| 2006 Race Reports |
April 9, 2006
Leaf River, Illinois
Black Hawk Trails Enduro
8th of 11 in Vet A
Did you know it takes exactly 34 minutes from the time you leave the signup table at
an enduro, until you reach the starting line? It’s true. When I left that signup table of
the Black Hawk Trails Enduro, with 35 minutes until my row was to depart, I
completed each of the approximately 150 preparations necessary for a 75 mile race
while carrying on a pleasant conversation with Andy from Wisconsin, parked beside
me in a Honda Civic pulling a two-rail bike trailer. The setup was reminiscent of
Missouri’s own Lars Valin, multi-time ISDE finisher and past user of an early-1990’s
Acura as a bike trailer puller. Lars eventually graduated to a pickup truck and the AA
class; maybe someday Andy from Wisconsin will too. Thirty-four minutes came and
went and I fired up my KTM for just the second time in the last 11 months.
The drive across the Rock River valley in North-Central Illinois is hardly inspiration for
an enduro. Most places, the horizon can be seen beyond flatlands made for growing
corn and soybeans. It’s difficult to believe a 75-mile enduro is a possibility, but take a
closer look at the countryside and you’ll see some interesting terrain for dirt bikes.
The Black Hawk Trails Enduro is in its 47th year, thanks to the cooperation of a mass
of land owners and creativity in course layout by the Forest City Riders club. In my first
attempt, it taxed my bike and my body but left me completely satisfied.
This year the staging area was in the small town of Leaf River, at what was once the
town’s high school. The old athletic field served as the parking area and the cafeteria
hosted signup. At 8:45 a.m., 50 people were standing in line ahead of me, each one
completing signup at about one minute intervals. By the time I made it through the
line, row choices were slim and I could either choose #7 or something closer to #50.
It was 9:30 and I had to do some quick math. I normally prefer earlier rows over later
rows, mostly because I've had fewer bad enduro experiences when I’m closer to the
front. But to do that meant a relatively short time to get myself set up to race. I
gambled and took row 7.
I left the cafeteria at 9:32 with an actual-time departure scheduled for 10:07, made a
dash for the truck for my gas jug, emptied half of it into another jug and rushed back to
the school parking lot to drop off the second jug on the gas trailer and set my watch to
key time. Then it was back to the truck to load my roll chart (should have done that the
night before), fill up the bike’s tank with gas (should have done that the night before)
and set my two clocks to key time (should have done that while standing in line). So
actually it doesn't have to take 34 minutes from signup table to starting line, unless
you are me and often fail to plan ahead much further than the 30 seconds it takes to
throw a Power Bar into your fanny pack. Two guys on row 4 were rumored to have
readied themselves 15 minutes after leaving the signup table, whereas it takes me
just about that long to put on my riding gear.
With clocks and scorecard duct taped to the bike, I focused on gearing up. Roughly
half the time it takes me to get dressed is blister and chafing prevention, also called
Old People Preparation (OPP). Prophetstown in March convinced me I've developed
City Boy Hands, so on went five strategically placed Band-aids to my palms and
fingers, plus Palm Savers on each hand. My Fox knee guards, still in the gear bag
only because I've never been able to destroy them, got special attention because the
straps chafe the inside of my legs at the knee joint. This enduro would be my first test
of knee socks I’d always thought were exclusively for motocrossers who would attach
anything with a Fox logo to their bodies. Style be damned, I was desperate for soft
protection where the straps had been digging into my City Boy skin (as it happened,
the socks worked great).
OPP now finished, I was finally ready to give the KTM its first kick with ninety seconds
before my time to leave the starting line. The engine burst to life and I pulled up to the
starting line next to a couple guys on Yamaha four-strokes and another guy on a
CR250. The first few miles were in and out of fields and a few short sections of
woods. The pace was 18 mph for the first 50 miles or so, which was a relaxing trail
ride in the open areas but difficult to maintain inside the woods. I was mostly on time
until we began a mile or two in scrub brush along an abandoned railroad. Missouri
racers would have classified these trails as Spud Cut, in honor of Missouri’s Jon
“Spud” Simons and his propensity for machetes when laying out courses, but I’m not
sure even Spud could make trails as tight. Naturally, we were checked at the end of
this section and I dropped a few points.
The next long section of woods as about as tight and challenging as anything I've
ridden in a very long time. Logs of all shapes and sizes, lying over the trail at every
conceivable angle, started appearing everywhere. The pace was so slow that the KTM’
s radiators boiled over anytime I slowed to a stop. At one point I had to dismount and
lean the bike at a sharp angle to get past a very low-hanging tree limb. Several other
limbs were low enough that I had to almost put my head against the gas tank to
squeeze under them. Passing was virtually impossible without slower riders moving
over, and one of the two Yamahas on my row felt we were the same speed (we
weren't). I jumped ahead of him the next time we came out of the woods but then
bobbled around what should have been an easy corner, then had to follow him to the
next check. He squeezed in at the very bottom of the minute and I was scored on the
next minute. Now I was annoyed, even though it was my own fault for letting him
around me to begin with. I had to remind myself I was there to have fun.
We reached the gas trailer at 26.5 ground miles and about 1:45 into the race. Up to
that point we’d only had a 1.5 mile reset. Even with a 3-mile reset at the gas trailer, I
was still late. I dumped a gallon or two of gas in the tank and sped off. Eventually the
open fields got me back on time and the Yamaha guys were starting to run a little
further ahead of schedule than I was comfortable. I hung back closer to my minute
and kept catching up to the slower of the two Yamahas inside the woods. He wouldn't
move over, which got me thinking about Jeff Fredette’s advice moving past slower
riders: Whack’em on the right leg with your front tire. Eventually I passed the guy and
kept ahead of him in the fields.
As is customary for me in enduros that use roads to connect sections, I missed a turn
and ended up half a mile down the road at the entrance to a livestock farm. I wasn't
alone, though. Two other guys followed me, and we all turned around and found the
missed turn. I could see the Yamaha guys ahead of me again, so I ran WFO through
the fields and got back in front of them before the next woods section.
Near the end of the first 50-mile loop, I was inside some tight woods next to a creek
and saw two KTM’s on riding in the adjacent field. They jumped back inside the
woods ahead of me and I had to follow them until the next check because they
wouldn't move over. I don’t normally care what other riders are doing on the course,
but it was the combination of course cutting, using that to get ahead of me, and then
holding me up that annoyed me. Actually, it made me mad. So I mentioned the KTM
guys’ alternate route to one of the check workers and for a brief instant felt pretty good
about it. But then the faster of the two guys wanted to race me across fields and jump
back into the woods first. The second or third time this happened, I block passed him,
went into full-out sprint pace and left both of the KTM’s behind.
We finished up the short course with some fast woods trails and were routed back to
the staging area. The parking area was mostly deserted when I arrived at my truck.
With about 10 minutes to burn, I fueled up, ate a Power Bar and caught my breath.
The bike looked fine, so I hopped on and began the final 25 mile loop. We were now
3.5 hours into the race and the speed average jumped to 24 mph. For me, even with
generous amounts of open fields, this last hour of riding was hare scramble pace
with no need for timekeeping. The trails were more open and flowed well. I jumped
ahead of the two Yamaha’s and the CR250 on my row and kicked up the pace.
Gradually, I pulled away and was soon riding completely alone. The miles clicked
away fast and I was running wide open through the fields, then pushing hard through
the tight trails. The race ended with a cool section of pine forest and the final
checkpoint.
The overall winner, Jeff Fredette scored a 4. Two checks were thrown out, the first
because about 200 riders took a detour around it and the second because missing
the first check then screwed up the next check. My score was 36, which put me near
the bottom of my class. The early row probably didn't help my performance, but I didn't
care. I had a great time.
April 23, 2006
Sand Goblin Enduro
Roselawn, Indiana
The last time I had to eat my words was in July 2000, when I proclaimed that Nelly
Furtado was the full name of Nelly the St. Louis rapper. This happens once every 5
years or so. Long overdue for more eating of words, I was obliged by the Sand Goblin
enduro near Roselawn, Indiana. I now must take back what I said earlier about
cheaters at the Byron, Illinois enduro, because on this day I was one of them.
Roselawn, for those not familiar with the area, is moderately famous for its multiple
nudist camps. Past enduros at Roselawn used some of the woods surrounding the
camps. On warm days, it wasn't uncommon to see some special spectators along
the trails (if you’re thinking this might be interesting, don’t bother…nudists are rarely
what you hope for). But today, temperatures were just cool enough for everyone to
keep their clothes on.
The Grand Kankakee Trail Riders hosted its fourth annual enduro under nearly
perfect conditions for racing. By way of the Chicago Skyway, the staging area was
less than 90 minutes from the mass of concrete and steel I call home, and about 10
miles off Interstate 65 in Northwest Indiana. Trucks and trailers were scattered over a
large grassy area next to a field of corn stalks, filled with more yellow ribbon and
wood stakes than I've ever seen in one place. The cornfield was about half a mile
wide and the ribboned track crisscrossed it several times. The sandy loam was dry,
even a bit dusty, which for April in the Midwest is about as good as it gets.
I registered to race with the intention of riding on row #31 with Ryan Moss, who had a
spot open on the row he’d reserved. But the signup crew gave away Ryan’s opening
before I arrived, so I had to settle for my previously reserved #26. Unlike Byron, I
arrived with plenty of time to register and ready myself for the race. The group of
Michigan riders parked beside me, however, had an experience similar to mine two
Sundays earlier. They’d signed up for row #23, which gave them a fair amount of
preparation time, but they were a bit confused about timekeeping. I offered a few tips,
showed them how I keep time with my pair of Walmart digital clocks, and gave them
the generic 24 mph roll chart that had been taking up space in my gear bag the last
couple years. The three guys in the group ended up with about the same amount of
time to spare as I’d had at Byron, and the same amount of mild panic. I had a similar,
short-lived attack of panic when the nice lady serving as their pit crew informed me
that there had been some last-minute changes to the route sheet. I’d already printed
my own custom roll chart using the route sheet posted on the midwestenduros.com
website, and had just given away my only spare roll chart. As generic as it was, the
spare was the only thing that would save me from changes in the route sheet. Luckily
for me, the changes were minor. The resets were identical, which was all I was really
concerned about anyway.
Brief introductions on the starting line revealed a pair of guys from Michigan and two
from Ohio. The Michigan guy next to me rode a KX250 in the Vet B class, while one of
the Ohio guys on a Yamaha 4-stroke was in the Vet A class. Our minute came up and
we blasted around the dirt track for what seemed like half an hour. The Yamaha guy
lead initially until I passed him, and eventually it was just me and the KX250 guy flying
around each corner. I wished I was on my own KX250, as the KTM just didn't want to
turn. In the sandy dirt, I couldn't square off any corners without the rear wheel spinning
uselessly. I could only point the KTM down the edge of every berm and let it try to
follow the contour.
After the dirt track ended, we cruised through field lanes and short stretches of scrub
brush along drainage ditches. The first check came a couple miles later, and it was
mostly designed to catch the guys running hot. I zeroed it and continued on some
easy fields and roads before coming to the first woods section. The two Ohio guys
went in about 20 seconds early, and even though I didn't think there would be another
check very soon, I didn't want to leave that early. So I followed the slower of the two
guys, on a KTM, and eventually he let me pass. I caught up to the Yamaha guy and
rode with him at a pretty good pace. I felt like I could go faster, but he wasn't moving
over and or making any mistakes that would let me around. The trail ended at a road
about half a mile later and we cruised for a couple miles.
The next woods section arrived after more riding through fields. My philosophy on
riding transfer sections on roads and through fields is pretty simple: Take it Easy
(unless running late, in which case it’s Ride Like Hell). The Ohio and Michigan guys
rode like hell and then stopped to wait at the edge of the woods. As I arrived, I could
see the group start heading into the trees and, sensing a check somewhere close, I
sprinted to a small opening and entered the woods first. The check was predictably
placed a couple hundred yards inside the woods. As would be common throughout
the course, this was a “check-in” check, to be followed later by a “check-out” check
where the woods were about to end. I zeroed the check and then sprinted as fast as
my bike and body were able. At the end of the section I dropped 2 points and the
Yamaha guy was well behind me.
Now here’s something to ponder for all the up-and-coming enduro riders out there: if
you've just seen a guy on your row take off like a bat from Hades and he walks away
from you, would it make sense to let that guy lead the next time you get inside the
woods? Maybe my idea of common sense is too advanced to be appreciated in its
own time. The Ohio guys continued to Ride Like Hell through each transfer section
and enter every section of woods early. I’d catch up to the slower guy on the KTM and
he’d reluctantly let me around, then catch up to the Yamaha guy and try to pass. I
begged, I pleaded, I shouted, I yelled. Nothing. At one point he bobbled over a log and
seemed to offer me a chance to get by, but I had nearly knocked myself off the bike to
keep from thumping his rear tire when he stopped. He gave me a look, then dumped
the clutch and took off again in front of me.
The rest of the first loop continued in and out of tight woods, alternately fast and slow.
As was advertised in the rider meeting, we were routed inside a house. I expected to
ride inside the front door and out the back door, but we ended up with mini-tour of the
ground floor. We rode up the front porch, inside the front door, through the kitchen,
then a 180-degree turn into a hallway, a left turn into some sort of utility room and out
the side door. I’m assuming the club didn't realize how difficult the tight 180-degree
turn would be, because when I arrived at the front door I sat for about two minutes
waiting for my turn to enter the house. The check next to the side door was an
emergency check, meaning times were scored to the second. So depending on
which row you were on and when you arrived, you might gain or lose more points than
someone riding exactly the same speed up to that point. The Yamaha guy on my row,
who I’d just spent the previous 10 minutes battling in the woods and eventually
gapping by 30 seconds or so, was now about 5 seconds behind me.
As we were routed back to the staging area to complete the first loop, we passed
through the entire length of the dirt track. This time, speed didn't matter, as the only
check between the start and the end of the track was an observation check, mostly
designed to keep people from cutting straight to the staging area (which a few riders
did).
The second loop began much as the first, with the Ohio guys going in the woods
early. After following them for a short while, I earned my away around by taking a
better line around a large log. From there on, I tried to ride aggressively through some
insanely deep sand whoops and a general wasteland of downed trees. A few of logs
could have had Fredette carved into them, especially a nasty one in a narrow line of
woods following a small creek. The trail made a right-hand turn at the top of a small
hill, where a large tree had fallen. Several guys were struggling to get up the hill and
make the turn, so I tried to pass them on the left. As I neared the top of the hill, my rear
wheel dug a trench in the sand and the bike came to a complete stop. I dragged the
back end out of the hole and gave it a second try, this time successfully.
At that point I was dropping no more than 5 or 6 points at the checks, but the last three
checkpoints would begin adding points. Or for me, the last two checks. I took an
alternate line around a big log on the low side of an off-camber trail, which took me to
a higher trail running parallel to the arrows. It was a well-established trail, which
should have been a tip-off that something was wrong, because up to that point there
weren't any well-established trails that far off the arrows. But I kept going. I could still
see the arrows down and to the left, so I continued until I couldn't see the arrows
anymore. After a couple hundred feet of seeing no arrows, I decided it was time to get
back on the marked trail. At that very instant, the arrows reappeared ahead of me and
I thought I was back on the trail.
Technically, that was correct.
What I didn't know was that I cut off about 1.5 miles of the course and, equally as
important, missed check #10. I rode to the finish thinking I put in a good ride and only
dropped 38 points in 11 checks. When I arrived at my truck, the Michigan guys were
already winding down after doing their own course cutting - about 10 miles of it. They
asked me how many miles I had on my odometer and I said 100. Right there, Mr.
Oblivious himself missed Clue #1 in the Mystery of the Missing Check. My odometer
should have read 101.4 (which included a third pass through the gawdaful dirt track,
to finish off the 75-mile course). Clue #2 came an hour or so later when about 40
guys started comparing score cards with their buddies and wondered why their
buddies had 12 checks instead of 11. The guys with 11 checks on their scorecards
asked Jeff Fredette & Co. what the deal was and he told them the honest, painful
truth: you missed check #10. I arrived at the situation in time for Mr. Fredette to jump
on a Red Bull podium box and explain the situation to a crowd of onlookers, in
excruciating detail (I missed the part where he referred to 12 checks in total).
The guys riding around the fallen tree before check #10 had inadvertently ended up
on a trail used for the youth race the day before. It wasn't marked with any arrows, but
was cut in very well after the young racers passed over it. At this point I was not even
thinking I’d been one of the course-cutters. After all, I’d only been out of sight of
arrows for a couple hundred feet – 100 yards at most. Mr. Fredette's description of the
fallen tree and alternate route didn't sink in. He said it would have been 1,000 feet of
seeing no arrows in order to miss the check. At the speed I was going, it would have
taken me at least a full minute to travel 1,000 feet. Under my breath I was mumbling,
“Stop whining, losers…you cheated. You missed a check. Go home, drive safe, see
you next year.”
Fast forward 90 minutes. The scrore cards were posted in traditional enduro fashion,
pinned to clotheslines stretched across the wall of a large tent. The cards were
grouped by class, and in order of finish. We weren't allowed inside the tent at that
point and the Vet A class results were placed just far enough inside that I couldn't find
my card or read any scores. Eventually the crowd thinned out enough that I was able
to move close enough to see my card at the end of the Vet A grouping, with no score
total. How could that be? Had to be a mistake...or was it? Uh-oh. I dashed back to my
truck to retrieve my copy of the scorecard. Most of the cards I’d see on the clotheslines
had 12 checks. Mine had 11.
I cheated.
Obviously it wasn't intentional, but it didn't matter. Even though nearly 25% of the
riders missed check #10, it wasn't a high enough percentage to throw out the check. I
went home, ate my words from Byron and pondered what could have been, had I
stayed a little closer to the arrows. Regardless, I had a great time, rode well and didn't
do anything more stupid than miss a check on an absolutely perfect day for racing.
Leaf River, Illinois
Black Hawk Trails Enduro
8th of 11 in Vet A
Did you know it takes exactly 34 minutes from the time you leave the signup table at
an enduro, until you reach the starting line? It’s true. When I left that signup table of
the Black Hawk Trails Enduro, with 35 minutes until my row was to depart, I
completed each of the approximately 150 preparations necessary for a 75 mile race
while carrying on a pleasant conversation with Andy from Wisconsin, parked beside
me in a Honda Civic pulling a two-rail bike trailer. The setup was reminiscent of
Missouri’s own Lars Valin, multi-time ISDE finisher and past user of an early-1990’s
Acura as a bike trailer puller. Lars eventually graduated to a pickup truck and the AA
class; maybe someday Andy from Wisconsin will too. Thirty-four minutes came and
went and I fired up my KTM for just the second time in the last 11 months.
The drive across the Rock River valley in North-Central Illinois is hardly inspiration for
an enduro. Most places, the horizon can be seen beyond flatlands made for growing
corn and soybeans. It’s difficult to believe a 75-mile enduro is a possibility, but take a
closer look at the countryside and you’ll see some interesting terrain for dirt bikes.
The Black Hawk Trails Enduro is in its 47th year, thanks to the cooperation of a mass
of land owners and creativity in course layout by the Forest City Riders club. In my first
attempt, it taxed my bike and my body but left me completely satisfied.
This year the staging area was in the small town of Leaf River, at what was once the
town’s high school. The old athletic field served as the parking area and the cafeteria
hosted signup. At 8:45 a.m., 50 people were standing in line ahead of me, each one
completing signup at about one minute intervals. By the time I made it through the
line, row choices were slim and I could either choose #7 or something closer to #50.
It was 9:30 and I had to do some quick math. I normally prefer earlier rows over later
rows, mostly because I've had fewer bad enduro experiences when I’m closer to the
front. But to do that meant a relatively short time to get myself set up to race. I
gambled and took row 7.
I left the cafeteria at 9:32 with an actual-time departure scheduled for 10:07, made a
dash for the truck for my gas jug, emptied half of it into another jug and rushed back to
the school parking lot to drop off the second jug on the gas trailer and set my watch to
key time. Then it was back to the truck to load my roll chart (should have done that the
night before), fill up the bike’s tank with gas (should have done that the night before)
and set my two clocks to key time (should have done that while standing in line). So
actually it doesn't have to take 34 minutes from signup table to starting line, unless
you are me and often fail to plan ahead much further than the 30 seconds it takes to
throw a Power Bar into your fanny pack. Two guys on row 4 were rumored to have
readied themselves 15 minutes after leaving the signup table, whereas it takes me
just about that long to put on my riding gear.
With clocks and scorecard duct taped to the bike, I focused on gearing up. Roughly
half the time it takes me to get dressed is blister and chafing prevention, also called
Old People Preparation (OPP). Prophetstown in March convinced me I've developed
City Boy Hands, so on went five strategically placed Band-aids to my palms and
fingers, plus Palm Savers on each hand. My Fox knee guards, still in the gear bag
only because I've never been able to destroy them, got special attention because the
straps chafe the inside of my legs at the knee joint. This enduro would be my first test
of knee socks I’d always thought were exclusively for motocrossers who would attach
anything with a Fox logo to their bodies. Style be damned, I was desperate for soft
protection where the straps had been digging into my City Boy skin (as it happened,
the socks worked great).
OPP now finished, I was finally ready to give the KTM its first kick with ninety seconds
before my time to leave the starting line. The engine burst to life and I pulled up to the
starting line next to a couple guys on Yamaha four-strokes and another guy on a
CR250. The first few miles were in and out of fields and a few short sections of
woods. The pace was 18 mph for the first 50 miles or so, which was a relaxing trail
ride in the open areas but difficult to maintain inside the woods. I was mostly on time
until we began a mile or two in scrub brush along an abandoned railroad. Missouri
racers would have classified these trails as Spud Cut, in honor of Missouri’s Jon
“Spud” Simons and his propensity for machetes when laying out courses, but I’m not
sure even Spud could make trails as tight. Naturally, we were checked at the end of
this section and I dropped a few points.
The next long section of woods as about as tight and challenging as anything I've
ridden in a very long time. Logs of all shapes and sizes, lying over the trail at every
conceivable angle, started appearing everywhere. The pace was so slow that the KTM’
s radiators boiled over anytime I slowed to a stop. At one point I had to dismount and
lean the bike at a sharp angle to get past a very low-hanging tree limb. Several other
limbs were low enough that I had to almost put my head against the gas tank to
squeeze under them. Passing was virtually impossible without slower riders moving
over, and one of the two Yamahas on my row felt we were the same speed (we
weren't). I jumped ahead of him the next time we came out of the woods but then
bobbled around what should have been an easy corner, then had to follow him to the
next check. He squeezed in at the very bottom of the minute and I was scored on the
next minute. Now I was annoyed, even though it was my own fault for letting him
around me to begin with. I had to remind myself I was there to have fun.
We reached the gas trailer at 26.5 ground miles and about 1:45 into the race. Up to
that point we’d only had a 1.5 mile reset. Even with a 3-mile reset at the gas trailer, I
was still late. I dumped a gallon or two of gas in the tank and sped off. Eventually the
open fields got me back on time and the Yamaha guys were starting to run a little
further ahead of schedule than I was comfortable. I hung back closer to my minute
and kept catching up to the slower of the two Yamahas inside the woods. He wouldn't
move over, which got me thinking about Jeff Fredette’s advice moving past slower
riders: Whack’em on the right leg with your front tire. Eventually I passed the guy and
kept ahead of him in the fields.
As is customary for me in enduros that use roads to connect sections, I missed a turn
and ended up half a mile down the road at the entrance to a livestock farm. I wasn't
alone, though. Two other guys followed me, and we all turned around and found the
missed turn. I could see the Yamaha guys ahead of me again, so I ran WFO through
the fields and got back in front of them before the next woods section.
Near the end of the first 50-mile loop, I was inside some tight woods next to a creek
and saw two KTM’s on riding in the adjacent field. They jumped back inside the
woods ahead of me and I had to follow them until the next check because they
wouldn't move over. I don’t normally care what other riders are doing on the course,
but it was the combination of course cutting, using that to get ahead of me, and then
holding me up that annoyed me. Actually, it made me mad. So I mentioned the KTM
guys’ alternate route to one of the check workers and for a brief instant felt pretty good
about it. But then the faster of the two guys wanted to race me across fields and jump
back into the woods first. The second or third time this happened, I block passed him,
went into full-out sprint pace and left both of the KTM’s behind.
We finished up the short course with some fast woods trails and were routed back to
the staging area. The parking area was mostly deserted when I arrived at my truck.
With about 10 minutes to burn, I fueled up, ate a Power Bar and caught my breath.
The bike looked fine, so I hopped on and began the final 25 mile loop. We were now
3.5 hours into the race and the speed average jumped to 24 mph. For me, even with
generous amounts of open fields, this last hour of riding was hare scramble pace
with no need for timekeeping. The trails were more open and flowed well. I jumped
ahead of the two Yamaha’s and the CR250 on my row and kicked up the pace.
Gradually, I pulled away and was soon riding completely alone. The miles clicked
away fast and I was running wide open through the fields, then pushing hard through
the tight trails. The race ended with a cool section of pine forest and the final
checkpoint.
The overall winner, Jeff Fredette scored a 4. Two checks were thrown out, the first
because about 200 riders took a detour around it and the second because missing
the first check then screwed up the next check. My score was 36, which put me near
the bottom of my class. The early row probably didn't help my performance, but I didn't
care. I had a great time.
April 23, 2006
Sand Goblin Enduro
Roselawn, Indiana
The last time I had to eat my words was in July 2000, when I proclaimed that Nelly
Furtado was the full name of Nelly the St. Louis rapper. This happens once every 5
years or so. Long overdue for more eating of words, I was obliged by the Sand Goblin
enduro near Roselawn, Indiana. I now must take back what I said earlier about
cheaters at the Byron, Illinois enduro, because on this day I was one of them.
Roselawn, for those not familiar with the area, is moderately famous for its multiple
nudist camps. Past enduros at Roselawn used some of the woods surrounding the
camps. On warm days, it wasn't uncommon to see some special spectators along
the trails (if you’re thinking this might be interesting, don’t bother…nudists are rarely
what you hope for). But today, temperatures were just cool enough for everyone to
keep their clothes on.
The Grand Kankakee Trail Riders hosted its fourth annual enduro under nearly
perfect conditions for racing. By way of the Chicago Skyway, the staging area was
less than 90 minutes from the mass of concrete and steel I call home, and about 10
miles off Interstate 65 in Northwest Indiana. Trucks and trailers were scattered over a
large grassy area next to a field of corn stalks, filled with more yellow ribbon and
wood stakes than I've ever seen in one place. The cornfield was about half a mile
wide and the ribboned track crisscrossed it several times. The sandy loam was dry,
even a bit dusty, which for April in the Midwest is about as good as it gets.
I registered to race with the intention of riding on row #31 with Ryan Moss, who had a
spot open on the row he’d reserved. But the signup crew gave away Ryan’s opening
before I arrived, so I had to settle for my previously reserved #26. Unlike Byron, I
arrived with plenty of time to register and ready myself for the race. The group of
Michigan riders parked beside me, however, had an experience similar to mine two
Sundays earlier. They’d signed up for row #23, which gave them a fair amount of
preparation time, but they were a bit confused about timekeeping. I offered a few tips,
showed them how I keep time with my pair of Walmart digital clocks, and gave them
the generic 24 mph roll chart that had been taking up space in my gear bag the last
couple years. The three guys in the group ended up with about the same amount of
time to spare as I’d had at Byron, and the same amount of mild panic. I had a similar,
short-lived attack of panic when the nice lady serving as their pit crew informed me
that there had been some last-minute changes to the route sheet. I’d already printed
my own custom roll chart using the route sheet posted on the midwestenduros.com
website, and had just given away my only spare roll chart. As generic as it was, the
spare was the only thing that would save me from changes in the route sheet. Luckily
for me, the changes were minor. The resets were identical, which was all I was really
concerned about anyway.
Brief introductions on the starting line revealed a pair of guys from Michigan and two
from Ohio. The Michigan guy next to me rode a KX250 in the Vet B class, while one of
the Ohio guys on a Yamaha 4-stroke was in the Vet A class. Our minute came up and
we blasted around the dirt track for what seemed like half an hour. The Yamaha guy
lead initially until I passed him, and eventually it was just me and the KX250 guy flying
around each corner. I wished I was on my own KX250, as the KTM just didn't want to
turn. In the sandy dirt, I couldn't square off any corners without the rear wheel spinning
uselessly. I could only point the KTM down the edge of every berm and let it try to
follow the contour.
After the dirt track ended, we cruised through field lanes and short stretches of scrub
brush along drainage ditches. The first check came a couple miles later, and it was
mostly designed to catch the guys running hot. I zeroed it and continued on some
easy fields and roads before coming to the first woods section. The two Ohio guys
went in about 20 seconds early, and even though I didn't think there would be another
check very soon, I didn't want to leave that early. So I followed the slower of the two
guys, on a KTM, and eventually he let me pass. I caught up to the Yamaha guy and
rode with him at a pretty good pace. I felt like I could go faster, but he wasn't moving
over and or making any mistakes that would let me around. The trail ended at a road
about half a mile later and we cruised for a couple miles.
The next woods section arrived after more riding through fields. My philosophy on
riding transfer sections on roads and through fields is pretty simple: Take it Easy
(unless running late, in which case it’s Ride Like Hell). The Ohio and Michigan guys
rode like hell and then stopped to wait at the edge of the woods. As I arrived, I could
see the group start heading into the trees and, sensing a check somewhere close, I
sprinted to a small opening and entered the woods first. The check was predictably
placed a couple hundred yards inside the woods. As would be common throughout
the course, this was a “check-in” check, to be followed later by a “check-out” check
where the woods were about to end. I zeroed the check and then sprinted as fast as
my bike and body were able. At the end of the section I dropped 2 points and the
Yamaha guy was well behind me.
Now here’s something to ponder for all the up-and-coming enduro riders out there: if
you've just seen a guy on your row take off like a bat from Hades and he walks away
from you, would it make sense to let that guy lead the next time you get inside the
woods? Maybe my idea of common sense is too advanced to be appreciated in its
own time. The Ohio guys continued to Ride Like Hell through each transfer section
and enter every section of woods early. I’d catch up to the slower guy on the KTM and
he’d reluctantly let me around, then catch up to the Yamaha guy and try to pass. I
begged, I pleaded, I shouted, I yelled. Nothing. At one point he bobbled over a log and
seemed to offer me a chance to get by, but I had nearly knocked myself off the bike to
keep from thumping his rear tire when he stopped. He gave me a look, then dumped
the clutch and took off again in front of me.
The rest of the first loop continued in and out of tight woods, alternately fast and slow.
As was advertised in the rider meeting, we were routed inside a house. I expected to
ride inside the front door and out the back door, but we ended up with mini-tour of the
ground floor. We rode up the front porch, inside the front door, through the kitchen,
then a 180-degree turn into a hallway, a left turn into some sort of utility room and out
the side door. I’m assuming the club didn't realize how difficult the tight 180-degree
turn would be, because when I arrived at the front door I sat for about two minutes
waiting for my turn to enter the house. The check next to the side door was an
emergency check, meaning times were scored to the second. So depending on
which row you were on and when you arrived, you might gain or lose more points than
someone riding exactly the same speed up to that point. The Yamaha guy on my row,
who I’d just spent the previous 10 minutes battling in the woods and eventually
gapping by 30 seconds or so, was now about 5 seconds behind me.
As we were routed back to the staging area to complete the first loop, we passed
through the entire length of the dirt track. This time, speed didn't matter, as the only
check between the start and the end of the track was an observation check, mostly
designed to keep people from cutting straight to the staging area (which a few riders
did).
The second loop began much as the first, with the Ohio guys going in the woods
early. After following them for a short while, I earned my away around by taking a
better line around a large log. From there on, I tried to ride aggressively through some
insanely deep sand whoops and a general wasteland of downed trees. A few of logs
could have had Fredette carved into them, especially a nasty one in a narrow line of
woods following a small creek. The trail made a right-hand turn at the top of a small
hill, where a large tree had fallen. Several guys were struggling to get up the hill and
make the turn, so I tried to pass them on the left. As I neared the top of the hill, my rear
wheel dug a trench in the sand and the bike came to a complete stop. I dragged the
back end out of the hole and gave it a second try, this time successfully.
At that point I was dropping no more than 5 or 6 points at the checks, but the last three
checkpoints would begin adding points. Or for me, the last two checks. I took an
alternate line around a big log on the low side of an off-camber trail, which took me to
a higher trail running parallel to the arrows. It was a well-established trail, which
should have been a tip-off that something was wrong, because up to that point there
weren't any well-established trails that far off the arrows. But I kept going. I could still
see the arrows down and to the left, so I continued until I couldn't see the arrows
anymore. After a couple hundred feet of seeing no arrows, I decided it was time to get
back on the marked trail. At that very instant, the arrows reappeared ahead of me and
I thought I was back on the trail.
Technically, that was correct.
What I didn't know was that I cut off about 1.5 miles of the course and, equally as
important, missed check #10. I rode to the finish thinking I put in a good ride and only
dropped 38 points in 11 checks. When I arrived at my truck, the Michigan guys were
already winding down after doing their own course cutting - about 10 miles of it. They
asked me how many miles I had on my odometer and I said 100. Right there, Mr.
Oblivious himself missed Clue #1 in the Mystery of the Missing Check. My odometer
should have read 101.4 (which included a third pass through the gawdaful dirt track,
to finish off the 75-mile course). Clue #2 came an hour or so later when about 40
guys started comparing score cards with their buddies and wondered why their
buddies had 12 checks instead of 11. The guys with 11 checks on their scorecards
asked Jeff Fredette & Co. what the deal was and he told them the honest, painful
truth: you missed check #10. I arrived at the situation in time for Mr. Fredette to jump
on a Red Bull podium box and explain the situation to a crowd of onlookers, in
excruciating detail (I missed the part where he referred to 12 checks in total).
The guys riding around the fallen tree before check #10 had inadvertently ended up
on a trail used for the youth race the day before. It wasn't marked with any arrows, but
was cut in very well after the young racers passed over it. At this point I was not even
thinking I’d been one of the course-cutters. After all, I’d only been out of sight of
arrows for a couple hundred feet – 100 yards at most. Mr. Fredette's description of the
fallen tree and alternate route didn't sink in. He said it would have been 1,000 feet of
seeing no arrows in order to miss the check. At the speed I was going, it would have
taken me at least a full minute to travel 1,000 feet. Under my breath I was mumbling,
“Stop whining, losers…you cheated. You missed a check. Go home, drive safe, see
you next year.”
Fast forward 90 minutes. The scrore cards were posted in traditional enduro fashion,
pinned to clotheslines stretched across the wall of a large tent. The cards were
grouped by class, and in order of finish. We weren't allowed inside the tent at that
point and the Vet A class results were placed just far enough inside that I couldn't find
my card or read any scores. Eventually the crowd thinned out enough that I was able
to move close enough to see my card at the end of the Vet A grouping, with no score
total. How could that be? Had to be a mistake...or was it? Uh-oh. I dashed back to my
truck to retrieve my copy of the scorecard. Most of the cards I’d see on the clotheslines
had 12 checks. Mine had 11.
I cheated.
Obviously it wasn't intentional, but it didn't matter. Even though nearly 25% of the
riders missed check #10, it wasn't a high enough percentage to throw out the check. I
went home, ate my words from Byron and pondered what could have been, had I
stayed a little closer to the arrows. Regardless, I had a great time, rode well and didn't
do anything more stupid than miss a check on an absolutely perfect day for racing.
Leaf River, Illinois
Roselawn, Indiana
Roselawn, Indiana
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