“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”
-- Ernest Hemingway

Sleeping more than 3 or 4 hours felt luxurious; sleeping 7 felt down-right decadent. For once, I was leaving a hotel while their breakfast area was open, so I grabbed a couple bananas and an untoasted bagel for later.

42) REST2 - 4,800 pts

23:39-07:51 EDT

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This segment:	244 miles, 11h57m
Total:	2,071 miles, 48h20m
Time Remaining:	13h10m
Points scored:	45,746

Loading up the bike, I topped off the fuel tanks, setting the GPS and Waze to the next destination. I didn’t really pay much attention to the routing back in Tulsa, but as I rolled north into Colorado, I realized “hey wait a minute… isn’t this the Million Dollar Highway?!” Sure enough, I was about to hit one of the top motorcycle roads in the west, if not the country!

First though, I had to pass through Durango, Colorado. It always reminds me of a smaller, slightly more “lived in” version of Moab, and as I hit city limits, I remembered that IBA member (and all around Good Dude) Steve Kotlarz and his wife own a EconoLodge here, and I wondered if maybe I should’ve tried to stretch yesterday and just stayed at their place, given them some business.

I was pondering this minor bit of logistics as I rolled through downtown Durango on US-550, and I spotted Steve’s establishment ahead on the right… and who is that on the sidewalk? Is that Steve, in his riding gear? I blinked, then pulled a u-turn. I just had to say hi!

I rolled to a stop, and before I could say anything, Steve exclaimed “There you are! Pull around front, I’m ready to go!” and dashed inside. Did I give Steve my tracking link, and he saw I was riding through town and had decided to ride with me a while? I turned off the bike and hopped off, removing my helmet, curious as to what the plan was. As I did so, Steve popped back out. “Wait.. you’re not Bill… Kerri! What are you doing here?!” We had a good laugh about the mistaken identity - he hadn’t seen my new riding gear, and thought I was a friend he had only recently met who he’d planned to go riding with this morning.

He invited me in for breakfast, and I grabbed a coffee and yogurt, then retreated outside to a patio to chat with he and his wife for a few minutes, catching them up on the IBR news, how my rally was going, etc. We chatted for 15-20 minutes, because while I was on the clock, I also had several hours of slack in today’s schedule, and man what a great story to tell, randomly meeting and stopping for coffee with unsuspecting IBA friends during the IBR! Bill showed up after a bit, and we talked motorcycles for a while, got an update on road conditions ahead of me, and after thanking them profusely for the breakfast, I suited back up - Lisa and Jeff were expecting me in Denver, after all!

What a wild coincidence.. only on the IBR could such a chance encounter have so much meaning. After the disaster of the first 2 days of this leg, I felt restored by the great ride last night, a good nights sleep, and now a lovely coffee break with friends who are also some of the only people who might understand the undertaking in which I was engaged. I was energized and ready for the rest of the day! Now to tackle The Million Dollar Highway.

For years I’ve heard people talk about this amazing road, but I was still floored by what a spectacular ride it was. I stopped a number of times to take photos, to try and take it in and hold on to this memory somehow. Photos, of course, can’t quite capture experiences that last more than a moment. It might be ok to let the moment fade into a vibe, as I know it’s a ride I’ll have to return to again sometime when I’m not on the clock.

Passing through Ouray, CO on the north end of the Million Dollar Highway, I thought of all the other people in the motorcycle world I know who call this patch home. I wondered if they felt about this road the way I feel about the roads near Seattle that similarly defy explanation or description - WA-20 through the North Cascades National Park, or the ride between Asotin, WA on the Snake River, up over the plateau and down to Boggins Oasis at the bottom of the Grande Ronde River valley, or a half-dozen more across islands and through rain forests, past volcanos and across the debris of ice age floods.. would I want to live here myself, someday? Where else would I ever want to live besides where I do now? What place would be better.. could a place be better?

Ponderous thoughts as the road straightened and pushed on towards Palisade, CO, a small community just east of Grand Junction, CO, where my next bonus lay.

43) COPA - Palisade Peaches - Palisade, CO - 1,734 pts

12:51 EDT

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This segment:	224 miles, 5h00m
Total:	2,295 miles, 53h20m
Time Remaining:	8h09m
Points scored:	47,480

I was feeling a bit on the peckish side, ready for a real breakfast, so I did some light Googling and found a Gut Bomb Bingo location back in Grand Junction, just a few miles of back tracking west.

44) I4 - Jersey Mike’s - Grand Junction, CO - 79 pts

13:48 EDT

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This segment:	15 miles, 0h57m
Total:	2,310 miles, 54h17m
Time Remaining:	7h12m
Points scored:	47,559

Tummy full of deli meat and leaf juice, I back-tracked out of Grand Junction to I-70, my next bonus a relatively short hop east to Glenwood Springs past my favorite town names - Parachute.. Rifle.. Antlers.. Silt.. basically naming towns after whatever noun happened to be lying around. At Glenwood Springs, I got off the interstate and headed south a few miles.

45) COCA - Colorado Rocky Mountain School - Carbondale, CO - 1,251 pts

14:23 EDT

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This segment:	100 miles, 1h36m
Total:	2,410 miles, 55h53m
Time Remaining:	5h37m
Points scored:	48,810

As I was leaving, Wolfe Bonham rolled in; he and I would play leapfrog the rest of the day. Getting closer to the checkpoint, I assumed I’d see more and more rally riders, as we converged on the checkpoint just outside Denver.

The weather remained pretty great, and I-70 slowed smoothly. I stopped in Edwards, CO for gas, and had a lovely chat with a woman on a Tiger 800 (one of my favorite bikes!) and while shocked at the enormity of the IBR, she didn’t respond with the usual disbelief that “anyone” would want, let alone could, do such a thing. After giving her one of my stickers, I smiled at the idea that just 24 hours ago I wasn’t sure I could do it, let alone want to do it. What a difference a good night’s sleep and some good riding will do for your attitude!

Onwards… Vail, where I took a nap behind a heated concrete tree planter at 3am that one time… Frisco, where I napped for half an hour on a bench outside a closed gas station… Silverthorne, where I napped in a McDonalds booth… was Colorado just a tour of places I’d napped?! Dropping down Eisenhower Pass, I was flowing with traffic perfectly, and the day couldn’t get much better. I needed to stop for a bathroom break, and set my sights on the rest area and visitors center in Georgetown, CO. Two-thirds of a mile before the exit, however, traffic came to an abrupt halt, just stuck completely, cars in front of me started turning off their engines, always a bad sign. Oh well, time to ride the shoulder to the exit, otherwise we’re gonna have a really unpleasant ride into the checkpoint!

As I was leaving the visitors center (with freshly washed hands!) and grabbing a quick snack from the top case, I was approached by a young woman visiting from India, who asked me to take her photo with the mountains. I was happy to help, although I’m not sure if I took a decent enough photo.

Sliding back onto I-70, traffic was flowing again, and I dropped in behind a sport bike and wiggled through traffic. The sense of freedom and flow was to be short-lived, however, lasting only a mile or two before my TFT screen was filled with a huge amber alert - “Tire pressure not at set point”. I glanced at the TPMS readout and saw my rear tire was at 36psi – low, but not dangerous. Sometimes the sensors in the tire misbehave with big changes in ambient temperature and pressure, and I was dropping down from the pass oh wait, now it’s at 34.. 32… the amber screen flashed to an angry red, “Tire pressure unsafe!” The bike felt squishy as the pressure dropped below 30, and I looked for a safe spot to land. Luckily, I was just approaching an exit, and I gingerly crossed to the right and got the hell off the highway and out of traffic.

Cramped between walls of a gorge, there was nothing off this exit but a parking area between the frontage road and the highway. Consisting of loosely packed gravel and sloping steeply away from the road, I had no choice as my tire pressure dropped to 16psi; this is where we’re doing this! I tried to find the flattest spot I could, and shut down the bike.

The back tire was extremely un-inflated, and not immediately seeing the leak, I struggled to get the big GSA up onto its center stand on the sloped gravel. A mother-daughter pair appeared out of nowhere and gave me a hand before disappearing again, and I spun the tire looking and listening for the leak, but couldn’t spot it. I needed to talk out the problem with someone, so I called a fellow rider and explained what I was seeing. “What do you have with you?” they asked, and I immediately remembered I had a small bottle of Dr Bronners castile soap, which I could use to find the leak.

I don’t remember if my JBR partner Nick called me or I called him; he was riding in the rally as well, and we’d traded a few check-in calls over the past few days. As we were chatting, the soapy water I was pouring over the tire started bubbling in one spot; I had found the gnarly gash in the rear tire.

“Oh fuck” I said, “it looks bad.” Before hanging up, Nick suggested “Are you in a safe place? Maybe call Lisa and let her know you’re ok in case someone spots you stopped?”

One thing you really don’t want to do is call Lisa with some minor problem you can probably solve yourself. Still.. I dialed. As I started explaining “I’m ok, it’s fine, I’m good” my brain and mouth disconnected. I don’t know, maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe I was just moving fast, but my explanation was garbled. I hung up thinking “great, now Lisa thinks I’m useless, too.” I had the tools to fix the problem right here, I just wanted to keep people informed!

Nick called me back. It was 4:50pm; if I needed a new tire, I was gonna have to think fast. “Hey, you’re gonna need a new tire! Wendy is right here, what do you need?” I passed on my tire specs, and the request was relayed. “Mike will be right there.. oh, and someone posted a distress call on Facebook!”

Great. Now everyone knows I’m an idiot. I breathed, and sipped a little water, and a little of an energy drink; plenty of time to make it to the checkpoint. Just work the problem; worry about what people think of you later.

A big cruiser rolled up; Matthew Rutledge, who lived nearby, was keeping tabs on the rally and saw the Facebook post, and came running. I showed him the gash in the tire, and while poking at it, Mike Loomer rolled up in his truck. Wendy’s better half, apparently he was heading east to the checkpoint anyways when Wendy called him.. so 5 minutes after I talked to Nick, I’ve got 2 people on the scene to help, and Wendy is off racing to the local motorcycle shop to find a tire for me before closing.

I showed Mike the gashed tire, and together we poked around at it a bit. In doing so, we realized that even though it looked completely smoked, the gnarly part of the damage was in the tread block; the actual puncture, while at an angle, was relatively small. “A plug should get you into the checkpoint,” he said. Wendy called from the cycle shop; she’d gotten them to stay open a few minutes late, and wanted to confirm which of the available tires would work. They didn’t have my preferred tire, but had an Anakee Adventure available. I’ve ridden on them quite a bit so trusted the rubber, and besides, beggars can’t be choosers, right?

Plugging the tire went smoothly; I got the hole reamed out, and a single worm plug was holding air. I hadn’t actually had to plug a tire during a ride before, just at like demos and the like. Mike was great, just answered a couple questions I had, but otherwise let me do the work. “Just tell me if I’m about to do something REALLY dumb, ok?” I jokingly said. Tire patched, He offered to follow behind me into the checkpoint, in case the plug failed, and Matthew rode along side into the hotel.

50 miles to go. I took it nice and slow, staying 5 under the speed limit, not feeling confident in testing the structural integrity of a plugged tire. Every bump, every little rut, I wondered if the glue and physics would suddenly stop working and fling wide the interior of the tire again, spilling me onto the interstate in the process. Of course, I didn’t die, and I rolled smoothly into the parking lot, with enough time to tackle the repair before heading into scoring. Wendy rolled over the fresh tire, and a literal pit crew descended upon me and the bike, pulling the punctured carcass off and wedging fresh rubber into its place.

Tire issue solved, I popped inside to do my paperwork, loving the AC. There was no place to sit outside scoring except by the checkin desk, and while juggling paperwork and binders folks kept stopping by to make sure I was ok; apparently the Bat Signal was effective in alerting everyone.. but I didn’t feel like anyone thought I was useless, just… support? Commiseration? It might sound a bit cornball, but seeing the community around the rally coming to my aid was just… humbling. Thank you, everyone.

…of course, I didn’t really have time for chit-chat, since I had scoring to do. While it was lovely to see folks concerned, the conversations did trigger my ADHD to overlook claiming my TRK2 tracking bonus; if it isn’t on your claim sheet, you don’t score it.. so I dropped 1,000 points. Ugh… ugh!

Time to rest. I headed up to my room, showered, changed into pajamas, set the alarm for 3:25am for breakfast and Leg 3 packets at 3:45am… and promptly passed out. Goodnight, Leg 2.