BURNING MY BUTT OFF, Part 2 – New
        York City to Sturgis in 36 hours
          DAY 2:
        The alarm clock wakes me up at 6 AM local time, 7 AM Eastern. The sleep
        felt good, but I’m still a bit tired. I’ve got 13 ½ hours to ride
        another 700 miles. The Weather Channel is talking up tornadoes, hail, and
        severe thunderstorms in Nebraska and South Dakota this afternoon. SOUTH
        DAKOTA! Suddenly, this doesn’t seem like such a hot idea. The room key
        is still stuck in the door, left there all night. I must have been
        exhausted. I check the sticky lock again and it’s still difficult. ½
        hour later, the bike is
        loaded and I’m ready to go. Shortly after 8:30 AM Eastern Time,
        just 24 hours from my start, I cross the Mississippi River. I’m 1080
        miles from home, and now I’m really out west.
          Gas Stop #7:
        I’ve run out of gas again, with the bike sputtering as I approach exit
        183 in Minnesota. I’m beginning to realize that a GS may not be the
        best motorcycle choice for long distance highway riding. Yeah, now you
        tell me. I’m not even close to my scheduled stop at exit 159, the
        intersection of I-90 and I-35. And I’ve only got 192 miles on the trip
        odometer! What the hell happened? My mileage has gone to crap, that’s
        what happened. This increasingly harsh head wind from the coming storm
        front has killed my range, along with the 70-MPH speed limit. But
        luckily there is a Cenex station just off the exit. I coast up to the
        pumps.
          The bike takes on 5.206 gallons. Obviously, there is some fuel left,
        just not in the right half of the tank. Some locals notice my New York
        license plate and ask me which direction I’m headed. When I say west,
        one fellow mentions that’s too bad. Yeah, tell me about it. When I got
        on the bike at the motel the sky was clear. Now the clouds are filling
        in and the wind is getting ridiculous.
          Near Alden, at exit 146, I pass the first sign for Wall Drug. There
        will be many more to come for the eclectic stop, many hundreds of miles
        from here. The signs will help me fight the boredom of the interstate.
        But right now I’ve got more serious matters to consider. I realize
        with this wind and my increased speed, there is no way I can keep to my
        scheduled 200-mile intervals. I’ll need to add another fuel stop if I’m
        going to make it. But the extra stop time might be trouble.
          Gas Stop #8:
        With only 115 miles on the trip odometer I make an unscheduled stop.
        This leaves about 450 miles to Sturgis, and I’ll make my new fuel
        interval every 150 miles. And now I don’t need to worry about my
        mileage or running out of fuel again. The wind is turning quite
        torturous, with gusts well over 30 MPH. I’m running straight west now
        and the gale is hitting me from the southwest. I feel like I’m Joe
        Frazier, getting slammed around by George Foreman, my head getting
        bounced from side to side.
          Gas Stop #9:
        With about 300 miles left, I stop in Mitchell, South Dakota. Since 1892
        Mitchell has boasted what no other town can duplicate: the Corn
        Palace. Artfully arranged corn, grains, and grasses make up the
        facade of this huge exhibition hall, which is capped by colorful domes
        and turrets. The Corn Palace’s exterior design changes every fall. My
        friend Lydia Fitzgerald told me about this place during my trip last
        year, but I was nowhere near it. I stop for a quick photo op, but there
        is no time for a tour. Anyway, I’ll be back in August on my way home.
          At the Texaco station, my American Express card gets rejected at the
        pump. I’ve been waiting for this to happen, but I actually think the
        pump is the problem, not my card. With all the dust flying around the
        card reader probably doesn’t work. And I had a nice long chat with
        AMEX about my charge habits before I hit the road. I told them that if I
        had problems using my card, I’d just start using my Visa instead. I
        think they got the message.
          When someone steals your credit card, the first thing they do is buy
        some gas with it. If you haven’t reported it stolen, and the fuel
        purchase works, the thief continues the buying spree. When the credit
        card computers see lots of little purchases at gas stations, they get
        suspicious and automatically reject the card. I walk inside the station
        and ask the lady behind the counter to run it through again. She asks if
        I’ll be able to pay if the card doesn’t work. EXCUSE ME! I suggest
        that perhaps I should go buy my gas somewhere else. That shuts her up
        real fast.
          Near milepost 260, I cross the Missouri River. I’ve
        reached the Badlands and the sky looks pretty bad too. The rain
        begins but it’s just drizzle right now. Cattle huddle around road
        signs, like they know something I don’t. I’m expecting a weather
        disaster, with clouds swirling around me, but somehow I miss the worst
        of it. At milepost 190 I cross into Mountain Time.
          Gas Stop #10:
        This Amoco station, at exit 163 in Belvidere, was originally supposed to
        be my 9th stop, but at least I’m back on the plan. With
        1,617 miles on the GPS odometer and less than three hours till my 36
        hour window is up, I decide to play it safe, just in case. I’ll still
        try for Sturgis, but I wouldn’t want to miss out on my BunBurner
        qualification when I’ve already made it. I’ll get an end witness
        right now. Francis, the station manager and the only person around for
        miles, is happy to sign my form.
          Down the road a bit, I have to stop in Wall for another
        photo op, and some ice cream too. Actually, you have to stop at Wall
        Drug if you’re traveling across I-90 in South Dakota. It’s the law
        now. If the highway patrol finds out you drove past Wall without
        stopping you will be arrested immediately. (Okay, that last part is
        complete bull.)
          The Storm:
        I’m about 35 miles away from Sturgis, just east of Rapid City, and the
        clouds coming out of the Black Hills are looking like Moses is getting
        ready to part the Red Sea. Or maybe alien spaceships are about to invade
        earth. Either way, I wasn’t thinking too hard when I planned a late
        afternoon arrival to this area. Storms
        like this are rather common around here, but that doesn’t help me
        right now. This weather is surreal. Lightning blasts out of the swirling
        darkness that floats above me. This is not good. I took the rain liner
        out of my jacket at Wall, because I was getting a little warm. Man, was
        that a bad move or what?!? I’m not going to make this. I need to seek
        shelter right now.
          Up ahead, I see two other riders huddled under what must be the only
        overpass for miles. The Harley and Honda are riding together from
        Illinois. Just as I turn off the ignition the rain hits. And then comes
        the hail. It’s actually hailing and I’ve got less than an hour on
        the clock! I can’t believe this. I’ve come so far, and I’m so
        close to the finish, but if I don’t get moving soon I won’t make it.
        As soon as it lets up a bit, I leave the shelter of the overpass and get
        moving. The downpour continues through Rapid City, with lots of water on
        the road, and some construction to make things even more interesting.
        Somebody up there doesn’t like me. But the bike is steady and sure,
        and it’s not about to let me down. We make it through.
          The End:
        I’m already grinning as I see the Sturgis exit. But it’s short lived
        as I pull down the ramp and see
        this sign. ROAD CLOSED. You’ve got to be joking. The Exxon station
        is just over there. I make my way through the detour, and I’ve made
        it. The final receipt tells me I had 15 minutes to spare. Talk about a
        close call. Laura Zylstra, a local girl working behind the counter is
        happy to be my first witness. When I check into the Best Western next
        door, I find witness number two. Stephen Myers, a BMW rider from
        Arizona, is here getting his 1990 R100GS/PD repaired, after a breakdown
        this afternoon near Hill City. Someone, it seems, had a tougher day than
        I did.
          CLICK HERE to see some statistics from the ride.