From the Library

[Biggles]

Getting over the rally took time.  Just like the angst I felt when I didn't get a receipt for gas in Spokane, I had tuned myself for the rally and the training took quite a while to wear off.   It was over a month before I stopped waking up in the middle of the night in a panic thinking that I had overslept and needed to get to a bonus.  Several times I was out of bed and half-dressed before I realized that Susie was telling me that "The rally is over and you are home."   Sometimes she had to say it a few times because I was busy dressing, trying to remember where I was back down to go to sleep again while still convincing myself that I really was at home and not having a dream during the rally.
I was worried about everyday things like how long it took me to eat lunch since I was used to a three-minute-meal.  Sitting in a restaurant to eat was a long luxury that made me flat-out nervous.  It was December before life returned to normal.
Hopeless Class  Joel Rappoport p 207

[Biggles]

A comparison that comes up when explaining the IBR is that more people have climbed to the top of Mount Everest in a single year than have finished the Iron Butt Rally in its entire history.  Four hundred and twenty-three climbers made it to the summit of Mount Everest in 2009.  Four hundred and three riders have finished the IBR since its inception in 1984.
The first day I was at work after the Rally I was talking about the ride to several folks and one asked me how I had done. I told him that I had finished.  He asked where I had finished in the standings and I said 59th to which he exclaimed, "You spent all of that money and time just to finish 59th?"
I was going to explain that a person climbing Everest didn't care whether they were the first person at the summit that season or the last as they were standing on the top of the world.  I was going to emphasize the grand adventure I had been on.  I was going to speak to the challenge of covering eleven thousand miles in eleven days.  Instead, I just looked at him, grinned, and said "Yes."  Bill Thweatt was correct when he said "Some people just don't get it!"
Hopeless Class  Joel Rappoport p 208

[Biggles]

I remember only too well my first two trips to Alaska in 1977 and 1981: I took both trips with the same 1977 Suzuki - a reliable road machine, but it didn't handle well on any kind gravel or other loose surface, especially the way I had it loaded.  But on each of those trips I managed to ride on more than 200 miles of dirt and loose gravel, and sometimes through quagmires of mud for more than 20 miles at a time. There were other times during the trip that I rode through many miles of snow, and I still managed to do a fair amount of exploring.  I certainly had my hands full on both of those trips, and I'm not anxious to take on that kind of challenge again very soon, especially at my age.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 16

[Biggles]

It also brought back memories of my fifth trip to Alaska in 1992, which was the 50th anniversary year of the Alaska Highway.  In spite of its being paved for its entire length, I rode my 1986 Honda Gold Wing on more than 2,000 miles of gravel roads to get to Anchorage and back while purposely avoiding as much of the main highway as I could, due to the heavy RV traffic that was expected to be using it that year - and also to satisfy a passion for exploring some of the most remote areas.  I carried extra gas in Prestone bottles on the back seat of the Gold Wing through the longest gaps in gas availability.  I met my objective of avoiding the heavy RV traffic though, in that I saw practically no vehicles at all for days, and I was in my glory, riding all by myself in the far reaches of the Canadian wilderness, where I saw bear, bison, caribou, fox, lynx, and many other animals in their natural habitat.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 18-19

[Biggles]

I was finally ready to leave on a four-week, 11,000 mile trip to Alaska with a dirt bike, a patched-up pair of rain boots, no saddlebags and a windshield that wouldn't keep the weather off of me.  But I had a lot of confidence in the bike, and I was anxious to get underway on what I figured would be a great ride.
Needless to say, without the saddlebags I brought a lot less gear than usual and I packed exceptionally light; and I was well aware before leaving that it would be a rough trip for my 79-year-old body.  But I called Jim and told him I was ready to go.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 23

[Biggles]

I had stopped in the middle of the scarcely-travelled gravel road for a nature break.  We hadn't seen another vehicle or sign of civilization for at least an hour, and we left Flin Flon before any breakfast places were open.  Bud naturally asked, "Where are we stopping for breakfast?"
I said, "I was thinking of right here," as I reached in the trunk of the Gold Wing for a tin of sardines that I was carrying.  Bud, who always looked forward to and treasured his sunny-side-up eggs with several strips of crisp lean bacon and a nice hot cup of coffee in the morning, said with an attitude, "You've got to be kidding!" refused to partake of the sardines and dug somewhat begrudgingly into his own bag for some beef jerky while Jake and I shared a can of the fish, and the three of us stood there having breakfast in the middle of the road in a light drizzle with the temperature in the mid 40s [F].  It's certainly not the classiest of breakfast places, but I think it worked out well enough under the circumstances.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 29-30

[Biggles]

A few words at this point about my eyesight that had been getting progressively worse over the past few years: I was often unable to read road signs unless the sun was somewhere behind me and shining on the sign.  The same applied to my instruments like the odometer that I needed for following my route sheet; and the bike's clock, both of which use pale LED displays.  I couldn't read the route sheet on my tank bag either unless I came to a complete stop first, even though I used a 14-size font with bold lettering.  My eyes are on the borderline for keeping my driver's license that I can only get with a signature from my eye doctor - and she sometimes shudders when I tell her about some of my motorcycling experiences; but maybe she thinks I'm exaggerating to spice up the story!  I could rarely see the Canadian route markings during this trip, which are considerably smaller and less bold than most of those in the US. I can also rarely see motel and/or restaurant signs unless they're within less than 100 feet and I'm moving slowly.  I usually had no problem with the "Golden Arches" though, which I suppose is one of the reasons they chose that particular symbol.  Whenever the light is subdued, as it often gets on overcast days, I have difficulty seeing cars coming from the opposite  direction for any great distance - especially when it's raining and they're coming toward me without headlights, which also makes it a lot tougher to pass on two-lane roads.  I almost never execute the bold passes anymore for which I had become known a few years back when my eyesight and reflexes were a lot better.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 37-38

[Biggles]

Jim's first experience with one of the infamous steel-grated bridges along the Alaska Highway with their deep grooves running in the direction of travel came that morning while crossing the Peace River.  The grooves can be disconcerting to a motorcyclist and even turn the knuckles a little white if they're not expecting it, and Jim wasn't.
We ran through our first cold, zero-visibility fog bank in Fort St. John that morning.  Truck traffic was stop-and-go and exceptionally heavy in town, causing us to lose about 20 minutes riding through a half-mile of thick fog and heavy traffic.  I eventually had to flip the face shield up, remove my glasses and ride with I bare eyeballs in order to see anything at all as we felt our way through town.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 46

[Biggles]

I instinctively locked both brakes with absolutely no hope of avoiding the inevitable because I was already less than 75 feet from impact when I first spotted the sheep- and there was zero time for me to change course or to do anything other than lock the brakes, hang on and leave the rest to God.
It's the moment that we all dread and hope will never happen to us.  It comes with a feeling that's hard to describe, but once you've experienced it, you'll never forget it. The trouble with this particular feeling is that most people aren't around to describe it afterward.  There was zero time to pray.  The locked brakes threw the bike sideways a split-second before the headlight and windshield made initial contact with the head of the lead sheep.  Meanwhile, the rear end of the bike whipped around and whacked the sheep full broadside a split-second later.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 50-51

[Biggles]

The powerful collision sent the sheep tumbling down the highway as I clung desperately to the handlebars as tight as I could, maybe even with super-human strength.  I'm guessing that my speed at the time of impact was still around 50 mph, with the bike fully sideways and still perfectly upright. The force of impact almost tore me clear off of the seat sideways, but I was somehow miraculously able to hang on.  My left leg got squeezed between the bike and the sheep's belly at the same instant that the left tank pannier, directly in front of my knee, took the brunt of the impact as it struck the bony area of the sheep's front shoulder.  Luckily the pannier, which holds my overnight bag, was a few inches thicker than my knee, and it was fully packed, which is what saved my leg that otherwise would have taken the force of the crushing blow and probably broken it, and maybe broken my knee too.  It was a miracle in itself that my leg and knee connected with the sheep's belly, which felt like a huge cushion.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 51

[Biggles]

The impact threw the tail end of the bike back to its original straightforward position, and I suddenly found myself facing forward again with the bike now rolling only about 10 mph or less, I was still hanging onto the bars as tight as I could.  The whole incident took only a few seconds.
In spite of being in a slight daze and even before the wheels stopped turning, I thanked God, I thanked my angels and I thanked my family and friends who pray for me.  I was convinced that God had just bestowed one of His greatest miracles on me.  It was certainly one of the greatest I had ever known, and I've had a few real beauties in my lifetime.  I could hardly believe I had come through totally unscathed.  It seemed that the end result for me was simply a slightly sprained ankle - the only physical injury I got from it, other than having the wind knocked out of me - and it certainly scared me half-to-death.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 52

[Biggles]

Twenty miles out, we went through another cold fogbank and for the next ten miles I rode with bare eyeballs and no face shield again, and this time it was with no windshield either.  I could barely see well enough to hold the 60 mph that we were travelling.  My eyeballs couldn't handle the cold dense fog at any higher speeds, nor was it safe to go much faster with the limited visibility.  Fortunately the bugs weren't out that early to get into my eyes.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 68

[Biggles]

About 10 miles out of Meade the wind got so strong that it was picking up dirt and sand from surrounding prairie and it was blasting the side of my face with it.  It soon increased to a frightening velocity and I realized I was caught out on the open prairie in a full-blown sand storm with no shelter from it.  The first thing I thought of was to stop at the edge of the road to remove the duct tape and close the faceshield.
After stopping, my feet kept slipping and sliding on the sandy surface and I didn't have enough hands to hold the bike from blowing over and to work on the shield at the same time.  The road was totally covered with sand.  I tried to turn the bike into the wind but the sand was making the surface so slippery that my feet kept sliding out.  I was miles from anywhere and there was no place to duck into or get behind.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 117-8

[Biggles]

After getting underway, I thought the safest speed might be between 50 and 55 mph because anything less wasn't offering enough gyroscopic action for the wheels and the wind was throwing the bike around a lot on the sand; and I figured that anything faster wouldn't leave enough weight on the road for adequate tire traction.   
Meanwhile, the temperature was up around 100° and it was drying me up like a prune, especially after having taken my diuretic medication.
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 118

[Biggles]

Around noon the next day I stopped in the small town of Beloit, Kansas to inquire about US Rte 36, a road I had been looking for and thought I might have passed.
The road I was on was very lightly travelled and it went straight through the town, like in many small towns on the prairie.  I parked in front of a Case-International tractor dealer and walked inside to ask for directions.  There was no one around so I called out, "Anybody here?"  No one answered and I repeated it a few times.  My voice echoed inside the building.  There were many farm tractors and pickup trucks inside, and at least three offices, but there was not a soul around.  It looked like someone could walk off with the place.
I went next door to an open hardware store and called out again: "Anybody here?"  There was no one there either.  I walked across the deserted street to a gas station that I found to be closed and locked.  I stood for a minute and looked around.  Nothing was moving anywhere, and I saw no one.  There was just dead silence.   
I was beginning to get an eerie feeling that maybe there was no one in the entire town - like on the old TV series "The Twilight Zone".
Keep Going!  Piet Boonstra p 136