| 2005 Race Reports |
May 22, 2005
Park Hills, Missouri
5th of 14 in Vet A
According to the May 2 issue of BusinessWeek magazine, Weblogs (a.k.a. blogs) are
“...simply the most explosive outbreak in the information world since the Internet
itself.” Now, before you call bullsh!t on that statement, remember this: it was printed
in a magazine with “Week” in its title, so it has to be true. So I figure it’s time to jump
on the Blog bandwagon and record my mostly meaningless thoughts on the Leadbelt
National weekend.
Saturday 9:04 a.m.
Naperville or Woodridge, Illinois
Another flashback to 1998-2001 in the St. Louis apartment, opening a single car
detached garage filled to capacity with what most refer to as John’s Toys. Although I
have lived in this apartment for nearly two months, I am still unsure where I live,
exactly. My mailing address suggests Naperville but the friendly police officer I met
the previous Saturday told me that I live in Woodridge. Wherever it is, I’m finding that
both suburbs move at a pace which keeps body shops full of new business.
My plan for the day was to do some minor work on the KTM, pick up some food and
other necessities for the overnight trip to St. Louis and start driving in the afternoon.
The one good thing that came from my failed attempt at racing the Naked City Enduro
in April was that the KTM was pretty much ready to race. I yanked off the lights (no
need for them at St. Joe State Park), checked the tire pressure, kicked over the engine
a few times and listened to it ping to life for the first time since my toe-smashing ride
at Newark in August of last year.
4:58 p.m.
Joliet, Illinois
Light rain on I-55 comes down steadily all the way to Bloomington. That’s o.k. though
- Park Hills is a long way from Bloomington. It has to be dry down there.
9:14 p.m.
Wentzville, Missouri
Arrive at the Sellers house and settle into a comfy basement bed. Alarm is set for 5:
00 a.m.
Sunday 3:02 a.m.
Wentzville, Missouri
Thunder crashing and lightening flashing. Now I’m wishing I’d packed my waterproof
riding jacket. Maybe it will blow over by the time I get up.
5:03 a.m.
Still raining. On goes my emergency pullover rain coat, useful for repelling water but
not much else. Matt and I load up the bikes in rain gear. Looks like a long day in store
for us.
7:05 a.m.
Finally, the rain is ending as we pull into the staging area, but it’s apparently scared
away the locals. Attendance appears to be down and I've run out of fingers to add up
all the states represented on bike haulers’ license plates.
7:39 a.m.
Riders meeting wraps up and it’s time for the sound test. The Missouri Mudders are
an extremely efficient bunch – I’m in and out within approximately 17 seconds.
7:48 a.m.
Check and re-check keytime. Matt and I are on row 5, which means our clocks have to
be set back 5 minutes in order for our race to begin when the display shows 8:00. As
with White Rock last year, Matt will be relying somewhat on my timekeeping skills.
When I suggest that we need to set our clocks five minutes ahead of keytime, I can
sense his lack of confidence in my ability to understand how enduros work.
7:50 a.m.
No change to my old-school enduro style – mechanical odometer, roll chart and two
cheap LCD clocks from Walmart. Normally the clocks are duct-taped to my
handlebars with one showing normal time and the other showing seconds, but one
of them is already acting goofy. Off it goes. Today I’ll see only minutes, but as I’ll soon
find out, timekeeping won’t matter much.
7:55 a.m. (adjusted time)
While waiting our turn to leave the starting line, MHSC scorekeeper Tom Eidam pulls
up beside us to say hello. He is one of the few MHSC regulars I’ll run into today, and it’
s good to see an old friend.
8:00 a.m.
We’re off! The first 3 miles is a leisurely 15 mph average, which is pretty easy to
maintain if I don’t do anything stupid. At the 2.9 mile mark, Matt and I pause to get
back on time. Our row has three other riders, two of which are riding the short course
(one loop) and another guy in one of the B classes. When we decide to get back on
the trail just before the 3-mile marker, the two guys riding the short course jump
ahead of us. At this point the speed average jumps to 18 mph, which for me is
basically a race pace in the St. Joe singletrack. Enduros don’t normally involve a lot of
passing, but now I know there will be two ahead of me that I’ll need to get around
quickly. Eventually I pass both guys, but it’s not easy. The singletrack is slick. As one
of the first groups to ride the trails after the early morning rains, we’re sliding around
every turn. I gradually pull away from the others on our row but drop the KTM a couple
times around some turns in slippery hard-packed clay.
8:12 a.m.
I have just had the bejesus scared out of me. The infamous waterfall section is once
again part of the course, but this year it sneaked up on me. I had completely forgotten
about it. I suddenly dropped down into the rock bottom creek and immediately
launched over the first big ledge, completely unprepared. The next few ledges were
moderate, but on the last big one I landed hard enough to feel it throughout my entire
body. With more water flowing down the creek this year, it was exponentially scarier
than last year.
8:32 a.m.
At this point the speed average is supposed to increase to 24 mph but I’m already
running late. As expected, this enduro will be about 90 long miles of riding as hard as
possible. At the first check I dropped one point and am headed for substantially more
dropped points when the next check arrives.
9:03 a.m.
Time is passing by quickly as I near the end of the 19-mile extra short course. The
second check was placed near the end of this short loop and I dropped 11 points
there. The trails to this point have been very slick and unpredictable. Some spots are
moist with good traction; others cause the back end to weave from side to side, as if
the rear tire is sweeping the entire surface of the trail in a futile quest to find some
grip. I feel like a world rally car driver running first in order, clearing loose stuff off the
road for the benefit of the rest of the field.
9:07 a.m.
The trail passes under a pedestrian bridge in the sand flats, signaling our return to
the staging area. The on-trail sound check is just ahead. I pass the re-test and
search for my gas jug. Before filling the tank, I notice that despite the 10 minute reset,
I’m still running slightly late. The gas fill-up puts me a couple minutes behind and I
notice that I've nearly emptied the jug. Naturally, I've chosen to leave the wrong gas
jug at the gas available. We blast around the wide sand track circling the staging area
and head back out into the woods.
9:15 a.m.
I’ve entered the most hellish part of the course. It’s an old hare scramble trail made
out of hard clay with about an inch of slop on top. Once the slop is pushed to the side,
it’s like riding on snow. Matt would accurately describe the section this way: “It sucked
the life out of me.”
9:20 a.m.
Now settled comfortably into survival mode, I’m dropping points even more rapidly
when the speed average increases to 30 mph. Clearly, this speed is designed to add
some points to the national riders’ scores. At the next check I drop 19 points.
9:43 a.m.
Here we are supposed to pause for 10 minutes, then get back on the trail at 9:41.
Even with the 10 minutes of catch-up time, I’m still running late, so there’s no rest for
me.
10:04 a.m.
A new section has been added to the trails which roughly follow the power lines. It’s a
creek as tough as any I’ve faced in Missouri. A guy wearing a Team USA ISDE helmet
passes me before we begin our run through the center of the creek but then falls
down ahead of me on a slick rock bottom surface. I don’t see him again for several
miles. This half-mile of silty gravel and slick rock seems more like five miles. My left
hand is feeling signs of a blister coming, and I remember that I forgot to put on my
usual set of Band-aids and Palm Savers.
10:14 a.m.
My knee pads are rubbing me raw. I am tempted to stop and remove them, but I know
better.
10:25 a.m.
In theory, I should be finishing the first loop about now, but I’m running about 20
minutes behind. At the 6th check just before the end of the loop, I drop another 19
points. Randy Hawkins, 16 minutes behind on row 21, passes me half a mile before
this check. His bike has an interesting aroma. My bike has an interesting rattle.
10:47 a.m.
Finally, I’m back at my truck. With less than 10 minutes before the second loop is to
begin, I quickly fill up the gas tank, change goggles, eat a few bites of turkey
sandwich and set out for the second half of the race without my fanny pack. If there is
a time for something to break or come loose on the bike, it will surely be soon. I’m
already a couple minutes late.
11:01 a.m.
First check on the second loop and I drop a point. Somehow I end up on the alternate
wuss route next to the waterfall. I had heard others say that it’s actually the faster way,
and now I’m in agreement. The trails are in much better shape this time around but
still slick in places and I’m still running late.
11:55 a.m.
At the 75.1 mile marker is another 10-minute pause, but like the first loop, there’s no
pausing for me. But as the trails continue to improve, I’m actually close to being on
time when I get to my gas jug. With about 10 minutes of free time, I make a run back
to my truck to top off the gas tank, strap on my fanny pack and head back to the sand
track next to the staging area. The Osia brothers are packing up after completing the
short course and I give Ray a wave as I blast by.
12:15 p.m.
Back in the worst mud on the course, most of the slop has been cleared off the trail
and all that’s left is hard, wet clay. But it’s easier than the first time around.
12:33 p.m.
My nasty habit of dragging my right leg for balance must end. The tweaking it took last
Sunday at Colona left me hobbling for a full day, so I concentrate on keeping my leg in
front of the foot peg. So far it’s working – 70 miles of riding and my knee still feels
good.
12:58 p.m.
Somewhere in here the Missouri Mudders got tricky with check placement. Mike
Sigety and John Burgard, both seasoned A-class enduro riders, check in 3 minutes
early, dropping 12 points. By some stroke of luck, I zero the check. But something odd
just happened. Of the two guys writing down scores on the cards, the first guy writes
“05”, which is good. I've lost no points. He walks away, but then the second guy
comes over and starts to write “05” on the next line on the card. I tell him three times
that the first guy already scored me, but by then he’s already written “0”. I continue on,
tired and sore and knowing I've got about 15 miles to go.
1:35 p.m.
Finally, the end is near. I’m less than two miles from the end, which is a known
control. Thus, there can’t be anymore checks, or so I believe. When you don’t take
enduro races all too seriously, sometimes you don’t really bother to learn all the
rules. If it says “known control” on the route sheet, it’s a pretty sure bet that there will
be a check there. So I putted along the last two miles, thinking I was home free. Then
the final check appeared in the sand flats and I wished I’d ridden a little harder the
last two miles. But I’m not sure how much faster I could have ridden. I was tired and
sore. The card scorer looked at my scorecard and mumbled something about the
zero written on the last line of the card and decided that someone else at the finish
line had already written in my score. I was too tired to catch on to what happened, but
the “0” on my scorecard suggested that I’d checked in 5 minutes early.
1:45 p.m.
Back at the truck, I see a handwritten note from Matt describing the whacking his
chain guide took on the first loop. His chain kept coming off, so he called it a day and
headed for home. And so did I.
Tuesday 9:33 a.m.
Chicago, Illinois
The scores are now posted online, and I see that I placed 5th in my class and
somewhere in the top 40 overall. Most interesting is the 22 points I dropped on the
final check. This was a check at which even Steve Hatch was three minutes late. I
was shown as burning it by 5 minutes. So everyone must have thought I was a
cheater. It didn't affect how I placed in my class or overall, since I probably was 15-20
minutes late to that check anyway. Had I stuck around a couple hours to look at the
scores as they were posted, the backup sheets would have fixed it, but I didn't care.
Once again, it was a long, punishing race that was totally fun. Can't wait until next year.
June 5, 2005
The Moose Run
Morrison, Illinois
12th of 18 in Open A
Every generation or so we are blessed with an individual who looks at the world a
little differently. In our sport, that person is Bill Gusse. Many things have been written
about this man, much of it now focused on his disregard for rider-friendly races, but
here’s something new: he is heavily responsible for my interest in off-road racing.
More on that later, but here’s a little history. Up until the mid-1990's, Mr. Gusse's
renowned race was called the Illinois Cross-Country Championship. Not exactly a
hare scramble, not really an enduro, just a long race through the woods and fields
near Morrison, Illinois. When Moose picked up sponsorship for the race in 1994, it
became the Moose Run. And with the final running of the Blackwater 100 in 1993, the
Moose Run officially took over the title of America’s Toughest Race.
The Moose Run has always been on my list of must-do races, but its distance from
St. Louis kept me from making a serious attempt at getting myself up to Gusse
Country. Now that Morrison is less than two hours from my place, the Moose was on
my schedule this year. I didn't really care what kind of conditions I’d face on the
course, I was going to at least attempt the race. And judging by the Intellicast
animated radar on Saturday, I was in for a real treat. Storms were popping up all over
the place, dumping heavy rains on most of the northern parts of Illinois. I prepared
myself and my KX250 for a mud race. Solid brake rotors front and rear, fully loaded
roll-off canisters in both sets of goggles, extra tear-offs to tape over the roll-offs, and
plenty of towels and rags to clean up afterwards.
Turns out I over-prepared for the mud, as the rain gods smiled on The Moose. The
trails were in nearly perfect condition. Near the sign-up area was the usual collection
of national-caliber riders with the testicular fortitude to tackle two 30-mile loops. Brian
Garrahan, Jimmy Jarrett and Shane Watts were on hand, as well as the guy who
defines the word legend in the off-road world: Dick Burleson, still extraordinarily fit at
an age approaching that of my parents.
The Pretty Bikes Stay at Home
One of my first observations in the staging area was a general absence of sparklingly
clean motorcycles. The exceptions were the heavily sponsored riders with their usual
showroom-clean bikes. With as much press coverage as this race has received over
the years, most participants know to expect that they’re not going to make it through
the course without some cosmetic dings, cracks, and assorted breakages. My
KX250, many rides removed from its showroom sparkle, was the most logical choice
for the Moose.
I signed up for the Open A class, not my normal choice but the class offerings are
somewhat limited in the Off-road Motorcycle & ATV (OMA) series. This put me in the
second row with the likes of perennial fast guys Ryan Moss, Ben Shafer, and Jeff
Fredette. A little out of my league, but I wasn't planning on anything except surviving,
which I tried to do at the start, a drag race through a field and a few minutes on a
motocross track. My fear and loathing of motocross was confirmed (as if it needed to
be) as the whole A class, for the most part, made it through the track ahead of me.
We then blasted through a mile or two of deeply whooped-out Morrison peat. A couple
truckloads of the stuff would have made the grass grow splendidly around my old St.
Louis home, but riding through it was an experience like no other. Thankfully, it was
dry. Peat is not quite sand but looser than Central Illinois black dirt and hellish when
formed into 30-inch whoops. I escaped this section with only one minor get-off, then
headed into the woods.
The first mile of woods was deceptively benign, thanks in part to the ATV’s who had
cleared a wide path the prior day. But soon I came upon the first of a number of
interesting obstacles on the course. Each of these will be named, simply, Classic
Gusse, defined as an obstruction that would otherwise not be part of normal off-road
courses. This one was a small stream with no vegetation on either side, thanks to a
herd of cattle that had used the area as a watering hole or a crapper (both, possibly).
Although no more than four feet across and 18-inches deep, the creek was sure
trouble if you dropped the front wheel into the water. One guy was showing me the
futility of this as I approached, so I chose a line perpendicular to the creek and
launched my bike to the other side. Easy as (cow) pie.
This section of woods was filled with cow paths, many of which were used in the
course. Once such path took us along the side of Rock Creek with just enough room
for a couple of motorcycle tires. One bad move and I’d be taking a bath ten feet below.
We crossed over this creek several times by way of makeshift bridges, but a few
crossings took us directly through the water. The first of these water crossings came
where a mass of spectators were perched along the banks, most there to witness
what has been described by others as Nightmare at Rock Creek. On a muddier day,
this could be true, but today it was just a bad dream. The water’s depth was at about
the height of what the KX can handle. As the engine bogged the first time, I jumped off
and gave the bike a good push. Another bog later, I was at the other side and was
able to keep the bike running. I gunned it up the creek bank and felt good about
conquering another Classic Gusse.
Mr. Gusse is unapologetic about these challenges. In fact, he relishes rider’s
complaints about his courses. Think it’s too hard? Then go home and work on that
pressed pansy project with your mom. The next Classic Gusse was another creek
crossing, this one not as deep but very tricky at the top of the opposite creek bank. A v-
shaped log was lying at a slight angle, just out of sight as I reached the top of the
bank. Somehow I reacted in time to loft the front wheel over the log, but another rider
wasn't as fortunate. He had slid to the side and fell back down the creek bank, his
bike sitting almost vertical (cue the “Not going anywhere for awhile?” commercial).
Confidence is Dangerous
A funny thing happens when the trails are in decent shape and you feel like you’re
finding a groove: the course reaches out and takes a stab at you. In most cases it
was just a small moment of fear, but each time I up-shifted and grabbed some
throttle, a nasty little object lay in wait. Sometimes it was a diagonal root on an off-
camber trail; other times it was an 18-inch log following a blind turn. In typical Illinois
fashion, inside the woods I could use second gear for about half a second before
having to hit the brakes hard for the next sharp turn.
About a third of the way through the loop was a gas stop. I figured the KX would go 30
miles without refueling, so I rode through and started down an open trail next to a
railroad track. Somewhere after this 5th gear section was another Classic Gusse.
This time it was a square culvert under a road. While plenty wide for a motorcycle, its
height was only about 5 feet. Even more interesting was that a couple feet of dirt had
eroded next to the entrance of the culvert, creating a concrete ledge. A few chunks of
concrete had been piled next to the ledge to help us get up into the culvert, but I still
had to pop up the front wheel to scale the ledge. As I entered the culvert with the front
wheel in the air, I had to immediately duck down to avoid being knocked off the bike
by the “ceiling” of the culvert. One more Classic Gusse conquered, barely.
Yeah, It’s Like What You've Read
Most of us who follow The Moose know there are a lot of logs on the course. Up until
the gas stop I’d handled the sporadic 18-inchers without incident, thinking that if this
was what all the fuss was about, maybe this race wasn't going to live up to its hype.
But I had to remind myself that course conditions were about as perfect as they get in
Northwestern Illinois. Many of those logs I’d conquered would have been infinitely
more challenging if slick and snotty. There were few, if any, nasty ruts to navigate and
my energy level was still decent.
Things began to change over the next 15 miles. We entered a very long stretch of
tight, technical singletrack that seemed never to end. And around every corner was a
log. I quickly lost count of the number of times I came around a corner, assessed an
approaching obstacle and thought, You cannot be serious. While most of the logs
were on the ground, some were above the ground just high enough to ride under. I
must stress the word just. A couple of these required dismounting the bike and
leaning it at an angle.
At this point I decided that I had no desire to see this stuff a second time. One loop
would be enough. I wasn't incredibly tired, but I knew I’d eventually botch a log
crossing or slip off a ravine and have to get physical with the bike. Soon enough, I
was right. We dropped down into a small, mostly dry creek bed with steep banks, the
type where once you get down there, you’re going to be there awhile. And Mr. Gusse
kept us down there a good long while. Naturally the place was filled with big logs. In
the bottom of a creek bed, trees rarely fall flat against the ground. Most of the logs
were hanging off the ground in some form or another. I was beginning to learn the art
of hefting the back end of my KX over fallen trees. It’s not terribly difficult the first 20
times or so. After that it becomes a bit of a chore. The worst was a pair of logs
spaced just far enough apart to fit a 21” front wheel. Mine fell between the logs and
stopped the bike. I, on the other hand, kept going a little further. I spent about 5
minutes extricating the bike from the grasp of those logs. Now the energy level was
declining fast.
More Classic Gusse's were strategically placed in the last part of the loop, including
these:
At the final run through the motocross track, I may have obtained about 3 inches of air
over one or two jumps. I missed the same turn that Shane Watts would later overlook
to hand the overall win to Jimmy Jarrett. For me, obviously it didn't matter. There
wasn't another bike within 5 minutes of me. In fact, over the last 10 miles I saw just a
handful of other bikes on the course. The scorers scanned my bar code and I headed
back to my truck, packed up and called it a day.
In summary, the Moose Run is a tough race, even on a day of perfect weather and
trail conditions. There’s really no way to prepare for it. You just do it, not necessarily to
finish well, but to survive. This is the race that fostered my interest in off-road racing
as a teenager, reading Dirt Rider’s accounts of the Illinois Cross-Country
Championship. I wanted to be in the woods doing the same as the mud-caked guys
in the pictures. So to Mr. Gusse: thank you. I will be back.
Park Hills, Missouri
5th of 14 in Vet A
According to the May 2 issue of BusinessWeek magazine, Weblogs (a.k.a. blogs) are
“...simply the most explosive outbreak in the information world since the Internet
itself.” Now, before you call bullsh!t on that statement, remember this: it was printed
in a magazine with “Week” in its title, so it has to be true. So I figure it’s time to jump
on the Blog bandwagon and record my mostly meaningless thoughts on the Leadbelt
National weekend.
Saturday 9:04 a.m.
Naperville or Woodridge, Illinois
Another flashback to 1998-2001 in the St. Louis apartment, opening a single car
detached garage filled to capacity with what most refer to as John’s Toys. Although I
have lived in this apartment for nearly two months, I am still unsure where I live,
exactly. My mailing address suggests Naperville but the friendly police officer I met
the previous Saturday told me that I live in Woodridge. Wherever it is, I’m finding that
both suburbs move at a pace which keeps body shops full of new business.
My plan for the day was to do some minor work on the KTM, pick up some food and
other necessities for the overnight trip to St. Louis and start driving in the afternoon.
The one good thing that came from my failed attempt at racing the Naked City Enduro
in April was that the KTM was pretty much ready to race. I yanked off the lights (no
need for them at St. Joe State Park), checked the tire pressure, kicked over the engine
a few times and listened to it ping to life for the first time since my toe-smashing ride
at Newark in August of last year.
4:58 p.m.
Joliet, Illinois
Light rain on I-55 comes down steadily all the way to Bloomington. That’s o.k. though
- Park Hills is a long way from Bloomington. It has to be dry down there.
9:14 p.m.
Wentzville, Missouri
Arrive at the Sellers house and settle into a comfy basement bed. Alarm is set for 5:
00 a.m.
Sunday 3:02 a.m.
Wentzville, Missouri
Thunder crashing and lightening flashing. Now I’m wishing I’d packed my waterproof
riding jacket. Maybe it will blow over by the time I get up.
5:03 a.m.
Still raining. On goes my emergency pullover rain coat, useful for repelling water but
not much else. Matt and I load up the bikes in rain gear. Looks like a long day in store
for us.
7:05 a.m.
Finally, the rain is ending as we pull into the staging area, but it’s apparently scared
away the locals. Attendance appears to be down and I've run out of fingers to add up
all the states represented on bike haulers’ license plates.
7:39 a.m.
Riders meeting wraps up and it’s time for the sound test. The Missouri Mudders are
an extremely efficient bunch – I’m in and out within approximately 17 seconds.
7:48 a.m.
Check and re-check keytime. Matt and I are on row 5, which means our clocks have to
be set back 5 minutes in order for our race to begin when the display shows 8:00. As
with White Rock last year, Matt will be relying somewhat on my timekeeping skills.
When I suggest that we need to set our clocks five minutes ahead of keytime, I can
sense his lack of confidence in my ability to understand how enduros work.
7:50 a.m.
No change to my old-school enduro style – mechanical odometer, roll chart and two
cheap LCD clocks from Walmart. Normally the clocks are duct-taped to my
handlebars with one showing normal time and the other showing seconds, but one
of them is already acting goofy. Off it goes. Today I’ll see only minutes, but as I’ll soon
find out, timekeeping won’t matter much.
7:55 a.m. (adjusted time)
While waiting our turn to leave the starting line, MHSC scorekeeper Tom Eidam pulls
up beside us to say hello. He is one of the few MHSC regulars I’ll run into today, and it’
s good to see an old friend.
8:00 a.m.
We’re off! The first 3 miles is a leisurely 15 mph average, which is pretty easy to
maintain if I don’t do anything stupid. At the 2.9 mile mark, Matt and I pause to get
back on time. Our row has three other riders, two of which are riding the short course
(one loop) and another guy in one of the B classes. When we decide to get back on
the trail just before the 3-mile marker, the two guys riding the short course jump
ahead of us. At this point the speed average jumps to 18 mph, which for me is
basically a race pace in the St. Joe singletrack. Enduros don’t normally involve a lot of
passing, but now I know there will be two ahead of me that I’ll need to get around
quickly. Eventually I pass both guys, but it’s not easy. The singletrack is slick. As one
of the first groups to ride the trails after the early morning rains, we’re sliding around
every turn. I gradually pull away from the others on our row but drop the KTM a couple
times around some turns in slippery hard-packed clay.
8:12 a.m.
I have just had the bejesus scared out of me. The infamous waterfall section is once
again part of the course, but this year it sneaked up on me. I had completely forgotten
about it. I suddenly dropped down into the rock bottom creek and immediately
launched over the first big ledge, completely unprepared. The next few ledges were
moderate, but on the last big one I landed hard enough to feel it throughout my entire
body. With more water flowing down the creek this year, it was exponentially scarier
than last year.
8:32 a.m.
At this point the speed average is supposed to increase to 24 mph but I’m already
running late. As expected, this enduro will be about 90 long miles of riding as hard as
possible. At the first check I dropped one point and am headed for substantially more
dropped points when the next check arrives.
9:03 a.m.
Time is passing by quickly as I near the end of the 19-mile extra short course. The
second check was placed near the end of this short loop and I dropped 11 points
there. The trails to this point have been very slick and unpredictable. Some spots are
moist with good traction; others cause the back end to weave from side to side, as if
the rear tire is sweeping the entire surface of the trail in a futile quest to find some
grip. I feel like a world rally car driver running first in order, clearing loose stuff off the
road for the benefit of the rest of the field.
9:07 a.m.
The trail passes under a pedestrian bridge in the sand flats, signaling our return to
the staging area. The on-trail sound check is just ahead. I pass the re-test and
search for my gas jug. Before filling the tank, I notice that despite the 10 minute reset,
I’m still running slightly late. The gas fill-up puts me a couple minutes behind and I
notice that I've nearly emptied the jug. Naturally, I've chosen to leave the wrong gas
jug at the gas available. We blast around the wide sand track circling the staging area
and head back out into the woods.
9:15 a.m.
I’ve entered the most hellish part of the course. It’s an old hare scramble trail made
out of hard clay with about an inch of slop on top. Once the slop is pushed to the side,
it’s like riding on snow. Matt would accurately describe the section this way: “It sucked
the life out of me.”
9:20 a.m.
Now settled comfortably into survival mode, I’m dropping points even more rapidly
when the speed average increases to 30 mph. Clearly, this speed is designed to add
some points to the national riders’ scores. At the next check I drop 19 points.
9:43 a.m.
Here we are supposed to pause for 10 minutes, then get back on the trail at 9:41.
Even with the 10 minutes of catch-up time, I’m still running late, so there’s no rest for
me.
10:04 a.m.
A new section has been added to the trails which roughly follow the power lines. It’s a
creek as tough as any I’ve faced in Missouri. A guy wearing a Team USA ISDE helmet
passes me before we begin our run through the center of the creek but then falls
down ahead of me on a slick rock bottom surface. I don’t see him again for several
miles. This half-mile of silty gravel and slick rock seems more like five miles. My left
hand is feeling signs of a blister coming, and I remember that I forgot to put on my
usual set of Band-aids and Palm Savers.
10:14 a.m.
My knee pads are rubbing me raw. I am tempted to stop and remove them, but I know
better.
10:25 a.m.
In theory, I should be finishing the first loop about now, but I’m running about 20
minutes behind. At the 6th check just before the end of the loop, I drop another 19
points. Randy Hawkins, 16 minutes behind on row 21, passes me half a mile before
this check. His bike has an interesting aroma. My bike has an interesting rattle.
10:47 a.m.
Finally, I’m back at my truck. With less than 10 minutes before the second loop is to
begin, I quickly fill up the gas tank, change goggles, eat a few bites of turkey
sandwich and set out for the second half of the race without my fanny pack. If there is
a time for something to break or come loose on the bike, it will surely be soon. I’m
already a couple minutes late.
11:01 a.m.
First check on the second loop and I drop a point. Somehow I end up on the alternate
wuss route next to the waterfall. I had heard others say that it’s actually the faster way,
and now I’m in agreement. The trails are in much better shape this time around but
still slick in places and I’m still running late.
11:55 a.m.
At the 75.1 mile marker is another 10-minute pause, but like the first loop, there’s no
pausing for me. But as the trails continue to improve, I’m actually close to being on
time when I get to my gas jug. With about 10 minutes of free time, I make a run back
to my truck to top off the gas tank, strap on my fanny pack and head back to the sand
track next to the staging area. The Osia brothers are packing up after completing the
short course and I give Ray a wave as I blast by.
12:15 p.m.
Back in the worst mud on the course, most of the slop has been cleared off the trail
and all that’s left is hard, wet clay. But it’s easier than the first time around.
12:33 p.m.
My nasty habit of dragging my right leg for balance must end. The tweaking it took last
Sunday at Colona left me hobbling for a full day, so I concentrate on keeping my leg in
front of the foot peg. So far it’s working – 70 miles of riding and my knee still feels
good.
12:58 p.m.
Somewhere in here the Missouri Mudders got tricky with check placement. Mike
Sigety and John Burgard, both seasoned A-class enduro riders, check in 3 minutes
early, dropping 12 points. By some stroke of luck, I zero the check. But something odd
just happened. Of the two guys writing down scores on the cards, the first guy writes
“05”, which is good. I've lost no points. He walks away, but then the second guy
comes over and starts to write “05” on the next line on the card. I tell him three times
that the first guy already scored me, but by then he’s already written “0”. I continue on,
tired and sore and knowing I've got about 15 miles to go.
1:35 p.m.
Finally, the end is near. I’m less than two miles from the end, which is a known
control. Thus, there can’t be anymore checks, or so I believe. When you don’t take
enduro races all too seriously, sometimes you don’t really bother to learn all the
rules. If it says “known control” on the route sheet, it’s a pretty sure bet that there will
be a check there. So I putted along the last two miles, thinking I was home free. Then
the final check appeared in the sand flats and I wished I’d ridden a little harder the
last two miles. But I’m not sure how much faster I could have ridden. I was tired and
sore. The card scorer looked at my scorecard and mumbled something about the
zero written on the last line of the card and decided that someone else at the finish
line had already written in my score. I was too tired to catch on to what happened, but
the “0” on my scorecard suggested that I’d checked in 5 minutes early.
1:45 p.m.
Back at the truck, I see a handwritten note from Matt describing the whacking his
chain guide took on the first loop. His chain kept coming off, so he called it a day and
headed for home. And so did I.
Tuesday 9:33 a.m.
Chicago, Illinois
The scores are now posted online, and I see that I placed 5th in my class and
somewhere in the top 40 overall. Most interesting is the 22 points I dropped on the
final check. This was a check at which even Steve Hatch was three minutes late. I
was shown as burning it by 5 minutes. So everyone must have thought I was a
cheater. It didn't affect how I placed in my class or overall, since I probably was 15-20
minutes late to that check anyway. Had I stuck around a couple hours to look at the
scores as they were posted, the backup sheets would have fixed it, but I didn't care.
Once again, it was a long, punishing race that was totally fun. Can't wait until next year.
June 5, 2005
The Moose Run
Morrison, Illinois
12th of 18 in Open A
Every generation or so we are blessed with an individual who looks at the world a
little differently. In our sport, that person is Bill Gusse. Many things have been written
about this man, much of it now focused on his disregard for rider-friendly races, but
here’s something new: he is heavily responsible for my interest in off-road racing.
More on that later, but here’s a little history. Up until the mid-1990's, Mr. Gusse's
renowned race was called the Illinois Cross-Country Championship. Not exactly a
hare scramble, not really an enduro, just a long race through the woods and fields
near Morrison, Illinois. When Moose picked up sponsorship for the race in 1994, it
became the Moose Run. And with the final running of the Blackwater 100 in 1993, the
Moose Run officially took over the title of America’s Toughest Race.
The Moose Run has always been on my list of must-do races, but its distance from
St. Louis kept me from making a serious attempt at getting myself up to Gusse
Country. Now that Morrison is less than two hours from my place, the Moose was on
my schedule this year. I didn't really care what kind of conditions I’d face on the
course, I was going to at least attempt the race. And judging by the Intellicast
animated radar on Saturday, I was in for a real treat. Storms were popping up all over
the place, dumping heavy rains on most of the northern parts of Illinois. I prepared
myself and my KX250 for a mud race. Solid brake rotors front and rear, fully loaded
roll-off canisters in both sets of goggles, extra tear-offs to tape over the roll-offs, and
plenty of towels and rags to clean up afterwards.
Turns out I over-prepared for the mud, as the rain gods smiled on The Moose. The
trails were in nearly perfect condition. Near the sign-up area was the usual collection
of national-caliber riders with the testicular fortitude to tackle two 30-mile loops. Brian
Garrahan, Jimmy Jarrett and Shane Watts were on hand, as well as the guy who
defines the word legend in the off-road world: Dick Burleson, still extraordinarily fit at
an age approaching that of my parents.
The Pretty Bikes Stay at Home
One of my first observations in the staging area was a general absence of sparklingly
clean motorcycles. The exceptions were the heavily sponsored riders with their usual
showroom-clean bikes. With as much press coverage as this race has received over
the years, most participants know to expect that they’re not going to make it through
the course without some cosmetic dings, cracks, and assorted breakages. My
KX250, many rides removed from its showroom sparkle, was the most logical choice
for the Moose.
I signed up for the Open A class, not my normal choice but the class offerings are
somewhat limited in the Off-road Motorcycle & ATV (OMA) series. This put me in the
second row with the likes of perennial fast guys Ryan Moss, Ben Shafer, and Jeff
Fredette. A little out of my league, but I wasn't planning on anything except surviving,
which I tried to do at the start, a drag race through a field and a few minutes on a
motocross track. My fear and loathing of motocross was confirmed (as if it needed to
be) as the whole A class, for the most part, made it through the track ahead of me.
We then blasted through a mile or two of deeply whooped-out Morrison peat. A couple
truckloads of the stuff would have made the grass grow splendidly around my old St.
Louis home, but riding through it was an experience like no other. Thankfully, it was
dry. Peat is not quite sand but looser than Central Illinois black dirt and hellish when
formed into 30-inch whoops. I escaped this section with only one minor get-off, then
headed into the woods.
The first mile of woods was deceptively benign, thanks in part to the ATV’s who had
cleared a wide path the prior day. But soon I came upon the first of a number of
interesting obstacles on the course. Each of these will be named, simply, Classic
Gusse, defined as an obstruction that would otherwise not be part of normal off-road
courses. This one was a small stream with no vegetation on either side, thanks to a
herd of cattle that had used the area as a watering hole or a crapper (both, possibly).
Although no more than four feet across and 18-inches deep, the creek was sure
trouble if you dropped the front wheel into the water. One guy was showing me the
futility of this as I approached, so I chose a line perpendicular to the creek and
launched my bike to the other side. Easy as (cow) pie.
This section of woods was filled with cow paths, many of which were used in the
course. Once such path took us along the side of Rock Creek with just enough room
for a couple of motorcycle tires. One bad move and I’d be taking a bath ten feet below.
We crossed over this creek several times by way of makeshift bridges, but a few
crossings took us directly through the water. The first of these water crossings came
where a mass of spectators were perched along the banks, most there to witness
what has been described by others as Nightmare at Rock Creek. On a muddier day,
this could be true, but today it was just a bad dream. The water’s depth was at about
the height of what the KX can handle. As the engine bogged the first time, I jumped off
and gave the bike a good push. Another bog later, I was at the other side and was
able to keep the bike running. I gunned it up the creek bank and felt good about
conquering another Classic Gusse.
Mr. Gusse is unapologetic about these challenges. In fact, he relishes rider’s
complaints about his courses. Think it’s too hard? Then go home and work on that
pressed pansy project with your mom. The next Classic Gusse was another creek
crossing, this one not as deep but very tricky at the top of the opposite creek bank. A v-
shaped log was lying at a slight angle, just out of sight as I reached the top of the
bank. Somehow I reacted in time to loft the front wheel over the log, but another rider
wasn't as fortunate. He had slid to the side and fell back down the creek bank, his
bike sitting almost vertical (cue the “Not going anywhere for awhile?” commercial).
Confidence is Dangerous
A funny thing happens when the trails are in decent shape and you feel like you’re
finding a groove: the course reaches out and takes a stab at you. In most cases it
was just a small moment of fear, but each time I up-shifted and grabbed some
throttle, a nasty little object lay in wait. Sometimes it was a diagonal root on an off-
camber trail; other times it was an 18-inch log following a blind turn. In typical Illinois
fashion, inside the woods I could use second gear for about half a second before
having to hit the brakes hard for the next sharp turn.
About a third of the way through the loop was a gas stop. I figured the KX would go 30
miles without refueling, so I rode through and started down an open trail next to a
railroad track. Somewhere after this 5th gear section was another Classic Gusse.
This time it was a square culvert under a road. While plenty wide for a motorcycle, its
height was only about 5 feet. Even more interesting was that a couple feet of dirt had
eroded next to the entrance of the culvert, creating a concrete ledge. A few chunks of
concrete had been piled next to the ledge to help us get up into the culvert, but I still
had to pop up the front wheel to scale the ledge. As I entered the culvert with the front
wheel in the air, I had to immediately duck down to avoid being knocked off the bike
by the “ceiling” of the culvert. One more Classic Gusse conquered, barely.
Yeah, It’s Like What You've Read
Most of us who follow The Moose know there are a lot of logs on the course. Up until
the gas stop I’d handled the sporadic 18-inchers without incident, thinking that if this
was what all the fuss was about, maybe this race wasn't going to live up to its hype.
But I had to remind myself that course conditions were about as perfect as they get in
Northwestern Illinois. Many of those logs I’d conquered would have been infinitely
more challenging if slick and snotty. There were few, if any, nasty ruts to navigate and
my energy level was still decent.
Things began to change over the next 15 miles. We entered a very long stretch of
tight, technical singletrack that seemed never to end. And around every corner was a
log. I quickly lost count of the number of times I came around a corner, assessed an
approaching obstacle and thought, You cannot be serious. While most of the logs
were on the ground, some were above the ground just high enough to ride under. I
must stress the word just. A couple of these required dismounting the bike and
leaning it at an angle.
At this point I decided that I had no desire to see this stuff a second time. One loop
would be enough. I wasn't incredibly tired, but I knew I’d eventually botch a log
crossing or slip off a ravine and have to get physical with the bike. Soon enough, I
was right. We dropped down into a small, mostly dry creek bed with steep banks, the
type where once you get down there, you’re going to be there awhile. And Mr. Gusse
kept us down there a good long while. Naturally the place was filled with big logs. In
the bottom of a creek bed, trees rarely fall flat against the ground. Most of the logs
were hanging off the ground in some form or another. I was beginning to learn the art
of hefting the back end of my KX over fallen trees. It’s not terribly difficult the first 20
times or so. After that it becomes a bit of a chore. The worst was a pair of logs
spaced just far enough apart to fit a 21” front wheel. Mine fell between the logs and
stopped the bike. I, on the other hand, kept going a little further. I spent about 5
minutes extricating the bike from the grasp of those logs. Now the energy level was
declining fast.
More Classic Gusse's were strategically placed in the last part of the loop, including
these:
- A round culvert about 6 feet in diameter, with bolts protruding through the top
center of the corrugated metal. My helmet took the brunt of the first ten or so
bolts before I bothered to duck down low enough to avoid them. - The most intimidating log of all, a two-footer sitting about 10 inches off the
ground. Do the math and you’ll understand how high the front end of my bike
had to be lofted in the air just to get half the bike over the log. Once on top of
the log, it was teeter-totter time. The second half of the bike made it over by
momentum alone. - Nightmare at Rock Creek Part Two: another deepwater crossing, this time out
in the open area that was the final 3-4 miles of the loop. This time the KX
didn't make it across. After I pushed it to the other side and kicked over the
engine in shallower water, we were going again.
At the final run through the motocross track, I may have obtained about 3 inches of air
over one or two jumps. I missed the same turn that Shane Watts would later overlook
to hand the overall win to Jimmy Jarrett. For me, obviously it didn't matter. There
wasn't another bike within 5 minutes of me. In fact, over the last 10 miles I saw just a
handful of other bikes on the course. The scorers scanned my bar code and I headed
back to my truck, packed up and called it a day.
In summary, the Moose Run is a tough race, even on a day of perfect weather and
trail conditions. There’s really no way to prepare for it. You just do it, not necessarily to
finish well, but to survive. This is the race that fostered my interest in off-road racing
as a teenager, reading Dirt Rider’s accounts of the Illinois Cross-Country
Championship. I wanted to be in the woods doing the same as the mud-caked guys
in the pictures. So to Mr. Gusse: thank you. I will be back.
Park Hills, Missouri
Morrison, Illinois
Morrison, Illinois
| "Mr. Jarrett, nice to see your rear tire for 6 seconds." |
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