A Widow's Ride

A Morning of Anticipation and Omen

The Scooter Cannonball Run is not for the faint of heart. Eight days, thousands of miles, often pushing yourself and your machine to their absolute limits. For me, among the blur of sunrise starts and endless highways, Day 4 stands out as a microcosm of the entire experience: a rollercoaster of euphoric highs and gut-wrenching lows that ultimately defined my journey.

We’d left Pocatello, Idaho, on Day 3, completing our oil changes and mapping out the next day’s route. My riding companions, Terra (#84) and Claire (#85), and I had found our groove. Since joining forces on Day 2, we’d developed an unspoken rhythm on the road. The plan for Day 4 was much like the others: skip the gravel sections and maybe, just maybe, brave the 18 miles of twisties through Colorado National Monument for the final bonus point. We’d wing it, as usual.

As the sun peeked over the horizon, casting long shadows across the motel parking lot, we began our daily ritual of prepping our scooters. This particular morning, however, felt different. An omen, perhaps? I lost my o-ring clip and my checkpoint trading cards, meaning I’d be relying on Terra and Claire for guidance on the required photographs. A minor hiccup, but a hint that this day might not unfold like the others.

Normally, I ride sweep on my little Genuine Buddy 170i. She’s no match for their Honda ADV150s, a fact I confess I’m sometimes a little envious of. But what my Buddy, affectionately named LP, lacks in raw power, she makes up for in agility. When the road gets twisty, LP flies through the corners. Because of this, I often found myself riding in the middle, especially with Terra. She’s a bit timid in curves, particularly with fear of heights, but she’s improved immensely since I taught her to follow the lines, effectively avoiding the disorienting sightline of the cliffs below. I couldn’t have been prouder of her progress.

We wove between Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado, the landscape shifting around us like a living painting. Then we arrived at the entrance to Sheep Creek Canyon Geological Loop road. The scenery transformed, from lush greens to earthy browns, then fiery reds, before returning to green in breathtaking layers. I was utterly awestruck by the majestic beauty of the United States. As we approached Bonus Point #5, there they were: two Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep, right on the side of the road! In all my years riding dual-sport motorcycles in Joshua Tree National Park, I’d never seen one up close. “Damn it,” I thought, “I wish I had a GoPro to capture this!”

Riding on a High: Bighorns and Breathtaking Views

We reached our bonus point, snapping our obligatory evidence photos with timestamps. Even though it’s not a race, it’s still a timed event, after all. The three of us were in such a state of euphoria that we finally took a moment to capture ourselves together – the first group photo in four days! How could the day possibly get any better? In that moment, surrounded by stunning natural beauty and good company, I truly believed I might just survive the eight days of 10-12 hour rides, covering over 500 miles daily. Most of the time, our stops were strictly for photos, a swig of water, a granola bar, and a quick bio break. It was a far cry from my usual motorcycle rides, where I’d chase every “shiny” detour.

When the Luck Ran Out

This is where the lows began to creep in.

Once we navigated out of Sheep Creek Canyon, LP started losing power on US-191 and then Colorado 340. That was the first warning sign. The second came when I hit a massive pothole – one of those full-width roadwork trenches for a pipe or line. It shook LP violently. She still felt sluggish, but nothing seemed irreparably damaged, so I pressed on. The gap between Claire and me grew steadily, but Terra, ever patient, stayed behind me, as I encouraged LP to “keep on truckin’.”

Then, my half-gallon water jug, tethered by a lanyard, popped out of its holder and began flinging wildly. It narrowly missed me as I slowed to pull over. The pothole must have jolted it loose, and a subsequent curve sent it flying. Luckily, earlier in the day, tired of the lanyard around my neck, I’d hooked it to the scooter instead. If it had still been around my neck, it could have easily flung me off at 55 mph. Whew, I was a lucky girl.

Back on the road, LP continued to underperform, bogging down to 50 mph at wide-open throttle. I made a mental note to give her a serious inspection at the hotel. My thoughts then drifted to Claire, and how she’d almost been T-boned by a pickup truck earlier. Luckily, the truck saw her just in time. But then, as if on cue, a pickup truck turned left directly in front of me! I slammed on my brakes, my scooter fishtailed, and I stopped mere inches from his truck. My heart pounded, a mile a minute. I needed a break, but there was no safe place to pull over. I collected myself at the next red light, reminding myself we were close to the Day 4 finish line, where a cold one awaited.

Kindness on the Road to the Finish Line

The light turned green, and LP stalled. She wouldn’t turn over. Crap. I was blocking traffic, with nowhere safe to pull over. Frantic, looking for a spot to push her, a support truck from Team Scooter Iceland pulled up behind me. The gentlemen, not mechanics, tried to troubleshoot but then offered to load LP into their U-Haul. They didn’t want me waiting by the road alone for the official support truck, which was over an hour away. I told them I was a big girl and could wait, but they wouldn’t hear of it. Plus, they said, one of their riders, #444, was a mechanic. He could help. We loaded LP, and I had to show them how to tie her down. These guys were friends of the rider, volunteering as support for a great cause: raising awareness and money for Pulmonary Fibrosis.

As we pulled into the hotel parking lot, I realized we were only 22 miles from the finish line for Day 4. Sigh, just my luck. The driver got Wally’s attention, explaining what happened. Wally, rider #444, approached me. What impressed me most was that he didn’t treat me like a “girl” and take over. He genuinely walked me through the diagnostic process, explaining each step so I understood the logic. We checked the battery, the fuel, the injector pressure. Then, we decided to change the oil. It was incredibly dark, with hints of metal. Wally looked at me forlornly. “It might be time to throw in the towel,” he said. “Even if you change the oil, you still have a good chance of blowing up the motor. At least she’s running somewhat.”

Finding Pride in the DNF

With a heavy heart, I walked over to the race official and turned in a DNF status. My sole goal for this rally was just to finish, and I gave it my absolute best. As I reflected, there were a lot of lessons learned but absolutely no regrets. I had set out to do something my late husband would have done, and as my sister-in-law later said, “You finished in another perfect Austin outing!” Just then, a lizard shimmy-ed by, and I knew my late husband was looking down from heaven, beaming with pride at how far I had made it.