| 2004 Race Reports |
"Billy [Russell] is still getting used to the Hare Scramble starts and he learned
something new at this race, turn your gas on before the race or your bike just may not
start." -- Pat Garrahan in his 2004 Elkton, Oregon national hare scramble race
report.
something new at this race, turn your gas on before the race or your bike just may not
start." -- Pat Garrahan in his 2004 Elkton, Oregon national hare scramble race
report.
May 16, 2004
Westphalia, Missouri
11th of 14 in A Sportsman
First, let me state what to some may already be obvious: I am an idiot. A certified fool.
I would like to say that forgetting to turn on the gas is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence
for me at a race, but as we saw last year at Warrensburg, that is not the case. I rode
my KX250 from my truck to the starting line and used just enough gas to drain the
carburetor. When the 15-second board dropped, the other riders vaulted forward and I
had nothing. A guy next to me on a 4-stroke had to give his engine several kicks but
eventually he, too, left me on the line. I glanced down, viewed the petcock in its “Off”
position and felt the same kind of dread that happens when you try squeezing out that
last bit of gas at the end of a race, hear the engine sputtering, and can’t get the
petcock switched to “Reserve” before the engine dies. I kicked over the engine until
the 30-second board came out for the Senior class in the row behind me, then
pushed my bike off to the side. The engine finally fired just after the Senior class took
off.
I sprinted into the woods at the back of the Senior class pack and passed many of
them within a few miles. The trails were mostly ATV-wide, so speeds were high.
Much of the course followed the same route as many past races at this venue,
causing some extremely choppy conditions. With my class still far ahead, I tried to
ride as aggressively as I could. About midway through the first lap I caught up to Tom
Eidam, then got passed by Open B winner Dwayne Parish riding with blazing speed
through the open trails.
Other than its roughness, the course was in good condition. But the wide open,
rugged trails took their toll on my clutch hand. In the second lap a blister developed
on my palm, then another on my middle finger. Small adjustments to preserve my
clutch hand were slowing me down, but I didn't realize that until after I had finished an
uneventful second lap. On the third lap some of the Senior class guys that I had
passed earlier were getting around me, including Tom Eidam. The blisters were
growing as the course became rougher. The short sections of singletrack were
welcome relief, but on the wide trails I just couldn't grip the handlebars well enough. I
began the fourth lap with a left hand that was just plain raw. Each time I pulled in the
clutch lever, I felt pain. At about the halfway point in that lap, I gave up and putted
around the rest of the course, mostly in first gear. I had enough time to do a fifth lap
but called it a day instead.
As much as I like to keep these reports somewhat light and entertaining, I would like
to point out a serious example of what I see as the most concerning problem in our
sport. In one of the open pasture sections, a guy on a 4-stroke passed me with his
throttle pretty much wide open. The noise coming out of that guy’s bike was so mind-
numbingly deafening that I could not even hear my own engine. I had to slow down
because my ears hurt. There are many issues that threaten our riding areas and
access to trails, but none will end our riding privileges more quickly than insanely
loud bikes. Think about it...please.
Leadbelt National Enduro
St. Joe State Park (Park Hills, Missouri)
May 23, 2004
7th of 19 in Vet A
It’s not often that I spend six hours straight on a motorcycle, for good reason: it hurts.
Past Leadbelt enduros that I've ridden were a bit more moderate in terms of total
mileage, but when the AMA began scheduling this enduro for its national series, the
Missouri Mudders upped the ante. I had pre-registered on row 5 with Jeff Neathery
and the legendary Donnie Dannar, captured on film (or .jpeg) and made famous at
the 2004 White Rock Enduro for his acrobatic fender kiss on Work Hill. Sadly, Donnie
was unable to attend the enduro and left numerous Leadbelt photographers
canvassing the course for alternative photo opportunities.
At the riders meeting, course officials announced that the infamous Waterfall would
again be part of the 50-mile loop. This section drew rave reviews from some of last
year’s participants and gasps of anxiety from others. While the waterfall showed up
early in the 2003 Leadbelt course, this year it would be just a few miles from the end
of the loop. So in addition to late-race exhaustion, riders would have the Waterfall to
look forward to.
Even though I arrived in what should have been plenty of time to sign in, pass the
sound test (barely) and get geared up, I managed to fumble around long enough to
kill all but about three minutes of spare time. Jeff was waiting for me at the starting
area in the sand flats next to the pit area. The skies were a bit overcast and the wind
was kicking up some sand as the clock counted down to our minute. We had two
other riders with us on our row, and as the course officials flipped over “5” on the
number board, Jeff and I took off first. The beginning speed average was a leisurely
15 mph as we rode past the pits through the sand. While we rounded a sweeping
corner, my KTM, idle since the White Rock Enduro in March, welcomed me back into
its saddle by locking in on a mound of grass in the sand. As if by magnetic attraction,
the front wheel caught the edge of the mound and buried itself in the sand. Jeff
passed by as I went down, surely wondering how in the heck anyone could fall in the
first 200 yards of a 100-mile enduro, during a 15 mph section in open sand.
Fortunately for me, the photographers were unavailable for that photo op.
I caught back up to Jeff in time to take about a one minute break just before the 3-mile
mark, after which we were fair game for checks. The speed average jumped to 18
mph at that point, where Jeff and I took off again with him leading. The trails were
mostly twisty, second gear stuff that I could tell was going to challenge me to keep on
time. Jeff eventually let me lead and we quickly caught up to a pair of guys in the row
ahead of us. One guy let me around immediately, but the lead rider wouldn't let me
pass. After about three yells I lost my patience and put an MHSC-style block pass on
the guy.
The 18-mph speed average increased to 24 mph just after the 8-mile mark, and from
there on it was a sprint to the gas available about 12 miles later. The course was in
great shape after a relatively dry week, and the trails were fairly easy to follow. Much of
the first 20 miles twisted through the non-public area of St. Joe State Park where hare
scrambles courses are typically run. If not for an extremely sensitive rear brake, the
ride to the gas available would have been relatively uneventful. But for the first time in
my 5-year history with KTM's, the 300MXC actually solved its own problem. The spark
arrestor eventually oozed out enough spooge to cover the caliper and drip onto the
rear brake rotor. After that, the braking action was fine (who says spooge is a bad
thing?). The gas available, 20.6 miles into the race, was also the location of the first
reset. I was a few minutes behind at that point but the reset gave me enough time to
gas up and rest for a short time. Jeff arrived at our gas jugs just a minute or two after
me.
As the clouds began spitting out raindrops, we took off together and began the
second section of the course. These trails meandered through the woods adjacent to
a long stretch of power lines. With many miles of singletrack, this area was the most
enjoyable riding of the day. But a few miles into these densely-canopied woods, the
skies darkened and my rose-tinted goggle lenses made it tough to see. The speed
average dropped back to 18 mph somewhere in this section but I was still running
behind. One of the challenges of my old-school method of timekeeping (clock, roll
chart and odometer) is that it’s very hard to read the roll chart while being bounced
around on the trail. Even so, I've competed in enough enduros over the years to get a
feel for the speeds necessary to stay on time without constantly monitoring the roll
chart. Too much 2nd gear in an 18 mph section will make me late, and that's what I
was doing too much of. I knew I needed to go faster.
The trails eventually led us into the public area of the park for the third section of the
loop, where the woods were more open and speeds were faster. These familiar trails
should have helped me get back on time, but the roll chart said otherwise. Near the
end of this section we passed through a brief but very tricky infestation of jagged
rocks and ledges that were just close enough to a lake to envision a wet, premature
end to my day. When riding for fun in the park, it’s a spot I normally try to avoid like a
psychotic ex-girlfriend, but on this day I was forced to deal with it, sort of like when you
run into your psychotic ex-girlfriend while with your current girlfriend and have to be
nice when you really want to just push her into the nearest lake. But I digress. By
some miracle I breezed through the rocks and shortly after that was another check.
Following the check was the next reset out in the middle of the St. Joe sand flats,
where I had a couple minutes to catch my breath. I was now about 37 miles into the
enduro. Jeff caught up just before I was ready to get back on the trail and showed me
the blank screen on his Watchdog computer. Now he, too, was an old-school
timekeeper.
The last section of the 50-mile loop took us to the west side of the park and outside
the public area. On every even mile there was a piece of white cardboard stapled to a
tree, with the mileages and times printed twice – once with numbers corresponding
to the first time around the loop, and another set for the second go around. At the
riders meeting we had been told the Waterfall would be around mile marker 55
(about 45 ground miles into the loop). As I approached that point I became just a little
bit nervous. Around every corner I expected to see it. Finally, the trail came to a spot
where a second set of arrows pointed to an alternate route and a guy was planted
there directing traffic. This year the signs were labeled more politically correct with
use of the words “Easy” and “Hard” (use your imagination of what the “Easy” trail was
called last year). Choosing the trail marked “Hard” led to the Waterfall and “Easy” was
presumably, well, easier (but longer) than the Waterfall route. I’m always a sucker for
the more challenging option, so I took the hard trail and quickly saw the most
intriguing section of trail that I've ever ridden. It ran straight down the center of a creek
with a flat rock bed and dropped 20-30 feet over the next 100 yards. Using my
knowledge gained from Geology 101 (Rocks for Jocks) at the University of Illinois, I
would describe these rock features as: a) flat, pretty much; b) kinda tan colored; c) a
bunch of ledge drop-offs. The creek had a small trickle of water flow and about half a
dozen vertical drops ranging from 2-4 feet. Each ledge was just long enough to allow
about half a second before having to commit to launching off the next ledge. The
sides of the creek were lined with spectators and cameras. I pointed the KTM down
the center and hit the first couple of smaller drops cleanly. As cameras flashed, I
launched over one drop after another. The two largest drop-offs, both around 3-4 feet,
came last. The first of these high ledges was a straight approach, but the next one
required a quick change in direction to match the contour of the creek. I was able to
jump down both of those ledges without any problems and sighed with relief. A few
miles later, the first loop ended. I had just enough time to gas up and scarf down a
sandwich before heading back out for my second loop.
While the short-course riders relaxed, I began my fourth hour of racing. Strangely, I felt
almost fresh as I rode through the next 20 miles to the gas available. Over the course
of 100 miles, it’s sometimes hard to recall any significant details of a particular
section, and I honestly can’t remember anything substantial about the hour or so it
took to get to the next reset. At the gas available, 70 miles into race, I topped off the
tank but didn't see Jeff. After another minute or two of rest, I headed back into the
woods just a bit early. As we were warned at the rider’s meeting, a check appeared
quickly. I saw a “4” on the number board and went into my best sloth mode, hoping
that they’d flip the card to “5” and I wouldn't burn the check. Thankfully, the card was
flipped just when I was about to put down my foot. [editor's note: this may or may not
have occurred at this check, but like I said, 100 miles is a lot of friggin' riding so my
memory might be a little off]
When I started my second trip through the nice singletrack, I began to notice my front
wheel sliding around more than it had the first time through. Then I felt the back end
sliding around. In the brief sections where sunlight was reaching the ground, I could
see the trails were definitely damper than on the previous loop. Apparently a small
cloudburst had dropped just enough rain over this area to make things a little
slippery. After a few miles of sliding around, the course was dry again. This section
probably separated the fastest riders, as it was all 24 mph versus 18 mph the first
time through.
Back in the public area of the park, my knees felt sore. I was about 80 miles into the
course and had been on the bike nearly 5 hours. At one point the trail met up with a
very well established ATV path, where the arrows indicated a sharp left turn onto this
path. I overshot the turn, but the woods were fairly open in this area so I made a
gentler turn and rode parallel to the marked trail until I could find an opening to get
back on the arrows. When I found an opening and swerved left to get back on the trail,
I realized I was riding about 5 feet higher than the ATV path, which had been eroded
down several feet after many years of use. In third gear, there was no time to abort so
I flew over the ledge. The drop down onto the trail was one heck of a jolt, but after that
I didn't notice my sore knees anymore.
At the next reset in the middle of the sand flats, I saw no sign of Jeff and assumed he
had encountered a problem somewhere in the second loop. This time the reset gave
me only a minute or so of rest, as the speed average had been 24 mph for all but 11
miles of the second loop. I was back on the trail quickly to begin the last 12 miles of
the race. By now my body was starting to feel the effects of nearly 90 miles of riding,
and I just wanted to get done. As with the first loop, I anticipated the approaching
Waterfall at every corner when my mileage indicated it was close. There were fewer
spectators the second time through but the result was the same: I made it through
smoothly. A few miles later I reached the sand track next to the entry road that led to
the pit area. I was in the home stretch, firmly planted in the seat and too tired to stand
for any length of time. But just before the final checkpoint, I could see a guy with a
camera taking shots of riders as they slowed to cross over the road. I reluctantly
stood up on the pegs to give some semblance of aggressive riding, saw the camera
flash and then flopped back down on the seat.
I ended with a score of 55, good enough for 7th place in the Vet A class. The overall
winner was Steve Hatch with a score of 5. Doing the math, Steve made it to the finish
line 9 minutes sooner than me and had 41 extra minutes of rest during the resets.
And that, folks, is why he gets paid to ride. The Leadbelt was a milestone event for
me, as I had never before ridden a 100-mile enduro. Like I said, the reason is simple:
it hurts.
Westphalia, Missouri
11th of 14 in A Sportsman
First, let me state what to some may already be obvious: I am an idiot. A certified fool.
I would like to say that forgetting to turn on the gas is a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence
for me at a race, but as we saw last year at Warrensburg, that is not the case. I rode
my KX250 from my truck to the starting line and used just enough gas to drain the
carburetor. When the 15-second board dropped, the other riders vaulted forward and I
had nothing. A guy next to me on a 4-stroke had to give his engine several kicks but
eventually he, too, left me on the line. I glanced down, viewed the petcock in its “Off”
position and felt the same kind of dread that happens when you try squeezing out that
last bit of gas at the end of a race, hear the engine sputtering, and can’t get the
petcock switched to “Reserve” before the engine dies. I kicked over the engine until
the 30-second board came out for the Senior class in the row behind me, then
pushed my bike off to the side. The engine finally fired just after the Senior class took
off.
I sprinted into the woods at the back of the Senior class pack and passed many of
them within a few miles. The trails were mostly ATV-wide, so speeds were high.
Much of the course followed the same route as many past races at this venue,
causing some extremely choppy conditions. With my class still far ahead, I tried to
ride as aggressively as I could. About midway through the first lap I caught up to Tom
Eidam, then got passed by Open B winner Dwayne Parish riding with blazing speed
through the open trails.
Other than its roughness, the course was in good condition. But the wide open,
rugged trails took their toll on my clutch hand. In the second lap a blister developed
on my palm, then another on my middle finger. Small adjustments to preserve my
clutch hand were slowing me down, but I didn't realize that until after I had finished an
uneventful second lap. On the third lap some of the Senior class guys that I had
passed earlier were getting around me, including Tom Eidam. The blisters were
growing as the course became rougher. The short sections of singletrack were
welcome relief, but on the wide trails I just couldn't grip the handlebars well enough. I
began the fourth lap with a left hand that was just plain raw. Each time I pulled in the
clutch lever, I felt pain. At about the halfway point in that lap, I gave up and putted
around the rest of the course, mostly in first gear. I had enough time to do a fifth lap
but called it a day instead.
As much as I like to keep these reports somewhat light and entertaining, I would like
to point out a serious example of what I see as the most concerning problem in our
sport. In one of the open pasture sections, a guy on a 4-stroke passed me with his
throttle pretty much wide open. The noise coming out of that guy’s bike was so mind-
numbingly deafening that I could not even hear my own engine. I had to slow down
because my ears hurt. There are many issues that threaten our riding areas and
access to trails, but none will end our riding privileges more quickly than insanely
loud bikes. Think about it...please.
Leadbelt National Enduro
St. Joe State Park (Park Hills, Missouri)
May 23, 2004
7th of 19 in Vet A
It’s not often that I spend six hours straight on a motorcycle, for good reason: it hurts.
Past Leadbelt enduros that I've ridden were a bit more moderate in terms of total
mileage, but when the AMA began scheduling this enduro for its national series, the
Missouri Mudders upped the ante. I had pre-registered on row 5 with Jeff Neathery
and the legendary Donnie Dannar, captured on film (or .jpeg) and made famous at
the 2004 White Rock Enduro for his acrobatic fender kiss on Work Hill. Sadly, Donnie
was unable to attend the enduro and left numerous Leadbelt photographers
canvassing the course for alternative photo opportunities.
At the riders meeting, course officials announced that the infamous Waterfall would
again be part of the 50-mile loop. This section drew rave reviews from some of last
year’s participants and gasps of anxiety from others. While the waterfall showed up
early in the 2003 Leadbelt course, this year it would be just a few miles from the end
of the loop. So in addition to late-race exhaustion, riders would have the Waterfall to
look forward to.
Even though I arrived in what should have been plenty of time to sign in, pass the
sound test (barely) and get geared up, I managed to fumble around long enough to
kill all but about three minutes of spare time. Jeff was waiting for me at the starting
area in the sand flats next to the pit area. The skies were a bit overcast and the wind
was kicking up some sand as the clock counted down to our minute. We had two
other riders with us on our row, and as the course officials flipped over “5” on the
number board, Jeff and I took off first. The beginning speed average was a leisurely
15 mph as we rode past the pits through the sand. While we rounded a sweeping
corner, my KTM, idle since the White Rock Enduro in March, welcomed me back into
its saddle by locking in on a mound of grass in the sand. As if by magnetic attraction,
the front wheel caught the edge of the mound and buried itself in the sand. Jeff
passed by as I went down, surely wondering how in the heck anyone could fall in the
first 200 yards of a 100-mile enduro, during a 15 mph section in open sand.
Fortunately for me, the photographers were unavailable for that photo op.
I caught back up to Jeff in time to take about a one minute break just before the 3-mile
mark, after which we were fair game for checks. The speed average jumped to 18
mph at that point, where Jeff and I took off again with him leading. The trails were
mostly twisty, second gear stuff that I could tell was going to challenge me to keep on
time. Jeff eventually let me lead and we quickly caught up to a pair of guys in the row
ahead of us. One guy let me around immediately, but the lead rider wouldn't let me
pass. After about three yells I lost my patience and put an MHSC-style block pass on
the guy.
The 18-mph speed average increased to 24 mph just after the 8-mile mark, and from
there on it was a sprint to the gas available about 12 miles later. The course was in
great shape after a relatively dry week, and the trails were fairly easy to follow. Much of
the first 20 miles twisted through the non-public area of St. Joe State Park where hare
scrambles courses are typically run. If not for an extremely sensitive rear brake, the
ride to the gas available would have been relatively uneventful. But for the first time in
my 5-year history with KTM's, the 300MXC actually solved its own problem. The spark
arrestor eventually oozed out enough spooge to cover the caliper and drip onto the
rear brake rotor. After that, the braking action was fine (who says spooge is a bad
thing?). The gas available, 20.6 miles into the race, was also the location of the first
reset. I was a few minutes behind at that point but the reset gave me enough time to
gas up and rest for a short time. Jeff arrived at our gas jugs just a minute or two after
me.
As the clouds began spitting out raindrops, we took off together and began the
second section of the course. These trails meandered through the woods adjacent to
a long stretch of power lines. With many miles of singletrack, this area was the most
enjoyable riding of the day. But a few miles into these densely-canopied woods, the
skies darkened and my rose-tinted goggle lenses made it tough to see. The speed
average dropped back to 18 mph somewhere in this section but I was still running
behind. One of the challenges of my old-school method of timekeeping (clock, roll
chart and odometer) is that it’s very hard to read the roll chart while being bounced
around on the trail. Even so, I've competed in enough enduros over the years to get a
feel for the speeds necessary to stay on time without constantly monitoring the roll
chart. Too much 2nd gear in an 18 mph section will make me late, and that's what I
was doing too much of. I knew I needed to go faster.
The trails eventually led us into the public area of the park for the third section of the
loop, where the woods were more open and speeds were faster. These familiar trails
should have helped me get back on time, but the roll chart said otherwise. Near the
end of this section we passed through a brief but very tricky infestation of jagged
rocks and ledges that were just close enough to a lake to envision a wet, premature
end to my day. When riding for fun in the park, it’s a spot I normally try to avoid like a
psychotic ex-girlfriend, but on this day I was forced to deal with it, sort of like when you
run into your psychotic ex-girlfriend while with your current girlfriend and have to be
nice when you really want to just push her into the nearest lake. But I digress. By
some miracle I breezed through the rocks and shortly after that was another check.
Following the check was the next reset out in the middle of the St. Joe sand flats,
where I had a couple minutes to catch my breath. I was now about 37 miles into the
enduro. Jeff caught up just before I was ready to get back on the trail and showed me
the blank screen on his Watchdog computer. Now he, too, was an old-school
timekeeper.
The last section of the 50-mile loop took us to the west side of the park and outside
the public area. On every even mile there was a piece of white cardboard stapled to a
tree, with the mileages and times printed twice – once with numbers corresponding
to the first time around the loop, and another set for the second go around. At the
riders meeting we had been told the Waterfall would be around mile marker 55
(about 45 ground miles into the loop). As I approached that point I became just a little
bit nervous. Around every corner I expected to see it. Finally, the trail came to a spot
where a second set of arrows pointed to an alternate route and a guy was planted
there directing traffic. This year the signs were labeled more politically correct with
use of the words “Easy” and “Hard” (use your imagination of what the “Easy” trail was
called last year). Choosing the trail marked “Hard” led to the Waterfall and “Easy” was
presumably, well, easier (but longer) than the Waterfall route. I’m always a sucker for
the more challenging option, so I took the hard trail and quickly saw the most
intriguing section of trail that I've ever ridden. It ran straight down the center of a creek
with a flat rock bed and dropped 20-30 feet over the next 100 yards. Using my
knowledge gained from Geology 101 (Rocks for Jocks) at the University of Illinois, I
would describe these rock features as: a) flat, pretty much; b) kinda tan colored; c) a
bunch of ledge drop-offs. The creek had a small trickle of water flow and about half a
dozen vertical drops ranging from 2-4 feet. Each ledge was just long enough to allow
about half a second before having to commit to launching off the next ledge. The
sides of the creek were lined with spectators and cameras. I pointed the KTM down
the center and hit the first couple of smaller drops cleanly. As cameras flashed, I
launched over one drop after another. The two largest drop-offs, both around 3-4 feet,
came last. The first of these high ledges was a straight approach, but the next one
required a quick change in direction to match the contour of the creek. I was able to
jump down both of those ledges without any problems and sighed with relief. A few
miles later, the first loop ended. I had just enough time to gas up and scarf down a
sandwich before heading back out for my second loop.
While the short-course riders relaxed, I began my fourth hour of racing. Strangely, I felt
almost fresh as I rode through the next 20 miles to the gas available. Over the course
of 100 miles, it’s sometimes hard to recall any significant details of a particular
section, and I honestly can’t remember anything substantial about the hour or so it
took to get to the next reset. At the gas available, 70 miles into race, I topped off the
tank but didn't see Jeff. After another minute or two of rest, I headed back into the
woods just a bit early. As we were warned at the rider’s meeting, a check appeared
quickly. I saw a “4” on the number board and went into my best sloth mode, hoping
that they’d flip the card to “5” and I wouldn't burn the check. Thankfully, the card was
flipped just when I was about to put down my foot. [editor's note: this may or may not
have occurred at this check, but like I said, 100 miles is a lot of friggin' riding so my
memory might be a little off]
When I started my second trip through the nice singletrack, I began to notice my front
wheel sliding around more than it had the first time through. Then I felt the back end
sliding around. In the brief sections where sunlight was reaching the ground, I could
see the trails were definitely damper than on the previous loop. Apparently a small
cloudburst had dropped just enough rain over this area to make things a little
slippery. After a few miles of sliding around, the course was dry again. This section
probably separated the fastest riders, as it was all 24 mph versus 18 mph the first
time through.
Back in the public area of the park, my knees felt sore. I was about 80 miles into the
course and had been on the bike nearly 5 hours. At one point the trail met up with a
very well established ATV path, where the arrows indicated a sharp left turn onto this
path. I overshot the turn, but the woods were fairly open in this area so I made a
gentler turn and rode parallel to the marked trail until I could find an opening to get
back on the arrows. When I found an opening and swerved left to get back on the trail,
I realized I was riding about 5 feet higher than the ATV path, which had been eroded
down several feet after many years of use. In third gear, there was no time to abort so
I flew over the ledge. The drop down onto the trail was one heck of a jolt, but after that
I didn't notice my sore knees anymore.
At the next reset in the middle of the sand flats, I saw no sign of Jeff and assumed he
had encountered a problem somewhere in the second loop. This time the reset gave
me only a minute or so of rest, as the speed average had been 24 mph for all but 11
miles of the second loop. I was back on the trail quickly to begin the last 12 miles of
the race. By now my body was starting to feel the effects of nearly 90 miles of riding,
and I just wanted to get done. As with the first loop, I anticipated the approaching
Waterfall at every corner when my mileage indicated it was close. There were fewer
spectators the second time through but the result was the same: I made it through
smoothly. A few miles later I reached the sand track next to the entry road that led to
the pit area. I was in the home stretch, firmly planted in the seat and too tired to stand
for any length of time. But just before the final checkpoint, I could see a guy with a
camera taking shots of riders as they slowed to cross over the road. I reluctantly
stood up on the pegs to give some semblance of aggressive riding, saw the camera
flash and then flopped back down on the seat.
I ended with a score of 55, good enough for 7th place in the Vet A class. The overall
winner was Steve Hatch with a score of 5. Doing the math, Steve made it to the finish
line 9 minutes sooner than me and had 41 extra minutes of rest during the resets.
And that, folks, is why he gets paid to ride. The Leadbelt was a milestone event for
me, as I had never before ridden a 100-mile enduro. Like I said, the reason is simple:
it hurts.
Westphalia, Missouri
Park Hills, Missouri
Park Hills, Missouri
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