| 2005 Race Reports |
 |  |  |
October 23, 2005
Crawfordsville, Indiana
6th of 21 in Vet B
Those who follow off-road racing know good and well what four letters – GNCC –
represent to our sport. Grand National Cross Country. Woods racing. The best of the
best. In the past it has brought Shane Watts here from Australia, lured Paul
Edmondson from Great Britain. This year the great Finnish rider Juha Salinen has
tried his hand at a style of racing that is purely American. Juha has dominated.
The racing, while impressive on many levels, is rivaled by the event itself. Think
county fair, without the rides and the carnies. The vastness of the staging area (200
acres, maybe?) is first evidence of the magnitude of the affair. Hundreds of pickup
trucks, many attached to covered trailers, line up in haphazard rows on top of recently
harvested corn stalks. Empty spaces remain where ATV rigs departed after the
previous day’s races. The center of activity is the pit area reserved for the factory
teams, where most of the major manufacturers park full-size 18-wheel trucks and
trailers, each polished to an impossibly sparkling shine. Under the wide awnings of
each trailer are motorcycles of matching colors, on display in showroom-new
condition, and fleets of mechanics and support crews.
To the fastest of the fast - the Barry Hawks, the Mike Laffertys, the Rodney Smiths -
the scene I witnessed upon arrival was all in a day’s work. Just as their speed in the
woods is abnormal to all but fellow professionals, their accommodations and
support are such that the average amateur can only fantasize. Although most of
these riders cut their racing teeth among the ranks of amateurs and probably are as
comfortable tearing apart the bottom end of an engine case as their mechanics, the
professionals appear to leave most details of bike prep to others. They've earned it.
Unlike their motocross counterparts, the factory-supported woods racers receive no
other special treatment at these events. They may arrive in style and receive
preferential parking spaces, but the professional woods racers register for the race
in the same general fashion as the amateurs and compete on the same course, at
the same time, as amateurs. Imagine Ricky Carmichael picking his way through the
B class at Hangtown or the average sprint car racer lined up next to Tony Stewart at
Talladega. In any given race Juha Salinen will lap most of the field and pass
hundreds of riders in often tricky circumstances. Each pass has potential for
disaster. But he must do it time and time again in order to win.
Racer Productions and the Coombs family organize and promote the Grand National
Cross Country series. They do it well. The brainchild of the late Dave Coombs a
couple decades ago, the GNCC series makes 13 stops between the months of
February and October. All but one location lies east of the Mississippi. The attraction
to this series seems to have grown from a unique, effective idea: give the riders what
they want. Most who race the series regularly would probably point to three factors
which keep them coming back for more: 1) consistent organization; 2) excellent
logistics; and 3) well-designed courses. Whether it’s Texas, Georgia, or South
Carolina, the races begin at the same time, the scoring system is always electronic,
and everyone has a place to park. Trails are routed in a manner to avoid, for the most
part, major deterioration caused by hundreds of motorcycle and four-wheeled ATV’s
passing over the course several times during the two-day events.
In its infancy the series attracted national-caliber riders and eventually the factory
teams began showing up on a regular basis. Today a fourth factor attracts even more
riders to the series: the opportunity to mingle with the top off-road riders in the world.
The average GNCC fan can approach the Yamaha trailer and ask Randy Hawkins
how he sets his suspension for rocky courses, with no special invitation, no pit pass,
no competing with 15-year-old groupies. Other than his blue Yamaha factory-issued
shirt, Randy appears to be an average guy. Along with the pro-level racing itself, his
responsibilities in the Yamaha off-road effort include team leader and mentor to
younger racers such as Jason Raines. His racing resume is impressive, although
championships are less frequent these days. He has won seven AMA National
Enduro titles, the last of which came in 2004. Randy is articulate and is interviewed
often. At the Ironman GNCC near Crawfordsville, Indiana, he will spend most of his
Sunday morning signing autographs, talking with racers and fans, and being
interviewed in front of television cameras. He does all of this with eloquence and
class and shows yet again why at 39 years old he is a significant asset to Yamaha,
even though he has never won a GNCC title.
Others who have won titles are just as accessible and well spoken. The great KTM
rider Juha Salinen signed autographed posters next to teammates Mike Lafferty and
Robbie Jenks. Seated next to Randy Hawkins under the Yamaha awning were
former series champion Barry Hawk and Jason Raines, still determined to break his
injury curse and win a GNCC title soon. All will converse freely with anyone willing to
engage them.
Each year a fresh crop of young, fast racers make their mark on the series. The
major manufacturers, always on the lookout for new talent, have surely noted the
deeds of 19-year-old Charlie Mullins and a waif of a teenager named Thad Duvall,
barely tall enough for his boots to reach the ground while seated on his Yamaha.
Young Duvall cannot legally drive a car on public roads but will eventually finish 12th
overall at the Ironman. Charlie Mullins will finish on the podium in 3rd place. The
future seems bright for both racers.
My experience at the Ironman, my first GNCC race, was probably similar to that of
most amateurs. Following the initial awe of the factory teams’ semi-trailer setups
and helicopters flying above and the sheer volume of participants, I focused on the
task of racing. My first mission was locating the registration area, no small
assignment amongst the myriad of trailers and tents of off-road vendors presenting
their merchandise. Had my KX250 failed to run properly, I am confident I could have
purchased onsite whatever was necessary to bring it to working order. Once located,
Racer Productions’ registration process was quick and painless.
The level of competition at a GNCC race is, approximately, one step above the typical
local competition. The top riders in any given state or district series, who would
normally race the AA (Pro) class, will often drop down into one of the amateur
classes at the Ironman. In turn, the local A class riders like me regularly move into a
B class. In my case, I chose Vet B, which on the starting grid was placed in the next-
to-last row. All but one class (Senior B) would begin their race ahead of me at regular
one-minute intervals. By the time my row left, Juha Salinen would be nearly halfway
around the 11-mile course.
GNCC races begin much like any other hare scramble, with dead silence shattered
by a flagman dropping his flag and 20 or 30 engines screaming to life. Each rider
aims for a sharp turn somewhere in the middle of an open field and hopes to be the
first to arrive there. From my vantage point in the next-to-last row, I could see each
group of riders, minute by minute, grow slightly less aggressive as the slightly less
skilled took their shots at sprinting to the first corner. When all the rows ahead of me
finally left the starting area, the chill of a cool October day had worked its way through
both of my jerseys. Once the announcer screamed “Ten seconds!” over the public
address system, the cold left my body and I braced for the flagman’s signal to start
our engines.
There’s no time to think when the flag drops. The motion of the start is nearly
automatic and begins with the first sign of movement from the flagman. The best
riders will have their kickstarters thrown down and their engines bursting to life by the
time the flag reaches the ground. Clutches release, rear wheels kick up plumes of
dirt and a couple dozen dirt bikes blast off toward the first turn.
I rarely have any definitive recollection of the individual components of a dead engine
start. Either my reflexes or my execution (or both) is generally lacking and I am often
one of the last to arrive at the first corner. Compounding my futility at the Ironman
GNCC was a rider braking hard for the first turn, skidding onto his side and blocking
my path. After negotiating this minor obstacle, I fell into the rear of a pack of riders
blasting along the edge of the woods. This initial high-speed section, about a mile
long, was designed to put space between riders before entering the narrower trails.
Earlier rainfall had made these open-field trails damp enough to form ruts, which at
40-50 mph generated some unease both from the raw speed of attack and the close
proximity of other riders jockeying for position.
Once inside the woods, the trails were remarkably rough and choppy. Several
hundred ATV’s had raced through much of the motorcycle route the day before, as
had about 200 motorcycles in the morning race. The narrow trails native to forests
east of the Mississippi were notably absent in this part of Indiana. In fact, hand
protection was mostly unnecessary in all but a few short sections. Never had my
handlebars enjoyed such distance from trees. Seasoned, cranky racers call these
courses “Motocross in the Woods”, so named for their lack of technicality, and on this
day I was one of those racers.
Eventually the course took a respite from the wide, punishing trails. Technical
sections arrived in the form of deep, narrow ravines and slippery creek crossings. My
first off-trail excursion occurred just after a rock-ledge crossing of the main creek.
Near the top of a steep hill was a sapling leaning into my path. I wrongly assumed I
could power my way past the small tree, but it deflected my front tire at an odd angle
and I found myself on the ground. Anyone I’d passed in the previous 5 minutes sped
by as I righted the KX and restarted.
The first challenging technical section came at the bottom of a deep ravine filled with
large, wet rocks. This early in the race, much of the Vet B class remained in a tight
pack through the ravine. With no place to pass, we followed the leaders in a single
file line until the trail opened beside a moderately wide creek. After a muddy, rutted
section running parallel to the creek, course arrows pointed us directly into the water.
I used that opportunity to challenge the riders in front of me and re-passed a handful
who’d earlier made it around me. The opposite side of the creek offered more mud
and ruts and a small water-filled gully that on a subsequent pass, immediately in
front of me, would swallow the business end of an unfortunate bike and most of an
even less fortunate rider.
Two steep hills were the primary challenges of the remainder of the course. Each lap
of a hare scramble course usually contains a handful of these obstacles, the type of
which instill feelings of dread upon each encounter. A length of trail, insignificant
rounding error when calculating the total distance of a race, where little time is
gained by executing perfectly but much time and energy are lost with the smallest of
mistakes. One hill followed an extremely steep descent into a gully; the other had a
relatively flat approach but an incredibly steep angle. The latter hill was one of the
highest I’d ever climbed with such a severe incline. I knew it would be difficult when a
mass of spectators were visible along its base. What appeared to be hundreds of
fans lined the steep slope to watch what was surely an abundance of carnage on the
hillside. One particularly helpful spectator pointed me to an outside line each time I
approached, and each time I ascended the hill, I came at it in second gear and with
wide open throttle. Anything less would have caused a less-than-pleasant
experience on the hillside.
Juha Salinen caught up to me on the second lap. The Flying Finn may not have a firm
grasp on every word in a Webster’s dictionary, but there is one he has mastered
perfectly: Pass. This word he screams as he approaches each rider he encounters.
And there are hundreds. His riding style didn't convey blazing speed or the wildness
of Shane Watts in his prime; rather, Juha just went. No wasted energy, no delays in
passing slower riders, just pure efficiency on a dirt bike. Several minutes elapsed
before the next rider passed. Juha had a huge lead.
After two laps, I wasn't sure if I’d make the full three hours. The roughness of the
course was taking its toll on my body. Somewhere in the third lap, I decided four
would be enough. On that lap I enjoyed accepting a young spectator’s challenge to
jump from a 3-foot creek bank directly into the creek, rather than riding into it down a
rutted path. On the fourth lap I failed to climb the steep hill which followed the steep
descent. I discovered that I've nearly mastered the art of removing a motorcycle from
the side of a hill which can barely be scaled by humans without climbing equipment.
It takes years of practice and many curses.
The white flag appeared at the scoring area when I completed my fourth lap and I
decided to tough it out for a final pass through the Ironman course. Another half-hour
later, tired and beaten, I arrived at the finish line and my helmet’s bar code was
scanned one last time. I had completed my first GNCC. For the next week I would pay
the price of a Veteran rider pushing himself nearly to his limit. Sore back, tired legs,
and the satisfaction of a hard afternoon of racing. I slept very well that night and
dreamed of hills and trees and creeks, famous racers on the same course as me
and Indiana cornfields, harvested. Good night, Ironman.
November 27, 2005
White City, Illinois
Toys for Tots team race
My feelings about the Cahokia Creek Dirt Riders property should be well known to my
regular readers, but if you’re new, let me explain it this way: when dry, the club
grounds are heavenly. When wet, not so much. The annual Toys for Tots charity team
race was a mudder, albeit a manageable one.
Just as I was leaving my suburban storage unit, bike in truck, teammate Matt Sellers
called to check on my progress. What he was really checking on was whether or not I
was still motivated to race in downstate Illinois, given a radar summary heavy on
green. I had barely touched my KX250 since moving to my Chicago city condo and
had accumulated a healthy dose of pent-up motorcycle withdrawal. Screw the rain, I
was racing. And since I had no desire to ride solo in the Ironman class, Matt’s
presence was not optional. We would ride, rain or…rain.
Three hours later, a light rain continued to wet the muck that had overtaken the
Cahokia Creek club grounds. I rarely need any reassurance that four-wheel-drive is
the best money I ever spend on my vehicles, but anyone who’s ever questioned the
value of this $4,000 option should have witnessed the performance of two-wheel-
drive cars and trucks in perfectly flat grass. Not pretty.
Familiar faces abound at downstate races, and on this day I chatted with Scott
Maxwell and son Manuel, smiling brightly on his CR80 during the youth race. David
Brewster was also on hand to race the B class in conditions which suited him just
fine. In the mud, Mr. Brewster is gifted. As for Matt, his expression was already that of
a survivalist. He claims it only rains when I drag him into the Land of Abe, and
sometimes he is correct. A light mist continued as we geared up and gathered in the
starting area.
The predictably messy start became downright unpleasant about a quarter-mile into
the six-mile course. A moderately challenging hill on a dry summer day was now a
15-bike bottleneck. The days of waiting my turn came and went many years ago, so I
pointed my KX at a less popular line choice and opened the throttle as much as it
would go. Results were mixed. Near the top of the hill, momentum ended and so did
my progress. On its side, the engine kept running but eventually died while I
attempted to stand it up on uneven ground. Eventually I found the proper state of body
contortion to restart the engine and spin my way back on the trail.
On track again, the course wound its usual way through the club grounds, short on
traction but high on what I call “slideways”. Definition: sliding around the course and
spending as much time with the bike sideways as pointed straight down the trail.
With a thick layer of hard clay under an inch or two of muck, the corners had only
minor berms and required careful navigation. If brakes didn't stop my progress, trees
were glad to help. While four-strokes love these traction-less conditions, a couple of
nasty, root-infested hills would be less kind to the thumpers. Each hill came and
went with only a moderate effort for me and my KX two-smoke, but the second halves
of the teams would surely struggle when their turns came. By that time, the small
amount of topsoil would be shaved down mostly to hard, wet clay.
The scariest parts of the course were a pair of downhills, both near the end of the
course. The first steep decline was a relatively straight path to the bottom of the hill.
Sounds simple enough, but the clay made scrubbing speed nearly impossible. I
rode the rear brake and prayed I would have enough room at the bottom to avoid
trees. The second nasty downhill came just before the scoring barrels and required
a left turn as the decline steepened. At the apex of the turn was a tree, which helped
slow my progress but went a bit too far. I came to a complete stop, and although I
kept the bike upright, many riders would not. Eventually most riders would miss the
turn altogether and take a straight, fast route to the bottom of the ravine. That is, if they
were able to keep their bikes on two wheels. Many did not.
After checking into the scoring barrels, Matt took off for his first pass through the
course. I went back to my truck for a new set of goggles and talked to David Brewster
in the pits. After 40 minutes or so, Matt appeared at the barrels and I readied myself
for my second and final pass. Brewster’s partner checked in just behind Matt and we
both began the lap within a few seconds of each other. I kept a safe distance ahead
of Brewster until stalling while trying to brake hard for a muddy turn. Although I
restarted in time to avoid getting passed, he was nudging my rear tire and our twin
KX250’s were closely spaced. Later, Brewster got around me by taking a better line
around a slower rider on a hillside. Eventually we came to the toughest hill climb on
the course, where I took the established but heavily chewed-up line. While Brewster
took an alternate route up the hill, I stuck to my line and barely – just barely - spun my
rear tire over a particularly nasty root. Had my momentum been every-so-slightly less,
I would have slid backwards to the bottom of the hill for another attempt. As it stood,
my line choice was considerably quicker than Brewster’s and I didn't see him until I’d
finished the lap.
The rest of the lap was uneventful, other than an alternate route down the final scary
downhill, which was a more direct path but steeper (I survived). Matt took his final turn
and we finished our race in 4th place. With my racing fix satisfied, I returned home to
Chicago and began my motorcycle hibernation. It’s cold up here.
Crawfordsville, Indiana
6th of 21 in Vet B
Those who follow off-road racing know good and well what four letters – GNCC –
represent to our sport. Grand National Cross Country. Woods racing. The best of the
best. In the past it has brought Shane Watts here from Australia, lured Paul
Edmondson from Great Britain. This year the great Finnish rider Juha Salinen has
tried his hand at a style of racing that is purely American. Juha has dominated.
The racing, while impressive on many levels, is rivaled by the event itself. Think
county fair, without the rides and the carnies. The vastness of the staging area (200
acres, maybe?) is first evidence of the magnitude of the affair. Hundreds of pickup
trucks, many attached to covered trailers, line up in haphazard rows on top of recently
harvested corn stalks. Empty spaces remain where ATV rigs departed after the
previous day’s races. The center of activity is the pit area reserved for the factory
teams, where most of the major manufacturers park full-size 18-wheel trucks and
trailers, each polished to an impossibly sparkling shine. Under the wide awnings of
each trailer are motorcycles of matching colors, on display in showroom-new
condition, and fleets of mechanics and support crews.
To the fastest of the fast - the Barry Hawks, the Mike Laffertys, the Rodney Smiths -
the scene I witnessed upon arrival was all in a day’s work. Just as their speed in the
woods is abnormal to all but fellow professionals, their accommodations and
support are such that the average amateur can only fantasize. Although most of
these riders cut their racing teeth among the ranks of amateurs and probably are as
comfortable tearing apart the bottom end of an engine case as their mechanics, the
professionals appear to leave most details of bike prep to others. They've earned it.
Unlike their motocross counterparts, the factory-supported woods racers receive no
other special treatment at these events. They may arrive in style and receive
preferential parking spaces, but the professional woods racers register for the race
in the same general fashion as the amateurs and compete on the same course, at
the same time, as amateurs. Imagine Ricky Carmichael picking his way through the
B class at Hangtown or the average sprint car racer lined up next to Tony Stewart at
Talladega. In any given race Juha Salinen will lap most of the field and pass
hundreds of riders in often tricky circumstances. Each pass has potential for
disaster. But he must do it time and time again in order to win.
Racer Productions and the Coombs family organize and promote the Grand National
Cross Country series. They do it well. The brainchild of the late Dave Coombs a
couple decades ago, the GNCC series makes 13 stops between the months of
February and October. All but one location lies east of the Mississippi. The attraction
to this series seems to have grown from a unique, effective idea: give the riders what
they want. Most who race the series regularly would probably point to three factors
which keep them coming back for more: 1) consistent organization; 2) excellent
logistics; and 3) well-designed courses. Whether it’s Texas, Georgia, or South
Carolina, the races begin at the same time, the scoring system is always electronic,
and everyone has a place to park. Trails are routed in a manner to avoid, for the most
part, major deterioration caused by hundreds of motorcycle and four-wheeled ATV’s
passing over the course several times during the two-day events.
In its infancy the series attracted national-caliber riders and eventually the factory
teams began showing up on a regular basis. Today a fourth factor attracts even more
riders to the series: the opportunity to mingle with the top off-road riders in the world.
The average GNCC fan can approach the Yamaha trailer and ask Randy Hawkins
how he sets his suspension for rocky courses, with no special invitation, no pit pass,
no competing with 15-year-old groupies. Other than his blue Yamaha factory-issued
shirt, Randy appears to be an average guy. Along with the pro-level racing itself, his
responsibilities in the Yamaha off-road effort include team leader and mentor to
younger racers such as Jason Raines. His racing resume is impressive, although
championships are less frequent these days. He has won seven AMA National
Enduro titles, the last of which came in 2004. Randy is articulate and is interviewed
often. At the Ironman GNCC near Crawfordsville, Indiana, he will spend most of his
Sunday morning signing autographs, talking with racers and fans, and being
interviewed in front of television cameras. He does all of this with eloquence and
class and shows yet again why at 39 years old he is a significant asset to Yamaha,
even though he has never won a GNCC title.
Others who have won titles are just as accessible and well spoken. The great KTM
rider Juha Salinen signed autographed posters next to teammates Mike Lafferty and
Robbie Jenks. Seated next to Randy Hawkins under the Yamaha awning were
former series champion Barry Hawk and Jason Raines, still determined to break his
injury curse and win a GNCC title soon. All will converse freely with anyone willing to
engage them.
Each year a fresh crop of young, fast racers make their mark on the series. The
major manufacturers, always on the lookout for new talent, have surely noted the
deeds of 19-year-old Charlie Mullins and a waif of a teenager named Thad Duvall,
barely tall enough for his boots to reach the ground while seated on his Yamaha.
Young Duvall cannot legally drive a car on public roads but will eventually finish 12th
overall at the Ironman. Charlie Mullins will finish on the podium in 3rd place. The
future seems bright for both racers.
My experience at the Ironman, my first GNCC race, was probably similar to that of
most amateurs. Following the initial awe of the factory teams’ semi-trailer setups
and helicopters flying above and the sheer volume of participants, I focused on the
task of racing. My first mission was locating the registration area, no small
assignment amongst the myriad of trailers and tents of off-road vendors presenting
their merchandise. Had my KX250 failed to run properly, I am confident I could have
purchased onsite whatever was necessary to bring it to working order. Once located,
Racer Productions’ registration process was quick and painless.
The level of competition at a GNCC race is, approximately, one step above the typical
local competition. The top riders in any given state or district series, who would
normally race the AA (Pro) class, will often drop down into one of the amateur
classes at the Ironman. In turn, the local A class riders like me regularly move into a
B class. In my case, I chose Vet B, which on the starting grid was placed in the next-
to-last row. All but one class (Senior B) would begin their race ahead of me at regular
one-minute intervals. By the time my row left, Juha Salinen would be nearly halfway
around the 11-mile course.
GNCC races begin much like any other hare scramble, with dead silence shattered
by a flagman dropping his flag and 20 or 30 engines screaming to life. Each rider
aims for a sharp turn somewhere in the middle of an open field and hopes to be the
first to arrive there. From my vantage point in the next-to-last row, I could see each
group of riders, minute by minute, grow slightly less aggressive as the slightly less
skilled took their shots at sprinting to the first corner. When all the rows ahead of me
finally left the starting area, the chill of a cool October day had worked its way through
both of my jerseys. Once the announcer screamed “Ten seconds!” over the public
address system, the cold left my body and I braced for the flagman’s signal to start
our engines.
There’s no time to think when the flag drops. The motion of the start is nearly
automatic and begins with the first sign of movement from the flagman. The best
riders will have their kickstarters thrown down and their engines bursting to life by the
time the flag reaches the ground. Clutches release, rear wheels kick up plumes of
dirt and a couple dozen dirt bikes blast off toward the first turn.
I rarely have any definitive recollection of the individual components of a dead engine
start. Either my reflexes or my execution (or both) is generally lacking and I am often
one of the last to arrive at the first corner. Compounding my futility at the Ironman
GNCC was a rider braking hard for the first turn, skidding onto his side and blocking
my path. After negotiating this minor obstacle, I fell into the rear of a pack of riders
blasting along the edge of the woods. This initial high-speed section, about a mile
long, was designed to put space between riders before entering the narrower trails.
Earlier rainfall had made these open-field trails damp enough to form ruts, which at
40-50 mph generated some unease both from the raw speed of attack and the close
proximity of other riders jockeying for position.
Once inside the woods, the trails were remarkably rough and choppy. Several
hundred ATV’s had raced through much of the motorcycle route the day before, as
had about 200 motorcycles in the morning race. The narrow trails native to forests
east of the Mississippi were notably absent in this part of Indiana. In fact, hand
protection was mostly unnecessary in all but a few short sections. Never had my
handlebars enjoyed such distance from trees. Seasoned, cranky racers call these
courses “Motocross in the Woods”, so named for their lack of technicality, and on this
day I was one of those racers.
Eventually the course took a respite from the wide, punishing trails. Technical
sections arrived in the form of deep, narrow ravines and slippery creek crossings. My
first off-trail excursion occurred just after a rock-ledge crossing of the main creek.
Near the top of a steep hill was a sapling leaning into my path. I wrongly assumed I
could power my way past the small tree, but it deflected my front tire at an odd angle
and I found myself on the ground. Anyone I’d passed in the previous 5 minutes sped
by as I righted the KX and restarted.
The first challenging technical section came at the bottom of a deep ravine filled with
large, wet rocks. This early in the race, much of the Vet B class remained in a tight
pack through the ravine. With no place to pass, we followed the leaders in a single
file line until the trail opened beside a moderately wide creek. After a muddy, rutted
section running parallel to the creek, course arrows pointed us directly into the water.
I used that opportunity to challenge the riders in front of me and re-passed a handful
who’d earlier made it around me. The opposite side of the creek offered more mud
and ruts and a small water-filled gully that on a subsequent pass, immediately in
front of me, would swallow the business end of an unfortunate bike and most of an
even less fortunate rider.
Two steep hills were the primary challenges of the remainder of the course. Each lap
of a hare scramble course usually contains a handful of these obstacles, the type of
which instill feelings of dread upon each encounter. A length of trail, insignificant
rounding error when calculating the total distance of a race, where little time is
gained by executing perfectly but much time and energy are lost with the smallest of
mistakes. One hill followed an extremely steep descent into a gully; the other had a
relatively flat approach but an incredibly steep angle. The latter hill was one of the
highest I’d ever climbed with such a severe incline. I knew it would be difficult when a
mass of spectators were visible along its base. What appeared to be hundreds of
fans lined the steep slope to watch what was surely an abundance of carnage on the
hillside. One particularly helpful spectator pointed me to an outside line each time I
approached, and each time I ascended the hill, I came at it in second gear and with
wide open throttle. Anything less would have caused a less-than-pleasant
experience on the hillside.
Juha Salinen caught up to me on the second lap. The Flying Finn may not have a firm
grasp on every word in a Webster’s dictionary, but there is one he has mastered
perfectly: Pass. This word he screams as he approaches each rider he encounters.
And there are hundreds. His riding style didn't convey blazing speed or the wildness
of Shane Watts in his prime; rather, Juha just went. No wasted energy, no delays in
passing slower riders, just pure efficiency on a dirt bike. Several minutes elapsed
before the next rider passed. Juha had a huge lead.
After two laps, I wasn't sure if I’d make the full three hours. The roughness of the
course was taking its toll on my body. Somewhere in the third lap, I decided four
would be enough. On that lap I enjoyed accepting a young spectator’s challenge to
jump from a 3-foot creek bank directly into the creek, rather than riding into it down a
rutted path. On the fourth lap I failed to climb the steep hill which followed the steep
descent. I discovered that I've nearly mastered the art of removing a motorcycle from
the side of a hill which can barely be scaled by humans without climbing equipment.
It takes years of practice and many curses.
The white flag appeared at the scoring area when I completed my fourth lap and I
decided to tough it out for a final pass through the Ironman course. Another half-hour
later, tired and beaten, I arrived at the finish line and my helmet’s bar code was
scanned one last time. I had completed my first GNCC. For the next week I would pay
the price of a Veteran rider pushing himself nearly to his limit. Sore back, tired legs,
and the satisfaction of a hard afternoon of racing. I slept very well that night and
dreamed of hills and trees and creeks, famous racers on the same course as me
and Indiana cornfields, harvested. Good night, Ironman.
November 27, 2005
White City, Illinois
Toys for Tots team race
My feelings about the Cahokia Creek Dirt Riders property should be well known to my
regular readers, but if you’re new, let me explain it this way: when dry, the club
grounds are heavenly. When wet, not so much. The annual Toys for Tots charity team
race was a mudder, albeit a manageable one.
Just as I was leaving my suburban storage unit, bike in truck, teammate Matt Sellers
called to check on my progress. What he was really checking on was whether or not I
was still motivated to race in downstate Illinois, given a radar summary heavy on
green. I had barely touched my KX250 since moving to my Chicago city condo and
had accumulated a healthy dose of pent-up motorcycle withdrawal. Screw the rain, I
was racing. And since I had no desire to ride solo in the Ironman class, Matt’s
presence was not optional. We would ride, rain or…rain.
Three hours later, a light rain continued to wet the muck that had overtaken the
Cahokia Creek club grounds. I rarely need any reassurance that four-wheel-drive is
the best money I ever spend on my vehicles, but anyone who’s ever questioned the
value of this $4,000 option should have witnessed the performance of two-wheel-
drive cars and trucks in perfectly flat grass. Not pretty.
Familiar faces abound at downstate races, and on this day I chatted with Scott
Maxwell and son Manuel, smiling brightly on his CR80 during the youth race. David
Brewster was also on hand to race the B class in conditions which suited him just
fine. In the mud, Mr. Brewster is gifted. As for Matt, his expression was already that of
a survivalist. He claims it only rains when I drag him into the Land of Abe, and
sometimes he is correct. A light mist continued as we geared up and gathered in the
starting area.
The predictably messy start became downright unpleasant about a quarter-mile into
the six-mile course. A moderately challenging hill on a dry summer day was now a
15-bike bottleneck. The days of waiting my turn came and went many years ago, so I
pointed my KX at a less popular line choice and opened the throttle as much as it
would go. Results were mixed. Near the top of the hill, momentum ended and so did
my progress. On its side, the engine kept running but eventually died while I
attempted to stand it up on uneven ground. Eventually I found the proper state of body
contortion to restart the engine and spin my way back on the trail.
On track again, the course wound its usual way through the club grounds, short on
traction but high on what I call “slideways”. Definition: sliding around the course and
spending as much time with the bike sideways as pointed straight down the trail.
With a thick layer of hard clay under an inch or two of muck, the corners had only
minor berms and required careful navigation. If brakes didn't stop my progress, trees
were glad to help. While four-strokes love these traction-less conditions, a couple of
nasty, root-infested hills would be less kind to the thumpers. Each hill came and
went with only a moderate effort for me and my KX two-smoke, but the second halves
of the teams would surely struggle when their turns came. By that time, the small
amount of topsoil would be shaved down mostly to hard, wet clay.
The scariest parts of the course were a pair of downhills, both near the end of the
course. The first steep decline was a relatively straight path to the bottom of the hill.
Sounds simple enough, but the clay made scrubbing speed nearly impossible. I
rode the rear brake and prayed I would have enough room at the bottom to avoid
trees. The second nasty downhill came just before the scoring barrels and required
a left turn as the decline steepened. At the apex of the turn was a tree, which helped
slow my progress but went a bit too far. I came to a complete stop, and although I
kept the bike upright, many riders would not. Eventually most riders would miss the
turn altogether and take a straight, fast route to the bottom of the ravine. That is, if they
were able to keep their bikes on two wheels. Many did not.
After checking into the scoring barrels, Matt took off for his first pass through the
course. I went back to my truck for a new set of goggles and talked to David Brewster
in the pits. After 40 minutes or so, Matt appeared at the barrels and I readied myself
for my second and final pass. Brewster’s partner checked in just behind Matt and we
both began the lap within a few seconds of each other. I kept a safe distance ahead
of Brewster until stalling while trying to brake hard for a muddy turn. Although I
restarted in time to avoid getting passed, he was nudging my rear tire and our twin
KX250’s were closely spaced. Later, Brewster got around me by taking a better line
around a slower rider on a hillside. Eventually we came to the toughest hill climb on
the course, where I took the established but heavily chewed-up line. While Brewster
took an alternate route up the hill, I stuck to my line and barely – just barely - spun my
rear tire over a particularly nasty root. Had my momentum been every-so-slightly less,
I would have slid backwards to the bottom of the hill for another attempt. As it stood,
my line choice was considerably quicker than Brewster’s and I didn't see him until I’d
finished the lap.
The rest of the lap was uneventful, other than an alternate route down the final scary
downhill, which was a more direct path but steeper (I survived). Matt took his final turn
and we finished our race in 4th place. With my racing fix satisfied, I returned home to
Chicago and began my motorcycle hibernation. It’s cold up here.
Crawfordsville, Indiana
White City, Illinois
White City, Illinois
