The Big Five Oh Trip - Part 3

The Nurburgring Nordschliefe.

Just the sound of that name is enough to stand what little hair I have left on end.
Since its inception in 1927 it has claimed the lives of 72 professional racing drivers.
Every year it claims on average another 3 – 12 public lives.
It is not for nothing that Jackie Stewart gave it the haunting nickname it still carries today: The Green Hell.
And I’m actually about to drive it.

We head out to the track, the public entrance to which is just down the road from the RSR Nurburg garage. Normally after 9:00 am we’d be allowed on, but it looks like there’s already been an incident as the track has come to a standstill. So we sit in a field with a hundred or so other cars and bikes and wait for the P.A. announcement to give the “all clear”. Derek in the meantime regales us in humble fashion with stories of his former life as an F3 and pace car driver and how he came to be an instructor at the ‘Ring.

 

Finally we hear a klaxon sound and some kind of garbled voice in German makes an announcement. Derek quickly navigates us over to the entrance before most of the mob gets the jump and in no time we’re in line at the toll gate.
The way it works on “public days” is that they create a forced exit and re-entry to the track along the main 3.5 km Döttinger Höhe straight so that traffic must slow down, get off and re-enter on each lap through an electronic toll barrier. I drive in, hold the chipped card against the sensor, the gate lifts, and we’re gone.
I can’t believe it.
After all the years about fantasizing what it would be like to drive this beast I’m finally on it. It seems most surreal. All of the jet lag, stress, brain fog and insecurity suddenly vanish, as soon as we clear the last yellow gate cone I am full down on the Scirocco’s accelerator and banging it off the redline as it screams to haul the three of us down to the first turn. Derek is immediately in full track guide mode as he describes meter-by-meter exactly where to brake, turn in and accelerate. His instructions are amazingly precise. I feel initially that he has me braking a bit too early, but there's no doubt that this is not a place you want to get a first-timer in over their head, many veterans have been caught out by coming around one of the 'Ring's tortured blind corners only to run smack into the back of a lumbering bus or other tourist vehicle. On public days you really have to drive this track like a rally course, always leaving that last few percent of extra grip to deal with unexpected.

Meanwhile as we hit the first set of curves that take us past the interchange that connects it with the modern GP track, I am completely blown away by how much it looks EXACTLY like it did in my practice laps at home on Gran Turismo. It's really freaking me out. But no time to dwell on that, we are in thick traffic with smaller fish to get around in front, and big dogs in M3's and 911 GT3's flying up to overtake us. Unless you're piloting a Koenigsegg or something else with the power-to-weight ratio of a superbike, driving the 'Ring is as much an exercise in watching your mirrors as it is looking ahead. Thankfully the Scirocco is as perfect a partner as I expected, mindlessly easy to flog about due to the excellent balance of its GTI derived chassis and lower center of gravity. As per RSR's rules I have to leave the traction and stability controls engaged, but these thankfully have very high thresholds and barely ever make themselves known.

As we get out of the first few tight turns the traffic spreads out a bit and we start making the long climb up through Flugplatz and Schwendenkreuz. Some 4 - 5 kms in at this point, I finally see the speedo climb past 160 km/h and we begin to reel in some more closely matched cars. I find the uphill blind turns the most unnerving, as Derek insists I keep the power on and it takes a great deal of faith to do so, but every time we rocket over the top one and stay in it there's a tremendous feeling of satisfaction and I eventually learn to just go with it. We suddenly then see the caution lights come on and the yellow flags come out. It doesn't take long to see why... a silver E46 M3 that passed us just moments before is sitting by the side of the track with a good chunk of its nose missing. Ouch.

You really don't want to crash at this track.

Besides the somewhat more obvious perils of getting maimed or killed, breaking your car is probably the cheapest thing that's going to happen. You have to also pay for absolutely EVERYTHING else that results. Like the grass you tore up. The oil and coolant spills that they have to mop up. The Armco barrier you bent. The posts to go with it. The emergency vehicles. The staff that drives them. If the fluids you spilled cause another accident you're on the hook for that too. And if you really go out with a bang and manage to shut down the whole track, that will cost you an additional $2200 an hour until it gets reopened.

About half way around, the intense concentration required starts to get the better of me. For just a few fleeting seconds I think my sleep-deprived brain may not be able to sustain the pace but then I see it coming up, the lead-in to Karussell. Without question this is one of the most famous and delicious track corners in the world. A bizarrely configured 270 degree continuous hairpin with flat asphalt on the outside and steeply banked concrete on the inside that is rough to the point of feeling like it's corrugated. The correct way to approach is to just drop the car straight into the steep inner banked section and hold on for dear life as the steering dances violently in your hands and the g-forces try to fling you into the passenger seat until you suddenly fly up and out the other side, wheels momentarily clawing at the sky. I don't quite manage it as elegantly as I'd have liked, but just going around it for the first time and feeling the car rattle through it for real is incredible. I regain my confidence and go on the charge again and eventually we are making the long climb up the back sweepers past Pflanzgarten, keeping the throttle nailed to the floor just like in the game at the top of 4^th gear until we finally have let off for the final left-right turns that will take us on to the long straight home, the famous 3.5 km Döttinger Höhe. Sadly as explained earlier this is truncated down to a kilometer or so on public days to control traffic, but we still manage to wind the little white 'rocco out past 200 km/h for just a few brief seconds and begin to reel in the massive rear wing of a 911 GT3. Of course he's already slowing down for the exit, but in my mind we are up on his bumper challenging him. Hey, a guy can dream right?

The fact is I really have just completed a dream, a real honest-to-God lap of the Nurburgring. And as good as that would have felt on my own, I can say without question Derek's instruction took it to a whole other level. Having someone beside you with a HD resolution map of that track in his head, calling out each turn and how to attack it with surgical precision, completely made the experience.

Of course I had paid for two laps, and as much as I would have liked to have Derek guide me around again I knew that I had to try it alone, just me against the Green Dragon. Well, me and Pete that is.

We exit the track and as we head back to the office to drop him off Derek debriefs me in a very complimentary fashion. I am careful to put the positive comments in storage, lest my ego start writing cheques on the next lap that my still very inexperienced 'Ring hands will not be able to cash.

Moments later we are back at the gate and off again. Despite having Pete up front now as the second set of eyes and voice of reason, I don't mind admitting that for the first bit I did feel a wee bit naked. But I knew as long as I kept the same 8/10ths – 9/10ths pace as on the first go-round I should be able to deal with the unexpected so I begin to pour it on. Some corners I came in a little overcooked (finally waking up the stability control) and others woefully too slow, but on average I think I kept a pretty respectable pace. Sadly there was much more traffic to deal with, and not one but two caution slows downs this time, so my dreams of posting a sub 10 minute lap (the magic time if you're a Top Gear fan) quickly evaporates. Nonetheless finally navigating the world's most notorious track on my own feels as amazingly good as you'd expect, and on my second try I finally get just a wee bit of air coming out of Karussell.

I suspect my grin at that point exceeded even the Drift video cam's 160 degree field of view. 

Many, many thanks to RSRNurburg for the overall excellence of the experience, instructor Derek (who’s last name I sadly do not have) for his outstanding guidance, and finally Christopher Heiser for his fabulous blog Nurburgring For Dummies, which is absolute must-read material for anyone considering this mad (and HIGHLY recommended) adventure.

Truly the crowning experience in any gearhead's resume.

The Big Five Oh Trip - Part 2

Bolzamo, IT – Day 10 of the motorcycle tour and I’m obviously WAY behind in posting anything. No surprise as there just isn’t any time, the routine for the last 10 days is always the same, get up, eat, ride like hell through some of the most challenging landscape on earth, eat, go to sleep. I make that sound repetitive; believe me, it’s anything but. Those tales are to come.

Now where were?

Day 2 of the trip finds us waking up at the Haus Pit Lane hotel in Nurburg, Germany, home to the famous Nurburgring race track complex. The “Ring”, as it’s affectionately known to gearheads everywhere, is actually several circuits on one giant piece of landscape. The one that we’re here to see is called the Nordschleife, considered to be one of the most difficult and dangerous tracks in the world. At some 20.8 kms long with an amazing 154 unique turns winding through dense and hilly forests with elevation changes of more than 1000 feet it well lives up to its nickname, the Green Hell. And I’m here to drive it.

 

http://www.nuerburgring.de/en/fans-info/race-tracks/nordschleife.html

 

I’ve been practicing for weeks prior to the trip using a Sony PS3 rig with GranTurismo 6, one of the best game simulations of this track, but as good as it is it will in no way prepare me for the extreme hills, valleys and lack of sight lines of the real thing.

What’s peculiar about the Nordschliefe is that when it isn’t being used as a race track or test center for the car manufacturers it’s actually open to the public as a toll road. Yes, that’s right, anyone can just show up, pay a fee and have a go. That includes scooters, tour buses, Bugatti Veyrons and just about anything else you can imagine.  However rental cars are a no-no, every major chain in Germany expressly forbids it right in the contract. So the only option for overseas folk like myself is to rent a Ring racer. Of course I had to have something from the VAG family so I decided to go with a VW Scirocco, a lower slung version of the Golf that's been long gone from our shores but still exists in Europe. The current version they have is based on the MK5 Golf/Jetta/A3 platform (2006 – 2013) and as a result is very familiar to me. The versions you can rent here are all pretty much the stock 2.0L turbo with around 210 hp, but frankly for my first go at this track I don’t think I’d want any more, what I want is an idiot proof, well balanced chassis that has more brakes and handling than motor and this car fits the bill perfectly.

The night before we spent a bit of time just walking the local streets around our hotel, located less than a kilometer from the track’s tourist entrance, and it is absolute high octane heaven. Awesome cars and bikes of every description are seen and heard everywhere, the place is one giant brotherhood of speed unlike anything I’ve ever seen outside of an F1 event. And everyone is here for one reason, to slay the dragon and live to tell the tale.

I must admit at this exact moment I am now not so sure this is a great idea, I barely slept and have massive jet lag. And the next hour will demand every fibre of hand-eye coordination that my aging brain can muster.  We leave the hotel and head over to RSR Nurburg, the company I’ve reserved the car with. I fill out the requisite paperwork signing my life away and before being turned loose then sit through a very thorough 30 minute briefing which in the words of our host is designed to “scare us to death now so that we don’t die out there”. His words carry weight, there are crashes every day this track is open. Most just bend tin, but some do worse. Being that the deductible on the Scirroco is basically a good chunk of the purchase price, and to that you must add the fees charged by the track to clean up and replace everything down to the last blade of grass you chewed up, I am well motivated to heed his warnings.

Luckily my two lap package includes a lap with an instructor, so I will have expert guidance to make sure I keep it paint-side up on the first go.

Looking around the garage and yard outside here makes one’s head go light, there are awesome cars everywhere. You can rent Lotuses, M3’s, 911 GT3’s, Lamborghinis and they fill every space on the lot.

Finally around 9:00 am I get the car and meet instructor Derek, an expat Brit race and safety car driver who has recently moved to Nurburg to work full time at the track. We spend a few minutes setting up the car with cameras and mics and then head down the road to the track entrance. Herr Schaefer dons a helmet and drops himself into the back seat. Time to see if I’m up to this…

The Big Five Oh Trip - Part 1

Briancon, FR – It’s Day 6 of our motorcycle tour, a rest day, and man do I need it. This is without a doubt one of the most intense trips I’ve ever been on. So much has happened in the last nine days that my mind hasn’t even begun to process it. Just the first three days in Germany before the motorcycle tour knocked more things off my bucket list than many other whole trips have. And I’m going to struggle to relate what happened in the next six after that. But I will try my best and hopefully won’t lose you all (or myself) in the process. First let’s wind back a bit and explain how all this madness came to be…

A certain Peter Schaefer, who has put up with me for reasons unknown since the age of 12, suggested sometime in our early forties that for our collective 50^th  (we were born exactly a month apart) we should do a European motorcycle tour. The original idea was to ship our own bikes over and do it all ourselves. But around four or five years ago Pete discovered Edelweiss, a highly specialized worldwide motorcycle touring company, and was instantly convinced this would be the better way to go. Being that I generally despise any form of organized tour I was initially not the least bit receptive, but when he rattled off the list of advantages like that we use their bikes - so no worries about shipping back and forth, insurance, breakdowns - and that they also shuttled your baggage around from hotel to hotel, planned all the breakfasts and dinners, I started to come around. The clincher though was this: you DON’T have to follow the guides. That’s right, if you so desire you can just take off in the morning and ride wherever and however you like, just as long as you’re back at the designated arrival hotel that night.

SOLD!

We then spent the next few years deciding which tour and when, but it was pretty clear from the outset that it would have to be their "Grand Alps". At 13 days through almost every major pass in Austria, Lichtenstein, Switzerland, France and Italy, it was the longest one they offered in the region and happened only once a year. As it turned out the schedule for 2014 put it at the end of June into the beginning of July, exactly between our two 50th birthdays. How perfect was that?

As soon as the booking opened we were in.

Not long after our friend Dave decided he’d like to join. Being that he would be turning Five Oh himself just before us he did technically qualify (not that we would have banned him had he not) but what was a little more worrisome was the fact that Dave has spent his entire riding career piloting a Harley Night Train. Now as HD riders go he definitely has that bike mastered and keeps a pace that generally leaves his fellow Milwaukeeans long back in the dust. However this gig was going to be a whole other matter. Edelweiss’ guide lists this tour as a “7 to 9” out of 10 in riding difficulty. And the only types of bikes offered that would fit his well over 6 foot frame were full-size adventure rigs like the BMW GS and Triumph Adventure. Perfectly suitable in experienced hands for the unbelievable hilly and sinuous terrain, but a world away in riding technique from his factory custom lead sled.

Despite this he was convinced he’d be up to the challenge, and the nice thing about a group tour is that there are bound to be riders of widely varying abilities and styles, so no matter what we would all be able to find the right pace. And Dave essentially being a Monty Python character who somehow escaped off the screen would lend some much needed levity to our group, what with Herr Schaefer being the serious-minded, super organized traveller and me focused 23 hours a day on just filming everything and going Mach 2. So then there were three.

About a year out we booked our flights and decided that we should take advantage of the opportunity to get in some other local experiences while here so Pete and I gave ourselves two extra days up front to run around Germany and Dave went five days ahead with an insanely ambitious schedule to see most of the lower Scandinavian regions. All that was left now was to assemble all the required gear and pack.

The Geekware

In my case I knew from the outset that I wanted to record as much of this trip as possible in all forms, as so many people expressed a lot of interest in knowing what it was like and I knew my writing skills alone (or lack thereof) would never do it justice. I also wanted to be able to piece together a little film that would tell the story in some coherent way and serve as a memento in years to come. After a lot of research I decided on the Drift Ghost S action camera as the weapon of choice as it got great reviews and offered a 1080p/60 fps recording ability that rivalled the ubiquitous GoPro but with a slim bullet shape instead of the “brick”. They also came with a nice remote control that could synch with up to five cams. I picked up two of them along with a pile of different mounts, batteries, mics and whatever else I could imagine would be required. One would mount to the side of my helmet and one low on the bikes’ frame, and I could also flip one of them to be rearward facing off the luggage rack, hopefully giving me enough angles to make it interesting as what kills most homemade videos is the lack of variety in the vantage points. Not having a Top Gear budget this would have to do. I also brought my trusty little waterproof Lumix compact camera for static pics and filming.

The only problem in all this was my vast underestimation in what it would take to get this all stuff up and running the way I imagined it. More on that later…

D Minus 3

I am staring at the biggest collection of electronic gear I’ve ever brought on a trip. It is spread all over my basement floor. There are video cams. Still cams. Cell phone adapters. Suction cup mounts. Tripods. Sticky mounts. Mini USB wires. Micro USB wires. Travel chargers. Batteries. Back up drives. Memory cards. Tools. Tape. Tie wraps. And oh yeah, should really add some clothes. And maybe a helmet, boots and jacket. Yes, you are reading that right, at three days to go I hadn’t had single thing packed, and this for the biggest trip of my life. Herr Schaefer on the other hand had been packed for six months (and that is NOT an Ianism for dramatic purposes). But the months leading up to this trip for me were pretty nuts and it just never seemed to get to the top of the list. To make matters worse I now have to leave for two days of work in Los Angeles and arrive back with only 24 hrs to pack, go to work and then immediately head to the airport.  Somehow I actually pull it off and amazingly don’t forget anything (well, more on that latter too). Off to the airport to catch our overnight flight.

Ze Fazerland

We land in Munich a little ahead of schedule at 9:30 am local, which is great as the next two days’ schedule is packed. We bolt through customs (AMAZINGLY efficient, as one would expect here), grab our luggage and run for the Sixt rental car counter. Since childhood it’s been my dream to run loose on Germany’s famous Autobahn where long sections are free of speed limits, and I absolutely cannot wait to have at it. I really would have loved to do it in an Audi – my brand of choice for the last twenty years – but they weren’t offered in any of the listings I could find online so I settled on a 3 series BMW, still an excellent tool for the job. Despite my “express status” we still have to wait a bit but thankfully we aren’t at the other major rental counter… they’ve been completely shut down due to a piece of unidentified luggage being left at the counter and that whole area has now been police-taped off!

Our turn comes and I am informed that my car of choice isn’t available… but we get a 5 series instead! No complaints. However as we run through the garage to retrieve it I start realizing that in Europe you can get a 5 with some truly tiny and anaemic engines… uh oh. Pete on the other hand is ecstatic because most of the 5’s they rent are wagons, and what could be cooler than cruising the ‘bahn in a eurowagon (if I have to explain why then there’s little point. But trust me, it’s cool). We get to the correct row and before I can even spot it all I can hear from Pete, two octaves too high, is “IT’SAWAGONIT’SAWAGONIT’SAWAGON!!!!!!!”

Yes, a resplendent black one too with panoramic roof, gorgeous brown leather interior, sat nav, the works.

But what’s it got for a motor? Hmm no badges on the tailgate to tell us. I start it. Brrr-rrrr-rrr glig glig glig glig glig.

It’s the 2.5L diesel-electric hybrid.

Oh no.

Goodbye dreams of Autobahn glory.

We get in and head out for our first stop, the Audi factory and museum in Ingolstadt, and as expected the little diesel struggles to get the lavishly appointed mega wagon up to speed from a stop. However what’s funny is that it doesn’t seem to slow as the needle climbs. Acceleration is what I would describe as train-like, you don’t feel anything as you leave the station but look down and suddenly the needle is sweeping past 200 km/h and climbing. I can’t imagine how this is possible from such a tiny power plant. We don’t really get to test it any further as there is traffic and construction everywhere, making our 45 minute journey more like an hour and a half. Also dashing any hopes of making it in time for the daily factory tour at 11:30.

As much as I would have enjoyed that I am still happy just to be at the birthplace of my last 5 cars and peruse the museum, which has an exquisite collection of the brand’s models from the last hundred years. Audi has a bit of a weird history, as they are really the sum of four brands that amalgamated over time, Audi, Horch, DKW and Wanderer, so it’s cool to see firsthand examples of the various types close up.

Of course my favourites are the powerhouses of the eighties that really put the brand on the map such as the TransAm and IMSA race sedans that were eventually banned from both series as they couldn’t be beaten; and of course the legendary rally Quattros which turned the entire sport upside down and forced everyone else to adopt AWD to even keep up. This arms race in turn spawned the ferocious Group B cars like the 650 hp Quattro S1 that were eventually deemed too fast to be safe and regulated out of existence.

I so want to sit in the middle of the floor and commune with them for the rest of the day, but we have much ground to cover so after a quick bite at the excellent outdoor restaurant we hit the ‘bahn again.

 

Pete has dubbed our big black train the “Maus”, after the famous  180 ton German WWII tank that was too big to be of any practical use. Interestingly that also had diesel-electric drive, but even its mighty 1200hp engine could only propel it to no more than 20 km/h. Our Maus however seems to defy all known laws of physics, as I hammer down and we watch in amazement as it climbs… 210, 220, 225, 230, 235… 240!!

We’re now travelling faster than I’ve ever gone in a street car. Powered by a 2.5L diesel. Smaller cars scurry out of way like Shermans surely would have when faced with the real Maus. I hold it down as long as I dare but eventually I see Pete getting a bit squirmy so I back off to a sedate 180 – 200. This pace seems to work as he now nods off to sleep and after a few hours finds it completely normal. That is when we’re not stuck in construction related traffic. In this regard Germany is no better than Quebec, there are closed lanes EVERYWHERE. Perfectly signed and organized as you would expect, but it really puts a damper on our pace.

Despite frequent full stops we still cover the 500+ kms in under 5 hours. It’s glorious. The drivers are for the most part amazing, staying in the appropriate lanes and most cruising along at somewhere around 160 to 180 km/h in a perfectly organized ballet. When all is clear and you’re surrounded by locals, the Autobahn is the true promise of what highway driving can ultimately be. Next stop, the Nurburgring.

 

Wasting Light

Another year, another 11 months and 3 weeks of waiting.
Waiting for that precious e-mail that would unlock, at least to a reasonable degree, the secrets of where I would be headed once again in that quest of questionable sanity, the Rendezvous long distance bike rally.
It's no exaggeration to say that this really is one of the biggest things I look forward to every year.
I'm very fortunate in that my work does occasionally bring wonderful experiences, like the odd trip to Asia or the chance to beat the snot out of some semi-exotic cars around an abandoned airfield à la Top Gear, but these things tend to crop up on an unpredictable schedule at best.
So other than a couple of great winter car rallies, the only thing I count on annually with absolute certainty to quench my thirst for real adventure is ye olde RDV.
Why is this?
It's not like I couldn't plan to do something equally nutty of my own volition if the mood struck.
It's a free country (last I checked anyway), gas is still almost affordable.
But there is something in the recipe of an event like this that multiplies the enjoyment by an order of magnitude over just striking out on one's own to cover 1000+ km in a day.
Obviously the fact that it's competitive is one thing. Knowing that you're working the clock against 40 odd other riders definitely keeps the adrenaline flowing.
There's the riding itself, which often takes you down stellar, twisty roads into places of breathtaking beauty, some you've never seen, and maybe wouldn't even have thought to explore.
There's the treasure hunt aspect where you have to find your objective at each stop, which appeals greatly to one's inner 7 year old - and he takes up gigs of space on my personal C drive.
Then you have the Unknowns.
What will the weather do?
Will all the roads I need be open?
Traffic?
How long will I wait at the borders?
These lurk like twists and turn in a good thriller; the prospect of dealing with each one scares and excites you all at once.
Still, there's something beyond the sum of the parts which I can't explain.

When Kevin's e-mail did arrive, there was nothing like last year's epiphany.
No Rainman flash when I just saw all the bonus locations form up into a perfect pattern before my eyes. This year I was gonna have to work for it.
I spent HOURS staring at that screen. No hard truths found. By the next day I eventually came to the conclusion that there was a pretty decent route to be had, but I was in no way confident that it was THE route. Loosely speaking it was quite similar to what I had done the year before, a blast down to Magog, then a big loop out heading east along the Atlantic coast, then south and eventually west to Manchester NH, on down to the bottom of Vermont and then straight back up to St-Jean.
The only thing was whether I could pull it off.
In previous years my routes had all come in at around 950 – 1050 km, which had proven to be pretty reasonable for the 11.5 hours allotted. That being if I kept my list to15 stops or less and wasted no time when off the bike. This year was going to be a wee bit different.
The route I had in mind had only 10 stops, but it was 1150 km.
Yep, that's right, do the math.
I had to average 100 km/h.
All the time.
If I didn't stop.
Luckily the vast majority of my route was either autoroute (as we call them here in Quebec) or interstate, where one could clock 120 – 125 km/h all day long and never bother anyone or raise the ire of the local constabulary. So it did seem technically possible. To boot, the big points came from the first 8 stops (around 58,000+) so if I ditched the last two measly 1000 pointers I'd cut my usual stop count in half. Using my rule of thumb that each stop costs around 5 minutes (half of the recommended time, but I've pretty much got them down to a science now) I figured that this would give me at least another 40 to 45 minutes in the bank.
It all then seemed, as the Mythbusters would say, “Plausible”.
Just the same, I decided that I would cook up a “B” route that shortened the second half of my run by around 100 km, putting me back into known territory should things go pear shaped at some point.
It would still potentially generate a decent 50,000 or so points, but give me an extra hour to make it back.
The only other thing that lent confidence to my choices was the fact that the whole of New England had been absolutely battered by fierce rain storms leftover from hurricane Irene the previous week, and there were so many small road and bridge closures on the various state websites that they were hard to count. That my route relied on so few of these back roads would at least be a very tangible plus.
Since my GPS maps were getting pretty out of date, I decided that it was time to splurge and sign up for Garmin's Lifetime Map Update service. No more worries about not having the latest info, just download and go.
Or so I thought.
Many of you more experienced LD riders reading this are already shaking your heads. You just know what lies ahead.
“He's updating his maps days before an event??”
“Has he GONE MAD?!?!?!”
No. I just live in a world where for the most part you download updates for stuff, install them, and they work. It seems a pretty simple concept. Save that this idea has somehow escaped the good folks at Garmin.
First of all the download and installation is measured not in minutes, but in hours.
I cannot possibly imagine what this would have been like back in the days of dial-up.
You'd be out of commission for weeks.
Nevertheless, I finally manage to get the thing up and running. The next day I program a simple route to the office to try it out, and as soon as I hit “Go” there are issues.

“Route plotted on earlier map version. Recalculating.”

So I wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, after around 10 minutes, it figures out where I want to go.
I shut it off and try it again.
Same story.
This is not good. If I have to wait 10 minutes to get my route back every time the thing shuts off, I'm screwed.
A phone call to Garmin that evening ensues.
After about 20 minutes on hold, I finally talk to a human and explain my plight. One thing I will say is that the fellow I eventually got to talk to was incredibly helpful and had the patience of Job. He was not getting off the line 'till we sorted this. After a long session of remote diagnosis, file updating and all sorts of other stuff, he finally discovers that when I downloaded the updates I had not selected “update GPS AND computer”. Thus my two devices were no longer seeing the same maps. In my defence, the fellow pointed out that the place where this choice is made is rather cryptic, when he showed me where it appears in the update process I didn’t even recall seeing it. They really need to have a word with Microsoft. Say what you want about Vista and its damn pop-ups, when you ask it to do something you sure as hell know what it is you're asking for and if it REALLY is OK.
After spending no less than an hour and twenty minutes on the phone with me, we finally get it sorted.
24 hours to go.

Check-in now seems like an old habit, no stress, just lots of friendly faces and great stories to swap.
This year I was extremely pleased that my long-time friend Dave Toomey had decided to join the fun. Dave was at first somewhat concerned that this wasn't the kind of thing that one does with his sort of bike, a Harley Night Train. But damned if he didn't show up hell bent for leather. His objective was to at least be the top scoring H-D guy, and knowing that he's nothing if not crazy enough to pull it off I thought he had an excellent shot at it. Of course Mr. Schaefer was back on his trusty FZ-1, new GPS in hand, and many more of the regulars as well as new folks could be seen milling all about.
Everyone chats, but few reveal their intentions.
Kevin's meeting reveals no big surprises (phew). The theme this year is Planes, Trains and Automobiles, and sure enough a glance through the route book shows that tomorrow's ride will be a quest for all manner of these things.
Pete and I head back to his place nearby, put the final touches on our routes, pack and get some shut-eye.

I arrive a little on the tardy side to the start in St-Jean (for reasons that escape me now) but just in time to catch the start of the riders meeting. Again, no big surprises, just the way I like it. One last minute Wildcard bonus that will hopefully prove to be fun: We can collect a coupla thousand extra points if we bag a photo of a “woody”, which is any kind of vehicle that has wood panelling. Think classic surf-mobile, or those tacky big 70's wagons.
Out on the start line I cue up my theme music for this year, the Foo Fighters outstanding new album Wasting Light. With the route I have going that title will serve as a constant reminder that I seriously can't afford to.
5:30 am
The clock starts.
Dave and the boys are cranking it out in my helmet, I let the Birdie loose and head for my fist stop, a monument for the cog railway system at Mount Washington in New Hampshire. The fact that this is nearly three hours away on a rally that only lasts eleven and a half sort of lends a sense of scale to my route. And it is not necessarily a comforting one. Still, I've managed to make this gig work before. Have to have faith that I can do it again.
The first “real” stop however is at the border on autoroute 55 near Magog. Here I am surprised to already see a number of riders in the line ahead of me. That there is in fact a line at all is a little more worrisome, but thankfully it moves quickly and it looks like I'll be through in 10 minutes or so. While waiting I see a friendly face ambling over, RDV and Iron Butt veteran Jacques Titolo. We chat for a bit and he tries to get a feel for what I have planned. I give him a basic outline of my route and he does likewise.
“What do you figure” he asks, “sixty, sixty-five?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmmm, sounds about like what’s going around…”
Gulp.
Obviously there is no turning back, I HAVE to get the big route done if I'm going to have a shot at the podium.
Damn.
Once through the border I let 'er rip.

The upper sections of Vermont, Maine and New Hampshire are definitely on my all time fave list of places to ride. No matter where you go there are miles and miles of spectacular roads just begging to be autographed with one’s foot pegs. This morning will find me signing my fair share.
8:26
I make it to Mt. Washington slightly ahead of schedule and snap a pic of the monument.

However upon leaving I run into my first issue... the road I was planning on using to hit my next stop just miles away on the other side of the mountain – Jefferson Notch road – is closed!!

Now in truth this does not come as a total surprise, as I did see it showing as such on the state road advisory website the previous week, but I had hoped they would have it reopened by now. They haven't.
Damn.

For a moment I contemplate trying to slide the bike between the concrete blocks barring passage, but Lord only knows what awaits up the road, and if you've ever ridden/driven this one you will know it is NOT for the faint of heart (In my case I actually did for the first time on the 2012 Minuteman 1000, but that's the another story). The 'bird is great at many things, but handling muddy washouts while trying to climb  and descent 20%+ grades is not one of them.

I relent and go to the backup plan, the 3 and the 115, which will add some 23 km to my route.  But thankfully these two roads are big, smooth, fast and absolutely devoid of traffic, and I did recall that back in the planning stages that the difference in time wasn't nearly as bad as you'd think, owing to the very slow average the over-the-mountain route demanded. Indeed, I actually did arrive on the other side in Gorham only a few minutes behind. 

9:07
Grab a pic of the plow train car (always loved seeing those things when I was a kid) and I'm gone.
Off now to Auburn ME, which involves a fairly clean 100 km run along the 2 and the 26.

10:04

On the way there, somewhere around West Minot if memory serves, I ride by a nice collection of Ford Model T's gathered in a small park. Just as I reach my next turn a few hundred yards away, a light bulb goes on. Aren't the truck body versions of those things made out of wood?? I race back, haul off the bike and start snapping at one of the panel van T's like a mad fool.

I even take a close-up shot of the inside to show the grainy wood texture, as the thing has been painted inside and out, so I need some kind of proof as to its true organic nature.I cannot imagine what the crowd is thinking, juxtaposed against this scene in my black space suit and helmet, wires dangling, the 'bird and I must look like we just landed from another world.
Store camera, get out.

10:24
Lewiston-Auburn railroad bridge plaque, check.

Next stop, Manchester NH.

Pretty much a 150 km straight shot down I-95 along the coast then another 50 km west on the 101. This is where I need to reel in some clock. Unfortunately I had not thought to get one of those handy-dandy toll transponder devices in time, so I will have to stop and pay at every one along the way. I am NOT coming here again without one. But other than that, the big I-road made piling on the mileage a mindlessly simple task.

12:24

Lots of traffic lights and side streets meant a big time-sink to get this one, but the “Merci” box car was worth no less than 14,000 points and as such was the grand prize on my route. Historical side note: Who knew that the French sent 50 train cars full of stuff to the U.S. after WWII as a thank you for their liberation? Amazing what you learn on one of Kevin’s gigs.

Here however was where a very fateful decision had to be made. Do I play safe and keep it short with the 1050 km plan B route, or go for broke and really do the 1150? With Jacques' numbers still rattling around in my ears I have no choice, it's Go Big or Go home.

Having resolved myself to such a fate, I now had to contend with Vermont's Route 9, which is a fairly open affair but has limited legal passing zones and can be quite congested at times. This part would literally make or break my whole run. The only thing working for me here was the Blackbird's incredible ability to quickly and safely pass long strings of traffic in a single twist of the wrist.

It would indeed prove to be a monumental asset for the next hour and a half.
The upcoming target on my list was a plaque at the Vermont welcome center situated on I-91 just north of the Massachusetts state line. The tricky part here was that it is only accessible from the northbound lanes. I would be heading south. Meaning I would have to go some 12 km past it to the next exit, turn around, and run 12 km back to get into it.
There clearly would be no time for that. However back in the planning stages thanks to the wonders of Google Earth I spotted a magnificent loophole... right beside the northbound off-ramp to the visitor’s center there was a U-turn lane that connected both sides of the highway. Okay, um, technically a bit sketchy but hey, what if I was experiencing a bathroom emergency? At that point I would have been on the bike for almost nine hours. Little exaggeration would likely be required. This little move however was the one that actually made the whole deal possible, and at 9100 points this would be my second highest scoring stop.
As I approached the area I adjusted my speed and position to make sure I was in a nice traffic-free zone in every direction. Spotted the lane, grabbed the binders, scooted across, and voilà, one Vermont rest stop bagged.

1:47
Time to head for home.
Well, relatively speaking. With less than three and a half hours left on the clock and about that much time required to cover the 370 km back to the finish in St-Jean, I would be hard pressed to make any more stops. Still, there were at least two I was going to try for, and with a combined value of 9500 points they were big enough that I felt it worth risking using up some of the 30 minute late window penalty to get them. But if I used up ALL 30 minutes it would be game over, DNF. I got on the 91 and hauled it.

2:49
What with it being pure interstate, I thought I would have made this 116 km leg in under an hour, but a gas stop that should have taken 5 minutes turned into a 12 minute disaster when the station just off the highway that the GPS routed me to turned out to be abandoned. I had to schlep way off route to find another, running on the proverbial fumes. Not pleased. I made back what I could on the road and luckily this next stop was only a bit more than 1 km off the highway. I grabbed a quick pic of the train in Hartford VT and ran. One more to go...

Another 90 km stretch of interstate and I'm off at Berlin Corners to find a plane-shaped tombstone in a cemetery. This one is a little ways off the highway so I have to soft-shoe it agonizingly through the town for a while, but at 4500 points it is indeed too lucrative to pass up. 3:34
I really am out of time.
Unfortunately my calculations show I'll be around 50 km short on fuel to make the finish, so one more gas station it is... at least they're right here in front of me. With credit card ready and no tank bag to deal with a half tank top-up adds barely a minute to my ETA. Nice. Get back on the slab and punch it.

This is it. The home stretch. It all comes down to what happens in the next hour and a half.
In that time I have to cover 186 km AND cross a border.
As Elwood once famously said...
“Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration, don't fail me now”.

Along the way I start to collect fellow RDV'ers. Pretty much all looking as intense as I feel. Lo and behold, there's Jacques and Jennyfer! Nice to have my Blackbird sister in the fray, hopefully a good omen from the XX gods. We all cruise along at a pretty good clip up the 89 but carefully temper our pace in the urban areas like Burlington where the radar is thick on both sides of the town. All escape unscathed. By the time we approach the border there are at least six of us swapping spots and working the traffic as best we could.
The border was indeed a great source of stress for me, the last big potential time-sink and for some reason I just had a bad feeling today that it was gonna be rockin. I had put a call in to Brigitte earlier in the day to ask her to keep an eye on the wait times on their website, and from her first call a while back it had been ten minutes.
Not bad, I can live with that.
About a half hour out she called again to say it just hit twenty.
Uh-oh.
That's cutting it REAL close.
What I didn't know was that shortly afterwards, it hit thirty.
She didn't have the nerve to call me, knowing I'd freak out.
Smart girl.
As we slowed for the station at Saint-Armand/Philipsburg, my jaw dropped. There had to be at least 20 cars in front of us in each of the two lanes open. Not good.
I knew instantly this meant penalty points, but how bad I wasn't sure.
I just hoped I would make it before that 30 minute grace period shut.
We all grouped together and watched with grave concern. Jacques and Jennyfer were in a tighter spot, they were running about eight minutes later than I was so their margin of error was even slimmer.
We wait.
The line crawls.
Suddenly we spot something.
A guard. He's walking across the gates. Headed for an empty booth.
C'mon dude... be openin’ that thang!
He gets in.
YEAH BABY!
Not even waiting for the light to come on, we all simultaneous thumb the starter buttons and race for the third gate before any of the cars even realize what's happening.
I let Jacques, Jennyfer and one other gentleman who's badly time-strapped go in ahead of me.
Thankfully minutes later I'm through too, and in no time our group is gathered back together on the 133 making serious tracks for St-Jean.
The GPS clock is counting down.
I'm going to be two minutes late.
One minute late.
Back on time.
Then a minute early, yes, that’s it, keep going.
Until we see...

The road closes to a single one-way lane for construction.
There's a red light.
And about twenty cars, trucks, buses, you name it, in front of us.

You can see the brutal despair right through everyone's visors.
As the countdown clock quickly goes negative again, I see two of our bikes heading up the shoulder.
Once at the head of the line, they signal to the driver of the first car, and appear to be explaining our predicament. Fantastic!! They get the nod, and I'm now right behind them as is the rest of the group.
When the light goes green our Good Samaritan waves us off while holding back the line, saving us from sure penalty points if not outright DNF.
We now have the road to ourselves, and it is glorious.
All six bikes howl along the 133 unimpeded, and just when we start to hit some traffic in the final stretch we arrive at the dual lane section.
We're home free.
I don't actually recall what my clock said at the finish, but I did indeed have minutes to spare, and even Jacques and Jennyfer managed to make their window, albeit by seconds.

Of course it feels great to have actually pulled off such a tightly timed ride, but my work is far from done. I had to get in there now and make sure it all counted. That meant filling in the route book perfectly, making sure to dot the i's, cross the t's... like to a degree NASA doesn't even require.
Thankfully Kevin's school of Hard Rally Knocks has beaten me with enough tough love for the last few years that I now don't sweat this so much.
I just remember my 11 simple rules.
1. Read EVERY question to be answered three times.
2. Then read them again.
3. Then, and ONLY THEN, fill in your answers.
4. Write EVERYTHING exactly as it should be spelt, spaced, you name it, including upper case     and lower case letters.
5. Write your number, mileage and time on EVERYTHING.
6. Layout all your receipts, merchandise, whatever you have to submit, on the table and stare at it long and hard. For like a good 5 minutes.
7. Make sure it's ALL there.
8. Check your camera images VERY CAREFULLY. Make sure they are all there, and that there are no more than the rules allow, before submitting your memory card.
9. Before closing up your envelope, make sure you have anything else handy that the scoring book says will be required for scoring (see rule 11).
10. Check AGAIN that EVERYTHING is identified, then wrap it all up, hand it in, and pray.
11. When called to the scoring table – if required in the score book - put on the funny hat, sing Pavarotti, wear a live weasel as a stole. Possibly all simultaneously. Just do WHATEVER the hell it says!!!!

And so I did.
Fortunately I was not required to sing or wear a dangerous rodent, but as I was one of the very last people to submit my stuff – largely due to strict observance of the above rules – this meant I had to spend an agonizing amount of time waiting to be called for judgment. This pain however was mitigated by getting to hang out with Pete and Dave and hearing how their rides went. Dave got a really solid ride in, seemed to enjoy himself immensely and would later find out he managed to pull off a very respectable 15^th out of 40. Pete had planned what was probably his most ambitious ride ever, but when he started to realize the magnitude of the thing he decided to reel it in and take it easy. Despite coming back several hours early he still picked up great points, enough it would turn out make the Top 10.
But where would I wind up?
Eventually I got my turn at the table, and as always I held my breath.
One by one my loot was scrutinized… but it all got passed!
Something about my “woody” Model T would have to go to Kevin for the final call, but all the big numbers got posted. Meaning I should get around 62,000 points.
It sounded good.
But was that enough??
Dinner came and went, then finally the moment of truth.
The scores got called out. Owing to the large numbers of competitors and the complexities of verifying everything 100%, Kevin could only announce the top five.
But they are really tight.
And all in the forties.
This isn't possible. Where were all the sixty thou’s?
Damn that Jacques… a perfect psych out!!
When they finally called out Perry Karsten – a disarmingly laid back but razor sharp IBR veteran with whom I have finished neck-and-neck for the last two years – in second with 48,463, I just about fell out of my chair.
Kevin then called me up, whence upon I do believe he referred to me as “you madman”.
He did take pride in knocking off some 4000 odd points, probably my debatable woody, not sure what else, but that still left me with some 58,685 as a total.
A score I could definitely live with.
In all seriousness I was convinced that someone was gonna have a better route. At no point was I really sure I'd make the podium, especially with the amazing range of talent that this event now attracts.
(Note: I found out much later that another hardcore IBR veteran who was with us that day – Wallace French – had a score going right up there in this range, but due to a mechanical problem in the last leg of his run he DNF’d. Proof that the LD gods can certainly be a cruel lot).

The only downside to the whole affair was to come days after the event.
I got a call from Kevin. He wanted to meet. To discuss “stuff”.
Uh-oh. This can't be good.
So I joined him for dinner one evening, and he asks just what I was willing to do to achieve the score that I did. It turns out that several folks were “concerned” about the distance I had covered, and what that meant in terms of riding dynamics.
I had two very distinct reactions to this.
One was first and foremost great worry that I had somehow done something that could cast Kevin’s fantastic event in a bad light. This was really upsetting, as the one thing I take to heart when I head out on those early September mornings is that I am indeed an ambassador for not only this event but our sport in general. I cannot bear the thought that this would be seen as otherwise.
But as I made it very clear to Kevin, my ability to cover that distance in that time was overwhelmingly predicated on that fact that everything had to work perfectly, that I had only 8 stops and spent no more that 5 minutes at each. And save for a bit of a wait at the border, a few extra minutes for one gas stop and a minor re-route, it did pretty much all work exactly as planned. Not to mention more than 70% of my route was Interstates, which we all know are engineered for speeds far beyond the posted limit, and where on a few occasions I was the one getting passed! If had anything really gone awry I could easily have switched to plan B, bought myself an hour, and still turned in a respectable (in this case even winning) total.
I could only hope that my conduct over the last four years would reflect that I do take this VERY seriously, not just for myself but for the sake of everyone involved as well as all whom I share the road with.
Kevin seemed perfectly pleased with this answer. He was pretty sure that was the case, but stickler for details that he is he wanted to hear my side of the story straight from the source.
My second reaction was something more akin to, um, irritation, to be polite, and to be clear this part had nothing to do with Kevin and everything to do with those that were pointing fingers.
I realize that I'm still a noob at the LD game, but I have been riding bikes for over twenty years and my safety and behaviour record is pretty damn good. While I certainly don't consider myself in the same league as the folks who compete in the 11 day Iron Butt, I do know now that I can confidently and safely maintain a similar pace for at least 12 hours. And in fact from what I've seen from the IBR results in recent years, my 2011 RDV time/distance log seems rather tame.
The game is what it is. At the end of the day we have to each make the call as to what’s possible and sensible for ourselves. It’s without question a great quality that we all keep a collective eye out to make sure the sport is kept safe. But please… don’t go judging others before you have the facts!

As always, a HUGE thanks goes out to Kevin and team RDV for another spectacularly good event.
A better organized or more enjoyable affair with this calibre of camaraderie you would be hard pressed to find anywhere.
Can’t wait to see what the 2012 edition has in store!

And oh yeah… could someone else PLEASE take the “madman” category this time?
(Wallace this means you. I’d say Perry, but with that Boy Scout demeanor it’d never stick).

Go Discovery... GO!!!!!!

(yes, that's my pic, and yes, that's really what it looked like...)

Well, I can’t exactly hold you in suspense here, it’s pretty much front-page news around the planet that the big D blasted off in an absolutely picture perfect example of how it’s done yesterday at 4:53 pm.
What many headline readers will NOT catch, however, is that she almost didn’t. Through no fault of her own, either. More on that later.
Launch day for me started with the debate on when to go. My entry ticket specified I could not get in any earlier than 9:30 am, but my car pass stated that I couldn’t arrive any later than 12:30 pm. Much as I love KSC, I really didn’t want to spend 10 hours there in the baking sun, especially with nothing other than my $9 Walmart camping chair for accommodations. So the game became: how late could I depart and still make my entry window?
Rumours from the KSC staff and many locals were that the roads start clogging around here before sunrise on launch day, so I would have to consider this carefully. In the end I decided on leaving at 11:00 should work; hopefully the early birds would all be gone, and if not I still had an hour and a half to make what is normally a twenty minute drive.
The drive took, believe it or not, exactly twenty minutes. I never stopped the whole way.
This was but for the grace of God, because from my vantage point it appeared that the only roads in the entire county that hadn’t come to a screeching halt were exactly the ones I needed to get to KSC. Thankfully only one major road, the 528, was essential to get me over to the nearly secret back road entry on hwy 3. 528 is one of two main east-west causeways that bring traffic into the Cape and Cocoa beach, and the east bound lanes coming in were not only full, they had pretty much stopped. But the westbound side was free, and amazingly only but a handful of cars were getting off to go up the 3.
A few miles back from the space center I came upon a roadblock with two lanes. The left one was pretty backed up with guards explaining to folks that they couldn’t go any further, so I tried the right. I didn’t even have to stop, as soon as I pulled out my magic blue placard I was waved right through.
Nice.
(Note: This truly defies explanation, I really had a horseshoe lodged somewhere. Later reports from NASA stated the crowds around the Cape that day were some of the biggest they’d seen. EVER. Consider that some of the Apollo launches would pull in 1 million people, and you get the idea.)
And I just kept going, right on into the KSC visitor’s center parking lot. I even managed – don’t ask how – to bag a spot four rows back from the entrance. All the more incredible when you consider that there were at least 10,000 cars there already, and more on the way.
I then expected massive lineups at the entrance, but again was pleasantly surprised.
The gate operations for this were something on a scale I’d never seen there. Rather than using the usual five or six metal detectors inside, they had banks of them spread the entire width of the front entrance area outside with an army of guards for the bag searches. I actually got in quicker than my visit at Christmas. They should send the KSC security people out on tour to the airports to show them how it’s done.
Once through and back outside amongst the various buildings, though, it was a world gone mad.
There were thousands and thousands and thousands of people everywhere you looked. Lined up for buses. Lined up for food. Lined up for… I didn’t know, because I couldn’t see where the front of some lines went.
My main job at this point was to stake out a spot. I continued on out to the far reaches of the yard, starting at the rocket garden and working my way east. I came upon a huge clearing with bleachers, speakers and a big screen showing a live feed from the launch pad, so I set up shop. Looking around for a while, I realized that there were still a lot of buildings and trees obscuring the skyline in the direction of the pad, so I headed off further east to see what else were available. Finally, at the far end of the center, I found the “front lawn viewing area”. This is literally the last little piece of open grass in the north east corner of the property, and therefore is technically the closest you can get to the launch pad here. OK, I realize that an extra 1500 – 2000 feet at this point is a bit moot, but hey, why not. The other bonus is that, other than the KSC sign at the corner, the horizon is clear all the way to the tree line on the other side of the highway out front. And they also had the PA and big screen setup here as well. But even five hours before the launch, the place was nearly full. I carefully picked my way to the front corner, and as I looked around for a place to land an older gentlemen piped up… “The lady that was just sitting here in front of us has left, you’re welcome to grab her spot!”.
Awesome!
I was now front and center for the Greatest Show on Earth.
I spent the afternoon chatting with my new neighbors, a retired teacher by the name by the name of Larry along with his wife, son and daughter-in-law, who turned out to be very cool folks.
The family was originally from Iowa, and Larry and his wife now lived in Florida most of the year.
Even more than me, Larry was REALLY hoping Discovery was going to go today. Although he had seen launches from afar at his home in Ocala, none of them had seen one up close, so with the clock ticking to the end of the program he decided this would be it. However he was already out a considerable sum to fly his son and daughter-in-law down not once, but twice, as they had come down before for the earlier date that got scrubbed. So he was understandably most distraught at the idea of having to shell out for a third time.
Although it was scorching hot, the time went by pretty quickly. We got to follow along as the astronauts were suited up and all the systems were prepped, with Launch Control talking us through it all the way.
I had thought the area we were in pretty full when I arrived, but it was nothing compared to what it looked like by 4:00 pm. There litterally wasn’t an extra square inch to be had, as I looked back it was a sea of bodies all the way to the horizon.

With thirty minutes to go on the clock, things started to get tense.
Although Discovery’s systems were all A-OK, a problem cropped up the Range Control central computer. This meant that the Air Force command post that oversees all the tracking cameras for the shuttle and security was blind. And those cameras must be 100% operational in order for a launch to get the green light. There are a number of reasons for this, but one of the most important is the need for Mission Control to be able to closely watch the condition of the SRB’s and the external fuel tank in case something goes wrong, as when a large piece of foam detached from the tank in 2003 and fatally damaged Columbia when she tried to re-enter days later.
Twenty minutes go by, still no go.
The angst is becoming palpable.
Launch Control now tells us that they will add a five minute hold to the count at T-minus 5:00.
But that’s all they can do, once past that the launch window to meet the space station closes, and if they can’t sort the cameras out by then the launch will be scrubbed.
Ten minutes to go. Still no Range computer.
T-minus 5 minutes. The hold begins.
3 minutes left. No word.
2 minutes left. Still negative.
1 minute left. ..
No range computer.
The place goes silent.
We’re all holding our breath.
With less than ten seconds of hold remaining (I swear I am not making that up) the radio crackles… it’s the Range Control Officer.
“We are go on Range!”
The crowd doesn’t go wild, they go absolutely apeshit.
The count resumes.
All the umbilicals begin to retract.
At T-minus 1:00 the orbiter goes to internal power.
Next stop, T-minus 0:31.
This is one of the most critical moments, as this is where the shuttle takes over 100% control of her own thought processes, and her four main computers have to look at what’s going on and decide within fractions of a second if they all agree everything is good. This doesn’t always happen, in fact it’s the exact reason the night launch I waited to see in 1990 got scrubbed.
The clock counts down. Everyone is now standing on their toes…
“T-minus 30 seconds, Discovery’s computers in agreement, go for launch!”
The crowd roars again.
“10, 9, 8… go for main engine start”
Sparks fly from the igniters and a brilliant flash lights up the big screen as Discovery’s three main engines blast to life. In this instant, they start consuming fuel at a rate that would drain the average swimming pool in about 25 seconds.
“5, 4, 3, 2, 1…”

And then, as Marvin the Martian would say,

KABOOOOOM

When the shuttle’s SRBs light, there’s no turning back.
Being made up of solid fuel, they are in essence the world’s largest fireworks. Once on, you can’t shut them off, you can’t even slow them down. They’re going to go wherever they’re pointed, taking with them whatever they’re attached to.
And they’re going go there in a hurry.
Luckily the three main engines on the orbiter are pretty powerful in their own right, and since they can be steered, they are very effective at keeping the whole package on track.
Although the forests across the road block our direct view of the launch, it takes only about five or six seconds for something to appear.
And there was no mistaking what it was.
A huge group gasp was heard as it suddenly lit up the sky over the trees, the fiery blast from each SRB clearly visible.
I thought they’d be bright up this close, but nothing like this…

I had taken my sunglasses of so that I could work both my cameras, but in that instant I realized this was a big mistake. It was like gazing into a welding torch.
For a few seconds I just stared painfully in awe, and then realized I had to get pictures!
I raised the camera and snapped away, trying to balance taking in what I was seeing “live” with looking through the viewfinder to save something for posterity. Not easy.
Then the sound hit.
I have to say that element was just a bit disappointing. After the ferocious roar I’d experienced in ’89, I thought this would be even more intense. In fact it was just the opposite, at no point do I think it ever got more than about a half as loud as when I had watched it from across the intercoastal.
I suspect the reason for this is the terrain. When watching it with mostly water between your viewing location and the launch pad, there is very little to attenuate the sound. Anybody who’s ever had a conversation with someone in a boat halfway across a lake at their cottage will understand how dramatic this effect is. However, the visitors’ center at KSC is squarely in the middle of a forest, and trees are some of nature’s best natural sound suppressors, so I guess it makes sense.
Still, this was no jet streaking across the sky. Even if a little toned down, there was absolutely no mistaking the deep, crackling roar of that supersonic exhaust.
Supersonic?
Yep. The minute they’re lit up, the exhaust gases traveling out the back of the SRB’s reach about 6,000 mph (about 9,400 km/h) or around Mach 8, if you prefer. This is in large part why they sound like they’re tearing the fabric of the atmosphere apart.

Discovery was having an absolutely textbook flight. She rolled over on her back right on cue, and then once through the point of maximum atmospheric pressure got the go ahead to throttle up… and did. Perfectly.
I relaxed a little and now took a moment to just drink in the sight of the huge, beautiful white contrail streaking upwards.

Not a moment later, they called SRB separation, and sure enough you could actually see the two long white pillars peel away, flames fading out.

Then she was no more than a little yellow dot.

And that’s when it hit me.
This was it.
The last time I, or indeed many of the folks around me, would ever see this show.

The plan now is to go back to small scale commercial rockets to get the job done, so it may be a long, long time before we see something the size and might of the shuttle again.
So if you are so very fortunate as to be able to get down to the Cape in early April to see Endeavour off, I HIGHLY recommend you do.
One rarely, if ever, gets the chance to truly watch history in the making.
Especially on scale that, not long ago, only the gods could have imagined.