Richland MI – Pittsburgh PA
Thu June 29 – Fri June 30, 2023
(~1976 miles)

Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.

– Jack Kerouac, On the Road

Based on last night’s routing session, ending my REST4 bonus at 02:00 CDT would put me at the finish in Pittsburgh at 07:52 EDT the following day, just minutes before the penalty window. This was cutting it too close, but I had needed these four hours of sleep to ensure I could keep riding safely. Indeed, I was feeling much better compared to when I had arrived here after yesterday’s hellish ride through the Texas inferno, though that’s not saying much.

By the time I washed up, packed up, and rode back to the gas station, I clocked out of my rest bonus about 02:15, already running late out of the gate! I pushed south through southern Mississippi on US 49 towards Hattiesburg in those wee hours, feeling pretty good and excited to be embarking on the final push of the rally. I pinged Steve Giffin to see how he was faring after the horrors of Dallas-Fort Worth yesterday, but he wasn’t responding so I hoped I hadn’t disturbed him resting.

Char called to chat pretty early since she’d be driving out to Pittsburgh later today, to be at the finish tomorrow morning. While we were talking, I hopped on to I-59 to circle around Hattiesburg and I ended up missing the important exit for US 98 that would shoot me over to Mobile, Alabama. Shit, still gotta pay attention! We disconnected so I could remedy this situation.

The next exit was seven miles, so I kept an eye peeled in the pre-dawn gloom for reflectors indicating a service cut-through to the northbound side. I spotted one after about four miles, quickly slowed down and turned in, though there really wasn’t any traffic to speak of still at this hour. Only after my headlights illuminated the bumpy, rutted, dried mud incline up to the other lanes did I realize my mistake.

The state of Mississippi clearly doesn’t care about keeping these utility lanes in drivable condition for anything except 4×4 vehicles or dump trucks. Stopping to gauge the terrain, I wasn’t sure if I could make it, but I was already pointing in that direction so figured I’d give it a try. Watching the oncoming traffic, I waited for a lone car to pass by, then gunned it….and promptly dug the bottom of the motorcycle cowl into the soft rutted earth.

I tried to keep the bike up, then realized it was a losing proposition and allowed it to tip over. Luckily, it went over very gently on the soft dirt and none of my own body parts happened to be in the way. Double-shit! Adrenaline shooting into my system, I forced myself to step back a moment and take a look. The bike was at an awkward angle on the uneven slope, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to remove the luggage to get out of this.

It was a bit stressful and embarrassing being suddenly stuck in the highway median with bright LED lights advertising my presence even though there were few vehicles coming along the road at this hour. What do they say about one bad decision following another? After a few deep breaths to calm myself, I managed to lift the bike to upright position, then tried to walk/throttle it up the slope, sweating with the strain.  Nope, the rear wheel just spun and there wasn’t enough solid ground to stand on to guide it up the steep, albeit short, incline.

Giving up before I hurt myself trying to manhandle a 900 lb fully loaded motorcycle, I managed to roll the bike backwards to the bottom and get it partially turned around. Mounted it back up, breathing hard now, and shot back out onto the southbound lanes, heading to that next exit with my tail tucked. Not an auspicious beginning to my last day of the rally!

I zipped back north from the turnaround exit and got back on track, cruising east on US 98 as the day’s first light touched the skies. The remainder of Mississippi was covered without incident, and I rolled easily through the city of Mobile, Alabama around 05:15. I crossed the bay on I-10, rode another 15 miles or so, then exited south on the Baldwin Beach Expressway towards Foley.

Some morning traffic was starting to clog these local artery roads a bit. Riffing with the GPS, I turned left on a set of county roads, zigzagged my way down to the little town of Elberta, and avoided Foley altogether. The back roads were empty, straight, and quick. I arrived shortly in front of bonus ALEL, my third Roadkill Café and the southeast corner of the big RK combo. I stepped back and snapped the photo, ensuring the mural was included as per the rally book.

You kill it, they’ll deep fry it.

Deep-fried roadkill sounded a far cry from the quick breakfast of Ensure shake and Fig Newtons I pounded in the parking lot while stretching my legs for a minute. But I was so longing for a full meal that I may not have refused such a dish at this point…that racoon in the mural looks rather cheeky!

I’d enjoyed the county road shortcut down here and didn’t want to lose any more time in local traffic, so I improvised again to reverse that route north up to Robertsdale. Then I-10 to AL 59 to US 31 brought me north to I-65, for the blast towards central Alabama. I fueled up just off the exit in Brewton, then it killed me to ride past that mid-value ALBC bonus west of Evergreen. It would have added 30 minutes that I just couldn’t afford.

The rest of Alabama passed by in a blur, just a lot of trees lining the highway corridor, and dealing with some traffic in the Montgomery area on the tail end of morning rush hour. Char called me during her drive out to PIttsburgh and we chatted to help pass the time.

I pulled into a rest area in Tuskegee to use the restroom shortly after passing another rally bike – first one I’ve seen since Owen passed me in New Mexico. I hopped off and trotted to the facilities while spotting that other rally bike coming in for a landing as well. A minute later, I was back at the bike waving farewell to Ricardo Machado, who was taking a break at a nearby picnic table. Nice to know I’m not the only one still this far south! The Georgia state line came up quickly after that, and with it the time zone change to Eastern Daylight time. I’d “lost” an hour, but at least now I didn’t have to trouble my tired brain about calculating the difference with ETAs anymore.

Heading towards Atlanta is always nerve-wracking. The next bonus lies in the small northern Georgia town of Helen, in the mountains by Chattahoochee National Park, so I would have to to deal with the capital city to get there one way or another. Google was trying to take me on the loop highway around the city, but I’d heard the loop can often be worse than the main route, and I wasn’t sure if it has express lanes. I’d been through this city now on a few occasions and have had pretty good luck with the express lane system, so I decided to stick with what I knew. This turned out to be a good call (I think), as I made it through the city from bottom of the 285 to top in about 30 minutes straddling noontime. The downtown stretch where everything merges together presented the only actual foot-down stoppages, which I minimized with some creative use of on-ramp lanes.

North of downtown, I wasn’t sure which device to listen to as one had me exit on GA 400 and the other had had me continuing on I-85 to I-985. So I just picked one and exited on GA 400, an interstate-volume bypass road heading due north to merge with US 19 at the loop. 19/400 brought me up through Roswell paralleling I-895, but on the western side of Lake Lanier. There actually was a Varsity restaurant for Bingo in the town of Dawson along this route, but my timetable was now so tight that even a 5-10 minute “extra” stop seemed foolhardy. Eyes on the prize. I pressed on by it with nary a glance.

I soon parted ways with 19 in favor of GA 115 and stopped to fuel up in the eastern outskirts of Dahlonega. The road was getting smaller, curvier, and there were less chances for passing slower vehicles as I made my way into the hills of northern Georgia. I looped west of Cleveland on a nicely wooded bypass, then crossed US 129 onto some local roads that cut the corner up to GA 75-ALT, along the border of Chattahoochee NP. That hits GA 17 just west of Helen, and within a few minutes, I was pulling into a small gravel pullout across from a roadside farm shack called Fred’s Famous Peanuts, bonus GAHE.

This roadside store opened in 1982 when Fred and Dianne Jenkins started selling boiled peanuts in front of their home.

I got the photo, then headed over to get the receipt required by the rally book description. The two young men manning the sales counter here seemed unsurprised and even enthusiastic to see me, leading me to guess that they’ve seen some of my fellow competitors coming through here over the past couple of days.

“Lemme guess, you want some boiled peanuts, right?”

“How’d you know that!?” I replied with a grin.

“Regular or Cajun?” he asks, and what with his southern drawl combined with my ear fatigue and hearing loss, I had to ask him to repeat that please.

“Oh hell, why not one of each,” I said, having no idea what an order of boiled peanuts entails. I planned to find out this time, rather than just take the receipt and run, this being a regional cuisine and not just fast food.

I paid up for a big steaming plastic bag full of wet peanuts still in their shells, about as big as a gallon milk jug, which I asked them to double-bag for me. It looked and smelled pretty tasty, but I had no time to sample this unfamiliar delicacy at the moment. Into my saddle bag it was stuffed, and I was back on the road in about eight minutes total.

The town of Helen attracts a significant amount tourism, due to it’s self-created identity as a Bavarian town replica, plus its proximity to the beautiful mountains and national/state parks in the area. Many of the buildings have been build to look European, fresh out of a ski town in the Alps. Riding down main street, which seemed the only way through, was a test of patience. Pedestrians were everywhere and crosswalks like every 100 feet, so traffic was stop and go for a good mile and a half.

My water jug had also just come up empty, and it was a pretty warm day out by now, though nothing compared to yesterday’s hell. Once past the congestion, I pulled into a local Circle K and bought a couple big water bottles to fill up the jug before continuing on my way.

“Ain’t you hot in those clothes?”

“Yup.”

Route 17 an US 123 too me many miles east east through Clarkesville to eventually rejoin big I-85 at Lavonia. Shortly thereafter, I crossed into South Carolina and kept that throttle twisted straight across the state and into North Carolina. 85 is not an interstate I’ve taken often, and I couldn’t believe how super-busy it was! Maybe worse than I-95 even, due to the number and frequency of the cites you must pass through. They came and went – Greenville, Spartanburg, Gaffney, Gastonia – all background noise blurred together peripherally beside my single-minded focus on making up time and avoiding even the slightest delay on the way to my next bonus all the way up in Philadelphia.

I sought rabbits out continually, to pull me through the miles under cover of their higher speeds, and there were plenty of them in the Carolinas. I chatted with a couple friends off and on through this long and fairly boring stretch to help pass the time. Char had arrived in Pittsburgh by mid-afternoon and read me updates from the rally blog. I was sorry to hear about some of the serious mechanical troubles other riders had been experiencing in these final hours of the rally.

Hitting the Charlotte area during early rush and then Greensboro right in the middle of it, minor delays were encountered and endured as well as could be expected. I couldn’t wait for night to fall and empty the highways for me! I fueled up quickly in Burlington NC before continuing east and skirting north of Durham around 18:30. Things opened up nicely after that as I finished out North Carolina and made my way northeast through southern Virginia – fewer cities meant more trees alongside the highway and less cars on the road. A much less stressful stretch of riding. Once I crossed the state line and powered off the radar detector to comply with state law, I set the cruise control to a more sedate pace for the next few hours.

I finally hit that big unhappy slab of roadway called I-95 in Petersburg, then continued straight north through the center of Richmond, which wasn’t bad around 20:15. North I pushed as night fell, on past Fredericksburg and into the DC metro area. When looking at this part of the route last night, I had been fairly sure I wanted to take the 495 East Beltway around the loop counter clockwise. However, for some reason I became confused by the signage or listened to one of my devices (I’m looking at you Garmin Zumo XT!) and took the exit just after the Potomac River to head north on I-295. A couple miles into it I realized why this road seemed somewhat familiar – I’d hit some of the worst construction ever during the LDX Rally last year coming the opposite direction! Aw, man! At least that construction project seemed to be finished.

Something really weird (even for Garmin) happened at the junction where I-695 meets I-295, and DC 295 continues on as the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. The GPS had me get on 695, crossing over the Anacostia River towards downtown DC. Wait a second, now I’m not that familiar with the area, but I immediately knew this was not right! Then, as soon as I get to the other side, the GPS tells me to make a U-turn at M Street to head back over the bridge and continue north on 295.

What the AF! I was so confused and frustrated, considering my weary state of mind at the time. I really counted on having smooth sailing through this mid-Atlantic corridor tonight if I had any hope of making it to the finish on time. Alas, this was just the beginning of a series of unfortunate events that the universe (or rallymasters – is there a difference?) had in store…

I regained 295 and realized what a mistake it had been to take this parkway at all. It was just packed with cars, all going 45-50 mph on a road that can clearly handle faster speeds than that. I worked the traffic to get an edge ahead wherever I could, trying to keep that average pace up and avoid slipping that finishing ETA. At least things kept moving, and it got a little better the further out from DC I rode. It  would have been so much easier and less stressful to just stay on 95 around the Beltway and through Baltimore!

Speaking of Baltimore, not knowing any better, I exited on I-895 to take the tunnel under the Patapsco River. Just before the tunnel, traffic ground to a complete halt. And there was no shoulder to ride, nowhere to go. I was S-T-U-C-K. Apparently, they were working on the tunnel tonight and only one lane was open in each direction, so all this traffic was slowly funneling down to that one lane. I had absolutely no choice but to sit and wait, working the clutch hand constantly to edge forward and get myself into that tunnel as soon as humanly possible. TICK. TOCK.

This was an emotional low point for me – a test of patience that called upon every bit of mental fortitude I could muster, especially right on the heels of that crazy wrong turn in DC and the horrible ride up 295. Every mistake and delay grows in proportion in your head, when you’re in rally mode fighting the clock in the final stretches of a big rally like this. I’d already ridden 1300 miles today. The IBR frequently tests riders like this, but for the first time it was a test that I came close to failing, as the minutes ticked by and my finish ETA drifted into the penalty points. And knowing that I still had critical bonuses to gather in Philly and NYC tonight before turning towards Pittsburgh. As the 10 minute mark passed and I still wasn’t even in the tunnel, I felt like giving up and pulling the plug on the rest of my plan.

But really, where was I going to go now anyway? Head towards the finish and miss out on one of the two major combos that I was depending on to salvage my poor routing choice in Denver? I called Char to vent, and shouting a bit about it to a sympathetic ear helped me calm down, or at least clarify my thinking to a degree. Probably didn’t do her much good, though –  love you sweetheart! 😬

No, I stubbornly wouldn’t give in. Finishing on time now just didn’t seem as important if I couldn’t at least push myself to complete this route I had committed myself to back in Montana. I was going to get my first goddamn authentic cheesesteak in Philly and get those f’ing NY bonuses, and then I was going to push hard back across PA for the final Roadkill bonus, come what may – even if it all takes me to the very end of the penalty period.

Finally, I got to the front and joined the slow procession through the dingy 1.5 mile tunnel. After emerging on the other side, I wanted nothing more than to be back on good old reliable I-95 (note the perspective change there? 😍) making miles again. soon enough, I was back on the mother slab and traffic opened up. I tried to make up for lost time but my jubilation was short-lived as I took note of some big construction signs warning of a detour up ahead where ALL 95 traffic would have to exit. What the heck, I can’t have read that right!?

I passed the suggested detour exit for MD 22, and the level of traffic around me went waaay down. It was odd but nothing was stopping me from continuing on, so I did! But as I approached the last exit before the Susquehanna River bridge, apparently the focus of the construction activity, there were barriers enforcing the detour and forcing any remaining traffic off the interstate onto MD 155. No, no, no, no NO! This cannot be happening to me right now!

But yes it was. There was no choice but to follow the detour with gritted teeth and look for shortcuts best I could. I followed 115 down into Havre de Grace and ran into the traffic backup from this detour. All the vehicles, passenger and semi trucks alike, that would normally be zooming through this major I-95 corridor were now trying to get over the river via the US 40 bridge. All the traffic that exited earlier was already on US 40, thus blocking the intersection for us late exit’ers trying to get into position when our light turned green. C’mon now!

I managed to sneak out onto route 40 and across the bridge at last. The next intersection had a turn back towards the interstate, but that road was blocked solid back into the junction. I guessed it would be severely slow-going that way since the GPS was screaming to take it for me and everybody else most likely. So I continued a couple miles further on US 40 until that too came to a  standstill.

Zooming out on the GPS, I spotted another road to the right that looped a mile south parallel to 40 through Charlestown on the shore. Might as well try it! I turned on routes 267 to 7, into the town of North East, which kept me moving. At this point, I could see no further shortcuts to try and was done improvising. I joined the remainder of the detour traffic on MD 272 back north across US 40 and a couple more mile to regain I-95.

Whew, how many wrong turns, closures, and detours could someone possibly handle in one night?! Surely that must be the last! At least now the highway was wide open, so after a quick gas stop at the service plaza in Aberdeen, I zoomed northward across Delaware and into eastern Pennsylvania and the greater Philadelphia area.

As mentioned earlier in this tale, there had been a huge bridge fire on I-95 in Philadelphia just a month or so before the rally that resulted in a hugely publicized and unexpected closure of the major highway right in the heart of the city. I’m sure every rally rider had taken note of it as the rally approached, thinking – “avoid Philly at all costs!” Luckily, I’d gotten wind that they had managed to get a repair in place sooner than expected and re-opened the interstate to traffic. That all turned out to be correct, and I would never have targeted the next bonus at this late stage if that hadn’t been the case.

Drawing my mind back into “urban mode – survive at all costs”, I motored carefully along I-95 into Philly, the night around me ablaze with the city lights, while all the young local speedsters went blazing by, dashing from exit to exit to showcase the prowess of their engines while avoiding the 5-0. I took the indicated exit onto a surface road called Reed Street and rode nine blocks west through the gridded neighborhood layout. Hitting Passyunk Ave, I turned right one block to Wharton and arrived at the famous Pat’s King of Steaks restaurant, which occupies a triangle of property between three intersecting streets.

Despite arriving right around midnight, the outdoor tables at Pat’s indicated they were doing lively business. The surrounding street lanes were bustling with cars double-parked to wait while their occupants jumped out to grab to-go orders. The place was busy but not packed. To secure bonus PAPH, I needed to obtain a receipt for a cheesesteak, in addition to the photo. I pulled to the curb by an open corner and scoped the place out for several seconds, to figure out where I could park and where I had to go. I finally just decided to leave the bike running (as usual) where I was, after maneuvering it to a stable position that was flat enough to use the side stand.

We’re sure you could use a good Philly Cheese Steak by now. Wit or witout.

Snapping the shot and jotting down the time and odo reading, I hoofed it across the intersection, which is actually at the back of the establishment, and circled around until I found the ordering window. There wasn’t even a line. Now, apparently Pat’s is (in)famous for service with a certain attitude, and they expect everyone to know how to “properly” order a cheesesteak sandwich the Philly way, or you get sent to the back of the line. They have a big touristy sign explaining how to do it, but I’d done my research already. Besides, there was no line – what were they gonna do make me run around the block? 🤔

“Large provolone, wit. To go please.” I said to the lady, cash already in hand. She nodded with approval and called out the order.  She’d seen this all before, and I wonder how many IBR riders had been here over the last couple of days already. I was so happy to be handed the warm bag containing a beautiful smelling sandwich in just a couple of minutes, that I almost forgot the receipt. She called me back to hand it to me.

“Don’t want to forget that, do ya?” she said. “It’s the reason you’re here!”

“Not the only reason!” I responded grinning, pointing at the bag and rubbing my stomach.

Back to the bike, and into the pannier went the cheesesteak, right along with the no-longer-hot bag of soggy peanuts that I’d picked up this (yesterday!) morning morning. Wow, was that really just 14 hours ago?!. Turning east down Wharton Street, I made my escape from Philadelphia down several blocks and up to Washington Ave to get back on I-95. OK that wasn’t so bad, but time to keep pushing!

I zipped up the rest of 95 in Pennsylvania, barely even noticing the repaired bridge section, and then over into New Jersey, shortly merging onto the Turnpike, which was mostly empty of traffic at this hour. In Newark, I took I-78 east over the bay and through Hoboken into the Holland Tunnel to cross to Manhattan. I noted some big DOT signs warning about the tunnel being closed westbound overnight, but knew that I’d be crossing back over a bit further north.

The first few minutes after emerging from these tunnels is always dodgy during a rally, waiting for the GPS to reacquire satellite connections (hopefully quickly) before making too many wrong turns. I actually don’t mind if I get a red light there before easing into the gridwork of downtown, so the devices can catch up and not lead me any more astray than usual.

I took West Broadway up to Spring Street, pulling up to the corner in front of Lombardi’s Pizza, bonus NYNY2. Not much going on here at 01:50! I skittered across the intersection to get a decent photo.

Gennaro Lombardi is credited with developing New York Style pizza in the 1900s. Lombardi’s is the first pizzeria in the US and New York Style is still the best pizza anywhere. You can disagree but you would be wrong.

A couple more blocks to hit Bowery, and two more north to East Houston Street, which brought me right out to FDR Drive North. I took that perimeter road several miles up the eastern shore of Manhattan to East 96th Street. Then 1st Ave to 116th to Park Ave. I pulled to the side at the waypoint in a pretty dark area, with the raised Amtrak railroad tracks dominating the median.

Looking up on the walls, I spotted the Stacked Pigs mural I was targeting  to complete the HOGS combo, thousands of miles away from the Flying Pig in Oceanside, CA, which seemed a lifetime ago. My first attempt at a photo didn’t cut it, but I finally managed to get the lighting and exposure correct to see bonus NYNY3 and my flag in the same shot.

Stacked hogs in a market truck.

OK! NYC is done, get me outta here! After looping around a couple blocks, I took 3rd street north back out to the perimeter road, now called Harlem River Drive. I booked it north to I-95 in order to cross back to Jersey via the George Washington Bridge. But. What. The. AF. Is. Happening. Here. All of a sudden I’m seeing signs that the GW is CLOSED, and I’m being forced onto an exit back onto the loop on the west side of the island. Route 9A, which I’m on now, doesn’t have any shoulders to stop, nor easy ways to turn off so I can just take a moment to figure things out. NO NO NO, this is NOT happening (my mantra for the night)!

I am plain knackered at this moment, I don’t know NYC well enough to know what my options are, and I’m almost ready to cry in frustration and weariness. If the tunnel is closed and this is closed, how the hell am I getting off this damn island!? Tick tock, the handbasket containing my rally is getting severely scorched on the bottom.

I putted along in the right lane, with late night speedsters zooming angrily around me, and then took the first exit I came to, which immediately reversed my direction on 9A and looped me back toward the bridge. OK, now think. The entire fucking George Washington Bridge can’t just be closed right now! The sign did maybe say lower level, didn’t it? Is there an upper level that you can take? Yes, there’s a sign for Upper Level, follow those! Slowly so as not to make any wrong turn, I followed the barely-adequate signage and by miracle found myself atop the bridge crossing into New Jersey several minutes later.

Fairly out of my mind with disbelief at all these setbacks and with a fresh dose of adrenaline and anger coursing through me, I beat it down through Newark and picked up I-78 westbound. I had one more critical bonus to pick up before the finish, over 200 miles away, and was waaay into penalties now, with an ETA somewhere around 09:30 I think. Char gave me a call for moral support, having gotten a few hours of sleep at the finish hotel before hanging around to welcome the overnight arrivals. I was in a dark mood again, another low point, convinced that I was going to DNF, but unwilling to just let it go without a fight. Nothing to lose now.

There was a lot of construction happening on 78, and a lot of truck traffic. They were moving more slowly than I, fairly spaced out, and there was really no other traffic to speak of, so I made really good time westbound across the Keystone State in the wee hours of June 30th. Slowly but surely, I pulled back minute after minute on my ETA.

I was charged up and there was absolutely no question about stopping for any kind of nap or rest break tonight. I was so mad, I didn’t need it. A couple well-timed 5 Hour Energy shots started earlier yesterday evening on my approach to the northeast  as well as the distraction of the bonus-hunting in Philly/NYC had gotten me through. Now I sucked on a couple Atomic Fireballs and worked on the last of my chewing gum – really a lifesaver in staving off the sleepies.

78 dumped me onto I-81, and I stopped for my final fuel-up of the rally in Bethel, taking a quick six minutes or so. I kept up the pressure, breezing through Harrisburg and over the mighty Susquehanna. Continuing to arc southwest on 81, the sky slowly brightened, bringing wakefulness but also a reminder that this was the last morning of the rally and time is running out! Near Hagerstown, Maryland I exited on I-70 west out to Hancock, continued west on scenic I-68, practically empty at this hour.

The bonus was up in some middle-of-nowhere countryside just over the southern border of Pennsylvania. I exited in Little Orleans onto a local road that brought me a mile north to cross the state line and became PA 26. The next few miles was actually over very nice twisty back roads, which would be fun for riding at any other time than the moment. Needless to say, I wasn’t feeling at my most agile on the motorcycle at this point in time, and wasn’t doing too much leaning. Well…maybe a little. 😉 I could just picture the rallymasters cackling about all the tired riders hitting this technical roller coaster at the end of their ride and at the end of their rope! I’ma have to come back to ride these roads properly another day!

Riding an arc northwest onto Crooked Run Road in Artemas PA, I pulled into a big gravel lot at one more final Road Kill Café, to complete the big RK combo and wrap up my 2023 IBR bonus-collecting with bonus PAAR. There was a cute little kitty-cat on the woodpile in front of the place, probably wondering what’s with all these early morning motorcyclists disturbing the peace. I hope he’s not on the menu.

You kill it, they’ll throw it in a chowder.

Further, the rally book states: Take a photo of the restaurant building showing either of the “Roadkill Café” signs on the front of the restaurant and your own face with your helmet off. Yes, we want a selfie photo here. Your rally flag is not required for this photo.

OK, hold my beer.

I’ve been thinking about approaches to the Pittsburg finish since my work trip earlier this month, before the rally even started. During my last routing session in Richland (seems like days ago), I’d looked carefully at the routing from this bonus to Rally HQ, because it seemed the default was to head back east to I-70 and then I-76 straight over and through downtown. I didn’t like the idea of heading away from the finish at all. Based on my scouting, I also wanted to avoid the bottlenecks getting through the tunnels and downtown Pittsburgh.

However, with the situation being late as it was, I was willing and ready to do anything Google said would get me to the finish fastest. I pulled up the finish hotel waypoint and Google flashed something about there being traffic delays and would I like an alternate route? Sure fine, yes! Go east on I-68 through Maryland. OK, let’s do it.

Leaving the café behind me, I continued on this whoopty twisty loop back down to I-68 and booked it west. Surprisingly, Google did not take me north on US 219 like I’d assumed, but continued a bit further on 78 to split me off in a northwesterly direction on US 40. Crossing state lines for the last time, back into Pennsylvania, I zipped along this mostly rural two-laner, passing vehicles I came up on and making good time except in the few towns I passed through along the route.

Char was calling me to check in every so often and told me it was a good thing I’d chosen this route (or Google had) because a lot of riders were stuck at a major accident involving a banana truck (how ironic, considering the rally food theme!) on I-76 heading in to Pittsburgh. I was elated that Google had worked out well for me, but felt bad for those riders stuck in traffic – that’s not something you want to see happen to people in the finishing stretch of a rally like this.

I was relieved to hit divided highway again, as 40 looped around Uniontown. The PA 43 Turnpike turned out to be a huge surprise – another major divided four-laner toll road that parallels 40 through lovely pastoral hillscapes up towards and then around Browsnsville. And I had it almost completely to myself! It felt other-worldly riding this interstate-like slab that was almost completely empty at this time of morning on a weekday! It felt like somehow a wormhole in space-time had opened for me directly back to the finish. A back door in the Matrix.

After crossing the Monongahela River, it was only a few more miles to I-70 and interstate salvation! To remain focused, I’d set myself a mental goal of achieving less than an hour of penalty points, and by now I’d managed to pull my ETA within 09:00 and still dropping. There appeared to be no delays ahead on my current route, so it was just a matter of keeping calm and avoiding mistakes at this point. I rode west to I-79, one of the first highways I’d hit on this rally back on Day 1, then north some 20 miles to I-376. I navigated the final highway miles and took the exit for the hotel, getting caught in a red light at the final intersection before making the turn into the Marriott parking lot.

The crowds, cheering, and general hoopla going on as I pulled up to the finish line at 08:45 was as enthusiastic and endearing as ever. I spotted Char and gave her a weary grin and thumbs-up, though she kept back for the moment so I could get officially checked in. I dug out my ID badge which I had, in fact, kept around my neck for my arrival this time around. At this late hour, staff was standing outside to check riders in and they read out a time to me, which I couldn’t really hear. Since the time was being read off a cell phone, I assumed it was correct and agreed with whatever was said, so 08:49 became my official ending time.

I finally got my hug and kiss from Char, both of us emotionally spent after my final mad dash to get here. Another commotion started up a couple minutes later as Jim Owen came gliding in to the finish. That prompted me to get moving out of the finish area in case more riders were still coming in. I now had an hour to prep for scoring, so I quickly pulled the bike through port cochere and over to the curb, with Char in tow.

Lisa Rufo was there to congratulate me as well. It was great to see her up and about after hearing about her scary incident so long ago it seemed, back on Day 2. She seemed to be handling the broken ribs very stoically! I unpacked the essentials I needed and Char helped me lug it all back through the finish line area. Several onlookers offered congratulations on making it in (thank you all – much appreciated though I don’t recall who you were!) as we scurried over to the side wing of the hotel where I’d been pointed for scoring.

We found an empty table in one of the banquet rooms for me to spread out. I was happy to greet fellow New Englander Jim Abbott, safe and sound here with wife Amanda, after his almost disastrous run-in with a pothole in Wyoming that bent both rims on his ST1300 during the final leg. Another ST owner and superhero (online handle: SupraSabre) had driven some replacement wheels many hours from home to get Jim back on the road and to the finish. I was feeling particularly proud to be part of the ST community after hearing that tale.

That cheesesteak from Pat’s wasn’t getting any younger and I was famished, so I broke that puppy out and took a big delicious bite of it before I even got my bonus claim form out…heaven! Then I got down to business, copying my photos, checking receipts, and filling in the bonus form, all in between more distractingly satisfying bites of that hoagie.

Everything seemed in order with my documentation, except I realized that I’d completely missed taking a photo at that Taco Johns in Denver on Day 7 – the only Bingo stop I’d bothered with on the entire leg. Oh well, it was just 158 points and wouldn’t have helped with any Bingo combos anyway.

It was around 09:30 by the time I turned in my documentation for scoring. I chatted a bit with Lisa Landry to confirm everyone had made it in on time who had still been expected to finish. It struck me that I hadn’t heard from Steve Giffin at all over the past 24 hours and asked about him. I was shocked to hear that he’d had a crash the previous morning, taking him out of the rally. Apparently a minor incident, so injuries were minor, but his bike hadn’t been rideable. I felt terrible for him upon hearing this, after having chatted so much during the rally, and knowing what a monster route he had been on the verge of pulling off.

There was a short wait for scoring, so Char and I went out to move my bike to a proper space and bring in the rest of my luggage. By the time we got back to the scoring area, they were already looking for me, and Lisa scolded that I had been in danger of not getting scored. Yikes, sorry ma’am!

This time around, I was assigned Tim Masterson as my scorer and he went through the process as methodically and meticulously as he does anything. Aside from denying the Taco Johns, which I already knew about, I received credit for everything else.

The 49 minutes of penalty points for my late arrival were a big hit, but still better than not finishing at all! It was only later after the rally that I noticed that Owen’s scorecard had less penalty points than mine and so something was off. Based on photo and GPS timestamps, I realized that I’d agreed to an incorrect finishing time. Not that a few hundred points would have made any difference at all. Lesson learned to double check arrival times for myself going forward.

Once my scoring session was complete, I signed off on the final tally of 66,516 points and was finally off the clock, just before 10:30! Out in the hallway I chatted some more with Lisa and was touched to see she had laid out a rally poster for all the riders to sign for Gerry, who was safe at home by now). I mentioned that we were hoping to stop in and see him on our way home anyway, so we could definitely take him the poster and the supplies he’d left at the hotel. We arranged for the hand-off later this evening.

It was time to rest! We grabbed all my gear and trekked down the hotel corridors towards the lobby, chatting with Mike Best about the final leg and exchanging stories. We parted ways in the elevator as Char led me to our room. The shower felt great and I bid her farewell until this evening as I jumped into that comfortable bed to finally get some proper sleep.

LEG 3 Stats
Total leg time: 122h
Start delay (meeting/routing): 3h 30m
Miles: 6529
Location bonuses: 18
Combos: 2
Bingo bonuses claimed/awarded: 0/1
Bingo combos achieved: 0
Penalty points: 2940
Points: 66,516
Tip-overs: 1
Cheesesteaks: 1 (cold, but delicious)

All bonuses claimed in order for Leg 3: TRK3, O5, WYDU, MYMC, REST3, IDBO, IDYP, CALL3, NVLV, CAIR, CAOS, CARA, AZSE, AZSM, OKCO, CALL4, MSYC, REST4, ALEL, GAHE, PAPH, NYNY2, NYNY3, PAAR, RK, HOGS

Final Scorecard – all 3 legs