| 2005 Race Reports |
March 20, 2005
Belleville, Illinois
2nd of 2 in A class
The words “Belleville” and “Dust” are uttered in the same breath about as often as
“Dubya” and “Eloquence”, but on this day the rare combination of dry weather and a B.
E.T. hare scramble came together like The Cream and Barry Bonds’ knees. Matt
swung by my house and took us to the race site by way of the Shrine of Our Lady of
the Snows, a Belleville-area attraction advertised many, many miles away on oft-
traveled interstate highways in Missouri. It’s not exactly Ruby Falls or the Wall Drug
but was moderately impressive from my windshield view.
At the club grounds were a few familiar faces, including Joe and Kiefer Rosier and the
Osia brothers. Cape Girardeau native Jason Hawk also showed up to race with me in
the A class on his big KTM thumper. First on the starting line with me was Jason and
AA rider Jeff Graber on a Honda four-stroke. A few minutes before the start, Jeff had
challenged local teen-phenom Justin Hanna, a few rows behind us, to “catch me if
you can.” Later in the race I would see the results of that challenge.
When the flag dropped, Jason took the holeshot as we slowed for the first turn from a
rapid sprint through a grass field. I followed closely for about half a minute, watching
Jason blast around the dry corners. In past B.E.T. races involving mud, I’d usually
been able to pull away from him, but not today. Jeff took an inside route up a tricky hill
and took off in pursuit of Jason. The pair promptly left me in their dust.
A relatively short 3.5-mile course made for quick lap times. Much of that distance was
in the north half of the club property, which is the heart of the uneven strip-mined
ground. Rhythm is hard to find in such tight, twisty trails. Short bursts of speed were
quickly followed by hard braking and rapid directional changes. One hard right-hand
turn came at the bottom of a short drop, which I missed on both of the first two laps.
Because of the tightness of the trail at this spot, I’d ride up the trail and then double
back to get on the course again. The second time I did this, I met Kiefer Rosier as I
rejoined the trail. While following me for a short time, Kiefer demonstrated why his
Junior class career is rapidly coming to an end.
About 30 minutes into the race I could finally make out Jason Hawk’s KTM in the
distance. A sore hand slowed his pace, and a slight arrow misread allowed me to
pass. A few minutes later I biffed a small jump strategically placed at a curve in the
trail, then watched Jason pass me as I restarted the bike. I followed him for another
lap or so, then made a couple of my own arrow misreads. About 10 minutes later I
caught up to Jason once more and passed him with an alternate route through the
course’s lone mud hole. But this time Jason stuck with me like cow parts on a
rendering truck. We battled for about five laps or so, me in front and Jason gnawing at
my rear tire. During his pursuit, Jeff Graber lapped both of us. A few minutes he
appeared to pass us again, except it was Justin Hanna on a similar bike. While he
didn't catch Jeff, he did catch the A class.
With about 10 minutes remaining, Jason’s motocross skills paid off as he charged
into an uphill jump a little faster than me. He sailed on ahead to the scoring barrels. I
managed to stay close for another lap, but then my steering damper bolts decided to
come loose again. I stopped at the truck to tighten them, then finished the lap and the
race.
Perfect conditions at Belleville are indeed unusual, and I was happy to have a fun ride
on what may be the last time I ever race at the B.E.T. club. Two weeks later I would be
a resident of Chicagoland, pondering a steady diet of mud and short hare scrambles
courses. To Missouri and the St. Louis area, you've been good to me.
May 15, 2005
Colona, Illinois
3rd of 8 in 30+ A
As most of my regular readers know by now, in April I packed up and moved to the
Chicago area to pursue my lifelong dream of 2 ½ minute stoplights. My nearly two-
month absence from in-season racing was the longest stretch since the KTM
Transmission Debacle of 2002. On the race schedule this day was Colona, a two-
hour drive from my apartment “home” (as promoted by every single apartment
property management company in the western suburbs, a misnomer if there ever
was one), so I decided I must do some serious riding before the big Leadbelt
Enduro the following Sunday.
Although I can’t say I've completely formed all my opinions about this new adventure
in Chicagoland, this I know for sure: Moving sucks. An earlier attempt at post-move
racing ended before it could begin, when a steering damper-less KX and I parted
ways in a plowed-up cornfield behind my parents’ house, one day before the
Roselawn, Indiana spring enduro. The resulting crash had left me with a minor
concussion and a new respect for the “Magic Gold Box” (the Naked City enduro will
have to wait until August). And while we’re discussing concussions, if you are a dirt
biker and suddenly find yourself wandering aimlessly, trying to figure out why you are
where you are and how you got there, remember this: It was the dirt bike, stupid.
The Colona race was part of the District 17 hare scrambles series, whose schedule
requires a detailed road map and a scientific calculator for computing the number of
events that are possible to attend (D-17 official motto: We Will Race You to Death or
Thereabout). This race was also the third in a 9-event Western Illinois hare scramble
mini-series organized by WFO Promotions.
When the race was over, it became painfully obvious that I miss Missouri and the
MHSC. Let me count the reasons:
The course had one very tricky spot close enough to the staging area that provided
much entertainment for spectators. For the more adventurous riders, the trail dropped
about 10 feet straight down into a small creek (an alternate, longer “wuss route” was
also available). At the bottom was a muddy 90-degree right turn, then another 100 feet
straight down the center of the creek. The exit from the creek was a deeply rutted affair
with plenty of opportunity for spectator entertainment. Thankfully, a number of guys
were on hand to keep the bike flow steady.
About 90 minutes into the race, approaching a relatively steep and tricky ravine, a
young guy on a 100cc bike decided that the middle of a narrow, off-camber trail would
be a good spot to take a breather. Parked off to the side of the trail was one of his
friends, who he greeted with a friendly hello. Meanwhile, I was stuck behind this guy,
trying to find a way around. I inched my way past him but lost my balance and dumped
the bike on the side of the trail, handlebars on the low side of the slope. The young
guy seemed completely un-phased by this and continued conversing with his friend
in the middle of the trail. While I struggled to upright my KX, a group of riders
approached, some of who suggested in not-so-polite terms that the guy move his
bike off the trail. He responded with a spirited “F--- you!” Ah, kids…so cute you want to
strangle them.
Near the end of my last lap, Jeff Fredette sped by on his ultra-quiet KX250F. My
stamina level was dangerously low at that point and I was glad to see the checkered
flag at the scoring barrels. With a sore knee and a KX weighing 30 pounds more than
it did at the start of the day, I packed up and drove home, tired but satisfied.
Belleville, Illinois
2nd of 2 in A class
The words “Belleville” and “Dust” are uttered in the same breath about as often as
“Dubya” and “Eloquence”, but on this day the rare combination of dry weather and a B.
E.T. hare scramble came together like The Cream and Barry Bonds’ knees. Matt
swung by my house and took us to the race site by way of the Shrine of Our Lady of
the Snows, a Belleville-area attraction advertised many, many miles away on oft-
traveled interstate highways in Missouri. It’s not exactly Ruby Falls or the Wall Drug
but was moderately impressive from my windshield view.
At the club grounds were a few familiar faces, including Joe and Kiefer Rosier and the
Osia brothers. Cape Girardeau native Jason Hawk also showed up to race with me in
the A class on his big KTM thumper. First on the starting line with me was Jason and
AA rider Jeff Graber on a Honda four-stroke. A few minutes before the start, Jeff had
challenged local teen-phenom Justin Hanna, a few rows behind us, to “catch me if
you can.” Later in the race I would see the results of that challenge.
When the flag dropped, Jason took the holeshot as we slowed for the first turn from a
rapid sprint through a grass field. I followed closely for about half a minute, watching
Jason blast around the dry corners. In past B.E.T. races involving mud, I’d usually
been able to pull away from him, but not today. Jeff took an inside route up a tricky hill
and took off in pursuit of Jason. The pair promptly left me in their dust.
A relatively short 3.5-mile course made for quick lap times. Much of that distance was
in the north half of the club property, which is the heart of the uneven strip-mined
ground. Rhythm is hard to find in such tight, twisty trails. Short bursts of speed were
quickly followed by hard braking and rapid directional changes. One hard right-hand
turn came at the bottom of a short drop, which I missed on both of the first two laps.
Because of the tightness of the trail at this spot, I’d ride up the trail and then double
back to get on the course again. The second time I did this, I met Kiefer Rosier as I
rejoined the trail. While following me for a short time, Kiefer demonstrated why his
Junior class career is rapidly coming to an end.
About 30 minutes into the race I could finally make out Jason Hawk’s KTM in the
distance. A sore hand slowed his pace, and a slight arrow misread allowed me to
pass. A few minutes later I biffed a small jump strategically placed at a curve in the
trail, then watched Jason pass me as I restarted the bike. I followed him for another
lap or so, then made a couple of my own arrow misreads. About 10 minutes later I
caught up to Jason once more and passed him with an alternate route through the
course’s lone mud hole. But this time Jason stuck with me like cow parts on a
rendering truck. We battled for about five laps or so, me in front and Jason gnawing at
my rear tire. During his pursuit, Jeff Graber lapped both of us. A few minutes he
appeared to pass us again, except it was Justin Hanna on a similar bike. While he
didn't catch Jeff, he did catch the A class.
With about 10 minutes remaining, Jason’s motocross skills paid off as he charged
into an uphill jump a little faster than me. He sailed on ahead to the scoring barrels. I
managed to stay close for another lap, but then my steering damper bolts decided to
come loose again. I stopped at the truck to tighten them, then finished the lap and the
race.
Perfect conditions at Belleville are indeed unusual, and I was happy to have a fun ride
on what may be the last time I ever race at the B.E.T. club. Two weeks later I would be
a resident of Chicagoland, pondering a steady diet of mud and short hare scrambles
courses. To Missouri and the St. Louis area, you've been good to me.
May 15, 2005
Colona, Illinois
3rd of 8 in 30+ A
As most of my regular readers know by now, in April I packed up and moved to the
Chicago area to pursue my lifelong dream of 2 ½ minute stoplights. My nearly two-
month absence from in-season racing was the longest stretch since the KTM
Transmission Debacle of 2002. On the race schedule this day was Colona, a two-
hour drive from my apartment “home” (as promoted by every single apartment
property management company in the western suburbs, a misnomer if there ever
was one), so I decided I must do some serious riding before the big Leadbelt
Enduro the following Sunday.
Although I can’t say I've completely formed all my opinions about this new adventure
in Chicagoland, this I know for sure: Moving sucks. An earlier attempt at post-move
racing ended before it could begin, when a steering damper-less KX and I parted
ways in a plowed-up cornfield behind my parents’ house, one day before the
Roselawn, Indiana spring enduro. The resulting crash had left me with a minor
concussion and a new respect for the “Magic Gold Box” (the Naked City enduro will
have to wait until August). And while we’re discussing concussions, if you are a dirt
biker and suddenly find yourself wandering aimlessly, trying to figure out why you are
where you are and how you got there, remember this: It was the dirt bike, stupid.
The Colona race was part of the District 17 hare scrambles series, whose schedule
requires a detailed road map and a scientific calculator for computing the number of
events that are possible to attend (D-17 official motto: We Will Race You to Death or
Thereabout). This race was also the third in a 9-event Western Illinois hare scramble
mini-series organized by WFO Promotions.
When the race was over, it became painfully obvious that I miss Missouri and the
MHSC. Let me count the reasons:
- Everything costs more. This fact was made clear upon arriving in the Chicago
area, where gas costs more, rents are higher, some roads cost money to
drive on, and home buying can induce acute cases of sticker shock. It also
extends to hare scrambles racing. Illinois is the land of $7 gate fees, required
District 17 memberships, and the AMA getting a cut of the action (the cost of
which appears to be passed along to racers). I handed over $52 to the nice
lady at the signup trailer, $20 of which was 2005 District 17 dues. The most
tangible benefit of that $20 will be a newspaper arriving in my mailbox each
month during the racing season, mostly containing stories of various
motocross events throughout the upper Midwest. - District 17 loves the parade lap. Picture it: 100 or more riders line up behind a
guy in an orange vest and take off behind him in the woods, all at the same
time. There is one advantage to this. You will identify, and become part of,
every single bottleneck on the course. The first one appeared at the exit of a
brief pass down the center of a creek. Somewhere up ahead was a steep,
curvy trail with tree roots helpfully exposed by the morning ATV race. About 30
riders sat impatiently ahead of me in the creek, boots filling with cold water,
while a couple of guys struggled up the hill. - Bottomless ruts are everywhere. I found one on the parade lap, just deep
enough to halt my momentum. It’s a sickening feeling, like driving to five Jewel-
Osco’s and seven Dominick’s and finding not a single box of frosting-less
cinnamon Pop Tarts. - Three-mile hare scramble courses are the norm. I did 10 laps, finishing just
behind overall winner Jeff Fredette as he lapped me for a second time and
ended the 1 hour, 45-minute race. - Cleaning the bike takes a long, long time. Just like in the days of my St. Louis
apartment, I washed the bike on my patio. By the time I was done, the patio
was covered with about an inch of mud.
The course had one very tricky spot close enough to the staging area that provided
much entertainment for spectators. For the more adventurous riders, the trail dropped
about 10 feet straight down into a small creek (an alternate, longer “wuss route” was
also available). At the bottom was a muddy 90-degree right turn, then another 100 feet
straight down the center of the creek. The exit from the creek was a deeply rutted affair
with plenty of opportunity for spectator entertainment. Thankfully, a number of guys
were on hand to keep the bike flow steady.
About 90 minutes into the race, approaching a relatively steep and tricky ravine, a
young guy on a 100cc bike decided that the middle of a narrow, off-camber trail would
be a good spot to take a breather. Parked off to the side of the trail was one of his
friends, who he greeted with a friendly hello. Meanwhile, I was stuck behind this guy,
trying to find a way around. I inched my way past him but lost my balance and dumped
the bike on the side of the trail, handlebars on the low side of the slope. The young
guy seemed completely un-phased by this and continued conversing with his friend
in the middle of the trail. While I struggled to upright my KX, a group of riders
approached, some of who suggested in not-so-polite terms that the guy move his
bike off the trail. He responded with a spirited “F--- you!” Ah, kids…so cute you want to
strangle them.
Near the end of my last lap, Jeff Fredette sped by on his ultra-quiet KX250F. My
stamina level was dangerously low at that point and I was glad to see the checkered
flag at the scoring barrels. With a sore knee and a KX weighing 30 pounds more than
it did at the start of the day, I packed up and drove home, tired but satisfied.
Belleville, Illinois
Colona, Illinois
Colona, Illinois
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