when I saw the giraffe.
I immediately pulled off the road, got my squealing alarm out and laid down in
the dirt under the saddlebag to try to get out of the rain a little. I set the
alarm for 15 minutes, did not even take my helmet off, put the alarm on my
chest and closed my eyes. The alarm seemed to go off immediately, but 15
minutes had indeed passed. I was surprised and pleased that I felt not
just a little better, but fantastically better. I got back on the bike
and headed toward
I noted that both fuel tanks were very low as I came into
I continued on, hoping to make it to Truth or Consequences where I knew there
would be fuel. When I saw the car lights on I-25 in the distance, I was showing
one bar of fuel on the main tank, the auxiliary tank was completely dry. I
might just make it!
The Chevron Station in T or C was lit up and open! I made it. I ran
to the counter, put the two rolls of quarters on the counter and asked the
cashier to turn on pump #1.
"I will not take quarters for fuel", the young girl
cashier stated.
"What?" I responded incredulously. "You have to, it is all the money I have. Turn the pump on
NOW"
"No, I will not take the time to count the quarters. The Indians do
this to me all the time, and I refuse to do it."
I just lost it. Those of you who know me well know that I am generally a
very easy guy to get along with, and it takes a lot to make me really
mad. But, I was way too tired, sick of the prejudiced comments, and was already
into the penalty hour. I took the rolls of quarters, slammed them on the
counter to open them and yelled at the little bigot "Start counting, turn
on the #$%@#$ pump and do it now or there is going to be
trouble here." I guess she took me seriously, because by the
time I got to the pump it was on. I put the fuel in the rear tank because
it is faster to fill, sped out of there and was back on I-25 in less than six
minutes from when I pulled into the station.
Emily showed the time of arrival to the finish line to be 7:27 am. NO! NO! NO! I had been through too much
to see that I would be time barred by less than thirty minutes. A quick
mental calculation made it clear that if I were to run just over 100 mph I would
get there moments before the grace period ran out, finishing the rally, but
loosing so many of those hard earned bonus points, but at least I could be an
official finisher. I pegged the throttle wide open and watched the
sunrise.
Less than one mile later, the miles of red "Road Construction" signs
came into view. The road was narrowed to a single lane in each direction,
and the speed limit was reduced to 45 mph, with warning signs that stated the
fines for speeding would be doubled in the construction areas. I came up
behind an 18-wheeler that had slowed to 35 mph on the grade. It was
impossible to pass because a red sign every 30 feet occupied the space between
the lanes. I considered passing on the shoulder. I recognized that
if I were caught at 100+ mph with no driver's license or ID of any kind on me,
in a construction zone, I would probably get hauled off to jail.
I made the first correct decision of the entire rally. I followed the
truck to the first place that was safe to pull off the road, stopped and dialed
the Rally Master's cell number. "This is Ron Schmidt, rider # 17. I
am OK, but will not make the finish before the grace period runs out. I
will see you at the banquet later today."
I pulled into the finish area at 7:17 am. A most successful D.N.F!