Ray's Iron Butt Ride #7
SaddleSore #4
1,043 miles, 19 hrs 6 min
April 18-19, 2024
SaddleSore 1000 = 1,000 miles in 24 hours
"Ray, as I have said before, you are an inspiration to all of us!" -Michael Kneebone, President and Founder: Iron Butt Association - "World's Toughest Motorcycle Riders"
Ray, Your ride has been approved and entered into the Iron Butt Association's certification database. Our pleasure Ray. Congratulations, stay safe out there, and thanks for being a Premier Member.
My objective for this seventh Iron Butt ride was to follow my previous IB route, but in the opposite direction.
I saw a UFO during the ride (in jest). It was a mere ten feet over my head, and I got a photo.
The ride was difficult, but extraordinarily beautiful. Riding nineteen hours straight was rather tough, but I had so much fun!
An Iron Butt ride begins at the first gas station, with a Dated Business Receipt (DBR) showing the date, time and location. The rider photographs the DBR against the bike's odometer, as an indication of the running mileage. These photos are required for an Iron Butt certification.
After taking a photo of El Vaquero, a truck pulled up and a lady asked where I was from. "Quemado" I replied.
Where's that?" She asked.
"Its a small town in New Mexico, close to the western border" I said. "Are you from here in Artesia?"
"No, we live in Carlsbad."
"Plenty of oil wells in the region," I commented.
"Oh Yes, you bet!" she said.
"What do you think of them; good or bad?" I asked.
"Oh, very good!"
"Plenty of jobs for the locales, all aright," I remarked.
And that's a thing about small towns, where people are not afraid to talk to strangers.
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Today's route was longer because I got lost. My GPS started going whacky at the same place as before (Just south of Carlsbad, New Mexico) and started routing me wrong. I parked the bike and shut off the engine, and shut off the GPS to reset it. On the road again, the GPS was telling me to follow Highway 62. I had no paper maps, and there were no road signs along Highway 62 for umpteen miles. I knew I was off route but didn't know where, until coming to something I recognized: Whites City.
From Whites City I followed the 652 and encountered numerous construction delays and heavy traffic caused by the oil workers getting off work in the late afternoon. My lost-in-space re-route was incredibly busy with traffic, and I lost a great deal of time.
The Cowboy Boots sculpture reminded me of the boots I wore during the summers as a kid working and living on my Grandfather's ranch. They weren't too comfortable, but like most cowboys I wanted to fit the image; and I thought: "you'll get used to them after a while." And that's the thing about we humans - with practice we'll get used to almost anything. But hiking in cowboy boots? No!
Highway 285 from Pecos to Fort Stockton was fairly clear, and I made good time. After getting gas, I followed I-10 heading west in very light traffic.
After getting gas, a woman approached saying she needed help. Seems that her truck and trailer were stuck with a large rock between the two. It's was hard to imagine how she did that, but I walked over and helped guide her with hand signals. A few minutes of that, and we were making no progress, so I left her to find someone else with a clearer less-fatigued mind. As I was pulling away, I saw that she found someone else, and she returned my wave.
While approaching the small city of Socorro, New Mexico, in the black of night - 1:30 AM - driving on the I-25 highway at 75 MPH, an airplane flew directly overhead with a startling roar. It was a small, two engines aircraft, and it was only a few hundred feet above me. It must have been about to land on the Socorro airfield, very nearby. The timing struck me as odd. This airfield was not busy with air traffic, and and I rarely ride this part of the highway. And yet, here we were, crossing paths at that exact moment. It happened here.
The station across the street gave the needed DBR receipt.
Motorcycling the I-60 from Socorro back to Quemado, I wasn't too tired, but like the stretch of highway before, I had to watch for animals on the road. Near Datil, New Mexico, I had to slam on the breaks when a jack rabbit ran across the highway in front of me. So much for my theory that they never cross the road.
And about five miles east of Datil, I saw elk browsing at the side of the road. Seven of them in two groups - at 2:30 AM - in the back of night. I love the elk and seeing them always brings me happiness. And its seems like I see these same animals in the same place, every time I pass through at night.
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