| 2004 Race Reports |
 |  |  |
June 27, 2004
St. Joe State Park
Park Hills, Missouri
6th of 13 in A Sportsman
For a couple of reasons, most notably a broken motorcycle, I was unable to compete
in either of the two St. Joe State Park hare scramble races last year. The 2004 March
of Dimes race, held at its familiar spot in the non-public section of the park, was my
first hare scramble at St. Joe in over a year. The annual charity event often welcomes
in the dog days of summer, but on this day the skies were sunny and the temperature
moderate. I arrived in time to witness tiny motorcycles and ATV’s flying around the
youth course, most of which circled in and out of the pit area on a semi-groomed
sand track.
After registering under the shade of a tent large enough to hold a wedding reception, I
moved my truck next to the Sellers big rig just in time to see young Michael retire from
the pee wee race with what appeared to be a seized engine. As Matt would discover
the following week, the little KTM 65’s bottom end had just a smidgen of play, which in
Stichnoth terminology equates to roughly a quarter-inch.
Matt and I suited up for a practice run through about 1/3 of the course, which is all the
club allows for the March of Dimes race. These trails surrounded the staging area
and were relatively tight. Where the woods began was a moderately steep hill and a
young guy on a Honda CR80 stuck at the top. He politely asked for help, so I obliged
by coasting the little motorcycle backwards down the slope and giving it a run up the
hill. Surprisingly, the little bike had just enough power to climb to the top with me
aboard, thanks to a handful of throttle and a slipping clutch.
The starting line was behind, rather than in front of, the staging area this year. The
inside of the A Sportsman line was on the uphill slope of a sand flat, so I placed
myself on the far right side where the terrain was flatter. Ahead of us was a high sand
hill where about a hundred spectators were perched to view the start. The course
would take us just to the left of the sand hill and through a series of turns in the open,
then into the woods where the real racing would take place. When the board dropped,
my KX250 fired on the first kick and I held the throttle wide open in second gear. To my
amazement I actually made it to the first corner near the front of the pack and entered
the woods in 4th place. Even in the singletrack the course was moderately dusty,
which was a sure sign the powdery sand areas would be thick with dust. In this first
section, the same trails from practice, I passed one guy and got passed by another.
When we exited the woods near the staging area, I could see a huge cloud of dust as
we approached a fast, straight run through the sand. The leaders had clean air
through this section but I backed off and let the dust clear out in time to see a sharp
left-hand turn. More sand whoops followed, then a long, fast pass across an old
earthen dam. I don’t often hold the throttle wide open for 15 seconds at a time, but
across the dam those seconds seemed like minutes. Another dust cloud appeared at
the end of the dam, where we braked hard for another sharp left-hander.
A short, choppy pass through some rocky sand took us back into the woods. I held my
own through some fun trails and came upon #35 Kevin Ruckdeschell lying on the
ground next to a power line tower. He was clearly shaken as several of us asked if he
was alright (he was…a few minutes later). As I looked behind for one last glance at
Kevin, I saw #359 Slade Morlang on my tail. He passed me just before we crossed a
set of railroad tracks. A couple miles after that we came out into the open and blasted
through some sand whoops near the end of the course. Gary Mittleberg got around
me there and a hard-charging #266 John McDaniel passed me just before the
scoring trailer.
Most hare scrambles courses contain their share of memorable obstacles, but
because of its past life as a lead mine St. Joe State Park has more than most. The
familiar concrete structure was there as always, except this time we passed through
two levels. I did my best impersonation of a Supermotard’er on the concrete surfaces,
which is to say I over-clutched, over-spun, and generally overworked myself trying to
go fast through this short section. Whatever that old structure was in its prime, it sure
made for fun on a dirt bike. The course had other unusual features, including a small
bridge that we passed under at the point of a right turn (go wide and say hello to Mr.
Concrete Wall).
On the second lap I caught up to #831 Ron Ribolzi in the A-Intermediate class and
followed his Honda for most of the lap. His pace was about the same as mine, but I
was content to let him lead. The few opportunities to pass came and went quickly, but
together we both challenged each other in the same way Kevin Ruckdeschell and I
often do. We both finished the lap without incident, and I held my 6th position.
Lapped traffic and a broken handguard spoiler became troublesome on the third lap.
Passing in the dusty sand was a risky proposition and the woods presented
challenges in getting around slower riders. In the first half of the lap I noticed my
plastic handguard spoiler flopping around the metal guard. Why I had the spoilers on
my bike in the first place was somewhat of a mystery, considering the only other time I’
d ever had them on a bike was at my first enduro in 1995. In anticipation of a cold
November morning in Indiana, I cut up a gallon jug of Tide laundry soap and made a
set of orange, wind-blocking spoilers for my Suzuki RMX250. The black Moose
spoilers on my KX250 worked just fine during the previous race, but at St. Joe the left
one slid to the outer edge of the handlebar and whacked my wrist with every moderate
bump. I caught up to #22 Ralph Gerding at the earthen dam and tried to get around
him, but the KX didn’t have enough speed to make the pass. Mercifully, the spoiler fell
off after I passed Ralph a couple minutes later in the woods.
Near the end of the third lap I whacked my right knee on a rock planted firmly at the top
edge of a deep rut. All I can say is, knee guards are worth their weight in plastic.
Without the guard, I might not be walking. My pace slowed just enough for #38 Todd
Corwin to catch up to me early in the 4th and final lap. He put some distance on me
and finished more than a minute ahead. I held my 6th position through most of the
race and finished in that spot. Gary Mittleberg took another A Sportsman class win,
followed by #503 Steve Dean and John McDaniel. The overall win went once again to
Steve Leivan, who appears unstoppable yet again this year.
After the race we were shocked and saddened by the news that #107 Jerry Hemann
had been fatally injured in a crash about halfway into the race. Jerry was a fast,
experienced, and longtime MHSC racer who will be missed by all who knew him.
Godspeed, Jerry.
July 25, 2004
Florence, Missouri
2nd of 4 in A Sportsman
Karma has a way of catching up to me at Florence, that devilish place where tolls are
collected for past sins. After last year’s torturous hare scramble, I felt I had prepaid at
least one full year of impending indiscretions, but I was wrong. The last of my Karma
credits were burned two weeks prior at the North American all-season paradise
known as Whistler, B.C., future host of Winter Olympic ski events in 2010, mountain
biking Mecca and home to a mass of talent rivaling that of the Las Vegas Supercross.
Outside the boundaries of the Whistler village, at a townie bar where most
vacationers wouldn't dare set foot, my two companions and I discovered that dancers
at the Tuesday night ballet wouldn't accept tips while performing (not even U.S.
dollars). Words of advice: if you grow impatient dangling bills in front of a lady who’s
not acknowledging you or your cash, just drop the money on the stage and walk away.
Trust me.
Payback for aggravating Whistler’s local dance troupe came on the Florence practice
lap. Matt and I made our way among the first groups of riders to hit the trail and arrived
a mile later at the first crossing of the big creek that runs through the property. Most
weekends in July the creek is relatively dry, but three inches of rain had raised the
water level. About 50 feet across and two feet deep, I plowed through the strong
current and into the mouth of a smaller creek. At that point were two sets of arrows, a
blue set to the left that took us out of the water and a red set to the right that continued
upstream in the smaller creek. I asked a guy on an ATV which color arrows we should
follow and he replied, “Both.” So I took off to the right while the guys behind me waited
for a less ambiguous response. The next few miles were continuous jumping back
and forth between the pair of muddy ruts left by the ATV’s. Inside the woods I was by
myself, couldn't move fast enough to get out of first gear, and wasn’t even sure I was
on the correct trail. I stopped a guy on an ATV and asked if I was on the right trail, and
told me I was doing fine.
A few miles later the trail returned to the point of ambiguous arrows. After 100 yards of
so of riding parallel to the big creek, arrows pointed to an opening in some tall weeds
near the water. All I could see through the weeds was an unclimbable bank about 100
feet away and nothing but rushing water in between. With no arrows or evidence of
where I was supposed to go and no idea how deep the water was, I waited around a
few minutes until #18 Gary Wolf and #250 Adam Ashcroft caught up. A willing test
subject, Gary charged into the water with Adam and I following close behind. The
intended route was to ride 30 yards downstream in a couple feet of water to a large
gravel island, then a couple hundred yards down the gravel island to another crossing
that would take us to the other side of the creek.
Crossing from the island to the mainland was at a place where the creek channel
was much narrower, but the current was faster and it was impossible to gauge the
water’s depth. Again, Gary went in first. The front end of his KTM immediately dived
under the water, resurfaced, and then the back end followed suit. Adam and I watched
this first in amazement (“He made it!”), then fear (“Oh crap, we gotta do that, too!”). A
course official suggested that we enter the creek a few feet downstream from Gary’s
point of crossing, where he assured me it was shallower. I gave it a try.
It wasn't shallower.
The KX dived in the water and went about 5 feet before the engine bogged abruptly
and died. There I sat in the middle of the creek, water up to my seat, engine full of
water. My day appeared to be over. I pushed the bike out of the water to the other side
of the creek, spewing expletives that would have made John Kerry’s wife look tame,
and sat for a minute to contemplate what just happened. By this time several riders
had arrived and the course officials sent them downstream to another crossing,
where it appeared they were all successful in navigating the creek. Matt saw my
situation and came back several minutes later with a plug wrench. We turned the bike
upside down and pumped the water from the engine. After 15 minutes of kicking over
the engine, it finally started. I’m not a big fan of riding, much less racing, a bike that’s
been submerged in water until it’s properly serviced, but I hadn't come to Florence to
be a spectator. I fueled the bike, ate a sandwich, and headed for the starting line.
Only three other guys were lined up next to me in the A Sportsman class, but the four
of us were each within the top 5 in series points in our class (the fifth guy, Todd
Corwin, was working the race). Gary Mittleberg and Slade Morlang, winners of all but
one race thus far in the ’04 series, joined Kevin Ruckdeschell and I on our usual third
row starting position. Kevin jumped out to his customary holeshot while Gary and I
followed behind. With mud flying, the tear-off I’d taped over my goggles had to be
pulled about 20 seconds after the start.
The four of us switched positions several times in the first couple of miles. So much
swapping took place that I honestly can’t remember who passed me when or where I
passed the other guys, but it’s likely that all four of us led at various times during the
first lap. About halfway into the lap I was in the third spot and caught up to Gary, who
seemed to be cruising a little in the mud but was showing me some excellent lines.
After a hard charge up a snotty hill, I tried for a pass in an open field and edged by
Gary as he cheered me on. Screaming in my head were these words: Holy crap, I just
passed Gary Mittleberg! Further along the trail I saw Slade picking up his bike in a
rutted section and was struggling to get back into a rhythm. I got around him and took
over the lead. More words passing through my head: Holy crap, I just passed Slade
Morlang! Although Gary and Slade were right behind me when we passed under the
scoring trailer, I could now boast that I’d finally led a lap in the A Sportsman class.
My lead didn't last much longer. Gary and Slade both got around me on the second
lap and I didn't see either one for the rest of the race. The first crossing of the wide
creek had been re-routed away from a steep embankment we had to climb on the first
lap. Instead, we made a straight line into the mouth of the smaller creek that emptied
into the wide creek. The water at this junction was about as deep as I’m comfortable
riding, but the KX plowed through. I headed upstream, trying to stay as close to land
as possible and avoid any watery surprises. Just before we exited this narrow creek,
the established line was far to the left side where a foot-wide patch of soil was barely
ridable next to small trees. This narrow line was the difference between making it
through the section and drowning the bike in seat-deep water. As I pointed my front
wheel toward the main rut, a guy sitting idle in three feet of water was evidence of how
important mere inches would be in determining who finished and who didn't. From
then on, that narrow patch of soil next to the trees would be well-used.
The rest of the second lap was relatively uneventful, other than a small bottleneck in a
narrow creek that took us back near the staging area. A guy in the Junior class got
hung up in a rut and could only watch as the big bikes used his rear wheel for traction.
I was still close enough to Gary to see him get by the guy cleanly and I decided that
the only way I’d keep Gary in sight was to find another way around instead of waiting
in line for others to go through. Plus, the kid kept trying to get his bike out of the way
but nobody was giving him the time to do it. With each bike that ran over his wheel, he’
d throw up his hands in frustration and I felt sorry for him. My alternate line would have
worked if I hadn't got hung up on a rock ledge. Slade apparently passed me there
while I struggled with the ledge but I didn't see him.
On the third lap, more alternate lines were forming around many of the tough spots.
The big creek crossing was once again re-routed and dead bikes littered the area
where I’d seen the guy drown his bike on the previous lap. I could only imagine the
frustration of those guys seeing that had they ridden 12 inches farther to the left, they
would have passed through with ease. Midway through the lap I came upon Kevin
with his bike on its side, trying to conceal the rock he was using to beat his bunched-
up chain back into place. He said I was about a minute behind Slade. Again, I finished
the lap in third place.
Lap four brought on more ruts and lots of guys struggling up hills. At the big creek
crossing, several course workers were pointing out the best lines. I went where I was
pointed but passed through water deep enough to plug up the carburetor vent hoses.
The engine stalled right next to #21 Gary Wetherell on his KX250. Todd Corwin helped
me move out of the way and commented that most of the KX’s had stalled in the deep
water. Gary was still trying to restart when I fired up my engine on the first kick. Just
after that section was the tallest hill in the course, which was fairly easy to climb on
previous attempts because the approach was long and straight. This time, however, a
bike was coasting down the hill for another attempt. I blazed my own alternate path up
the hill and made it slowly to the top, but the marked trail wasn't in sight. Most hare
scrambles require riders to stay within 20 feet of the arrows, but sometimes Stichnoth
Modified Rules of Racing must take effect. When conditions are brutal and wide
alternate paths must be taken, Stichnoth Rules dictate that as long as I can see
points that are within 20 feet from the arrows, I’m good. Whether or not this rule was
broken, who knows, but at the top of the hill I eventually found the trail.
Near the end of the lap I saw #12 Aaron Shaw, best mud rider in Missouri, fly past me
in an open field. My watch indicated that there was an outside chance that my fourth
lap would be my last, but only the AA race was over when I checked into the scoring
lane. Slade’s #359 was still visible on the LED screen, so I figured I wasn't too far
behind him. Somehow lap five was one of my faster laps of the day, and I unknowingly
passed Slade to take over the second place spot. Gary’s lead over me was cut in half
on the final lap, but his four-minute cushion going into lap five was more than enough
to take the win. Gary, Slade, and I each garnered some overall points, finishing 9th,
13th, and 12th, respectively. Aaron Shaw took the overall win, with Steve Leivan a
couple minutes behind.
St. Joe State Park
Park Hills, Missouri
6th of 13 in A Sportsman
For a couple of reasons, most notably a broken motorcycle, I was unable to compete
in either of the two St. Joe State Park hare scramble races last year. The 2004 March
of Dimes race, held at its familiar spot in the non-public section of the park, was my
first hare scramble at St. Joe in over a year. The annual charity event often welcomes
in the dog days of summer, but on this day the skies were sunny and the temperature
moderate. I arrived in time to witness tiny motorcycles and ATV’s flying around the
youth course, most of which circled in and out of the pit area on a semi-groomed
sand track.
After registering under the shade of a tent large enough to hold a wedding reception, I
moved my truck next to the Sellers big rig just in time to see young Michael retire from
the pee wee race with what appeared to be a seized engine. As Matt would discover
the following week, the little KTM 65’s bottom end had just a smidgen of play, which in
Stichnoth terminology equates to roughly a quarter-inch.
Matt and I suited up for a practice run through about 1/3 of the course, which is all the
club allows for the March of Dimes race. These trails surrounded the staging area
and were relatively tight. Where the woods began was a moderately steep hill and a
young guy on a Honda CR80 stuck at the top. He politely asked for help, so I obliged
by coasting the little motorcycle backwards down the slope and giving it a run up the
hill. Surprisingly, the little bike had just enough power to climb to the top with me
aboard, thanks to a handful of throttle and a slipping clutch.
The starting line was behind, rather than in front of, the staging area this year. The
inside of the A Sportsman line was on the uphill slope of a sand flat, so I placed
myself on the far right side where the terrain was flatter. Ahead of us was a high sand
hill where about a hundred spectators were perched to view the start. The course
would take us just to the left of the sand hill and through a series of turns in the open,
then into the woods where the real racing would take place. When the board dropped,
my KX250 fired on the first kick and I held the throttle wide open in second gear. To my
amazement I actually made it to the first corner near the front of the pack and entered
the woods in 4th place. Even in the singletrack the course was moderately dusty,
which was a sure sign the powdery sand areas would be thick with dust. In this first
section, the same trails from practice, I passed one guy and got passed by another.
When we exited the woods near the staging area, I could see a huge cloud of dust as
we approached a fast, straight run through the sand. The leaders had clean air
through this section but I backed off and let the dust clear out in time to see a sharp
left-hand turn. More sand whoops followed, then a long, fast pass across an old
earthen dam. I don’t often hold the throttle wide open for 15 seconds at a time, but
across the dam those seconds seemed like minutes. Another dust cloud appeared at
the end of the dam, where we braked hard for another sharp left-hander.
A short, choppy pass through some rocky sand took us back into the woods. I held my
own through some fun trails and came upon #35 Kevin Ruckdeschell lying on the
ground next to a power line tower. He was clearly shaken as several of us asked if he
was alright (he was…a few minutes later). As I looked behind for one last glance at
Kevin, I saw #359 Slade Morlang on my tail. He passed me just before we crossed a
set of railroad tracks. A couple miles after that we came out into the open and blasted
through some sand whoops near the end of the course. Gary Mittleberg got around
me there and a hard-charging #266 John McDaniel passed me just before the
scoring trailer.
Most hare scrambles courses contain their share of memorable obstacles, but
because of its past life as a lead mine St. Joe State Park has more than most. The
familiar concrete structure was there as always, except this time we passed through
two levels. I did my best impersonation of a Supermotard’er on the concrete surfaces,
which is to say I over-clutched, over-spun, and generally overworked myself trying to
go fast through this short section. Whatever that old structure was in its prime, it sure
made for fun on a dirt bike. The course had other unusual features, including a small
bridge that we passed under at the point of a right turn (go wide and say hello to Mr.
Concrete Wall).
On the second lap I caught up to #831 Ron Ribolzi in the A-Intermediate class and
followed his Honda for most of the lap. His pace was about the same as mine, but I
was content to let him lead. The few opportunities to pass came and went quickly, but
together we both challenged each other in the same way Kevin Ruckdeschell and I
often do. We both finished the lap without incident, and I held my 6th position.
Lapped traffic and a broken handguard spoiler became troublesome on the third lap.
Passing in the dusty sand was a risky proposition and the woods presented
challenges in getting around slower riders. In the first half of the lap I noticed my
plastic handguard spoiler flopping around the metal guard. Why I had the spoilers on
my bike in the first place was somewhat of a mystery, considering the only other time I’
d ever had them on a bike was at my first enduro in 1995. In anticipation of a cold
November morning in Indiana, I cut up a gallon jug of Tide laundry soap and made a
set of orange, wind-blocking spoilers for my Suzuki RMX250. The black Moose
spoilers on my KX250 worked just fine during the previous race, but at St. Joe the left
one slid to the outer edge of the handlebar and whacked my wrist with every moderate
bump. I caught up to #22 Ralph Gerding at the earthen dam and tried to get around
him, but the KX didn’t have enough speed to make the pass. Mercifully, the spoiler fell
off after I passed Ralph a couple minutes later in the woods.
Near the end of the third lap I whacked my right knee on a rock planted firmly at the top
edge of a deep rut. All I can say is, knee guards are worth their weight in plastic.
Without the guard, I might not be walking. My pace slowed just enough for #38 Todd
Corwin to catch up to me early in the 4th and final lap. He put some distance on me
and finished more than a minute ahead. I held my 6th position through most of the
race and finished in that spot. Gary Mittleberg took another A Sportsman class win,
followed by #503 Steve Dean and John McDaniel. The overall win went once again to
Steve Leivan, who appears unstoppable yet again this year.
After the race we were shocked and saddened by the news that #107 Jerry Hemann
had been fatally injured in a crash about halfway into the race. Jerry was a fast,
experienced, and longtime MHSC racer who will be missed by all who knew him.
Godspeed, Jerry.
July 25, 2004
Florence, Missouri
2nd of 4 in A Sportsman
Karma has a way of catching up to me at Florence, that devilish place where tolls are
collected for past sins. After last year’s torturous hare scramble, I felt I had prepaid at
least one full year of impending indiscretions, but I was wrong. The last of my Karma
credits were burned two weeks prior at the North American all-season paradise
known as Whistler, B.C., future host of Winter Olympic ski events in 2010, mountain
biking Mecca and home to a mass of talent rivaling that of the Las Vegas Supercross.
Outside the boundaries of the Whistler village, at a townie bar where most
vacationers wouldn't dare set foot, my two companions and I discovered that dancers
at the Tuesday night ballet wouldn't accept tips while performing (not even U.S.
dollars). Words of advice: if you grow impatient dangling bills in front of a lady who’s
not acknowledging you or your cash, just drop the money on the stage and walk away.
Trust me.
Payback for aggravating Whistler’s local dance troupe came on the Florence practice
lap. Matt and I made our way among the first groups of riders to hit the trail and arrived
a mile later at the first crossing of the big creek that runs through the property. Most
weekends in July the creek is relatively dry, but three inches of rain had raised the
water level. About 50 feet across and two feet deep, I plowed through the strong
current and into the mouth of a smaller creek. At that point were two sets of arrows, a
blue set to the left that took us out of the water and a red set to the right that continued
upstream in the smaller creek. I asked a guy on an ATV which color arrows we should
follow and he replied, “Both.” So I took off to the right while the guys behind me waited
for a less ambiguous response. The next few miles were continuous jumping back
and forth between the pair of muddy ruts left by the ATV’s. Inside the woods I was by
myself, couldn't move fast enough to get out of first gear, and wasn’t even sure I was
on the correct trail. I stopped a guy on an ATV and asked if I was on the right trail, and
told me I was doing fine.
A few miles later the trail returned to the point of ambiguous arrows. After 100 yards of
so of riding parallel to the big creek, arrows pointed to an opening in some tall weeds
near the water. All I could see through the weeds was an unclimbable bank about 100
feet away and nothing but rushing water in between. With no arrows or evidence of
where I was supposed to go and no idea how deep the water was, I waited around a
few minutes until #18 Gary Wolf and #250 Adam Ashcroft caught up. A willing test
subject, Gary charged into the water with Adam and I following close behind. The
intended route was to ride 30 yards downstream in a couple feet of water to a large
gravel island, then a couple hundred yards down the gravel island to another crossing
that would take us to the other side of the creek.
Crossing from the island to the mainland was at a place where the creek channel
was much narrower, but the current was faster and it was impossible to gauge the
water’s depth. Again, Gary went in first. The front end of his KTM immediately dived
under the water, resurfaced, and then the back end followed suit. Adam and I watched
this first in amazement (“He made it!”), then fear (“Oh crap, we gotta do that, too!”). A
course official suggested that we enter the creek a few feet downstream from Gary’s
point of crossing, where he assured me it was shallower. I gave it a try.
It wasn't shallower.
The KX dived in the water and went about 5 feet before the engine bogged abruptly
and died. There I sat in the middle of the creek, water up to my seat, engine full of
water. My day appeared to be over. I pushed the bike out of the water to the other side
of the creek, spewing expletives that would have made John Kerry’s wife look tame,
and sat for a minute to contemplate what just happened. By this time several riders
had arrived and the course officials sent them downstream to another crossing,
where it appeared they were all successful in navigating the creek. Matt saw my
situation and came back several minutes later with a plug wrench. We turned the bike
upside down and pumped the water from the engine. After 15 minutes of kicking over
the engine, it finally started. I’m not a big fan of riding, much less racing, a bike that’s
been submerged in water until it’s properly serviced, but I hadn't come to Florence to
be a spectator. I fueled the bike, ate a sandwich, and headed for the starting line.
Only three other guys were lined up next to me in the A Sportsman class, but the four
of us were each within the top 5 in series points in our class (the fifth guy, Todd
Corwin, was working the race). Gary Mittleberg and Slade Morlang, winners of all but
one race thus far in the ’04 series, joined Kevin Ruckdeschell and I on our usual third
row starting position. Kevin jumped out to his customary holeshot while Gary and I
followed behind. With mud flying, the tear-off I’d taped over my goggles had to be
pulled about 20 seconds after the start.
The four of us switched positions several times in the first couple of miles. So much
swapping took place that I honestly can’t remember who passed me when or where I
passed the other guys, but it’s likely that all four of us led at various times during the
first lap. About halfway into the lap I was in the third spot and caught up to Gary, who
seemed to be cruising a little in the mud but was showing me some excellent lines.
After a hard charge up a snotty hill, I tried for a pass in an open field and edged by
Gary as he cheered me on. Screaming in my head were these words: Holy crap, I just
passed Gary Mittleberg! Further along the trail I saw Slade picking up his bike in a
rutted section and was struggling to get back into a rhythm. I got around him and took
over the lead. More words passing through my head: Holy crap, I just passed Slade
Morlang! Although Gary and Slade were right behind me when we passed under the
scoring trailer, I could now boast that I’d finally led a lap in the A Sportsman class.
My lead didn't last much longer. Gary and Slade both got around me on the second
lap and I didn't see either one for the rest of the race. The first crossing of the wide
creek had been re-routed away from a steep embankment we had to climb on the first
lap. Instead, we made a straight line into the mouth of the smaller creek that emptied
into the wide creek. The water at this junction was about as deep as I’m comfortable
riding, but the KX plowed through. I headed upstream, trying to stay as close to land
as possible and avoid any watery surprises. Just before we exited this narrow creek,
the established line was far to the left side where a foot-wide patch of soil was barely
ridable next to small trees. This narrow line was the difference between making it
through the section and drowning the bike in seat-deep water. As I pointed my front
wheel toward the main rut, a guy sitting idle in three feet of water was evidence of how
important mere inches would be in determining who finished and who didn't. From
then on, that narrow patch of soil next to the trees would be well-used.
The rest of the second lap was relatively uneventful, other than a small bottleneck in a
narrow creek that took us back near the staging area. A guy in the Junior class got
hung up in a rut and could only watch as the big bikes used his rear wheel for traction.
I was still close enough to Gary to see him get by the guy cleanly and I decided that
the only way I’d keep Gary in sight was to find another way around instead of waiting
in line for others to go through. Plus, the kid kept trying to get his bike out of the way
but nobody was giving him the time to do it. With each bike that ran over his wheel, he’
d throw up his hands in frustration and I felt sorry for him. My alternate line would have
worked if I hadn't got hung up on a rock ledge. Slade apparently passed me there
while I struggled with the ledge but I didn't see him.
On the third lap, more alternate lines were forming around many of the tough spots.
The big creek crossing was once again re-routed and dead bikes littered the area
where I’d seen the guy drown his bike on the previous lap. I could only imagine the
frustration of those guys seeing that had they ridden 12 inches farther to the left, they
would have passed through with ease. Midway through the lap I came upon Kevin
with his bike on its side, trying to conceal the rock he was using to beat his bunched-
up chain back into place. He said I was about a minute behind Slade. Again, I finished
the lap in third place.
Lap four brought on more ruts and lots of guys struggling up hills. At the big creek
crossing, several course workers were pointing out the best lines. I went where I was
pointed but passed through water deep enough to plug up the carburetor vent hoses.
The engine stalled right next to #21 Gary Wetherell on his KX250. Todd Corwin helped
me move out of the way and commented that most of the KX’s had stalled in the deep
water. Gary was still trying to restart when I fired up my engine on the first kick. Just
after that section was the tallest hill in the course, which was fairly easy to climb on
previous attempts because the approach was long and straight. This time, however, a
bike was coasting down the hill for another attempt. I blazed my own alternate path up
the hill and made it slowly to the top, but the marked trail wasn't in sight. Most hare
scrambles require riders to stay within 20 feet of the arrows, but sometimes Stichnoth
Modified Rules of Racing must take effect. When conditions are brutal and wide
alternate paths must be taken, Stichnoth Rules dictate that as long as I can see
points that are within 20 feet from the arrows, I’m good. Whether or not this rule was
broken, who knows, but at the top of the hill I eventually found the trail.
Near the end of the lap I saw #12 Aaron Shaw, best mud rider in Missouri, fly past me
in an open field. My watch indicated that there was an outside chance that my fourth
lap would be my last, but only the AA race was over when I checked into the scoring
lane. Slade’s #359 was still visible on the LED screen, so I figured I wasn't too far
behind him. Somehow lap five was one of my faster laps of the day, and I unknowingly
passed Slade to take over the second place spot. Gary’s lead over me was cut in half
on the final lap, but his four-minute cushion going into lap five was more than enough
to take the win. Gary, Slade, and I each garnered some overall points, finishing 9th,
13th, and 12th, respectively. Aaron Shaw took the overall win, with Steve Leivan a
couple minutes behind.
Park Hills, Missouri
Florence, Missouri
Florence, Missouri