As our hapless early arrival found out earlier today, we are
one week out from the early stirrings of ButtLite II. (Much though I'd like to
identify this poor soul, I cannot; Eddie promised he'd keep that secret. At
least I can comfort you with the knowledge that our calendar-challenged early
arrival did not have far to ride.) It
has become expected, if not de rigueur, for the designated rally scribe to mark
this occasion with a bit of pompous profundity.
Consider yourself warned: another tradition bites the dust.
Eddie and I have had our "three to four times per day,
like it or not" telephone conversations for the past fourteen days or
so. Not once in any of these
conversations have we compared the coming event to a gathering of warriors or
the convening of the lunatic asylum reunion committee. The turgid miasma of these metaphors is
definitely out at TeamStrange.
When we think about this event, we don't do so in mythic,
mystical terms. We're more
prosaic. We curse, we sweat, we worry,
and we laugh.
These are not unfamiliar emotions to endurance riders. Long distance riding has shown me incredible
highs, and despairing lows. Sometimes,
the distance between these emotions can be measured in seconds.
I have in my posession a micro casette tape I made on the
1997 IBR, which contains a recording of Eddie and me at at some some gas
station somewhere in Louisiana. We are
cracking each other up with stupid jokes, outsmarting Kneebone, and figuring
out the best route to the next bonus, all at the same time. I still laugh out loud today when I play
this precious oxide scroll. I count
Eddie as one of my closest friends, in no small account due to events
transpiring during about 45 combined minutes over eleven days in the fall of
1997.
Moments later I recall another IBR moment while riding alone
in Idaho, tears streaming down my face as I wrestled with some personal demons
too private to disclose. This is a
painful, embarrasing memory, but also one I treasure. Sometimes, adversity leads to truth, and clarity, and honesty.
Endurance riding requires hard work. Sadly, I am finding out this is as much true
for those organizing events as it is for those riding them. We began working on BL2 about 30 days after
the end of BL1. We won't stop working
on the event until hours after the last trophy is awarded. But this, too, is as it should be. Does anything really worth having come
easy?
From the major to the mundane, we sweat the details of this
rally. This isn't a complaint, it's a point of pride. I personally believe that attention to detail is a quality shared
by all successful endurance riders. It
would be embarrasing and unfair to expect this quality from our riders, but
fail to provide it as Rallymasters. It
is our sincere hope that this worry and sweat will produce a rally that
everyone--riders, volunteers, and staff--will be proud of for years to come.
Here, too, another lesson emerges. According to the coptic
Gospel of Thomas, "If you bring forth what is within you, what you
bring forth will save you. If you do
not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy
you." Too pompous and
profound? Try this: Any endevour worth
pursuing takes work, sweat and worry.
Sometimes the task seems too great, the journey too long.
Some give up, others perservere. Don't
believe me? Ask Eric Jewell. On BL5K,
he worked his way to first place with steady, intelligent riding. When others felt the ride from Summit,
Illinois PAST the finish line to Fargo and back was "impossible,"
Eric just got on his bike and went. To paraphrase Danny Liska, its only far if
you don't go.
Other times, even the hardest effort fails to yield the
expected result. Don't believe me? Ask Mark Kiecker, who on BL5K was circling
the Great Lakes on his way to the winner's circle when he lost his paperwork
somewhere in Toronto. Even so, Mark
finished with over 5000 miles. On a
Seca II. On his first rally. This year, he won his class in the Minnesota
2000.
I hope you will forgive me for admitting I've had it up to
here with the usual descriptions of mythic warriors and millions of dollars of
endurance machines. That all seems so
beside the point. What makes rallies
like BLII compelling is the triumph of ordinary people over extraordinary
challenges. Of any competitive event
involving motorcycles, only endurance riding rewards mental agility and pig
headed stubborness over cubic dollars and youthful athleticism. Perhaps this is
the best explanation for the growing popularity of our sport.
ButtLite II promises to be an event worthy of its
riders. Opportunities for cursing,
sweating, worrying and laughing will abound. We'll do our best to tell
all--except for the story of our unfortunate early arrival. We'll let that warrior on his million
dollar mount fade quietly back to where he belongs.
See you in a week.