| 2006 Race Reports |
March 19, 2006
Prophetstown, Illinois
2nd of 7 in +30A
Experienced racers, over time, usually develop some sort of weekend ritual during the
racing season. Up until a year ago, mine was remarkably uncomplicated. On
Saturday morning, I’d walk into my spacious, well-lighted garage, roll my motorcycle
over to an organized workbench, turn on the radio, open the tool chest and start
wrenching. When thirsty, I walked back inside the house and grabbed a Mountain
Dew from the refrigerator; maybe even relieved myself in one of the two bathrooms (it’
s nice to have a choice). Sunday mornings, I opened the garage door, loaded my
motorcycle into my pickup truck and went racing. Simplicity at its finest.
Things have changed.
The ritual still begins on Saturday mornings, but now I drive 25 miles from my urban
Chicago domicile to my suburban rented 10x20 storage unit. It has no electricity, no
refrigerator, no indoor plumbing. A 50-foot extension cord solves the power
predicament, but the lack of restroom facilities requires some creativity (let's just say it
involves an empty bottle of Mobil 1 and a steady hand). About one-third of my time is
spent searching for things – tools, parts, another empty bottle of Mobil 1. Once the
bike is ready for racing, my Hummer-yellow Blazer trades spots with the red pickup
truck inside the storage unit, and the bike and truck go back to my condo for a
sleepover in the city.
Such was the ritual for my first race of the year, Round 2 of the United Off-Road
Racing Association’s MXC series near Prophetstown, Illinois. Bill Gusse, of Moose
Run fame, organizes this competitive series along with the quasi-national OMA cross
country series. My only experience with Mr. Gusse’s sadistic philosophy on course
design was the 2005 Moose Run, which even in nearly perfect conditions was
treacherous at best. I was expecting the same when I prepared my new KX250 for its
inaugural competition, but for unknown reasons decided the bike must be prepped
with a new number plate and side panels and their fancy custom graphics. Actually, I
do know the reason and it was purely based on pride. I would never have believed it
possible, but I reserved the same number – 407 – for District 17, the Missouri Hare
Scrambles Championship, and Mr. Gusse’s OMA/MXC series (it shall be called The
Trifecta). In celebration of this profound achievement, I paid serious money (by
Stichnoth definition) for a set of custom graphics from Decal Works. Of all the many
custom graphics companies to choose from, I chose Decal Works for one simple
reason: for no extra cost, they apply the graphics to the side panels. Anyone who’s
ever seen my attempts at side panel graphic installation should understand this
decision completely. My 4-year-old nephew could do it better, using only his left thumb
and eye teeth.
The race site, as the crow would fly, is only a few miles from Morrison, the Peat
Capital of the World and home of the Moose Run. Prophetstown soil has a sandy
flavor uncommon to most of Illinois. Judging from the pair of 4-wheelers parked next
to me, each having ventured into the woods at some point during the morning, the soil
was dry. But knowing his habits, lack of mud in Mr. Gusse's woods was about as
likely as me taking home any part of an NCAA basketball pool. After registering for the
race inside a school bus that serves as both race headquarters and a food stand, I
strolled over to the small motocross track. The junior class race was in progress and
the pre-teens were attacking the jumps on assorted 65cc and 85cc motocross bikes.
The Dad Patrol was out in force, ready to upright fallen riders and help restart
engines. In a show of tough love, one small racer was told to get back going after
stopping next to his dad and asking for some water. It was an early lesson of off-road
racing: our sport is not for the meek or the thirsty.
In a departure from typical race formats, Mr. Gusse gave the A classes their own
separate race in the afternoon. Although it meant waiting 90 minutes for the B, C, and
Schoolboy classes to compete, I was happy to oblige and avoid the mid-race lapped
traffic that is so common in smaller courses. My fancy number plates matched colors
with a handful of riders in the front row, so I lined up there initially until noticing that
most of the front fender cards read “Pro” at the top. I asked the 20-something racer
next to me how the MXC starting lines are organized, and with complete seriousness
he said “Front row is the Pro’s; old guys are behind us.” I moved to the second row.
The new KX sprang to life with relative ease when the flag dropped. In un-Stichnoth-
like fashion I opened the throttle as wide as it would go and sprinted to the first corner
with only 4 or 5 guys ahead of me. In a tight corner just after the first turn, I made an
outside pass and fell in line with just a few riders in front. We rode as a pack for
several minutes, in which time I passed one guy and got passed by another. Ahead of
me was a guy with a vanity motorcycle license plate zip-tied to the back of his chest
protector. It read “DISCO”. I followed Disco for much of the first lap, through unending
whoops, loamy singletrack and a very wide, 4th gear section of sandy loam. The
small motocross track was next, a sure crowd pleaser as I rolled the first two jumps
and bravely “doubled” a jump that may have started out as a true double, but the
space in between was mostly filled in with sand. Barely a double; not quite a tabletop.
Somewhere between the motocross track and the starting area, I stuffed a guy in a
corner when he tried to pass me. The old guy (read: me) didn't really want to be
passed at that point in the race. I also was not in the mood for logs or mud, which
was good because logs and mud were remarkably absent. In fact, the purposefully
placed log a few feet ahead of the scorekeeper duo at the finish line was one of less
than a handful of logs on the entire course. The Moose Run it was not.
What it was, however, was a punishing race for my upper body. And lower body, and
everything in between. The combination of a general lack of physical fitness, City Boy
Hands (blisters) and arm pump was keeping me from riding as aggressively as I
liked. About halfway into the race my forearms finally loosened up, just in time for my
clutch hand blisters to crack open. Through all of this I had just one stumble, a minor
tip-over in a narrow off-camber section.
A major stumble was narrowly avoided on the motocross track. The second of two
hybrid double/tabletop jumps nearly bit me hard when the KX cross-rutted on the face
of the jump and flew through the air sideways. The front wheel planted firmly in the
sand upon landing, but somehow I kept the bike on two wheels. Even so, the impact
was heavy enough to rattle my jaw. I’m sure it was a crowd-pleaser.
Lap times were 12-13 minutes, which put me on pace for 7 or 8 laps. During that time
I never touched my roll-offs and only took a few gulps from the Camelbak. When the
race ended, my tires had bits of sand stuck between the knobs but the bike was
otherwise clean. So clean, in fact, I didn't have to wash it afterwards. In Illinois, in
March, I’m confident that was a first for me. I finished in 2nd place, which was
satisfying in light of my lack of riding over the winter. But the next day, I felt like an old
guy. A really old guy.
March 26, 2006
Colona, Illinois
2nd in +30A
In these parts, racing during the month of March is much like a Cubs game in April:
most days, you’re going to get cold or wet (or both). Although in the technical sense
much of March qualifies as spring, most of the time you’d have to look at a calendar to
prove it. And since dirt around here turns to mud on Columbus Day and stays that way
until Memorial Day, my expectation of the Colona hare scramble course was a cold,
continuous 3-mile rut, just like last year in May.
My expectation was wrong. This year the course was moist but not particularly muddy,
and WFO Promotions added another mile or so of trails that weren't part of the May ’
05 race. The result was a 3.9-mile course made up of equal parts singletrack and
four-wheeler trails, and even a Missouri-style, top gear sprint across a flat field. On
this day, my KX250 would use all five of its gears and beg for a 6th.
After the parade lap just before noon, I joined a few other A riders in the starting area
without returning to my truck. The turnout was large and I wanted to stake out a good
spot somewhere in the middle of the A class row. Eventually, 42 other riders joined
me on the first row, including #26 Rick Kinkelaar who hasn't learned the fine art of
sandbagging and is now advanced to the AA class. Together, we aimed our bikes at
an A-frame construction barricade about 100 yards ahead in the grassy field. The
barricade would serve as the first turn, a 180-degree right-hander, and head back
toward the woods next to the starting area. Needless to say, 43 riders attempting this
simultaneously was not going to work very well, so the “old guy” A classes were
separated and moved to their own row behind the AA and other A classes.
In Illinois, we like our firearms. So much that we sometimes use a gun blast to signal
the start of a hare scramble. One pull of the trigger and our race began. I reached the
construction barricade at the same time as about 10 others, went wide as I rounded
the turn and made contact with another rider. As with Steelville in 1999, we hooked
together for a second and I yanked my handlebars to the right, separating the two of
us. This time, I didn't look back.
Behind the starting area, the entry point of the woods was clogged with several bikes.
Eventually we all found ourselves in a single file line and made our way to an old
foundation from some abandoned structure. The course curved across a concrete
driveway, which gave me a taste of Supermoto-style riding for about 2 seconds. Each
time I passed through this section I better understood why Supermoto riders’ tire
choices usually sacrifice dirt hookup for road stiction: on pavement, knobbies corner
as if the concrete was greased. The trail bounced us out into a high-speed grassy
area next to the pits, then back into the woods for some off-camber singletrack. The
pack was still together through the tight trails, but I briefly lost sight of them while
hanging myself up on a log at the top of a small ravine. Within a few seconds, I caught
up and fell in line with the lead group.
The muddiest section on the course was next – a wide, rutted creek crossing. I
charged into it with plenty of speed and made it up the other side, then navigated a
tight turn at the top. Two natural jumps followed the creek, the first a 5-foot dip with a
steep exit on the opposite side. The angle of exit reminded me of the manicured
jumps at the Dutch Motosports motocross track in Michigan, capable of launching the
bike as high as I dared. The second jump was on the topside of a downhill, created
by a root across the trail that had held back trail erosion to that point. Below the root, a
couple feet of trail had eroded and a nice drop-off remained. The trick was to hit the
jump with enough speed to clear a very soft, tire-sucking landing area, which I
accomplished each lap with a healthy dose of throttle in 3rd gear. Fun stuff.
At the bottom of this hill was the start of a wide, rough 4-wheeler trail with Missouri-
style whoops. With these whoops were a random scattering of old tires and a very
large, low-hanging tree that was perfectly capable of removing riders from bikes with
little effort. Each time through here reminded me of Westphalia, Missouri and I was
glad to see the rough whoops on just a quarter-mile of the course, rather than 80% of
it. After this section was another quarter-mile of wide-open field, then back into the
woods for an observation check and the trickiest logs on the course. Two sets of 18-
inchers were lying across the trail with about a bike length of space between them.
Just when the front tire was firmly planted in the dirt after the first log, it had to scale
the second. The racers ahead of me navigated the logs without much trouble, then
led me through another series of smaller logs before spreading out over “clean” trail.
More tricky off-cambers were next, followed by another short blast across a field. We
quickly made it back to the original point of entry to the woods, near the starting area,
and then checked into the scoring barrels for the first time.
The laps clicked by, about 13 minutes each, and I focused on minimizing stupidity.
Each time through the wide-open field, the KX showed enough headshake to put
some fear into me. The nasty logs got nastier as the race went on, until course
workers routed the trail a few feet to the right. About halfway into the race, lappers
became challenging, especially in the muddy creek crossing. The approach was
down a hill with a left hand sweeper that took us to the base of the creek, where riders
were struggling to scale the rutted opposite bank. I took a line on the left side to get
around a rider and ended up on my side. I picked up the bike and restarted as a guy I’
d just lapped came up behind me. After I was back on two wheels, the guy yelled
“Hey!”, as if he was going to pass, and I yelled back “Hey what?” and left him in my
roost.
With about 2 laps to go, a Kawasaki KDX came up on me in a hurry and I let him by.
For a brief moment I thought this was Jeff Fredette, overall winner of last year’s May
race at Colona. But I was able to hang with him too long and it quickly became
apparent that this was not Mr. Fredette. Had it been, he would have disappeared in
about half a minute. The KDX was just a fast B rider who caught me from behind. The
two of us rode together for the rest of the race and eventually settled in with a freight
train of 4 or 5 bikes. I had a chance to pass the KDX when it struggled around a rutted
corner, but only managed to whack the guy’s arm with my handguard.
After two hours, the race ended and I finished behind Shawn Minnaert for 2nd place in
+30A. The overall win went to +40A rider Phil Converse, still riding fast after a long,
successful off-roading career. Expectations for Colona were wrong, gloriously.
Prophetstown, Illinois
2nd of 7 in +30A
Experienced racers, over time, usually develop some sort of weekend ritual during the
racing season. Up until a year ago, mine was remarkably uncomplicated. On
Saturday morning, I’d walk into my spacious, well-lighted garage, roll my motorcycle
over to an organized workbench, turn on the radio, open the tool chest and start
wrenching. When thirsty, I walked back inside the house and grabbed a Mountain
Dew from the refrigerator; maybe even relieved myself in one of the two bathrooms (it’
s nice to have a choice). Sunday mornings, I opened the garage door, loaded my
motorcycle into my pickup truck and went racing. Simplicity at its finest.
Things have changed.
The ritual still begins on Saturday mornings, but now I drive 25 miles from my urban
Chicago domicile to my suburban rented 10x20 storage unit. It has no electricity, no
refrigerator, no indoor plumbing. A 50-foot extension cord solves the power
predicament, but the lack of restroom facilities requires some creativity (let's just say it
involves an empty bottle of Mobil 1 and a steady hand). About one-third of my time is
spent searching for things – tools, parts, another empty bottle of Mobil 1. Once the
bike is ready for racing, my Hummer-yellow Blazer trades spots with the red pickup
truck inside the storage unit, and the bike and truck go back to my condo for a
sleepover in the city.
Such was the ritual for my first race of the year, Round 2 of the United Off-Road
Racing Association’s MXC series near Prophetstown, Illinois. Bill Gusse, of Moose
Run fame, organizes this competitive series along with the quasi-national OMA cross
country series. My only experience with Mr. Gusse’s sadistic philosophy on course
design was the 2005 Moose Run, which even in nearly perfect conditions was
treacherous at best. I was expecting the same when I prepared my new KX250 for its
inaugural competition, but for unknown reasons decided the bike must be prepped
with a new number plate and side panels and their fancy custom graphics. Actually, I
do know the reason and it was purely based on pride. I would never have believed it
possible, but I reserved the same number – 407 – for District 17, the Missouri Hare
Scrambles Championship, and Mr. Gusse’s OMA/MXC series (it shall be called The
Trifecta). In celebration of this profound achievement, I paid serious money (by
Stichnoth definition) for a set of custom graphics from Decal Works. Of all the many
custom graphics companies to choose from, I chose Decal Works for one simple
reason: for no extra cost, they apply the graphics to the side panels. Anyone who’s
ever seen my attempts at side panel graphic installation should understand this
decision completely. My 4-year-old nephew could do it better, using only his left thumb
and eye teeth.
The race site, as the crow would fly, is only a few miles from Morrison, the Peat
Capital of the World and home of the Moose Run. Prophetstown soil has a sandy
flavor uncommon to most of Illinois. Judging from the pair of 4-wheelers parked next
to me, each having ventured into the woods at some point during the morning, the soil
was dry. But knowing his habits, lack of mud in Mr. Gusse's woods was about as
likely as me taking home any part of an NCAA basketball pool. After registering for the
race inside a school bus that serves as both race headquarters and a food stand, I
strolled over to the small motocross track. The junior class race was in progress and
the pre-teens were attacking the jumps on assorted 65cc and 85cc motocross bikes.
The Dad Patrol was out in force, ready to upright fallen riders and help restart
engines. In a show of tough love, one small racer was told to get back going after
stopping next to his dad and asking for some water. It was an early lesson of off-road
racing: our sport is not for the meek or the thirsty.
In a departure from typical race formats, Mr. Gusse gave the A classes their own
separate race in the afternoon. Although it meant waiting 90 minutes for the B, C, and
Schoolboy classes to compete, I was happy to oblige and avoid the mid-race lapped
traffic that is so common in smaller courses. My fancy number plates matched colors
with a handful of riders in the front row, so I lined up there initially until noticing that
most of the front fender cards read “Pro” at the top. I asked the 20-something racer
next to me how the MXC starting lines are organized, and with complete seriousness
he said “Front row is the Pro’s; old guys are behind us.” I moved to the second row.
The new KX sprang to life with relative ease when the flag dropped. In un-Stichnoth-
like fashion I opened the throttle as wide as it would go and sprinted to the first corner
with only 4 or 5 guys ahead of me. In a tight corner just after the first turn, I made an
outside pass and fell in line with just a few riders in front. We rode as a pack for
several minutes, in which time I passed one guy and got passed by another. Ahead of
me was a guy with a vanity motorcycle license plate zip-tied to the back of his chest
protector. It read “DISCO”. I followed Disco for much of the first lap, through unending
whoops, loamy singletrack and a very wide, 4th gear section of sandy loam. The
small motocross track was next, a sure crowd pleaser as I rolled the first two jumps
and bravely “doubled” a jump that may have started out as a true double, but the
space in between was mostly filled in with sand. Barely a double; not quite a tabletop.
Somewhere between the motocross track and the starting area, I stuffed a guy in a
corner when he tried to pass me. The old guy (read: me) didn't really want to be
passed at that point in the race. I also was not in the mood for logs or mud, which
was good because logs and mud were remarkably absent. In fact, the purposefully
placed log a few feet ahead of the scorekeeper duo at the finish line was one of less
than a handful of logs on the entire course. The Moose Run it was not.
What it was, however, was a punishing race for my upper body. And lower body, and
everything in between. The combination of a general lack of physical fitness, City Boy
Hands (blisters) and arm pump was keeping me from riding as aggressively as I
liked. About halfway into the race my forearms finally loosened up, just in time for my
clutch hand blisters to crack open. Through all of this I had just one stumble, a minor
tip-over in a narrow off-camber section.
A major stumble was narrowly avoided on the motocross track. The second of two
hybrid double/tabletop jumps nearly bit me hard when the KX cross-rutted on the face
of the jump and flew through the air sideways. The front wheel planted firmly in the
sand upon landing, but somehow I kept the bike on two wheels. Even so, the impact
was heavy enough to rattle my jaw. I’m sure it was a crowd-pleaser.
Lap times were 12-13 minutes, which put me on pace for 7 or 8 laps. During that time
I never touched my roll-offs and only took a few gulps from the Camelbak. When the
race ended, my tires had bits of sand stuck between the knobs but the bike was
otherwise clean. So clean, in fact, I didn't have to wash it afterwards. In Illinois, in
March, I’m confident that was a first for me. I finished in 2nd place, which was
satisfying in light of my lack of riding over the winter. But the next day, I felt like an old
guy. A really old guy.
March 26, 2006
Colona, Illinois
2nd in +30A
In these parts, racing during the month of March is much like a Cubs game in April:
most days, you’re going to get cold or wet (or both). Although in the technical sense
much of March qualifies as spring, most of the time you’d have to look at a calendar to
prove it. And since dirt around here turns to mud on Columbus Day and stays that way
until Memorial Day, my expectation of the Colona hare scramble course was a cold,
continuous 3-mile rut, just like last year in May.
My expectation was wrong. This year the course was moist but not particularly muddy,
and WFO Promotions added another mile or so of trails that weren't part of the May ’
05 race. The result was a 3.9-mile course made up of equal parts singletrack and
four-wheeler trails, and even a Missouri-style, top gear sprint across a flat field. On
this day, my KX250 would use all five of its gears and beg for a 6th.
After the parade lap just before noon, I joined a few other A riders in the starting area
without returning to my truck. The turnout was large and I wanted to stake out a good
spot somewhere in the middle of the A class row. Eventually, 42 other riders joined
me on the first row, including #26 Rick Kinkelaar who hasn't learned the fine art of
sandbagging and is now advanced to the AA class. Together, we aimed our bikes at
an A-frame construction barricade about 100 yards ahead in the grassy field. The
barricade would serve as the first turn, a 180-degree right-hander, and head back
toward the woods next to the starting area. Needless to say, 43 riders attempting this
simultaneously was not going to work very well, so the “old guy” A classes were
separated and moved to their own row behind the AA and other A classes.
In Illinois, we like our firearms. So much that we sometimes use a gun blast to signal
the start of a hare scramble. One pull of the trigger and our race began. I reached the
construction barricade at the same time as about 10 others, went wide as I rounded
the turn and made contact with another rider. As with Steelville in 1999, we hooked
together for a second and I yanked my handlebars to the right, separating the two of
us. This time, I didn't look back.
Behind the starting area, the entry point of the woods was clogged with several bikes.
Eventually we all found ourselves in a single file line and made our way to an old
foundation from some abandoned structure. The course curved across a concrete
driveway, which gave me a taste of Supermoto-style riding for about 2 seconds. Each
time I passed through this section I better understood why Supermoto riders’ tire
choices usually sacrifice dirt hookup for road stiction: on pavement, knobbies corner
as if the concrete was greased. The trail bounced us out into a high-speed grassy
area next to the pits, then back into the woods for some off-camber singletrack. The
pack was still together through the tight trails, but I briefly lost sight of them while
hanging myself up on a log at the top of a small ravine. Within a few seconds, I caught
up and fell in line with the lead group.
The muddiest section on the course was next – a wide, rutted creek crossing. I
charged into it with plenty of speed and made it up the other side, then navigated a
tight turn at the top. Two natural jumps followed the creek, the first a 5-foot dip with a
steep exit on the opposite side. The angle of exit reminded me of the manicured
jumps at the Dutch Motosports motocross track in Michigan, capable of launching the
bike as high as I dared. The second jump was on the topside of a downhill, created
by a root across the trail that had held back trail erosion to that point. Below the root, a
couple feet of trail had eroded and a nice drop-off remained. The trick was to hit the
jump with enough speed to clear a very soft, tire-sucking landing area, which I
accomplished each lap with a healthy dose of throttle in 3rd gear. Fun stuff.
At the bottom of this hill was the start of a wide, rough 4-wheeler trail with Missouri-
style whoops. With these whoops were a random scattering of old tires and a very
large, low-hanging tree that was perfectly capable of removing riders from bikes with
little effort. Each time through here reminded me of Westphalia, Missouri and I was
glad to see the rough whoops on just a quarter-mile of the course, rather than 80% of
it. After this section was another quarter-mile of wide-open field, then back into the
woods for an observation check and the trickiest logs on the course. Two sets of 18-
inchers were lying across the trail with about a bike length of space between them.
Just when the front tire was firmly planted in the dirt after the first log, it had to scale
the second. The racers ahead of me navigated the logs without much trouble, then
led me through another series of smaller logs before spreading out over “clean” trail.
More tricky off-cambers were next, followed by another short blast across a field. We
quickly made it back to the original point of entry to the woods, near the starting area,
and then checked into the scoring barrels for the first time.
The laps clicked by, about 13 minutes each, and I focused on minimizing stupidity.
Each time through the wide-open field, the KX showed enough headshake to put
some fear into me. The nasty logs got nastier as the race went on, until course
workers routed the trail a few feet to the right. About halfway into the race, lappers
became challenging, especially in the muddy creek crossing. The approach was
down a hill with a left hand sweeper that took us to the base of the creek, where riders
were struggling to scale the rutted opposite bank. I took a line on the left side to get
around a rider and ended up on my side. I picked up the bike and restarted as a guy I’
d just lapped came up behind me. After I was back on two wheels, the guy yelled
“Hey!”, as if he was going to pass, and I yelled back “Hey what?” and left him in my
roost.
With about 2 laps to go, a Kawasaki KDX came up on me in a hurry and I let him by.
For a brief moment I thought this was Jeff Fredette, overall winner of last year’s May
race at Colona. But I was able to hang with him too long and it quickly became
apparent that this was not Mr. Fredette. Had it been, he would have disappeared in
about half a minute. The KDX was just a fast B rider who caught me from behind. The
two of us rode together for the rest of the race and eventually settled in with a freight
train of 4 or 5 bikes. I had a chance to pass the KDX when it struggled around a rutted
corner, but only managed to whack the guy’s arm with my handguard.
After two hours, the race ended and I finished behind Shawn Minnaert for 2nd place in
+30A. The overall win went to +40A rider Phil Converse, still riding fast after a long,
successful off-roading career. Expectations for Colona were wrong, gloriously.
Prophetstown, Illinois
Colona, Illinois
Colona, Illinois
| Chicago Boy's new ride for 2006 |
| Fancy Numbers The new 2004 KX250, in race form, set up exactly like the '03 KX250. |
 |  |  |