Kyle Petty Charity Ride: Off and riding across country

KANSAS CITY, Kan. -- All Kyle Petty saw was the black sticker. His mind told him to search for something else, but when he looked in the mirror of his motorcycle, the oval black sticker was all that stared back at him.

Its been that way for nearly every person on the 15th annual Kyle Petty Charity Ride. Right next to the rides official sticker on each motorcycle is the black oval with one word: CLICK.

• To learn more, click here
• Victory Junction Gang Camp
• Video: Breaking more ground

Click Baldwin is on this ride, the other riders just cant see him.

Click died last July following a motorcycle accident in Montana when he was headed to the 68th annual Sturgis Rally. He owned the Carolina Harley-Davidson dealership in Gastonia, N.C., was widely known for his award-winning custom bikes, and was the man to see among the NASCAR community regarding motorcycles. He was also a staunch support of the Victory Junction Gang Camp.

Kyle asked Click to join him on the first motorcycle ride across America because, as Kyle puts it, he was one of just a few people he knew who could work on motorcycles. But Click was more than just a mechanic for the ride.

There was nobody never has been and never will be like Click Baldwin, said NASCAR journalist Al Pearce, who had ridden with Click on every Kyle Petty Charity Ride before this one. He had a way of walking into a room and taking over. He didnt have to say a word. He just walked into a room and all of a sudden the atmosphere changed.

Like during the early rides, when rain drenched the group on many occasions. Theyd pull into a fuel stop complaining of being soaking wet, but then Click would pull in. Hey, isnt this great! I love it! hed say.

Or like when he brought his wife, Diane, and daughter, Chelsea, on the second ride Chelsea was 4. Mother and daughter havent missed one since.

When it came time to gather this year for the ride, every rider who has done this journey in the past saddled up with a heavy heart and without one of their friends. At least without him physically.

This painting of Adam Petty will welcome everyone to the Victory Junction Gang Camp in Kansas City.

I said it the first morning and we talked about it hes here. Hes here with us. Hes here in the memories that each one of us have in our hearts of what he did and what he meant to this ride. And hell be here every year until we no longer ride this ride. Hell always be a part of this ride, Petty said. I cant tell you how many times in the last couple of days Ive looked up and waited for him to come up in the mirror, or see him at a gas stop. Ive looked for him all week long. So hes here.

This years ride was for Click. Every bike in the mile-long procession is armed with a black oval sticker with CLICK on it. Some have shirts. Some have patches. Some have helmet decals.

Click was a dear friend of mine, said Robert D. Raiford, a 15-year rider. He was the one that got me to go on that first one. Thats mainly the reason I came on this one. Like Kyle said Monday night, you just feel like Clicks going to come alongside and take a picture of you or something like that. Quite a guy.

Added longtime friend Morri Irvin, who has been on 13 of the 15 rides: Everybody that ever met him, they never met a better friend. Thats why everybody wants to honor him so much with it. He loved everybody on this ride, too, just as much as they loved him. Its really a hard ride simply because hes not here and you just miss him so much. Everybody does.

On Tuesday, Kenny Crosswhite gave the morning devotional before the group left Steamboat Springs, Colo. It was nine years to the day that Adam Petty died. As Kenny spoke, Kyle Petty stood just inside the parking garage where 100 or so motorcycles awaited the days route. Kenny also spoke of Click, and how this ride in particular is in memory of him.

On Wednesday, the first year without Click on the ride and a day after the anniversary of Adams death, the Kyle Petty Charity Ride rolled into a rural part of Kansas City, Kan., down a narrow drive and into a dusty, gravel lot. There, Kyle and a handful of others broke ground on what will become the second Victory Junction Gang Camp for chronically ill children. A local artist completed a painting of Adam, which was auctioned. The winning bid: $10,500. The money went to the camp. The painting was then donated back to the Pettys, and Pattie Petty made it clear: the painting would be the centerpiece to welcome kids to Kansas Citys Victory Junction Gang Camp.

The two days leading up to the groundbreaking ceremony were emotional. The ride is emotional Kyle turned around during one leg of the trip in Colorado because a local man on the side of the road stood waving cash in his hand to donate to the camp.

This ride is not about motorcycles. And despite the NASCAR connection, this ride goes far greater into the depths of rural America than racing cars could ever do touching hearts, and ultimately through the camp, changing lives.

Its about people. Bill Robbins, whos on his first ride along with his brother, Matt, and father, Eddie. The Cathys, who make this journey an annual family vacation. Ron Rater, whos willing to take a first-year participant under his wing on the road, and Alton Plyler whos willing to throw stuffed Chick-fil-a cows to any boy, girl and adult the ride passes, no matter if he has to stay at a gas station a few extra minutes. The Seminole Tribe of Florida, that has eight members make the ride each year, including the tribes leader, Max. Gil and Dorinda Pritt, who make sacrifices to ensure others can experience why they choose to ride. The Pettys, who lost a son but gave hope to others.

And Click.

An hour after ground was broken in Kansas City, the riders were at their hotel for the night. Threatening skies finally unloaded a downpour of rain that began soaking the streets. From Stevenson, Wash., all the way to Kansas City half the distance of the rides total tour -- not one drop of rain fell from the sky, and yet how fitting that rains came after a second camp was made official. Its like Click was saying, Hey, isnt this great! I love it!

We could not have ever done this ride without him being a part of it, Kyle said of his old friend. As long as one of us out of this group is still here to ride, hell be here with us.

More: Follow Kyle on Twitter throughout his ride. Click here to follow along.

DAY 6: HAYS, KAN.

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Don Tilley has been leading the Charity Ride from the beginning.

Don Tilley saw Kyle Petty motioning him to pass, so he hit the gas a little harder as a group of 32 motorcycle riders left San Francisco in 1995.

It was the inaugural Kyle Petty Charity Ride, and Petty was leading the route -- at least until his tank began to run dry. "Lead this thing a while, I've got to get off and get some gas," Petty told Tilley. When Petty pulled off, Tilley took control of the ride and he's been leading the way ever since.

Tilley, a former racer who worked for Richard Petty when Kyle was born, has always been on a motorcycle. He used to ride to races, taking his bike to the local tracks or all the way from Charlotte to Daytona.

So when Kyle Petty approached him about riding a bike with Harry Gant and a few others out to the Phoenix race in 1994, Tilley was sold. The trip was a success. Petty decided to take an annual fundraising trip across the country each year to raise funds for ill children, and Tilley was among the first he asked to join.

"And I've been in front ever since," said Tilley, who's been riding motorcycles for 60 years; his first was a '49 Harley-Davidson knucklehead that he rode to Tampa, Fla. "It used to be I [orchestrated] the whole route. But now it's so organized that the highway patrol is out front, and they put the car in front of us. So I'm just what you call the lead dog right now."

And he's had a major influence on Petty and the Charity Ride.

"I love this guy more than anything because he taught me how to ride long distance and learn what it's all about to be out there in God's country under the sky," Petty said.

Thirteen participants who have been on all 15 Charity Rides were honored Monday night for their dedication and influence. Each received a commemorative patch to go on the leather jackets they received when they celebrated 10 years on the ride. There were laughs and tears. And there's more to come.

"The biggest thing is we've been able to raise a lot of money -- and to keep it going," Tilley said. "We figured the first year it would be a great thing. Then we did the second year and the third year and it's just grown from there. It's gotten more organized and more press. It's a big deal right now. We make a lot of money for the camp. It's just a great thing to do."

Tilley's steady hand on his motorcycle has put the Kyle Petty Charity Ride in front of countless eyes across the country. When supporters line the streets to welcome the ride into small towns like WaKenney, Kan., it's Tilley they see first. When 154 miles on the High Plains ends in driving under a bridge with three fans waving below, it's Tilley they see first. And when the Kyle Petty Charity Ride rolls into North Carolina later this week at the Victory Junction Gang Camp, the kids will see Tilley first.

Perhaps just as important, his influence and presence has helped turn the ride into a safer trip.

"This man, to a lot of us, has passed on something that I can never repay him for, and that's the love of riding a motorcycle," Petty said. "I thought I knew how to ride until I started hanging out with Don, and that's no joke. He's taught a lot of us, maybe not directly but indirectly, about the love of the bike and what the bike is all about."

DAY 5: STEAMBOAT SPRINGS, COLO.

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The motor marshals play an important role every mile of the ride.

Tommy Perry waited with the gas pump in one hand, handkerchief in the other. Then the rumble began.

Tommy, who is the lead Motor Marshal for the Kyle Petty Charity Ride, heads a group of seven highway patrolmen from North Carolina who pace the cross-country tour. Some stay with the front of the group, but Tommy jumps out ahead of everyone about eight miles to keep watch for potential hazards and scout out proper patrolling of areas such as intersections -- and, to pump gas when the pack arrives.

"I'm what they call the Bird Dog," Tommy said. "I'm out in front of everybody about eight or 10 miles. We have constant radio contact with each other and try to keep the whole pack together. There's some in the back, some in the middle, and some in the front."

Those in the back are willing to pick up any riders who may have an issue. That happened Monday.

Just after leaving the lunch stop in Jensen, Utah, a rider's rear tire went down once the group hit the open range of Colorado. With virtually no traffic on Highway 40E, it didn't cause a stir. Two passenger vehicles in the group stopped, along with the Harley-Davidson support trailer. Also stopped was one of the Motor Marshals -- they're impossible to identify by name, with their matching yellow jackets and identical black Harley-Davidsons with sirens on the back.

During the 10 minutes it took to load the bike and unload a demo from the Harley trailer, nobody drove past because, quite simply, there wasn't any traffic; this part of Colorado is desolate. The Marshal stayed with the trailing group until all parties were on the road again. Before the ride reached its next stop in Craig, Colo., the trailing party had caught up with the pack and there was Tommy, pump in hand.

"We pump gas and make sure we keep everybody safe -- just help people out on the ride," he said.

Each stop, he sheds his yellow reflective vest along with some other members of the Charity Ride team who travel ahead of the pack, and they have the fuel pumps ready for the riders when they arrive at a destination. Fill one bike up, remove the nozzle, next bike pulls in. The chain takes no longer than 10 minutes at most stations. One pump in Craig stopped at $70.84. Of course, 12 pumps were going. Average price at a fuel stop: $800-$1,200, which is often donated by a rider or Charity Ride supporter.

Motor Marshals see all while on patrol during The Ride.

Where there's good cop, there's also bad cop.

Earlier in the day as the group headed from Heber City to Jensen, Utah, a pack of stray bikers tried to blend in with the ride. They're easy to spot in this part of the country for one glaring reason: no helmets. That, and when the ride motored past a biker bar through one tiny town, the three were ready and waiting to pull out.

The Motor Marshals had to take action. One of the yellow-suited patrolmen eased into the slow lane (No. 2, in patrol speak) and simply slowed down to the back of the pack. "I call that a sweeping block to the right," he radioed over the talkie.

"We just have to be cordial about it, but it's mostly from a safety standpoint because riders have to sign a waiver to be part of the ride," Tommy said.

It wasn't the first time strays tried to join in -- a compliment to the ride's reputation, but also a tip of the hat to its streamlined organization -- and it won't be the last.

Still, the ride motored on to Steamboat Springs for the night, where resident Nancy and her daughter, Heather, her son, Shawn, and his friend, Gavin, awaited.

"We admire Kyle Petty for all he does. He's a phenomenal person," Nancy said, noting that her family is one of the few NASCAR fans in Steamboat Springs, the self-proclaimed Ski Town, U.S.A.

Added her son, Shawn: "I'm just glad this ride came through and stopped here in Colorado. This isn't a really big NASCAR town, and having them pick here to stop is an honor. We'll ask somebody if they saw the race, and they'll say, 'What race?' So we feel kind of outnumbered here.

"But there are some of us who love this sport and think it's a great thing they're doing."

Local Spanish teacher Reggie grew up in Winston-Salem, N.C., and has followed the sport for years. His best way to support the cause? Contribute.

"We've got about 25 to 30 people in our car show and we just work on cars together, work on motorcycles, any kind of motor vehicle," said Reggie, who was waiting on the Charity Ride's arrival along the side of the road with a few of his Dream Team members. "With my tutoring, I do a lot of post-high school work with guys in technical schools. When I told them the ride was coming through, they wanted to help raise money. We're still raising money."

From the highway patrolmen who donate their time to logistically police the ride, to locals raising funds or showing their support, to ... well ... the motorcyclists who'd just like to feel the breeze by following the Kyle Petty Charity Ride, they all have a common desire.

"Everybody wants to be part of it," Tommy said. "It's a great thing."

DAY 4: PARK CITY, UTAH

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NASCAR.COM's Josh Pate -- out of the car (and off the bike) -- breaks with the riders for dinner.

In between bites of authentic Idaho potato during Sunday's lunch break, Gilbert Pritt walked up casually. My conversation with Rutledge Wood ended, and I turned to Gilbert and his wife. I had dinner with the couple the first night of the Kyle Petty Charity Ride, so I figured we were just going to chat.

"My wife and I figure if you let her drive your car, you can ride with me on the motorcycle for a leg of the trip," Gilbert said. "I just want you to be able to experience it from the bike and why all of us love to do this."

I like offers I can't refuse.

The Pritts and I talked about the logistics of it all:

• I'd need to clear it with the ride's coordinator, Diane Hough. She was on board.

• I'd need a helmet -- Kay from Chick-fil-a came through with one to fit my giant skull.

• I'd need a leather jacket -- again, Kay.

• I'd need some gloves -- Gilbert's wife let me use hers.

The plan: At the next fuel stop in Ogden, Utah, I'd give up my keys, put on my gear and figure out how to get on the back of Gilbert's Harley for my first time on a motorcycle. Not easy. Five men lifted me up and sat me down before helping me adjust to the new environment. Having cerebral palsy, hiking a leg over a steel horse doesn't always come in the "how-to" manual.

Gilbert gave me the Cliff's Notes of riding shotgun -- basically, don't overreact when he leans into a turn. The siren sounded. Five minutes before departure.

"You ready," Gilbert asked.

"Ready."

As the ride pulled out of the filling station for the final leg of Day 4 into the Utah mountains, we deliberately were one of the last to hit the road. No need to interfere with the ride just because we want to have a little cycling experiment.

The wind was cold, just like they warned. But it wasn't overbearing, despite the dropping temperatures as we climbed in elevation. My chapped lips didn't agree.

But the beauty? Incomparable.

I had spent the last two and a half days trailing the Charity Ride in an indiscrete Pontiac. I kept my hazard lights on and had a pair of wingmen -- Alton in the Chick-fil-a cow car and Rob in the Racing Electronics truck -- so local authorities knew I was legitimately with the ride. I enjoyed the scenery along the way, especially Idaho. I got emotional when I saw families standing roadside and waving, many of whom I'm sure rearranged their schedules to get a glimpse of the ride rolling through their town.

But up here on the motorcycle, I became part of the ride (something no objective journalist should do ... blah).

About that time, one of the motor patrol riding with the group rolled to our side and handed us a radio.

"Josh, we're going to take you to the front and we'll fall in line there," said one of the patrolmen on the talkie (I've met them, but under yellow vests on matching bikes, they're stealth).

"10-4," I said.

Gilbert put the hammer down and we started passing riders. Within minutes, we were within sight of Rutledge and Diane in the pace car. Don Tilley was in his traditional spot leading the pack (more on Don before the week's out). Gilbert and I weren't sure what to do, but, as awkward as it was for the both of us, Don waved us by. We were leading the Kyle Petty Charity ride as it rolled in for the night in Park City, Utah.

My legs are sore this very moment. My lips desert dry. And my shirt soaked from wearing two jackets on a mild afternoon. Everyone asked the same question: "How was it?"

It reminded me of the conversation I had with my mom (on Mother's Day, no less) just minutes before Gilbert asked if I wanted to ride. The premise: You can read words or information about something but in no way does it resemble the experience. Traveling on the Kyle Petty Charity Ride (90 miles spent on Gilbert's Screaming Eagle) and understanding the bond between riders and workers beats any word on this page.

DAY 3: SUN VALLEY, IDAHO

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Seventeen-year-old Mariah Barthlow provided some entertainment at the fuel stop in Dayton, Wash.

The name of the town wasn't as eye-catching as the line below it. On the federal-green sign it read:

Stanley, Idaho

Population: 100

A couple hundred yards down the road, when the Kyle Petty Charity Ride pulled in for its final fuel stop of Day 2, most riders had forgotten the towns name already. But the census figures were accurate. Nobody was there. It was a rare occurrence. Most other stops along the way have had autograph seekers and occasional police escorts. Not Stanley.

Pulling in for fuel nearly tripled the town's population.

That's the year-round population. "In the summer, it's a lot more with tourist season," said Mercedes, who was working the register at the quiet, wooden building that had snowmobile parking signs in the back lot.

It was 42 degrees and snow was rumored to be on the other side of the mountain range the ride was preparing to cross. Icy white mounds packed on either side of the road just past the station. It was quite the contrast from 10 a.m. Saturday morning.

In Dayton, Wash., two fueling stations sat across from each other, one a brand-name stop while the other was simply called Dayton General Store. As the majority of riders packed into the Shell station to top off and grab a snack, a few trying to avoid the crowd for a restroom break darted across the street to the small, low-key market.

"You guys with the charity ride?" the lady behind the counter asked. "It's been the talk of the town."

She meant that in a good way, despite the rival station hosting the first stop.

With temperatures topping 70 degrees and no clouds in the sky, it was a perfect stop. A crowd was waiting at the Shell station. Kyle Petty hopped off his bike and signed shirts and autograph cards for kids and adults. Seventeen-year-old Mariah Barthlow played eclectic tunes on her violin, setting an Irish backdrop. "It's exciting and a little chaotic," she said between songs.

Little did the riders know the stop would set the tune for the rest of a long day.

The map registers 452 miles from Richland, Wash., to Sun Valley, Idaho. And it was a true test to every sense of the body.

If Dayton provided the music, then Grangeville, Idaho, surely provided the smell. Hot dogs and hamburgers awaited the group for the second fuel stop, and the smoke bellowing from beneath the red tent looked like one big block party had broken out. The three cooks had it planned just right. Expect 180 people, they were told, so they prepared food for 260. It was gone when the ride pulled out, and nobody left hungry.

From there, the sights were triggered as Highway 95 is something from a pop-up children's book. The desert-like rocks were suddenly complemented by the ice-capped mountains in the Sawtooth National Recreation Area. The ride ventured into the 45th Parallel (equal distance from the equator to the North Pole) when it rode through New Meadows, Idaho.

But just before 4 p.m. local time, the sense of touch reared its ugly head.

Motor down, the voice called over the radio. Two riders had taken a fall. Some of the support group stopped to assist. No major injuries.

By nightfall, the ride rolled through a parade-like atmosphere in downtown Ketchum,

Idaho, before settling in at posh Sun Valley Resort, base for skiing at Bald Mountain. Despite snow on the mountain, the season was over. Walking the short distance to the ballroom for a late dinner, the resorts outdoor mall was closed and quiet. It had a slight resemblance to the silent stop for fuel just a short while ago, where Mercedes was the lone cashier for the entire ride to top off the tanks.

"This is going to shoot it right over the top tonight," Mercedes said before walking out the door and turning on her camera for a picture of the bikes. "Normally, I do about $300 for the night shift. It's going to be a lot more than that tonight."

DAY 2: RICHLAND, WASH.

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A rainbow highlights the way to Richland, Wash.

Shelia stood gazing out the window, antsy with her leather jacket on and a number painted on her cheek. As half a dozen patrons thumbed through chips or drinks in the convenience store, she was nervously looking outside, distracted from ringing up the customers.

"Sir," she said. "Is Kyle Petty out there?"

"Nope," a waiting patron replied, turning to his left to the man standing two feet away. "He's right here."

Shelia's jaw dropped. She screamed, shook Petty's hand and had her picture made with the head of the Kyle Petty Charity Ride. Afterward, she went back to ringing up customers with a smile. Petty went on his way, too, back outside to pump gas for the scores of motorcycles on the ride.

Day 1 of the ride began in Stevenson, Wash., with Mayor Dave McKenzie's Dream Team of riders donating a $1,000 check to Victory Junction Gang Camp. "I think it's a great opportunity to showcase our part of the world," McKenzie said of hosting the rides kickoff. "There's a reason why us locals live here. It's just a beautiful place."

The day ended in Richland, Wash., where six groups were honored for their fundraising toward the camp. One was an elementary school girl who held garage sales and asked friends for donations. Another was a local hot dog vendor who raised what he thought to be an estimated $500 with a bucket and a loud voice; dollars kept falling into his bucket all the way up until he presented the wad of cash to Petty.

In between was a ride through the depths of the Columbia River Gorge, all the way to the peaks of Mount St. Helens (elevation 8,365 feet) and the snow caps of Mount Rainier (elevation 14,411 feet). There were elk feeding on the side of the road as the group rumbled by, and a stroll through Yakima County, known for proclaimed Bigfoot sightings.

But it was here, in tiny Morton, Wash., where Shelia met her motorcycle-riding hero -- she prefers cycles over NASCAR. Folks in Morton were waiting for the ride to arrive, even if it was an hour before the scheduled time. Men and women came and talked with riders, kids waited in line to get Petty's autograph and then circled Herschel Walker as he patiently chatted with each future footballer.

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The gorgeous Columbia River Gorge is the backdrop through Washington State.

"It's going to make all the newspapers and everything," said Harrison Christian, owner of the Gas Plus Chevron where the ride made its first fuel stop. "This is a logging town with three different mills. And of course with the economy, things are very slow right now. Even being a small town to get this much excitement is happy for everybody. I've heard people talking about it for a couple weeks with anticipation and excitement."

Christian knows. A retired logger, he began his own business in Morton 20 years ago and now operates the towns two gas stations, a pair of motels, a Subway and a local coffee shop.

"This is being part of the American dream," he said. "I started out one of the poorest kids in town and this is what can happen when you work hard."

But Christian's small-town ties haven't kept him inside the city limits. Last year, he and his wife joined a friend for a motorcycle ride around the world.

"I've been in 86 different countries," Christian said. "I've shipped my bike around Cape Town and Africa and all around the world. This time we shipped to Tokyo and went all through the islands, took a ferry over to China and through inner Mongolia, Siberia, across Russia to the Ukraine across the Black Sea. Poland, Slovakia, Czech Republic, Austria.

"Because I was raised during the Cold War, I enjoyed Russia really well for a couple of different reasons. One, I never thought I could go there. It was scary because of Siberia and all that. Being a retired logger, I just loved riding across Siberia. We were treated with so much respect and everything; I would encourage anyone to go there."

But on this day, he was glad a ride across the United States made a stop at his filling station.

"We have the only two gas stations in this town so maybe it worked out mileage-wise," he said. "But we sure appreciate having you here, more for your friendship than your business."

DAY 1: STEVENSON, WASH.

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Motorcycles are lined up and at the ready for an 11-stop tour from Washington state to North Carolina.

A young, clean-cut gentlemen leaned over and shouted to a grizzled, leather-clad man with long and curly hair. "Seems like it was just yesterday we were doing this," he said. "I can't believe it's time to ride again."

The pair was engaged in a heavy discussion about tire pressure and what the front wheel of a Harley-Davidson should carry. But the motorcycle talk didn't extinguish their understanding of the moment.

Kyle Petty mingled, laughing and snapping pictures on his digital camera -- in between Twitter updates, of course. Herschel Walker captured the conversation of his table near the front of the conference room. Harry Gant sat in the center of the room chatting with friends. Nobody clamored for autographs. It was more like a high-school reunion among motorcycle riders. It was the kickoff dinner for the 15th annual Kyle Petty Charity Ride in the tiny town of Stevenson, Wash. -- a town 45 miles west of Portland, Ore., with an estimated population of about 1,500, locals say.

"We really chose here because we have gone west to east so many times. And we've gone north to south," Petty said. "We've left Portland before and when we polled the people, they liked this area. We've been through Idaho a couple of times and the riders liked that area. We've been through Kansas, and they like the Kansas area. We go through Arkansas, and they all like that. They all like country music so they all wanted to go through Nashville. So when we did our survey and putting it together, it's not bad."

And Stevenson provides just the right touch to kick off the ride. Best example: Students from Stevenson Elementary created cards to place in each ride participant's hotel room upon check-in.

Call it the dream ride.

"That's kind of the way this ride came together," Petty said. "It wasn't like we sat down and said, OK ... Stevenson, Washington. There we go. It was a little bit more methodical than that. Most everybody enjoyed being up here. You start in Southern California and take off through Vegas, everything looks alike. It's just desert and we've done that before. So we decided to go back to our classic ride, West Coast to East Coast."

Stevenson sits on the southwest corner of Washington, directly on the Columbia River that serves as the state's border to Oregon. Any newcomer is bound to proclaim the area looks exactly like one would picture: green with mountains disappearing into the fog.

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Picturesque Stevenson is the backdrop for the start of the Kyle Petty Charity Ride.

The Charity Ride officially began Friday when Petty, a little congested from unloading bikes out of trailers in the pouring rain, rallied the bikers at 7 a.m. local time and pulled out. Next stop: Richland, Wash., just 186 miles east. It's a short ride on the opening day. But in this race, speed's not the goal.

"There are tons of race fans up here," Petty said. "It's been surprising, the people who have come out and stood in the parking lot all day long and talked to us and all the riders, just talking racing. That's been kind of amazing.

"When we started this 15 years ago we could have come up here and nobody would have known we were here. We went a lot of places 15 years ago where they didn't know a lot about racing. Now, there's not a city we go to or a place we stop where there's not race fans everywhere you go."

Friday began the 11-stop tour across the country.

From veterans who have made all 14 previous rides to young men and women making their first ride -- some of whom have little experience on a motorcycle at all -- to local politicians, there's an eclectic mix.

Stevenson's mayor, Dave McKenzie, is riding the first leg of the tour. Petty said it's proof of how the ride has evolved and been embraced in communities.

"If you go 15 years ago, the mayor would have put up roadblocks and wouldn't allow us in the city," he said. "Now, we go places where the mayors ride with us or city councilmen, and they want to be a part of it. The reputation the ride has built through the years is it's doing good. We're not a bunch of hellions coming to town. We come in and we're raising funds and raising awareness for children's illnesses and the Victory Junction Gang Camp. It's something that a lot of people across the country want to say, 'Yeah, I was a part of that.' It's pretty cool."