| 2001 Race Reports |
August 26, 2001
Sedalia, Missouri
My first work experience
Sometimes I'm not a very forward thinker. On Saturday morning prior to the event, I
was still nursing a sore shoulder and was in no condition to race, instead planning to
spend a lazy Sunday as the Matt Sellers Chief Executive Head of Mechanical,
Nutritional and Gastro-Intestinal Functions at the Sedalia hare scramble. My duties
were to include tool arrangement, beef jerky selection, and providing adequate
supplies for Matt's customary pre-race port-a-potty visitation. But then a thought
occurred...why not work the race and get Work Average points for this round of the
series? For most of the day I exchanged messages with the race promoter, and
finally talked to him via cell phone at 9:00 on Saturday night. He said no problem, just
show up at 7:30 on Sunday morning and work both races. Doing the math in my
head, I figured I would have to leave at about 4:15 a.m. to arrive on time. Oh boy....
The adrenaline rush of the 4:00 a.m. wakeup lasted approximately 23 seconds. I
threw on some clothes, brushed my teeth, shoved five Mountain Dew's into my 6-pack
cooler, asked myself why the hell this sport means so much to me, and pulled out of
the garage at 4:18 a.m. Two Dew's and 3 hours later I arrived at the race site and
reported for duty. My first job was to help back up the computer scores by writing
down the numbers of the ATV riders as they passed by the scoring trailer. The shady
spot I picked out beside the trailer provided what I thought was a safe vantage point to
yell out the numbers to the guy on my left who was recording them on paper. The
scoring lane had been marked with multi-colored ribbon that directed riders through
a 90-degree turn just before the scoring trailer. As the race wore on and the riders
tired, guys began edging closer and closer to the 5-foot metal posts that were used to
hold up the ribbon. With time running out, one exhausted rider slammed his left
wheel into the post I was standing next to, and had the post not been there, he would
have taken me for a ride.
For the motorcycle race I was placed at the first checkpoint about one mile into the
course. Two other guys were on hand to help check the riders, along with one of the
sweep riders who on the first lap stood in the creek and directed the bikes into the
ribbon-marked area where we were set up. To get to the check, the riders had to
cross foot-deep water, ride over about 30 feet of a flat, slippery rock ledge, and then
climb up the 10-foot creek bank. After conquering that obstacle, they encountered our
checkpoint, where they were to shout out their rider numbers as they negotiated the
180-degree cattle-like chute where we were stationed. At that point I would scribble
on paper their numbers in order of passing, again and again throughout the race.
About 170 riders entered the event, so I was very busy for the 2+ hours of racing.
On the first lap we could hear the Pro riders flying down the creek bed and prepared
ourselves for 15 seconds of hell broken loose as they charged up the creek bank. I
found a new appreciation for the volunteers who man the checkpoints at these races.
Imagine 15-20 riders launching themselves up the bank, one behind the other in a
train of aggression, shouting out numbers, deafening engines, wheels kicking up dirt
and mud, and me straining to read a small number printed on each person's helmet.
The most challenging were the C and Beginner classes, which were large and
closely spaced on the first lap. With more and more riders crossing the creek, the
bank became damp and very slick, causing some bottlenecks as the less
experienced riders struggled up the greasy slope. On their own, all of the riders were
capable of climbing the bank, but while following each, small mistakes led to fallen
bikes and traffic problems. Fortunately there were no injuries from the mishaps, but
a few people put themselves into precarious positions. One guy on a CR80 fell over
just after ascending the creek bank and killed the engine. While the little racer
struggled to right the bike and restart the engine, I walked over to suggest that he turn
off the fuel and get the flooded carb cleaned out. At the last moment I held back from
offering this advice, making use of the four recreational years of my life that some
would describe as "college," and concluded that a "little guy" with a mustache was
probably not a Junior class racer in need of guidance. A regular Stephen Hawking,
that's me.
In the Pro class, Aaron Shaw led most of the way, followed by Brandon Forrester as
the lead group passed through our check on their 5th and final lap. After trailing in
third position for nearly all of the race, Steve Leivan closed the gap and passed both
guys on the last lap for the overall win. As the defending MHSC champion, Steve's
number was pretty easy to hear as he shouted "ONE!" each time he passed by.
Steve showed off a solid racing strategy at Sedalia, riding a steady (some would say
"insanely fast"), controlled pace and keeping in sight of the leaders while saving just
enough juice on the last lap to make some moves and win the race. I thoroughly
enjoyed working the Sedalia race and want to thank George, Allen, David (the
promoter), and Richard for getting me where I needed to be and showing me how it's
done. It was fun to see Matt, PizzaMan, and Lars pass by and give them some
encouraging words. For anyone who has raced but never worked an event, I would
highly recommend it.
September 16, 2001
St. Joe State Park
Park Hills, Missouri
2nd of 18 in Open B
After a long 5-week hiatus, I was ready to get back into the racing scene. What better
way to test out my still-recovering shoulder than to compete in a 3-hour National hare
scramble. As we used to say back on the farm, that's like stuffin' the pig through the
python. Or something like that. I'm not sure how that relates to what I was just talking
about, but it sounded kind of cool. Anyway, I had ridden at St. Joe the weekend before
and felt minimal pain (with the help of a large dose of Ibuprofen, the Wonder Drug), or
at least not enough cause any tree-smacking distractions. I had also been training
on the mountain bike, so I felt ready to get back on the motorcycle and resume
torturing my body.
Matt and I drove down to Flat River in the big Dodge and pitted next to the sand track.
St. Joe is a punishing place to ride because speeds are higher and the rocks are
plentiful and come in all shapes and sizes. If the trail is fresh and rock-free on the
first lap, you can be sure that on the next lap it will break down into a choppy, rutted
rock garden, causing relentless pounding on all body parts, high potential for pinch
flats, and even higher potential for expression of colorful metaphors. When
conditions are dry, as they were on this day, you can throw in some blinding dust.
The only thing missing was temperatures in the 90's, and come to think of it, this was
the first hare scramble I had ever raced at Flat River without scorching heat. With no
practice lap for this race, Matt and I hung out at the truck and leisurely took our time
getting ready (although I did rush to beat him to the porta-potty, used up the last of the
T.P., and quietly giggled while he searched for anything in the truck remotely suitable
as a substitute).
For the National race, the 250 B and Open B classes were combined on row 6 of the
starting area. Matt and I lined up next to Andy Mueller, a regular in the Open B class,
and watched as a guy in the Pro class went down in the first corner and got run over
by guys following blindly in the dust (he didn't get up). After a couple minute delay for
the promoters to move the first corner away from the injured rider, the next rows
began taking off. Our row consisted of 29 guys, all aiming for the same corner about
100 yards off the starting line. When the 15-second board dropped, my bike fired up
on the first kick but with all the noise of 29 engines starting at the same time, I
couldn't quite tell if my engine was running. After half a second I could feel the
familiar, hand-numbing motor vibration emerging from my KTM, but my slight
hesitation before dumping the clutch was just enough to set me back in the pack
amidst a cloud of dust. The first mile was open sand, and at times I was riding
completely blind, occasionally catching a glimpse of a rider ahead of me and staying
within the general course of direction. The dust settled a bit at the entrance to the
woods, where the trail followed a recognizable path from the hare scramble earlier
this year. The riders ahead of me were still kicking up enough dust to make it hard to
see the smaller details of the trail, including some very sharp-edged rocks that I hit
hard in third gear. I could feel the front rim make direct contact with a particularly
nasty, square-edged, softball-sized rock and was sure the tube would be pinched.
But the flat tire I expected never came, and I continued my charge.
The goal in any dusty race is to find clean air, which means getting ahead of the
person in front of you. Easier said than done, especially when you can't see much of
the trail while in their dust. But midway into the first lap the field spread out and I
found my rhythm. The promoters put in a cool section that took us under a 4-lane
highway bridge, and then eventually we crossed under a culvert to get back to the
other side of the highway [Editor's note: O.K., it wasn't actually a bridge we went
under, as Matt was quick to point out. Just some strange old relic that used to be part
of the lead mine. But is sure looked like a bridge...]. Also included for our pleasure
was a punishing rock garden, borrowed from the Leadbelt Enduro last May. The final
3-4 miles was a fast section down a power line trail that was a roller coaster on the
ground.
The first of the 16-mile laps took me about 45 minutes to complete, which suggested
I would get 4 laps and would pit once near the end of lap 2. About halfway into the
first lap I ran straight into a tree, but somehow kept the bike upright and didn't lose
much time. In the second lap I tried to launch myself over some tree roots lying
diagonally across the trail but got out of control and hit another tree very solidly. I
dropped the bike but it kept running, so I remounted and continued riding without
losing much time. After that, I decided that I would not run into any more trees. When
pitted near the end of my second lap, I could see that Matt had not stopped yet to gas,
so I figured I was ahead of him.
The laps seemed to go by fast, even though they were long and were getting rougher
each time. At the end of lap 3, Shane Watts passed me just as I exited the long
power line section. Because the area in which he lapped me was very open, his
pass was much less impressive than it was earlier in the year at Kahoka. But the guy
does ride fast. On lap 4 the other pro riders caught up to me in the nasty rock garden.
With their fancy foam tubes, they flew through that section without a single thought of
pinch flats. Past the halfway point in the final lap, Steve Leivan was the first MHSC
regular to lap me. By that time my lower back was starting to ache, and I was glad to
finally come to the power line section for the last time. I finished the lap at the 3:17
mark, tired but not as sore as expected. Matt followed about 15 minutes later. We
were both so tired that we decided not to wait for the results to be posted and headed
for home. The next day when PizzaMan told me I finished second, I was pretty happy.
But when the results were posted on the internet, I discovered that a few Open B
regulars in the MHSC series had ridden in the Open A class and had finished ahead
of me, so in terms of series points, I had finished 5th. Even so, I now have 11 solid
scores to count for the MHSC series, which will hopefully be good enough to maintain
my 3rd place standing.
As I write this, the weather is turning cooler, the season is winding down, and I am a
week away from closing on a house. I've been an apartment dweller for over 8 years
and will finally have a 2-car garage in which to begin building my dream shop.
PizzaMan already has me drooling over his real-life fantasy shop at Pizza
Headquarters near Columbia, Missouri. The wheels are turning in my head....
Sedalia, Missouri
My first work experience
Sometimes I'm not a very forward thinker. On Saturday morning prior to the event, I
was still nursing a sore shoulder and was in no condition to race, instead planning to
spend a lazy Sunday as the Matt Sellers Chief Executive Head of Mechanical,
Nutritional and Gastro-Intestinal Functions at the Sedalia hare scramble. My duties
were to include tool arrangement, beef jerky selection, and providing adequate
supplies for Matt's customary pre-race port-a-potty visitation. But then a thought
occurred...why not work the race and get Work Average points for this round of the
series? For most of the day I exchanged messages with the race promoter, and
finally talked to him via cell phone at 9:00 on Saturday night. He said no problem, just
show up at 7:30 on Sunday morning and work both races. Doing the math in my
head, I figured I would have to leave at about 4:15 a.m. to arrive on time. Oh boy....
The adrenaline rush of the 4:00 a.m. wakeup lasted approximately 23 seconds. I
threw on some clothes, brushed my teeth, shoved five Mountain Dew's into my 6-pack
cooler, asked myself why the hell this sport means so much to me, and pulled out of
the garage at 4:18 a.m. Two Dew's and 3 hours later I arrived at the race site and
reported for duty. My first job was to help back up the computer scores by writing
down the numbers of the ATV riders as they passed by the scoring trailer. The shady
spot I picked out beside the trailer provided what I thought was a safe vantage point to
yell out the numbers to the guy on my left who was recording them on paper. The
scoring lane had been marked with multi-colored ribbon that directed riders through
a 90-degree turn just before the scoring trailer. As the race wore on and the riders
tired, guys began edging closer and closer to the 5-foot metal posts that were used to
hold up the ribbon. With time running out, one exhausted rider slammed his left
wheel into the post I was standing next to, and had the post not been there, he would
have taken me for a ride.
For the motorcycle race I was placed at the first checkpoint about one mile into the
course. Two other guys were on hand to help check the riders, along with one of the
sweep riders who on the first lap stood in the creek and directed the bikes into the
ribbon-marked area where we were set up. To get to the check, the riders had to
cross foot-deep water, ride over about 30 feet of a flat, slippery rock ledge, and then
climb up the 10-foot creek bank. After conquering that obstacle, they encountered our
checkpoint, where they were to shout out their rider numbers as they negotiated the
180-degree cattle-like chute where we were stationed. At that point I would scribble
on paper their numbers in order of passing, again and again throughout the race.
About 170 riders entered the event, so I was very busy for the 2+ hours of racing.
On the first lap we could hear the Pro riders flying down the creek bed and prepared
ourselves for 15 seconds of hell broken loose as they charged up the creek bank. I
found a new appreciation for the volunteers who man the checkpoints at these races.
Imagine 15-20 riders launching themselves up the bank, one behind the other in a
train of aggression, shouting out numbers, deafening engines, wheels kicking up dirt
and mud, and me straining to read a small number printed on each person's helmet.
The most challenging were the C and Beginner classes, which were large and
closely spaced on the first lap. With more and more riders crossing the creek, the
bank became damp and very slick, causing some bottlenecks as the less
experienced riders struggled up the greasy slope. On their own, all of the riders were
capable of climbing the bank, but while following each, small mistakes led to fallen
bikes and traffic problems. Fortunately there were no injuries from the mishaps, but
a few people put themselves into precarious positions. One guy on a CR80 fell over
just after ascending the creek bank and killed the engine. While the little racer
struggled to right the bike and restart the engine, I walked over to suggest that he turn
off the fuel and get the flooded carb cleaned out. At the last moment I held back from
offering this advice, making use of the four recreational years of my life that some
would describe as "college," and concluded that a "little guy" with a mustache was
probably not a Junior class racer in need of guidance. A regular Stephen Hawking,
that's me.
In the Pro class, Aaron Shaw led most of the way, followed by Brandon Forrester as
the lead group passed through our check on their 5th and final lap. After trailing in
third position for nearly all of the race, Steve Leivan closed the gap and passed both
guys on the last lap for the overall win. As the defending MHSC champion, Steve's
number was pretty easy to hear as he shouted "ONE!" each time he passed by.
Steve showed off a solid racing strategy at Sedalia, riding a steady (some would say
"insanely fast"), controlled pace and keeping in sight of the leaders while saving just
enough juice on the last lap to make some moves and win the race. I thoroughly
enjoyed working the Sedalia race and want to thank George, Allen, David (the
promoter), and Richard for getting me where I needed to be and showing me how it's
done. It was fun to see Matt, PizzaMan, and Lars pass by and give them some
encouraging words. For anyone who has raced but never worked an event, I would
highly recommend it.
September 16, 2001
St. Joe State Park
Park Hills, Missouri
2nd of 18 in Open B
After a long 5-week hiatus, I was ready to get back into the racing scene. What better
way to test out my still-recovering shoulder than to compete in a 3-hour National hare
scramble. As we used to say back on the farm, that's like stuffin' the pig through the
python. Or something like that. I'm not sure how that relates to what I was just talking
about, but it sounded kind of cool. Anyway, I had ridden at St. Joe the weekend before
and felt minimal pain (with the help of a large dose of Ibuprofen, the Wonder Drug), or
at least not enough cause any tree-smacking distractions. I had also been training
on the mountain bike, so I felt ready to get back on the motorcycle and resume
torturing my body.
Matt and I drove down to Flat River in the big Dodge and pitted next to the sand track.
St. Joe is a punishing place to ride because speeds are higher and the rocks are
plentiful and come in all shapes and sizes. If the trail is fresh and rock-free on the
first lap, you can be sure that on the next lap it will break down into a choppy, rutted
rock garden, causing relentless pounding on all body parts, high potential for pinch
flats, and even higher potential for expression of colorful metaphors. When
conditions are dry, as they were on this day, you can throw in some blinding dust.
The only thing missing was temperatures in the 90's, and come to think of it, this was
the first hare scramble I had ever raced at Flat River without scorching heat. With no
practice lap for this race, Matt and I hung out at the truck and leisurely took our time
getting ready (although I did rush to beat him to the porta-potty, used up the last of the
T.P., and quietly giggled while he searched for anything in the truck remotely suitable
as a substitute).
For the National race, the 250 B and Open B classes were combined on row 6 of the
starting area. Matt and I lined up next to Andy Mueller, a regular in the Open B class,
and watched as a guy in the Pro class went down in the first corner and got run over
by guys following blindly in the dust (he didn't get up). After a couple minute delay for
the promoters to move the first corner away from the injured rider, the next rows
began taking off. Our row consisted of 29 guys, all aiming for the same corner about
100 yards off the starting line. When the 15-second board dropped, my bike fired up
on the first kick but with all the noise of 29 engines starting at the same time, I
couldn't quite tell if my engine was running. After half a second I could feel the
familiar, hand-numbing motor vibration emerging from my KTM, but my slight
hesitation before dumping the clutch was just enough to set me back in the pack
amidst a cloud of dust. The first mile was open sand, and at times I was riding
completely blind, occasionally catching a glimpse of a rider ahead of me and staying
within the general course of direction. The dust settled a bit at the entrance to the
woods, where the trail followed a recognizable path from the hare scramble earlier
this year. The riders ahead of me were still kicking up enough dust to make it hard to
see the smaller details of the trail, including some very sharp-edged rocks that I hit
hard in third gear. I could feel the front rim make direct contact with a particularly
nasty, square-edged, softball-sized rock and was sure the tube would be pinched.
But the flat tire I expected never came, and I continued my charge.
The goal in any dusty race is to find clean air, which means getting ahead of the
person in front of you. Easier said than done, especially when you can't see much of
the trail while in their dust. But midway into the first lap the field spread out and I
found my rhythm. The promoters put in a cool section that took us under a 4-lane
highway bridge, and then eventually we crossed under a culvert to get back to the
other side of the highway [Editor's note: O.K., it wasn't actually a bridge we went
under, as Matt was quick to point out. Just some strange old relic that used to be part
of the lead mine. But is sure looked like a bridge...]. Also included for our pleasure
was a punishing rock garden, borrowed from the Leadbelt Enduro last May. The final
3-4 miles was a fast section down a power line trail that was a roller coaster on the
ground.
The first of the 16-mile laps took me about 45 minutes to complete, which suggested
I would get 4 laps and would pit once near the end of lap 2. About halfway into the
first lap I ran straight into a tree, but somehow kept the bike upright and didn't lose
much time. In the second lap I tried to launch myself over some tree roots lying
diagonally across the trail but got out of control and hit another tree very solidly. I
dropped the bike but it kept running, so I remounted and continued riding without
losing much time. After that, I decided that I would not run into any more trees. When
pitted near the end of my second lap, I could see that Matt had not stopped yet to gas,
so I figured I was ahead of him.
The laps seemed to go by fast, even though they were long and were getting rougher
each time. At the end of lap 3, Shane Watts passed me just as I exited the long
power line section. Because the area in which he lapped me was very open, his
pass was much less impressive than it was earlier in the year at Kahoka. But the guy
does ride fast. On lap 4 the other pro riders caught up to me in the nasty rock garden.
With their fancy foam tubes, they flew through that section without a single thought of
pinch flats. Past the halfway point in the final lap, Steve Leivan was the first MHSC
regular to lap me. By that time my lower back was starting to ache, and I was glad to
finally come to the power line section for the last time. I finished the lap at the 3:17
mark, tired but not as sore as expected. Matt followed about 15 minutes later. We
were both so tired that we decided not to wait for the results to be posted and headed
for home. The next day when PizzaMan told me I finished second, I was pretty happy.
But when the results were posted on the internet, I discovered that a few Open B
regulars in the MHSC series had ridden in the Open A class and had finished ahead
of me, so in terms of series points, I had finished 5th. Even so, I now have 11 solid
scores to count for the MHSC series, which will hopefully be good enough to maintain
my 3rd place standing.
As I write this, the weather is turning cooler, the season is winding down, and I am a
week away from closing on a house. I've been an apartment dweller for over 8 years
and will finally have a 2-car garage in which to begin building my dream shop.
PizzaMan already has me drooling over his real-life fantasy shop at Pizza
Headquarters near Columbia, Missouri. The wheels are turning in my head....
Sedalia, Missouri
Park Hills, MIssouri
Park Hills, MIssouri
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