Having beenup for two days with Athena and Don at Vagabonds, (my pit crew for the race,) Ihad promised myself that I would leave with the ceremonial group and then finda place to rest, just up the road. At the first checkpoint, some twelve hourslater, I would roll into Destination Daytona and see my brother Cochise. “BigBen’s forty five minutes ahead of you,” he yelled. So I ran inside to get readyto roll on.
The secondleg would be a little further in length and we wouldn’t stop again until NorthWestern Mississippi. Along the road that night it was like Dawn Of The Dead.Bodies were scattered everywhere, some sleeping in gas stations, some walkingaround like zombies. I was still feeling pretty good, and other than smallpower naps here and there, I kept running. It was into day two when I saw someof the uglier aspects of what happens when people are competing for money. Roadsigns were being torn down, riders refused to help other riders, some evenpassing by when one would go down. I started to question that aspect of theevent and by the time I reached the second checkpoint I had decided that Iwould take my name out of the running for the money. We were on the ride of alifetime, and passing by so many treasures with complete disregard just wasn’tme. I couldn’t imagine a prize at the end being worth it anyway.
That night Islept at the checkpoint—a little bit anyway—before hitting the road again. Itwas somewhere in the Ozark Mountains where I began to have some greathallucinations. Now if these had been prearranged by the purchase of somemind-altering substance from my younger years, they may not have struck such achord with me. As they came naturally, it was a whole different story. Theshort of that tale is that I sat down at a gas station and passed out on thephone while talking to my boy Curt back home. A few hours later I would beawaken by a police officer who told me I had to get moving. No big deal as I’vebeen there before, but this time, it seemed odd. He told me that he had beengetting complaints that my snoring was bothering the neighbors.
I wouldspend the next seven or eight days seeing the most beautiful and historicallysignificant places in our southern United States. National forests and parks,battlefields and monuments, all laid out before us along the trail of the HokaHey. We traveled through Arkansas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico through Arizonawhere we traveled the southern rim of the Grand Canyon. Then we went up intoWyoming for a view of Custer’s last stand and into South Dakota. There we wouldnot only pass Wounded Knee, but would also have the great privilege of meetingthe 96 -year-old chief of the Lakota Nation, Oliver Red Cloud. I brought him acan of tobacco and we had some time to talk about his life and pray for theHoka Hey Challenge riders, while seated on his front porch.
From therewe headed up across Montana and into Canada. Hey, no one was more surprisedthan me to get across the border, but we did. I began interviewing riders as Iwent. One thing seemed to be constant: few riders were concerned with the moneyany longer. There were great stories of personal growth and deep reflectionthat seemed to be a sideline of the Hoka Hey at first, but later took a muchdeeper meaning in their minds. It seemed that as the ride got a lot harder—withthe added two thousand miles, the confusing directions, blistering heat andbone-chilling cold—all of these elements added up to the perfect ingredients forwhat many of us were looking for. More than a race, it was a chance to test ourresolve. If we could make this trip, keep our word and stay the course, wewould somehow end up better off on the other side. I saw men wrestling withtheir emotions and identity at every turn. The reached out to each other withmechanical help and food, the time we spent emphasized the brotherhood of thisroad. It was a revelation that crossed the common boundaries of race andnationality, it was the type of thing you see with men who have been throughgreat conflicts with each other it was poetry of the human condition.
Across theYukon I was so damn tired I ran off the road in my sleep several times, butmanaged to keep it on two wheels. I thought about my need for sleep, but everyfew miles I would see huge bears that were less concerned by my presence than Iwas of theirs. The sun never really set again and it seemed like an eternitybefore I reached Fairbanks and the final checkpoint at Harley-Davidson’snorthernmost outpost. It was past midnight there and with no one around Idecided to push on. I would have to navigate the Denali pass through Anchoragebefore spending four hours going down the Kenai Peninsula and reachingHomer. I tried to focus but my mind was a mess. There’s only one road toHomer and I managed to get lost on it three times that afternoon. I was loosingit.
I’ve beenhome a few days now and I hear all this chatter coming from the Internet aboutthe Challenge. The only thing I can offer is this. For the lessons I learnedfrom this run, for those I saw other men and women receive, for the effect ithad on our people and for the impact I believe the many stories will have onhumanity in our time, this was the most righteous thing I have ever been a partof. As for the money at the end, after watching Jim and his wife, theirpersonal connection to each rider and their story, I can’t believe they ever setout to cheat anyone. If anything, they gave us this beautiful journey withoutever waving a big flag saying what it was we would get in the end. For mymoney, I would do the Hoka Hey again and again. But hey, I’m just andever-lovin’ scooter tramp.
