A short and somewhat accurate recounting of the unusual events in and around Dubuque, Iowa the days of June 14, 15 , 16 and 17th, 2007.

Unless, of course, they are following 3x3x3 Rally leader Lee Pape, around Iowa, Wisconsin and Illinois.

BEFORE

On April 27th of this year a 2007 Ural Patrol took up residence in the garage. It replaced a bright yellow (earwax yellow, some poor misguided folks have said) 1983 920 Yamaha Virago with a Friendship 1 and a solo 1995 Yamaha 750 Virago. The 750 was Teal Green with Sparklies which disqualified one from membership in the Wild Bunch. Since becoming a sidecarist shortly after the turn of the century I have generally clocked 4 to 6000 miles between October and March, across Wisconsin's frozen winter tundra's and on the single wheel drive rig got stuck -- frequently. Oh how I longed for a 2wd Ural, much like friend Sheldon had and let me drive upon occasion. But, I'm not a very good mechanic, in my hands things come apart much easier than they go together, and the earlier Urals had, ummm, shall we say a "history", the like of which best go unrepeated.

 Howsomever, since 2004 changes were forthcoming and research suggested that it was time to give into temptation. New gears, electrical system, improved production, reliability and the like. Thus the new acquisition and the need to learn more of the Ural lore, the do's and don'ts, the fixes, tweaks and other stuff - and as friend Jerry says, "Stuff" is important.'

As it turned out the 2500km "run in" was up the week of the infamous 3x3x3 Rally which draws Uralists from far and wide. Thus with run in and maintance completed, all nuts and bolts tightened it seemed appropriate to set out, from Menomonie, down the Great Ribber Road to the 3x3x3 Rally. Driving a Ural out of county was something I was quite apprehensive about, having heard many horror stories of their mechanical reliability, penchant for losing parts, having parts that are supposed to turn, not, and parts that are supposed to be fixed, turn  and so on.  Scary to contemplate a trip across several state lines.

Destination, Dubuque, Iowa, a Rally in mid America, about as far away from the north, South, East and West coasts of the Unites States as it tis possible to get. Truth be known, however the rally tis not actually held in the exact geographical center of the US as, for this to occur, one would have to travel to a quiet little park in extreme North central Kansas, where a bronze plaque set in a pyramid of stone marks the spot.

http://www.kansasphototour.com/center.htm

For your interest, in the next state to the South (Missouri) near Rolla, there tis a point that marks the population canter of the United States. An unverified rumor hath it that this site tis marked by a large fertility symbol.

THE TRIP, THURSDAY'S BEGINNINGS

Arising early on the morning of May 14, I headed south at 8 a.m. to the remoteness of Dubuque, Iowa. Riding comfortably on the rig, so recently checked, behind the recently installed pedestrian slicer traveling 240 some odd miles further into mid America, crossing the Great River thrice in the process. A couple of days before I had been cautioned about not trying to do 30 second miles while drafting a semi, so held the speed between 55 and 60 mph. Oh my conscience was happy, kinda like a big puppy, large soft brown eyes, tongue hanging out, slobbering a bit, wiggling its hinder and wagging its tail as if to say, "I done good, didn't I? I done good, I didn't go too fast." I done good, Oh can I have a Tummy Rub?  Ohhh, Oh Pleeeze can I have a Tummy Rub?"

Upon pulling into the motel lot at about 2 p.m.  I quickly spied two REAL Ural drivers, that is Uralists who have owned their machines more than a month or two and discovered they possessed a wealth of experiences, knowledge, tips and know-how. This was a discovery to be often repeated during the course of the Rally as more participants arrived.

Many were graduates of the older, pre 04, 650 school of hard knocks, knocks which usually presaged engine failure, or so I am told. Rather than “give up”, however, they persisted, learned, designed, built, tweaked and occasionally mumbled “not nice” words in the process of getting a few more miles or minutes of running time, before the next failure. There was Lee, the Rally master who tis also the unrecognized design contributor  of the new electrical system. A system he adapted for his own bike and which Ural borrowed a couple of years later. A late to motorcycling gentleman, Randy, from the Windy City whose first bike was a Ural, which went through eight (I believe) alternators and several engines as he learned to fix stuff for himself. Eric, was there, with his own experiences, horror stories, fixes and truck load of spare parts. The general feelings seemed to be that: 1) Whenever something broke one not only buys the replacement part, or an upgrade, if available, but also a spare part. After all if it broke once it will probably break again, and, 2) Two or three rigs could probably be assembled from all the spare parts brought to the Rally.

 Thursday evening was marked by meeting Lee and Eric, Lee's caretaker, Nancy and being joined by Uptown Al, of USCA and Margarita fame.  We ate Mexican and after a late dinner were joined by the Bergman Bunch. The BB had seen the announcement of the 3x Rally on the USCA site and had written to ask Lee if “scooters” were welcome. Apparently some of their friends’ clamed that the Bergman’s looked and sounded like the “Jetsons” vehicles, and they were concerned about acceptance by Uralists who might ride too fast for then to keep up with. Little did they know! The BB turned out to be a couple of nice couples and added two Bergman rigs and two Bergman solos to the numbers. If they are to be compared with the Jetsons, the Uralists must be the Flintstones.

 FRIDAY'S EVENTS

The next morning, Friday, Lee led us on a ride, beginning about 10 and circling through Illinois and Wisconsin. We visited the oldest bar/restaurant continuous operation west of the Mississippi – it was closed. Absolutely delightful, twisting river roads, cool valleys, which later gave way to heat and humidity, reaffirming a personal principle – don’t go to rallies too far south in the summer, at least mornings and nights need to be cool.

We stopped for lunch at a small town eatery that advertised a humongous, hefty monster burger and it was. At least two thirds of a cow, admittedly a small cow, but a cow nevertheless. I can't remember who ordered it, but a picture was taken of it. I don't have the picture so you will need to imagine it.

IMAGINED PICTURE GOES HERE

 Galena tis a charming town, riding into it was kind of a déjà vu experience – very much reminded me of Provincetown, out on the end of  Cape Cod.

Be worthwhile, methinks to go back some day and poke around shoppes for useless stuff.  For example, while having ice cream with Uptown we sat across from a series of four largish paintings each with Marilyn Monroe, Humphrey Bogart, James Dean and Elvis in situations such as playing cards, playing pool or at a concert. Anyone have any idea what these four have in common or who the artist might have included them together in pictures.  Ahhh, the world of art moves in mysterious ways. So sayeth, Gust whose talent tis limited to stick figures.

Tech sessions began during the ride and continued on into the evening parking lot. During the day Uptown had a screw loose and I kept flashing at inappropriate times. During the evening there were parking lot tech sessions on the installation of deer whistles and mud flap decals.

Also provided was a seminar in rally etiquette in terms of parking lot blender usage for the production of parking lot margaritas. This tis a procedure that has been demonstrated previously, as far away as New Mexico on Tom Hanson’s Butterfly Runs and in the campgrounds of the SKUNK Rally in Wisconsin and the Anamosa Rally in Iowa. There are, so I have heard, some Rallies, where his margaritas have been banned, so get em while they are hot or cold, as the case may be. --- And, of course for Mr. Bond, shaken, not stirred.

During the evening, we sidecarists, ever alert, always on the ball, scanning the horizon for dangers, heard sirens in the distance that seemed to become louder before stopping.  Several minutes later one of the more astute members of the group looked over their shoulder and noticed that 2 fire trucks, an ambulance and Chief’s SUV had snuck up about 50 feet behind us and were sitting there with diesels running, all lights flashing and generally doing their best to call attention to themselves. And so it goes – ever alert. After the emergency personnel had completed their heroic rescues, once again sidecarists came to the fore and provided them civic support by answering all of their questions about sidecars and sidecardom while Lee directed traffic.

.

 Lottsa tips and more stories --- locks, shifting, rejetting, tyres and more.

 Mankato Jim had arrived, on his bright red 06 Tourist (matches fire apparatus) and told of buying his rig last year and shortly thereafter leaving for Montana, for a delightful trip with no problems other than the usual power loss all experience with altitude.

--- and so to bed.

SATURDAY'S HAPPENINGS

Saturday dawned, as Saturday's have done since time immemorial, with the sun rising in the east. We gathered at 8  rode a couple of hours to a 10 o'clock brunch buffet at an old stage coach stop that is also the oldest bar and restaurant in Iowa.

  Today the parking lot tech sessions became more frequent and it almost seemed that unlike other groups that ride to eat, Uralists ride so that they can take things apart and put them together again. Randy, for example dismantled and remantled his hack wheel to fix a non functioning brake

while Dave explored the mystery of the moving rear axle cotter pin. Electrical problems were explored but even the proverbial BFH produced no results.

We passed through an interesting town in the midst of rural Iowa. Upon entering all were struck with the high number of Latino/Hispanic individuals we met. Shortly we encountered members of the Orthodox Jewish community, all in rural Iowa. Well why not? Apparently, like many small towns this town was experiencing economic difficulties but has with an influx of both individuals of Latin and Jewish heritage it is now flourishing and the largest producer of kosher meats in the country.  And, as we rode through all the kids did just what kids do everywhere, regardless of heritage, when they see a flock of sidecars – they got excited, they pointed, they waved, they smiled, they jumped up and down.   NEAT!!! Very Neat, kinda too bad kids grow up to be people.

Leanings today included the “UPS” condition.  That is, with Urals, apparently one develops a heightened and acute sense of awareness (fire tucks excluded). This results in any strange, previously unnoticed, unusual or otherwise, sound or vibration as being immediately being interpreted as a catastrophe in progress – the engine is about to melt down into a puddle of slag, an electrical short circuit has spot welded the handle bars in a fixed full right turn position (this usually happens at speed), a wing is about to fall off, the landing gear wont retract or some other bit of excitement tis imminent, hence the UPS or “Ural Paranoid Syndrome.”.

 Also, I learned of a major deity, not previously encountered in my Sunday school experiences. His name tis frequently invoked by Ural owners. Usually they are in a kneeling position, facing their rig, oil or grease covered hands clasped, their gaze directed upward, and can be heard beseeching the heavens, “What would Ivan do?” Thus I can only conclude that “Ivan” is the patron saint of Uralists.

 Hot, humid afternoon, back at motel all decided to clean up, cool off and rather then get on rigs again order out – PIZZA!!!  For someone on a chronic diet this was simply too good to pass up and I forwent my usual rabbit food in favor the" The Works”.  Travel is so broadening, as somebody said sometime, somewhere.

 More parking lot margaritas, more stories, more wondering why for the price of the bikes, Mr. Harley or Mr. Davidson doesn’t throw in mufflers. Can you tell other riders were coming and going through the parking lot? Door prizes were given: Crawford Sales, Ural dealer in Michigan  www.imzural.info/crawfoordsales donated a number of very nice items and USCA   http://www.sidecar.com/    donated a years membership

SUNDAY AND METHANE

 Sunday morning it was starting to sprinkle with weather moving in from the south. I hurriedly packed, said goodbyes and headed for home, north, hoping to keep ahead of the storm, but missing the group breakfast. I generally was successful but did have occasion to thank Mr. Goldfine, once again for his fine Darien products http://www.aerostich.com/catalog/US/index.html  .

 Tis nice to go and tis nice to come back home again. This is the season, in Wisconsin, when one passes stands of basswoods in bloom with their sweet fragrance, the scent of the fields of newly mown alfalfa, stretching in windrows, fields of dairy cattle, planted in stately rows, stretching to the horizon, contributing copious amounts of methane as a byproduct of initial cheese and butter production. Ahh, yes it tis good to be home again. Lottsa elderberry bushes in bloom for the jam, jelly, syrup or wine makers and can even make an elderberry blossom cake.

 Gust, who is absolutely delighted with his Patrol and tis of the impression that the pre 04 production/quality problems have been largely addressed and that continued improvement is likely. In fact if the experience continues to go well, and Ural does produce a fuel injected 1000 in 2010, despite being very happy with my current long distance rig I would seriously consider replacing it with a Ural.

Why tis this man always at the wrong end of a gun or cannon?

Why is this man hanging around outside the ladies room?

Of course I know where we are - the GPS says we are right here  --   but the map says -----

SATISFACTION!

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