The young man with the bad haircut approached. The young man with the bad haircut approached.
“Good morning Officer.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Cape Girardeau, Missouri, sir.”
“Why are you in such a rush this morning?” he asked as his eyes traveled from one end of the bike to the other.
“No reason. I’m not used to such nice smooth roads, sir, the traffic is light, the sun is coming up, the wind is at my back…I guess was just enjoying the ride through your beautiful state.” I kept a straight face.
“Maybe a little too much. I’ll have to give you a ticket because you were speeding, and we take speeding seriously here in Kansas, especially when you’re on a bike. These are busy roads and there are a lot of deer and wildlife to be watching out for, you’ve got to be very careful, especially on a bike.”
“Yes Officer, I’ve seen your deer. The dead ones I’ve seen on the side of the road are about the size of a small dog. The deer I deal with normally are about five times the size and often grow antlers. Then of course there’s moose…” I had to call him on this issue as they were the smallest deer I’d ever seen. The deer were not the problem. I was more worried about running into stray buffalo at night. Incidentally, he already said I was getting a ticket, so how much of a hole could I dig myself into.
I handed him my license, ownership and insurance info, then waited patiently on the seat of the bike while he ran my plates and wrote up the infraction. I watched my ETA back to the finish in Cape Girardeau climb with each passing second. Ten minutes later he was back.
“Here’s your ticket. You can send us a cheque or show up for the court date in September.”
“I think you’re safe,” I replied and quickly buried the ticket in my tank bag.
“Take it easy.”
“Yes Officer.”
Up to a few minutes ago, this had been a near perfect ride.
Planning for the NSR started in earnest a week before when bonus locations and point values were distributed to the riders via the internet. Those locations were distributed over more than half of the U.S., from as far east as Virginia, as far south as New Orleans, as far north as Milwaukee, and as west as the western border of Kansas. Point values seemed to be arranged in concentric rings, increasing in proportion to distance from Cape Girardeau. There was no winning route per se; with careful planning you could literally go in any direction and amass as many points as someone who headed in the opposite direction.
From the outset I wanted to go west, mainly because I had never ridden a motorcycle in any of those states. I felt traffic would be lighter and I’d be able to ride more miles out west as well. A 30-hour rally with a four-hour rest bonus only left 26 hours of riding time, minus another 2 hours of time off the bike, taking photos of bonuses and filling gas tanks, essentially 24 hours to cover over 1500 miles.
Cameron Sanders, the North Bay rider with the full head of hair, and I left our homes on Wednesday morning, riding south and west on mostly four lane highways. We covered just over 750 miles the first day stopping an hour southwest of Indianapolis. The ride was mostly sedate except for the excitement generated by exploding truck tires in the right lane just ahead of us somewhere in Indiana. Nothing like a little shrapnel avoidance to get everyone’s heart beating faster.
The next day we headed to Metropolis, IL, to take our photos alongside Superman. We both knew we would not be back through the town during the ride, so we opted to go there first to get into the spirit of the rally. From there we headed to Cape Girardeau, crossing over the Mississippi via the beautiful Emerson Memorial Bridge to get into town and to our hotel.
We were a bit early but were able to get signed in to the hotel. At three o’clock we were greeted by Dave “don’t touch the hands” Derrick working the rally check-in line. It was Dave’s recommendation that swung our decision to make it down to the rally. We talked at the Daytona IBA party, where he invited us down, assuring us it was going to be an excellent rally, and was not to be missed.
After doing the safety self-inspect, and the odometer check, we got to relax with some of the riders. Cam and I had dinner in the bar with another fellow who’d ridden over 900 miles from Florida to take part in the rally. At the riders’ meeting, Jim Puckett and Dave went over the rules, answered questions about bonus locations, and reviewed computer entry of declared bonuses. This was an all-digital rally, the first of its kind. Thankfully there were few changes to the bonus list, and we were ready to get down to the serious task of fine-tuning our routes.
Trimming down the routes was a difficult process, because when I had one that looked like it had a winning number of bonus points, the mileage was close to 1900 miles, impossible for me to do in 24 hours of riding. So I would trim back the mileage to 1600, and somehow all the big point-value locations would get axed from the route, leaving me with very little to show for the distance traveled. If I cut the smaller value locations, I still had too many miles to ride in too little time.
I worked on four different routes: the first went through Missouri, Iowa, and Nebraska, picking up bonuses such as The Lewis and Clarke monument, The Civil War Memorial, the geographic center bonus as well as a list of I -70 bonuses. The problems with that route were the low point total and the last half of the route was mainly two lane highway, meaning I may not finish on time.
My next route was through Missouri and Kansas. The mileage was right and it was mostly interstate. The bonuses included several interesting, though not richly rewarding, locations off I-70, plus the Barbed Wire Museum, the Wyatt Earp statue in Dodge City, a big one in Liberal, KS, and a few others for the ride home. The route gave me the option of claiming two others in the far west corner of Kansas if I felt the time factor could accommodate the extra distance.
The last two routes ran through Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas picking up big points around Dallas, but weather in those areas was expected to be well over one hundred degrees, and Dallas is apparently not the safest place for a motorcyclist to be. The route was virtually all interstate, the mileage was right, the distance to the points off the interstate was decent so the routes had to be serious contenders.
The distance/time/points conundrum went on until close to 10:30 PM when I literally said “To hell with it, I’m picking my Kansas route.” It boiled down to gut feeling, or fatigue, or a combination of both, but once decided I was completely committed to the ride. Cameron worked on a route that involved locations in Michigan, Ohio, Indiana and Illinois. After the route was settled, I went out to gas up the bike, ensuring both tanks were full to the brim. I bought a couple of large bottles of “Smart Water” thinking I would be needing the fluids over the next couple of days, and would hopefully benefit from any effect it might have on brain cells.
The next morning Cam and I got our bikes out to the staging area then went back into the hotel for a few minutes to eat breakfast. Before the start, Dave was a busy guy, scrambling to record odometer readings and collecting the planned-ride bonus sheets.
Around 6:00 AM engines were fired up and people just started leaving. Cam and I looked around and then at each other. Nobody seemed to mind, so we left as well. By the time I reached the ramp guiding me north on I-55, I looked at the instrument gauges and noticed a red warning light was on. I observed how the bike was running and sounded, which seemed fine, and decided I must have burned out a brake light. I would check it at my next stop, but in the meantime my flashing Hyperlights would have to do the job on their own.
I had planned a first stop in St. Louis at the Gateway Arch. It was a low point bonus because of its proximity to the start and finish, but I wanted to go there and take a photo of the bike in front of the arch anyway. It’s like getting paid to do something you would normally have done for free anyway. Plus, it being early on a weekend, I would miss most of the regular traffic and wouldn’t waste anytime getting there, you know, just a quick in-and-out.
About mid-way to the city it dawned on me that this was a sucker bonus. It was Friday, not Saturday, and traffic would be bad coming and going into the city. So I scratched the Gateway Arch of my list. So much for commitment! Sure enough, twenty miles from the St. Louis traffic started to get heavier and heavier as we approached.
Several riders had the same or similar routes planned so we alternated the lead heading north from Cape Girardeau on I-55, bypassing St. Louis on I-270 and US 40, then finally heading west on I-70. That road would take us across Missouri and most of Kansas. Rain they had been calling for on Friday was only evident around St. Louis, and from then on we were bathed in sunshine and heat the further west we rode.
Fulton, MO, located in the middle of the state, was to be my last stop on my way back to Cape Girardeau on Saturday, but because I bailed on the Gateway Arch, and because I like to get on the board early in a ride, the Churchill monument got moved up to my first stop instead of my last.
It was of great interest to me, as I’m an admirer of Churchill, a world leader in the truest sense. The invitation for Churchill to deliver a major speech at Westminster College came from President Harry Truman himself, with a promise that he would accompany him there and introduce him to the audience. It was after WWII and Churchill, following a stinging loss in the 1945 British election, was expected to deliver a low-key retrospective of the last several years. That was not his style.
On March 5, 1946, he delivered an explosive speech describing the formation of the “Iron Curtain” separating East and West, his belief that Russia was interested in expanding their power and reach, and warning that only a united Western Alliance of the British Commonwealth and America could keep the Soviet Union in line.
Although his words proved prophetic, Russia’s post war development of the Hydrogen bomb and expansion escalated anxieties and Truman went on become one of the architects of NATO, Churchill was lambasted by the American Press for inciting fear and hinting that the U.S. should take part in an alliance with anyone.
Three of the next four bonus locations were somehow related to Churchill as well. In Independence, MO, I would visit the family home of President Truman, in Abilene Kansas the home of President Eisenhower – another person who knew Churchill quite well, and in La Crosse, KS, I would stop by the Barbed Wire Museum.
But first I had to get off I-70 and head south into Fulton. The GPS led me through the downtown then west towards the College. I parked on the street where an ST1300 rider had already stopped to get his photo. I got off the bike, opened the trunk case, pulled out my camera and flag, read the bonus description and task, closed the lid then walked over to the statue. I took a couple of photos of the statue, then couldn’t remember if they wanted a photo of the Churchill statue, or the plaque they mentioned on the sheets located inside the church. I tried the doors of the church but they were locked. I took a photo of the hours. Next I saw a plaque close to the door; I took photos of that just in case. I went back to the bike and re-read the bonus instructions. A photo of the statue was the only requirement.
I put everything back, but wasted so much time not knowing exactly what I had to do that I promised myself I would look at the next bonus requirement before I set off for it. I opened the lid again, pulled out the rally book and looked up my next stop. “Take a photo of the Truman Home”. That’s all they wanted. I was ready.
I knew that if I wanted to finish tomorrow I had to get my act together at each bonus location. No more twenty minute stops to get one good photo. Now it was back to I-70, via a more direct route this time. The red light on the instrument cluster was no longer lit up, and ceased to be a concern. On my way, I thought about what it would have been like for Churchill traveling to Fulton. There were no interstates, of course, and the town was a two-day train ride from just about anywhere on the east coast. I made a note to thank Eisenhower in Abilene.
The Truman home was located about five minutes off the interstate. Apparently this was the home he lived in before and after he became the 33rd President. It was a modest home in an average neighborhood for a president, which gave insight to the type of person he was. Again, the ST1300 rider beat me there by minutes.
After I took the photo I thought it would be a good time to gas up. The Zumo led me to a small station a couple of blocks away. I have two gas tanks on the bike, the main tank and an auxiliary tank sitting in the area normally reserved for a passenger, which gravity-feeds into the main tank. On a good day I have a 450 mile range.
As the heat increased on this trip, I’d been having a progressively harder time removing the locking gas cap from the auxiliary tank. In fact, another customer, watching me struggle to remove the cap, came over with a couple of screwdrivers so that we could pry the cap off. That worked, but I realized that once I locked the cap back into place I would not be able to get it off again over the next few days. Not only was it going to be impossible physically to remove as the heat increased, but I could not afford to waste ten minutes each time struggling to get it off.
The GPS led me through Independence and back onto the interstate, then through Kansas City, MO, and Kansas City, KS. Traffic was not very heavy, and I moved along smoothly until I was surprised to hit a toll highway, the Kansas Turnpike, just west of Kansas City. I imagined tolls were an east coast thing.
I needed to continue along I-70 to get to my next target, the Johnny Kaw statue in Manhattan, KS. Johnny was a mythical Kansas settler, who “created the states’ landscape, geography and pioneer trails”. In one story he actually battled Paul Bunyan and used his nose to plow the Mississippi river bed. The 30’ statue was built in 1966 in the hope that it would become a roadside attraction. I’m sure it would have had it not been ten miles off the interstate, hidden behind some tall trees in a city park.
The goal was to get a photo of me and Johnny Kaw’s backside in the same picture. I couldn’t figure out the camera’s timer, but was able to talk a couple of ladies out for a walk to take a photo of me holding my flag.
“Is this one of those ‘scavenger hunts’?” she asked.
“It is.”
“Cool!” she replied enthusiastically. Click.
The road into Manhattan was simply the best stretch of asphalt I rode on all weekend. It was smooth, straight, and quiet, plus the wind, which had been building from the southwest all day, was at my back. It reminded me of the “End of the Road” bonus in the 2004 Blackfly rally, where I managed to find a 50-mile stretch of immaculate, fresh tarmac, the likes of which most motorcyclists only dream of riding someday. I took a different road out of town, not as nice as the way in.
Back on I-70, I was headed for the family home of the 34th President of the U.S.A., the Eisenhower home. This was the home Dwight grew up in, in its original location within Abilene. I could now understand why the man was a major force behind the development of the interstate system. Anyone living in Kansas could appreciate getting to either coast in less than two weeks! The town was much like an oasis in the plains. The streets were lined with tall trees, with many mansion-like historical homes built at a time when three-car garages were not the pre-eminent feature of the front of a house. In that respect the town reminded me a lot of Duluth, MN.
A couple of us were getting our photos of the plaque in front of the home, and another tourist volunteered to take the photos while we held our flags. The stops were a lot shorter now, as my efficiency factor improved.
The next stop was in La Crosse, KS, a couple of hours away. Along the way, I fought the wind which was providing some head-snapping gusts at this point. There was nowhere to hide from the wind or the sun, as the state seemed like a wide open space with few trees providing shade or cover from the continuous breeze, a perfect spot for the wind generators that dotted the horizon. The further west I rode, the more ‘pumpjacks’ I saw in farmers’ fields. It reminded me of Alberta.
I exited off the interstate and headed south on two-lane Highway 183, still fighting the headwind. The two-lane road I had envisaged as a 55 mph road was, in fact, a very fast road, at least as fast as the interstate. The road was flat and straight, curving only to get around some huge farms.
La Crosse seemed like an odd place for a Barbed Wire Museum, in fact any place seemed like an odd place for such a museum. And what was the museum’s target market? How many varieties of barbed wire were there, and what improvements had there been in the last hundred years. The place was closed when I got there, so I would never know how the town earned the nickname of ‘barbed wire capital of the world’. Later I found out there were over 2000 varieties of barbed wire displayed, wire that changed the course of settlement on the prairie.
I parked the bike in front of the ball of barbed wire and took the required photo. I was joined by a rider on a yellow Gold Wing. I asked him what his thermometer indicated.
“102 degrees,” came the reply.
My Smart Water was very warm at this time, certainly warmer than the air temperature, but I forced myself to drink it in order to replace fluids lost through perspiration. The next stop was in Dodge City, KS, an hour and a half southwest of La Crosse, but somewhere along the way I would need to stop for fuel.
It wasn’t the classiest looking town, and the only gas station in it was not much better, but when one needs fuel one cannot get too picky. I opted to pump then pay inside. When I was done filling only my main tank, I walked into the convenience store and asked the owner to make sure I had a good receipt that showed city, state, date, and gallons pumped. He ran off the receipt checked it over and said “perfect” as he handed it to me. I scrutinized it as I walked back to the bike. Sure enough it had everything I needed, but something seemed wrong. I turned before I got to the bike and headed back in to ask the store owner: “What day is it?”
“Friday the 11th, 5:45 PM.”
“Then why does the receipt say Saturday the 12th at 3:03 PM”, almost 24 hours off. Nice computer system! I made a manual correction on the back of the receipt and had the manager certify the changes with his store stamp. In addition, I took a photo of my bike and flag at the pump with the correct dollar amount and volume showing on the gauge. You can never be too safe.
With a full tank of gas, I was ready to continue the ride to Dodge City, a town that owed its existence, past and present, to cowboys of the 19th century. Coming into town I noticed the Dodge City sign which included the silhouette of about ten cowboys on horses, positioned as if to watch my entry into town. A hundred years ago, I would have been on a horse instead of a motorcycle, and I would have been greeted by a similar ‘welcoming posse’ only the horses and people would have been real, and perhaps not so welcoming. My goal was a photo of the Wyatt Earp statue, a ‘lawman’ in Dodge City in the late 1800’s who seemed to spend as much time behind bars, as he did hunting down bad guys.
He couldn’t have been all bad as one of his best buddies was Doc Holliday, a dentist. They were infamous as gunslingers that took part in the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Although he did not spend his whole life in Dodge City, he did move to Hollywood at some point, where stories of his days as a U.S. Marshall became the stuff of legends, the basis of several movies and TV shows, helping to put Dodge City on the map. Perhaps that is why his statue stands where it does today.
There was no time for one of Dodge City’s legendary steaks because after that photo it was time to get going to Liberal, KS, the richest location point-wise that I would be visiting during the rally. Again, it was by way of very fast, flat, and straight two-lane roads, traveling headlong into the strong southwest wind that showed no sign of letting up.
At one point, I ran beside a freight train running parallel to the highway. When I caught up to the locomotive, the engineer, who was hanging out of the window, gave his horn two big blasts. I tried to return the favor, by honking my horn in response to his. My left thumb couldn’t find the horn but found the turn indicator instead. I turned the blinker off then tried again this time making my windshield move up and down. I was glad this wasn’t an emergency. Finally I just signaled a couple of vertical pulls on my “air horn” and waved as I left him far behind.
I arrived at Liberal just before 8:00 PM, a town that got its name from the ‘liberal’ offering of free water to travelers in the late 1800’s. I did not see the yellow brick road or find Dorothy’s red shoes, nor did I care enough to look. In a perfect world I’d have arrived one hour sooner, but I could live with the discrepancy knowing that there would be very few stops involved after the four-hour rest bonus. It was hard to imagine that I was just three miles from the Oklahoma state line, 40 miles from Texas, 60 miles from Colorado, and 130 miles from New Mexico.
I got off the bike to take the picture of the Statue of Liberty in the foreground with the Open Book Library in the background. I would go across the street to collect another bonus, the ‘furthest point’ bonus, which was a photo of the GPS showing the lat/long coordinates and elevation at the furthest point in my journey from the rally hotel. From this point on I was heading home.
Arriving minutes after me was Corey Nuehring on his Honda VFR. We waved, but had no time to talk as I began my trek east just as he took his photo. This was a really enjoyable part of the ride, as the setting sun illuminated the sky for another hour and a half, and I rode with the wind at my back for mile after mile. I could feel the relief in my neck and shoulder muscles even though I knew I had another twelve hours of riding to get back to the Cape.
Could I do it? Part of the fun of these rallies is doing the mental calculations as you spend long hours in the saddle. There were multiplications and divisions using time remaining, distance, and speed. There was time for bonus collection to factor in; there was computing when, where and how often I would have to stop for gas. There was calculating the average speed required to finish on time, figuring the best time to take the 4-hour rest, then how much time and distance that would leave for the straight shot home. In my case, there was the translation of kilometers to miles, or miles to kilometers, as my odometer was tracking metric distance, but my GPS was set in miles.
The GPS was locked onto the next bonus location, which was the metal artist M. T. Liggett’s sign in Mullinville, KS. I found his fenced-in yard, located not far off the highway, contained a huge assortment of movable metal art creations, with hundreds of parts spinning and twirling in the breeze. All I needed was a photo of the white sign by the road which I found in darkness, and then I was gone, but not far actually as I needed to fill up my tank again. This was the only extra fill-up as a result of my inability to access the auxiliary tank.
Again I had to prepay, as the pump had not been reset for “the next” customer, and would not accept my credit card. The rookies behind the cash struggled to produce a receipt that was missing some information. Somehow they managed to print a receipt that showed my failed credit card attempt, and between the two slips of paper I was able to produce something acceptable.
The next stop was Wichita, a couple of hours away. This was the boring part of the ride, as I could not see the landscape, and there was traffic to get around on the two-lane highway. Finally, I pulled into the city and easily found the Firefighters Museum with the memorial located beside the building.
I got my photo and decided to ride east on I-35 for another half hour, as I still felt fresh and could shorten the distance I had to cover the next morning. I was looking for a town with a variety of hotels and gas stations within a short reach of the interstate, and found it in El Dorado, KS. I got a starting rest receipt at a gas station/convenience store on the main drag. The time was 00:30. I asked the attendant if he was open 24 hours.
“We close at 2:00 AM, but the station a block away is open all night.”
Perfect, I thought, all I need now is a hotel. The Best Western had reasonable rates and vacancy, so that’s where I stayed. By 1:00 AM I was in the room, and following a shower, fell asleep with my cell phone lying on my chest, alarm set for 4:00 AM. My last thought was how sore and tight my neck and shoulder muscles were. Then I was out, sleeping soundly until the alarm went off.
Four o’clock came remarkably fast, but I managed to get myself out the door and the bike uncovered, then down the street to the 24-hour station. I had the attendant turn on the pump at 4:31 to make sure I didn’t jump the gun, then filled my tank and plucked a good receipt from both the pump and the attendant. By 4:39 I was on my way to Cape Girardeau, with no bonus stops expected the whole way back (roughly 550 miles). My ETA showed 11:59 AM. It was a perfect morning to ride with low wind, ideal temperature, and not much traffic.
At 6:15 AM, about 20 miles west of Kansas City on I-35, the Valentine lit up like a Christmas tree and I knew right away that I had been hit by instant on Lydar. The V-1’s limitations became painfully obvious. It was my first Performance Award in almost 20 years and came as a bit of a surprise as I was managing fuel to ensure one stop only between El Dorado and Cape Girardeau.
I lost ten minutes at that stop but managed to make up 25 minutes more along the way. I was guided around Kansas City this time, reversing the route I used Friday morning. The final gas stop went smoothly, making it just a matter of moving efficiently the rest of the way.
About one hour out of Cape Girardeau, I could see the lights of a motorcycle catching up to me. It was none other than the eventual winner Cory Nuehring, struggling to get back to the finish line. It was obvious he was in some discomfort, as his feet glided just inches over the pavement for most of the way back, unable to keep his knees bent and feet up on the pegs. We took turns leading the way home.
Finally we got back to the hotel parking lot at 11:44 AM greeted by the receiving committee, none other than Dave Derrick. He was everywhere this weekend! I’d never seen Dave so relieved; as each rider came home a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He recorded our odometer mileage and signed our rally envelopes. I gathered the envelope, camera, and receipts, then went to my room and freshened up with a cold drink and a shower.
Over the next hour I downloaded the photos into the laptop and organized the receipts, then headed down to the ballroom to join many others who were in various stages of uploading their bonus information. I entered the pre-ride bonuses, each bonus location visited during the ride in sequence, then the rest bonus and gas log info. There was absolutely no problem with the software, and no lineup at the scoring table. The system worked to my advantage as it forced me to review each declared bonus and ensure all of the information was complete. I handed in my envelope containing my rally book and receipts.
Final job done, I could relax in the room before dinner. Around 5 PM my cell phone rang. It was the rally organizer.
“Peter, it’s Jim Puckett, we’re in the process of auditing the top five scores and we can’t find a receipt that says your rest bonus started at 12:30 AM. If you can get down here and prove you were in El Dorado at 12:30 AM you’ve got third place.”
The evil rest bonus was coming back to haunt me again. “Jim, I know that receipt is in the envelope, I saw it there when I was in the ballroom, I’ll be right down.”
I tore down the stairs and ran to the ballroom. Sure enough, no one could find the rest start receipt. I looked around the table where I uploaded my bonus information thinking that it had fallen on the floor, but there was no sign of paper on the floor. I checked the pile of bonus receipts at the scorers table and it was not there either. I ran back up to the room and tore the room apart thinking that maybe it slipped out of the envelope, but to no avail. The receipt had literally disappeared into thin air and with it my 1000 point rest bonus. I went back downstairs dejected and scoured the ballroom one more time. Finally I said to one of the volunteers, “I better check the envelope.” It was the only place I had not looked.
“Three of us have looked and there is no receipt in there,” she assured me.
I reached into the center of the envelope, felt a piece of paper, and pulled out the rest start receipt like a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat. “There’s your receipt!” I handed it to Dave, then dealt with a time issue on a gas receipt where the time of the fill-up was indicated as the “transaction number”. I felt incredibly relieved, considering my history of losing rest bonus points, or occasionally forgetting to declare them as I did this year in the Minuteman. I felt like I got the “rest bonus gorilla” off my back.
Receiving the third place award certainly made dinner a whole lot more fun, considering how close I came to not getting it. Rally winner Cory Nuehring, the rider I met in Liberal, KS, rode 105 miles more than I did, and included the two bonus locations that I had declared optional and bypassed. It was simply an exceptional ride considering the wind and temperature that day. The second place finishers, Mike and Betty Ann Ligons, rode as a couple on a route through eastern bonus locations. I know they generally write about their experiences in rallies, so I look forward to reading about their trip.
Fourth place went to none other than my riding partner Cameron Sanders, who headed on a course through the northeast, finishing with virtually identical scores. Visiting Chicago was a gutsy move. The overall results were better than either of us would have predicted.
Cam and I judge these events not by where we finish on the leader-board, but by the quality of the people we meet and interact with. In that respect Dave’s prediction was right on the mark, this was an outstanding event and we look forward to the 48-hour rally next year.
Peter Delean
North Bay, Ontario
Rider # 58