Tales from the road: 30K in 30 days for MDA

October 12, 2:27 PMMotorcycle ExaminerKen Bingenheimer

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A self-portrait in Reno

By his odometer, Jim Campbell rode his Harley-Davidson Screamin' Eagle Ultra Classic 31,192 miles in 31 days, in a fundraiser for the Muscular Dystrophy Association (MDA). You can donate on his FaceBook page.

In that time he burned through 3 sets of tires 11 sets of glasses. (?? I'll have to get back to you on that one, I don't understand the glasses either.) He arrived home, the end of his journey, yesterday.

Understandably, Jim has a few stories to tell. Here are a few of them he has related to me. Photos from the trip are in the slideshow at the bottom of this page.

200 miles on a Barbie battery

On a 1,400-mile day, more than 100 miles from Fallon, NV, the electrics in Jim's Ultra Classic started failing. He figured he'd better ride as fast as he could to get as close as possible before the bike died. Zoom.

About 40 miles from Fallon, he was pulled over the Nevada State Patrol, and it was an officer who had stopped him before. Yes, he had been warned to go slower but there was this thing with the electrics. Could he just try to get to Fallon?

OK, said the officer, but slow down. Jim rode on and about 20 miles out the bike died. He called a buddy in Fallon but the best he could do was send his 17-year-old son with a couple friends in a Nissan pick-up. They arrived with a ramp but the 800+ pounds of the Ultra Classic collapsed the ramp. So the four of them lifted the bike into the bed.

Arriving in Fallon, they went to Wal-Mart and tried every battery the store had until they found one that could be jerry-rigged to fit and work. It was the battery for a Barbie car.

That battery ran for the 200 miles necessary to reach the nearest Harley dealer, who was totally amazed that the battery had gotten him there.

Confronting a bold coyote

I'll let Jim tell this next story, with a bit of editing from me.

I had left from the Oregon Coast early one morning traveling through Oregon, Washington, Idaho...into the night. it was 3 a.m. and I couldn't stay awake any longer. There are few rest areas in Idaho, and I finally found one but it had been closed for remodeling, and blocked off with barricades. Which wasn't going to stop me. I would find a place to lay down, and maybe since it was closed I wouldn't wake to find two people smoking cigarettes next to me while I slept (whole other story).

So I pulled in to sleep. I found a picnic table and proceeded to fall asleep. I always kept my helmet on as it would act as a pillow, and usually keep the rain and snow off me, so still in full road garb I fell asleep.

long the way each day I would fill my side pockets next to my saddle bags with snacks for the road. This kept me from getting off my bike and stopping at each gas stop (save time). So that day I had bought some jerky bits and set them in my pouch.

It was almost 4 a.m. and I woke up. You can hardly sleep in the cold for more then an hour, 40 degrees. So I opened my eyes and lay there for a minute. I heard something rustle like the wind was blowing but it was very calm, and cold. I turned my head toward the sound and found a large coyote eating what was left of my jerky bits.

At first I felt like I had snuck up on a wonder of nature, and marveled at how close I was. I could see the variation of color in each hair of his coat. I thought if I only had my camera, but it was in my windshield pouch, right above his head. For about 15 minutes I watched as the coyote negotiated his snout down inside my pouch, nibbling away at the hidden stash of jerky.

Well it was time to surprise him. I sat up and to my surprise he never turned his head. Well then, let's see what else we can do. I sat up and spun his way on the picnic table. This time it was weird. He turned his head but only long enough to see if I had gotten up.

Huh, I thought, that's weird. So I got up and he turned, looked, and then vigorously stuck his snout back in the bag and went after it. It was me against him, but my gun sat right above his head in my tour pack.

He growled as I stood, and I was feeling a bit like a test dummy at a German Shepherd camp now, (and I was fortunately dressed like one). Still chomping away at was was left, I walked toward him. Less then 10 feet now, he tensed, stuck his nose deep inside the bag one more time, then bolted for the road.

I grabbed my gun first, but by the time I pulled my camera out he was too far to photograph in the dark. It was the picture I most regret not getting, but once again the lesson might have been, better to feed one coyote with jerky, then to feed a bear the same,(and maybe me). I was well within Idaho's bear habitat, and was lucky the scent was caught by a coyote, and not one of the many bears in the state.

I guess you know that was the last time I pulled over in a closed rest area. I'd rather wake up with hillbillies over me than something that saw me as a entree.

Double digits

One more short one here.

Jim got pulled over for speeding the first time on his first day out. He was in the middle of Nebraska (or Iowa--it all blurs) and as he was getting ready to write the ticket the officer asked Jim if he knew what the speed limit was.

"I'll give you a hint," the officer said, "It's only two digits."

************************

Jim has a lot more stories. I'll be back at least once more with some additional ones.

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