The only reason the 25 and unders are represented is because Ontario has made it so expensive and inaccessible for them to ride that many simply don't. This is a self selecting statistic. The people who can afford it are doing it.
Anyone who rides while impaired should automatically waive their insurance and health care coverage. A sell off of their possessions would go a long way toward recovering damages for victims . If we left drunk drivers to die on the side of the road and liquidated their assets to pay for their idiocy we'd see drunk driving all but end. Riding a bike while drunk is just shear idiocy. Operating a motor vehicle is a social contract, not a right, and your freedom to do it ends the moment you risk damage to someone else. If we aligned laws with this more tightly there would be less idiocy in our vehicular operation.
The Iron Butt Rally is long distance motorcycling's most challenging endurance event. It runs once every two years in the continental US and Lobo Loco Rally Master, Wolfe Bonham, is a veteran of the event. Wolfe ran the 2023 IBR and has been sharing his ride on Facebook, but he said he's OK with guest posting on TMD, so here is parts 1-3! Eleven thousand miles in eleven days? Getting ready for this, let alone doing it, is an epic undertaking... enjoy!
The Iron Butt Rally is the Superbowl of long distance motorcycle endurance competitions. In the 11 days of the event riders will cover anything from 9000 to as much as 14000 miles (14-22,500kms!), depending on their routing. It is a delicate balance of miles vs. rest. Get it right and you could find glory. Get it wrong and you could find a hospital bed, or worse.
As entrants into the Iron Butt Rally we know more than a year in advance that we've been accepted into the challenge.
Most riders begin preparations at least 6 months in advance making sure their motorcycle is up to the task, entering other smaller competitions to practice routing skills, and doing a bunch of progressively longer certification rides to get your body used to what you're about to put it through.
In my case I had been so caught up in new home renovations and building a massive workshop that I wasn't able to do any of this. In fact, in all of 2022 I didn't do a single long distance certification ride. And, due to border closures, it had been more than 3 years since I had entered a scavenger hunt style rally.
With a mere 2 weeks before the IBR, I put the final touches on my shop, pulled my motorcycles out of storage, and began the process of building a Rally Bike.
I had three 2003 BMW R1150GS parts bikes, one of which had low kilometers, but clutch issues. That was to be my competition bike.
I spent the next 2 weeks twisting wrenches 18+ hours a day, scrambling to get parts ordered and delivered on such short notice.
I ran into clearance issues with my auxiliary fuel tap into my main tank which had me scratching my head for 4 hours. Turns out my other tank, being plastic, was able to flex just enough to clear the frame. Filing down the brass fitting as much as I dared got me closer but I still needed about 1/16". Desperate at 2am, out comes the big sledge hammer. I'm sure that a 16th of an inch bend in the motorcycle's frame won't matter!
Two days before I need to leave for the start line in Pittsburgh I get my first test ride on the bike. I get home after 30 minutes with a long list of things that need to still change or be fixed.
Some parts are not available in time or can't be shipped to Canada before I leave so I opt to have them shipped to the hotel in Pittsburgh. I can do a few last minute installs in the parking lot. These will include my hydration system and some needed wiring for my heated gear.
I'm packing the bike honestly worried I've bitten off more than I can chew.
The bike is untested. Other than little 250cc bikes on the teaching lot, I haven't ridden any big bikes AT ALL this year, and hardly any kilometers last year. Oh, and I'm 20 lbs heavier than I've ever done an IBR in my life, and I'm still recovering from a bad cold/cough with a ton of meds on the bike hoping it all clears up before the start....
Part Two - IBR 2023
Sitting on the Launch Pad
The ride to Pittsburgh was really my first ride of any distance this year. As I settled into the saddle I began to assess potential long term issues. Relearning how to relax my shoulders, relax my grip, sit more upright, etc. Proper body position would become the key to enduring 20+ hours per day on the bike for 11 days in a row.
Arriving at the hotel parking lot in Pittsburgh was a very emotional experience for me. Most of my life has been lived as a nomad, and as a result my base of friends is spread around the globe. With all the CoVid lockdowns of the past year not only did that mean I couldn't compete in the 2021 IBR, but it also meant that I had been cut off from so many of my friends. Seeing them all after so long meant tons of hugs and a few tears.
But I still had work to do on the bike, and the next morning would be the whirlwind of tech inspections and registrations. I went to the lobby to retrieve 2 important packages that were shipped there in advance... and they were nowhere to be found!
The lobby staff said to check back in the morning. This was unacceptable to me. I had tracking numbers that showed both packages had arrived. The morning wasn't going to make them suddenly appear!
After getting more and more insistent, and involving no less than 5 hotel staff, the packages were finally found.
I proceeded to get my hydration system installed, confirmed the new wiring functioned correctly with my heated gear, and made a few more ergonomic adjustments to the bike that had popped up on the ride down.
After some drinks and an excellent Reuben Sandwich with long missed friends it was time to sleep before the chaos of tech day.
The next morning found all the competitors proceeding through a series of lines and inspections; a mini-rally in and of itself. The lead up to the start of the competition is 2-3 days and includes things like a 30 mile ride to calibrate everyone's odometers against each others, safety and capacity inspection for the plethora of different auxiliary fuel cell set ups, confirmation of our satellite GPS tracking systems, insurance, medical evacuation confirmations, and the sobering video deposition of death, where we acknowledge the risks of this competition and wave all liabilities to the organization.
The whole process takes several hours to complete, and my only hurdle was that "Warchild" didn't like the way my fuel cell was vented. An easy, but necessary fix, as you never want to be on the bad side of Dale Wilson.
The rally poster was put on display beginning the speculation by all the riders as to what the overall theme would be. There was a prominent chicken in the poster, and I was convinced the final leg "hero run" would be from Denver to Chicken, Alaska, before returning to Pittsburgh. Running the math it was 6600 miles... just barely doable in the 5.5 days of the final leg if you managed back to back 1200 mile days.
Greg Camp surprised me showing up with Bam Baker, so we all went on an ice cream run after clearing inspection. We were now off the clock until Sunday's rider meetings.
However, on the ride to the ice cream shop I couldn't help but notice the ever present smell of burning clutch from my bike. The clutch didn't appear to be slipping at all, but something definitely wasn't right inside. Would it hold up for 11 days? Would I have to baby yet another bike to an IBR finish, or would it leave me stranded in some place like Chicken, Alaska?!
Part Three - IBR 2023
Cleared for Launch
Sunday afternoon has our standard rider's meeting, following the rookie rider's meeting. After that we just have to anxiously await the dinner banquet where we're finally given the Rally Book that will dictate our fates for the next 11 days.
And before you know it we're all opening our Rally Packs, which seem oddly thin.
The theme this year is food, and while there are not a lot of locations to choose from in the first 2.5 day leg, we are all given identical Bingo cards with 25 restaurant chains on them. To claim each we'll need a photo of our motorcycle with our Rally Flag in front of the restaurant along with a receipt for a purchase inside. This will prove to be quite a time suck. A normal photo stop can be done by an experienced rally rider in under 2 minutes, including photo and paperwork... but going inside for a receipt could take 5-10 minutes each. They aren't worth a lot of points, but if you start to score Bingo rows or columns the points start to add up quickly. Blacking out the entire card is worth an additional 2000 points. I think I'll go for it.
Back in my hotel room by 7pm I start the planning process for my route. We are now on the clock and decisions about time spent planning/routing vs sleeping the night before begin to set in.
The Rally Book is scanned into a .pdf that I can search through while riding. The points, time limitations, and notes are added to the location codes so that I don't have to look that up later... it all comes up on my Garmins. Weather is checked and locations are grouped by point values. It becomes obvious there are 3 distinct routes: Maine, Florida, and Denver. Given our required 2nd checkpoint in Denver I discount that one almost immediately. Maine looks more promising than Florida, but includes several locations in downtown NYC, which always makes me nervous not being from that area.
I opt for the Florida route, with the goal of getting to the daytime only high point Cedar Key location right at sunrise. That will mean skipping a few lower point locations on the way south, and only getting 1-2 nap on the first night. But, doing so opens up some options on the 2nd day to scoop up everything along the Gulf Coast and end up with some restaurants in Houston before pulling the first leg mandatory rest on night 2. Fingers crossed that sets me up to get to the big points group photo just north of the Leg 1 Checkpoint in Tulsa.
I'm happy with my plan, and in bed by 11pm.
The morning comes sooner than expected after a restless night of barely sleeping, laying in bed playing the "what if" game in my head.
Breakfast is shared with fellow riders, some not saying much about where they are headed, and others sharing ideas and concerns.
Bikes are loaded and we are required to be standing with our bikes from 8am until our final odometer readings are taken.
Cory Ure, parked beside me, is nowhere to be seen as rally volunteers are coming down our line. I look everywhere for him, but it's too late. They bypass his bike, and now he'll be held from leaving until all other bikes have left.
Following a brief last minute rider's meeting we all mount our bikes and nervously await the start. Next to me is Lisa Cover Rufo and her daughter Molly, who is calmly sipping on an iced latte! The luxury of being pillion!
Before we know it we're off! This is my 3rd IBR, and it still brings me to tears every time I start. It is such an honour and privilege to be amongst this elite group of riders.
Pulling onto the highway we all start to spread out on our own individual plans and routes.
Who will have the best plan? Who will find glory? Who will struggle just to make the finish, and who won't get back? Will everyone be safe, or will tragedy strike?
I take the ramp to I-79S on a beautiful sunny morning. My die is cast. Little do I know the next 2 days will be some of the toughest, most dangerous riding of my life.
Here's a link to a video of the start. This is not my video, but enjoy.
That's the end of Parts 1-3. Check out Parts 4-6 so to see how Wolfe gets along on the road! And if you want to find the original story itself, you can find Wolfe on Facebook here.
If you want a taste of long distance riding to get started, Wolfe runs Lobo Loco Rallies, some of which you can run from anywhere in the world (the local ones are based in Ontario, Canada). Check it out here: https://wolfe35.wixsite.com/lobolocorallies
The in-law's cottage happens to be about 20 kms away from the bottom of the 507. I like the 507. It twists and turns through the Canadian Shield offering you bend after bend without the usual tedium of Southern Ontario roads. I lost myself riding down it the other day. Last week I was pondering how fear can creep in to your riding in extreme circumstances, like trying to ride through a GTA rush hour commute. This week I'm struggling with how the Canada Moto-Guide and Cycle Canada are portraying deaths on the 507, which is evidently a magnet for sportbike riders who have confused public roads with private race tracks. On the motorcyclists spectrum I tend toward the sportier end of things. I've owned Ninjas, sports-tourers, adventure and off-road bikes. The only thing that chased me away from sportbikes early in my riding career were the insane insurance rates and the fact that any modern motorcycle is already light years beyond most sports cars in terms of performance. My old Tiger goes 0-60 in under four seconds, or about as fast as many current top-end muscle and sports cars. To spend thousands more on insurance for a bike designed for a race-track just doesn't make a lot of sense, especially when you factor in the condition of Ontario roads.
If you missed the British MotoGP race at Silverstone last
weekend, do yourself a favour and look it up. From start
to finish it was spectacular.
Having said that, I've been a diehard MotoGP fan for the past six years. Watching riders develop and express their genius at the pinnacle of motorcycle racing is not only glorious to watch, but it has taught me a lot about riding dynamics, and I think it has improved my bike-craft. I totally get speed. Riding a bike always feels like a bit of a tight-rope walk, and being able to do it quickly and smoothly is a skill-set I highly value. Like so many things in motorcycling, balance seems to be key. Last week, among the idiotic commuters of the GTA, a frustrating number of whom were texting in their laps and half paying attention, I was unable to manage that danger and it led to a great deal of anxiety. Rather than give in to that fear or throw a blanket of bravado over it, I looked right at it and found a way to overcome it. Honesty with yourself is vital if you're actually interested in mastering your bikecraft. I came to the conclusion that you need to approach two wheels with a touch of swagger and arrogance when that fear rises up. This is done to moderate fear and give you back some rational control, especially when circumstances conspire against you. The problem with swagger and arrogance... and fear for that matter, is that it's easy to go too far, and so many people seem to. Emotionality seems to dictate so many aspects of motorcycling culture. From the arrogance of the ding-dongs in shorts and flip flops who tend to the extremes of the motorcycling spectrum (cruisers and sportbikes), to the ex-motorcyclists and haters who can only speak from fear, it's these extremes who seem to speak for the sport. I struggle with those emotionally driven extremes, but recently CMG seems intent on writing odes to them.
The CMG editorial news-letter this week makes much of not knowing why this rider died: “He knew the dangers, and he admitted to going fast,” says his partner, Lisa Downer. “He knew when, where, how – it was just one of those things. A lot of people think the way the curve was, there was a car (approaching him) that was just a little too far over the line and David had to compensate. By the time that car went around the bend, they wouldn’t even have known that David went off, because the sightline’s gone. Or it could have been an animal, or a bit of gravel. You just don’t know.”
There were no skid marks on the road. Like so many of our lost, no one will ever know why. Our lost? Here's a video by that same rider from the year before:
"...the helmet cam shows his speedometer. “A decent pace on the 507 in central Ontario, Canada,” he wrote in the description. “Typical Ontario roads, bumpy, keeping me in check.” His average speed on the near-deserted road was above 160 km/h, more than double the speed limit, and at one point it shows an indicated 199, where the digital display tops out. At such speeds on a public road, there’s little room for error." - little room for error?
With that on the internet, one wonders how he had his license the following year. You can come at this from 'it might have been an animal, or a car, or gravel', but I think I'm going to come at it from here: "David was an experienced rider who’d got back into motorcycling just three years ago; he was 52, but had put bikes on hold since his 30s when he went out west..."
That'll be over 170 kms/hr on rough pavement around blind corners next to a massive provincial park full of large mammals...
An 'experienced rider' who had been riding for three years, after a twenty year gap? And his first bike in twenty years was a World Super-bike winning Honda super sport? Whatever he was riding in the mid-eighties and early nineties certainly wasn't anything like that RC51. What his actual riding experience was is in question here, but rather than assign any responsibility to an inexperienced rider, we are speculating about animals, cars and gravel? I generally disagree with the speed kills angle that law enforcement likes to push. If that were the case all our astronauts would be dead. So would everyone who has ever ridden the Isle of Man TT. Speed doesn't kill, but how you manage it is vital. There is a time and a place. If you're intent on riding so beyond the realm of common sense on a public road, then I think you should take the next step and sort yourself out for track days, and then find an opportunity to race. In Ontario you have all sorts of options from Racer5's track day training to the Vintage Road Racing Association, where you can ride it hard and put it away wet in a place where you're not putting people's children playing in their front yard in mortal peril. If you've actually got some talent, you could find yourself considering CSBK. Surely there is a moral imperative involved in how and where you choose to ride? Surely we are ultimately responsible for our riding? Strangely, Mark's article, The Quick and the Dead, from 2017 has a much clearer idea of time and place when it comes to riding at these kinds of speeds. In this most recent news-letter we're at "it would be easy to dismiss David Rusk as just another speed freak, killed by his own excess". In 2017 he was quite reasonably stating: "If you’re going to speed, don’t ride faster than you can see and dress properly. And if you’re going to speed, do it on a track". I guess the new blameless recklessness sells better? There is a romantic fatalism implicit in how both CMG and Cycle Canada have framed these deaths that willfully ignores much of what caused this misery in the first place. Motorcycling is a dangerous activity. Doing it recklessly is neither brave, nor noble. Trying to dress it up in sainthood, or imaging blame when the cause if repeatedly slapping you in the face is neither productive nor beneficial to our sport. Up both ends of the motorcycling spectrum are riders who are all about the swagger. For those dick swingers this kind of it's-never-your-fault writing is like going to church. I get it. Writing for your audience is the key to enlarging it.
Last Sunday I did a few hundred kilometres picking up bodies of water for the Water is Life GT rally, with the 507 being the final run south to the cottage. The roads weren't exceptionally busy and I was able to fall into a rhythm on the 507 that reminded me of what a great road it is. As it unfolds in front of you, you can't guess where it's going to go next. Surrounded by the trees, rocks and lakes of the Shield, it's a gloriously Canadian landscape. I'm not dawdling when I ride. I prefer to not have traffic creeping up on me, I'm usually the one doing the passing (easy on a bike). The big Tiger fits me and the long suspension can handle the rough pavement, but I'm never over riding the limits of the bike where gravel on the road, an animal or other drivers dictate how my ride is going to end. The agility and size of a bike offer me opportunities that driving a car doesn't, but it doesn't mean I open the taps just because I can. Balance is key. There are times when a rider (or any road user) can be in the wrong place at the wrong time and no amount of skill will save you. For the riders (and anyone) who perishes like that, I have nothing but sympathy. They are the ones we should be reserving sainthood for. Not doing the things that you love, like being out in the wind on a bike, because of that possibility of being in the wrong place at the wrong time will neuter your quality of life, there are some things you can't control. I'm well aware of the dangers of riding, but I'm not going to throw a blanket of arrogance over them, and I'm certainly not going to describe recklessness as a virtue while hiding in delusions of blame. Doing a dangerous thing well has been a repeated theme on TMD, as has media's portrayal of riding. Having our own media trying to dress up poor decision making as victimization isn't flattering to motorcycling. If you can't be honest about your responsibilities when riding perhaps it's time to hang up your boots. If you don't, reality might do it for you.
As Vale says, "it's dangerous, not only for you, but for all the facking idiots in cars."
Part of the pleasure is in the simplicity of the experience. It's analogue, immediate and visceral, yet still mentally stimulating, meditative even! Mark Webber knows.
Asked by a grade 9 this week upon seeing my wall of motorbike photos ranging from Coventry Eagles to Kawasaki H2s. My answer: "Bikes are faster than cars in every way that matters. They cost a fraction as much, insurance is less, they barely use any gasoline and when you go around a corner you feel like you're flying." The kid nodded and then said, "I'm gonna get a bike." Beyond all of those excellent reasons there is also the involvement. Cars have you sitting in a box, watching the world go by from behind a screen. On a bike you're out in the world. You see more, smell more, hear more, feel more, and you're expected to do more. When you ride you're using both hands, both feet and your entire body to interact with the machine. In a car you spin a wheel and it goes around a corner. On a bike you counter-steer out of the turn to drop the bike toward the corner and then lean into it. Once you get the hang of it, it feels like dancing. The first time they had us weaving through cones at the introduction motorcycle course I said to the instructor, "I could do this all day!" Bike acceleration is astonishing, but the cornering is magical. If you want proof, find any twisty road on a sunny summer day and see how many bikes you see.
Bike cornering is magical.
In the hands of a genius it's ballet.
I've driven some pretty involving cars. The best get you about 40% of the way to what a bike feels like, and I'm comparing sports cars that cost as much as a house to regular road bikes - I've never ridden a supersport or track bike. There are lots of other reasons why you should ride a bike (the camaraderie and sense of belonging to a group that recognizes their own, the exercise it provides, the ability to go places a car couldn't, the rich history, the technological know-how), and only one reason why you shouldn't. Yes, riding a motorcycle is dangerous (mainly because of all the people in boxes), and it demands attention and skill, but the benefits are epic.
I'm up into third gear coming up on the cones fast. The wind is pressing into my chest and starting to roar around my helmet. On this introduction to motorcycling course this is as fast as we get going, I'm probably doing about 45km/hr. As my right hand rolls off the throttle and reaches for the front brake my left hand reaches out to the clutch lever and begins squeezing. As the engine disengages my left foot begins tapping down the gear shifter and my right foot is already on the rear brake and squeezing in time with the front brake, hauling the bike down from speed in surprising time. As the bike slows, the centrifugal force of the wheels spinning aren't enough to keep the bike balanced any more, my backside and legs are also subtly beginning to balance the bike. I'm now only doing about 5 km/hr as I enter the turn but this is a tight box of cones leading to ninety degree left exit. I turn the handle bars into the corner, trying to keep my eyes up instead of looking in front of the wheel. At that moment I realize I don't have enough momentum to get through the corner, I've scrubbed off too much speed. I let go of the clutch in the middle of a sharp, slow speed left hand turn, dumping the bike into first gear, it's a jerky exit I make as I dump the clutch clumsily and begin to regain some lost momentum.
At the motorcycle course I just took many of us went from never having sat in the saddle to realizing just how complicated riding a bike is. Unlike a typical car with one hand on the wheel and one foot operating pedals, you're using all four limbs and your body mass as a whole when riding a bike; it's a surprisingly aerobic exercise. At the end of the first day, 2-3 hours in the class room, 7+ hours in the saddle, I was exhausted. The physicality of it is one thing, then there are the mental demands, especially when you're new.
An instructor told us of a new rider who had just finished the course and decided to drive his new bike out to Alberta for a job. It was all very romantic. He never made it out of Ontario. The truck driver saw him coming from miles away, he even managed to slow down and stop completely when the kid on the bike, in the oncoming lane, plowed into the front of the truck at high speed... asleep on the bike. Riding a bike is a good bit of exercise when you're experienced. It verges on a mind and body marathon when you're new and having to think about everything you're doing.
In addition to the technique of operating a vehicle that asks you to steer with your whole body, change gears manually using both hand and foot, and operate two sets of brakes independently, again, using both hand and foot, the bike rider is also developing a constant 360°awareness of what is happening around them. Your head is a on a swivel, you're constantly assessing threats and dangers. It matters much less who is at fault if you're in an accident on a bike, it isn't likely to be a fender bender you drive away from. Defensive driving on a bike takes on dimensions that car drivers would find extreme locked away in their metal boxes. After a weekend of getting familiar with the basic operation of a motorbike, my back is sore, my arms ache and I'm still getting over the wind/sun burn, but it was a purging exercise. If you ever wanted a challenge that puts you into a very intimate relationship with a machine, motorbiking is that. It isn't easy. It's demanding mentally and physically and requires your undivided attention. You can't walk into it after drinking, drugs or even emotionality and hope to do it well enough to not be at risk, and the risk is about as high as it can get. In a world of safety at all costs, insurance company run nanny states, I'm kind of surprised that motorcycling is still allowed, but I'm glad it is.
Riding is a Zen thing that demands you surrender distractions and live in that moment, your whole body and mind deeply involved in the task before it. It's a task that rewards you with a sense of freedom and the thrill of open speed that I've never experienced in any automobile; it's the most honest form of motorized transportation, which is exactly why I answered the call. Taking the course made me realize that motorbiking was everything I'd hoped it would be.
I'm a big fan of Top Gear, and I especially enjoy their travel/challenges. I've always dreamed of planning one, getting people silly enough to commit to it and then making it happen. In the summer of COVID I'm finding myself daydreaming of possible adventures, so I started poking around on the internet trying to find how far north roads go in Ontario. Bafflingly, Ontario has never connected to its own north sea shore by road. For a province that has thousands of kilometers of ocean shoreline, Ontario seems intent on convincing its citizens that it's land locked. I'd love to ride 1000kms north to the sea, but it's not an option. James Bay is roughly in line with Scotland, so its not like it's in the arctic. In the meantime, it looks like Windigo Lake north west of Thunder Bay is as far north as you can ride in Ontario on your own wheels:
...which offers us a great thematic riding challenge! It's time to go to Windigo (instead of Bendigo), Morty! Here's the inspiration in case you're not hip to Rick & Morty:
Here's the Top Gear style WE'RE GOIN TO WINDIGO, MORTY! Moto Travel Challenge:
Each participant gets a $3000 budget for a bike and any farkles that must include a safety certificate. Ownership is by WG2W Productions, pending the bikes return to Elora within 10 days of the event, at which point ownership is signed over to the rider. Safety and taxes should be about $400, so that leaves about $2600 for a bike and farkles
Insurance and ownership is managed by the event
All riders must have a valid Ontario M class license
Camping equipment is provided to each rider individually based on a sponsored selection of gear (rider's choice) Each rider will be provided with bear gear.
Each participant has to do any repair or maintenance on their own bike. Only other competitors can assist.
Google maps says it's a 27 hour ride to Windigo. Riders can only be on the road between 7am and 7pm, so the most efficient (and luckiest) should arrive in Windigo on day three in the morning. At 12 hours per day of possible riding, 27 hours = 2..25 days of riding. The earliest rider with a perfectly timed ride would arrive at Windigo at 10am on day three of the event.
Timing for the event takes into account speed limits. Any rider caught speeding is disqualified.
Any overnight stops while riding to Windigo must be wild camping following leave-no-trace rules. Proof of camp site cleanup must be included on rider GoPro footage or a time penalty is applied.
The rider who gets to Windigo (getting to Windigo means arriving at the lake on your bike and dipping a toe in) as close to 27 hours of riding after leaving the start line as possible, wins!
Riders can choose how to use their daylight hours to ride. In the case of a tie, the rider to get to Windigo the soonest and closest to 27 hours of riding after race start wins
Winner gets a We're going to Windigo, Morty gold medal. There will be silver and bronze finalist medals too. Smallest displacement and oldest bikes who finish also get awards
Any participant who finishes this long distance riding rally and is able to ride back to the start line within a week of the competition end can keep their bike!
...followed by 469kms of challenging unpaved roads to the end of all roads.
A paved odyssey...
This isn't an easy ride. It starts with almost 1700kms of riding on paved roads ranging from the biggest freeway you can imagine to single lane tar patched, northern frost heaved back-road. You've then got almost 500kms of riding gravel up to where all roads end at Windigo. Trying to do this on a one trick pony like a cruiser would be entertaining, but likely unsuccessful. This is a challenge for a multi-purpose motorcycle!
The 599 highway isn't Google car photoed once you get on the gravel, and you're constantly dodging lakes this deep into the Canadian Shield. The closest I could get was this photo of the Mishkeegogamang Band Office, which shows a graded gravel road out front. Fuel stops are few and far between, some cunning planning will be required!
BIKES
There are some interesting choices at the bottom end of the bike market in Ontario:
A bike that'll handle the off-road part of this trip, though it isn't built for the thousands of kilometres of paved road leading to the hundreds of miles of gravel fire roads. Capable of handling the camping gear too. Should come in on budget on the road.
Low mileage, in good shape and comes safetied, so you'd have a bit left over for farkles. It'd chew up the pavement side of WG2W effortlessly, but that windshield might never see Windigo (Morty).
Big Honda touring bike, high miles, but it's a Honda. It'd be a handful on nearly a thousand kilometres of gravel, but some people like that. Should come in under budget and ready to make miles. The paves stuff would flash by on this and it could carry camping gear with ease!
Low miles, Kawasaki dependable, in great shape. The Versys is short for versatile bike system, just what you'd need to get to Windigo (Morty). The 650 is a lightweight bike that'll handle gravel, and it has luggage and mounting points for some soft bags. I'd probably be able to get it for $2300 certified, which gives me a bit for some soft saddle bags, then I'm off to the races! This'd be my choice. Might spill my extra cash on some 70/30 semi-off road tires.
There are lots of other interesting choices that you could get road ready for under three grand in Ontario. Seeing what people choose and how they prep the bike for long distance, multi-surface, remote riding would be half the fun. To stretch the choices there would also be trophies for the oldest bike and smallest displacement bike to finish the ride, so some people might go after those rather than the timed competition.
PRODUCING IT FOR TV
All bikes have GoPros to capture footage and all riders agree to provide at least 15 minutes of speaking to camera dialogue per day while in the rally. All competitors have to document their camp build and take down. There will be a production/sweeper vehicle with a trailer in case of any bike failures. The vehicle will be able to provide technical support in remote areas and be designed for the gravel portion of the event as well as offer a central point for production and media management.
Competition begins when all riders have their bikes delivered to a shared garage space in Elora.
Film Schedule:
Day 1: All bikes have arrived. Bike familiarity and maintenance, bike paperwork taken care of, all riders and production crew doing piece to camera introducing themselves and talking about the event and prep
Day 2: Bike familiarity and preparation, filming continues
Day 3: Bike familiarity and preparation, finalizing ride planning, filming continues. All bikes in park ferme at the end of the day ready for the morning's off.
Day 4: 7am Race start in Elora. Filmed by production vehicle crew and GoPros on bikes.
Production vehicle stopping in Thunder Bay on Day 1.
Day 5: 7am start. Production vehicle stopping at Windigo to await arrival of riders (riders who arrive early will have a major penalty, so no one should be there until day 3)
Day 6: Production vehicle at Windigo Lake awaiting arrivals. End of day 6: close of event party on Windigo
Day 7: All rider camping gear to be taken in by the support vehicle for a lighter ride back. Sweeping the road south to Silver Dollar (the beginning of pavement). All competitors camping at Silver Dollar Campsite that night. Confirm end of event with all riders.
Day 8: Retrace/sweep route to Thunder Bay. End of rally event in Thunder Bay. Riders who want to keep their bikes have 3 days to return to the workspace in Elora in order to claim ownership. Riders who want to find their own way home can do so and bikes will be transported in the trailer.
Day 9: Production vehicle sweeps south clearing any bikes that have been parked.
Day 11: Any bikes that have returned to the workspace in Elora have their ownership turned over to their riders.
Episodes: 45 minute edited
1) Introducing riders, bike selection and preparation - possibly include off-road training at SMART Adventures?
2) Rally Start: day one on the road
3) Rally Continued: day two on the road
4) Rally Conclusion: day three on the road and rally winners and finishers highlighted
5) where did they go missing riders review, post rally interviews while returning to Thunder Bay, final presentations in TB, sweeping up, who got to keep their bikes
Total production time: 3.75 hours of edited footage
Other opportunities: Work with SMART Adventures out of Horseshoe Valley - include bits on how to ride off road, what riders can expect, how to manage bikes on loose surfaces.
Rough costing:
8 Competitors @ $3000 per bike = $24,000
Production Vehicle Cost (rental & gasoline): $3000
Insurance & Paperwork costs at $1000 each competitor = $8,000
Production equipment (cameras, drone, on bike GoPros): $5000
Production team hotels: 4 people x 2 nights Thunder Bay, 1 night on the road back, 2 nights camping in the north = $2000
Camping gear: $1000/competitor + production crew = $10,000 (mitigated by sponsorship?)
Total rough budget: $52,000. Estimated budget: $60,000 (mitigated by sponsorship)
Sponsorship opportunities:
- workshop/repair centre where bike setup takes place
Back in August of 2014 I wanted to take a more active role in my motorcycle maintenance. At that point I'd been riding for just over a year on my first bike, a very dependable 2007 Kawasaki Ninja 650r. I learned a lot on that bike, but it was a turn-key experience, the bike needed very little in the way of maintenance. The Ninja went from flat black to metallic blue and orange. It was the last bike I rode that people commented on (I'd often get a thumbs up or have someone stop and chat in a parking lot about how nice the bike looked, which was satisfying as I'd been instrumental in restoring it from angry-young-man flat black). The Ninja was, without a doubt, a good introduction to motorcycling, and was the king of the roost for my first two seasons.
As a first bike, the Ninja led the way both on the road and at the top of the blog.
I wanted my next bike to be one that ran because of my mechanical skills rather than one that didn't need them. I found a 1994 Kawasaki Concours sitting in some long grass about twenty minutes away. I quickly discovered that sense of satisfaction I was looking for. The Concours was an eager patient who rewarded a winter of mechanical work with a rock solid five thousand miles of riding the next summer. The Concours has offered some memorable rides, especially looping Georgian Bay and riding on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. For a bike that looked like it was being permanently parked with only 25k on it, suddenly it was back in the game, going places other bikes only dream of. That busy season of long rides took its toll on the Concours though. It isn't a spring chicken and after having spent the better part of two years parked before I got to it many of the soft parts on the bike were getting brittle. I parked the Concours early and began winter maintenance knowing that the bearings and brakes both needed attention only to miss out on a late season warm spell at the end of November and into December. I took that one on the nose figuring that's what happens when you ride an old bike as your daily rider.
The header on this blog for the past eighteen months, but running a twenty-two year old bike as your daily rider makes for frustrations. Time to be less sentimental and more rational in how I manage my stable.
That summer we were touring on the Concours I picked up a KLX250 to experience off road riding, but doubling insurance costs for a bike that I only managed to get out on a handful of times didn't feel very efficient. That I struggled to keep up with traffic on it didn't support the way I like to ride. Motorcycles are open and unprotected, but they are also agile and powerful enough to get out of a tight squeeze - except when they aren't. The Concours was always there and the preferred ride, owning the road when I was on it. When I went out with my co-rider he also loved the big red Connie, not so much the rock hard, under-powered KLX (he only ever rode on it once for less than five minutes). Over the winter I put some money into the Concours, doing up the rims and getting new tires. With the rims off I also did the bearings and brakes. As everything came back together again, suddenly the carburetors weren't cooperating. They're since being rebuilt and the bike should be back together again this weekend, but instead of always being there, suddenly the Concours wasn't. As winter receded I could hear other bikes growling down the road, but I was grounded (again), even though I was paying insurance on two machines and longing to get back out on the road after an always too long Canadian winter. The KLX was the first to go. I'd never really bonded with it and, even though I always figured I'd run this blog with my most recent bike in the graphic at the top, the KLX never made it there; it never felt like the main focus of my motorcycling. In the same week my son's never-ridden PW-80 got sold, and suddenly I had some money aside.
Ready to go with a new header, but it never took.
As days of potential riding keep ticking by and the carburetor work drags on, the Concours started to feel like an expensive anchor rather than the wings of freedom. I had a long talk with my wife about it. She asked why I don't unload it and get something dependable. Keep the old XS1100 for that sense of mechanical satisfaction, but have a bike that's ready to ride. I think sentiment was paralyzing me. Hearing a rational point of view with some perspective really helped.
Many moons ago, a pre-digital Triumph
With cash in an envelope I began looking around. Before Easter we weathered an ice storm, but only two days later it was suddenly in the teens Celsius and bikes could be heard thundering down the road. Meanwhile I was waiting for yet more parts for the Concours. Online I was looking at sensible all purpose bikes that would fit a big guy. Vstroms and Versys (Versi?) came and went, but they felt like a generic (they are quite common) compromise, I wasn't excited about buying one. Since I started riding I've been on Triumph Canada's email list even though I've never come close to owning one (out of my league price-wise, no one else I know had one, no local dealer... pick your reason). As a misguided teenager I purchased an utterly useless Triumph Spitfire, and in spite of that misery I've always had a soft spot for the brand (your adolescent brain makes your teenage experiences sparkle with emotion even when you're older, that's why we all still listen to the music from our teens).
A Tiger? On Kijiji? Must have
escaped from a zoo!
While trawling around on Kijiji looking at hordes of generic, look-a-like adventure bikes I came across an actual Tiger. It was (as are all Triumphs I've mooned over) too expensive for me, but that Lucifer Orange (!) paint haunted me. Another rare warm afternoon wafted by with the sounds of motorcycles on the road so I thought, what the hell, and emailed the owner. He'd been sitting on the bike for the better part of two months with no calls. He was going down to the Triumph dealer on Thursday to trade it in on a new Street Triple and knew he was going to get caned by them on the trade in price. He emailed me back and said if I had three quarters of what he'd been asking, he'd rather sell it to me than give the dealer the satisfaction. Suddenly this fantastic looking machine was plausible.
The garage is 100% more functional than it was last week, 100% more glamorous too!
A trip up to Ontario's West Coast and I got to meet a nice young man who was a recent UK immigrant and a nuclear operator at the Bruce Plant. The bike was as advertised (well looked after, second owner, some minor cosmetic imperfections), and suddenly I owned a freaking 2003 Triumph Tiger 955i! Most used bikes offer up some surprises when you first get them, and they usually aren't nice surprises. The Ninja arrived with wonky handlebars the previous owner told me nothing about. The XS1100 arrived with no valid ownership, something the previous owner failed to mention during the sale. So far the Tiger has had nice surprises. It arrived with a Triumph branded tank bag specific to the bike. Oh, by the way, the previous owner said, the first owner put a Powercommander on it, and then he handed me the USB cable and software for it. It had also been safetied in October, less than two hundred kilometres ago (paperwork included), so while I didn't buy it safetied, it shouldn't be difficult to do. The bike has fifty thousand kilometres on it, but I then discovered that the first owner did two extended trips to Calgary and back (10k+ kms each time) - so even though it's got some miles on it, many of them are from long trips that produce minimal engine wear. After giving it a clean the bike has no wonky bits under the seats or anywhere else. I cannot wait to get riding it.
So, here I am at the beginning of a new era with my first European bike. I've finally picked up a Triumph from the other side of the family tree (the bike and automobile manufacturing components of Triumph split in 1936), and I've got a bike I'm emotionally engaged with. It might even be love! Like the BMW I rented in Victoria, the controls seem to fit my hands and feet without feeling cramped and the riding position is wonderfully neutral. When I'm in the saddle my feet are flat on the ground - just. Best of all, I don't look like a circus bear on a tricycle on it. With the Concours officially decommissioned and awaiting (what are hopefully) the last parts it needs before being road worthy again, it's time to update the blog header:
What's next? The Concours will be sold with only a modicum of sentiment, the Tiger will be safetied and on the road (it cost $90 a year more than the Concours to insure), and I'll enjoy having an operational, trustworthy machine made in the same place I was with lots of life left in it. The fact that it was getting me thumbs up and one guy stopping to say what a nice bike it was when it was on the trailer on the way home doesn't hurt either. Riding a tiger has a certain magic to it. When I want to turn a wrench I'll work on the XS, getting it rolling again for the first time in years. I'll get the ownership sorted on it (affidavits are required!) and eventually sell it without losing a penny, and then I'll go looking for my next project bike. Maybe a scrambler Versys, maybe an old Interceptor, maybe something I haven't thought of yet.
Time for some unbridled Tiger enthusiasm!
Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire? And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain, In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp! When the stars threw down their spears And water'd heaven with their tears: Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
