Marshall IL – Wagon Mound NM
Thu Jun 30, 2022
(~1277 miles)

I laugh because I must not cry, that is all, that is all.
― Abraham Lincoln

I’d gotten a solid little nap in on the picnic table near Marshall, and my body grudgingly agreed to start moving again. Without further delay, I started up the bike, glanced over my route and tire pressure, and continued across the Illinois farmlands on I-70 as the day dawned. I must have still been a bit dull-headed because I missed my exit at Vandalia – BOTH exits actually! Luckily, I found a handy turnaround four miles past rather than the full 16 it would’ve taken to the next exit and back.

US 51 led me about a mile south into the still-sleeping main street of Vandalia, where I found the next Madonna of the Trail bonus BPI03. After securing the bonus I pulled ahead a bit and futzed with the GPS, while another rider arrived at the bonus. I didn’t recognize who it was for sure, but I shot a salute as I got underway.

Wheeling a u-ey, I turned back north on US 51 and kept going past the interstate for a good 30 miles or so to the town of Pana. It’s harder to find a quick stopping spot in such open terrain in daylight for a nature break, so the porta-potty I spotted at construction zone in town was convenient and served the purpose. You could tell that Pana grew up around the railroad, because the main route through town led me on several turns in order to cross the tracks. I then turned onto ruler-straight IL 29 heading northwest.

Taylorville was my destination for this short jog to the north of I-70. Morning traffic was picking up a bit, but you could hardly call it rush hour in this charming little countryside town. I cruised in around 07:00, putting my kickstand down near the county courthouse at the town square. It was a pretty morning and the town center was peaceful and neatly landscaped. Here I found my sixth (and favorite) statue of Abe Lincoln, standing on the corner of the courthouse grounds with a cute little pig – bonus BPR10.

While I was taking the shot, a groundskeeper working on the well-tended lawns and flowerbed came over to see what I was doing and we exchanged a few pleasantries. I told him about the scavenger hunt and that he could more than likely expect to see more bikes stopping here throughout the day!

Having completed my little northern detour for this bonus, I took IL 48, another ruler-straight diagonal highway leading southwest. That brought me to the I-55 south towards St. Louis. I was aware of being low on fuel, and when I finally dropped to one bar on the gauge, I had just passed an exit with fuel. OK, I’ll just take the next exit, I thought, and pulled up nearby gas stations on my devices to find a likely stop just off the interstate.

The next couple exits looked like rural county roads with no services, so I kept moving, getting a bit more concerned as the miles ticked over. Now already nearing the northeastern edge of the greater St. Louis metro area, you wouldn’t know it from the lack of services! I spotted a sign for Phillips 66 at the Edwardsville exit. I took the ramp and crossed the overpass on IL 143 only to discover… no station! The building was razed and the entire lot was under construction as they appeared to be rebuilding and modernizing the place. Crap, this was cutting way too close – now I was concerned!

There were no other stations (or anything else) close-by off this exit, so I decided to continue down I-55 and aim for one of the next exits. The gauge was still showing over 10 miles left to empty, but when it’s that low it’s really a crapshoot. After getting down the onramp, it was only a half mile before the bike began sputtering and jerking with that too-familiar feeling. My heart sank as I maneuvered to the side before the engine completely quit – I was out of friggin’ gas in the middle of a rally…again! It was about 08:20.

It was pretty warm out and there was a small overpass about 100 yards ahead of me. Getting out of the sun was first priority so I pushed the bike up the shoulder and parked it as far over as possible under the bridge with flashers on, as the trucks and other interstate traffic whizzed by. I doffed my helmet and jacket and checked again on my phone for gas stations – nope, nothing closer than 8-10 miles or so. I was going to have to find help a bit closer or else call AAA.

The small road above my head seemed rural, with no businesses showing on Google except the name of a farm right here next to the highway. Hmmm, a working farm. I’d noticed some heavy equipment activity over there through a break in the treeline while pushing the bike – maybe they’d have some gas to sell me.

I hiked back and hopped over the guardrail, crossed a mostly dry creek, and emerged at the edge of a large field, one of many visible. There were a few big industrial sheds a couple hundred yards away, just off the small crossing road. There was a modern-looking enclosed forklift moving some large pallets of feed or fertilizer into one of the big aluminum storage buildings. I thought, “ah, moving vehicle = person”, and walked over in that direction.

The woman controlling the forklift was totally focused on her task. After she dropped off her current load and came back outside, I made myself plain to see in the big open lot between the buildings and gave her a wave. She powered down and emerged from the cockpit to see what I wanted. I gave her what I hoped was a warm greeting, knowing I probably looked a bit frazzled and out-of-place in my motorcycle pants and boots.

“Hi there! I’m riding a motorcycle and just ran out of gas over here on the freeway. Do you know if there are any gas stations close by?”

She thought a second or two and named a place that didn’t mean anything to me, so I asked, “Is that within walking distance?”

“No, I don’t suppose you would want to walk there, it’s a few miles,” she replied.

“Well, you wouldn’t happen to have any gas you’d be willing to sell me, would you? Just so I could make it to a station?”

She thought a second or two more, saying “Well, just about everything we have here runs on diesel, but I keep a little bit for the lawnmower.”

“That would be really great, if you think you have some! I don’t need too much.”

So she led me over to another nearby building that seemed to serve more of a garage function and found a gerry can with about a gallon of gas still sloshing around inside.

“Where are you, now?” she asked, meaning the bike.

“Literally right under the bridge over here,” I replied, pointing. “Would $20 be OK for that gas? I’ll bring this right back to you after I fill up.”

“Well I hope so!” she said. “Would you like me to give you ride over to the edge?” indicating a little side-by-side runabout vehicle.

“Oh no thank you! I don’t want to put you to any trouble! I’ll be right back!”

I handed her a twenty and trotted off with that precious fuel, back across the field, over the creek, through the tall weeds, and over the guardrail to the bike. I was thanking my lucky stars, while already starting to think about my next moves. I poured in the full amount, then tried the starter a few times, letting it rest in-between. Finally the fuel worked its way in and the engine caught – success! Elated, I brought the fuel can back over the creek, where the farmer was already waiting for me in her cart, saying “Thought I’d just save you the walk.”

I thanked her effusively, then headed back to the bike to gear back up, while taking huge mouthfuls of water after all this running about in the heat. The adrenaline was flowing! Before starting back up, I carefully planned out exactly where the next gas station was and how I would get there. It said about 8 miles away, so I started up and got back out into traffic. Only 20 minutes had elapsed since I’d first sputtered to a stop here, though it felt like at least an hour or more at the time!

Within about 10 minutes, I found gas about a mile off I-270 in the town of Maryville…salvation! Between the two tanks, I pumped 10.4 gallons – pretty much my total capacity. Now that the crisis was over, I felt very frustrated with myself and like quite the fool. I had caught a lucky break stopping where I did near an overpass rather than 5 miles from an exit or crossroads. Doubly lucky with that farmer actually having gas to sell and getting me back on the road again so quickly. I just had to be better about managing my fuel! 🤦‍♂️

I was feeling tired, sweaty and a bit down in the dumps at this point after making such an error. The total damage to my schedule had been minimal, all things considered, but I really needed a mental break to let the adrenaline and low thoughts clear out of my system. Taking a meal break for some hot breakfast food soon would likely help. The next bonus was coming up shortly, so I resolved to take care of that first and then find a place to stop.

Continuing west on I-270, I crossed the Mississippi again, through Ferguson and other northern suburbs of St. Louis, then merged onto I-70 to cross the Missouri River. I took the first exit after the bridge into the town of St. Charles, noticing a nice looking McDonald’s right at the next set of lights. I pulled in to park, but the bonus was very close so after a few moments, I decided to just go grab it first so I could leave my rest refreshed and get straight back onto the interstate.

Taking a right onto Boonslick Rd, I then turned on South Main Street, a surprisingly pleasant and charming historical district. The brick-laid roadway was pretty rough, pocked with bumps and swales. These sent my rear car tire trying to wobble off in random directions as I cruised slowly down the avenue, trying to enjoy viewing the old buildings, shops, and restaurants lining the way. It was very tough to find a level spot to park the bike near the bonus, so I ended up halfway on the flatter sidewalk.

Bonus BEX23 is a bronze statue of frontiersman Daniel Boone, sitting on a stump in the middle of the sidewalk, with his hand raised in greeting. Hailing from North Carolina, Boone’s exploits throughout Kentucky and beyond helped pave the way for western expansion in early America. He settled with his family on a nearby Missouri homestead in the latter part of his life.

I managed to get the bike moving again without falling over on those bricks, and teetered my way down South Main until I found a cross street to circle back onto more modern pavement. The temperatures had continued to rise this morning, and I was feeling sweaty and exhausted from my fuel kerfuffle. Now, about that break! I headed back to that McDonalds, got my meal bonus timer running for XEAT5 around 09:30 local time, and headed in with my laptop and paperwork to get some breakfast.

Enjoying a Sausage McMuffin and coffee while I worked, I checked my timing for the rest of my newly chosen route. With my plan at that moment still to hit Phoenix and Gerlach, time was incredibly tight. I was looking at a two hour cushion before penalties, without any stop time at all. That meant almost no time for a rest bonus, as well as having to make up a lot of time on the road. Now that I’d committed to this course of action earlier on, I had no other options for a competitive finish, so the show must go on!

Knowing I had little time to work with, I noted down a few bailout points and then packed up my stuff. I took a quick walk around the lot to stretch out a bit, and then changed my socks to help reset my mood and comfort for the riding ahead. Then it was back to the grind on I-70 for the long slog across Missouri. The group Spotwalla page’s theme for the day was Harry Potter characters, and my moniker appeared to be Grindelwald. I don’t think things ended too well for him, actually…

50 miles from Kansas City, I turned north on MO 13 for another, much shorter detour north. I rode some 15 miles to the town of Lexington, on the banks of the Missouri. Very low speed limit down the main drag, so I took it easy, looking around to absorb the local vibe a bit. My seventh Madonna, BPI01, is situated at the far and quiet end of town, close to the river which was hidden by foliage, in an odd little plot of land at a disused six-way intersection. One of those roads seemed to be an old right-of-way through someone’s yard, unless you are a Garmin GPS, which tried to take me via that path. Nonetheless, I found her standing proudly and captured my photo just before 13:00.

I headed back down Main Street and fell in behind a local rider on a cruiser style motorcycle, smoking a cigarette. With no helmet or riding gear, this guy was out and about for pure pleasure-riding and in no hurry. He also, unfortunately, appeared to be going the same way as me. At this speed, I was probably stuck behind him for about 10 minutes just getting across the small town. After crossing US 24, we both continued due south on state Highway O, which I had scouted online last night as a scenic and direct route back to the interstate from this bonus. I quickly passed my new riding buddy and enjoyed an open road, beautiful rural scenery, and nice curves as I zipped down to I-70. A small bright spot to cheer me up after a tough morning!

It was quarter to two when I pulled up in front of the city hall in downtown Kansas City for bonus BPR08, another seated Abraham Lincoln and my seventh of the leg. The chain-link construction fence was useful in bracing my rally flag in the stiff breeze already blowing through the city streets in the early afternoon. Multiplier is now lying at 8x.

A few blocks down, I was able to get back on the interstate and out of the Missouri half of KC and across the Kansas River. Besides a 10 minute fuel/nature stop at a convenient service plaza in the median near Lawrence, it was uninterrupted sailing in the hot afternoon sun out to Topeka.

Exiting on 10th Avenue, I covered the three quick blocks on nearly empty streets to the state capitol building, followed by a long walk across the lawn in the blazing sun to nab my next bonus. Although BPR07 makes my eighth Lincoln bonus, it’s my second in a row, meaning it would not increase my multiplier. With my focus on getting to Gerlach still foremost in my plan, there wasn’t time to do any long side-trips or backtracking to rearrange the bonus order and fit a non-Lincoln in between K.C. and Topeka. It was actually a low-point bonus and in hindsight, I probably should have just skipped past it. 🤷‍♂️

Rather than head south through two miles of city traffic, I got right back on I-70 and back-tracked east a couple miles to merge onto the I-470 loop west. South of Topeka, I continued southwest on I-335 for 30 miles to US 56 west out to Council Grove, though wide-open grasslands and ranches. Bonus BPI01 is Madonna #8, standing in a landscaped park area bordering the busy intersection with KS 177. I parked in the end of the driveway for the little historical museum next door and hoofed it over to grab my photo.

Heading south on KS 177 now for several miles, there was some nice hilly pastoral scenery. I’d seen some signs indicating that I was apparently passing through the prairie lands of the famed Flint Hills region. I guess any incline is a hill in Kansas? Quite a nice section to ride, compared to the rest of the state I saw today.

I picked up US 50 near Strong City and would remain on this iconic road for the rest of my long journey across Kansas. It was my first time on this section of 50 and interesting to look at for a while. But the sun was absolutely baking me in my helmet and it was just miles and miles of flat prairie and farm lands, as far as the eye could see. The wind was strong and steady – not gusting, but just enough of a constant pressure to require that much more effort to operate the motorcycle. Sort of like a bad headache lingering in the background, wearing you down. The boredom was (barely) interrupted occasionally by passing through some some small crossroads community or other. On the bright side, the speed limit is a reasonable 70mph and there are plenty of passing zones to get by slower vehicles.

After perhaps 100 miles of this, Garmin led me off 50 and into the city of Hutchinson on 4th Ave, after making a pass by the small airport outside town. Cruising many many blocks into the downtown area, I parked by the curb and fought the wind to get my snap of BPR01, my ninth Lincoln (9x multiplier), with Honest Abe standing high up on a squared stone column. I’m thinking this one might be tough to capture at night.

Crossing the Arkansas River and through South Hutchinson brought me back to US 50 again. More grass, wind, heat. In the small town of Stafford, I pulled in for fuel at a Cenex station and bought cold water to refill my RTIC thermos as well. At least I was staying hydrated! Shortly after, I caught and passed by another rally rider cruising west, giving them a wave.

On the approach to Dodge City, I grew a bit more alert and interested as I was eager to see what this famous town from the lore of the wild West looked like these days. Turns out I really didn’t see much of it. I diverged from US 50 to skirt just south of the main downtown area on a divided four-lane boulevard. Bonus BCL07 falls into the ‘Culture’ category of founding fathers in the rally book, being a statue of famous lawman Wyatt Earp. The statue was on the corner of an intersection that offered no flat places to park, so I pulled into the lot of a nearby restaurant, with that other rider pulling in behind me as I headed over to get my photo.

I don’t remember the rider’s name (sorry!) but we had a quick chat after getting our photos, sharing how cool it was to be in  historic Dodge City. He was planning to take his meal bonus and perhaps find a hotel for the evening here in town. I wished him a safe journey, got back into the saddle, and continued west on Wyatt Earp Blvd to rejoin US 50 while he headed into town. It was about 19:30 local time.

In another 50 miles, just after skirting Garden City, there was short detour off US 50 due to some construction, but I was back on the highway within a few miles. I could just smell Colorado getting closer, and I could not wait to be done with Kansas at this point. However, sometimes as your destination gets closer, it seems even further away. Up ahead there were ominous dark clouds on the horizon, visible even against the coming night. Pulling up the My Radar app on my phone, I could see that I was in for some wet weather by the state line and pretty severe weather at that.

The next 80 miles across western Kansas into Colorado turned out to be some of the most harrowing riding of my life. As I motored west, I could see a big storm lying ahead and just to the north, a solid grey mass from sky to ground, with lightning streaking all around it. It seemed to be staying north of the highway so I just hoped to avoid a direct hit. However, as I got south of it, the winds coming off the storm started to batter me. Hard. I was getting pushed all over my lane as the gusts grew in frequency and intensity, and it felt like a monstrous presence just sitting there in the fading twilight. It had my full attention, as I scanned what remained of the horizon for any of the signs I’ve heard about that might indicate tornadic activity. Not that I’ve ever seen one, but I figured if I saw any material objects going up or sideways instead of obeying gravity, that would be a good telltale sign.

I tried to take a screenshot or two of my phone screen to show the radar, but my fine motor skills were no match for the crosswinds. I’ve included images and hail reports off the web for the Lamar CO area that evening (courtesy http://www.interactivehailmaps.com). It was hard to imagine I’d just come from mild sunny evening weather during my stop in Dodge City.

In wide-open country, darkness was coming on, and there was nowhere to hide from the weather. When I passed through the few small communities that lined this stretch, the buildings along the road offered a temporary windbreak. I pulled over briefly to get my wits about me in one village, but didn’t really see any place to really hunker down. It wasn’t raining on me, just mostly a lot of wind. All I could think was to keep going and get the storm behind me before it decided to drift south across my path.

On one of the long open stretches, an unexpectedly strong gust finally carried me completely into the (empty) oncoming lane, and I managed to bring it to a stop in the opposite breakdown lane, scarcely able to believe it. Luckily, I was almost the only vehicle on the highway at this point, certainly the only one on two wheels. I couldn’t just sit here on the shoulder, so I got moving again, but now with only enough forward momentum to keep from falling over. I straddled the white line back in the westbound lane with my flashers on, wobbling along in the 30-40 mph range.

For miles I trundled along US 50, watching the monster to my right, hanging on to the handlebars, and staying well out of the way when the occasional car did pass. Some emergency vehicles came screaming by at one point, heading back to one of the small towns I had just gone through, and I wondered what damage had been done. Luckily, I was still only getting a few sprinkles of rain, and no hail where I was.

Needless to say, the rally clock doesn’t stop for severe weather, and I knew this was going to have a major impact on my ability to complete my route. I kept the wheels turning slowly but surely until the winds gradually moved around behind me and even gave me a bit of a push. By then, I was just outside Lamar and I could see that there were more cells forming south and southwest of that city. I hoped to collect my bonus quickly and punch through the weather into something less chaotic.

Coming into Lamar, I was more sheltered from the winds, but the rain started coming down steadily in big heavy drops. Hitting Main Street, I slowly cruised up one block, squinting against pavement glare, and spotted the next Madonna of the Trail along the dark rainy sidewalk.

Bonus BPI09 wasn’t well-illuminated, and it’s never really fun trying to collect a bonus in the rain. I was able to position the bike to get some light on her with the high beams. Then began a frustrating, if now comedic, battle with my flag to try to get the photo taken in the gusty, rainy, darkness. I think I may have actually laughed aloud in disbelief, my situation was so pathetic. If anyone HAD been walking by in this storm, that would have cinched the fact that something wasn’t quite right here with one of the tourists. It was 21:10 local time.

From checking in occasionally on the group Spotwalla page, I knew that another rally rider was here in Lamar, bunking down for their rest bonus. Since I was passing by the Quality Inn anyway, I decided to pull in to see if I spotted them. The lot was busy and I doubt there were any rooms available, given the weather, had I cared to enquire. No riders hanging about in this weather, but I did find a bike that I was pretty sure belonged to Paul Meyers. Not having any imagination at the moment to leave something mysterious for him to find on his bike (and fairly certain I would fall over if I tried to stop in the gravel rear lot), I wheeled around and headed right back out onto US 50 and out of town.

The weather improved as I left Lamar behind and got through to the backside of that violent stormfront, but I was still feeling like I’d gone ten rounds with the champ. It seemed like riding through a downhill tunnel. The dark, the pouring rain and wind, and my own exhaustion all started to come together, heading towards Las Animas. Thankfully, things dry out pretty quickly out west, and I started looking for a spot to nap. The first time I pulled over was a dirt lot near a highway junction, but I couldn’t find a level spot, so I kept going. I crossed the Arkansas River over the Las Animas town line and spotted a few picnic tables off to the left and decided to check things out.

Sure enough, there was a small quiet park on the corner with a few overhead lights and some sturdy-looking tables close to the road. Through the trees I spotted some buildings lit up with a few cars parked and a bit of activity (I’d later discover it was the county Sheriff’s office). I wasn’t really sure if I was supposed to be here, but I needed to rest. I felt sure I’d gain sympathy, if approached by anyone official, with the tale of coming through that storm. I set my timer for a 30 minute nap.

It wasn’t very much rest at all, probably only 10 minutes of uneasy shuteye before jumping back on the bike to continue. So began a pattern of stopping and sometimes resting that would go on for the next few hours, perhaps every 20-50 miles or so. Once I’d gotten through Las Animas and back on the darker roads, my tunnel was there waiting for me again. I made it down through La Junta, where I finally left US 50 behind in favor US 350 to the southwest. Soon enough I started unconsciously slowing down and knew I needed to stop. I passed by a paved pull-out, pulled a uey, and napped on the ground next to the road for another 30 minutes.

Another 30 miles down this lonely highway, I passed another pullout and tried to repeat the process. I lost my balance as I was turning around, going a bit too slowly. Before I knew it, the bike went down gently in the middle of the road. FARK! This was probably the emotional low point of the evening: long couple days in the saddle, beaten up by the weather, trying to get enough rest to continue, and coming to terms with the fact that my new plan was rapidly fading into the realm of impossibility. Topped off with now having to pick my bike at midnight in the middle of nowhere. Oh and memories of running out of gas this morning also came flooding back, which was super-helpful in making me feel better. 🙄

Although it felt like much longer, my GPS track says I was halted for all of six minutes at that spot, a bit north of Delhi CO. Adrenaline kicks in, after all, and I couldn’t just let the bike lay there in the road, despite there being no sign of any vehicles. Huffing and puffing, I got he bike back up, let it rest a couple of minutes, and then felt SO relieved when it started back up again. There was no more need to sleep at the moment, after all that excitement, so on I rode.

That little bit of excitement bought me another 20 miles to a large paved pull-out near the abandoned village of Model, where an informational sign about the Santa Fe Trail stands. I parked, set my timer, and conked out for another solid 30 minute nap. When I awoke, another four-wheeled traveler had joined me in this wayside, but was parked at the far end not to bother me. I saddled up and continued southwest, finally reaching I-25 at the city of Trinidad. I was hoping that being on the interstate again would help me keep focus, but my nap had only bought me about 40 miles total, before I was looking for another rest for my eyes. I pulled off an exit for Fisher State Park and wandered around the ramps for a bit looking unsuccessfully for a place to stop. OK, keep moving then, another 7 minutes just wasted.

At this point, I was seriously considering getting a hotel room at the next big town and just taking a rest bonus. My ship to Gerlach had definitely sailed by now. I really had no backup plan for a competitive finish (hell, this plan had barely been a plan!), but maybe I could still make it down as far as Phoenix then cut north from there to pick up bonuses in Colorado on the way into Cheyenne. Trouble was, I didn’t know how much rest this revised plan would allow me – I was just musing about all this on the fly.

I crossed into New Mexico and pulled off the highway into Raton, where there was a Quality Inn. Sitting in a parking lot of a closed restaurant, I pulled up the hotel in my phone app to actually make a reservation, and saw that the price was something ridiculous, like twice what a hotel like this should be. I’m not sure if it was the price that made me decide to keep going at that point, or the fact that I like “making time” on the empty highways at night, or maybe even knowing that it would be light out in  three hours or so and much easier to stay focused. I was certainly considering how much time is wasted when checking into a hotel etc… so much quicker to just lie down again by the road, even if I take a longer rest next time… OK, let’s keep it going then!

And made it about 10 miles to a rest area, where I pulled in to nap. There were nice stone pavilions here, each with a picnic table beneath, which made for good shelter for a rest. This time, I did not set a timer and ended up snoozing for a full hour – a downright luxury! I hoped this longer break would allow me to be done once and for all with the constant stopping and delays. But about 60 miles later, I pulled into another rest stop past the village of Wagon Mound just past 04:00, and took a final 30 minute nap.

The total distance from Lamar to this final rest area is about 250 miles, which might normally take 3.5 hours at interstate speeds. On this night, I covered that distance in just under eight hours. If that isn’t hitting the wall, it’s pretty damn close to it. My long-shot newfangled leg plan had sailed way off target. The pooch was having a whiskey and smoking a cig, cuz she’d sure enough just been screwed.

BONUS STOPS: 10